“Master, they say, has had a great love-affair.”
“When?”
“I do not know when. That was before I entered his service. All I know
is, that, for the purpose of meeting the person, master had bought at
Passy, at the end of Vine Street, a beautiful house, in the centre of a
large garden, which he had furnished magnificently.”
“Ah!”
“That is a secret, which, of course, neither master’s father nor his
mother knows to this day; and I only know it, because one day master
fell down the steps, and dislocated his foot, so that he had to send for
me to nurse him. He may have bought the house under his own name; but he
was not known by it there. He passed for an Englishmen, a Mr. Burnett;
and he had an English maid-servant.”
“And the person?”
“Ah, sir! I not only do not know who she is, but I cannot even guess
it, she took such extraordinary precautions! Now that I mean to tell you
every thing, I will confess to you that I had the curiosity to question
the English maid. She told me that she was no farther than I was, that
she knew, to be sure, a lady was coming there from time to time; but
that she had never seen even the end of her nose. Master always arranged
it so well, that the girl was invariably out on some errand or other
when the lady came and when she went away. While she was in the house,
master waited upon her himself. And when they wanted to walk in the
garden, they sent the servant away, on some fool’s errand, to Versailles
or to Fontainebleau; and she was mad, I tell you.”
M. Folgat began to twist his mustache, as he was in the habit of doing
when he was specially interested. For a moment, he thought he saw the
woman--that inevitable woman who is always at the bottom of every great
event in man’s life; and just then she vanished from his sight; for
he tortured his mind in vain to discover a possible if not probable
connection between the mysterious visitor in Vine Street and the
events that had happened at Valpinson. He could not see a trace. Rather
discouraged, he asked once more,--
“After all, my dear Anthony, this great love-affair of your master’s has
come to an end?”
“It seems so, sir, since Master Jacques was going to marry Miss
Dionysia.”
That reason was perhaps not quite as conclusive as the good old servant
imagined; but the young advocate made no remark.
“And when do you think it came to an end?”
“During the war, master and the lady must have been parted; for master
did not stay in Paris. He commanded a volunteer company; and he was even
wounded in the head, which procured him the cross.”
“Does he still own the house in Vine Street?”
“I believe so.”
“Why?”
“Because, some time ago, when master and I went to Paris for a week,
he said to me one day, ‘The War and the commune have cost me dear.
My cottage has had more than twenty shells, and it has been in turn
occupied by _Francs-tireurs_, Communists and Regulars. The walls are
broken; and there is not a piece of furniture uninjured. My architect
tells me, that all in all, the repairs will cost me some ten thousand
dollars.’”
“What? Repairs? Then he thought of going back there?”
“At that time, sir, master’s marriage had not been settled. Yet”--
“Still that would go to prove that he had at that time met the
mysterious lady once more, and that the war had not broken off their
relations.”
“That may be.”
“And has he never mentioned the lady again?”
“Never.”
At this moment M. de Chandore’s cough was heard in the hall,--that cough
which men affect when they wish to announce their coming. Immediately
afterwards he reappeared; and M. Folgat said to him, to show that his
presence was no longer inconvenient,--
“Upon my word, sir, I was just on the point of going in search of you,
for fear that you felt really unwell.”
“Thank you,” replied the old gentleman, “the fresh air has done me
good.”