THE INTRODUCTION.
Some days after the murder of Mrs. Seraphin, the death of La Chouette,
and the arrest of the band of malefactors surprised at Bras-Rouge's,
Rudolph repaired to the house in the Rue du Temple.
We have said that--intending to overcome cunning by cunning, and to
expose the concealed crimes of Jacques Ferrand to the punishment they
merited, notwithstanding the address and hypocrisy with which he
disguised them--Rudolph had caused to be brought from her prison in
Germany a girl named Cecily.
She was a very beautiful quadroon, whose story ran briefly thus: Owned
by a Louisiana planter, he had refused permission for her to marry
another of his slaves, known as David, because he had, sultan-like,
set his own choice upon her. David, by intelligence, and a long stay
in France, had attained the position of surgeon on the plantation, and
resisted his master with all the strength of his love for the girl. He
was flogged, and Cecily locked up. At this juncture, Rudolph's yacht
was off the plantation. He heard the story, and, landing in the night
with a boat's crew, carried off David and Cecily in the planter's
teeth, leaving him a large sum in indemnification. The slaves were
wedded in France, but David won no happiness. He became Rudolph's
physician-in-chief, worthily filling the post; but Cecily's
three-part-white blood revolted at her union with a negro, and she
flung herself into the first arms open to her. Her life was a series
of scandals, so that David would have killed her; but Rudolph induced
him to prefer her life imprisonment in Germany. Thence she is now
brought.
Having arrived the evening previous, this creature, as handsome as she
was perverted, as enchanting as she was dangerous, had received
detailed instructions from Baron de Graun.
It will be remembered that after the last interview between Rudolph
and Mrs. Pipelet, the latter having adroitly proposed Cecily to Mrs.
Seraphin to replace Louise Morel as servant to the notary, the
housekeeper had willingly received her overtures, and promised to
speak on the subject to Jacques Ferrand, which she had done in terms
the most favorable to Cecily, the very same morning of the day on
which she (Mrs. Seraphin) had been drowned at Ravageurs' Island.
Rudolph went to learn the result of Cecily's offer. To his great
astonishment, on entering the lodge, he found, although it was eleven
o'clock in the morning, Pipelet in bed, and Anastasia standing beside
him, offering him drink.
Alfred, whose forehead and eyes disappeared under a formidable cotton
cap, not answering Anastasia, she concluded he was asleep, and closed
the curtains of his bed. On turning she saw Rudolph. Immediately she
carried, according to custom, the back of her open left hand against
her wig.
"Your servant, my prince of lodgers. You find me overturned, amazed,
grown thin! There are famous doings in the house, without counting
that Alfred has been in bed since yesterday."
"And what is the matter?"
"Why ask?"
"Why not?"
"Always the same. The monster yearns more and more after Alfred; he
alarms me so that I do not know what more to do."
"Cabrion again?"
"Again."
"He is the devil, then!"
"I shall begin to think so, M. Rudolph; for the blackguard always
guesses when I am out. Hardly do I turn on my heels than he is here on
the back of my darling, who does not know how to defend himself any
more than a child. Yesterday again, while I was gone to M. Ferrand's,
the notary's--there is the place to hear news--"
"And Cecily?" said Rudolph hastily. "I came to know--"
"Stop, my prince of lodgers; do not fluster me. I have so many things
to tell you that I shall lose myself if you break my thread."
"Well, I listen."
"In the first place, as concerns this house; just imagine that
yesterday they came and arrested Mother Burette."
"The pawnbroker on the second floor?"
"Yes. It appears that she had many droll trades besides that of a
pawnbroker! She was a fencess, melter-downess, shoplifteress,
smasheress, forgeress, coineress, everything that rhymes with
dishonestness. The worst of all is, that her old beau, Bras-Rouge, is
also arrested. I told you there was a real earthquake in the house."
"What! Bras-Rouge also arrested?"
"Yes; in his tavern on the Champs-Elysees. All are boxed, even to his
son Tortillard, the wicked little cripple. They say there has been a
whole heap of murderers there; that they were a band of assassins;
that La Chouette, one of the friends of old Burette, has been
strangled; and that if help had not arrived in time, Mathieu the
diamond broker would have been murdered. Ain't this news?"
"Bras-Rouge arrested! La Chouette dead!" said Rudolph to himself, with
astonishment. "Poor Fleur-de-Marie is avenged."
"So much for this. Without excepting the new infamy of Cabrion, I am
going at once to finish with that brigand. You will see what
impudence! When old Burette was arrested, and we knew that Bras-Rouge,
our landlord, was trapped, I said to my old darling, 'You must trot
right off to the proprietor, and tell him that Bras-Rouge is locked
up.' Alfred set out. At the end of two hours he came back to me, in
such a state--white as a sheet, and blowing like an ox!"
"What was the matter?"
"You shall see, M. Rudolph. Only fancy, that six steps from here is a
large white wall; my darling, on leaving the house, looked by chance
on this wall; what does he see written there with charcoal, in large
letters? 'Pipelet & Cabrion!'--the two names joined by a short
_and_. This mark of union with this scoundrel sticks in his
stomach the most. That began to upset him; ten steps further, what
does he see on the great door of the Temple? 'Pipelet & Cabrion!'
always with the sign of union. On he goes; at each step, M. Rudolph,
he saw written these cursed names on the walls of the houses, on the
doors, everywhere, 'Pipelet & Cabrion.' He began to see stars; he
thought every one was looking at him; he pulled his hat down to his
nose, he was so much ashamed. He went on the boulevard, thinking that
Cabrion had confined his indecencies to the Rue du Temple. All along
the boulevard, on each place where there was room to write, always
'Pipelet & Cabrion,' to the death! Finally, the poor dear man arrived
at the proprietor's so bewildered, that, after having stuttered and
stammered for a quarter of an hour, he could not understand one word
of all that Alfred said; so he sent him back, calling him an old
imbecile, and told him to send me to explain the thing. Alfred
retired, coming back by another route, in order to avoid the names he
had seen written on the walls. But--"
"Pipelet and Cabrion that road too?"
"As you say, my prince of lodgers. In this way the poor dear man
arrived, stupefied, amazed, wishing to exile himself. He told me his
story; I calmed him as well as I could. I left him, and went with
Cecily to the notary's. You think this is all? Oh, no! Hardly was my
back turned than Cabrion, who had watched my departure, had the
impudence to send here two great hussies who attacked Alfred. My hair
stands on an end. I will tell you all this directly. Let us finish
with the notary. I set out, then, in a coach with Cecily, as you are
advised. She wore her pretty German peasant's costume, 'as she had
just arrived, and had not time to change it,' as I was to tell M.
Ferrand. You will believe me, if you please, my prince of lodgers, I
have seen many pretty girls; I have seen myself in my springtime; but
never have I seen (myself included) a young person who could hold a
candle to Cecily. She has, above all, in the look of her large,
wicked, black eyes, something--I don't know what; but, for sure, there
is something striking. What eyes!
"Alfred is not tender, but the first time that she looked at him be
became as red as a carrot; for nothing in the world would he have
looked a second time--he wriggled on his chair for an hour afterward
as if he had been seated on a thorn; he told me afterward that the
look had recalled to his mind all the histories of that impudent
Bradamanti about the savagesses, which made him blush so much, my old
prude of an Alfred."
"But the notary? the notary?"
"Yes, M. Rudolph. It was about seven in the evening when we reached M.
Ferrand's; I told the porter to tell his master that Mrs. Pipelet was
there with the servant whom old Seraphin had spoken about, and told me
to bring. Hereupon the porter uttered a sigh, and asked me if I knew
what had happened to Mrs. Seraphin. I said no. Oh, M. Rudolph, here is
another earthquake!"
"What now?"
"Old Seraphin was drowned in an excursion to the country which she had
made with one of her relations."
"Drowned! A party to the country in winter?" said Rudolph, surprised.
"Yes, M. Rudolph, drowned. It astonishes me more than it grieves me;
for since the misfortune of poor Louise, whom she denounced, I hated
Seraphin. I said to myself, 'She is drowned, is she; after all, it
won't kill me.' That's my character."
"And M. Ferrand?"
"The porter at first said he thought I could not see his master, and
begged me to wait in the lodge, but at the end of a moment he returned
for me; we crossed the court, and entered a chamber. There was only a
single candle burning. The notary was seated at the chimney-corner,
where smoked the remains of a firebrand. What a hovel! I have never
seen M. Ferrand. Isn't he horrid? Here is another one who might in
vain have offered me the throne of Araby to prove false to Alfred."
"And did he appear struck with the beauty of Cecily?"
"Can any one know, with his green spectacles? such an old sacristan
ought to be no judge of women. Yet when we both entered, he made a
kind of start from his chair; it was, doubtless, astonishment at
seeing the Alsatian costume of Cecily; for she had (only ten million
times better) the air of one of those little broom girls, with her
short petticoats, and her pretty legs in blue stockings with red
clocks! my eye, what calves! and such slender ankles! and the little
foot! the notary was bewildered at seeing her."
"It was doubtless the strange costume which astonished him."
"Must think so; but the funny moment drew near. Happily I remembered
the maxim you taught me, M. Rudolph; it was my salvation."
"What maxim?"
"You know: 'Hide your desire if you want it granted.' Then I said to
myself, I must rid my prince of lodgers of his German, by placing her
with the master of Louise; and I said to the notary, without giving
him time to draw breath: 'Pardon me, sir, if my niece comes dressed in
the costume of her country; but she has just arrived: she has no other
clothes than these, and I have no means of getting her others, as it
would hardly be worth while; for we came only to thank you for having
said to Mrs. Seraphin that you would consent to see Cecily, from the
good recommendations I had given her: yet I do not think she can suit,
sir.'"
"Very well, Mrs. Pipelet."
"'Why will your niece not suit me?' said the notary, who, seated in
the chimney-corner, seemed to look at us from under his spectacles.
'Because Cecily begins to be home-sick, sir. She has only been here
three days, yet she wishes to return, even if she has to beg her way
back, and sell brooms like her countrywomen.' 'But you, her relation,
will not suffer this?' 'I am her relation, it is true; but she is an
orphan; she is twenty years old, and she is mistress of her own
actions.' 'Bah! bah! mistress of her own actions; at her age she
should obey her relation,' answered he, roughly.
"Hereupon Cecily began to cry and tremble, pressing against me; the
notary made her afraid, very likely."
"And Ferrand?"
"He grumbled and muttered: 'To abandon a girl at her age is to ruin
her. To return to Germany as a beggar, it is fine! Do you, her aunt,
allow such conduct?' 'Well, well,' said I to myself, 'you're right.
I'll place Cecily with you, or I'll lose my name.' 'I am her aunt, it
is true,' answered I, 'but it is a very unfortunate relationship for
me; I have enough on my hands; I would be just as well pleased to have
my niece go away as to have her on my hands. May Old Nick run away
with such relations who send you such great girls as this without
paying the postage.' To crown all, there was Cecily, who seemed to be
up to trap, bursting into tears. Thereupon the notary assumed a
sniveling tone, like a preacher, and said to me: 'You will have to
account above for the trust that Providence has placed in your hands;
it would be a crime to expose this young girl to perdition. I consent
to aid you in your charitable work, if your niece promises me to be
industrious, honest, and pious; and above all, never to go out. I will
have pity on her, and take her in my service.' 'No, no, I would rather
go back to my country,' said Cecily, still weeping."
"Her dangerous duplicity did not fail her," thought Rudolph; "the
diabolical creature has, I see, perfectly comprised the orders of
Baron de Graun."
Then the prince said aloud, "Did Ferrand appear vexed at the
perverseness of Cecily?"
"Yes, M. Rudolph; he muttered between his teeth, and said to her
hastily, 'It is not a question, mademoiselle, of what you prefer, but
of what is suitable and decent Heaven will not abandon you, if you
lead an honest life and fulfill your religious duties. You will be
here in a house as strict as holy; if your aunt really loves you, she
will profit by my offer; at first you will have but small wages, but
if by your conduct and zeal you deserve more, perhaps I will increase
them."
"Good! thought I to myself; the notary is caught! here is Cecily fixed
at your house, you heartless old miser. Seraphin was in your service
for many years, and you have not even the appearance of remembering
that she was drowned the day before yesterday. And I said aloud:
'Doubtless, sir, the place is advantageous, but if the young woman is
homesick?' 'That will pass away,' answered the notary; 'come, do you
decide--yes or no? If you consent, bring your niece to-morrow night at
this hour, and she can enter at once into my service--my porter will
instruct her. As to wages, I commence by giving her twenty francs a
month and board and lodging.' 'Oh, sir, you'll add five francs more?'
'No, by and by--if I am content--we shall see. But I must inform you,
that your niece must never go out, and must have no one to come and
see her.' 'Oh, sir, who would come to see her? She knows no one but me
in Paris, and I have my own door to take care of; it has incommoded me
enough to come with her to-day-you will never see me again-she will be
as much of a stranger as if she had never come out of her own country.
As to her not going out, there is a very simple way--let her wear her
own costume; she would never dare go out in the street dressed in that
outdacious manner.' 'You are right,' said the notary; 'it is, besides,
respectable to dress in the costume of one's country. She may, then,
remain in her Alsatian dress. 'Come,' said I to Cecily, who, with her
head down, wept continually; 'you must decide, my child; a good place,
in an honest house, is not to be found every day; besides, if you
refuse, you must make your own arrangements; I'll have no more to do
with them.' Then Cecily answered sighing, 'that she consented to
remain; but on condition that if in a fortnight her homesickness
troubled her too much, she might go away.' 'I do not wish to keep you
by force,' said the notary; 'and I am not embarrassed to find
servants. Here is your handsel; your aunt will only have to bring you
to-morrow night.' Cecily had not ceased to weep. I accepted for her
the advance of forty sous from the old screw, and we returned here."
"Very well, Mrs. Pipelet; I do not forget my promise. Here is what I
promised if you should succeed in getting a situation for this girl,
who embarrassed me."
"Wait until to-morrow, my prince of lodgers," said Mrs. Pipelet,
refusing the money; "for, perhaps, he will change his mind when I take
Cecily to him this evening."
"I do not think he will change his mind; but where is she?"
"In the cabinet belonging to M. Robert's apartments; in obedience to
your orders she does not stir from them; she seems as resigned as a
lamb, although she has eyes--oh! what eyes! But, apropos of M. Robert,
isn't he an intriguer? When he came himself to superintend the packing
of his furniture, did he not tell me that if there came any letters
here addressed to Madame Vincent, they were for him, and to send them
to No. 5 Rue Mondovi. He to be addressed under the name of a woman,
the beautiful bird! how cunning it is! But this is not all; did he not
have the impudence to ask me what had become of his wood? 'Your wood!
why not your forest at once?' I answered. Now it is true, for two mean
cart-loads of nothing at all--one of drift and the other new wood, for
he did not buy all new wood--the save-penny made a fuss! His wood? 'I
burned all your wood,' said I, 'to save your furniture from the damp;
otherwise mushrooms would have sprung up on your embroidered cap, and
on your glowworm robe de chambre that you wore so often while you were
waiting for the little lady who quizzed you."
A heavy plaintive groan from Alfred interrupted. "There is my beauty
dreaming, he is going to wake up; you will allow me, my prince of
lodgers?"
"Certainly; I have, besides, some more questions to ask."
"Well! my sweet, how do you feel?" said Mrs. Pipelet to her husband,
opening the curtains; "here is M. Rudolph! he knows the new infamy of
Cabrion: he pities you with all his heart."
"Oh, sir!" said Alfred, turning his head in a languishing manner
toward Rudolph; "this time I shall not get over it; the monster has
stabbed me to the heart. I am the subject of the placards of the
capital; my name can be read on all the walls side by side with this
scoundrel's. 'Pipelet & Cabrion,' with an enormous _and_! I!
united to this infernal blackguard in the eyes of the capital of
Europe!"
"M. Rudolph knows it; but what he does not know is your adventure of
last night with those two strapping women."
"Oh! sir, he kept his most monstrous infamy for the last; this passed
all bounds," said Alfred, in a mournful tone.
"Come, my dear M. Pipelet, relate to me this new misfortune."
"All he had done previously was nothing to this, sir. He succeeded in
his object--thanks to proceedings the most shameful. I do not know if
I have the strength to relate it! confusion and shame will impede me
at each step."
Pipelet being painfully raised in the bed, modestly buttoned up his
flannel waistcoat, and commenced in these terms: "My wide had just
gone out; absorbed in the bitterness caused by the prostitution of my
name written on all the walls of the capital, I sought to distract
myself by endeavoring to sole a boot, twenty times taken up and twenty
times abandoned, thanks to the obstinate persecutions of my tormentor.
I was seated before a table when I saw the door of my lodge open, and
a woman enter. This woman was wrapped in a cloak, with a hood; I arose
politely from my seat, and touched my hat. At this moment, a second
woman, also enveloped in a cloak with a hood, entered my lodge, and
locked the door inside.
"Although astonished at the familiarity of this procedure, and the
silence which the two women preserved, I again rose from my chair, and
again carried my hand to my hat. Then, sir; no, no, I never can--my
modesty revolts."
"Come, Old Modesty, you are among men; go on then!"
"Then," resumed Alfred, becoming crimson, "the mantles fell, and what
did I see? Two species of sirens or nymphs, with no other clothing
than a tunic of leaves, the head also crowned with foliage; I was
petrified. Then they both advanced toward me, extending their arms, if
to invite me to precipitate myself into them."
"The hussies!" said Anastasia.
"The advances of these barefaced individuals revolted me," resumed
Alfred, animated by chaste indignation; "and, following habit, which
never abandons me in the most critical circumstances of my life, I
remained completely immovable on my chair; when, profiting by my
stupor, the two sirens approached me by a kind of slow whirl, spinning
round on their legs, and moving their arms. I became more and more
immovable. They reached me, they twisted their arms around me."
"Twisted their arms around an aged married man! Oh, if I had been
there with my broomstick," cried Anastasia, "I'd have given a cadence,
and spinning of legs to some purpose."
"When I felt myself embraced," continued Alfred, "my blood made one
rush--I was half dead. Then one of the sirens--the boldest, a large,
tall blonde--leaned on my shoulder, raised my hat, and uncovered my
head, all to music, spinning on her legs and moving her arms; then her
accomplice drew a pair of scissors from among the leaves, collected
together an enormous lock of all the hair that remained behind my
head, and cut it off. All, sir, all; always with the spinning around
on her legs; then she said to me, singing, 'It is for Cabrion!' and
the other impudence repeated in chorus, 'It is for Cabrion! It is for
Cabrion!'"
After a pause, accompanied by a grievous sigh, Alfred went on with his
story:
"During this scandalous spoliation, I raised my eyes, and saw looking
through the window of the lodge the infernal face of Cabrion, with his
beard and pointed hat. He laughed, he was hideous! To escape this
odious vision, I shut my eyes. When I opened them again, all had
disappeared. I found myself on my chair, my head uncovered, and
completely devastated! You see, sir, Cabrion has gained his end by
force of cunning, audacity, and obstinacy; and by what means! He
wished to make me pass for his friend; he began by putting up a notice
here that we would carry on a friendly trade together. Not content
with that, at this very moment my name is connected with his on all
the walls of the capital. There is not, at this moment, an inhabitant
of Paris who can have any doubt of my intimacy with this wretch; he
wished some of my hair, he has it; all thanks to the impudent
exactions of these brazen sirens. Now, sir, you must see, there only
remains for me a flight from France--ma belle France! where I thought
to live and die."
Alfred threw himself backward on his bed, and clasped his hands.
"But just the contrary, old darling; now that he has your hair, he
will leave you quiet."
"Leave me quiet!" cried Pipelet, with a convulsive start; "but you do
not know him; he is insatiable. Now who knows what he will next want
from me?"
Rigolette, appearing at the entrance of the lodge, put an end to the
lamentations.
"Do not enter, mademoiselle!" cried Pipelet, faithful to his habits of
chaste susceptibility. "I am in bed." So saying, he drew one of the
sheets to his chin. Rigolette stopped discreetly at the threshold.
"I was just going to see you, neighbor," said Rudolph to her. "Will
you wait one moment?" Then, addressing Anastasia, "Do not forget to
conduct Cecily to-night to M. Ferrand's."
"Be tranquil, my prince of lodgers; at seven o'clock she shall be
installed there. Now that Madame Morel can walk, I will ask her to
stay in the lodge, for Alfred would not, for an empire, remain alone."
The rosy cheeks of Rigolette had become paler and paler; her charming
face, until now so fresh, so round, had lengthened a little; her
piquant countenance, ordinarily so animated and lively, was become
serious and still more sad since the last interview between the
grisette and Fleur-de-Marie at the gate of the prison of Saint Lazare.
"How happy I am to see you, neighbor," said she to Rudolph, when he
came out of the lodge. "I have many things to tell you."
"In the first place, how do you do? Let me look at your pretty face.
Is it still gay and rosy? Alas! no; I find you pale. I am sure you
work too much."
"Oh! no, M. Rudolph; I assure you I am now used to this little
increase of work. What changes me is grief. Every time I see poor
Germain I become still more sad."
"He is then very much depressed?"
"More than ever, M. Rudolph; and what is annoying is, that everything
that I do to console him increases his despondency; it is like a
spell." A tear obscured her large black eyes.
"Explain this to me."
"For instance, yesterday I went to see him to take a book he wished to
have, because it was a romance that we used to read together in our
happy days. At the sight of this book, he burst into tears, which did
not surprise me, it was very natural. Dear memento of our evenings, so
quiet, so pleasant, seated by my stove, in my snug little room, to
compare with this frightful life in prison. Poor Germain! it is very
cruel!"
"Be comforted," said Rudolph to the young girl. "When Germain gets out
of prison, and his innocence is acknowledged, be will find his mother
and friends, and he will soon forget, in their society and yours, the
terrible moments of trial."
"Yes, but until then, M. Rudolph, he is going to be still more
tormented. And besides, this is not all."
"What is there besides?"
"As he is the only honest man among all these bandits, they are
prejudiced against him, because he cannot agree with them. A turnkey,
a very good man, told me to advise Germain, for his own sake, to be
less proud, to try to be a little more familiar with the men; but he
cannot. They are stronger than he is, and I fear that some day they
will injure him." Then, suddenly, interrupting herself, she said,
drying her tears, "But see now, I only think of myself, and forget to
speak to you about La Goualeuse."
"La Goualeuse?" said Rudolph, with surprise.
"The day before yesterday, on going to see Louise at Saint Lazare, I
met her."
"The Goualeuse?"
"Yes, M. Rudolph."
"In Saint Lazare?"
"She came out with an old lady."
"It is impossible!" cried Rudolph, astonished.
"I assure you it was she, neighbor."
"You must be mistaken."
"No, no; although she was dressed as a peasant girl, I knew her at
once. She is still very handsome, although pale; and she has the same
soft, melancholy manner as formerly."
"Come to Paris without my knowledge! I cannot believe it. What was she
doing at Saint Lazare?"
"The same as I was; visiting a prisoner, doubtless. I had no time to
ask more questions; the old woman who accompanied her had such a cross
look, and was in such a hurry. So you know La Goualeuse also, M.
Rudolph?"
"Certainly."
"Then, there is no more doubt that it is you of whom she spoke."
"Of me?"
"Yes. I related to her the misfortunes of Louise and Germain, both so
good, so virtuous, and so persecuted by that villain Jacques Ferrand,
taking care not to tell what you forbid, that you interested yourself
in them; then La Goualeuse told me that if a generous person whom she
knew was informed of the unhappy and undeserved fate of my poor
prisoners, he would certainly come to their assistance. I asked the
name of this person, and she named you, M. Rudolph."
"It is she, it is she!"
"You may suppose that we were both much astonished at this discovery,
or resemblance of names. We promised to write if our Rudolph was the
same person. And it appears that you are the same, M. Rudolph."
"Yes. I have also interested myself for this poor child. But what you
have told me of her presence in Paris surprises me so much that if you
had not given me so many details of your interview with her, I should
have persisted in believing that you were mistaken. But, adieu,
neighbor; what you have just told me about La Goualeuse obliges me to
leave you. Remain still reserved toward Louise and Germain as regards
the protection of unknown friends. This secrecy is more necessary than
ever. Apropos, how are the Morel family?"
"Better and better, M. Rudolph. The mother is on her feet again; the
children improve daily. All owe their life to you--their happiness.
You are so generous to them!"
"And how is poor Morel?"
"Better. I had news from him yesterday. He seems occasionally to have
some lucid moments; there is great hope of restoring him to reason."
"Come, courage: I shall soon see you again. Have you need of anything?
Do you still earn enough to support yourself?"
"Oh, yes, M. Rudolph; I take a little from my hours of rest, and it is
not much damage for I hardly sleep now."
"Alas! my poor little neighbor, I much fear that Papa Cretu and
Ramonette will not sing much more if they wait for you to begin."
"You are not mistaken, M. Rudolph; my birds and I sing no more, for--
now you are going to laugh! well, it seems to me that they comprehend
that I am sad; yes, instead of warbling gayly when I arrive, they
utter such low, plaintive notes, that they appear to wish to console
me. I am foolish to believe this, am I not, M. Rudolph?"
"Not at all: I am sure that your good friends, the birds, love you too
much not to perceive your sorrow."
"Really, the poor little things are so intelligent!" said Rigolette,
naively, much satisfied at being assured of the sagacity of the
companions of her solitude.
"Without doubt, nothing is more intelligent than gratitude. Come, once
more, adieu. Soon, neighbor, I hope your pretty eyes will become
sparkling, your cheeks very rosy, and your songs so gay--so gay--that
Papa Cretu and Ramonette will hardly be able to follow you."
"May what you have said be true, M. Rudolph," answered Rigolette, with
a heavy sigh. "Good-bye!"
"Good-bye, for the present!"
Rudolph could not comprehend how Madame George had, without advising
him, sent or brought Fleur-de-Marie to Paris; he returned home, to
send an express to the farm at Bouqueval. The moment he entered the
Rue de Plumet, he saw a postchaise stop before the door of the hotel;
it was Murphy, who had just returned from Normandy. The squire had
gone there, as we have stated, to unmask the sinister projects of the
step-mother of Madame d'Harville, and Bradamanti, her accomplice.