Part 24

"Yes; but when I arrive, I shall begin by saying: 'I adore the odor of rose! I have lately bought some essence of rose, so strong that all my clothes are perfumed with it'--In that way, I avert suspicion from my gloves. However, it seems that the new process is a success. My sentimental Satiné is in funds; the odor of rose is popular. For my part, I have had a few patients--among others, a rich old gentleman with whom I am very well satisfied; he has had an inflammation of the lungs for six weeks, and it doesn't seem inclined to subside. I keep it up by means of fumigations. I have paid three creditors already with that inflammation. To-day, as I happened to be in your neighborhood, I said to myself: 'I may as well call on Rochebrune and give him my address;' for I have an address for the moment. Cité Vindé, No. 4, _ter_ or _bis_. But I'm very sorry that I put that young woman to flight. Have I such a very terrifying aspect? I haven't any moustache."

"I repeat, Balloquet, don't think any more of that incident. You could not have foreseen what happened.--But tell me about that girl who came to consult you while I was in your room; you remember, don't you? the girl who had been so maltreated by a miserable blackguard!"

Balloquet passed his hand across his brow and his face became almost serious--a rare occurrence.

"Yes, I remember; you mean Annette?"

"Annette--that was the name. You went to see her, didn't you?"

"Yes, I visited her nearly two months."

"And then?"

"And then happened what I had anticipated from the very first: she died."

"Died! Great God! you could not save her?"

"It was impossible. All that I could do was to relieve her suffering as much as possible. Poor girl! she suffered too much, even then. A cancer developed, you understand, at that place. I say again, I deadened the pain as much as I could, but it was impossible to save her."

"It is perfectly ghastly. So the unfortunate child was tortured--yes, murdered by that---- Oh! the infernal scoundrel! the monster!"

"Yes, it was that Bouqueton who caused the poor girl's death; I am ready to testify to it, if necessary. But you told me, I believe, that you know the villain?"

"I don't know him, but I know who he is."

"Well, is there no way of avenging the poor creature, of punishing her assassin?--for the man is an assassin, and a hundred times more criminal than those who ply their trade openly on the highroad. If we prosecuted him before the courts, we should have no chance of proving his crime, I fancy. The victim is dead, and there is no evidence. I asked her several times if she had not some letter, or something that came from that Bouqueton; it would have been invaluable. But all that she had was a paltry ring, of no value, not even gold, which he gave her one day as being very valuable."

"Have you seen the ring?"

"Yes; I asked Annette for it several days before she died. The poor child, who had divined her doom, although I did my best to conceal it from her, gave me the bauble, and said with angelic gentleness: 'You may intend to search for the man who injured me so, and punish him; but it isn't worth while, monsieur; after all, I have only received the reward of my misconduct. If I hadn't left my parents to lead a disorderly life, this thing wouldn't have happened to me. I see that I've got to die, but I forgive the man who caused my death."

"Poor Annette!"

"I concealed my intentions from her, but I took the ring. It's all right for the victim to forgive--but our duty is to punish. This is the ring, Rochebrune."

Balloquet took from his pocket a little gold-plated ring, with several colored stones of no value set in the form of a star; its only merit was that it was easily identified by its oddity and its ugliness. I took possession of it eagerly, crying:

"Leave it with me, my friend; let me keep it, I beg you; it will help me some day to avenge poor Annette."

"With all my heart. But I say again, try to let me have a share in the vengeance; don't forget me when the time comes. I saw the victim die, and I should enjoy seeing the murderer punished."

"I promise to let you know at once, when the time comes; and if I need you to help me----"

"Sapristi! I will be on hand then, even if I am pursued by creditors! But my affairs will be settled in due time. Au revoir, my dear fellow! The next time I come to see you, I'll wear a pair of my essence of rose gloves, so that you can tell your friends and acquaintances about them."

Balloquet shook hands with me and took his leave; and I carefully put poor Annette's ring away in my desk.

XXXI

DISAPPOINTED HOPES

Annette's death and Mignonne's unjust suspicions of me left me in a melancholy mood; and when, as sometimes happened, Madame Sordeville's conduct came to my mind, it did not tend to restore my self-contentment. I was not precisely unhappy, but I was disgusted to think that I had so misplaced my affections; and, more than all, I craved other affection. Can a man live without love, at thirty years? Indeed, I believe, with Voltaire, that love is necessary at every age, and that it is love that sustains us.

I was in this frame of mind when Madame Potrelle appeared. The good woman began with her usual profusion of reverences, and with an abundance of apologies for the abrupt manner of her departure on the occasion of her last visit; but she hoped that I bore her no ill will therefor.

I reassured her, and asked if she was sent by Madame Landernoy.

"Oh, no, monsieur! she didn't send me--that is to say, not exactly; but she knows I've come. I'll bet she's waiting impatiently for my return; and yet, worse luck! she won't listen to a word about you; she won't work for you; she wouldn't put her foot inside your door for--I don't know what! She's wrong; I'm perfectly sure she's doing wrong, and that she's mistaken in what she thinks about you. So I came to tell you what it was that frightened her, what turned her head."

"I suspect what it was, Madame Potrelle. But, no matter, tell me what you know."

"In the first place, monsieur, as I told you, when she came back from buying provisions a week or two ago, my young tenant rushed into my place, frightened to death, and singing out: 'Protect me! don't let him come in!'"

"Yes; and afterward a middle-aged man offered you ten francs to let him go up to Madame Landernoy's room."

"Yes, monsieur; but that last one was just one of the men who are always following women. But, for all that, it seems he was in earnest, and he watched her a long while after, poor child. When men are--on my word, they're worse'n tomcats. Excuse the comparison, monsieur; I don't mean that for you."

"Let us come to what you had to tell me, Madame Potrelle."

"You see, a woman ends by getting confused with all these blackguards. _Dame!_ she's got to be so pretty again! I didn't lie to you about that, did I, monsieur?"

"Your tenant is very good-looking. Above all, she has an interesting, respectable look, which ought to protect her from the schemes of seekers after adventures."

"Oh, no! not at all, monsieur; just the opposite! Libertines run after virtuous women most of all. They want 'em! they must have 'em! 'Ah!' they'll say; 'there's one that's never gone wrong; I'll just push her down into perdition.'--Excuse me; I'll come back to the point. The other day, when Madame Landernoy went out of here like a rocket, I ran after her, and, _dame!_ as I didn't think she'd done right, I asked her to explain herself; and this is what she said, word for word: 'I was right in not having confidence in Monsieur Rochebrune; I recognized that young man who just came in as a friend of my seducer, of the man who wasn't content with deserting me, but tried to cover me with shame. Now, nothing will take away my idea that Monsieur Rochebrune is one of Ernest's friends, too. How do I know that they are not planning some trap that they mean to lead me into? When I came home in such a fright two or three days ago, it was because I'd met that horrible Rambertin--the man who conceived and carried out the most outrageous treachery! And that man ran after me and dared to talk to me again about his passion! No, Madame Potrelle, I won't go to Monsieur Rochebrune's again, and I won't work for him; for all that he's doing for me isn't natural. Besides, I am sure now that he has seen Ernest, and that's enough to make me feel something worse than fear of him.'--Those are Madame Landernoy's very words, monsieur. I stood up for you; I told her that it wasn't possible that you had any hand in wicked schemes against her; and that I'd put my hand in the fire to prove it--and so I would!"

"I thank you for your good opinion of me, Madame Potrelle, and I assure you that I deserve it in this matter."

"Oh! I don't doubt it, monsieur. But the young woman's got that idea in her brain, and there's no way to get it out. But something came into my head, and I told her of it. 'You think,' I says, 'that Monsieur Rochebrune's a friend of your seducer, and you think it's strange he should take so much interest in you and pay you more for your work than it's worth. But how do you know Monsieur Ernest hasn't repented of the way he's treated you? After all, he's the father of your little girl; how do you know but what he's thinking about her, and wants her to have everything she needs?'--That seemed to strike her; she thought a long while, and then she says: 'Oh, no! no! when a man has tried to cover an unhappy mother with shame, he don't repent! his heart is closed to every honest feeling, and he never remembers that he has a child. And yet, if by any chance--if you have guessed right---- But, no, I can't believe it, it isn't possible!'--At that, monsieur, I saw that in the bottom of her heart she thought I had guessed right; so I says to her: 'Well! I'll just go to Monsieur Rochebrune, and ask him flat-footed how it is, and I'm sure he'll answer me honest.'--So I started off, monsieur, and here I am."

"You did well, madame, to believe that I would answer you frankly. You may repeat what I am going to tell you to Mignonne--that is her Christian name, and she will understand now how I know it.--I do know Monsieur Ernest Fouvenard; he has never been a friend of mine; and if he had been, his treatment of your tenant, of which he dared to boast in my presence, would have been enough to put an end to our friendship. In fact, that is just what has happened between him and the young man whom you saw here. He was intimate with Monsieur Ernest; he broke with him entirely as soon as he learned of this outrageous performance of his. I was profoundly interested by Mignonne's misfortunes; and that interest was absolutely pure, as I did not then know her. I understand why she looked upon me at first with suspicion; when one has been so shamefully betrayed, it is natural to suspect evil designs in the most innocent actions. I saw your young tenant, and I did not fall in love with her--not even after she recovered her beauty. But she aroused the liveliest interest in me, and it would have been a very pleasant task to me to make her lot easier. That is the whole truth; I hope that Mignonne will deign to believe it. As a general rule, men are evil-minded; but there are still some who do good solely for the pleasure of doing it; the exception proves the rule."

"I believe you, monsieur; oh, yes! I believe you," said the concierge, sadly; "but I am sorry that I didn't guess right. I wish that miserable Monsieur Ernest had thought of his child. Whatever she may say, I am sure the poor mother would have been pleased in the bottom of her heart."

"I am not enough of a hero, Madame Potrelle, to give credit to another for the little good I am able to do; besides, when that other is a miserable wretch, a dastard, who prides himself on his infamous conduct, it seems to me that it would be nothing less than downright fraud to give him credit for acts which would imply that his heart was not devoid of every worthy feeling. Mignonne was right in thinking that the man who would have covered an unhappy mother with opprobrium is not capable of repentance. Your supposition was born of a kind heart; but Monsieur Ernest has one that is rotten to the core, and with such hearts there is no resource. Now, I have told you the whole truth; Mignonne will believe me or not; I cannot help myself. But if she does change her opinion with regard to me, tell her that I bear no malice, and that the work I offered her will still be at her disposal."

I dismissed the concierge. Let Mignonne think and do what she chose, I had done all that I could to help her. I neither could nor ought to go any further.

The spring had returned, and one fine day I had left home thinking of Madame Dauberny, whom I would have given all the world to meet, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, and recognized my former acquaintance, Baron von Brunzbrack.

"How in der teufel are you?" said the baron, taking my hand.

"Ah! is it you, Monsieur de Brunzbrack? I am delighted to meet you. Do you know that it is more than six months since we met?"

"Ja, I know id veil; but I could not meed you no more, pecause--you know pecause vhy?"

"What do I know? Assume that I do not know--I shall be much obliged."

"Pecause I no longer go to Monsir Sordeville."

"Ah! you no longer go there? Faith! I had no means of knowing that, for the very simple reason that I myself have not put my foot inside that door since--yes, since the night we played baccarat together, against Madame Dauberny."

"Ten you pe like me. Te loafely voman, she vill haf varned us poth."

"Warned---- Who, pray?"

"Te loafely Frédérique."

"Ah! so Madame Dauberny suggested to you too not to go to Madame Sordeville's, did she?"

"Ja! I haf one day received from her ein leedle note, vich I haf alvays keep, pecause I vas much bleezed to receive tat note vich she haf write herself. You shall see; I haf id alvays on my heart, in my cigar case."

And the baron, taking a dainty cigar case from his pocket, produced a small folded paper that smelt horribly of tobacco; luckily, the tobacco was of the best quality.

He opened the letter and handed it to me, but did not let it leave his own hands. I recognized Frédérique's hand, and I read:

"MY DEAR BARON:

"Do you care for my advice? Do not go to Monsieur Sordeville's any more. I say this in your own interest. Later, perhaps, I shall be able to explain my reasons. /* "Yours devotedly,

"FRÉDÉRIQUE DAUBERNY."

I could not restrain a sort of shudder as I read the last name, and reflected that such a woman as Frédérique was that man's wife. Suppose that she knew what he was doing! But, no; she would do something imprudent; it was better that she should not know that story until Annette was avenged.

The baron carefully replaced the letter in his cigar case, and restored the latter to his pocket, saying:

"Vhen I haf tat note received, I vas mad mit choy. I pelieved tat te Frédérique, she vas chealous of some voman who vent to Monsir Sordeville, berhaps of Montame Sordeville herself. Ha! ha! ha!"

"Did you follow the advice she gave you?"

"Ach! _pigre!_ I vould haf no more gone to Sordeville's for ein embire! But I haf called often to see Montame Dauberny; I haf hard luck; she pe nefer in! I haf not pin aple to meed her. And you, mein gut frent?"

"I received the same advice from Madame Dauberny."

"And you opeyed, like me?"

"Not instantly; I went once more to see Madame Sordeville, but in the afternoon."

"Ach! gut! gut!"

"Indeed, I expected to see her often; but an unforeseen event changed all my plans. I have not been there since, and I shall never go again."

"Ach! gut! gut! Is id also to do Montame Dauberny's vish?"

"Not at all; it is for another reason, which I cannot tell you."

"Gut! gut! I no untershtand. You must not--you must not shtill pe in loafe mit te peautiful Frédérique?"

"Mon Dieu! no, my dear baron! When could I have fallen in love with her, pray? I never see her; I never meet her."

"Gif me your hand, mein frent."

"And yet, I confess that I have the greatest desire to see her and speak with her."

"Ach, ja! I untershtand; and so haf I; to ask her vhy she haf forbid us to go to te Sordevilles."

"I should not be sorry to know that. But I want to talk to her about something which interests me more."

The baron drew back with a frown, and muttered:

"You haf a teclaration to make to her--in secret--mit mystery!"

"Sapristi! you are infernally tenacious in your ideas, baron. Once more, there is no question of a declaration! Why on earth have you taken it into your head that I am likely to fall in love with Madame Dauberny? Would it please you very much if I should?"

"Ach! no! no! Gif me your hand, mein frent; I haf pin wrong. I am one pig fool!"

The baron was still holding my hand, when a calèche stopped beside us and a voice said:

"Would you like to take a short drive with me, messieurs?"

We looked up and recognized Madame Dauberny, alone in an open calèche. Herr von Brunzbrack turned crimson with pleasure; for my part, I was well pleased to have met Frédérique at last.

"Faith! madame," said I, "the baron and I were just talking of you."

"Ja, loafely lady; ve haf pin talking of you."

"I suspected as much; that is why I stopped. Well, messieurs, wouldn't you rather talk with me than confine yourselves to talking about me?"

Our only reply was to enter the carriage without more ado. I seated myself opposite Frédérique, the baron by her side, and we drove away.

XXXII

A REVELATION

Unless by keeping my eyes constantly lowered, I could not avoid looking often at Frédérique; and as I had no reason to lower my eyes, and, moreover, as I had always taken pleasure in looking at her, I was able at that moment to enjoy that pleasure to the full.

Madame Dauberny was always dressed in good taste; that morning she wore a gray silk gown, cut very high, which was wonderfully becoming to her. But, after all, is it not rather the wearer who embellishes the gown? For example: I had often noticed that Frédérique's waists fitted her to perfection, and I had rarely noticed that fact in other women. Was it not because Frédérique had a beautiful figure?

I was overjoyed to see that Madame Dauberny's face no longer wore that cold, stern expression which she had formerly adopted with me. Her face was entirely different; I could not say what it expressed, because, although she looked at me often, she never fixed her eyes on mine; but they shone with a brilliancy I had never before seen in them; they were at once softer and merrier than of old; they no longer had, for the moment at least, that ironical or severe expression to which I had once become accustomed.

The baron, who seemed enchanted at first to be at Frédérique's side, soon began, I think, to be sorry that he was not where I was. He constantly leaned forward, trying to see Frédérique's face; but she wore a broad-brimmed gray felt hat, and when the baron leaned forward to speak to her she always turned her head, apparently in a spirit of mischief, so that he could not have the pleasure of looking at her.

"I am very glad to have met you, messieurs," said Frédérique; "in the first place, because it gives me the greatest pleasure to see you--both."

That _both_ she said in a curious tone, and accompanied it with a glance in my direction. I had sufficient conceit to believe, after all, that she still preferred my company to the baron's.

"In the second place, messieurs, I owe you an explanation for the letters I wrote you on the subject of Monsieur Sordeville; for I referred to him solely, and not to his wife, when I urged you to break off your relations with that household. Monsieur Rochebrune paid little heed to my advice.--I do not blame you, monsieur; besides, Armantine is my friend, and, as I have told you before, I have no desire to injure her in your esteem. If her husband is a scoundrel, I believe you to be just enough not to include his wife in the contempt which that man must inspire."

"Go on, madame; what is his business?"

"Haf he made ein pankrupt?"

"Oh! if it were no worse than that! But, in the first place, Monsieur Sordeville was neither banker, nor merchant, nor solicitor; he was nothing, and pretended to be everything. That strange state of affairs aroused my curiosity more than once, especially as he gave parties, lived handsomely, made a good deal of show, and yet he was not known to have any fortune, and Armantine's dowry was very, very small. There is one point upon which I have always liked to be well posted, and that is, the means of existence of the people with whom I associate. Indeed, how much confidence can one have in those who spend a great deal and earn nothing?

"I had several times been tempted to say a word of warning to Armantine on that subject; but she did not trouble herself in the least about her husband's business, and had unbounded faith in what he told her. She led such a life as she liked; for her husband left her entirely at liberty to do just what she chose, and seemed happy to be the husband of a charming woman, only because she attracted numerous guests to his house. You will agree that it would have been horrible to disturb Armantine's peace of mind by giving her a hint of my suspicions; she would have spurned them with horror. Poor woman! More than once, I said to myself that I was a fool, that my ideas were an insult to Monsieur Sordeville; and not until I had learned of several facts that confirmed my suspicions, did I feel absolutely certain of the truth."

"Not yet do I know vat is te trut," muttered the baron, craning his neck in an attempt to see his neighbor's lovely eyes.

"Ah! Monsieur de Brunzbrack, there are some things that are so hard, so painful, to say! Listen: about a year ago, a young man attached to the Dutch legation was suddenly dismissed, without the slightest explanation of his disgrace. He had been an habitué of Monsieur Sordeville's salon for two months. A clerk in the War Department lost his place--no reason assigned. But he, too, had attended Monsieur Sordeville's receptions. And you yourself, baron--did not your ambassador thank you and request you never to set foot in his offices again?"

"Ja! Te ambassador, he haf say to me: 'You talk too much! You haf divulzhe te secrets of te cabinet.'--I haf not untershtand, but id vas all one to me; I haf not care for my blace."

"How is it with you, Monsieur Rochebrune? do you begin to understand?"

"In truth, madame, I fear that I do; but I dare not say as yet."

"Well, monsieur, the young attaché of the Dutch legation had been lured on by Monsieur Sordeville to talk foolishly about certain plans of his government.--You did the same, baron, unwittingly perhaps; that man was so clever at making people talk about what he wanted to find out! As for the young clerk, he had tattled about certain peculiarities of his superiors, and Monsieur Sordeville took care that they were informed. In a word, Monsieur Sordeville was connected with the secret police. That is what I dared not believe at first, what I was determined to have the proof of, if it were true. I never hesitate when the honor of a friend, the safety and the future of people I love, are at stake. I had once rendered a slight service to a person who is employed in the police bureau to-day, but in a position which he can afford to avow; that person had begged me to give him an opportunity to show his gratitude, and I said to him: 'The opportunity has come; find out for me what Monsieur Sordeville's position is.' I speedily received a reply containing these words only: 'Connected with the secret police.'"

"_Sapremann!_" cried the baron; "I am sorry tat I haf talk mit him! Vat! tat so bolite monsir--he vas ein shpy! Ach! I am shtubefied!"