Part 12

"The least that I can do is to reveal all my secrets to you now; there must be no more secrets between us. I felt drawn toward you the first moment that I knew you. There are, I have no question, certain bonds of sympathy which we cannot understand, but which draw us toward those whom we are destined to love. But at that time you were engrossed by Armantine. Remember that I refused to allow you to call on me. I had no idea that you would fall in love with me, but I felt that your presence would be dangerous to me. I saw you again at Armantine's, depressed and disheartened by her coquetry; I determined to console you by offering you my friendship; I was acting in perfect good faith then, I proposed to be your friend and nothing more--when that kiss that you gave me while I was pretending to doze, that kiss which set my whole being on fire, proved to me that I had other sentiments for you than those of a friend. But you loved Armantine; I did not choose to be simply a passing caprice to you, so it was necessary to break off our relations altogether. And that is what I did, without ceasing for an instant to think of you. Later, I learned what Monsieur Sordeville was, and I lost no time in urging you not to go again to his house; you did not follow my advice, being still in love with Armantine.--Then came the scene on the Champs-Élysées; I had had nothing to do with bringing it about; but I am too honest not to confess that her treatment of you gave me some little hope. We met again, and again I offered you my friendship; but I had much difficulty in concealing the true state of my heart. Your liaison with Rosette made me unhappy, but I soon realized that it was not love. When I saw that other attractive and interesting young woman in your rooms, fresh torments assailed me, and I was very happy when you consented to go away from Mignonne. Finally, at Fontenay my secret was at my tongue's end every day; for I fancied that your eyes expressed something different from friendship. Then we fell in with Armantine again, and she recommenced her coquetries with you. Ah! that was too much! I no longer had the strength to carry on the struggle; I came away, fully determined to part from you forever. But you would not have it so; it is I whom you love. Ah! my friend, my bliss at this moment more than makes up for all the torture I have endured!"

For more than an hour we abandoned ourselves to the ecstatic joy of two hearts which for the first time have declared their mutual love. But suddenly Frédérique's brow darkened, and she looked sadly into my face, crying:

"Mon Dieu! my happiness has made me forget. It is not a dream--you are to fight to-morrow!"

"Yes, I am to fight to-morrow, at ten o'clock. But that fact cannot prevent my being the happiest of men to-night."

"Is there no way of enjoying perfect happiness on earth? I was so happy, so happy! And you are to fight to-morrow!"

"I shall be the victor, and I shall have avenged you! My happiness will be even greater--if that is possible!"

"Oh! yes, yes, we must hope so! With what weapons do you fight?"

"Swords."

"Ah! Saint-Bergame chose that weapon, of course. I have often heard him boast of his fine swordsmanship."

"I struck him, so he had the choice of weapons."

"True; but are you a good fencer?"

"I know how to defend myself."

"We will see about that."

She left me and went into her dressing-room, whence she soon returned with a pair of buttoned foils and handed one to me.

"Let us see, my friend, if you really know how to defend yourself," she said.

"What! can you handle a sword?"

"Very well, according to Grisier, who was my teacher. Didn't I tell you that I received a man's education? Come, monsieur, on guard, and look out for yourself!"

I took the foil. I thought, at first, that all I needed to do was to parry carelessly a thrust or two. But Frédérique soon undeceived me; she was sharp and persistent in attack, quick in parrying. Twice I was touched, and she exclaimed:

"Ah! so that's how you defend yourself, is it? Why, poor fellow, you will let him kill you! Attack--attack, I say!"

These words recalled me to myself; my self-esteem was aroused. We continued for some time, and at last I touched her. She dropped her foil and embraced me, saying:

"That's all right! that will do! But you must be careful; you must not be taken unawares. Whom shall you have with you to-morrow?"

"You remind me. I shall get Balloquet. I can rely upon him, and I must go this evening and leave a letter for him. But I must have another second. Those fellows insist on having three on a side. Whom in the devil shall I get?"

"Don't cudgel your brains, my friend. Your other second will be at your rooms at nine o'clock to-morrow."

"Do you know of someone?"

"Yes."

"Ah! I'll wager that you are thinking of Baron von Brunzbrack?"

"Perhaps so. However, I'll be responsible for your second. Now, write to Balloquet at once. Do you know the long-bearded individual who was with Saint-Bergame?"

"Oh! yes, I know him! And if I could fight with him too, it would be an additional gratification."

"Why, what has he done to you?"

"Nothing to me. But I told you, did I not, that Mignonne was vilely insulted and then abandoned by her seducer? Well, it was that dastard, that low-lived scoundrel, that Fouvenard, in short, who was with Saint-Bergame at the Opéra this evening."

"Go, my friend, and carry the note to Balloquet; make sure of him, and I will answer for the other second. Then go home and rest. Until to-morrow!"

"You will come to my rooms to learn the result of the duel?"

"Yes, you will see me. Until to-morrow!"

I pressed her to my heart. I was proud of her courage. She continued to smile as she looked after me. I found Balloquet's abode, not without difficulty, gave my letter to the concierge, and went home to bed. She loved me! I was so happy, that I had not a thought to spare for my duel.

XLIX

A DOUBLE DUEL

I woke early. It seemed to me that the events of the preceding night were a dream. But, no--she loved me, she was mine, and I was to fight a duel!

At half-past eight, Balloquet arrived, all out of breath.

"What's up, my dear Rochebrune?" he cried. "You wrote me not to fail you, to drop everything--and here I am! Is there a duel on the carpet, by any chance?"

"Just that! I have a duel on hand for this morning, at ten o'clock, at Porte Maillot. I tell you beforehand, my dear Balloquet, that the affair cannot be adjusted; I struck my opponent at the Opéra last night."

"The devil! it's a serious business, then. What caused the quarrel?"

"It is about a lady, my friend."

"A lady! I understand! that is to say, it's for her lovely eyes."

"If I should tell you her name, I'll be bound that you also would fight for her."

"Oho! do I know her, pray?"

"Madame Dauberny."

"Madame Dauberny! _Fichtre!_ But, tell me, are you in love with her now?"

"I have always been, my dear Balloquet; but I dared not confess it to myself, or tell her, for fear I should be repulsed."

"Like me! But it would seem that you haven't been repulsed. I was in love with her for a moment, after a good dinner. She sent me about my business, and I haven't given her a thought for a long time. But I am none the less enchanted that you have chosen me for your second. She's a charming woman, and, although she didn't listen to my nonsense, 'pon my honor! I'd be very glad to fight for her."

"Give me your hand, Balloquet. I expected nothing less from you."

"What is the weapon?"

"The sword."

"Have you one?"

"Yes; here it is."

"Are there to be only we two?"

"I am expecting my other second."

"Who is he?"

"Frédérique has undertaken to send him to me. I fancy that it will be a certain Prussian baron, an excellent and honorable man."

I had finished dressing just as the clock struck nine. I was already beginning to fret over the baron's non-appearance, when my door opened and a slender, graceful young man, of most attractive aspect, stood before us. I looked at him several times, before I exclaimed:

"Frédérique!"

"Myself, my friend."

"What's that? Why, yes, on my word, it's Madame Dauberny!"

"Why are you in this disguise?"

"What! can't you guess? I am your other second."

"You! Can you think of such a thing, Frédérique?"

"I thought of it instantly, when I knew that you were going to fight for me."

"But it's impossible! A woman cannot act as second. I cannot consent to it.--Isn't that so, Balloquet?"

"It certainly isn't customary, and----"

"Listen, messieurs: I have but one reply to make--I propose to do it! If you don't take me with you, I will follow you and be there, all the same. All argument is useless. I propose to be your second."

"But my adversary's seconds will laugh when they see a woman."

"Never fear, they won't laugh long. But let us go, messieurs; we must not keep them waiting. I have a cab below."

I saw that it was useless for me to try to change Frédérique's resolution. We started. I took my sword; but I found a pair of foils without buttons in the cab. Frédérique had thought of everything. We talked little on the way. However brave we may be, we are always assailed by a multitude of reflections when about to fight a duel.

We reached the rendezvous. Saint-Bergame was already there, with Fouvenard and a little man who did not seem to enjoy the occasion at all. I went forward first, apologizing for my delay. Balloquet was behind me, and Frédérique a little farther back.

Saint-Bergame simply bowed and walked away, saying:

"Let us look for a suitable spot."

The little man suggested that we might fight behind the restaurant.

Fouvenard recognized Balloquet, and they exchanged a formal bow. We went into the woods, and in a few moments came to a small cleared space. I removed my coat, and Saint-Bergame did the same. Then Frédérique came forward with the foils, and my opponent at once exclaimed:

"What is this? Is Madame Dauberny one of your seconds?"

"Yes, monsieur," replied Frédérique, with dignity; "for if Charles and his friend do not avenge me, then I will avenge myself."

Saint-Bergame indulged in mocking laughter, and Monsieur Fouvenard deemed it fitting to join him.

"Ha! ha!" he said; "a woman for second! Why, this is charming! I would be glad to cross swords with the lady myself."

"Well! so you shall, if you're not a coward," retorted Frédérique, offering him one of her foils.

He was still pleased to jest and draw back, saying:

"Nonsense! I would with pleasure, if it were a fan; but a foil--my dear lady, you wouldn't know how to handle that!"

"Indeed! I shouldn't know how to handle it?"

As she spoke, Frédérique laid her foil across Fouvenard's face, leaving a red mark which seemed to cut it in two. The bearded man flew into a rage; he seized the weapon she offered him, exclaiming:

"I no longer recognize your sex, and I will not spare you."

"And I will avenge my sex, and poor Mignonne!"

At the name of Mignonne, Fouvenard turned pale; but he prepared for the combat. Balloquet proposed to the little man that they should imitate us; he declined, saying that he considered it ridiculous for seconds to fight.

When I saw Frédérique cross swords with Fouvenard, I shuddered; I trembled for her safety.

"Come on, monsieur," said Saint-Bergame; "I didn't come here to admire madame's prowess; on guard!"

His words recalled me to myself. We began to fight. Saint-Bergame attacked me with violence. While defending myself, I listened to the other combatants. I fancied that Fouvenard uttered a cry of triumph. My adversary made the most of my distraction; I received a thrust which passed through the upper part of my left arm. That wound irritated, exasperated me; I attacked Saint-Bergame fiercely, and he soon fell at my feet; my sword had entered his breast.

I turned and looked for Frédérique. She had not been fighting for some time; in a few seconds, she had knocked Fouvenard's sword from his hand and wounded him in the side. He fell on the turf, and although his wound was trifling he had declined to fight any more.

The little man went to call one of the cabs. Balloquet assisted in placing Saint-Bergame inside, and he was so seriously wounded that the young doctor thought it best to accompany him and his seconds. I returned to Paris alone with Frédérique, who twisted a handkerchief round my arm and begged Balloquet to come to us as soon as possible.

In the cab, she put her arm around my neck, and insisted that I should rest my head on her shoulder. She gazed at me, gazed at me incessantly. Dear Frédérique! it seemed to me that we loved each other all the more dearly from having just escaped a great danger.

When we reached my lodgings, we found no one there but Pomponne, who wept when he saw that I was wounded. I had much difficulty in making him understand that it amounted to nothing. I lay on a couch; Frédérique seated herself beside me and made lint, expressing surprise at Mignonne's absence; for she relied upon her to nurse me zealously when she should be obliged to leave me. In about three-quarters of an hour Balloquet arrived.

"Monsieur Saint-Bergame is in for a long siege," he said, "if he escapes at all. He has his own surgeon, so I left him. As for Fouvenard, he will be all right in a fortnight; but what irritates him most is that blow across the face with the flat of the foil. That was so well laid on, that it is probable that our seducer will carry the mark of it all his life. _Fichtre!_ madame, there's some strength in your hand!"

"Now, Monsieur Balloquet, please examine Charles."

Balloquet looked at my wound and dressed it, declared that there was not the slightest danger to be apprehended, but that it would be as well for me to keep my bed for a few days. I was about to obey my doctor, albeit with regret, when the doorbell rang violently. I supposed that it was Mignonne; but Ballangier appeared, pale as death and so excited that he could hardly speak.

"In heaven's name, what's the matter?" I asked; "what has happened?"

"Ah! a terrible misfortune, a---- Mon Dieu! are you wounded?"

"It's almost nothing. Pray go on."

"You urged me yesterday to watch over Mignonne. When I left you, as I was still disturbed by what you had said, I walked in the direction of her home. When I reached Rue Ménilmontant, although I was persuaded that Mignonne had not gone out, as she had not been at your rooms at all that day, something impelled me to go and ask the concierge. 'Madame Landernoy isn't in,' she said; 'she went out this morning to go and work at Monsieur Rochebrune's, on Rue Bleue, as usual.'--I knew that she hadn't been here, so you can imagine my anxiety. I told that to the concierge. She shared my uneasiness. We waited. The evening passed, and the night, and Mignonne did not return. This morning I went to Père-Lachaise, where Mignonne often goes to visit her little girl's grave. I inquired there. The gate-keeper said that he did see her yesterday morning; he knows her well, she has such a gentle, courteous way! After passing half an hour, as usual, at her daughter's grave, she went away--to come here, no doubt. But since then she hasn't been seen."

"Mon Dieu!" cried Frédérique; "what can have happened to her?"

"What has happened to her!" cried Ballangier, clenching his fists frantically; "ah! I suspect, and so does Charles! There's a man--a vile scoundrel--who looks respectable, unfortunately; he's been watching Mignonne a long while. I thrashed him some time ago, but it seems that that didn't sicken him. I ought to have killed him then and there! When you come away from Père-Lachaise toward Paris, there are some deserted streets, nothing more than alleyways, where you don't meet anyone even in broad daylight. We don't know which streets Mignonne usually took, but he knew, no doubt; he must have been on the watch for her and abducted her, forced her into a cab. Here in Paris, with a little money one can always find a hundred vagabonds, miserable wretches, who are ready to do any rascally thing. It must be the man we met last night who has carried Mignonne off--it can't be anyone else; and you remember, Charles, when I pointed him out to you, how he was sneaking along, looking furtively on all sides, as if to see whether anyone was following him. And when he saw that you were looking at him, he scuttled away fast Oh! to think that if I had followed him then, I should know where Mignonne is! For he was going to her, I am sure of it! But you know the man, Charles; you told me last night that you knew him; you said: 'The day of reckoning must come some time.'--So tell me who he is, tell me where I can find him and kill him if he doesn't give Mignonne back to me!"

Frédérique and Balloquet gazed anxiously at me. Should I name that man? name him before her? Why should I spare the monster? Why should not his wife, as well as I, have the right to despise him utterly?

"The man who was watching Mignonne," I said, at last, "was your husband, Frédérique; it was Monsieur Dauberny."

Ballangier was stupefied. Balloquet was no less surprised. Frédérique, on the contrary, simply nodded her head, muttering: "I suspected as much!"--Then she said:

"But it isn't enough to be convinced, to know that it was he? How are we to prove it? How can we discover in what place, in what out-of-the-way corner of Paris, he has concealed Mignonne? If you should ask him, he would deny having had any hand in the young woman's disappearance."

"Just let me find your husband," I said; "tell me where I can see him and speak to him, and I am sure that he will deny nothing to me."

Frédérique looked at me in surprise; then she rose hurriedly, saying:

"I will go home at once; my presence will not rouse his suspicions. I will find out what he did yesterday and to-day; I will find out whether he is at home. If he is, I will send word to you instantly; and to prevent his going out, I will go to his apartment, I will ask for an interview on business--in short, I will keep him at home."

She said no more, but left the room at once. Then I said to Balloquet:

"You remember Annette--and that Bouqueton?"

"Yes, yes! Well?"

"Well, that Bouqueton was Monsieur Dauberny."

"What! the villain who----"

I put my finger on my lips and pointed to Ballangier, who was sitting with his head in his hands; it would have been cruel to add to his suffering. Balloquet understood me; but he could not sit still; he paced the floor excitedly, muttering:

"Ah! mon Dieu! but, in that case, we must make haste; we mustn't lose an instant! Poor young woman! Oh! it is ghastly to know that she is with him!"

We counted the seconds. Ballangier went again and again to the window. At last he cried:

"Here she is; she's coming back!"

"What a pity!" said Balloquet; "that means that her husband isn't at home."

Frédérique entered and dropped into a chair, exhausted and gasping for breath.

"Monsieur Dauberny isn't at home," she said; "but he passed the night there."

"He passed the night at home?" cried Ballangier.

"Yes; the concierge is certain of it; he saw him go in last evening, before dark, quite early in fact, and he is perfectly positive that he didn't go out again."

"His meeting with us must have made him uneasy," said I; "if he was going to where he is detaining Mignonne, he was afraid of being watched and followed; so he probably went home."

"That is probable. But he went out early this morning, saying that he was going to pass some time in the country, and might be away three weeks. Where shall we look for him? Where can we hope to find him now?"

We were in despair. Ballangier, who was in a most desperate frame of mind, was still ignorant of all that Balloquet and I feared for Mignonne, who, I was sure, would not yield to Monsieur Dauberny's desires.

For a long while we were silent, each cudgelling his brains to think how we could find Monsieur Dauberny's trail. Suddenly Frédérique cried:

"Ah! there is one hope!"

We all looked anxiously at her.

"During that trip of Monsieur Dauberny's, some time ago, one of his intimate friends, Monsieur Faisandé, came often to inquire for him. One day, he found only Adèle at home, and he said to her: 'If Dauberny returns soon, tell him to come at once to Monsieur Saint-Germain's, at Montmartre--a small house, with a green door, on the left-hand side of the square.'"

"At Montmartre!" cried Ballangier; "he was going in that direction last night."

I rose and held out my arm to Balloquet, telling him to bind it up with a handkerchief.

"Come, messieurs, come," I cried; "this is a dispensation of Providence, let us not lose a minute!--You cannot go with us, Frédérique, but you will soon see us again, and something tells me that we shall bring Mignonne back with us."

Ballangier threw his arms about my neck and kissed me. Frédérique bound up my arm, whispering:

"You are wounded, and you are going out--when you need rest!"

"Oh! if my recovery is a little slower, that makes no difference. I want all those whom I love to be as happy as I am!"

"You are right, my friend. Go, but remember that I am waiting for you."

I took from my desk the ring that came from poor Annette; on it I rested all my hopes. I pressed Frédérique's hand, and we started. We took the first cab we saw, and I said to the driver:

"Montmartre, the public square. Take us there quickly, and you shall have five francs an hour."

We went like the wind, but the road seemed very long. At last we reached the square. I told the cabman to stop, and we all three alighted and turned to the left.

"That must be the place!" cried Ballangier, pointing to a small house of poor aspect, with a narrow green door.

"Stay in the square," I said to him, "and keep your eye on the house. If anyone comes out, run after him. You and I, Balloquet, will go in."

I knocked at the little green door; it was opened and we entered a narrow passageway, at the end of which was a small yard. A shrewish-looking woman, who was sitting in a dark corner, called out to us:

"Who do you want?"

"Monsieur Saint-Germain."

"He ain't in; he went away this morning, and won't be back to-day."

"Monsieur Bouqueton must be here, then, and what we have to say to his friend Saint-Germain, we can say to him just as well."

The woman looked at us distrustfully, then said:

"Yes, Monsieur Bouqueton's here--since this morning. Wait, while I go and call him. Go into that room; I'll tell him some friends of Monsieur Saint-Germain want to see him."

We entered a room on the ground floor, taking care not to go near the window, so that we might not be seen from outside.

After a few minutes, we heard heavy steps coming downstairs; they stopped at the door of the room in which we were, and Monsieur Dauberny appeared.

He gazed at us for several seconds in amazement; but, on scrutinizing me more closely, he seemed disturbed. However, he tried to recover himself, and said:

"What can I do for you, messieurs?"

"We have come in search of Mignonne Landernoy, a young woman whom you caused to be kidnapped yesterday morning as she was coming away from Père-Lachaise."

Dauberny could not control a sudden start; but he affected an air of tranquillity, and replied:

"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, monsieur. I suppose that you mistake me for somebody else."

"No, I know you quite well. Search your memory. You saw me once at your house in Paris; you are Monsieur Dauberny; Bouqueton is the name you assume in your love intrigues! I know you perfectly, monsieur, as you see!"

Frédérique's husband looked at me for some instants, then assumed a mocking expression, and rejoined:

"And you are my wife's lover--the man who lives with her at Fontenay-sous-Bois. You see that I know you too."

"If your wife has a liaison in which her heart is engaged, monsieur, your abominable conduct makes her only too excusable."

"Monsieur!"