Part 7

"You know that, boy!" cried the Chevalier Passedix, running up to the young man. "Oh! tell me quickly what you know, and I swear to you, by Roland and my godfather Chaudoreille, that I will treat you to a jar of wine at the next _fête carillonnée_."

"I had just as lief tell you for nothing!"

"Well, tell me for nothing; I agree, I will consent to whatever you wish; but speak, I am dying with impatience!"

"While everybody else stood here in open-mouthed amazement at the sudden departure of the travellers, I followed the horse at a distance. He went at a fast trot, but I have good legs, and I am not broken-winded."

"Arrive at the point, accursed chatterbox!"

"It was the travellers who arrived; that is to say, they stopped first to inquire the way of a dealer in pottery; then they trotted off again to Rue Saint-Honoré and stopped in front of a fine house."

"On Rue Saint-Honoré! Are you sure of that? Why, sandis! that is my quarter; it could not happen better! But to whom does the house belong?"

"It was the Hôtel de Mongarcin, where Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin is now living with her aunt, Madame de Ravenelle."

"Very good! this boy is no fool; go on."

"All three of the travellers entered the courtyard--I say all three, counting the horse."

"Go on, I say, sandioux!"

"As I was curious to know what they were going to do there, I strolled back and forth in front of the house."

"That was very ingenious."

"And, sure enough, before long came out an old servant who knows my father. I ran up to him and questioned him, and he said: 'That young girl has come here to enter the service of Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin. She has been recommended to her, it seems; so it's all settled. As for the peasant who brought her here, he is going to rest a day or two and then go back to his province, unless he also prefers to find a place in Paris; but it seems that that is not to his taste.'--That is what I have learned."

"Thanks! a thousand thanks, my boy! Hôtel de Mongarcin, Rue Saint-Honoré. I shall be seen frequently in that vicinity.--Sandis! I am sorry that she is only a lady's-maid. But, after all, Dulcinea del Toboso was not a princess; and whatever anyone may say, Don Quixote was a hearty blade, and as good a man as another.--Au revoir, my boy! I will treat you whenever you choose, you know."

And Chevalier Passedix walked away by Rue des Mathurins, and the young bachelor by Place Cambray.

After a day so well employed, it was natural enough that Master Hugonnet should visit his usual wine shop in the evening; and he did not fail to do so. Doubtless there was a large assemblage of patrons, and the events of the morning, as they gave rise to much talk, naturally resulted in a proportionate amount of drinking.

The consequence was that Master Hugonnet returned home very late, completely drunk, and exceedingly susceptible to emotion, as he always was when in that condition.

Ambroisine, who was sitting up for her father, was not at all surprised by his state, and she urged him to go up to bed.

But Hugonnet had tears in his eyes, and he groaned mournfully as he stammered:

"Poor Lambourdin--it breaks my heart! Just imagine, daughter--he was shamefully beaten this morning!"

"I know it, father, and so do you, as it was you who beat him."

"I! do you think so?--Oh! what a calamity!--my dear friend Lambourdin! Just imagine--he was beaten so--it's an outrage! Poor Lambourdin! my heart is heavy!--How could anyone beat such an honorable man?"

"Why, it was you who beat him."

"I! impossible!--When I heard of it, I wept with grief.--Poor Lambourdin! I will avenge him!"

And Master Hugonnet would not consent to go to bed until he had wept freely over the fate of his friend Lambourdin, and had sworn again to avenge him.

X

THE PLACE AUX CHATS

The Chevalier Passedix lived on Place aux Chats.

You will not be sorry, reader, to know where that square was situated, for you would seek in vain for the slightest trace of it to-day. We will proceed to enlighten you upon that subject.

In the year 1634, Place aux Chats was near Rue de la Ferronnerie, close by the Impasse des Bourdonnais, where Rue de la Limace had recently been cut through.

The Cemetery of the Innocents was on one side, and had one entrance on the square, another on Rue de la Ferronnerie, and a third on Rue aux Fers. Before it was christened Place aux Chats, it was called Place aux Pourceaux; and in 1575 Rue de la Limace bore the name of Vieille Place aux Pourceaux.

Do not imagine one of those spacious, airy squares, such as you are familiar with in our day. What was called a square [_place_] in those days was often nothing more than the junction of two streets.

The houses which surrounded Place aux Chats bore no resemblance to one another. One had four stories, its next neighbor only two; but in all alike the heavy framework, the enormous beams, were visible, as it was not then thought worth while to cover them with plaster.

The roof of each of the houses hung over far beyond the gable end, thus diminishing the air and light; the windows were small, irregular, and loosely set, the panes of glass were tiny and dirty; the doors were low and narrow; the halls dark and begrimed with dirt; the staircases, which were gloomy, dirty, and slippery, had huge posts of stone or wood for rails; and there were absolutely no lights.

Let us not regret the disappearance of Place aux Chats.

Over the door of one of the tallest houses on this square, which stood opposite the Cemetery of the Innocents, there was a long, wide board, painted yellow, bearing these words written in red on the yellow background:

HÔTEL DU SANGLIER. FURNISHED LODGINGS FOR MAN, BUT NOT FOR BEAST

The Hôtel du Sanglier had three windows on the square; that was almost luxurious; and it boasted five stories, counting the attics nestled in the roof.

It was one of the largest houses on Place aux Chats; and although the sign stated that horses would not be entertained, it was no infrequent occurrence for a mounted man to stop and take up his quarters there; in such cases, his nag was taken to an ass keeper's, on the same square, who did not entertain horsemen, but was glad to take care of their beasts, and he almost always had tenants.

The Hôtel du Sanglier was kept by a widow, already past middle age, named Dame Cadichard. She was a short, fat woman, who had been rather piquant and alluring in her springtime and even during her summer; her great fault was that she was determined to be piquant and alluring still, and to forget that her hair was no longer black, her waist no longer slender, and her complexion no longer fresh. She still had the flashing glance, the merry laugh, and the sly jest; and from time to time she talked of remarrying, of giving the late Cadichard a successor. But at such times the neighbors of the Hôtel du Sanglier asked one another where the future spouse could be, for, among the guests of the house or the strangers who frequented it, no one ever had been observed to pay court to the Widow Cadichard.

Chaudoreille's godson had lived at the Hôtel du Sanglier for more than a year; he occupied a very modest little chamber under the eaves, above the fourth floor. His room was lighted only by a little round window looking on the square, which, however, he could not see on account of the overhanging roof; the window, moreover, was so small that only one person could possibly have looked out at one time.

The furniture of the apartment was extremely modest; it consisted of a white wooden bedstead, of the simplest construction, the headboard and footboard being so insecure that when, in a moment of forgetfulness, the long, lank chevalier tried to stretch his legs, he instantly started all the screws from their holes, the bed fell apart and vanished, and the man who was lying upon it found himself stretched on the floor.

Two straw beds, a mattress as flat as a pancake, and a bolster of hay composed the bed furnishings. Beside that far from luxurious couch were a small oak table, two stools, and an enormous chest without a cover, in which the tenant was entitled to keep his effects; it was probably intended to serve as a commode.

A few boards nailed to the wall served the purpose of a wardrobe, and were embellished by those articles which the tenant found indispensable. This was called a furnished lodging.

It is probable, however, that all the rooms in the Hôtel du Sanglier were not furnished so shabbily; and the Chevalier Passedix knew something about it; for when he first became a tenant of Dame Cadichard, he occupied a room on the first floor; at the next quarter day, the Gascon had gone up to the second floor; three months later, he had been consigned to the third; the following term, he had occupied the fourth; and the fifth term, which was now running, he had been relegated to the eaves. In case the chevalier should prolong his residence at Madame Cadichard's, he could be sure, at all events, that they would send him no higher.

Why these peregrinations of the gallant Passedix on each succeeding quarter day? That we shall probably learn in the sequel.

On leaving Master Hugonnet's house, the Gascon returned with long strides to Place aux Chats, his mind engrossed by the pretty foreigner with whom he had fallen in love so suddenly. He was already meditating the means to which he might resort in order to see her; and from time to time he put his hand to his belt, in which he usually carried his purse; but the little leather bag in which he kept his money contained at that moment only a few copper coins.

"Sandioux! my family is very dilatory about sending me money!" muttered Passedix, shaking his head angrily. "And without money it is very difficult to corrupt servants, to procure the delivery of a billet-doux. I know that my genius will supply the lack, but it would go more quickly with the help of funds.--But, no matter! first of all, I must put on an entirely clean ruff. I must also have those two buttons sewn on my doublet; then I will take my stand as a sentinel in front of the Hôtel de Mongarcin, and I will observe what goes on there, and what persons come from and go to the citadel."

Passedix, arrived at his hotel, entered by the low door, then, turning to the right, passed into a room where the mistress of the house was usually to be found, and where each tenant's keys hung on the wall, with the numbers attached.

Widow Cadichard was seated in a capacious armchair, before a table; she was in the act of eating a vegetable soup so thick that one could eat it with a fork; beside the soup tureen, which exhaled a vapor by no means disagreeable to a keen appetite, four very fine eggs lay on a napkin in a plate. An egg glass and a bountiful supply of small squares of toast, which were beside the plate, indicated in what manner the eggs were to be eaten.

When her tenant entered the room, the short, stout dame flashed a glance at him in which there was vexation and anger; but in an instant she resumed her sprightly manner and went on eating her soup.

The chevalier bowed to the widow and walked toward the place where the keys were hanging.

"Well, well!" he cried; "what does this mean, cadédis! my key is not on its nail! Have you it in your possession, Madame Cadichard?"

"I! On my word! Why should I have the key to your room, I should like to know? Do I go to your room? Do I have any occasion to go there?"

"Then it must be Popelinette, the servant, who has it?"

"Apparently!"

"So she is doing my housework, is she? That happens very conveniently, for I will ask her to sew two buttons on my doublet. I suppose that she is supplied with needles and thread, as every good servant should be."

"I don't know whether Popelinette has needles and thread with her; but what I can tell you is this--that she isn't in your room now."

"Then she must be here; do me the favor to call her, Dame Cadichard; I am in haste to go up and make a bit of a toilet."

"I am distressed to be unable to gratify you, monsieur le chevalier, but Popelinette is not in the house; she has gone out; she has gone to do an errand for the new tenant who came a week ago, and who occupies my fine apartment on the first floor."

"Ah! your first floor is let, is it? I am very glad for you, my respected hostess, although I might be justified in complaining of the rather harsh manner in which you have behaved toward me! Capédébious! every quarter day, you make me move--go up one flight--on the pretext that my last lodging is let; whereas only the mice take my place. Do you know, Widow Cadichard, that I should be fully justified in complaining of such treatment?"

"You would be justified also in paying me your rent each quarter, and that is what you haven't done, monsieur le chevalier; for I don't know the color of your money, and you have been living in my house more than a year!"

"It is true, my family is very dilatory; I haven't received my allowance for a long time; but they will send it all to me in a lump!--After all, how have I injured you? You never have a cat in your Hôtel du Sanglier! You ought to thank me for brightening up this old house a bit!"

"Thank you! yes, if you had been agreeable, gallant, attentive to me, I might not have made you go up so high, perhaps; but you never passed an evening here chatting with me! Monsieur always has to go running about the city! Monsieur has so many intrigues!"

Passedix turned his face away, biting his lips, and hastened to change the subject.

"Sandioux! how good that soup smells!" he cried. "I don't know what it's made of, but, judging from the odor, it must be a most delicious compound!"

The stout hostess refused to be melted by this exclamation; she continued to eat and talk:

"But luckily all my tenants do not resemble Monsieur de Passedix! There are some who pay, and who are very amiable with me besides. For instance, this new-comer, this foreigner who has been here a week--he paid a fortnight in advance, he didn't haggle at all over the price, and yet he pays me forty crowns a month for my first floor!"

"Bigre! that's rather good!"

"But I am sure that that man is a grand seigneur--but that doesn't prevent him from often talking with me; he isn't a bit proud!--Yesterday I dined alone--well! he sat down here and kept me company. He's a very good-looking fellow, and quite young still--thirty at most!"

"What do you call this fascinating cavalier?"

"The Comte de Carvajal; he's a Spaniard."

"The deuce! the Comte de Carvajal!--Yes, I believe that is a great Spanish family.--Sandis! but I must confess, lovely hostess, that it seems to me rather strange that this grand seigneur, instead of occupying a handsome mansion in the neighborhood of the Palais-Cardinal or the Arsenal, comes to Place aux Chats to nest--with the Cemetery of the Innocents opposite! It is not absolutely cheerful--and a hotel where his horses and carriages cannot be accommodated!"

"What does this mean, Monsieur Passedix? you are crying down my hotel now! You call this a bad quarter--then why did you come here to lodge? And why have you lodged more than a year on this Place aux Chats, which you despise?"

"I, despise Place aux Chats! God forbid, dear Madame Cadichard! On the contrary, I consider it most romantic; and then I, being afraid of nothing, not even of ghosts and phantoms, am not at all sorry to live just opposite a cemetery; for if it should happen to occur to some dead man to come to say a word to me at night, I swear to you that I should be overjoyed to have news from the other world."

"Hush--impious man!--He makes me shudder over my soup!--You know perfectly well that the dead don't return!"

"I know that there are a great many things that don't return, unhappily; and you know it, too, plump Cadichard!"

"What do you mean by that, monsieur le chevalier?"

"Mon Dieu! how time flies with us all!--But let us return to your Spanish grandee, who has chosen the Hôtel du Sanglier for his abode; he must have a numerous suite of servants and horses and carriages?"

"Not at all; he has none of those things. He is alone; it seems that he is at Paris incognito!"

"What! not an esquire, not a valet, not even a single little mule to prance along the Fossés Jaunes?"

"Nothing, I tell you; for he doesn't go to court, so that the grands seigneurs of his acquaintance need not know that he is in Paris."

Passedix shook his head and muttered:

"Hum! a Spanish grandee who hasn't one poor lackey in his service--that seems suspicious to me! Where does this noble cavalier pass his time, pray, if he doesn't frequent good society, the agreeable rakes of the court, and dandies like myself."

"Monsieur de Carvajal doesn't often go out during the day. In the first place, he rises very late; but, to tell the truth, he comes home very late, too. As he doesn't want to disturb anyone, he has told Popelinette not to sit up for him; he asked me to give him a duplicate key to the street door, so that he can come in at whatever hour of the night he pleases; and he takes pains not to make any noise, for we never hear him coming and going; it seems that in Spain people are in the habit of walking about at night."

"In Spain, perhaps, because it's warm there and the nights are fine; but here, where it still freezes in the morning--for our spring is devilishly behindhand! I believe that your gallant stranger is a blade who does his work under the rose. There must be some love intrigue on the carpet--some husband to be deceived.--Sandioux! I don't blame your Spaniard for that. Love is such a delicious thing--and when it attacks us--ah!"

Here Passedix heaved a sigh which lasted so long that his hostess dropped her spoon and stared at him, as if trying to make out whether she had anything to do with that prolonged groan. But the Gascon, instead of responding to the Widow Cadichard's alluring glance, turned away abruptly and began to pace the floor, crying:

"Cadédis! Popelinette does not return! it is insufferable! I want to dress!"

"Dress? I didn't know that you had any other doublet than that."

"Possibly not; but there are different ways of wearing it; besides, I want to put on a clean ruff, and I need to have two buttons sewn on."

"Mon Dieu! have you an assignation for this afternoon?"

"If that were so, it seems to me, Widow Cadichard, that it is my business!--Will you sew on my buttons?"

"I! I should think not! Go to your mistress!"

Passedix stamped the floor in vexation. At that moment the door of the room was suddenly thrown open, and the Gascon uttered an exclamation of satisfaction, for he expected to see the maid-servant of the hotel; but he was speedily undeceived. Instead of Popelinette, it was the foreigner who appeared in the doorway.

XI

THE FOREIGNER

The new tenant of the Hôtel du Sanglier paused on the threshold when he saw that there was someone with his hostess; he even took a step backward, as if he did not intend to enter. But in a moment, changing his mind, he walked into the room with a certain gravity of demeanor which was not without distinction.

The Gascon chevalier scrutinized the new arrival with interest, for he suspected that it was the foreigner whom Dame Cadichard was so proud to have under her roof, and he was curious to see whether he deserved the high-flown praise which his hostess had lavished on him.

A single glance was sufficient to satisfy Passedix that the sprightly widow had not exaggerated at all. The gentleman who had just entered the room was still young, tall and well built; his features were handsome and refined, his eyes slightly veiled, but full of fire and expression; he wore no beard on his chin, but only small moustaches curled a little upward at the ends.

He wore with easy grace a rich velvet cloak, over an elegant pale-blue doublet; a beautiful white plume lay along the broad brim of his hat, and the sword at his side was suspended from a belt trimmed with rich lace.

The stranger bowed most courteously as he walked into the room. Passedix made haste to return his salutation, saying to himself:

"He is a good-looking fellow, sandioux! I am too just to deny it. Almost as handsome a man as myself, and that is no small thing to say!"

Widow Cadichard had risen hastily on the entrance of her tenant, to whom she made a low reverence.

"Monsieur de Carvajal, your servant," she exclaimed; "I have the honor to salute you! Pray be kind enough to take a seat, monsieur le comte; do you wish for anything? Perhaps you are looking for Popelinette? She hasn't returned yet, and that annoys you. She is not very quick when she has an errand to do. Would you like me to go to meet her, monseigneur?"

The stranger waited till this torrent of words had ceased, then replied, with a smile:

"What I wish first of all, my dear hostess, is that you will not put yourself out and that you will continue your repast."

"Oh! indeed I will do nothing of the sort, monsieur le comte; I know too well what I owe to you."

"In that case, madame, you will compel me to withdraw, for I do not like ceremony."

"Oh! monsieur le comte, since you insist, since you command me, I will do it to obey you. But allow me first to offer you a chair."

While Madame Cadichard bustled about the room, looking for her best easy-chair and the best place in the room to put it, Passedix approached the new-comer and addressed him, trying all the while to hide with his cloak that part of his doublet from which the buttons were missing.

"I presume that I have the honor to salute one of my neighbors? I say _neighbors_, because we both live in the same hotel; only I am at the top and monsieur le comte is at the bottom. But men of honor are always on the same level."

"Ah! does monsieur live in this hotel?" rejoined the stranger, bowing to the Gascon.

"With your kind permission."

"What, monsieur! why, I can only be flattered to have monsieur for my neighbor."

"Castor Pyrrhus de Passedix, godson of the most honorable Chaudoreille, who left me only this sword, his trusty Roland, a finely tempered blade, which I dare to say that I use in an honorable way! My reputation in that regard is made!--And monsieur is the Comte de Carvajal, the noble Spaniard whom Dame Cadichard is so fortunate as to have as her tenant in the Hôtel du Sanglier?"

"Madame Cadichard would do well, then, to be a little more discreet, and to respect the incognito which her guests desire to maintain."

The stout landlady blushed when she heard that; she realized that she deserved the rebuke, and in her despair dropped the spoon which she was about to raise to her mouth, and which remained standing upright in the soup.

But the stranger, as he lay back in the easy-chair she had offered him, continued, with something very like a smile:

"However, I do not feel that I have the courage to bear any ill will to our excellent hostess, since I owe to her the acquaintance of so illustrious a knight as Monsieur de Passedix, who, I am convinced, will not betray the incognito which important considerations compel me to adopt at this moment, in Paris."

The Gascon bowed again, taking care not to relax his hold of the corners of his cloak, and replied:

"You may rely on my discretion, monsieur le comte; the secrets that are intrusted to me will go down with me into the darkness of the grave, unless I am released from my oath."

Thereupon the chevalier seized a chair and placed it at the table, opposite Madame Cadichard, who had taken one of the eggs from the plate and was trying to devise some refined method of breaking the shell and dipping her pieces of toast into the egg, in her illustrious tenant's presence.