Part 12

There was nothing to surprise me in this. The young lawyer was no doubt there to receive his morning correspondence, like any other man of business. I should not have given a thought to the circumstance, farther than to congratulate myself on the good fortune of having opportunely encountered my friend--since I was just on my way to call upon him, at his office. I say, I should have given no farther thought to the circumstance; but, just as the letter was being delivered, I overheard the words "From Saint Louis," pronounced by the delivery clerk. No doubt it was some matter relating to the amount of postage; but the phrase had a singular effect on my ears, and at once called up a train of ideas.

"So," soliloquised I, "Monsieur Luis has received _the_ letter. The mail must have come down by the same boat in which I travelled. Very amusing! I should know the contents of that epistle better than he. Ha! ha! ha! Perhaps the most important letter he ever received in his life! The opening of that envelope will reveal to him a world of happiness. Within, he will find the offer of a hand, a heart, and a fortune. Lucky fellow! he is indeed to be envied!"

I should have felt greatly inclined to have anticipated the post in its office, and to have had the pleasure of imparting the delicious news _viva voce_, but was restrained by remembering the injunctions of Madame Dardonville. I was curious, however, to observe the effect which the letter from Saint Louis would produce upon my friend; and I leaned over to catch a glimpse of his face. It might not be he who had inquired for the letter--some messenger from the office, perhaps,--and it now occurred to me that it was not his voice I had heard. But I was unable to determine the point. Three or four very stout tall fellows were in front; and, twist myself as I might, I could not see over or around them. "Never mind!" thought I, "I shall follow him directly to his office, and then--"

This reflection was interrupted by observing my friend, as I supposed, emerge from the exit end of the slip, and pass into the street. I thought it was he, and yet I was not quite certain. His back was towards me; but as he walked out of the portico, he turned slightly, and I caught a momentary glimpse of his side face. It was certainly like him; but I was struck with a sudden impression that it was more like the face of Monsieur Despard. This caused me to scrutinise the figure with more eagerness; but some one stepped in front of me, and when I looked again, he was gone out of sight.

"It matters little," thought I, "as I am on my way to De Hauteroche's office, where, at this hour, I shall, no doubt, find him."

After waiting as patiently as possible for my "turn," I obtained it at length; and, possessing myself of the expected letters, I sallied out into the street. I did not go direct to the office of my friend, but made a long detour--to give me time to glean the contents of my correspondence.

I arrived at length in the Rue Royale. As I had anticipated, De Hauteroche was in his office, and received me with a genuine expression of welcome.

He was differently dressed from the man I had seen--in a coat altogether unlike! There was hardly time to have changed it? It could not have been he!

"_Parbleu_! my friend, what's the matter?" he inquired, observing my astonishment. "Do you perceive any change in me since we parted? I hope none for the worse, eh?"

"Answer me!" said I, without replying to his question. "How long have you had that coat on?"

"Ha! ha! what an eccentric question! ha! ha! ha! I fear, _mon ami_, you have left more than your heart in Saint Louis, ha! ha! ha!"

"Nay, please answer my question--how long?"

"To-day, do you mean?"

"Yes, to-day."

"Oh! about an hour. It is my business coat. I put it on when I came into the office, about an hour ago."

"And you have not had it off since?"

"No."

"You have not been out of the office either?"

"Not that I am aware off, _mon ami_; but pray why do you make these inquiries?"

"Simply because I fancied I saw you just now."

"Where?"

"At the Post-office."

"Oh, no! I was not there. I never go. I always send for my letters; it is so unpleasant, squeezing through the horrid crowd."

"I certainly saw some one wonderfully like you; and now I am convinced of what I had only suspected, that he whom I saw was that same gentleman, to whom I am indebted for your acquaintance."

"_Peste_!" exclaimed the young Creole, springing to his feet, and assuming a serious countenance. "Likely enough it may be. _Mon Dieu_! this is intolerable. Do you know, my friend, that I am frequently mistaken for him, and he for me; and what is still worse, I have reason to believe that the fellow has, on more than one occasion, personated me. _Mere de Dieu_! it is not to be borne; and if I can only get proof of it--I am even now about the affair--if I can only establish the proofs, I shall effectually put a stop to it. He shall find I can handle the small-sword a little more skilfully than your unfortunate friend. _Mon Dieu_! it is infamous: a common _spoilsman_--a swindler-- even worse, I have heard; and to think how my character suffers! Why no later than yesterday, would you believe it, I was joked by one of my oldest and most respected friends, for having figured at a low quadroon ball in the Faubourg Treme! It is positively vexatious!"

Of course I assented to this denunciation, and to the necessity of some inquiry being made into the goings on of Monsieur Jacques Despard. During my winter sojourn in New Orleans, I had more than once dropped accidentally upon this last-mentioned personage, but never did I observe him in any very creditable position. It did not need the declaration of De Hauteroche, to prove to me that he was both _sportsman_ (gambler) and swindler; but just then other matters came before my mind. I was the bearer of a pretty little billet from Olympe to Adele; and the hour had arrived in which it was proper for me to make my call and deliver it. Leaving my friend, therefore, to his books and briefs, I went off upon my errand.

I was a little puzzled at De Hauteroche's behaviour. He must have received the letter in time to have read it before my arrival at the office; and yet I observed none of the effect that the reading of such an important document would be likely to produce. On further reflection I felt convinced that he could not have read it at all. Perhaps his messenger, who had taken it from the post-office, had not returned. Or, what was likely enough, it might not be _that_ letter, but some other one of no importance, or more probable still, there might have been none, and I had mistaken the name. Certainly, if it were the epistle I supposed it to be, and if he had already perused it, the effect was far from what I should have expected. Of course I did not imagine he would appear in ecstasies in my presence, and all at once reveal to me the secret of his happiness; but, on the other hand, I could not account for the imperturbable coolness he had exhibited throughout our short interview--his thoughts, indeed, only occupied by vexation at the unfortunate resemblance he bore to the gambler. Of course, then, he could have had no letter--at least not one that offered him a wife and a fortune. I might have ascertained this to a certainty by simply putting a question, and some vague suspicion floating about in my mind, half prompted me to do so; but I remembered the caution which I had received from the little Madame Dardonville--besides, it was a delicate point, and I dreaded being deemed a meddler. After all, I had no doubt about the matter. His supreme happiness was still unknown to him. The messenger of glad tidings had not yet arrived. The next mail-boat would bring the precious epistle, and then--

I had entered the vine-shadowed verandah in the Rue Bourgogne. The green _jalousie_ opened at the sound of my steps; and those beautiful brown eyes, smiling upon me through the fringework of the white curtains, carried my thoughts into a new current. Luis and his affairs were alike forgotten. I had eyes and thoughts only for Adele.

Story 2, Chapter X.

ANOTHER EPISTLE.

The hospitality of my Creole friends had not cooled in my absence, and my visits were as frequent as of yore. I had now much to tell them of. My prairie excursion had furnished me with facts--deeds upon which I could descant. It pleased me to fancy I had an attentive listener in Adele. I could make Luis listen too at times--especially when I dwelt upon the merits of Olympe. No doubt it would have flattered me to believe that Adele was a little jealous, but I could not tell. I only knew that she liked better to hear me discourse upon the wonders of prairie land, than to listen to the praises of Olympe. But Adele had much romance in her disposition, and the plumed and painted horsemen of the plains--the chivalry of modern days--almost rival in interest the steel-clad heroes of the mediaeval time--certainly they are quite as brave, and perhaps not much more barbaric.

My visits to the Rue Bourgogne were of daily recurrence. Besides the other occupation, I could not help closely regarding the behaviour of Luis. I was watching for some sign, but day after day passed without his showing any. The letter had not yet come to hand. My position was a strange one. With one word I could have made De Hauteroche supremely happy; and yet my promise hindered me from uttering that word. It was really tantalising to be thus restrained--for the pleasure of giving happiness is almost equal to that of receiving it.

A week passed, and still no word--no sign of the letter having been received; and then the half of another week without report. Two mail-packets I knew had come down from Saint Louis--for I had taken the pains to ascertain this fact--but neither brought the precious epistle.

Had Madame Dardonville not written after all? or had her letter miscarried?

The former I could not reconcile with probability, after what she had said: the latter was perfectly probable, considering the character of the American post-office, and the adventurous vagaries that sometimes occur to an American mail bag, in its transit upon the great western rivers.

Still the route from Saint Louis to New Orleans was a direct one. There was but one shipment from port to port, and where could be the risk?

I was puzzled, therefore, at the non-arrival of the letter. In truth, I was something more than puzzled. At times I felt a vague feeling of uneasiness as to its fate; and this was more definite, when I reflected on the incident that had occurred at the post-office on the morning after my return. I could not well doubt that some one asked for a letter for Luis De Hauteroche; for though the words were mumbled in a low tone, they reached my ear with sufficient distinctness. At the time I had not the shadow of a doubt about the name.

Did De Hauteroche receive a letter that morning, and from Saint Louis? For reasons given, I had never asked him, but I could no longer see any harm in putting the question. If an unimportant letter, he might not remember it; and whether or no, the question would surprise and puzzle him. But no matter. It was important I should have an answer--yes or no. I needed that to resolve a doubt--a dark suspicion that was shaping itself in my mind.

I came to the determination to call upon him: and at once put the interrogatory--_outre_ as it might seem.

I was preparing to sally forth from my hotel chamber, when a somewhat impetuous knock at the door announced an impatient visitor. It was the man I was about to seek--Luis De Hauteroche himself.

I saw that he was strangely excited about something. "My friend," he exclaimed on entering, "what can this mean? I have just had a letter from Saint Louis--from Madame Dardonville--and for the life of me I cannot comprehend it. It speaks of a will--of conditions--of Olympe--of strange contingencies. _Mon Dieu_! I am perplexed. What is it? You have lately seen Madame. Perhaps you can explain it? Speak, friend! can you?"

While giving utterance to this incoherent speech, De Hauteroche had drawn out a letter, and thrust it into my hand. I opened and read:--

"_Mon cher Luis,--Since my letter, accompanying the copy of my lamented husband's will, I find that my duties as administratrix will detain us in Saint Louis a week longer than I had anticipated. If you have not started, therefore, before receiving this, I wish to suggest a change in our programme--that is, instead of coming alone, you should bring Adele along with you, and we can all return together. Perhaps your young English friend would be of the party; though, from the anxiety which he exhibited at the first appearance of frost here, perhaps he thinks our Saint Louis climate too cold for him. He shall be welcome notwithstanding_.

"_You could come by the `Sultana,' which I see by the New Orleans papers is to sail on the 25th. Come by her if possible, as she is our favourite boat, and I should wish to go back in her_.

"_Yours sincerely_,

"_Emilie Dardonville_."

"_P.S.--Remember, Luis, that your choice is free, and though I shall be proud to have you for my son-in-law, I shall put no constraint upon Olympe. She knows the conditions of her father's will, and I have no fear of her desiring to controvert what was with him a dying wish. I am well assured that her heart is still her own; and since you have always been the favourite friend of her childhood, I think I might promise you success as a suitor. But in this, and everything else relating to the conditions of the will, you must act, dear Luis, as your heart dictates. I know your honourable nature, and have no fear you will act wrongly_."

"E.D."

By the time I had finished reading, De Hauteroche had become more collected.

"When did you last hear from Madame Dardonville?" I asked.

"About a month ago--only once since the letter announcing our friend's death."

"And your sister--has she had a letter since?"

"None--except the note brought by yourself from Olympe."

"That could not be the letter referred to here. There was no copy of a will?"

"I never heard of such a thing. This is the first intimation I have had, that Monsieur Dardonville had made a will; and the postscript both surprises and perplexes me. Madame Dardonville speaks of conditions--of Olympe being bound by some wish of her father! What conditions? What wish? Monsieur, for heaven's sake, explain to me if you can?"

"_I can_!"

Story 2, Chapter XI.

THE CHEQUE.

De Hauteroche stood before me in an appealing attitude, and with wild impatience in his looks. I felt that I was going to give him supreme happiness--to fill his cup of bliss to the very brim. I had long ere this fathomed the secret of his heart, and I knew that he loved Olympe with a passionate ardour that he could scarcely conceal. His last visit to Saint Louis had settled that point, and though it was doubtful whether the young girl was, at the time, sufficiently forward to have felt the passion of love, I had discovered some traces of a certain tender regard she had exhibited towards him I had no doubt that she would love him--almost at sight: for to say nothing of the direction which had been given to her thoughts--both parents carefully guiding her affections in the one particular channel--there were other circumstances that would favour this result. Luis De Hauteroche was by far the handsomest gentleman she had ever seen--handsome as well as highly accomplished--and I knew that no pains had been spared to impress Olympe with this idea. He was almost certain to be beloved by her.

Concealment of what I knew, was no longer required of me. My promise to Madame Dardonville was simply to keep silent, until the letter had spoken for itself. It was clear, however, that the letter had miscarried; and it therefore became a necessity that I should declare its contents. I rather joyed at thus having it in my power to make my friend happy; and I hastened to perform the pleasant duty.

In brief detail I made known to him the nature of the ex-merchant's will--that part of it relating to his daughter and to Luis himself.

Joy overspread the young man's countenance as he listened; and my repetition of those interesting conditions was interrupted only by expressions of gratitude and delight.

For the rest, I knew not the precise contents of Madame Dardonville's letter. These could only be guessed at; but the communication just now received was a good key to that which had been lost.

"What matter," added I, "about the other having gone astray? It is certainly not very agreeable that some post-office peeper should get such an insight into one's family affairs; but after all, it's only a _copy_ of the will that has been lost."

"Oh! the will; I care nothing for that, Monsieur--not even if it were the original--the will of Olympe alone concerns me."

"And that I promise will be also in your favour."

"_Merci_, Monsieur, what a true friend you have proved! How fortunate I should have resembled Monsieur Despard! Ha! ha!"

I almost echoed the reflection--for that resemblance had been the means of introducing me to Adele.

"But come, Monsieur De Hauteroche! the letter of Madame Dardonville requires attention. You must answer the demand. You are expected in Saint Louis, to bring the ladies down to New Orleans. If I mistake not the _Sultana_ leaves here this very evening; you must go by her."

"And you will go with me? You perceive, Monsieur, you are invited."

"And M'amselle De Hauteroche?"

"Oh! certainly. Adele will go too. In truth, my sister has not travelled much of late. She has only been once to Saint Louis since papa's death. I am sure she will enjoy the trip exceedingly. And you will go, then?"

"Willingly. Your sister will need time for preparation. Shall we proceed to the Rue de Bourgogne?"

"_Allons_! on our way we can call at the post-office. Perhaps the missing letter is still lying there--we may yet recover it."

"It can matter little now, I fancy; but there is no harm in trying."

I had not much hope of success. Something whispered to me that the document was gone from the post-office, and had fallen into other hands: though of what use could it be to any one? Perhaps it had been detained by some one, in the expectation that it contained an enclosure of money--an occurrence which the loose arrangements of the American post-office rendered by no means uncommon.

I was now more than ever convinced of the correctness of my first impressions. On that morning when I visited the post-office, a letter for De Hauteroche had been asked for and taken out; and as he now informed me that he had received no letter, nor did he remember having sent any one to the office on that particular day--there was but one conclusion to be drawn. Some one, unauthorised by him, had obtained the letter--no doubt the very one in question.

The coincidence of Despard's presence--for it must have been he whom I had mistaken for De Hauteroche--led me to other misgivings. I had not seen the person who made inquiry for the letter--the files of men in front preventing me--but judging by the time at which the _spoilsman_ passed out at the exit end of the slip, he must have been near the delivery-window when the inquiry was made. These circumstances, taken in connection with what I already knew of this person, naturally led me to the conclusion that De Hauteroche's letter had fallen into his hands. His motive for such a vile act I could only guess at. The hope of obtaining money, perhaps--though there might appear but slight probability of that. In truth, the affair was sufficiently inexplicable; and neither De Hauteroche nor I could arrive at any definite resolution of it at the time.

On our arriving at the post-office, a gleam of light was thrown upon the transaction.

"Has there been any letter addressed to Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche?"

The inquiry referred to a date of some days anterior.

The clerk could not answer that--indeed the question was rather an idle one. Of course, amidst the thousands of letters delivered by the official, it would have been miraculous in him to have remembered a particular one. He had no recollection of such a letter being delivered; and there was none for the address lying in the office.

"Stay--there _is_ a letter that has just come in by an extra mail, for `Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.'"

My friend eagerly grasped the document--the more eagerly that he saw upon it the stamp of the Saint Louis post-office! It was scarcely large enough to contain the copy of a will. It could hardly be that of which we were in search.

It proved not to be that, but a document of a very different character. It read thus:

"_Monsieur,--The 1,000 dolls, cheque transmitted to you upon the Planters' Bank of New Orleans, by a mistake of one of our clerics, was not crossed. It has been paid by the Bank and returned. We are anxious to know if it reached your hands safely. Please state by return mail_.

"_Gardette and Co_,

"_Bankers_,

"_Saint Louis_,

"_Mi_."

"Mystery of mysteries, Monsieur!" exclaimed De Hauteroche, gasping for breath, as he thrust the letter into my hands. "What can all this mean? I know of no thousand dollars. Never received a cheque--never expected one--know of no one in Saint Louis who should have sent it, nor for what purpose! Ho! there must be a mistake. This is not for me."

And the speaker once more referred to the envelope. But the address was full and complete:--

"_Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche_,

"_Avocat_,

"_16, Rue Royale_,

"New Orleans."

There was no other Luis De Hauteroche--no other avocat of the name. Undoubtedly the letter was for him--however little he understood its contents.

I was less puzzled than he. A gleam, or rather a flood of light, was let in upon the mysterious transaction, which to me was no longer a mystery. Whence had come the cheque I could not tell I could only surmise; and my surmise pointed to the hand of the generous widow of Dardonville. Where it had gone was unfortunately less doubtful,--for the fingers of the _chevalier d'industrie_ were easily recognisable here. Beyond a doubt, Monsieur Despard had got the cheque; and this would account for his after inquiry at the post-office, that led to his obtaining the letter with the will. He had watched the arrival of the mails from Saint Louis, and obtained such letters as were addressed to De Hauteroche. Why he had done this at first, it would be difficult to say; but afterwards--after obtaining the money--his object would be to prevent the young lawyer from knowing it, until he could get out of the way.

In all likelihood he was now beyond reach either of accusation or conviction. The two letters which had just come to hand were of themselves evidence, that in all likelihood he was no longer near.

De Hauteroche was furious--half frantic when I imparted to him my convictions; for, although the source whence the 1,000 dollars had come, was still a mystery to him, yet there was the proof of its having been sent, and the presumption of its having been stolen.

The New Orleans police were at once put in charge of the matter; and, as no communication could possibly reach Saint Louis sooner than by the _Sultana_, it was resolved that we ourselves should be the bearers of the answer, and call upon the banking-house of Gardette and Co, the moment we arrived in that city.