"Her intended husband?"
"Ah! I forgot to tell you that she expects to marry the person she just introduced to you, Monsieur Jacques Rochas."
"Your father's former partner?"
"That is the title my mother gives him. The truth is, he was formerly a foreman at the iron works. He subsequently became superintendent, and, after my father's death, he leased the works. He made a good deal of money, and finally purchased the place from us. It seems that he has just disposed of it very advantageously, and is now much richer than we are."
"But it cannot be for the sake of his money that your mother wishes to marry him?"
"No, though my father only left her one fourth of his property. She likes Monsieur Rochas, but, for myself, I cannot imagine what attraction she can possibly find in a man who has a very limited education, and whom she formerly regarded as an inferior. He looks very like a farrier, and he is stern and gloomy, as well as taciturn."
"I noticed that he did not greet me very cordially just now. I am inclined to think that he will not approve of our marriage."
"You are very much mistaken there. He suspects that I don't like him, and he is anxious to separate me from my mother. It matters very little to him whom I marry, providing I cease to live with her. He wishes to be absolute master in his own house, and probably thinks that I might rebel against his authority."
"But what does your brother say to Madame Verdon's plans?"
"Oh! I am sure that he will be furious when she announces her intended marriage to him. He will certainly try to dissuade her, but he won't succeed, for she has engaged herself to this man, and she is really afraid of him. But there is my brother Albert passing now." And so saying, Gabrielle raised herself on tiptoe, and with her gloved hand began to shower kisses upon the young officer, who seemed blind to this exhibition of sisterly affection. In fact, he appeared to be gazing with extraordinary persistence at somebody whom George could not see. Just then, too, the young lieutenant dexterously caught a little bunch of violets that was sent flying at him through the air; he smiled at the sender of this fragrant missile, and then, giving his horse the rein, galloped off without even seeming to suspect that his mother and sister were present. "Didn't I tell you that he was turning all the women's heads?" whispered Gabrielle to George. "He is so handsome! But I should like to get a look at his latest victim."
This wish was promptly gratified, for, just then, the crowd divided to allow Blanche Pornic to pass. She had a triumphant air, and the smile with which she had just favoured the young lieutenant was still upon her lips. "Why, it is the same person whom you were talking with when we came down the steps," remarked Gabrielle. "I am afraid she has bewitched my brother. Did you notice that he kept the bouquet of violets she flung at him? But here is my mother coming with Monsieur Rochas. If she were alone, I should beg of you to remain with us; but this gentleman's presence would not prove congenial to you, so take leave of my mother, and meet us in the Luxembourg garden to-morrow. We shall be there at four o'clock."
George took his leave as Gabrielle suggested and was about to turn away, when a hand was placed on his shoulder, and on looking round, he found himself face to face with Charles Balmer. "I have found you at last!" exclaimed the latter. "I have some news for you about Dargental's case. Poor Pierre's valet has spoken at last."
"How do you know?" inquired George.
"Why, I am intimate with the magistrate to whom the investigation of the case is entrusted, and he tells me that Jean now remembers, that at about nine o'clock on the morning of the murder, a rather suspicious-looking man rang at the door. Jean answered the bell, and this man, who seemed greatly annoyed on seeing him, asked for some person whom Jean had never heard of. He then said that he must have made a mistake in the number of the house, and went off without insisting any further. Ten minutes later, Dargental, having completed his toilet, sent Jean to Madame de Lescombat's with a letter, and Jean, as he left the house, saw the same man standing in a doorway on the opposite side of the street. He thought very little about it at the time, but started off on his errand. The countess resides at some distance from Dargental's house; besides, our friend had given Jean several other commissions, which explains why he failed to return until you and Puymirol reached the scene of the catastrophe. The fact is, that strange man must have seen Jean leave the house, and then, realising that our unfortunate friend was alone, he went upstairs again, whereupon Dargental himself must have opened the door."
"No doubt; but to what motive does the magistrate ascribe the crime?"
"To robbery, as Dargental's pocket-book is missing."
"But are you sure that this pocket-book contained any money?"
"One cannot be sure, of course, but it seems more than probable. Dargental was in the habit of carrying all the money he possessed about him, and Jean declares that his master, on going to bed at night, always placed his pocket-book under the bolster. Besides, all the drawers have been carefully examined, and not a penny has been found in the place."
"And no article of furniture was forced open by the murderer?"
"None, whatever. He evidently knew exactly where to look for what he wanted. Besides, he was probably anxious to get away as soon as possible, as some one might have come in at any moment. It seems that the only clue the authorities possess consists of a memorandum in Dargental's handwriting which was found in the ante-room. The murderer must have dropped it on opening the pocket-book, for the imprint of his bloody fingers is visible on one corner of it."
"And what is this memorandum?"
"Robergeot would not tell me—Robergeot is the magistrate. He has great confidence in me, as he has known me from my infancy; but he has a very keen sense of professional duty, so that all I have been able to learn is that the note in question may prove of great use in discovering the criminal. I certainly hope the brigand will be apprehended, for if the murder of my friend Dargental should go unpunished, I believe I shall really die a year before my time, and that would upset all my calculations, for I still have money enough left to last me thirty months longer."
"Ah, yes, I forgot that you were a chronic consumptive," said George ironically. "Poor fellow! However, if this is all you have to tell me—"
"Yes, for the time being; but I shall see Robergeot again, and I will keep you well informed, though you don't seem to take much interest in the affair. You are not like Puymirol. He knows that I am acquainted with the magistrate, and he asks me every day how the investigation is progressing. But speaking of Puymirol, are you aware that he lost five hundred louis more at cards last night?"
"No, I just left him, but he said nothing to me about it," murmured George, surprised and still more annoyed at this news. "Perhaps he has not gone off yet. I am going to wait for him at the door."
"That means, you have had enough of my company, so I will leave you."
George was now anxious to see Puymirol, for he felt that his friend had no right to keep a pocket-book and letters which might put the authorities on the right scent, for he did not believe that the robbery of any money had had anything to do with the crime. Moreover, he wished to ask Adhémar how he was situated financially, and ascertain if this last loss of ten thousand francs would not prove an irreparable misfortune as he greatly feared. He therefore hurried to the grand entrance where there was a dense crowd, at sight of which he almost despaired of finding Puymirol. However, luck favoured him, but, first, he saw Blanche Pornic pass out, accompanied by a young officer who was none other than Albert Verdon. She did not stop to speak to George, but she gave him a mocking smile as she passed by. She had succeeded in her purpose; the young lieutenant to whom she had taken such a fancy, had evidently been impressed by her charms. George had not time to think over the matter, for just then, Puymirol, coming upon him unexpectedly, caught hold of his arm, and dragged him off, exclaiming: "I want you to do me a favour."
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, but I have not got the amount you lost at the club last night," replied George.
"That isn't the question. I have at last succeeded in securing a few moments' conversation with the countess, and I am now going to see her at her house, where we shall probably have a decisive interview. Her letter is a weapon which I have resolved to use, but I don't want to have it about me during my first visit, so do me the favour to keep the pocket-book for me until to-morrow."
"Dargental's pocket-book! Not if I know it!"
"So you are afraid of compromising yourself. Very well, merely take the letters, then." And Puymirol, as he spoke, drew all three of them out of the compartment in which they had been placed, and, after thrusting them into George Caumont's hand, hastened rapidly away.
III.
The Countess de Lescombat's residence on the Boulevard de Courcelles was an imposing structure which, in Italy, would certainly have been styled the Lescombat Palace. Standing majestically between a large court-yard and spacious grounds, this seigneurial mansion seemed intended to accommodate some exiled king. M. de Lescombat, who had erected this residence, had been a blasé sceptic, knowing no law save his own caprice. After amusing himself for several years, he had crowned his career as an eccentric millionaire by marrying the pretended ward of a middle class libertine, a certain Octavia Crochard, whose story had been accurately related by Blanche Pornic, the actress. The result of this marriage was that M. de Lescombat suddenly took his departure for a better world after bequeathing his entire fortune to his wife, and whatever Blanche might say to the contrary, it was scarcely likely that he had committed suicide, for he had certainly had every reason to desire to remain alive. However, the countess, as soon as she became a widow, behaved with the utmost tact. She retained the services of the old Marchioness de Monastier, a dowager who had long assisted the count in doing the honours of his princely mansion, and who was now quite willing to act as chaperon to his widow; and a most complaisant chaperon she proved, winking at such secret peccadillos as Octavia indulged in. The countess now meant to lead a quiet, independent life, but a woman's plans are rarely carried out. Shortly after her husband's death, Dargental was introduced to her by a mutual friend, and she soon became so infatuated with him, that she promised to marry him at the expiration of the ten months' delay prescribed by law.
This promise had failed to take effect, as her intended husband had been taken from her by a most terrible, unforeseen catastrophe. It may be asked, how had she borne this terrible blow? Madame de Monastier alone could have answered the question, for since Dargental's death Madame de Lescombat had not left her house, and he had been buried without her showing herself at the funeral. Moreover, all Puymirol's efforts to enter into communication with her had proved unavailing. Everything seemed to indicate that she meant to let a suitable interval elapse before she emerged from seclusion, and, indeed, when Puymirol met her at the horse show it was the first time that she had appeared in public since her lover's death. She had thought it an excellent opportunity to let people understand that she had no intention of immuring herself forever, and so she had repaired to the Palais de l'Industrie in a toilet suited to the occasion. She there received the friends who approached her with perfect serenity, and cut their expressions of condolence short by a few well-chosen words.
Puymirol knew her but slightly. Dargental had taken him to two or three of her entertainments, and as he was a superb waltzer she had noticed him at the time; but he feared that she had now well-nigh forgotten him, and that she would pay no more attention to his remarks than she had paid to his letters. He was thus agreeably surprised when he saw her smile upon him in the most engaging manner while he approached the tribune where she was seated. He then stationed himself at the foot of the staircase, and, deciding to bide his time, waited for the countess's departure, when he might have an opportunity of saying a few words to her in private. Indeed, when the show was about to close for the day, the countess descended the steps, and leaving the two or three gentlemen who were in obsequious attendance upon her, came straight towards him, apologized for not having received him at her house, and inquired if it would suit him to come and see her that very afternoon. Puymirol eagerly accepted the invitation, although her unexpected cordiality aroused his distrust. However, on catching sight of George, he forthwith determined to place the letters in his keeping as a precaution against a fascination he feared. He reached the countess's house but a quarter of an hour after her own return, and a footman at once escorted him through a suite of magnificent apartments to the boudoir where the lovely widow usually received her intimate friends. He found her armed for conquest. She was certainly a superb creature. Tall, with faultless shoulders, she had a head like that of a Grecian statue, and her white brow was crowned with heavy coils of ruddy hair, of the tint which the Venetian masters were so fond of. Puymirol seated himself in a low chair near her, and was wondering how he should open the conversation when, without any preamble, she exclaimed: "Let us talk of poor Pierre, shall we not?"
"Pierre Dargental?" said Puymirol. "Yes, that was what brought me here."
This was only partially true, however, for he admired the countess exceedingly, and, besides, now that he was in her presence, he experienced the wonderful charm that she exercised over all the men who approached her. She, no doubt, realised it, for, fixing her large green eyes, full of a strange fire, upon him, she softly said: "I thought you had called partially on my account."
"And you are right," exclaimed Puymirol, impulsively.
"Then I forgive you for your almost rude remark. We are already old friends, you and I, for it was more than a year ago that poor Pierre introduced you to me. Do you recollect the ball at which you led the cotillon?"
"I remember it as if it were but yesterday."
"And so do I, for I have never met your equal as a waltzer since. But you have made no effort to see me since last winter."
"I feared annoying Dargental."
"Yes, he was terribly jealous, but, poor fellow, I forgive him. His terrible death has been a sad blow for me. I see by your face that you don't believe that—no doubt, because you saw me at the show just now in a spring toilet. However, a woman is not obliged to put on a black dress to be deeply afflicted. My heart is in mourning, but I don't deem it necessary to publish my grief."
"Oh, I don't presume to criticise you, madame. On the contrary, I bless the chance that brought about a meeting between us, for you have repeatedly refused me an interview."
"I treated everyone alike. I even thought strongly of leaving Paris for a few months, but I finally came to the conclusion that absence would not cure my grief, and I summoned up courage to shake off the prostration to which my loss had reduced me."
"I trusted that you would at least reply to the letter in which I begged of you to grant me an interview."
"You must not be offended with me on account of my failure to do so. I never write to any one. It is against my principles."
"But you must break this rule sometimes," said Adhémar, gazing searchingly at the countess.
"Not often," was the calm response. "My autograph letters ought to fetch a good price, for there are certainly very few of them."
"It would, doubtless, surprise you very much if I told you that I have one in my possession."
"Indeed! I should really like to see it."
"Well, I regret that I haven't got it with me. I should add, however, that it is a very unimportant document; the telegraphic note you sent to Pierre at the Lion d'Or."
"Yes! I recollect that. But I cannot imagine how you came by it."
"Poor Dargental was dead when it was delivered. We were ignorant of the fact, and were breakfasting without him, at the time, and Charles Balmer, who was one of the guests, took the liberty to open the message and show it to us."
"That doesn't surprise me. Monsieur Balmer is always doing something stupid. But I am surprised you kept it."
"I meant to hand it to Dargental as soon as the lunch was over. But, alas! I arrived at his place too late."
"Yes," murmured Madame de Lescombat. "I know the terrible story."
"I should have returned the note to you if I had been able to see you, and I will return it now whenever you like, but I have read and re-read it many times, and I now know your writing as well as if I had received hundreds of letters from you."
"And what do you think of the contents of this famous missive?"
"I think you were most kind and indulgent as regards poor Pierre in letting him invite to that lunch—"
"Some of his old flames. Well, I felt tolerably sure of him, but in my secret heart I was a trifle anxious, as you may judge from the fact that I begged him to come and see me as soon as the repast was over. How many ladies were present?"
"Only one, Blanche Pornic."
"Ah! he had sworn never to see her again," sighed Octavia. "It grieves me to think she was there. She nearly ruined poor Pierre. I succeeded in getting him out of her clutches, and she has never forgiven me for it. She, no doubt, spoke about me during the lunch?"
"Yes, madame, and I won't conceal from you the fact that she isn't very kindly disposed towards you."
"Oh, I can guess what she said about me. She told you that I was the daughter of a Lyons' weaver, didn't she? That is the truth, and I'm not ashamed of it. She also told you that I didn't love my first husband, and that I deceived him, I suppose. The fact is, he never did inspire me with any other feeling than gratitude, but he asked nothing more, and he never had any reason to complain of me."
"Mademoiselle Blanche pretended that he poisoned himself."
"I scorn to notice that calumny. It is as unworthy of notice as she is. Fortunately, I shall never be obliged to hear her name mentioned again."
"Who knows?" said Puymirol. "She let me understand that she had some powerful weapons against you—letters."
"Letters! Why, didn't I tell you just now that I had never written to anyone but Pierre in my life?"
"That would be quite enough. A few lines suffice to compromise one at times, and if Dargental was ever foolish enough to show a note of yours to that girl, she may have managed to obtain possession of it."
The countess turned pale, and her assurance failed her. "I will never believe that," she said, in a voice that trembled in spite of all her efforts. "Pierre treated me badly at one time, but he was incapable of intrusting any damaging secret to this creature; besides, she wouldn't have kept it. I authorize you to tell her, from me, that what she says is false, and that I'm not afraid of her."
"Nothing would suit me better but I don't visit her, and there is very little probability of my meeting her anywhere."
Madame de Lescombat reflected for a moment, and then said: "But what if I asked you to see her again? What if I begged of you to question her, and discover what she referred to when she threatened to produce I don't know what proofs against me?"
"I should comply with your request, of course; but if Blanche suspected that I came on your behalf, she would probably be emboldened, and might publish your letters if she has any."
"She hasn't any," was the quick response, "but you are right. It is best to let the matter drop, and not to trouble ourselves any further about this creature."
Puymirol was satisfied. The countess had fallen into the trap set for her. The anxiety she had failed to conceal conclusively proved how much importance she attached to the recovery of some particular letter, and this letter was unquestionably one of those contained in the pocket-book.
However, before Puymirol could decide what use he should make of the advantage thus gained, his companion said, thoughtfully: "It is strange, but I talk to you exactly as I should talk to an intimate friend. It is true that I am much better acquainted with you than you suppose, for although Pierre seldom brought you to see me he was always talking about you."
"He was not particularly enthusiastic in his praises, I suppose?" interrupted Adhémar, smiling.
"Nor in his censure. He was inclined to be jealous of you; but he liked you, and could not refrain from doing justice to your qualities. He used to say that you were always brave, and that you never despaired, either at the card-table or in your love affairs. It was the same with him; and it was for that very reason that I loved him, though my love for him certainly cost me dear. Yes, why should I hide from you the fact that I have lent him large amounts over and over again. Still, I never even regretted the inroads that his passion for gambling made in my fortune. I was only too happy to help him, and I think I should almost have hated him if he had refused my proffered aid."
"You are presenting Dargental to me in a new light," said Puymirol, biting his lips.
"Oh, I see that you have your prejudices like all the rest of your sex. You think it perfectly right and natural to deceive a woman and reduce her to despair by deserting her, and yet your pride revolts at the mere thought of accepting a pecuniary favour from her. Well, for myself, I don't dislike the idea that my lover should treat me as an equal. Dargental, at first, had the same ideas as you have, but I succeeded in winning him over to my way of thinking; and if I ever pledge myself to another man, I shall require him to sacrifice the foolish pride you seem to admire so much."
"You would have great difficulty in converting me. I would rather resign you than submit."
"You are not my lover. If you were, I flatter myself that I should succeed in overcoming your opposition. I should say to you, 'You lost ten thousand francs last night, on parole, and you are miserable because you don't know how you will manage to pay the money. Here it is. Take it, or I shall know that you do not love me.'"
Adhémar started. He, himself, had lost exactly ten thousand francs on the evening before, and Madame de Lescombat's shot told. Was the remark really intended for him, or was it by a mere chance that she mentioned such a case, and that exact amount? He did not know, but however that might be, he must make some reply. "That is a test to which I should not like to be subjected," he exclaimed. "It would be a cruel alternative, you must admit."
"Perhaps so; but come, Fortune has frowned upon you. You admit it, do you not?"
"Well, I do admit it. For a fortnight past, I have done nothing but lose. One would think that Dargental's death had brought me bad luck."
"It will bring misfortune upon others as well. Your last evening at baccarat was most disastrous, was it not?"
"How do you know?"
"Why, there was a member of your club in the tribune at the horse show, and on seeing you bow to me he naturally spoke of you, and of the game you played last evening. He told me that you were an excellent player, as cool when you lost as when you won. That is all very well; but one must be able to pay one's debts of honour."
"I shall pay mine," said Adhémar drily.
"I have wounded you, I see," replied the countess. "Believe me, the offence was unintentional. I have a bad habit of not concealing my feelings, and of imagining that I have a right to oblige those I like. I heard that you were embarrassed pecuniarily, and my first impulse was to help you. It was for that reason that I asked you to call here. If you refuse my offer you will wound me deeply, I assure you."
"What would you think of me if I accepted it?"
"I should think that I inspired you with sufficient liking and confidence to make you willing to become my debtor. I merely propose a loan. With Pierre, it was different. Pierre was to marry me. We had the same interests, and my fortune was his; but I shall accommodate you exactly as one friend accommodates another, and if you insist upon it, I am willing to accept your note for the amount."
"My note would not be worth more than a verbal promise, for I have no security to give, and I should probably be unable to meet the note when it fell due. If I consented to accept your offer, I should never dare to set foot here again, and that would be a terrible deprivation for me."
"You wish to see me again, you say, and yet you hesitate to make this slight sacrifice of pride? It is not in this way that I wish to be loved."
"Then you would be willing to accept my love and devotion?" exclaimed Puymirol.
"A coquette might give you an evasive answer. But I am made of different stuff, and I frankly answer 'Yes.'"
Acting upon the impulse of the moment, Adhémar made a movement as if to throw himself at the countess's feet, but she checked him with a gesture, and said, smiling: "I desire no rash or premature protestations. Listen to me before you go any further. I have been sufficiently frank with you for you to believe me when I tell you what I think, and feel. At my age a woman can hardly resign herself to perpetual widowhood, and for that reason I was on the point of marrying Pierre, though I might have done much better, for I had serious reason to complain of him. But you are not going to ask me to marry you, or even to engage myself to you forthwith, I suppose?"
"No, for you would refuse."
"No doubt; and, besides, the man who cares to win me must be my friend and my ally against my enemies."
"Is it possible that you have any enemies?"
"Have you forgotten Blanche Pornic? She might injure me greatly; and I cannot contend unaided against a woman who has nothing to lose."
Puymirol now began to understand the countess's advances, and his self-possession returned to him, in a measure. It was evident that she wished to bind him to her at any cost.
"You may be right," he said, after a moment's silence. "Blanche is capable of anything; besides, she has good reason to feel anxious, for the authorities believe that Dargental died by violence, and she has been closely questioned, and may be examined again."
"Can she be accused of murdering him?"
"Not exactly, as she is still at large. But the police are looking for the murderer; and rumour attributes the crime to one of our friend's former sweethearts, who hired some one to kill him, so as to regain possession of certain letters."
"What did I tell you a moment ago? This creature undoubtedly wrote him something that revealed her in her true character. I am sure of it; for Pierre told me one day that he had something in his possession which would suffice to send her to the Assizes. I am perfectly willing to repeat that to the magistrate."
"That would be very imprudent; for Mademoiselle Pornic, in self-defence, might declare that you also had written to Pierre, and that you were even more interested than she was in regaining possession of your correspondence. At the beginning of our conversation, you yourself admitted that there were some danger in this."
"And I asked you to try and frighten Mademoiselle Pornic out of the notion of slandering me. You politely refused. I shall, perhaps, be obliged to apply to a bolder person. Where does this woman live?"
"At No. 34, Avenue de Messine. But it would be useless for you to apply to her. Not a single letter was found at Dargental's. Besides, his pocket-book had been stolen from him."
"A Russia-leather pocket-book, with his initial and a marquis's coronet upon it!" exclaimed the countess, greatly agitated. "I gave it to him."
"Well, the question is to ascertain into whose hands it has fallen," remarked Puymirol. "If it has come into Blanche Pornic's possession, she will have destroyed her own letters, and have preserved yours."
"I can compel her to return them to me."
"I doubt it. If I thought it possible, I should not hesitate to make the attempt."
"My hand and fortune shall be the reward of the man who will restore my letters to me," said the countess, boldly.
It was impossible to declare more plainly that she was at the mercy of the person who had possession of her missives to Dargental, and Puymirol, still under the charm of her wonderful beauty, felt anxious to win the promised reward. "I will do all in my power to serve you," he said, rising, after he had pressed a kiss upon her soft white hand.
"Then begin by taking the five hundred louis you need to pay your gambling debts," was the quick reply.
"Anything but that," rejoined Puymirol, firmly. "Will you permit me to call again to-morrow?"
"At any hour you like. I shall always be at home to you."
Puymirol certainly deserved some credit for refusing Madame de Lescombat's offers of pecuniary assistance, for never since the outset of his struggles in Parisian waters had he found himself in an equally trying position. A fortnight's continuous ill luck had reduced him to penury. It is true that he still had twenty-four hours' respite left him, but if he had had a month at his disposal, he would have been no better off, for he had nothing to expect from any one. George Caumont could render him no assistance, and his Aunt Bessèges would not send him a penny, even had he merely asked her to advance him a portion of his next quarter's allowance.
There is nothing really better than violent exercise for dispelling gloomy thoughts, and, being fully aware of this fact, Puymirol, after taking leave of the countess, repaired to his club, and entered the fencing-room, in the hope of finding some pleasant company, and of gaining an appetite by a bout with some foemen worthy of his steel. He fenced in turn with three of the best swordsmen present, even worsted the professor, and then having attained a tranquil state of mind, he began to consider where he should dine, and in what way he should spend his evening.
The club dinner not being quite ready, he decided to patronise the Lion d'Or, where he had not set foot since the catastrophe. He strolled there and went in without noticing a gentleman who was talking with the doorkeeper, and who entered immediately behind him. However, the first person he saw inside was Blanche Pornic, seated at table with a young and handsome officer. The meeting displeased him, but it was too late to beat a retreat. Blanche would think he was purposely avoiding her, and he did not wish to arouse her suspicions. She gave him a friendly smile as he passed by—a smile which made her companion turn to look at the new comer who was greeted so familiarly. Puymirol responded by touching his hat politely, and then walked on to the other end of the room, for he felt that the right moment for an interview with Blanche had not yet arrived, and he did not care to be in her immediate neighbourhood. Having ensconced himself in a corner, he ordered a first-rate dinner, and under the influence of some generous wine his ideas soon assumed a roseate hue. It was only when he had finished his dessert and had just poured himself out a little old brandy, that he noticed that a person dining in front of him—the gentleman who had followed him into the restaurant—was staring at him with strange persistency. Puymirol returned the stare with interest, and perceived that this stranger was a man considerably older than himself, carefully dressed, but with somewhat the look of a provincial. He did not once lower his eyes, but kept them persistently riveted on Puymirol, and the latter, who was by no means patient, soon called a waiter and ordered him in a loud voice to go and ask that gentleman why he was staring at him in such an extraordinary manner. The frightened servant did not seem at all anxious to deliver this disagreeable message, but the offender had heard the order, and laying his napkin on the table, he quietly rose, and came straight towards Puymirol, who prepared himself for an attack. However, the stranger, probably in order to convince Adhémar that he had no hostile intentions, began by bowing very politely, and then said, in a conciliatory tone: "Excuse me, sir, for having looked at you in an offensive manner. But I was trying to find some excuse for speaking to you, and now that you have furnished it, I will ask the favour of a moment's conversation."
"What have you to say to me?" retorted Puymirol, without abandoning his threatening attitude.
"Permit me first to take a seat at your table. If I continue to talk to you standing, I shall attract the attention of all the people present. They are already beginning to watch us, and they will think I am trying to pick a quarrel with you, whereas my intentions are really of the most peaceable kind. Besides, what I have to say to you is strictly confidential."
"Very well, take a seat and explain yourself, but be brief. First of all, who are you?"
"My name would have no significance to you," said the stranger, sitting down. "I don't know yours, nor do I wish to know it."
"But how can you have any business with me if you don't know my name? You are fooling me, and I am going—"
"Pray, grant me a hearing. I was at the door of the restaurant when you came in, and I asked the door-porter if you had not come here one day, under circumstances which he was bound to remember. He replied in the affirmative, so I followed you in, wondering how I should manage to enter into conversation with you. Pray, believe that I should not have watched for your coming here during a whole fortnight, if mere idle curiosity had prompted my desire to make your acquaintance."
"You dare to admit that you have been playing the spy on me for a fortnight?"
"I was not playing the spy, I merely told the doorkeeper that I would give him two louis if he would point out to me a gentleman who came here one morning in a cab to lunch with a party in a private room. He was anxious to secure the promised reward, of course, but you did not make your appearance until to-night."
"Well, confine yourself to facts. What do you want with me?"
"Before explaining myself more fully, I wish to satisfy myself that I am not making a mistake. So allow me, sir, to ask you one question, only one. Did you not, on Wednesday, the 9th of April, pass through the Place du Carrousel in a cab which turned into the Rue de Rivoli?"
"I have passed through the Place du Carrousel hundreds of times in my life," said Adhémar, "but I am not at all sure that I passed through it on the day you mention. I have no reason to recollect such an insignificant occurrence."
"You came here to lunch with some friends. You were not alone in the cab—"
"Well, say there were two of us, but what difference can that make to you and why have you taken so much trouble to look me up?"
"It did, indeed, cost me a deal of trouble. My only clue was the number of the cab, so I first tried to find the driver and ultimately succeeded. He remembered you very well on account of the liberal gratuity you gave him on dismissing him, and he told me he had set you and your friend down outside the Lion d'Or. I then spoke to the door-porter of the restaurant, who said that he knew you by sight, but that he was unable to give me your name or address; and the head waiter either could not or would not tell me anything. I again applied to the door-porter, giving him two louis, and promising him two more. He knew that you dined here sometimes, and he promised to point you out to me the first time you came if I had patience enough to wait for you every day between seven and eight. I accepted his offer, and by waiting patiently, I have at last accomplished my object."
"Well, well, come to the facts, for although you have been talking ten minutes or more, we have made no progress whatever." Puymirol had now abandoned all idea of repulsing the stranger. His curiosity was greatly excited, and he determined not to part with this man until he had subjected him to a close examination.
"I am coming to the facts, sir, and I trust you will not take offence at the question I am going to ask you. Did you find a pocket-book in the cab which brought you here a fortnight ago?"
"Here it comes at last!" thought Puymirol. "I have you now, my fine fellow."
"A pocket-book?" he repeated aloud in pretended astonishment. "No, certainly not. Had there been one in the cab I should of course have left it there, and as you know the number of the vehicle you should apply to the authorities, or rather to the driver, as you have succeeded in finding him."
"The driver saw nothing of it. He told me so, and I am sure that he told the truth."
"Then you may as well abandon all hope of recovering your pocket-book. It must have been appropriated by one of the persons who hired the vehicle afterwards. Did it contain any bank-notes?"
"Not one; nothing, in fact, but a few lottery tickets which amount to nothing, for no one ever wins anything in the gigantic humbugs that are so extensively advertised."
"Then, why do you attach so much importance to the recovery of such worthless property?"
The stranger reflected for a moment, and then said, gravely: "I don't know who you are, sir, but I feel sure that you are an honourable man, so I do not hesitate to tell you that a woman's reputation is at stake. The pocket-book also contained several letters."
"Good! I understand now. You fear that these letters may have fallen into the hands of some person who will make a bad use of them. That is improbable, however, as they could hardly interest the finder. But how the deuce did you happen to leave them in the cab—for I suppose they were addressed to you?"
"You are mistaken, sir. The woman who wrote them commissioned me to claim them from the man who received them. I was fortunate enough to obtain possession of them, but only after a deal of difficulty. I will even admit to you that I was obliged to threaten the scoundrel who held them, and who intended to make use of them. He finally yielded, but he hoped to regain possession of them, and with that object he had me followed by two of his hirelings. I found that out, and surmised that his spies first intended to find out where I was going, then to spring upon me just as I was entering the house, and wrest the pocket-book from me."
"In broad daylight, and in the heart of Paris? Why, you need only have summoned a policeman or some passer-by to foil the scoundrels."
"That was exactly what they wanted. Had I called for assistance, my assailants would have accused me of stealing the pocket-book. A crowd would have gathered round us, and we should have been taken before a commissary of police, who would have found the pocket-book upon me. An examination of its contents would have been enough, and more than enough, to ruin the person I wished to save."
"Well, if I had been in your place, I should have crossed the bridge, and thrown the pocket-book into the Seine."
"Yes, I might have done that, but the idea did not occur to me. I was just turning out of the Rue de Rivoli when I saw several cabs waiting to enter that street. On passing the last one I laid my hand on the ledge of the open window, and dropped the pocket-book inside."
"The men who were following you must have seen your gesture."
"The fact that they continued to follow me is sufficient proof to the contrary. I amused myself by leading them as far as Montrouge. There I entered a house that has two doors, and succeeded in escaping from them."
"But you must have expected that the occupants of the cab would pick up the pocket-book."
"Yes; but as it could not be of the slightest use to them, I hoped I should regain possession of it. I took good care to note the number of the cab, and you see I accomplished my object, as I have succeeded in finding you."
"That is to say, you suppose I am one of the persons who were in the cab at the time."
"I am sure of it, and I am also sure that, touched by the trying situation in which I am placed, you will return the pocket-book to me."
"You are too hasty in your conclusions, for even if the article were in my possession, I should not return it without due consideration. In the first place, I should have to know whom I have to deal with, for there is nothing to prove that you are not an emissary of the man, who, as you pretend, hired some fellows to follow you. You would have to tell me your name and address, in order that I might make the necessary inquiries respecting you."
"My name and address are a secret that I am not free to divulge. Be more generous. Restore me the letters without demanding my name. It would be a most kind and noble action, and later on, I shall be able to repay the debt of gratitude I owe you." Puymirol seemed in no haste to reply. He now felt sure that Dargental's murderer sat before him, and he was asking himself what course he had better pursue. "I can now confess that I fully expected to purchase the pocket-book from the finder," continued the stranger. "I was ready and willing to give him as many thousand francs as he chose to ask for it; but, on seeing you, I realised that such a course was out of the question. One can not offer money to a gentleman like you. One can only appeal to his feelings, and invoke his pity for an imprudent woman."
"You argue exactly as if I had the letters in my pocket," said Adhémar, in order to gain time.
"In your pocket, or in your desk at home, which amounts to the same thing, as it is in your power to restore them to me in either case."
"You would consent to accompany me home, then?"
"Instantly, if you wish it."
"But I don't wish it. You refuse to tell me where you live, so I don't see why I should tell you where I live."
"Well, there is nothing to prevent you from making an appointment with me for to-morrow at this same restaurant."
"I only make appointments with my friends."
"Am I to take this as your final answer?"
"Yes, and I will now state my reasons. I did see this pocket-book. It fell into my lap. Now that you have enlightened me, there is no reason why I should deny the fact any longer. But, as for returning the article, it is impossible, as it is no longer in my possession."
"You can at least tell me what you have done with it."
"I did what any one else would have done with it. I left it at the office of the commissary of police."
The stranger turned perceptibly paler, but he did not lose countenance. "At the office of the commissary of the Chaussée d'Antin district?" he asked.
"Do you think of claiming the article?" rejoined Puymirol, wishing to evade this rather embarrassing question.
"Possibly. Before doing so, however, I must consult the person who is most interested in the matter. But you, no doubt, opened the pocket-book before taking it to the commissary's office?"
"Yes; and on discovering that it only contained some papers, my first impulse was to throw it out of the window, but on reflection I said to myself: Russian leather has its value, and I thought that the papers might furnish a clue to the owner of the article."
"Did you read the letters?"
"I glanced at them, and seeing that they bore no signature I replaced them in the pocket-book," replied Puymirol, at the same time suddenly noticing the direction of the stranger's glance, which was turned upon his—Puymirol's chest. Instinctively raising his hand he found that one end of the pocket-book was now projecting from his breast-pocket. He had unbuttoned his coat on sitting down to dinner, but he now hastily closed it again.
"I am greatly obliged to you," said the stranger, slowly. "For I now know where the letters are. I am very sorry to have troubled you, and I will not inflict my company upon you any longer." With these words he rose, returned to his table, and asked the waiter for his bill.
"I see your little game," thought Puymirol, "you intend to follow me when I leave the restaurant. Try it, old fellow, we shall see." And then, wishing to be quite free in his movements, he also asked for his score.
The two bills were brought at the same time. They both paid, and the stranger rose to go. While he was putting on his overcoat, however, Puymirol asked in a loud voice for some cigars of a particular brand, which, as he knew perfectly well, was not kept in the house. This was done solely for the purpose of convincing the stranger that he did not intend to leave the table for several minutes, and the fellow fell into the trap. Puymirol saw him pass down the main staircase, and disappear behind the curtains of the vestibule. A moment afterwards, he also rose, slipped on his overcoat, and passed out, not by the main exit, but by a side-door, communicating with the Hôtel du Helder, of which the restaurant is an adjunct. He duly proceeded to the hotel entrance, and, peering out, looked up and down the street. It was dark, and no foot passengers were visible, but, finally, inside a wine-shop, brilliantly lighted up and only a few yards off, he saw a person standing near the glass door with his eyes fixed on the restaurant. Puymirol waited ten minutes or more watching this man, and at last the glass door opened, and the fellow crossed the street to the Lion d'Or and spoke to the doorkeeper, who at once darted up the stairs leading to the restaurant. "Good!" thought Puymirol, "the scoundrel wants to find out if I am still at table. When he finds that I have left he will decamp without loss of time. I hope the head-waiter won't tell him which way I went out. But if he does, this man will never suspect that I am still here, and if he should come this way, I can easily conceal myself."
A moment later, the doorkeeper returned and evidently reported the result of his mission. The stranger slipped a gratuity into his hand, crossed the street, and then walked slowly towards the Boulevard Haussmann, without pausing to look around or behind, as he would have done had he suspected that anyone meant to follow him. "My ruse has succeeded," muttered Puymirol, "and the rascal can't escape me now. I certainly mean to follow him, and when I have found out where he lives, all the rest will be plain sailing."
On reaching the end of the Rue du Helder, the man paused for an instant, and then turned down the Rue Taitbout. "Perhaps he isn't going straight home," thought Puymirol. "When he threw the pocket-book into the cab he was bound for the left bank of the river, so he must live in that direction. Perhaps he is now going to see the woman whose cause he has espoused. I must be careful."
Puymirol did not at first realize that to follow a man successfully the pursuer must remain some little distance behind. If he follows him too closely, he is almost sure to attract his attention, and this almost happened at the corner of the Rue de Provence, when the stranger was obliged to stop short to let a carriage pass. He went on his way almost immediately, but it was a lesson that Puymirol profited by. The stranger now went up the Rue de la Chaussée d'Antin, as far as the Place de la Trinité, where he again hesitated, and Puymirol had to hastily conceal himself behind a vehicle. However, the stranger finally decided to cross the square and went down the Rue de Londres, but on reaching the Place de l'Europe he stopped again. A train was passing under the railway bridge, and he leant over the railing to watch it. One might have fancied that he had nothing better to do than to kill time by strolling about the streets. At last, however, he leisurely turned into the Rue de Madrid, and it suddenly occurred to Puymirol that this street crossed the Avenue de Messine, where Blanche Pornic resided. True, he had seen Blanche with an officer at the restaurant, but she might have finished her dinner and have returned home in a cab before now, so possibly this man, who had murdered Dargental, was her hireling. But on reaching the corner of the Avenue de Messine, the stranger, instead of entering that thoroughfare, walked on as far as the Rue de Vigny, a short street, at the end of which the Lescombat mansion stands. The mystery was solved. The stranger was certainly going to the countess's house. He was not in Blanche's employ but in hers. Puymirol forthwith returned to his first plan, which was to make a direct attack upon Madame de Lescombat. He now held her secret, and she could not refuse him anything, for she was at his mercy. Still, it was necessary for him to make sure that the man entered her house, and for some minutes past the pursuit had been attended with much more difficulty. This part of Paris is but little frequented in the evening, and Puymirol and the man he was following were the only persons in the street, so that, if the stranger turned, he could hardly fail to notice his pursuer. However, the stranger did not turn. On the contrary, he walked on with his head bowed upon his breast, and a cigar in his mouth, apparently oblivious to everything transpiring around him. He was already passing the high wall that inclosed the grounds of the Lescombat mansion. There was here a small gate, but, instead of ringing at it, he pushed on towards the boulevard, where the main entrance was situated, and Puymirol finally saw him disappear round the corner. He followed on in hot haste. Two windows of Madame de Lescombat's abode were lighted up—those of the boudoir where the countess usually sat—but the stranger was not in front of the gate. Puymirol thought he must have already gone in, and he himself was about to ring, when he perceived the fellow standing in the middle of the thoroughfare, and gazing at a fountain. However, the light of an approaching omnibus was visible in the distance, and Puymirol thought that the stranger might be waiting for it. But he was again mistaken. The omnibus passed on; the man crossed the boulevard, and turning into the next street, walked off in an exactly opposite direction to that taken by the omnibus. "No matter," muttered Puymirol, "I will not lose sight of him until I see him enter a house. Even then, I must satisfy myself before I leave, that the house he enters is really the one he lives in. Baccarat has nearly ruined me, but I still have enough money about me to bribe a doorkeeper. At all events, I shall persevere until the end."
After going a short distance, the man turned suddenly to the right, into a street that Puymirol was not acquainted with, but which must lead back to the point they had left a few moments before. "Can he have noticed me, and is he trying to throw me off the scent?" Puymirol asked himself for the first time. "Or, has he allowed me to follow him, in order to draw me into some trap? It would not astonish me on the part of such a scoundrel as he is." Indeed, the fellow knew that the pocket-book was in Puymirol's possession, for he had seen it projecting from his coat at the restaurant, and he had every reason to suppose that the letters were still inside it. This reflection made Adhémar pause, but only for a moment. He had gone too far to retreat, so he hurried on again, soliloquising: "Fortunately, I left the letters with George. There are only some lottery tickets in the case, and, after all, I don't see why I should even leave them inside." And, thereupon, he opened the pocket-book, took out the tickets and slipped them into his waistcoat pocket, replacing the case in his coat.
The stranger was now some distance in advance, for the person walking along so rapidly about half-way up the street must certainly be he, and Puymirol, seeing him again turn to the right, hastened on regardless of the noise his boots made on the asphalt. But he had mistaken another pedestrian for the enemy he wished to overtake, for just as he was least expecting it, his foe, emerging from an alley in which he had concealed himself, sprung out upon him, and seized him by the throat. Puymirol was strong, but the attack was so sudden and so violent, that he had not time to defend himself. He felt a violent twist, and that was all. His breath failed him, his arms fluttered, and he lost his footing, falling, half-fainting, upon the pavement. He did not entirely lose consciousness, but his sensations were vague and confused. He fancied that there was a heavy weight upon his chest, that his coat was being unbuttoned and his pockets searched, but all this was done so quickly that he was scarcely aware of it. How many minutes elapsed before he fully regained his senses, he never knew; but when he did recover them, he perceived that his assailant had disappeared. He rose with difficulty, and while satisfying himself that he had no bones broken, he likewise discovered that his pocket-book had disappeared. His watch, his money, and the lottery tickets were safe, however. His assailant had merely wanted to get the letters, and he was foiled in his attempt, for he had not found them.
Puymirol endeavoured to console himself with this reflection, but although he still possessed the letters he did not know what use to make of them. Nothing short of a miracle was now required to extricate him from his dilemma, but Puymirol was no believer in miracles.
IV.
While Puymirol was engaged in these adventures, George Caumont was dreaming of his love. He had gone to the club after dinner in the hope of finding his friend, but failing in this, he had comforted himself with the thought that Puymirol would be sure to return home sooner or later, and accordingly he went back to the Rue de Medicis where they occupied separate suites of apartments in the same house. George fell asleep dreaming of Gabrielle Verdon; but as soon as he awoke in the morning, he repaired to his friend's rooms of which he had a key, just as Adhémar had a key to his, and on going in, he found the bed undisturbed. This discovery made him rather anxious, and after waiting in vain all the morning, George finally determined to go in search of Adhémar. He first repaired to the residence of the Countess de Lescombat, knowing that Puymirol had gone there, but a fresh disappointment awaited him, for the countess was out, and the doorkeeper, whilst admitting that M. de Puymirol had called on the day before, added that he had only remained a short time. George thereupon left his card, with the announcement that he would call upon Madame de Lescombat on the following afternoon, and re-entering his cab, was driven to the club. He learned that his friend had been fencing there on the day before, but that nothing had been seen of him since then; whereupon he made a tour of various gambling-houses, where Puymirol might have spent the night, but no one could give him any news. Disheartened by this failure, George finally drove back to the Rue de Medicis with a vague hope of finding that Adhémar had returned. But in this expectation he was likewise disappointed, and after writing a few lines, in which he begged Puymirol to wait for him in case he came back before he did, he made a hasty toilet and repaired to the Luxembourg garden in search of Gabrielle and her mother. He soon found them seated alone near a clump of shrubbery, Madame Verdon reading a newspaper, whilst Gabrielle was busy with some crotchet work. M. Rochas was not with them, though there were three chairs. George realised that they were expecting him, and that Gabrielle had chosen this spot so that they might not be disturbed. She gave a cry of delight on perceiving him, and her mother greeted him with an encouraging smile.
"Your coming is most opportune, sir," she graciously remarked. "We were just speaking of you. Yes; I was just saying to Gabrielle that her brother is very unlike you. You are faithful to your friends, whereas that naughty boy ignores me entirely. Would you believe it, we have not seen him since the horse show, and he reached Paris only yesterday morning. He will make his appearance sooner or later, I suppose, and consider himself deeply aggrieved if we do not give him a cordial reception. But, let us say no more about that, but talk of something else. My daughter has told me everything."
George bowed, but remained silent.
"Come, don't be over modest," continued Madame Verdon. "You have known ever since yesterday that Gabrielle loves you, and that I approve of her choice. She has never concealed anything from me, and she has repeated to me every word that passed between you. It is as well you should know that I have always told her: 'My dear girl, marry to suit yourself. I shall have nothing to do with the affair, excepting as regards giving my consent when you ask me for it. I think you incapable of loving a man unworthy of you. I shall, therefore, trust to your discernment, and take care not to thwart your inclinations.'"
This little speech rather surprised George, but he was obliged to admit that there was considerable good sense in the lady's theories, and he was really grateful to her for thus breaking the ice. Besides, he could not forget that Gabrielle's frankness, far from shocking, had delighted him, and he could not consistently blame the mother for acting in the same way.
Madame Verdon added some remarks as to George's father, his own position and prospects, and finally exclaimed: "I feel sure that you will make my daughter happy, and as it does not seem necessary to consult her—"
"Not at all necessary, mamma. I am already engaged," exclaimed Gabrielle, gaily.
"Then," resumed Madame Verdon, "I give my consent. And now, my dear son-in-law, you can confer with my notary whenever you please. He will explain my daughter's financial situation to you, and you can explain yours to him. Gabrielle's fortune is entirely at her own disposal. She has her share of her father's property, and I shall also give her a dowry of two hundred thousand francs. Your father will certainly do something on his side, so you will be able to begin housekeeping with at least thirty thousand francs a year."
"You are too generous," murmured George. "I wish mademoiselle were poor. In that case, she could not doubt my disinterestedness."
"Do you think that I doubt it now?" asked Gabrielle, quickly.
"I am sure that I don't," chimed in Madame Verdon, "and as you love each other, that is enough. Everything else is of little moment, I have always been of that opinion, and when I was young nothing could have induced me to marry for money, nor could anything induce me to do such a thing even now." George pricked up his ears. He realised that the lady's confession would not be much longer deferred. "The moment has come," she continued, "to inform you of a project, which my daughter has, perhaps, mentioned to you. I am about to marry again, and I am sure you will approve of my resolve, when you become better acquainted with my intended husband, whom I introduced to you yesterday at the Palais de l'Industrie. Monsieur Jacques Rochas is several years older than myself, but I should not care to marry a young man. He is a widower, but he has no children, and he is wealthy. His disposition and character suit me. I am perfectly well aware that this is no reason why they should please every one, and I shall not insist upon my daughter and my son-in-law living with us. My plans for the future are made. Jacques and I intend to travel a good deal, and when we settle down, we shall purchase a château not far from Paris, where we can entertain our friends. You will always be very welcome there, you and Gabrielle, but as neither of you has much liking for a country life, you had better install yourselves comfortably inside Paris. Remember that I shall never cease to take an interest in my dear Gabrielle's welfare and in yours. I even hope to contribute to your happiness. I was anxious to tell you all this, for I did not wish you to engage yourself to my daughter without a full knowledge of all the circumstances. If this explicit statement of my intentions does not displease you, it will only remain for us to fix the wedding-day."
"The earlier the date, the better pleased I shall be," said George, with an ardent glance at Mademoiselle Verdon.
"Well, I can not speak for Gabrielle, who maintains a determined silence, but I should like to leave France for Switzerland—Monsieur Rochas's birthplace—about the middle of May."
"A fortnight would be ample time to accomplish all the formalities."
"Let us say a fortnight, then. I will leave it to you young people to fix the precise day; still I shall forthwith announce this great event to Monsieur Rochas, who will feel very glad I'm sure; and that young rogue, Albert, will condescend, I hope, to lead his sister to the altar."
"Are you not afraid that your son may be displeased at not being consulted?" inquired George.
"My son has no voice in the matter."
"And he loves me too well not to rejoice at my happiness," added Gabrielle, quickly. "He will be our best friend."
"Well, if he goes on as he has begun, you are not likely to see much of him," said Madame Verdon, gaily. "But how about your friend, Monsieur de Puymirol? I hope he will act as your best man, or at least as one of your witnesses on your marriage-day. He is a very handsome young fellow, and as you two are inseparable, I hear, I hope you will soon introduce him to us."
"Certainly," murmured George. "I haven't seen him to-day, but I shall meet him this evening, no doubt, and—"
"Oh, I can very readily understand why you did not bring him with you, this morning," interrupted Madame Verdon. "On such an occasion the most intimate friends are in the way. But, speaking of intimate friends, I must tell you that there is a person whom you will see a great deal of when Gabrielle becomes your wife, for he cannot bear her out of his sight. That is our worthy friend, Roch Plancoët."
George gave the ladies a questioning look as if asking what was the nature of the bond that united this stranger to Mademoiselle Verdon. "Roch was my father's foster-brother," said Gabrielle, prompted, probably, by a desire to reassure her lover. "They were brought up together, and after my father's death, he could not make up his mind to abandon my brother and myself, for he had been deeply attached to us from our infancy. When we came to Paris, he came here as well. He is a most devoted friend, but he is painfully shy. You have never yet seen him, and never will see him, in my mother's drawing-room, but not a day passes without his coming to the house to spend an hour or two with me, and he would go through fire and water to spare me pain. He is old enough to be my father, and he loves me as if I were really his daughter."
"Yes, you are a great favourite with him," said Madame Verdon, "but every one is not fortunate enough to be in his good graces. He is very fond of your brother, too, but he is not at all partial to me, and I am quite sure that he does not like Monsieur Rochas. By the way, Gabrielle, I am surprised that we have seen nothing of him since yesterday morning—"
"So I have found you at last," at this moment cried a clear, ringing voice that made all three of the party glance up hastily. "I have been looking for you fully three quarters of an hour. I met Roch at your door, and he told me you must be here."
"Albert!" exclaimed the young girl, springing up and flinging her arms about the neck of her brother, who embraced her heartily in return. "We have been so uneasy about you!" she cried. "Where have you been, you bad fellow?"
"Oh, I had to dine with some comrades, of course. It would not be worth while winning a prize, if one didn't celebrate one's good fortune by a dinner afterwards."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Madame Verdon. "Confess that you have been dancing attendance upon the damsel who threw you some violets."
"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean, mamma," replied the young lieutenant, frowning.
"Oh, well, we will say no more about it," rejoined Madame Verdon. "You are no longer a schoolboy, and I have no right to keep you tied to my apron strings, but if I were your colonel, I should put you under arrest. But I have two pieces of news for you. First, however, allow me to introduce Monsieur George Caumont, who will soon be your brother-in-law. We were just deciding upon the wedding-day."
Albert instantly became serious, but a questioning glance which he gave Gabrielle elicited from her a happy smile. "Do you remember what I wrote to you last winter?" she asked. "It is true I did not mention any names, but—"
"I should think I did remember!" exclaimed the young officer, "and I was going to inquire about the happy man this very day. As it is this gentleman, I must ask him to shake hands with me. I trust we shall be good friends."
"I sincerely hope so," replied George, cordially shaking the lieutenant's proffered hand.
"You don't belong to the army?" resumed Albert.
"No, indeed," exclaimed Madame Verdon. "Monsieur Caumont is just completing his law studies. His father is a landed proprietor in Normandy."
"Well, Monsieur Caumont pleases Gabrielle, and that is enough for me, mamma. If he didn't, I would not take him for a brother-in-law."
"My preference has always been for marriages of inclination," replied Madame Verdon; "love matches, if you like—and you will need no better proof of that than my announcement of my own approaching marriage with Monsieur Jacques Rochas." Albert turned pale, but did not say a word. It was evident that he was making a violent effort to control himself. "Monsieur Rochas was your guardian," continued Madame Verdon, drily, "and for ten years he has been almost one of the family. Our marriage is a settled thing, and nothing that you can say, will make any difference. However, Gabrielle's wedding is the first thing to be considered. I expect it will take place in about a fortnight's time."
"And yours, mother?" asked Albert.
"Mine will come off next month, in Switzerland, probably. On my return to France, I shall live in the country, and very quietly."
"That will be best," remarked Albert, gravely.
George began to look very uncomfortable, and Gabrielle had tears in her eyes. "I am sorry to leave you, my dear Monsieur Caumont," now said the mother, "but it is growing chilly, and my daughter and I must return home. Remember, however, that from this time forth our home is yours. I leave you with my son, whom you ought to convert to a sensible way of thinking."
Madame Verdon rose up as she spoke, and Gabrielle followed her, but not until she had given her brother and her lover a meaning glance. The two young fellows, on being left alone, strolled towards a café at Albert's suggestion, and while quaffing a glass of beer, they began to chat like two old friends. Albert, who showed himself remarkably communicative, related his adventures with Mademoiselle Blanche Pornic, beginning with the horse-show and winding up with the announcement that he had dined with her on the previous evening at the Lion d'Or.
"At the Lion d'Or! that's singular," muttered George, thinking of the lunch ordered by Dargental, and at which Blanche had figured so prominently.
"Why is it singular? It seems to be a very popular restaurant. We had scarcely sat down when in came a gentleman whom Blanche knew, and whose name she told me—a Monsieur de Puymirol."
"Puymirol! are you sure that you are not mistaken in the name?" cried George. This was the first news that he had received of his friend for twenty-four hours, and it seemed strange that tidings should reach him in such a roundabout way.
"Perfectly sure, for Blanche told me an interesting story in connection with this gentleman. He was the intimate friend, it seems, of a Monsieur Dargental who was murdered a fortnight or so ago."
"Did she tell you that?"
"Yes, and a deal more. She pretends to think that the gentleman in question was murdered by one of his old flames—a Countess de Lescombat, whom she seems to hate. I even suspect that they must once have been rivals. But is this story really true? I never saw anything about it in the newspapers."
"There is this much truth in it: Dargental was killed by a pistol shot, but no one knows who fired it."
"I certainly hope it wasn't Blanche. That would rather dampen my ardour. Would you believe it, my dear fellow, she wanted me to pay a visit to this countess and threaten her, but of course, I refused."
"Threaten her with what?"
"I didn't very clearly understand. It was something about some letters that Blanche had written, and which had fallen into the hands of the countess. Blanche wants to regain possession of them, and she seemed to think that I could assist her in obtaining them. However, I told her very plainly that the mission did not suit me, and then she insisted no further. On the contrary, we parted the best friends in the world."
"Well, believe me, I don't speak lightly; but I advise you to have nothing more to do with Blanche Pornic. She is a very attractive woman, but there are plenty of others equally charming; besides, there are circumstances that render any intimacy with her undesirable, and even dangerous just now. Dargental's tragical death has created a good deal of talk, and the authorities have begun an investigation. I know that Blanche has been questioned already, and maybe she may still be implicated in the affair."
"Hum! that would be serious; but excuse me, I see over there a worthy man whom I wish to introduce to you—Roch Plancoët, my poor father's foster brother."
"Madame Verdon just spoke of him to me."
"Then you already know that he is the best friend we have in the world. He has been devoted to my sister and myself from our earliest infancy. He might have made a fortune in the business—he was in a fair way of doing so—but he has come to live in Paris on an income of six thousand francs a year, because he couldn't exist without seeing Gabrielle. We will have a chat with him if you don't mind. Here, Plancoët!" The promenader looked up, recognised Albert, and hastened towards him. "How are you, old fellow?" asked the young lieutenant, slapping him familiarly on the shoulder. "You must take a glass of beer with us. Sit down. Do you see this gentleman? Well, he is Gabrielle's intended husband."
M. Plancoët did not seem to be very much surprised by this abrupt announcement, but he looked searchingly at George, who returned the scrutiny with interest. This faithful friend of the Verdon family seemed to be about fifty years of age, and he was still strong and hearty. His strong features bespoke unusual energy, and strength of mind. His eyes were keen and intelligent, and his smile had much of the patient sweetness of a man accustomed to sacrifice himself for others. In short, his appearance was decidedly prepossessing, and George instantly conceived a strong liking to him. "I trust, sir," he said, almost affectionately, "that Mademoiselle Verdon's marriage will not part you from her. You will always be most welcome at my wife's house."