"By the way, talking of that miserable wretch, I have traced that he was here about a year or two ago, suffering, no doubt, from the most perfect destitution, or else subsisting by disgraceful and dishonourable practices."

"What a pity that a man so largely endowed with penetration, talent, deep learning, and natural intelligence, should sink so low!"

"The innate perversity of his character marred all these high qualities. It is to be hoped he and the countess will not meet; the junction of two such evil spirits is indeed to be feared, for what frightful consequences might there not result from it! Now, touching the facts you have been collecting, have you them about you?"

"Here," said the baron, drawing a paper from his pocket, "are the various particulars I have been enabled to collect touching the birth of a young girl known as La Goualeuse, and also of the now residence of an individual called François Germain, son of the Schoolmaster."

"Be kind enough to read me the result of your inquiries, my dear De Graün. I am well aware what are his royal highness's intentions in the matter; I shall be able to judge then whether the information you possess will be sufficient to enable him to carry them into effect. You have every reason to be satisfied with the agent you employ, I suppose?"

"Oh, he is a rare fellow! so precise, methodical, zealous, and intelligent! I am, indeed, sometimes obliged to moderate his energy; for I am well aware there are certain points, the clearing up of which his highness reserves for himself."

"And, of course, your agent is far from suspecting the deep interest his royal highness has in the matter?"

"Entirely so. My diplomatic position affords an excellent pretext for the inquiries I have undertaken. M. Badinot (for such is the name of the person I am speaking of) is a sharp, shrewd individual, having connections, either recognised or concealed, in every grade of society. He was formerly a lawyer, but compelled to quit his profession from some very serious breach of trust; he has, however, retained very accurate recollections touching the fortunes and situations of his old clients; he knows many a secret, which he boasts, with considerable effrontery, of having turned to a good account. By turns, rich and poor,—now successful, and then a ruined man,—he only ceased his speculations when none could be found to take part in them with him; reduced to live from day to day by expedients more or less illegal, he became a curious specimen of the Figaro school,—so long as his interest was concerned he would devote himself, soul and body, to his employer; and we are sure of his fidelity, for the simple reason that he has nothing to gain, though a great deal to lose, by deceiving us; and, besides, I make him careful of our interests, even unknown to himself."

"The particulars he has hitherto furnished us with have been very correct and satisfactory."

"Oh, he has a very straightforward manner of going to work! And I assure you, my dear Murphy, that M. Badinot is the very original type of one of those mysterious existences which are to be met with, and only possible, in Paris. He would greatly amuse his royal highness, if it were not necessary to avoid their being known to each other in this business."

"You can augment the pay of M. Badinot if you deem it necessary."

"Why, really, five hundred francs a month, and his expenses, amounting to nearly the same sum, appear to me quite sufficient; we shall see by and by."

"And does he not seem ashamed of the part he plays?"

"On the contrary, he is not a little vain of his employment, and when he brings me any particulars assumes a certain air of importance he would fain pass off as due to his diplomatic functions; for the fellow either thinks, or feigns to do so, that he is deeply engaged in state affairs, and ventures to observe at times, in a sort of undertone, how very marvellous it is that such close and intimate relationship should be found to exist between every-day events and the destinies of kingdoms! Yes, really, he had the impudence to remark to me the other day, 'What complicated machinery is contained in the grand machine of state affairs! Who would think now, M. le Baron, those little humble notes collected by me will have their part to play in directing and regulating the affairs of Europe!'"

"Yes, yes, rascals generally seek to veil their mean and base practices beneath some high-sounding pretext. But the notes you are to give me, my dear baron, have you them with you?"

"Here they are, drawn up precisely from the accounts furnished by M. Badinot."

"Pray let me hear them; I am all attention."

M. de Graün then read as follows:

"Note relative to Fleur-de-Marie.—About the beginning of the year 1827, a man named Pierre Tournemine, then under sentence in the galleys at Rochefort for forgery, proposed to a woman named Gervais, but also known as La Chouette, to take perpetual charge of a little girl, then between five and six years of age, for a sum of one thousand francs paid down.

"The bargain being concluded, the child was delivered over to the woman, with whom she remained two years, when, unable longer to endure the cruelty shown her, the little girl disappeared; nor did the Chouette hear anything of her for several years, when she unexpectedly met with her at a small public-house in the Cité, nearly seven weeks ago. The infant, now grown into a young woman, then bore the appellation of La Goualeuse.

"A few days previously to this meeting, the above mentioned Tournemine, who had become acquainted with the Schoolmaster at the galleys of Rochefort, had sent to Bras Rouge (the regular, though concealed correspondent of every rogue and felon either in prison or out of it) a lengthened detail of every particular relative to the child formerly confided to the woman Gervais, otherwise the Chouette.

"From this account, and the declarations of the Chouette, it appeared that one Madame Séraphin, housekeeper to a notary named Jacques Ferrand, had in 1827 instructed Tournemine to find a person who, for the sum of one thousand francs, would be willing to take the entire charge of a child of from five to six years of age whom it was desired to get rid of, as has before been mentioned.

"The Chouette accepted the proposition, and received both the child and the stipulated sum of money.

"The aim of Tournemine, in addressing these particulars to Bras Rouge, was to enable the latter to extort money from Madame Séraphin, whom Tournemine considered but as the agent of a third party, under a threat of revealing the whole affair unless well paid for silence.

"Bras Rouge entrusted the Chouette, long the established partner in all the Schoolmaster's schemes of villainy; and this explains how so important a document found its way to that monster's possession, and also accounts for the expression used by the Chouette at her rencontre with the Goualeuse in the cabaret of the White Rabbit, when, by way of tormenting her victim, she said, 'We have found out all about your parents, but you shall never know who or what they are.'

"The point to be decided was as to the veracity of the circumstances detailed by Tournemine in his letter to the Chouette.

"It has been ascertained that Madame Séraphin and the notary, Jacques Ferrand, are both living; the address of the latter is Rue du Sentier, No. 41, where he passes for a person of pious and austere life; at least, he is constant in his attendance at church,—his attention to his professional duties, close and severe, though some accuse him of following up the severity of the law with unnecessary rigour. In his mode of living he observes a parsimony bordering on avarice. Madame Séraphin still resides with him, as manager of his household; and M. Jacques Ferrand, spite of his original poverty, has invested thirty-five thousand francs in the funds, the greatest part of this sum having been supplied to him through a M. Charles Robert, a superior officer of the National Guard,—a young and handsome man, in high repute with a certain class of society. 'Tis true that some ill-natured persons are found to assert that, owing either to fortunate speculations or lucky hits upon the Stock Exchange, undertaken in partnership with the above mentioned Charles Robert, the worthy notary could now well afford to pay back the original loan with high interest; but the rigidly austere and self-denying life of this worthy man gives a flat denial to all such gossiping reports, and, spite of the incredulity with which he is occasionally listened to, he persists in styling himself a man struggling for a maintenance. There can be no manner of doubt but that Madame Séraphin, this worthy gentleman's housekeeper, could, if she pleased, throw an entire light upon every circumstance connected with La Goualeuse."

"Bravo, my dear baron!" exclaimed Murphy; "nothing can be better. These declarations of Tournemine carry with them an appearance of truth, and it seems more than probable that we may, through Jacques Ferrand, obtain the right clue to discovering the parents of this unfortunate girl. Now tell me, have you been equally successful in the information collected touching the son of the Schoolmaster?"

"Perhaps, as regards him, I am not furnished with such minute particulars; but, upon the whole, I think the result of our inquiries very satisfactory."

"Upon my word, your M. Badinot is a downright treasure!"

"You see, Bras Rouge is the hinge upon which everything turns. M. Badinot, who has several acquaintances in the police, pointed him out to us as the go-between of several notorious felons, and knew the man directly he was set to discover what had become of the ill-fated son of Madame Georges Duresnel, the unfortunate wife of this atrocious Schoolmaster."

"And it was in going to search for Bras Rouge, in his den in the Cité (Rue aux Fêves, No. 13), that my lord fell in with the Chourineur and La Goualeuse. His royal highness hoped, too, that the opportunity now before him, of visiting these abodes of vice and wretchedness, might afford him the means of rescuing some unfortunate being from the depths of guilt and misery. His benevolent anticipations were gratified, but at what risk it is painful even to remember."

"Whatever dangers attended the scheme, you, at least, my dear Murphy, bravely bore your share in them."

"Was not I, for that very purpose, appointed charcoal-man in waiting upon his royal highness?" replied the squire, smilingly.

"Say, rather, his intrepid body-guard, my worthy friend. But to touch upon your courage and devotion is only to repeat what every one knows. I will, therefore, spare your modesty, and continue my relation. Here are the various particulars we have been able to glean concerning François Germain, son of Madame Georges and the Schoolmaster, properly called Duresnel:

"About eighteen months since, a young man, named François Germain, arrived in Paris from Nantes, where he had been employed in the banking-house of Noël and Co.

"It seems, both from the confession of the Schoolmaster as well as from several letters found upon him, that the scoundrel to whom he had entrusted his unfortunate offspring, for the purpose of perverting his young mind, and rendering him one day a worthy assistant to his unprincipled father in his nefarious schemes, proposed to the young man to join in a plot for robbing his employers, as well as to forge upon the firm to a considerable amount. This proposition was received by the youth with well-merited indignation, but, unwilling to denounce the man by whom he had been brought up, he first communicated anonymously to his master the designs projected against the bank, and then privately quitted Nantes, that he might avoid the rage and fury of those whose sinful practices his soul sickened and shuddered to think of, far less to bear the idea of participating in.

"These wretches, aware that they had betrayed themselves to the young man, and dreading the use he might make of his information, immediately upon finding he had quitted Nantes followed him to Paris, with the most sinister intentions of silencing him for ever. After long and persevering inquiries, they succeeded in discovering his address, but, happily for the persecuted object of their search, he had a few days previously encountered the villain who had first sought to corrupt his principles, and, well divining the motive which had brought him to Paris, lost no time in changing his abode; and so, for this time, the Schoolmaster's hapless son escaped his pursuers. Still, however, following up the scent, they succeeded in tracing the youth to his fresh abode, 17 Rue du Temple. One evening, however, he narrowly escaped falling into an ambush laid for him (the Schoolmaster concealed this circumstance from my lord), but again Providence befriended him, and he escaped, though too much alarmed to remain in his lodgings; he once more changed his abode, since which time all traces of him have been lost. And matters had reached thus far when the Schoolmaster received the just punishment of his crimes; since which period, by order of my lord, fresh inquiries have been instituted, of which the following is the result.

"François Germain lived for about three months at No. 17 Rue du Temple, a house rendered worthy of observation by the habits and ingenious practices of its inhabitants. Germain was a great favourite among them, by reason of his kind and amiable disposition, as well as for the frank gaiety of his temper. Although his means of livelihood appeared very slender, yet he had rendered the most generous assistance to an indigent family occupying the garrets of the house. In vain has been every inquiry made in the Rue du Temple touching the present residence of François Germain, or the profession he was supposed to follow; every one in the house believed him to be employed in some counting-house, or office, as he went out early in the morning and never returned till late in the evening. The only person who really knows the present residence of the young man is a female, lodging in the house No. 17 Rue du Temple,—a young and pretty grisette, named Rigolette, between whom and Germain a very close acquaintance appears to have existed. She occupies the adjoining room to that which Germain tenanted, and which chamber, by the by, is still vacant; and it was under pretext of inquiring about it that these particulars were obtained."

"Rigolette!" exclaimed Murphy, after having been for several minutes apparently in deep thought. "Yes, I am sure I know her."

"You! Sir Walter Murphy," replied the baron, much amused. "You, most worthy and respectable father of a family! you know anything of pretty grisettes! And so the name of Mlle. Rigolette is familiar to you, is it? Fie, fie! Oh, positively I am ashamed of you!"

"'Pon my soul, my lord compelled me to have so many strange acquaintances, that such a mere trifle as this should pass for nothing. But wait a bit. Yes, now I recollect perfectly, that when my lord was relating the history of La Goualeuse, I could not help laughing at the very odd name of Rigolette, which, as far as I can call to mind, was the name of a prison acquaintance of that poor Fleur-de-Marie."

"Well, then, just at this particular juncture Mlle. Rigolette may be of the utmost service to us. Let me conclude my report:

"There might possibly be an advantage in engaging the vacant chamber recently belonging to Germain, in the Rue du Temple. We have no instructions to proceed further in our investigations, but, from some words which escaped the porteress, there is every reason to believe that not only would it be possible to find in this house certain indications of where the Schoolmaster's son may be heard of, through the means of Mlle. Rigolette, but the house itself would afford my lord an opportunity of studying human nature amid wants, difficulties, and misery, the very existence of which he is far from suspecting."

"Thus you see, my dear Murphy," said M. de Graün, finishing his report and presenting it to his companion, "you see evidently that it is from the notary, Jacques Ferrand, we must hope to obtain information respecting the parentage of La Goualeuse, and that we must go to Mlle. Rigolette to trace the dwelling of François Germain. It seems to me a great point to have ascertained the direction in which to search."

"Undoubtedly, baron; you are quite right; and, besides, I am sure my lord will find a fine field for observation in the house of which you speak. But I have not yet done with you. Have you made any inquiries respecting the Marquis d'Harville?"

"I have; and, so far as concerns money matters, his royal highness's fears are wholly unfounded. M. Badinot affirms (and he is very likely to be well informed on the subject) that the fortune of the marquis has never been in a more prosperous condition, or better managed."

"Why, after having in vain exhausted every other conjecture as to the secret grief which is preying upon M. d'Harville, my lord imagined that it was just probable the marquis had some pecuniary difficulties; had it proved so, he would have removed them with that delicate assumption of mystery you know he so frequently employs to veil his munificence. But, since even this conjecture has failed, he must abandon all hope of guessing the enigma; and this he will do the more reluctantly, as his great desire to discover it arose out of his ardent friendship for M. d'Harville."

"A friendship which is founded on a grateful recollection of the important services rendered by the marquis's father to his own parent. Are you aware, my dear Murphy, that at the remodelling of the States in 1815, at the Germanic confederation, the father of his royal highness had a chance of being excluded, from his well-known attachment to Napoleon? Thanks to the friendship with which the Emperor Alexander honoured him, the deceased Marquis d'Harville was enabled to render most effectual service to the father of our patron. The emperor, whose warm regard for the late marquis had taken its date from the period of that nobleman's emigration to Russia, exerted his powerful influence in congress so successfully, that at the grand meeting to decide the destinies of the princes of Germany, the father of our noble employer was reinstated in all his pristine rights. As for the friendship now subsisting between the present marquis and his royal highness, I believe it commenced when, as mere boys, they met together on a visit paid by the then reigning grand duke to the late Marquis d'Harville."

"So I have heard; and they appear to have retained a most lively recollection of this happy period of their youth. Nor is this all I have to say on the subject of the interest our noble master takes in every matter concerning the house of D'Harville. So profound is his gratitude for the services rendered to his father, that all bearing the honoured name of D'Harville, or belonging to the family, possess a powerful claim on the kindness of the prince. Thus, not alone to her virtues or her misfortunes does poor Madame Georges owe the increasing and unwearied goodness of my lord."

"Madame Georges!" exclaimed the astounded baron. "What, the wife of Duresnel, the felon known as the Schoolmaster?"

"And the mother of François Germain, the youth we are seeking for, and whom, I trust, we shall find."

"Is the relation of M. d'Harville?"

"She was his mother's cousin, and her most intimate friend; the old marquis entertained the most perfect friendship and esteem for Madame Georges."

"But how, for heaven's sake, my dear Murphy, did it ever come about that the D'Harville family ever permitted a descendant of theirs to marry such a monster as this Duresnel?"

"Why, thus it was. The father of this unfortunate woman was a M. de Lagny, who, previous to the Revolution, possessed considerable property in Languedoc, and who, having fortunately escaped the proscription so fatal to many, availed himself of the first tranquillity which succeeded these days of discord and anarchy to establish his only daughter in marriage. Among the various candidates for the hand of the young heiress was this Duresnel, the representative of a wealthy and respectable family, possessing powerful parliamentary influence, and concealing the depravity of his disposition beneath the most specious exterior. To this man was Mlle. de Lagny united, by desire of her father; but a very short time sufficed to strip the mask from his vicious character, and to display his natural propensities. A gambler, a spendthrift, and profligate, addicted to the lowest vices that can disgrace a human being, he quickly dissipated, not only his own fortune, but that of his wife also. Even the estate to which Madame Georges Duresnel had retired was involved in the general ruin occasioned by her worthless husband's passion for play, and his dissolute mode of life; and the unfortunate woman would have been left without a shelter for herself or infant son but for the kind affection of her relation, the Marquise d'Harville, whom she loved with the tenderness of a sister. With this valued friend Madame Duresnel found a welcome home, while her wretched husband, finding himself utterly ruined, plunged into the blackest crimes, and stopped at no means, however guilty and desperate, to supply his pleasures. He became the associate of thieves, murderers, pickpockets, and forgers, and ere long, falling into the hands of the law, was sentenced to the galleys for the term of his natural life. Yet, while suffering the just punishment of his crimes, his base mind devised the double atrocity of tearing the child from its miserable mother, for the sake of breaking down every good principle it might have imbibed, and of training it up in vicious readiness to join his future schemes of villainy. You know the rest. After the condemnation of her husband, Madame Georges, without giving any reason for so doing, quitted the Marquise d'Harville, and went to hide her shame and her sorrows in Paris, where she soon fell into the utmost distress. It would occupy too much time to tell you by what train of events my lord became aware of the misfortunes of this excellent woman, as well as the ties which connect her with the D'Harville family; it is sufficient that he came most opportunely and generously to her assistance, induced her to quit Paris and establish herself at the farm at Bouqueval, where she now is, with the Goualeuse. In this peaceful retreat she has found tranquillity, if not happiness; and the overlooking and management of the farm may serve to recreate her thoughts, and prevent them from dwelling too deeply on her past sorrows. As much to spare the almost morbid sensibility of Madame Georges, as because he dislikes to blazon forth his good deeds, my lord has not even acquainted M. d'Harville with the fact of his having relieved his kinswoman from such severe distress."

"I comprehend now the twofold interest which my lord has in desiring to discover the traces of the son of this poor woman."

"You may also judge by that, my dear baron, of the affection which his royal highness bears to the whole family, and how deep is his vexation at seeing the young marquis so sad, with so many reasons to be happy."

"What can there be wanting to M. d'Harville? He unites all,—birth, fortune, wit, youth; his wife is charming, and as prudent as she is lovely."

"True, and his royal highness only had recourse to the inquiries we have been talking over after having in vain endeavoured to penetrate the cause of M. d'Harville's deep melancholy; he showed himself deeply affected by the kind attentions of monseigneur, but still has been entirely reserved on the subject of his low spirits. It may be some peine de cœur."

"Yet it is said that he is excessively fond of his wife, and she does not give him the least cause for jealousy. I often meet her in society, and, although she is constantly surrounded by admirers (as every young and lovely woman is), still her reputation is unsullied."

"The marquis is always speaking of her in the highest terms; he has had, however, one little discussion with her on the subject of the Countess Sarah Macgregor."

"Has she, then, seen her?"

"By a most unlucky chance, the father of the Marquis d'Harville knew Sarah Seyton of Halsburg, and her brother Tom, seventeen or eighteen years ago, during their residence in Paris, and when they were much noticed by the lady of the English ambassador. Learning that the brother and sister were going into Germany, the old marquis gave them letters of introduction to the father of our noble lord, with whom he kept up a constant correspondence. Alas! my dear De Graün, perhaps but for these introductions many misfortunes would have been avoided, for then monseigneur would not have known this woman. When the Countess Sarah returned hither, knowing the friendship of his royal highness for the marquis, she presented herself at the Hotel d'Harville, in the hope of meeting monseigneur; for she shows as much pertinacity in pursuing him as he evinces resolution to avoid her."

"Only imagine her disguising herself in male attire, and following him into the Cité! No woman but she would have dreamt of such a thing."

"She, perhaps, hoped by such a step to touch his royal highness and compel him to an interview, which he has always refused and avoided. To return to Madame d'Harville: her husband, to whom monseigneur has spoken of Sarah as she deserved, has begged his wife to see her as seldom as possible; but the young marquise, seduced by the hypocritical flatteries of the countess, has gone somewhat counter to the marquis's request. Some trifling differences have arisen, but not of sufficient importance to cause or explain the extreme dejection of the marquis."

"Oh, the women! the women! My dear Murphy, I am very sorry that Madame d'Harville should have formed any acquaintance with this Sarah. So young and charming a woman must suffer by the contact with such an infernal—"

"Talking of infernal creatures," said Murphy, "here is a communication relative to Cecily, the unworthy spouse of the excellent David."

"Between ourselves, my dear Murphy, this audacious métisse[9] well deserves the terrible punishment that her husband, our dear black doctor, has inflicted on the Schoolmaster by monseigneur's order. She has also shed blood, and her unblushing infamy is astounding."

"Yet she is so very handsome,—so seductive! A perverted mind within an attractive outside always inspires me with twofold disgust."

"In this sense Cecily is doubly hateful. But I hope that this despatch annuls the last orders issued by monseigneur with regard to this wretched creature."

"On the contrary, baron."

"My lord, then, desires that her escape from the fortress in which she had been shut up for life may be effected?"

"Yes."

"And that her pretended ravisher should bring her to France,—to Paris?"

"Yes; and, besides, this despatch orders the arrangement to be carried out as soon as possible, and that Cecily be made to travel hither so speedily that she may arrive here in a fortnight."

"I am lost in astonishment! Monseigneur has always evinced such a horror of her!"

"And that horror he still experiences; if possible, stronger than ever."

"And yet he causes her to be sent to him! To be sure, it will always be easy to apprehend Cecily again, if she does not carry out what he requires of her. Orders are given to the son of the gaoler of the fortress of Gerolstein to carry her off, as if he were enamoured of her, and every facility will be given to him for effecting this purpose. Overjoyed at this opportunity of escaping, the métisse will follow her supposed ravisher, and reach Paris; then she will always have her sentence of condemnation hanging over her, always be but an escaped prisoner, and I shall be always ready, when it shall please his royal highness to desire, again to lay hands upon and incarcerate her."

"I should tell you, my dear baron, that when David learned from monseigneur of the proposed arrival of Cecily, he was absolutely petrified, and exclaimed, 'I hope that your royal highness will not compel me to see the monster?' 'Make yourself easy,' replied monseigneur; 'you shall not see her, but I may require her services for a particular purpose.' David felt relieved of an enormous weight off his mind. Nevertheless, I am sure that some very painful reminiscences were awakened in his mind."

"Poor negro! he loves her still. They say, too, that she is yet so lovely!"

"Charming!—too charming! It requires the pitiless eye of a creole to detect the mixed blood in the all but imperceptible shade which lightly tinges her rosy finger-nails. Our fresh and hale beauties of the North have not a more transparent complexion, nor a skin of more dazzling whiteness."

"I was in France when monseigneur returned from America, accompanied by David and Cecily, and I know that that excellent man was from that time attached to his royal highness by ties of the strongest gratitude; but I never learned how he became attached to the service of our master, and how he had married Cecily, whom I saw, for the first time, about a year after his marriage; and God knows the scandal that followed!"

"I can tell you every particular that you may wish to learn, my dear baron; I accompanied monseigneur in his voyage to America, when he rescued David and the métisse from the most awful fate."

"You are always most kind, my dear Murphy, and I am all attention," said the baron.

CHAPTER XXII.

HISTORY OF DAVID AND CECILY.

"Mr. Willis, a rich American planter, settled in Florida," said Murphy, "had discovered in one of his young black slaves, named David, who was employed in the infirmary attached to his dwelling, a very remarkable degree of intelligence, combined with a constant and deep commiseration for the sick poor, to whom he gave, with the utmost attention and care, the medicine ordered by the doctors, and, moreover, so strong a prepossession for the study of botany, as applied to medicine, that without any tuition he had composed and classified a sort of flora of the plants around the dwelling and the vicinity. The establishment of Mr. Willis, situated on the borders of the sea, was fifteen or twenty leagues from the nearest town; and the medical men of the district, ignorant as they were, gave themselves no great deal of care or trouble, in consequence of the long distance and the difficulty in procuring any means of conveyance. Desirous of remedying so extreme an inconvenience in a country subject to violent epidemics, and to have at hand at all times a skilful practitioner, the colonist made up his mind to send David to France to learn surgery and medicine. Enchanted at this offer, the young black set out for Paris, and the planter paid all the expenses of his course of study. David, having for eight years studied with great diligence and remarkable effect, received the degree of surgeon and physician with the most distinguished success, and then returned to America to place himself and his skill under the direction of his master."

"But David ought to have considered himself free and emancipated, in fact and in law, when he set foot in France."

"David's loyalty is very rare: he had promised Mr. Willis to return, and he did so. He did not consider as his own the instruction which he had acquired with his master's money; and, besides, he hoped to improve morally as well as physically the sufferings of the slaves, his former companions; he trusted to become not only their doctor, but their firm friend and defender with the colonist."

"He must, indeed, be imbued with the most unflinching probity and the most intense love for his fellow creatures to return to a master,—an owner,—after having spent eight years in the midst of the society of the most democratic young men in Europe."

"Judge of the man by this one trait. Well, he returned to Florida, and, truth to tell, was used by Mr. Willis with consideration and kindness, eating at his table, sleeping under his roof. But this colonist was as stupid, malevolent, selfish, and despotic as most creoles are, and he thought himself very generous in giving David six hundred francs (24l.) a year salary. At the end of some months a terrible typhus fever broke out in the plantation. Mr. Willis was attacked by it, but soon restored through the careful attentions and efficacious remedies of David. Out of thirty negroes dangerously affected by this fatal disease, only two perished. Mr. Willis, much gratified by the services which David had so auspiciously rendered, raised his wages to twelve hundred francs, to the extreme gratification of the black doctor, whose fellows regarded him as a divinity amongst them, for he had, with much difficulty it is true, obtained from their master some few indulgences, and was hoping to procure still more. In the meanwhile, he consoled these poor people, and exhorted them to patience; spake to them of God, who watches over the black and the white man with an equal eye; of another world not peopled with masters and slaves, but with the just and the unjust; of another life in eternity, where man was no longer the beast of burden,—the property,—the thing of his fellow man, but where the victims of this world were so happy that they prayed in heaven for their tormentors. What shall I tell you more? To those unhappy wretches who, contrary to other men, count with bitter joy the hours which bring them nearer to the tomb,—to those unfortunate creatures, who looked forward only to nothingness hereafter, David breathed the language and the hope of a free and happy immortality; and then their chains appeared less heavy and their toil less irksome. He was their idol. A year passed away in this manner. Amongst the handsomest of the female slaves at the house was a métisse, about fifteen years of age, named Cecily, and for this poor girl Mr. Willis took a fancy. For the first time in his life his advances were repulsed and obstinately resisted; Cecily was in love, and with David, who, during the late fearful distemper, had attended her with the most vigilant care. Afterwards a deep and mutual love repaid him the debt of gratitude. David's taste was too refined to allow him to boast of his happiness before the time when he should marry Cecily, which was to be when she had turned her sixteenth year. Mr. Willis, ignorant of their love, had thrown his handkerchief right royally at the pretty métisse, and she, in deep despair, sought David, and told him all the brutal attempts that she had been subjected to and with difficulty escaped. The black comforted her, and instantly went to Mr. Willis to request her hand in marriage."

"Diable! my dear Murphy, I can easily surmise the answer of the American sultan,—he refused?"

"He did. He said he had an inclination for the girl himself; that in his life before he had never experienced the repulse of a slave; he meant to possess her, and he would. David might choose another wife or mistress, whichsoever might best suit his inclination; there were in the plantation ten capusses or métisses as pretty as Cecily. David talked of his love,—love so long and tenderly shared, and the planter shrugged his shoulders; David urged, but it was all in vain. The creole had the cool impudence to tell him that it was a bad 'example' to see a master concede to a slave, and that he would not set that 'example' to satisfy a caprice of David's! He entreated,—supplicated, and his master lost his temper. David, blushing to humiliate himself further, spake in a firm tone of his services and disinterestedness,—that he had been contented with a very slender salary. Mr. Willis was desperately enraged, and, telling him he was a contumacious slave, threatened him with the chain. David replied with a few bitter and violent words; and, two hours afterwards, bound to a stake, his skin was torn with the lash, whilst they bore Cecily to the harem of the planter in his sight."

"The conduct of the planter was brutal and horrible; it was adding absurdity to cruelty, for he must after that have required the man's services."

"Precisely so; for that very day the very fury into which he had worked himself, joined to the drunkenness in which the brute indulged every evening, brought on an inflammatory attack of the most dangerous description, the symptoms of which appeared with the rapidity peculiar to such affections. The planter was carried to his bed in a state of the highest fever. He sent off an express for a doctor, but he could not reach his abode in less than six and thirty hours."

"Really, this attack seems providential. The desperate condition of the man was quite deserved by him."

"The malady made fearful strides. David only could save the colonist, but Willis, distrustful, as all evil-doers are, imagined that the black would revenge himself by administering poison; for, after having scourged him with a rod, he had thrown him into prison. At last, horrified at the progress of his illness, broken down by bodily anguish, and thinking that, as death also stared him in the face, he had one chance left in trusting to the generosity of his slave, after many distrusting doubts, Willis ordered David to be unchained."

"And David saved the planter?"

"For five days and five nights he watched and tended him as if he had been his father, counteracting the disease, step by step, with great skill and perfect knowledge, until, at last, he succeeded in defeating it, to the extreme surprise of the doctor who had been sent for, and who did not arrive until the second day."

"And, when restored to health at last, the colonist—"

"Not desiring to blush before his own slave, whose presence constantly oppressed him with the recollection of his excessive nobleness of conduct, the colonist made an enormous sacrifice to attach the doctor he had sent for to his establishment, and David was again conducted to his dungeon."

"Horrible, but by no means astonishing. David must have been in the eyes of his brutal master a complete living remorse."

"Such conduct was dictated alike by revenge and jealousy. The blacks of Mr. Willis loved David with all the warmth of gratitude, for he had saved them body and soul. They knew the care he had bestowed on him when he lay tossing with fever between life and death, and, shaking off the deadening apathy which ordinarily besets slavery, these unfortunate creatures evinced their indignation, or rather grief, most powerfully when they saw David lacerated by the whip. Mr. Willis, deeply exasperated, affected to discover in this manifestation the appearance of revolt, and, when he considered the influence which David had acquired over the slaves, he believed him capable of placing himself at the head of a rebellion to avenge himself of his wrongs. This fear was another motive with the colonist for using David in the most shameful manner, and entirely preventing him from effecting the malicious designs of which he suspected him."

"Considering him as actuated by an irrepressible amount of terror, this conduct seems less stupid, but quite as ferocious."

"A short time after these events we arrived in America. Monseigneur had freighted a Danish brig at St. Thomas's, and we visited incognito all the settlements of the American coast along which we were sailing. We were most hospitably received by Mr. Willis, who, the evening after our arrival, after he had been drinking, and as much from the excitement of wine as from a desire to boast, told us, in a horrid tone of brutal jesting, the history of David and Cecily. I forgot to say that, after having maltreated the girl, he had thrown her into a dungeon also, as a punishment for her disdain of him. His royal highness, on hearing Willis's fearful narration, thought the man was either drunk or a liar; but he was drunk,—it was no lie. To remove any and all doubt, the colonist rose from the table, and desired a slave to bear a lantern and conduct us to David's cell."

"Well, what followed?"

"In my life I never saw so distressing a spectacle. Pale, wan, meagre, half naked, and covered with wounds, David and the unhappy girl, chained by the middle of the body, one at one end and the other at the other end of the dungeon, looked like spectres. The lantern that lighted us threw over this scene a still more ghastly hue. David did not utter a word when he saw us; his gaze was fixed and fearful. The colonist said to him, with cruel irony, 'Well, doctor, how goes it? You, who are so clever, why don't you cure yourself?' The black replied by a noble word and a dignified gesture; he raised his right hand slowly, his forefinger pointed to the roof, and, without looking at the colonist, said in a solemn tone, 'God!' and then was silent. 'God?' replied the planter, bursting into a loud fit of laughter, 'tell him, then,—tell God to come and snatch you from my power! I defy him!' Then Willis, overcome by fury and intoxication, shook his fist to heaven, and said, in blasphemous language, 'Yes, I defy God to carry off my slaves before they are dead!'"

"The man was mad as well as brutal."

"We were utterly disgusted. Monseigneur did not say a word, and we left the cell. This dungeon was situated, as well as the house, on the seashore. We returned to our brig, which was moored a short distance off, and at one o'clock in the morning, when all in the building were plunged in profound sleep, monseigneur went on shore with eight men well armed, and, going straight to the prison, burst open the doors, and freed David and Cecily. The two victims were carried on board so quietly that they were not perceived; and then monseigneur and I went to the planter's house. Strange contrast! These men torture their slaves, and yet do not take any precaution against them, but sleep with doors and windows open. We easily got access to the sleeping-room of the planter, which was lighted on the inside by a small glass lamp. Monseigneur awakened the man, who sat upright in his bed, his brain still disturbed by the effect of his drunkenness. 'You have to-night defied God to carry off your two victims before their death, and he has taken them,' said monseigneur. Then taking a bag which I carried, and which contained twenty-five thousand francs in gold, he threw it on the fellow's bed, and added, 'This will indemnify you for the loss of your two slaves,—to your violence that destroys I oppose a violence that saves. God will judge between us.' We then retreated, leaving Mr. Willis stupefied, motionless, and believing himself under the influence of a dream. A few minutes later we were again on board the brig, which instantly set sail."

"It appears to me, my dear Murphy, that his royal highness overpaid this wretch for the loss of his slaves; for, in fact, David no longer belonged to him."

"We calculated, as nearly as we could, the expense which his studies had cost for eight years, and then the price, thrice over, of himself and Cecily as slaves. Our conduct was contrary to the rights of property, I know; but if you had seen in what a horrible state we found this unfortunate and half-dead couple, if you had heard the sacrilegious defiance almost cast in the face of the Almighty by this man, drunk with wine and ferocity, you would comprehend how monseigneur desired, as he said, on this occasion to act as it were in behalf of Providence."

"All this is as assailable and as justifiable as the punishment of the Schoolmaster, my worthy squire. And had not this adventure any consequences?"

"It could not. The brig was under Danish colours; the incognito of his royal highness was closely kept; we were taken for rich Englishmen. To whom could Willis have addressed his complaints, if he had any to make? In fact, he had told us himself, and the medical man of monseigneur declared it in a procès verbal, that the two slaves could not have lived eight days longer in this frightful dungeon. It required the greatest possible care to snatch David and Cecily from almost certain death. At last they were restored to life. From this period David has been attached to the suite of monseigneur as a medical man, and is most devotedly attached to him."

"David married Cecily, of course, on arriving in Europe?"

"This marriage, which ought to have been followed by results so happy, took place in the chapel of the palace of monseigneur; but, by a most extraordinary revulsion of conduct, hardly was she in the full enjoyment of an unhoped-for position, when, forgetting all that David had suffered for her and what she had suffered for him, blushing in the new world to be wedded to a black, Cecily, seduced by a man of most depraved morals, committed her first fault. It would seem as though the natural perversity of this abandoned woman, having till then slumbered, was suddenly awakened, and developed itself with fearful energy. You know the rest, and all the scandal of the adventures that followed. After having been two years a wife, David, whose confidence in her was only equalled by his love, learned the full extent of her infamy,—a thunderbolt aroused him from his blind security."

"They say he tried to kill his wife."

"Yes; but, through the interference of monseigneur, he consented to allow her to be immured for life in a prison, and it is thence that monseigneur now seeks to have her released,—to your great astonishment, as well as mine, my dear baron. But it is growing late, and his royal highness is anxious that your courier should start for Gerolstein with as little delay as possible."

"In two hours' time he shall be on the road. So now, my dear Murphy, farewell till the evening."

"Till the evening, adieu."

"Have you, then, forgotten that there is a grand ball at the —— Embassy, and that his royal highness will be present?"

"True. I have always forgotten that, since the absence of Colonel Verner and the Count d'Harneim, I have the honour to fulfil the functions of chamberlain and aide-de-camp."

"Ah, apropos of the count and the colonel, when may we expect their return? Will they have soon completed their respective missions?"

"You know that monseigneur will keep them away as long as possible, that he may enjoy more solitude and liberty. As to the errand on which his royal highness has employed each of them, as an ostensible motive for getting rid of them in a quiet way,—sending one to Avignon and the other to Strasbourg,—I will tell you all about it some day, when we are both in a dull mood; for I will defy the most hypochondriacal person in existence not to burst with laughter at the narrative, as well as with certain passages in the despatches of these worthy gentlemen, who have assumed their pretended missions with so serious an air."

"To tell the truth, I have never clearly understood why his royal highness attached the colonel and the count to his private person."

"Why, my dear fellow, is not Colonel Verner the accurate type of military perfection? Is there, in the whole Germanic confederation, a more elegant figure, more flourishing and splendid moustaches, and a more complete military figure? And when he is fully decorated, screwed in, uniformed, gold-laced, plumed, etc., etc., it is impossible to see a more glorious, self-satisfied, proud, handsome—animal."

"True, but it is his very good looks that prevent him from having the appearance of a man of refined and acute intellect."

"Well! and monseigneur says that, thanks to the colonel, he is in the habit of finding even the dullest people in the world bearable. Before certain audiences, which are of necessity, he shuts himself up with the colonel for a half-hour or so, and then leaves him, full of spirits and light as air, quite ready to meet bores and defy them."

"Just as the Roman soldier who, before a forced march, used to sole his sandals with lead, and so found all fatigue light by leaving them off. I now discover the usefulness of the colonel. But the Count d'Harneim?"

"Is also very serviceable to our dear lord; for, always hearing at his side the tinkling of this old cracked bell, shining and chattering,—continually seeing this soap-bubble so puffed up with nothingness, so magnificently variegated, and, as such, portraying the theatrical and puerile phase of sovereign power,—his royal highness feels the more sensibly the vanity of those barren pomps and glories of the world, and, by contrast, has often derived the most serious and happy ideas from the contemplation of his useless and pattering chamberlain."

"Well, well; but let us be just, my dear Murphy: tell me, in what court in the world would you find a more perfect model of a chamberlain? Who knows better than dear old D'Harneim the numberless rules and strict observances of etiquette? Who bears with more becoming demeanour an enamelled cross around his neck, or more majestically comports himself when the keys of office are suspended from his shoulders?"

"Apropos, baron; monseigneur declares that the shoulders of a chamberlain have a peculiar physiognomy: that is, he says, an appearance at once constrained and repulsive, which it is painful to look at; for, alas and alackaday! it is at the back of a chamberlain that the symbol of his office glitters, and, as monseigneur avers, the worthy D'Harneim always seems tempted to present himself backwards, that his importance may at once be seen, felt, and acknowledged."

"The fact is, that the incessant subject of the count's meditations is to ascertain by what fatal imagination and direction the chamberlain's key has been placed behind the chamberlain's back; for it is related of him that he said, with his accustomed good sense, and with a kind of bitter grief, 'What, the devil! one does not open a door with one's back, at all events!'"

"Baron, the courier! the courier!" said Murphy, pointing to the clock.

"Sad old reprobate, to make me chatter thus! It is your fault. Present my respects to his royal highness," said M. de Graün, taking his hat up in haste. "And now, adieu till the evening, my dear Murphy."

"Till the evening, my dear baron, fare thee well. It will be late before we meet, for I am sure that monseigneur will go this very day to pay a visit to the mysterious house in the Rue du Temple."

CHAPTER XXIII.

A HOUSE IN THE RUE DU TEMPLE.

In order to profit by the particulars furnished by Baron de Graün respecting La Goualeuse and Germain, the Schoolmaster's son, it became necessary for Rodolph to visit the house in the Rue du Temple, formerly the abode of that young man, whose retreat the prince likewise hoped to discover through the intervention of Mlle. Rigolette. Although prepared to find it a difficult task, inasmuch as it was more than probable, if the grisette were really sufficiently in Germain's confidence to be aware of his present abode, she also knew too well his anxiety to conceal it to be likely to give the desired information.

By renting the chamber lately occupied by the young man, Rodolph, besides being on the spot to follow up his researches, considered he should also be enabled to observe closely the different individuals inhabiting the rest of the house.

The same day on which the conversation passed between the Baron de Graün and Murphy, Rodolph, plainly and unpretendingly dressed, wended his way about three o'clock, on a gloomy November afternoon, towards the Rue du Temple.

Situated in a district of much business and dense population, the house in question had nothing remarkable in its appearance; it was composed of a ground floor, occupied by a man keeping a low sort of dram-shop, and four upper stories, surmounted by attics. A dark and narrow alley led to a small yard, or, rather, a species of square well, of about five or six feet in width, completely destitute of either air or light, and serving as a pestilential receptacle for all the filth thrown by the various occupants of the respective chambers from the unglazed sashes with which each landing-place was provided.

At the bottom of a damp, dismal-looking staircase, a glimmering light indicated the porter's residence, rendered smoky and dingy by the constant burning of a lamp, requisite, even at midday, to enlighten the gloomy hole, into which Rodolph entered for the purpose of asking leave to view the apartment then vacant.

A lamp, placed behind a glass globe filled with water, served as a reflector; and by its light might be seen, at the far end of the "lodge" (as in courtesy it was styled), a bed, covered with a sort of patchwork counterpane, exhibiting a mingled mass of every known colour and material. A walnut-tree table graced the side of the room, bearing a variety of articles suited to the taste and ornamental notions of its owners. First in order appeared a little waxen Saint John, with a very fat lamb at his feet, and a large peruke of flowing white curls on his head, the whole enclosed in a cracked glass case, the joinings of which were ingeniously secured by slips of blue paper; secondly, a pair of old plated candlesticks, tarnished by time, and bearing, instead of lights, two gilded oranges,—doubtless an offering to the porteress on the last New Year's day; and, thirdly, two boxes, the one composed of variegated straw, the other covered with multitudinous shells, but both smelling strongly of the galleys or house of correction[10] (let us hope, for the sake of the morality of the porteress in the Rue du Temple, that these precious specimens were not presented to her from the original owners and fabricators of them); and, lastly, between the two boxes, and just beneath a circular clock, was suspended a pair of red morocco dress-boots, small enough for the feet of fairies, but elaborately and skilfully designed and completed. This chef-d'œuvre, as the ancient masters of the craft would style them, joined to the fantastic designs sketched on the walls representing boots and shoes, abundantly indicated that the porter of this establishment devoted his time and his talents to the repairing of shoes and shoe leather.