📖❄️ La main froide | Fortuné Du Boisgobey 🔍✨

Plongez dans l’univers mystérieux et palpitant de *La main froide* de Fortuné Du Boisgobey, un grand classique du roman policier français du XIXe siècle. 🕵️‍♂️✨

Ce récit haletant entraîne le lecteur au cœur d’une enquête pleine de rebondissements, où indices énigmatiques, personnages ambigus et atmosphères inquiétantes se mêlent. Avec son style riche et captivant, Du Boisgobey explore les thèmes de la justice, du crime et des secrets enfouis, tout en tenant le lecteur en haleine jusqu’à la dernière page. 📚🔎

👉 Dans cette œuvre, vous découvrirez :
– Une intrigue policière fascinante aux multiples détours ⚖️
– Des personnages mystérieux, chacun porteur de ses secrets 🤫
– Une ambiance sombre et captivante, idéale pour les amateurs de suspense 🌙
– L’art narratif raffiné d’un maître du roman judiciaire français ✒️

🎧 Que vous soyez passionné de littérature policière ou curieux de découvrir les grands maîtres du genre, cette lecture audio vous transportera dans une époque où chaque détail compte et où la vérité se dévoile pas à pas.

🔔 Abonnez-vous dès maintenant pour ne manquer aucun autre chef-d’œuvre littéraire en version audio : https://bit.ly/LivresAudioLaMagieDesMots

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00:00:36 Chapter 1.
00:59:02 Chapter 2.
02:27:13 Chapter 3.
04:01:53 Chapter 4.
06:07:25 Chapter 5.
06:54:19 Chapter 6.

Welcome to this new literary adventure where mystery and thrills meet. Today, we present to you The Cold Hand by Fortuné Du Boisgobey, an undisputed master of the 19th-century detective novel. In this captivating work, the author weaves a dark plot where chance, human passions, and the enigmas of justice intersect to keep the reader on the edge of their seats. From the very first pages, an atmosphere of suspense sets in, drawing us into a world where every gesture, every glance can conceal a disturbing truth. Prepare to dive into a fascinating tale that mixes crime, mystery, and unexpected revelations. Chapter 1. The old Latin Quarter disappeared with the last grisette. The time is no longer when students considered it an honor to never leave the Left Bank. Now, they willingly cross the bridges and spread out onto the grand boulevards, as they call them, to distinguish them from the Boulevard Saint-Michel, which they familiarly call Boul’Mich’. Some even live on the other side of the water and come to classes by car—when they come at all. Yet, on the heights of the Montagne Sainte-Geneviève, one could still find, if one looked carefully, representatives of another age, people with intellectual disabilities faithful to the dress and customs of their predecessors. These people sport strange hairstyles, smoke pipes while drinking beer in front of the cafés on the Rue Soufflot, queue up at the Théâtre de Cluny, dance at the Closerie des Lilas, and firmly believe that the universe ends at the small arm of the Seine. These believers are rare; so rare that, last year, there were as many as two of them, and the newcomers appeared like phenomena. They were still distinguished from the students of the past in that they both had money, and it would have been up to them to lead a different life. It was by vocation that they lived the life of the neighborhood. One of the two was even rich enough and well-connected enough to cut a good figure elsewhere. His name was Jean de Mirande, and upon reaching adulthood, he had come into possession of about twenty thousand francs in income, not to mention the prospect of inheriting later from a millionaire, bachelor uncle who had been his guardian. It is true that he hardly counted on this inheritance, for the aforementioned uncle was as solid as the Pont du Gard, built by the Romans, and, moreover , completely estranged from his nephew, ever since this nephew had taken it into his head to depart from the traditions of his noble ancestors by enlisting in the bohemian school. The Pylades of this Orestes of the Latin country was not descended from the Crusaders and he did not even come, as they say vulgarly, from the thigh of Jupiter. His mother, the widow of a postman at Les Halles, had amassed a very decent living selling early vegetables at Pointe Saint-Eustache, and paid a pension of six hundred francs a month to her only offspring, whom she didn’t see often, for she lived on Rue des Tournelles in the Marais, and Paul hardly ever strayed far from the Panthéon. The two friends were not at all alike. Jean was dark, tall, and broad-shouldered. He would have made a superb cuirassier and was proud of his height and strength. Paul, blond, slim, and delicate, had a bit of a young lady’s air. Jean loved boisterous adventures, drunken assaults, and hussar-style conquests. Angry and quarrelsome at that, he spoke only of slaying, and he slayed… sometimes. Paul, who was not a coward, preferred sentimental walks under the trees on the Avenue de l’Observatoire to brasserie fights. But his peaceful tastes did not prevent him from participating in all the joyous parties arranged by the turbulent Jean de Mirande. They had become linked by virtue of a natural law that we all obey—the instinct that drives us to fuse races—and also because Jean had, one evening, energetically and victoriously defended Paul Cormier, assailed by a band of gentlemen with hearts, who had come from the right bank to invade the Bullier ball. And, the final contrast between these inseparable friends, Jean, whose ancestors could have ridden in the King’s carriages, Jean gave into new ideas. He went as far as nihilism, inclusively–while Paul, the son of merchants, claimed to miss the old regime. Paul would have given ten years of his life to be loved by a duchess. Jean, for his part, was perfectly happy with the little factory girls who had left their workshops and the singers from the café-concerts, called Beuglants, who constitute the basis of the gallant world across the Seine. In which, he was not entirely wrong, for he reigned supreme over the hearts of these easy maidens, and Paul had not yet subjugated the slightest great lady. Paul would have liked his friend to introduce him to the salons of the noble suburb where Jean de Mirande could have been received, because of his name, which he avoided like the plague. But when Paul expressed this ambitious desire, Jean laughed in his face and took him to dinner at Foyot’s. Foyot is the English café of the neighborhood. These gentlemen usually ate there, without, however, disdaining to dine sometimes in the surrounding broths, for the sole purpose of remaining popular among the students less wealthy than themselves. On Sundays, during the fine season, Orestes and Pylades appeared at the Luxembourg, at the hour of music and, on those days, they made concessions to fashion, by dressing in a less eccentric way. Last year, therefore, on a clear Sunday in May, they strolled, arm in arm, on the terrace overlooking the large central basin, on the side of the rue de Fleurus. This is where the inhabitants of these remote regions gather to enjoy the free concert: honest bourgeois women sitting in a circle on rented chairs and flanked by marriageable young ladies; nannies surrounded by brats and low-ranking soldiers; regulars at the Closerie des Lilas, moving around in groups of two or three and joking with the mothers. The sky was splendid. The chestnut trees in bloom perfumed the warm air. Spring was making its comeback, after a six-month break due to fog and frost. The trees and the women had new outfits. Paul Cormier, too, had made himself handsome. He wore a black frock coat, cut by a good tailor, nice fancy trousers, and pointed boots, no more and no less than a rubber walking up the Champs-Élysées, at the time when the carriages are returning from the Bois. And this elegant outfit suited him perfectly. Jean de Mirande had donned, for the occasion, a sort of purple velvet jerkin, buttoned up to the chin; he had worn soft knee-high boots over extra-tight pearl-grey breeches, and to complete this magnificent costume, he had worn a pointed felt hat, adorned with a wide green ribbon , like a Calabrian in a comic opera . And, thus dressed, he did not look too ridiculous. His lofty appearance saved everything, and no one was tempted to mock him to his face. Men waited until he turned his back on them before shrugging their shoulders.
Young ladies from good families followed him surreptitiously with their eyes , and mothers thought: Now that’s a handsome fellow! He walked with his head held high and his mustache blowing in the wind, towing his comrade who often stopped to look at the women and who did not go unnoticed, although he had neither the imposing presence nor the victorious air of the handsome Mirande, King of the Schools and executioner of skulls. Arriving on the terrace, Paul Cormier had noticed a charming person sitting against the pedestal of a statue. She was without a partner, but no doubt she did not intend to remain alone until the end of the concert, for she kept two chairs near the one she occupied. Paul, who never missed the music on Sundays, and who, every days, crossed the garden more than twice than once, Paul had never met her there. So, she came from the right bank. Her dress said it well enough, an elegant and tasteful dress, such as one rarely sees in the vicinity of Saint-Sulpice. Besides, she did not seem to notice that she was attracting the attention of this pretty blond man who shot her a burning glance every time he passed in front of her. And Paul was already wondering if he had finally found what he was looking for. Was this the beginning of an adventure? He almost hoped so and he would have gladly embarked on it, without knowing where it would lead him. If he had been able to foresee how it would end, he would certainly have hesitated. The lady was reading a book with a yellow cover, no doubt a new novel, and this novel must have been very interesting, because she did not raise her eyes.
Paul Cormier, who was eyeing her up in vain, was beginning to tire of this unproductive routine, when Mirande, stopping suddenly, said to him: “Ah! Why are you turning around every minute? I’ve had enough of dragging you around like a stubborn horse that’s being led by the face and is shooting at a fox. ” “An adorable woman, my dear!” murmured Cormier, squeezing his friend’s arm.
“Where is she?… that reader, over there, at the foot of a statue?… She’s not bad, but there’s no point in risking a stiff neck to look at her… just go straight up to her. ” “Can’t you see that she’s a woman of the world?… a real one. ” “You’re definitely even more of a fool than I thought.” “You’re the one who has the habit of taking all women for silly girls.” This one is alone at the moment, but she’s expecting someone… her husband most likely. –Come on! She’s expecting someone, yes… only she doesn’t know who… you, if you feel like it… or me, if I wanted to, but I don’t want to. I don’t like your princess, with her underlying air. And then, this evening, I’m treating two or three pretty girls to dinner who are having a good time, good money, instead of acting like prudes: Maria, the student at the Maternity Hospital, and Georgette, a little actress from the Nouveautés, as cheerful as a lark. Leave your honest wife alone. I’ll invite you. We’ll also have Vera, the Russian… an extern at the Pitié Hospital. –A nihilist!… thank you!… your apprentice midwife and your extra don’t tempt me either. Besides, you know very well that today, Sunday, I’m dining at my mother’s. “You joker, go on!… say instead that you want to follow your cardboard marquise. How naive you must be!… that, a great lady?… a horizontal, at most… and of small note, my poor Paul. I know about it. ” “You think you know about it and you don’t know a thing. ” “Ah! That’s how it is!… you pretend to show me up!… well! I ‘ll give you a lesson. You’ll see how one goes about making the acquaintance of a princess who comes to seek her fortune in the music of the Luxembourg. ” And, freeing his arm, Mirande went straight to the reading lamp. Paul tried to hold him back. He didn’t succeed and he remained, planted on his legs, in the middle of the terrace, and very embarrassed by his appearance, while ten paces away from him, the handsome Mirande sat down without ceremony on one of the chairs left empty next to the lady. This time, she raised her head and she showed herself in all her radiant beauty. She was a blonde with dark eyes, a blonde who had the warm, matte complexion of a Spanish woman from Seville with the intelligent, lively physiognomy of a Parisian from Paris. Not at all intimidated, moreover. “Pardon, madame,” Mirande began, twirling his mustache, “you must be bored all alone and I thought…” He didn’t finish his sentence. The lady looked at him fixedly and her eyes expressed only disdain, but a disdain so calm and so proud that he stopped short. The coarse gallantries he was about to utter remained in his mind . throat. And then a silent scene ensued that delighted his friend Paul. Disconcerted by this cold look and this haughty silence, Mirande took off his hat, which he had, with a conquering gesture, pulled down on his head before seizing the vacant chair, while he thought it was an easy victory. Politely uncovering himself was not enough to repair his first impropriety, and the lady continued to stare at him without speaking to him . He decided to get up and was looking for a word to extricate himself as best as possible from the foolish situation he had put himself in, when he saw standing before him a gentleman, dressed in black, who had approached without his hearing him coming. “At last!” he cried, quite happy to console his pride by picking a fight with someone; at last I find someone to talk to!” Jean de Mirande had clearly noticed that the unknown blonde found him ridiculous; and he was all the more vexed because Paul Cormier was watching his defeat from afar. Paul Cormier, whom he intended to dazzle by, at the drop of a hat, conquering a young, pretty, and perfectly distinguished woman, whatever he might have said before approaching her. And to recover in the eyes of his friend from this humiliating defeat, he had thought of nothing better than to accost a gentleman, father, brother , or husband, most likely, of this great socialite, who had strayed to the Luxembourg. This personage who had just suddenly appeared, like a devil springing from a surprise box, showed a completely shaven face, except for a pair of sideburns, cut at ear level, and wore a thin red ribbon in the buttonhole of his long frock coat. He looked exactly like a half-pay officer, one of those types of dismissed grumblers like those seen at the time of the Restoration and like those still seen in Charlet’s drawings. Broad features that seemed to have been hewn with an axe, a hard look, a sorrowful countenance. Instead of calling out to Mirande, who was expecting it and was preparing to reply sharply, the man dressed in black came, without saying a word, to place himself between the student and the reader who was no longer reading. Mirande thought that this mute protector was going to sit down, in order to establish by this taking possession his right to defend the beautiful stranger, but the protector remained standing, frowning, pursing his lips and opposing his broad chest to any attempt at occupation. “Sir,” said Jean, “a little disconcerted by this composure, I have just cavalierly accosted madame who, I suppose, is close to you.” If you are not satisfied, I am at your command and I leave the choice of weapons to you. You can send your witnesses to me tomorrow morning… Jean de Mirande, Boulevard Saint-Germain, 119. I will wait for them until noon. “I have no use for your address,” the gentleman replied curtly. ” Move on. ” “So you don’t want to join the ranks? Very well!… I was mistaken. I took you for a former soldier because of that piece of ribbon. I realize that I am dealing with a bourgeois, decorated through the Limouzin agency. Since you are not fighting, I have nothing more to say to you. Keep your wife, and I look forward to never seeing you again.” After letting go of this last impertinence, Mirande pirouetted on his heels with the nonchalance of a marquis of yesteryear and went to join Paul Cormier. He had remained at a distance, this excellent Paul, and rather embarrassed by his situation. From the place where he seemed to have taken root in the middle of the terrace, he did not hear the aggressive words that Jean was throwing out, but he followed his movements with his eyes. He understood very well that his incorrigible friend was picking a quarrel with the defender of the blonde lady, and he was not a little surprised to see him beat a retreat. “Well!” he asked him, unable to stop himself from smiling, “did you succeed?” “My dear fellow,” replied Mirande dryly, “I have come across a crafty woman who made it to me at the pose. To show him that I wasn’t his dupe, I offered the boot to that lout who serves as his bodyguard. He sucked. –He does, however, look like a former officer. –Him! Never in his life!… The ribbon he’s wearing must be that of an order of the Mariana Islands. I should have slapped him… There’s still time and I’m going to… –Keep quiet, I beg you. You’d get yourself put in the station. Think of those young ladies you invited to dine at Foyot’s. Sweet Vera would throw vitriol in your face if you left her there. –I must correct this fellow… the blonde will see that I’m not being fooled. –That blonde is no longer paying attention to you. She’s gone back to reading; she ‘s absorbed in it. As for the black knight, there he is, mingling with the onlookers busy watching the ball game. This man is only a servant. A husband or a lover would have camped on the chair. –You’re right, by the way… one doesn’t fight with a servant. Let’s go so I don’t see his ugly face again. If I found myself still beak to beak with him, the urge would take me and I wouldn’t resist it. Paul hastened to drag his spiteful comrade away and Jean let him , but before reaching the end of the terrace, they ran straight into a chain of women who blocked their way. There were four of them, holding arms, like medieval scholars, and who scandalized with their evaporated airs and bizarre attire the bourgeois families lined up in espaliers on both sides of the terrace. There was Maria, the student midwife, wearing an immense straw hat adorned with wildflowers. There was Vera, the nihilistic day student, wearing a red beret, and two escapees from the small theaters on the Right Bank; more elegantly dressed, these ones, but no less gaudy. All four were smoking Turkish cigarettes, offered by the Russian student. The garden guards looked at them askance, but in the Luxembourg, people are not as uptight as at the Tuileries, and the regulars there have their elbows free. It was an open-air celebration, this encounter between these emancipated women and the two most chic students in the Latin country. There were shouts of joy and wide embraces. Maria suggested that we all take hands and dance while singing the Avignon Bridge dance. They almost joined in. But Paul Cormier moderated these ardors, saying gaily: “Please note, ladies, that today I am dressed as a serious man. Respect my black frock coat and my top hat. ” “You’re right, my boy,” cried Mademoiselle Zoé, an extra at the Beaumarchais theater, “if you fidgeted here in front of the respectable women of the neighborhood, it would be a disadvantage for you to get married. No nonsense, Po-Paul!… marry the daughter of a well-to-do grocer and when you have the bag, don’t forget your little friends. ” Paul hardly thought of getting married, but the lady with the book was not far away. Turning around, he noticed that she was looking at him and he didn’t care to dance a farandole, under the eyes of this blonde whom he persisted in finding charming and distinguished, despite the sarcasm of the handsome Mirande, vexed at having been rejected. “They’re too green!” thought Paul Cormier. If she had deigned to answer him when he approached her, he would declare that she was adorable. And it has not been demonstrated to me that she would receive so disdainfully a more discreet homage. Paul’s refusal was supported by Mademoiselle Véra. This young person , who wore her hair short like a boy’s, and a white serge mantle cut like the touloupes of Russian peasants, was not exactly pretty with her chlorotic complexion and her Roxelana nose, but she had green eyes of a singular brilliance and a disturbing mobility. She declared that, as a freethinker and citizen of the future Republic universal, she would blush to make a spectacle of herself to the vile bourgeois who saddened the Luxembourg Gardens with their presence. “You’d rather oil the Palace… me too,” said the lord of Mirande. Fortunately, his uncle wasn’t there to hear him. “Well!” he continued gaily, “dear Vera, time will tell. ” “Oh! a pun!” sneered one of the hams; “here’s Mirande playing Christian, in the city. ” “My children, that’s not what it’s about,” said Maria. “We’re bored here, among all these guys. You’re paying for dinner, aren’t you, old Jean? ” “Dinner, supper… whatever you like, my little queens.” “Then it’s time to go and have some absinthe at Boul’Mich. ” “Let’s go!” concluded Mirande. “Are you in, Paul? ” “No.” I’m having dinner at my mother’s, I already told you. “Well,” cried Zoé, “I saw a play called that. ” “Let’s go!” Maria continued, taking Jean’s arm. Her amiable companions surrounded the couple and the tumultuous group rolled like an avalanche towards the grand staircase of the terrace. Only too happy to be freed from their noisy company, Paul Cormier let them go without regret. They had led him quite far from the blonde lady. He was eager to see her again and try to attract her attention, for he had not given up hope of pleasing her, by going about it differently from Mirande. He was all the more eager to try the adventure since such an opportunity would perhaps never present itself again to realize his lifelong dream. This ambitious dream was to make himself loved by a woman of the right world , and she was certainly one of them, whatever this Jean who believed in nothing might say. It was now a matter of maneuvering skillfully, and Paul had to choose between two courses: either to approach the reader in turn, under the pretext of offering her his friend’s apologies, by telling her that this friend was drunk; or to be content with greeting her respectfully, in order to show by this discreet politeness that he, Paul Cormier, disapproved of the conduct of his comrade in the pointed hat and was ready to repair the wrongs of this ill-bred boy, if only she would encourage him with a glance. Paul was leaning towards this last method of proceeding, which suited his temperament better , and he was already composing an attitude so as not to miss his effect, when he noticed that the place was empty. The lady had lifted the siege while he defended himself against the entreaties of Mirande’s guests, and although he searched everywhere , he found neither her nor her black knight. “Come now!” he murmured sadly, “I’m too late. And I don’t even have the resource left to follow her to see where she lives. She must have gone back to her carriage, which was waiting for her at one of the garden gates. The blond angel has flown away, and I shall never see him again… Bah! Who knows?… by coming every day to this terrace, I may meet him there… and I shall take care to come without that great, mentally ill person Mirande.” Poorly consoled by this very vague hope, Paul made his way to the gate facing the galleries of the Odéon. He was resigned to going to the Rue des Tournelles to his mother’s, who was expecting him for dinner. There is, very close to this exit from the Luxembourg, a cab station and he intended to take one. The concert was drawing to a close; the open-air music lovers were beginning to disperse and the people of all types from the crowd were flowing towards the Rue de Vaugirard. Paul followed the torrent. After passing in front of the Medici fountain, he went through the gate and before going back up to the right, towards the side where the carriages park , he stopped for a moment on the sidewalk to light a cigar. When he had done this, looking mechanically in front of him, he noticed, at the corner of the Rue Corneille, a master-made coupé, drawn by two fine bay-brown horses. A majestic coachman, perched high on his seat, had the reins in his hand and the whip resting on his right thigh. A footman in dark livery stood by the door. Paul, who claimed to be an expert on carriages, began to admire him. The windows were up, although it was very hot, but he thought he saw a woman’s face through the window, which disappeared immediately. This was enough to excite the curiosity of a stroller, but Paul decided he would be doing something foolish to take a closer look at such a well-guarded princess and passed by, not without looking back three times. On the third occasion, he noticed that the coupé was no longer there. He must have turned quickly and headed towards the Place de l’Odéon. Paul continued on his way without hurrying. Arriving at the station, he opened the door of the cab at the head of the line and was about to get in when a woman entered from the opposite side and quietly took her place. He had no desire to contest this lady’s right of way and he stepped back to look for another carriage, but the stranger said to him: “Come on, sir!” She had pulled a thick black-blonde veil over her face, and Paul couldn’t see if she was pretty, but her voice was soft, her figure distinguished, her dress elegant. It was definitely a day for adventures. “At the roundabout on the Champs-Élysées!” the woman continued. Paul Cormier was flabbergasted. She spoke to him as she would have spoken to one of those messengers who open the cab doors at stations. He should have left her there, but it was so funny that he immediately decided to repeat to the coachman the order she had just given and to take a seat next to her in the carriage. The romantic Paul loved the unexpected: he was served up plenty. But he didn’t feel very good about this new adventure. He knew that high society women don’t usually throw themselves at a gentleman they’ve never seen, and he thought that this person, a little too unceremonious, might well be nothing more than a joker looking for a fleeting… and productive affair. She looked so good, however, that he wanted to know what her intentions were. He still had plenty of time to take a walk with her before going to dinner at the Marais, which would clear up this little mystery, and then nothing would prevent him from giving the walker the slip if he realized that she was not worth winning over. She did not keep him in suspense. The cab had barely begun to descend the Rue de Tournon, and Paul was still searching for a phrase to begin the conversation with, when she lifted her veil. This stranger was the blonde with dark eyes whom Jean de Mirande had approached so boldly and with so little success on the garden terrace. She looked at Paul, smiling, and seemed amused by his astonishment and confusion. “What!” Madam, he said rather awkwardly, it was you who, just now… “Yes, sir,” she replied, without appearing embarrassed, “it was I who was sitting over there, under the big chestnut trees, when your friend took the liberty of speaking to me. ” “I beg you to believe, Madam, that I did what I could to prevent him from committing this impropriety. ” “I know it, sir; I saw very well that you tried to restrain him and I guessed that you disapproved of it. ” “Oh! absolutely! ” “I have no doubt of it. That is what made me want to know you.” The explanation was not without its flattering qualities for Paul Cormier; but she did not excuse the appearance, to say the least eccentric, of this lady who, to make the acquaintance of a young man whom she had just seen for the first time, could think of nothing better than to invade a cab where he was getting into and order him to accompany her to the other end of Paris. The only thing missing was to lower the blinds. She didn’t think of it, nor did Paul either, for although he told himself that he had come across a woman seeking encounters, he couldn’t convince himself, so much was the air of this enigmatic blonde at odds with his conduct. There was in her whole person and in the tone she had adopted a certain something that commanded, if not respect, at least consideration, and at the risk of being duped, Paul couldn’t bring himself to speak to her any differently than he would have done in a drawing room. “What a pity,” she continued, “that such a well-born man should be so badly brought up! ” “How do you know he’s well-born?” asked Paul. “He only sat next to me for a moment and found time to say his name… I even think he added his address. ” “And his name was known to you?” asked Paul, very surprised. “Oh! for many years.” His family is one of the oldest and most illustrious in Languedoc. Cormier reflected sadly that his family did not go back that far and that his fame had never extended beyond the Halles district, but he did not let the lady see that she had just humiliated him, unintentionally . He simply replied: “Jean would have been very proud if he had known that, for you, he was not just anyone. Why didn’t you tell him? ” “I was careful… for several reasons… the first is that he would have had to name me… Now, if I have heard of him, he has never heard of me… My name would have told him nothing… and besides, leading the life he leads, he must care very little to know me. ” “He leads the same life as all the students… the same as me.” “Allow me, sir, to believe nothing of it.” I was looking at you when you met the young ladies on the terrace who took him away… and I saw that you refused to follow them. “I refused because I was only thinking of you. ” “Really?… then, you have all the more merit in not having behaved with me as M. de Mirande did… but, what pleasure can he take in surrounding himself with these creatures? One of them is his mistress, isn’t she? ” “I should tell you that I don’t know, but I’m willing to tell you the truth… Jean has nothing in common with ivy… he doesn’t get attached . ” “It’s only half-bad. ” “Then you approve of him not seriously loving any woman? ” “I don’t say that,” replied the lady quickly; I approve of him not loving right and wrong, but I do not despair of learning one day that he has finally found a woman worthy of him… and that he loves her. –That is the grace I wish for him. She has not yet touched him and it may take some time. Now, Madam, may I dare ask you in what way his conversion interests you? And as she did not seem inclined to answer, Paul continued: –I allow myself to ask you this question because you have only spoken to me about him so far. –Aren’t you his best friend? –I believe so, but admit that I would push friendship to the most improbable self-denial, if I did not tell you that I would be happy to please you and that I am surprised to be called upon to have the honor of providing you with information about Jean de Mirande. You could have asked him himself, instead of sending him away… and I might add: who do you take me for? The lady blushed and it was in a pained tone that she replied: “Forgive me, sir, if I have offended you. I thought, in addressing you, that I could, without hurting your feelings, question you about M. de Mirande… and I was not afraid to attempt a step… which I hope I will not have to regret. ” “Oh!” protested Paul Cormier, “I will not abuse the situation. However, it has nothing flattering or pleasant for me, you must admit.” Here I am reduced to the role of confidant… and even then!… until now you haven’t confided much in me… I was hoping for better and when you were kind enough to invite me into this carriage, if I had been able to foresee that it would only be a question of Mirande and her family… –Don’t regret having done a good deed, interrupted the blonde stranger. –A good deed, you say?… there’s a good person of all types of body word!… I still don’t see what service I have been able to render you. –A great service… you will recognize it later and… why shouldn’t I admit it?… I intend to ask you for others… –I will see you again then! –Yes… if you will promise me not to try to find out who I am… –That’s a rather harsh condition! –And not to say anything to your friend. “It will cost me little to be discreet, but… what will be my reward if I submit to the other condition?” “Trust in my gratitude and count on the fact that one day you will know everything. ” “Very well! I accept; but how will I see you again? You have not told me your name… I suppose you do not want to tell me… and you do not know mine. ” “It is up to you to tell me. I will remember it, I swear. ” This was said with an accent of warm sincerity that touched Paul Cormier, without entirely convincing him. He was still a little suspicious of the lady’s intentions and the self-effacing role that she seemed to reserve for him did not tempt him much. But she was, as La Bruyère wrote, so young, so beautiful and so serious, that he allowed himself to believe her. Perhaps the great world he dreamed of was about to open up for him, and Paul was not a man to refuse to enter it, even through a secret door. The stranger was certainly one of them, and she offered him from the outset a sort of treaty of alliance. After friendship, love might come, and this chance was well worth his accepting the compromise she proposed. And yet his response was long in coming. It cost him to give his common name to a woman who was thoroughly familiar with the Languedoc coat of arms, where the aristocratic Mirande family figured so brilliantly . He decided to do it, however. It was the only way to see her again, since she would not tell him hers. “My name is Paul Cormier,” he said abruptly, like a man who suddenly accepts an unpleasant necessity. And not wanting to do things by halves, he added: “I only have my mother who does not live with me. I am finishing my last year of law school and I live at number 9, rue Gay-Lussac. You have now been informed, Madame. I do not ask you to return the favor. ” “I promised you that later you would know everything. I promise you again. Until I can keep my promise, you will be content to see me. ” “Not at your place, I suppose? ” “Nor at your place, Monsieur,” said the mysterious blonde, smiling. ” I will write to you to let you know where we can meet. And you do not believe, I hope, that I expect from you any services other than those which a gallant man can, without degrading himself, render to an honest woman who has recourse to his kindness, if not his protection.” This firm and clear language made a deep impression on Paul. His consent hung by a thread, and if he still hesitated, it was because a point to clarify was close to his heart. “Well?” asked the lady. “Is it agreed? ” “Yes… yes… ” “What! There is an yes! ” “Don’t be angry at what I’m going to tell you… ” “Is it really terrible? ” “No… it’s childish… Give me your word of honor that you don’t love Jean de Mirande… that you don’t love him… with love. ” “I give it to you. I have no love for him and I will never have any.” never. –Never, that’s saying a lot. –I can’t love him. One day I’ll tell you why. –That’s good… I believe you, said Paul Cormier gravely. I’ll do whatever you want. –Thank you, sir!… from this moment you can count on me as I count on you… and before we separate… –Already!… –It must be. We’re approaching the roundabout and I’ll ask you to get off a little before we get there. –Are you afraid we’ll be seen together? –Probably. –Your husband, isn’t he? –Be careful!… now you’re breaking our agreements! –That’s true. I withdraw my question… and I won’t do it again. But I have a favor to ask of you… I’m going to leave you and I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but you don’t forbid me from thinking of you. –No, certainly not. –Eh! Well, when I think about it, will you never be anything but Madame X to me? Will I never be able to attach my thoughts to a pet name… the one you choose, if you insist on hiding the real one from me? “It’s childish, as you said just now,” the beautiful stranger replied, laughing; “but I don’t want to deny you that satisfaction. When you think of me… well!… think of Jacqueline. ” “Jacqueline!” murmured Paul, who found the name charming. ” I will often repeat: Jacqueline!… that will help me to be patient until the day when you will remember me.” “Don’t be afraid that I will forget,” the lady continued quickly. “But the time has come for us to part. All that remains is for me to say to you… ” “Goodbye? ” “No. Goodbye! Have the coachman stop, I beg you.” Paul turned the warning button and asked: “Are you keeping the carriage, Madame? ” “Yes… I will leave it a little further on.” Paul understood that she was waiting for him to leave to give the address of the house she was going to. He opened the door and got out. He hoped that Jacqueline would extend her hand to him, and he would have enthusiastically kissed that hand, gloved in suede. He didn’t even have the pleasure of shaking it, for as soon as he made a gesture to take it, she quickly withdrew. This first disappointment did not put him in a good mood. He had allowed himself to be chastised by the lady’s sweet words and had just accepted the bizarre conditions she imposed on him. He had no sooner set foot on the roadway of the grand avenue of the Champs-Élysées than his feelings about the so-called Jacqueline changed. It was a complete reversal. In the car, he found her adorable; he believed her oaths and the stories full of reticence that she told him. Ever since he had landed, she had struck him as a schemer, and he couldn’t forgive himself for falling for her lies. “No,” he said between his teeth, “I’ll never correct myself… a pretty girl’s eyes will always prevent me from seeing things clearly. Here’s one who goes to wait for me at the exit of the Luxembourg and forces me to get into a cab with her. Maria, the apprentice midwife, wouldn’t dare do the same. I let myself be taken away, and instead of taking advantage of the opportunity, I take her for a woman of the world and I listen piously to the nonsense she tells me about my friend Jean… Ah! How he would joke with me if he saw me abandoned on the asphalt, while she is being driven to the house of a lover who is waiting for her near the roundabout! She played a trick on me there, but I’ll catch her again… While thus scolding himself, Paul followed the carriage with his eyes. He had gotten out at the Cirque d’Eté and had walked to the corner of Avenue Matignon. He saw it stop a little further on, near Rue Montaigne. The lady got out, paid the coachman, and turned off, without looking back, but without hurrying too much, into Avenue d’Antin. “By Jove! I’ll know where she’s going,” grumbled Paul Cormier. ” She made me swear not to question her, but she didn’t forbid me from following her. If she notices, I’ll catch up with her and we’ll have a little discussion where I won’t hesitate to tell her what I think. If she doesn’t see me, I’ll only let her go at the door of the house she’s entering. And even then! No… I feel perfectly capable of going in with her… whatever happens will come of it.” Paul was going from one extreme to another. After being too timid, he was becoming too bold. He soon saw the lady again, speeding along the wide sidewalk of the Avenue d’Antin, and as he was a master in the art of following women, he knew how to maintain his distance, without getting closer enough to attract her attention. He maneuvered so well that at the moment when, after turning short, she crossed the threshold of an open carriage entrance, he was able to join her under the archway, without her feeling that he was almost at her heels. The house looked like a private mansion and the blonde had her entrances there,–whether she lived there, or had already been there often–for she pushed straight on to a movable tapestry which barred the vestibule and which she pushed aside with her hand, the hand which she had refused to Paul when she dismissed him. Paul, who was pressing closely on his traitor, arrived just as a superb footman appeared, placed there to receive visitors and to call out their names. This servant did not know Cormier, but he knew the lady and, as they entered together, he announced without hesitation: “Monsieur le Marquis and Madame la Marquise de Ganges!” Paul had succeeded beyond his expectations. He had entered the place before the lady had noticed his presence. He had even just learned her real name, which she had been so keen to hide from him. But this unexpected success embarrassed him enormously. He had easily guessed that the footman had taken him for the husband of the woman he appeared to be escorting. He therefore foresaw that this ludicrous announcement would make those who had heard it smile and anger the supposed Jacqueline, Marquise de Ganges. He would have liked to retreat, but it was too late. Paul had stumbled into the middle of one of those social gatherings that the English call five o’clock tea, and this five o’clock tea was held in the courtyard of the hotel, a courtyard full of flowers and covered with a silk awning, intended to protect the guests from the heat of the spring sun. There were a dozen visitors of both sexes there, grouped around the mistress of the house, who was offering cups of tea to everyone, and all eyes were fixed on the new couple. Obviously, a storm was about to fall upon the intruder who dared to intrude thus into a circle of intimates where no one knew him. To Paul’s great astonishment, this storm did not break. There were whispers, but not the slightest hostile manifestation, and the looks fixed on Paul were rather benevolent. The marquise, alone, blushed and gave him a glance, laden with reproach, but not with threats. She too had guessed the servant’s mistake, and the wonder was that she refrained from correcting it. Was she resigning herself to suffering the consequences to avoid an explanation that would not have turned out to be to her advantage, if Paul had taken it into his head to tell how he had come to be there, after a ride in a cab? He was tempted to believe it and he was not averse to lending himself to this drawing-room comedy, but he wondered how the lady would get out of the situation she seemed willing to accept. The guests who knew her must also have known her husband and probably this husband did not resemble Paul Cormier, who did not have at all, as they say in the theater, the physique for the role. But the faces expressed no other feeling than curiosity—a decent curiosity that was in no way offensive to the person who was its object. He was observed surreptitiously, as one observes a gentleman one has often heard of but has never seen. The lady who was serving this tea came straight to Paul Cormier and said graciously: “You are welcome at my house, Monsieur le Marquis. This dear Marcelle was not expecting you until next week. I thank her for not having lost a single day in bringing you here. You arrived yesterday, I think?” To this question, which he should have anticipated, Paul did not know what to reply and would have remained speechless; but the blonde with the dark eyes undertook to answer it. “This morning, on the Orient Express,” she said, looking fixedly at her supposed husband. “It is very kind of you, and especially of M. de Ganges, to have come,” continued the mistress of the house; “for he must be terribly tired after such a long journey.” Paul merely smiled. It was the best way of not compromising himself; but he could not always get out of trouble with smiles, and he could not imagine how the scene would end. It was beginning to amuse him, and he was gradually regaining his composure, which had been very disturbed at first. “Allow me, Monsieur le Marquis,” continued the lady, who was a very handsome person, a little mature, but pleasant-looking; “allow me to introduce my friends to you, after having introduced you to my friends, who are also Marcelle’s friends, and whom you will have the opportunity to see again, since you intend to spend a fairly long time in Paris.” This time Paul merely bowed, and the introductions began. There were only countesses and baronesses, marquises and viscounts, a whole directory of the nobility where the true Marquis de Ganges would have been in his element. The Marquise was certainly there. She knew them all. She too had recovered from a temporary disturbance and was now maneuvering with perfect ease on this terrain which had become difficult for her since the footman’s error. “Shall I offer you a cup of tea?” And as the student, who found the tea bland, hesitated to accept: “You are not forced,” the lady who received it cheerfully continued. “My tea is secular and free, but not obligatory. You will know that with me complete freedom is the order of the day. We are not even required to concern ourselves with women. We are quite self-sufficient… and you will allow us to monopolize this dear Marcelle to talk rags while you talk politics with these gentlemen, if you feel like it.” Paul Cormier was not keen to talk politics, but he was delighted to take advantage of the permission to get away from the group of women, while waiting for an opportunity to disappear in the English style, for at the moment he was only thinking of cutting short a most scabrous imbroglio. He therefore allowed these ladies to seize the Marquise and have her sit with them around the table on which the samovar, the copper teapot that the Russians had imported to Paris, was singing its song. Despite what the mistress of the house had said, the gentlemen did not all seem inclined to go their separate ways. Madame de Ganges was surrounded and complimented by escorts who were certainly trying to please her. Paul had no right to be jealous, but it crossed his mind that his presence had something to do with this eagerness. These handsome gentlemen seemed to be saying to themselves: The husband is back. The Marquise is about to open her salon, which has been closed due to temporary widowhood. This is the real moment to court her. It was only a mere conjecture on Paul’s part, but he was already seeing things a little more clearly in the situation into which a chain of small events, each more bizarre than the last, had thrown him . He now knew that the so-called Jacqueline, her real name was Marcelle, that she was the legitimate wife of a marquis, that this husband, traveling, or more likely settled abroad, was expected and that he was not yet known in the society where the marquise lived in Paris. This husband must have been young, since Paul could have been mistaken for him. But his wife must also have been quite sure that he would never return, for if he had reappeared, she would not have resigned herself, without the slightest hesitation, to being passed off as someone else’s wife. How far did she intend to push this improvised substitution? Paul had no idea, but whatever happened, she would now be obliged to reckon with him. He had entered into her game, without her permission, but she had admitted him, since she had not complained. On the
contrary, she had rather encouraged him, with a look that urged him to be discreet, and with her silence. He hoped not to stop on such a beautiful path. He knew the name of the enigmatic blonde from the Luxembourg; it wouldn’t be long before he knew where she lived, and when he got to that point, the rest would follow naturally. For example, he still couldn’t guess why she was interested in Jean de Mirande, but that mystery would end up being cleared up like the others. Nor could he guess what the decorated, buttoned-up man who had only appeared and disappeared on the terrace of the Luxembourg could be. He had forgotten to inquire about it during the cab ride, but he fully intended to return to it when he saw her again, which couldn’t be long. Since the Marquise had been seated, Paul, who had remained standing, had been keeping a little to one side, but his isolation was about to end, for two or three guests were approaching with the evident intention of starting a conversation with him, which he was rather dreading. “Monsieur de Servon,” the mistress of the house suddenly called out, ” admit that you are burning with the desire to cut a baccarat bank. ” Monsieur de Servon, to whom she was thus addressing, was a young man who could have represented, in his natural state, that great hulking viscount mentioned in one of Molière’s comedies. A viscount he was, and gaunt, ravaged, as long as a day without bread, vicious as anyone and making no secret of it. “I admit it, Baroness, I admit it!” he replied gaily. “In broad daylight!… in the face of the sun!… Aren’t you ashamed?” the lady asked him, laughing. Decidedly, the mistress of the house was a baroness. Another piece of information that Paul Cormier caught on the fly. –But no… we would play in the shade, since there is a canopy. And I would willingly bet that you had it stretched to allow me to knock down nine, without spoiling my complexion. –So you have the demon of gambling in your body? –Me!… but I hate it, gambling!… only I hate idleness even more. You know that it is the mother of all vices, this rascal of idleness. –I always thought that you were her son. Cut your bank then! You see that the table is set over there… and you will have in M. de Ganges a worthy adversary. –Say then that I will be the clay pot against the iron pot… I am not rolling in millions, myself. –It seems that the real marquis is a large millionaire, Paul Cormier said to himself ; I can certainly replace him with his wife, but at gambling!… that’s another matter. “Then do this great mentally ill person the favor of winning him a few hundred louis,” said the Baroness, addressing the false Marquis. “Marcelle wo n’t be angry with you for leaving her with us. ” Marcelle said nothing, but she nodded her head no, to the great astonishment of Paul, who immediately asked himself: “Why does she want me to gamble?” The idea came to him at once that it was to provide her with a means to escape some of the awkwardness of the situation. If he had stayed with the women, he would have had to answer awkward questions sooner or later . The less he spoke, the more chance he had of not giving himself away. And in baccarat, you only speak to ask for cards, or to announce your point. He was grateful to the charming blonde for her good intention, but he remained perplexed. He didn’t hate the game, and in his student life, he had won or lost at rams, piquet, and écarté, and had many drinks in the cafes of Boul’Mich. He had even played baccarat on wild nights in the neighborhood, leaving blank coins. But he had never risked losing more than he owned. He preferred to keep his money to lead a happy life, while his friend Jean de Mirande, who was a gambler like cards, arranged dinners or country parties with the leading lights of the Bullier ball. And he was not tempted to fight against this Viscount de Servon, who must have been an old hand at baccarat and who had the first advantage over a poor student at the game: that of capital. Paul, however, was not without money in his pocket. He had, by chance, received, the day before, a month of his maternal pension and he had not had time to chip away at it much. But the twenty-five louis he had left only constituted a contingent of people of all types to deliver a big battle on the green carpet. The Viscount would make short work of these twenty-five louis on which Paul was counting to live comfortably until next month. And the battle promised to be fierce, for from the first words of the dialogue that had just begun between the Baroness and the Viscount, the male guests began to circle around the aspiring banker, like butterflies around a torch whose flame is about to burn their wings. One of these gentlemen took advantage of the opportunity to compliment the false Marquis of Ganges, saying to him: “My sincere congratulations, Monsieur le Marquis. At an age when others think only of their own pleasures, you already have an eye and an understanding of business that the most experienced financiers envy. This concession in Turkey, our most famous capitalists had missed it, and to obtain it, you only had to show yourself. ” “What concession?” Paul wondered. “The devil! If I had suspected that I had been granted something in the Sultan’s States!” And as he was careful not to reply, the gentleman, who must have been a speculative person of all kinds, continued with a smile: “You have won a great victory there, but there is time for everything and I understand that you like to distract yourself with the game of your great works. The game is still a business… isn’t it, dear Viscount?” “More often bad than good… for me, at least,” grumbled M. de Servon. “But we are wasting our time chatting… now, at seven thirty they will come to announce that Madame la Baronne is served and we will be politely shown the door. So, if you believe me, gentlemen, we will take advantage without further delay of Madame Dozulé’s kind attention in having a table set for us over there. ” “Good!” thought Paul Cormier, whom his interlocutors were gradually and involuntarily informing ; we are here at Baroness Dozulé’s. We can’t see the Baron. It seems she’s a widow. “Do you want to take the bank, Monsieur le Marquis?” asked the stubborn Viscount, who absolutely insisted on making a killing before dinner. Baccarat was his aperitif. “Not at all!… not at all!…” Paul hastened to reply, who wasn’t even ready to play. “Then I thank you for letting me have it. I’ve been losing nothing for two weeks and I need to get back on track. Are you coming, gentlemen?” No one answered, but everyone followed, and the student did as the others. The altar had been prepared by the care of the far-sighted Baroness Dozulé. Nothing was missing: neither the decks of cards nor the chips of different colors, intended to serve as fiduciary money, in case the big shots wanted to play on parole. In the blink of an eye, the places were taken around the table, and the Viscount, with whom no one disputed the bank, declared at once that the cards would represent one louis and the round plates one hundred francs, since it was a very small game. Paul, who had never seen one so large, was violently tempted to get up. A false shame held him back and also the desire to stay away from the circle of women until the moment when Madame de Ganges took her leave. He was counting on her playing her part to the end, she wouldn’t dare leave without her husband, that they would go out together, and that once outside, she wouldn’t refuse to explain to him what he didn’t understand. So he remained seated and found himself positioned in such a way that his back was to her and, consequently, he couldn’t see her. It wasn’t long before he forgot she was there. M. de Servon asked him to tell him how many representative chips he wanted , and Paul asked permission to play gold on the table. It was graciously granted, and he modestly lined up in front of him the twenty-five louis that constituted his entire fortune. “When I’ve lost them, I’ll go,” he thought. “I’ll be free to ask Mama for an advance for next month; and that way I won’t get carried away.” And he mentally vowed not to risk a penny on his word. This caution had just been suggested to him by a suspicion that had crossed his mind. This house open to all comers, this baroness without a baron, these gentlemen who spoke of a hundred louis as he would have spoken of a hundred sous, this baccarat table which happened to be there ; all these people and all this staging had suddenly become suspicious to him. It was a little late to notice it and if his suspicions were well-founded, the blonde with the dark eyes must be an adventuress who had only solicited him in the Luxembourg to take him to a gambling den. He was too loath to believe this and besides, he had already sacrificed the sum he possessed. He only wanted to make it last as long as possible. That is why, to the profound astonishment of the other bigwigs, and especially the viscount, he attacked a bank for ten thousand francs with a louis. The Viscount should have been pleased, for he lost five times in a row, and as Paul withdrew a louis with each move, “You won’t ruin yourself at this game, Monsieur le Marquis,” the financier, who had just complimented him on the success of his ventures in Turkey, said ironically. Paul was ashamed. He bet and won again. Was it Jacqueline who brought him luck, this Marquis-enmarquisée, whose nickname, which he knew was false, never left his head? Paul was tempted to believe it. He told himself, however, that a little luck at the beginning of a game is often only the harbinger of disaster. He wanted to be sure, at the risk of reaching the end of his capital too soon, and he left his four louis, which were doubled in the blink of an eye after a triumphant showdown. His mass was growing, but it was not yet very threatening to the banker, who was winning every time on the other side. He was still smiling, this big, hulking viscount, and yet he was worried, not about having lost a dozen twenty-franc pieces, but one of those presentiments from which no gambler is exempt warned him that luck was against him and that the game was going to turn out badly. Paul was launched now and no one could predict where he would stop. The sixteen louis were doubled, then the thirty-two. His winnings exceeded already the thousand-dollar note. And all this on the hand of the complimentary financier who was playing on the same side as Paul Cormier and who was collecting a share of the loot. He hadn’t lost a single hand yet. He was no longer tempted to laugh at the Marquis de Ganges’s way of playing. The Viscount wasn’t laughing either. He was even becoming more and more serious, especially when Paul had won the paroli of sixty-four louis again and, immediately after, that of one hundred and twenty-eight. Never, in the memory of punters, had such a series been seen anywhere. The hands followed one another with a disheartening regularity. When the banker showed eight , the Marquis showed nine; when the Marquis had the point of one, the banker had baccarat. Fortunately, Paul wasn’t holding the cards, because one might have thought he was changing them by picking them up on the table. One would have suspected him, who just now had for a moment suspected the Baroness and her guests. He now had more than five thousand francs, and with the bank in its dire straits, there was barely enough left to hold out. “How much do you make, Marquis?” Servon asked familiarly, having paid dearly for the right to no longer say, “Monsieur le Marquis.” Paul was dying to reply, “Ten louis,” and pocket the others. Five thousand francs! He had never had them at once. It was enough to cover the costs of the amorous campaign he was about to launch; it was also enough to console himself for a failure, if the Marquise escaped him. “No more than the bank,” the Viscount continued. “I’ll do the rest, after these gentlemen,” said Paul, determined to get it over with. The banker dealt the cards, looked at his own, and announced that he was dealing some. Paul kept to his words. He had seven and the banker only had six. This was the final blow. The bank was bust. The Viscount, a good sport, didn’t bat an eyelid, but he declared he had had enough, and, taking from his pocket a bundle of ten thousand-dollar notes that answered for the chips he had issued, he invited the bigwigs to share his spoils. Paul was the most nobody of all types of corps and he had more than four hundred louis coming to him , which he picked up with ill-disguised satisfaction. “It must be admitted, sir, that you are happy everywhere,” said the banker, “You give the lie to the proverb.” This compliment was addressed to the Marquise, but Paul didn’t at first grasp the allusion to the famous saying: Lucky at games, unlucky with women. This winnings were going to his head and he only remembered that Jacqueline was there, behind him. “For me, it’s quite the opposite,” M. de Servon continued gaily; “I’m unhappy everywhere.” This was almost to say that he had unsuccessfully courted the Marquise de Ganges. He added almost immediately: “You owe me a rematch, Monsieur le Marquis… and I feel capable of asking it of you, right now. Would you be pleased to hold me to it… four hundred louis, on my word?… a single shot, at red or black?” Paul would gladly have refused. He didn’t dare. If he lost, after all, he would only lose his profit, and besides, he heard behind him the sound of chairs being moved, which told him that some of Baroness Dozulé’s guests were getting up to leave. He preferred to leave empty-handed than to miss Jacqueline’s departure, whom he intended to escort home. It was his right as a husband, and he didn’t suppose that in public she would refuse his company; especially since she must have wanted, as much as he did, a private explanation. “I am at your command, Viscount,” he replied bravely. “I have these four hundred louis… and I say: Red!” M. de Servon already had his hand on the piled cards. He drew one from the middle of the pack and, throwing it on the table, announced: “The king of hearts!” You have won, Marquis. Tomorrow, the eight thousand francs I owe you will be with you. Paul was so troubled that he didn’t notice this “at your place,” which, in the Viscount’s mind, didn’t mean: at Mr. Cormier’s, student, 9 rue Gay-Lussac. The Viscount obviously meant “at Mr. de Ganges’s, husband of Madame de Ganges.” And, even if he had paid attention to this misunderstanding, Paul, under penalty of complicating an already very complicated situation, would not have been able to point out the error to Mr. de Servon. Besides, he didn’t have time to think about it, because Baroness Dozulé, who had slyly approached the gaming table, suddenly appeared and said, laughing, to these gentlemen: “Please don’t take me for a troublemaker. Go on, as long as you like, making parolis and bancos; just allow my friends and me to go to dinner. It’s time.” “You are really too kind, dear madame,” cried the financier, who only asked to adjourn the meeting so that he could take his profit. “But no. I have made it a rule never to interfere with the pleasures of others,” resumed Madame Dozulé. “And this dear Marcelle is of the same principles as me… she even pushes her scruples further than I do, for she did not want to disturb her husband to tell him that she was leaving. She was afraid of cutting her vein. ” “Then,” said the viscount gaily, “I regret doubly that Madame de Ganges left without speaking to Monsieur de Ganges. It was true; the Marquise was no longer there.” Cormier had only to turn around to note her absence. “Monsieur le Marquis,” continued the baroness, “Marcelle asked me to tell you that she was going straight home… and that she would be waiting for you. ” Paul had a question on his lips: “Where?” He stopped himself in time, but he had almost betrayed himself, and God knows what effect he would have had if he had allowed himself to ask for his own address—his wife’s address , which amounted to the same thing. He had avoided this error, but he was nonetheless left in a prodigious embarrassment. He felt the ground slipping away from under his feet, and his only thought was to avoid as quickly as possible the questions he dreaded. What would have become of him if his debtor had taken it into his head to ask him where he lived? He would have kept his mouth shut, and it would have been just as well to admit at once that he was not the Marquis de Ganges and that he hardly knew the Marquise. Fortunately, the Viscount was well informed on this point, having doubtless been received by Madame de Ganges, who did not appear to be indifferent to him. Paul took advantage of her silence to take leave of the Baroness and the players, who seemed willing to use the permission she had granted them to reenact a game of baccarat. He left all the more willingly because an idea had come to him. He told himself that Madame de Ganges could not abandon him in the impasse she had put him in. At least she had to see him to outline a course of action. And, strengthened by this reasoning, Paul convinced himself that she had gone to wait for him somewhere, not far from the Baroness’s mansion, with the intention of stopping him as he passed and conferring with him. But where had she lain in ambush? At the roundabout, perhaps, at the spot where she had left the cab Paul had boarded with her in front of the Luxembourg gates. The square is unremarkable, but at dinnertime, the Champs-Élysées are almost deserted. Paul ran there, to that roundabout, and he didn’t find the Marquise there. When and how would he see her again? At that moment, to find out, he would have willingly given all the money he had just won at gambling. Chapter 2. The Marais is an honest neighborhood and the Rue des Tournelles is an honest street where one can live without losing any of one’s respectability, as the English say, even if one belongs to the well-to-do bourgeoisie . It is not cheerful, this road that leads nowhere, but it has retained a scent of the distant era when the Place Royale was the center of fashionable Paris. Cars hardly pass there and shops are rare, but the houses have a majestic and sad appearance that brings to mind the time when presidents of Parliament lodged there. The windows are adorned with wrought iron balconies and the carriage doors have knockers. In winter, it is gloomy, but in the summer, in the evening, little girls play shuttlecock there and fill it with their Argentinian laughter, while mothers knit, sitting in old straw armchairs. Madame Cormier, born Julie Desgravettes, had lived there for ten years since she retired from business with a fairly healthy capital. She belonged to a good Parisian family and she had made a bad alliance by marrying late in life, François Cormier, a postman at the market and son of his works, because he had started his fortune by unloading fish carts. This good man, not very literate, had died quite young, and his widow had devoted herself entirely to the education of her son Paul, whom she adored and spoiled deplorably. Despite his father’s intentions, who had destined him to be his successor, Paul had wanted to be a lawyer. His mother had let him study law, which he hardly did, because after five years, he had not yet passed his thesis, and she forgave him his deviations because he had remained a good son. She even forgave him for having gone to pitch his tent in the Latin Quarter, which she considered a cursed place. She still hoped he would settle down and dreamed of marrying him off well when he was admitted to the bar and about to buy a job as a notary or attorney. Although she was on the wrong side of fifty, this overindulgent mother was still almost pretty. She had been charming and her son Paul looked a lot like her. But she had never thought of remarrying and had completely withdrawn from the commercial world where she had lived when she ran a large greengrocer’s and game store under the sign of the Silver Pheasant. Something like the shop of the legendary Madame Bontoux, well known to gourmets fifteen years ago. Of all her late husband’s friends, she now saw only an old consulting lawyer who had rendered her important services when she left business and settled her accounts. Mr.
Bardin was a widower and, like her, he had only one son, much older than Paul and much more industrious, for through hard work and his own merit, he had managed to sit on the civil court of the Seine where he held the much-coveted position of examining magistrate. Madame Cormier constantly cited the example of this good subject to Paul, who had not failed to take a dislike to Charles Bardin, who was nevertheless an excellent magistrate and an excellent fellow. This judge, a bachelor like Paul, was too busy at the Palace to often visit the widow’s house, but his father dined there regularly, every Sunday. On those days, there was a party in the apartment Madame Cormier occupied on the second floor and at the front of an old house where the staircase was made of stone, and where the ceilings, fifteen feet high, still showed some traces of gilding. Paul brought a contingent of youthful gaiety and was never bored listening to the conversation of the good man Bardin, who had read a lot, seen a lot, remembered a lot, and who told stories very well. And the dinner was always excellent. From her old business relationships, the widow had retained supply facilities which she shared with her guests, serving them sought-after products. She also owned a first-rate cellar which she did not spare on Sundays. We sat down to eat at six thirty sharp. When the half-hour The clock of Saint-Paul struck, Mr. Bardin unfolded his napkin, and at three-quarters, Brigitte, the maid, came in to take away the soup. And Paul was commendably punctual. He might have perched on the heights of the Panthéon, but he always appeared five minutes before half past. He left all the absinthes and all the maidens in his neighborhood so as not to keep his mother waiting, who was grateful to him. But, after all, everything happens. And it happened that, on that Sunday in May which was to be a milestone in Paul’s life, at seven o’clock, Madame Cormier and her friend Bardin were still sitting near the dining-room window, facing each other and exchanging a few words here and there to alleviate their impatience. The widow had already gotten up ten times to look out into the street. Bardin, who took a lot of snuff, especially in embarrassing situations, Bardin had almost emptied his snuffbox. Brigitte kept coming and going, lamenting the fate of the overcooked leg of lamb. “Bardin,” said Madame Cormier suddenly, ” some accident must have happened to him. Perhaps he’s ill. What if I went to see him on Rue Gay-Lussac? ” “That would be the worst thing you could do,” replied the old lawyer without showing any emotion. “You would go in a carriage and you would meet him; at his age, one is not only delayed by accidents. ” “What! You suppose he’s out having fun… on a Sunday!… when I’m expecting him! ” “Bah!” said Bardin, shrugging his shoulders, “youth must pass… and, between us, youth passes only too quickly… Let him throw away his squabbles, that boy… the sooner it’s done, the sooner he’ll be ready for marriage. ” “I know, my friend,” murmured the mother, always ready to excuse her Paul. But I complain that it doesn’t ripen quickly. –Bah!… late-season fruits are the best. I’ve sometimes regretted that my Charles never did anything foolish when he was young. –You say that to console me. –Not at all. I say that because I’m afraid he might do it when he ‘s old. I hope not, but still, wisdom is needed, not too much. It’s like virtue. –Be quiet, Bardin. You’d end up making me laugh, and I don’t want that.
–Come now!… would you like me to show you a way to calm your worries? –I’m happy to do it, but… –The way is to sit down to eat. There’s nothing like that to make latecomers arrive. And as the good lady did not seem convinced, her old friend hastened to add: “If your son does not come, I promise you that after dinner, I will go to his house to ask how he is. Do n’t thank me, I’m celebrating. For three days I haven’t left my office where I am immersed in the study of a file that came to me from the provinces. It seems to me that I must be giving off a smell of paperwork. A hygienic walk will do me good. Not to mention that for me it will be a joy to see the Latin Quarter again. I never have the opportunity to go there anymore. It will remind me of my youth. I played my pranks there, too, some forty years ago.” The old man’s pranks couldn’t have gotten him very far, but it was one of his habits to pretend that he had led the life of a reveling student, and Madame Cormier, who knew this failing, refrained from contradicting him. “Well,” she said, “let’s have dinner. I’ll call Brigitte to serve us… and after dinner, if I haven’t seen my son, I’ll go with you to the Rue Gay-Lussac. ” “Hmm!” grumbled Bardin, who would have preferred to go alone. “Yes, you must be dying of hunger. What time can it be?” “Not far off eight o’clock, my dear friend. It’s almost dark, and I won’t hide from you that my stomach is in my stomach. ” Much to her regret, for she was sorry to dine without her Paul, the widow got up and went to the kitchen where Brigitte was watching the roast, grumbling at the boy who allowed himself to keep her mother waiting. A rumble of cars came up from the street, and Madame Cormier ran to the balcony and cried joyfully: “It’s him! ” “He’s coming in a cab!” said the old lawyer, also going up to the balcony. “The youth of today denies themselves nothing. In my time, they went on foot… or by bus. Paul, in fact, was getting out of a numbered Victoria whose entrance into the Rue des Tournelles had caused a sensation. The concierges were coming out to see her, and the children had stopped their games to let her pass. “Well,” continued Father Bardin, “you see nothing has happened to her. He’s forgotten the time, that’s all. ” “Brigitte!… you can serve!” cried Madame Cormier, full of joy. Paul had, in fact, forgotten it at his mother’s dinner time, and he had only remembered it after searching for a long time on the Champs-Élysées for the missing marquise. She had not shown up, and he had some merit in remembering that she was expected in the Rue des Tournelles, for his strange adventure occupied his entire being. It now appeared to him in new aspects, and he was not too displeased to be involved in it. A servant’s mistake had put him in a false situation, but the marquise would certainly help him out of it. She had refrained from waiting for him near her friend’s mansion, but she would not fail to give him news soon . Everything would become clear. Paul would still have the hope of pleasing her and of effectively replacing the husband whose role he had played for two hours. He also had eight good thousand- franc notes left, which swelled his wallet, not to mention eight others that the Viscount owed him. He had loyally won them from a person of all types of body, a gambler who would easily console himself for having lost them, and he was not sorry to keep them, but it must be done him justice that this unexpected gain touched him less than the joy of having made the acquaintance of a charming woman who seemed to belong to the best society. He arrived, full of his subject, in the peaceful apartment on the Rue des Tournelles, and if he had dared, he would have gladly told his mother and the old lawyer of his good fortune. But he did not dare, knowing that he would distress them both. “There you are, you naughty boy!” Madame Cormier said to him, embracing him tenderly . “Where have you come from? ” “I was delayed at the last moment,” Paul stammered. “Say you were drawing your fourth exam,” Father Bardin whispered to him, chuckling. “If there’s any sense in having dinner at eight o’clock!… you’ll ruin your stomach. ” The good lady was thinking only of the health of this son who had just made her and her old friend suffer, accustomed to the regularity of meals. “At table!… here’s the soup!” cried Bardin. There was nothing to do but obey this invitation. Paul didn’t even bother to invent an excuse. The three guests were very hungry, and Paul more than the other two. Nothing digs like emotions when one is young. He had not yet reached the age where they kill one’s appetite. As a result, the beginning of dinner was silent. Only the sound of spoons hitting the bottom of plates could be heard. After the soup, a glass of old sherry, which had matured in the cellars of the Silver Pheasant, loosened the lawyer’s tongue, and he began to talk about his only offspring, his Charles, the model magistrate, for whom he dreamed of a brilliant career. All that was missing for this scholar, this hard-working man, to stand out from the crowd, was to be charged with investigating one of those sensational cases which highlight the talents of a judge. of instruction. Bardin wished his son an accused like Campi, the anonymous assassin whose trial had just captivated Paris. To which Madame Cormier replied that she hoped there would never be any criminals to judge and that she hoped Paul would never have to ask for anyone’s head, since he would not enter the judiciary. Paul was careful not to pronounce on this point, for he was not at all in the conversation. His mind wandered a league from the Rue des Tournelles and the dinner, to which, however, he gave great honor, for despite his preoccupations, he did not miss a bite. He thought that at that hour the Marquise de Ganges was perhaps dining alone in the magnificent hotel where she must be staying, and that the Baroness Dozulé, who had guests that evening, was perhaps speaking to them about the young gentleman she had taken for the Marquise’s husband. He had fulfilled a duty by coming to sit at his mother’s table, but he was thinking of slipping off after dinner to the Latin Quarter where Jean de Mirande had stayed. He was almost certain to find him there, at the ball at the Closerie des Lilas or at the Brasserie de la Source, and he felt the need to see him again; not to tell him about his adventure—he had sworn to Madame de Ganges that he would say nothing to his friend—but to reinvigorate himself with the contact of this cheerful companion who took life so gaily and juggled his worries. Madame Cormier finally realized that her dear son was not listening, and Bardin, who had noticed this long ago, said to her with a wink: “I bet he’s in love.” This time, Paul heard and affected a smile, shrugging his shoulders. “Oh! Don’t deny it!” the old lawyer continued. It’s better than going to the café. “Yes, if he were in love for the right reason,” corrected the mother wisely , her only desire being to marry her son early, to protect him from the dangers of prolonged celibacy. “It’s still a little early,” said Bardin. “And then you know… to make a stew, you need a hare… well, to get married, you need a woman… I mean a woman as well endowed by her parents as by nature… and lady!… those hares don’t run around the fields… or even the streets of Paris.” Paul continued to play with his fork, without raising his eyes. His mother, who would have liked to hear him manifest marital inclinations, had to content herself with replying to Bardin: “You should find that for him.” And Bardin, who never remained short, replied without flinching: “In the past, I would not have said no… when I saw so many people passing through my office. Now I only give consultations to friends. I thanked my clients… a little reluctantly … I gave it up because of Charles… the father of a magistrate should not receive fees from the first comer. ” “But you have maintained excellent relations with your old clients and, among them, there must be some who have daughters to marry. Paul will have 600,000 francs after me, and I will give him half the day the contract is signed. ” “With that and his physical and moral qualities, it will be up to him to marry an heiress… for he is full of qualities, that bad boy… ” “You are very kind, Monsieur Bardin,” murmured Paul, smiling. “I’m telling you the truth, that’s all.” The devil is that, for the moment, I don’t know any heiresses… –Oh! I’m in no hurry. –I believe you without difficulty, but your mother is, in a hurry, and if I could help her to find you a good place, I would gladly do it,… The old man stopped suddenly, striking his forehead: –But what’s my head? he cried; I’m definitely getting old, for I’m losing my memory… unless it’s your mother’s sherry that clouds my ideas… pour me a last glass anyway… there! that’s good… now, my boy, I have your case… a young orphan who must be twenty-one at most and who is the sole heiress to a fortune of six million. “It’s superb!” said Paul ironically, “and if she ‘s pretty to boot… ” “They say she’s charming. ” “What! They say?… you don’t know her then? ” “I’ve never seen her… but I’ve seen the documents that establish her right to the inheritance in question… I know where it is, what it consists of, and what must be done to send her into possession. ” “You are admirably informed. All that remains is for you to tell me where this marvel is.” The former lawyer took a moment, as they say at the Palace, as well as at the theater, and after this pause, he replied gravely: “If I knew, I would have already introduced you to her.” Paul, at once, burst out laughing and Madame Cormier made a meaningful face. She thought it was bad that her old friend allowed himself to joke about her son’s marriage. “Laugh, my boy,” Bardin continued, “laugh as much as you like. It’s very serious and you, my dear Julie, are wrong to be angry. My heiress exists. Would you like me to tell you her story? ” “Tell me, Monsieur Bardin!… tell me!” said Paul, still giggling. “My friend,” added Madame Cormier, “you should have started there. ” “It’s true,” replied the old lawyer, “I put the peroration before the exordium, but when you talk at table, you don’t talk like in court. I regret my blunder and I’m going to make up for it. I regret it all the more because I’ve made your mouth water and you’ll have to cut back on it… ” “Good!” cried Paul, there is a defect… I can see it from here… the young heiress has committed a fault… and… “Who do you take me for?” interrupted Bardin sternly. “Do you imagine that I have lived sixty years of the life of an honest man to undertake at my age to find a rascal willing to sell his name by recognizing another’s child?…” “No, certainly not, Monsieur Bardin… but… ” “You are only a starling… learn to hold your tongue… especially when you are speaking to a friend of your parents. ” “Excuse me… I thought you were joking… ” “Shut up!… to punish you for having said something stupid, I should keep my information to myself. ” “My dear Bardin, I have not offended you,” said Madame Cormier gently. That was all it took for the old man to calm down. “That’s true,” he said, “and we won’t get angry over such a trifle. Here is the story I promised you. It may be improbable, but it is true. I have all the proof in my hands, certified by a man of incontestable honor. Four years ago, there lived in a village in the department of Hérault…, in Fabrègues…, a good woman whom her husband had abandoned ten years ago… she was left without resources with a little girl and they would perhaps both have died of hunger if a young lady from a very good family in Montpellier had not taken an interest in them. The parents of this young lady had, very close to Fabrègues, a chateau where they spent every summer. They took in the abandoned little girl and had her raised with their daughter. There was no news of the husband. It was vaguely known that he had gone to seek his fortune in California, but nothing more. ” “I can guess,” cried Paul; he found his fortune there… he just died and so… –So, what?… there was no point in interrupting me to say what anyone would have guessed like you. Paul, thus reprimanded, lowered his nose and said no more. –Yes, the father is dead, continued the old lawyer, his estate is liquidated and goes entirely to his only daughter. The mother is also dead, two years before her husband. The girl is therefore well and truly a millionaire six times over. Only… And as Bardin, once again, had stopped at the most interesting moment, Madame Cormier could not help saying: “Well?” “Only, we don’t know where she is. ” “What! What are you telling us! ” “The truth, my dear friend. She has disappeared. ” “Perhaps she went to California like her father,” sneered the incorrigible Paul. “She disappeared a few days before the wedding of her young protector, who had also lost her parents and who had taken her in as a reader. ” “Then the protector must know where her protégé is. ” “It’s probable, but the protector left the country to follow her husband abroad. And very probably, too, she doesn’t know that her protégé now has millions. ” “You’ll tell her. ” “When I find her. I’m looking for her. ” “What! She’s disappeared too!” –Disappeared, is not the word. She is not one of those who lose themselves as happens to a poor girl. She is rich in her own right and she made a great marriage. But she no longer has any ties in her country of origin and since she left it, she has done nothing but travel with her husband. I have asked for further information from the person who first gave me the information. I am waiting for it and, when I have it, the hardest part will be done. I will get in touch with this lady and she will have to tell me what has become of the heiress… whom I am also looking for and whom I may perhaps find, without the other one helping me. I have some reason to believe that the heiress is in Paris; and I am making inquiries. The devil is, she must have changed her name. –Then you will have difficulty finding her. “My dear Bardin,” said Madame Cormier, smiling, “I confess that I am beginning to agree with Paul, who found this marriage project a little far-fetched. ” “Far-fetched, as much as you like… it is feasible and under exceptional conditions. Here is a young girl who has millions and who does not know that she has them. Suppose that I find her, that I introduce Paul to her, that Paul pleases her and that she pleases Paul… there is a chance, because those who saw her four years ago agree in saying that she is ravishing and as good as she is beautiful… it would be a done deal… ” “Too many suppositions,” grumbled Paul. “It would still remain,” said his mother, “to know how she has lived since she left her country… a child of sixteen, left to herself! ” “That would be an investigation to be made,” replied Bardin. “I would undertake it and I assure you that it would be pushed to the limit.” You have known me long enough to know that I do not compromise on matters of honor. –I know that, my friend, and I would trust you as I would myself, but I fear that you will never have the opportunity to give me your opinion on this heiress… who cannot be found. Is it indiscreet to ask you where you got this information from? –From one of my former colleagues at the Montpellier bar with whom I have been corresponding for over thirty years. He wrote to me very recently and on several occasions to ask me to assist him in his research. He was once the lawyer for the family of the young lady who was interested in the orphan and who rescued her from poverty. He is therefore putting great ardor into pursuing this case. He proposes, if it does not come to fruition soon, to come to Paris expressly, although, at his age, the journey frightens him a little… He is seventy-five years old, this excellent Lestrigou. If he decides, I will ask your permission to introduce him to you. –How so!… I trust that he will do us the pleasure of dining at my house with you… and with Paul who that day, I hope, will not be won’t keep you waiting. “I swear to be punctual!” said Paul solemnly. “Yes, I know you, handsome mask,” replied Father Bardin. “You’ll arrive on time if your friends and acquaintances don’t stop on the way. But, come to think of it!… you didn’t tell us why you let the roast burn… It was good all the same, but we must admit that it was overcooked. ” Paul was careful not to tell the truth. He spoke vaguely of friends who had kept him and of an interminable game of billiards that he couldn’t leave because he was winning. Paul knew that Bardin didn’t hate billiards and that he readily ranted against baccarat. “Let’s bet,” said the old lawyer, “that you were with your inseparable friend… that great plate-breaker who walks around the neighborhood in carnival costumes. Bad company, my boy! ” “Why, no, I assure you.” He likes eccentric outfits, but he ‘s very proper when he wants to be. He’s noble, moreover, and he could take the title of count that his father bore. His name is Jean de Mirande. –A pretty name, to put in a comedy. And he’s studying law, this gentleman? So he wants to enter the bar? –I don’t think so. He became a student to amuse himself in his own way and against the wishes of all his relatives. I believe, moreover, that he’s beginning to get fed up and that he’ll end up enlisting in an African regiment. He was born a fighter and he’ll go where the fighting is. –Good for him! What country is he from? –Languedoc. His uncle lives in a castle near Vigan. –Ah! He’s from Languedoc. Ask him, when you see him, if he knows the Marsillargues family. –I won’t fail to do so. May I ask why this Marsillargues family interests you? –The protectress I just told you about was a young lady from Marsillargues. –What a baroque name! –The more baroque it is, the better you will remember it. –But she no longer wears it, since she is married. –To a bad person who makes her, they say, very unhappy. Lestrigou, in his letters, forgot to tell me her husband’s name. Lestrigou always speaks of her by her maiden name. That’s the one your friend must know, since he is from Languedoc. Besides , in his next letter, my correspondent will tell me the other name and I will tell you. –Good! You can count on your errand being done this evening. –This evening?… so you intend to finish your evening at Bullier; for on a Sunday, your Mirande cannot spend hers elsewhere. –But I assure you that… –Oh! Don’t defend yourself!… I danced there once in Bullier. –It must have been funny, thought Paul Cormier, who couldn’t quite see the old lawyer performing a stormy tulip. Madame Cormier didn’t say a word. She was dreaming of this fantastic marriage, put on the table by a man in whom she had complete confidence, and she promised herself not to let this seductive project fall by the wayside. But, to return to it, she waited until she was alone with Bardin. She wanted to talk about it openly, and the presence of her son would have embarrassed her. Bardin, who guessed her intention, came to her aid. Dinner had gone by more quickly than usual. They were drinking coffee at the table, and Paul had just emptied his fourth glass of a remarkable cognac, from the same source as the sherry wine served after the soup. –You’re dying to smoke, aren’t you? the lawyer asked her. –Oh! I know it bothers Mom, said Paul. I’ll smoke in the street when I get home. –And the sooner the better, right?… Well, I read on your indulgent mother’s face that she’s allowing you to adjourn the session. When you’ve left, we’ll quietly do our picketing until ten o’clock and I’ll still be in bed before you, for I live at two steps from here. The good man lived on the Rue des Arquebusiers, a street whose name few Parisians know and which runs, with a bend, from the Boulevard Beaumarchais to the Rue Saint-Claude. –And from here to Bullier, it’s a walk!… it’s true that you go by carriage, you… Lady! When one has friends in the nobility!… Paul had risen to kiss his mother and he didn’t pretend to hear, but the pitiless Bardin continued: –Let’s bet that you carry all your fortune in your pocket. –Why’s that? stammered Paul, a little disconcerted, for it was true; who makes you believe it? –The gesture!… the revealing gesture! –What gesture? –During the whole dinner, you did nothing but feel the breast pocket of your frock coat with your hand . I’m never mistaken by that gesture. Your wallet must be well-lined. “Mother gave me my month’s allowance yesterday. Didn’t she, Mother?” The widow nodded, and while Mr. Bardin laughed with pleasure at having been so perceptive, the young man hastened to shake her hand and leave. He had had enough of this retired lawyer’s tricks and his matrimonial affairs. “He’s definitely a mentally ill old man,” Paul grumbled, descending the wide staircase of his mother’s house two at a time. “If he thinks I’m going to ask about his lost orphan, he’s mistaken. ” The student reappeared in that language he wouldn’t have dared to use at his mother’s, and even less at Baroness Dozulé’s, where he had played the role of an expected lord. And the fact was that Paul felt revived at the thought of finding himself on the sand of the alleys of the Closerie des Lilas, where he could, at his choice, dream of Jacqueline, or else amuse himself in joyful company, and where no one would mistake him for the Marquis de Ganges. At the end of the Rue des Tournelles, he jumped into an open cab, after lighting a cigar, and had himself driven to the famous garden where so many generations of the Schools of Law and Medicine took their first steps. He arrived there, just at the time when the festival was in full swing and, as it was Sunday, the crowd was enormous: a real crush dominated by students, but where there were also amateurs who came from the right bank, transferring the Sequana, wrote the master Rabelais. These people, jaded by the paid quadrilles that La Goulue and Grille d’égout dance every evening in the Jardin de Paris, came to reinvigorate themselves in the sources of the cancan, enticed by the hope of seeing fantastic steps invented by the beautiful French youth performed, for good money and good play . It was fashionable, for a time, in the big clubs, to indulge in this entertainment, as one used to go and see the descent of the Courtille. It is a kind of sport that the gentlemen of the Copurchies still indulge in sometimes. But Paul Cormier hardly expected to meet the cream of Parisian elegance at Bullier. He came there to look for Jean de Mirande and his entourage, because he supposed that after a lavish dinner at Foyot’s, the gang must have felt the need to go and dance at the Closerie. The difficult thing was to meet them, in the midst of this flow of walkers, dancers and consumers, because in Bullier all pleasures are combined. People walk in a gaslit garden, they dance in a huge room, to the sounds of wild music, they drink on the long platforms that surround it and dominate it and also in the groves. That evening, there were people everywhere, and just as a wild waltz was whirling from one end of the covered room to the other, pushing back the curious and jostling the troublemakers. Paul, who did not want to study modern choreography there, fell back on the garden where he intended to wait for the evolutions The waltzers’ circles would have ended. Only then could he go in search of Jean, with some chance of finding him. The garden was also very crowded. People were fighting over the tables embedded in the clumps of greenery, and the waiters, carrying trays laden with beer, mercilessly pushed through the groups that dared to block traffic by standing in the paths. Paul, only the day before, would have found this Sunday party charming. Now he saw it with different eyes. The joy of these young people seemed coarse to him; the women seemed ugly and badly dressed. And it wasn’t the money won at gambling that changed his outlook; it was the image of Jacqueline that he constantly had before his eyes and which, by comparison, made him disgusted with the pitiful rogues of the neighborhood. He wasn’t the lover of this marvelous marquise; and at most he hoped to become one; but he was already her accomplice, since he shared with her a secret that she was interested in hiding. This was enough to make him believe he was made of different stuff than his comrades; Jean de Mirande, excepted. He was from the same world as Madame de Ganges; he did not frequent this aristocratic world, but he was born into it and, although he affected to disregard it, he was a man who understood certain nuances that completely escaped the other regulars of the Closerie. Paul therefore looked for him, although he was determined not to confide in him , and it was not him that he met. At the turn of an alley, Paul found himself almost face to face with a gentleman who was coming in the opposite direction and who cried out: “You, here, Monsieur le Marquis!” This gentleman was the Vicomte de Servon, as astonished by the encounter as Paul Cormier was to find him there. The Viscount, always polite, courteously approached his lucky baccarat opponent, but his face expressed a feeling other than astonishment. His eyes clearly said: Well?… and your wife? Paul understood. There was in the look that fell on him a whole series of questions that the Viscount was too well-trained to formulate in words. He meant, that clear and slightly ironic look: What! You arrived this evening from a long journey; you have barely had time to see your charming wife and instead of spending the evening with her, you come to enjoy yourself at a student ball! Paul was even tempted to read something like this: Very well. We can try to console this beautiful marquise whom you neglect like this.
But it was not a question of guessing M. de Servon’s intentions; it was a question of extricating himself immediately from a more than embarrassing situation and Paul could only extricate himself from it by a lie. It cost him, because until then, he hadn’t lied, in the literal sense of the word. He had allowed himself to be called the Marquis de Ganges and presented as such by Baroness Dozulé, but he hadn’t said anything that would make people believe that this name and this title belonged to him. Now, he found himself caught in a spiral. Under penalty of passing for Jacqueline’s lover, he had to lie, no longer by remaining silent, but by inventing an explanation for his presence at Bullier. The devil was involved. He cursed this viscount who had taken it into his head to cross bridges instead of trying to recoup his losses by cutting a baccarat in the salons of his club. But he was obliged to answer, and he answered, anticipating the questions he had anticipated. “You didn’t expect to meet me here, especially this evening, did you, sir?” he began in a casual tone. I could tell you, like the Doge of Genoa, at Versailles… what surprises me most is seeing myself there. Imagine that my wife, who did not know that I would arrive in Paris today, had accepted an invitation to dinner at one of her friends’ house. She wanted to write to her to get out of it. I insisted that she go there. She will spend the evening there. I dined alone… at the restaurant… and not knowing what to do afterward, I came, walking and smoking countless cigars, to this eccentric neighborhood. I heard the music of this ball and I felt like going in . I think I won’t stay there long. For an improvised explanation, that one wasn’t too bad, and Paul hastened to try a diversion. “But you yourself, sir,” he continued, “by what chance?… ” “My God! It’s very simple,” said the Viscount; I dined at the club… I was hoping to find a game there, but the weather was so nice that all the diners left the table… there were three of us smoking on the balcony… there was no way we could even organize a game of whist for four, and I don’t like to play dead… we decided, by mutual agreement, to charter a cab and have ourselves taken to the Closerie des Lilas. It’s a rather shabby place, that place, but you sometimes discover new women there… “Not often,” murmured Paul, who knew what to think on this point. “I see, Monsieur le Marquis, that you know the establishment… ” “I used to come here once, like everyone else. ” “Oh! I’m sure you don’t frequent it anymore. Madame de Ganges would object, and… you’d lose too much in the exchange.” I, who am not fortunate enough to be married to a charming woman, come here from time to time with friends… and I have happened to make some finds… there are still some pretty girls here who have the advantage of being young on the right bank… we have to clean them up before launching them. Cormier noticed that the Viscount was a reveler to excess and he was delighted, because he hoped that this seeker of debutantes would soon leave him to go hunting. “I have just followed one who was worth the trouble,” continued M. de Servon. ” She left me there to hang herself on the arm of a big devil who wears soft boots, tight trousers and a pointed hat. It seems that here it is supreme chic.” Paul was on edge, for at this description he had recognized his friend Jean, and he was trembling lest Jean should come and disturb his conversation with the Viscount and wade through his cardboard marquisate, like an elephant in a china shop. But Jean was doubtless busy watering his guests from Foyot’s in the covered room, and M. de Servon continued thus: My two friends from the club have gone off on another track. I don’t know if they will have more luck than me, but I am waiting for them here and I shall be very happy, Monsieur le Marquis, to introduce them to you. This did not suit Paul Cormier at all, who stammered: “I too would be delighted to know these gentlemen, but… ” “They know you by reputation. They know that after leading the high life, you have taken up business at an age when others are still wasting their time at the club and the dance hall.” And the great affairs have succeeded for you, as they always succeed for intelligent and bold men. You can now think of enjoying your successes… your place is marked in our Parisian world where until now you have spread little, I believe. “Oh! very little!” said Paul briskly, delighted with the pretext the Viscount provided him to explain his ignorance of the men of that world. “I saw clearly, at the Baroness’s, that you were on new ground for you,” the Viscount replied obligingly. “You did n’t know her, I believe, this dear Baroness? ” “Not at all, and she welcomed me as if I were one of her friends. ” “Oh! she is an excellent woman, and besides, she is close to Madame de Ganges, whom everyone loves and respects.” Paul bowed out of politeness, but deep down, he wasn’t sorry to learn that his Jacqueline was respected. “When you get to know Madame Dozulé, you’ll see that she has no equal when it comes to setting up a salon… for Madame de Ganges, who refrained from entertaining while you were away from Paris, will certainly be opening her house next winter. I admit that we’re counting on it a little… and it would be a real shame not to use your beautiful mansion on the Avenue Montaigne, which seems to have been built expressly for holding parties. ” “It seems I have a mansion on the Avenue Montaigne,” Paul said to himself, “that’s good to know. I won’t be at a loss to find Jacqueline again if she doesn’t give me any news. ” “Here are my friends from the club,” said Monsieur de Servon suddenly. They’re coming back empty-handed, I think… But no, by Jove!… they’re closely followed by two young people who look as if they’ve accepted a supper at the Café Anglais. “That’ll be a change for them… but I’d blame myself for keeping you up… ” “Oh! I’ll be there… just long enough to put you in touch with these gentlemen and then I’ll ask your permission to leave. Would you just like to come with me to meet them? ” Paul, who was joyfully watching the moment of separation approach, followed the viscount, who brought him in front of the two clubmen and immediately proceeded with the introductions, starting with his friends: “Monsieur le Comte de Carolles!… Monsieur Henri de Baffé!… Then, almost immediately: “Monsieur le Marquis de Ganges,” he continued, raising his voice, as if to better emphasize the importance of the personage. This ceremony, rather unusual at the Bullier ball, took place not far from the entrance to the covered hall and very close to a sort of leafy arbor where a gentleman and three women were seated who, judging by their attire and appearance, must have been shameless women of the worst kind. The gentleman, on the contrary, looked like a man of the world, but he was completely drunk. The table, covered with empty bottles, attested that he had not become intoxicated merely by words and noise. At the moment when M. de Servon had just introduced the false marquis, this gentleman stood up, shaking his fist at the group of clubmen. One of his sad guests forced him to sit down again by pulling him by the hem of his frock coat, but he continued to gesticulate, shouting: “What is he saying? Is he concerned with me?” The presenter and the men presented paid no attention to this drunkard, who, at the Closerie, was not alone of his kind. They exchanged brief courtesies before parting, and the Viscount took his leave of Paul , saying: “It is an honor to see you again, Monsieur le Marquis.” These gentlemen had just left with their two female recruits when Jean de Mirande emerged from the ballroom, in large company. Everything turned according to Paul’s wishes, who feared nothing so much as finding himself caught between his old friend from the neighborhood and his new friends from the club. “Marquis!” the drunkard persisted in grumbling; “I’ll give you some, I’ll give you some of the Marquis de Ganges! ” Paul Cormier did not hear this threat, which was confused with a grunt, and he had no idea that it was addressed to him. He was overjoyed to have avoided the explanation which would have been the inevitable consequence of the meeting with Jean, if Jean had arrived a minute earlier. He was arriving, this brave Jean, escorted by what he called his civil and military household, that is to say, the four maidens whom he had just entertained at Foyot’s and half a dozen students recruited from the ball and amply plied at his expense. He too was not drunk, for he carries wine like no one else, but outrageously drunk. He still walked straight, and he still spoke easily; only his eyes were bulging out of his head, and Paul, Who knew him well, saw at once that he was very overexcited. And when that happened, he was capable of all sorts of extravagances. Paul knew this and blessed the heavens all the more for having inspired the Viscount of Servon with the idea of ​​bringing his friends along. “There you are, you pretty coward,” Mirande shouted to him from the distance . “Was your mother’s soup good? And the boiled meat? And the little ginglet to wash it all down? If you had come with us, you would have eaten bisque and drunk Clicquot. Ask the ladies instead. But I have you now, and you will finish your night with us… we will have supper at Baratte’s, at Les Halles. ” Cormier admired to himself the effects of the Champagne wine which inspired such plans in the last scion of a family from the old Roche, and he was quite inclined to take the thing cheerfully. Mirande, that evening, could be of no use to him, and Paul was in no hurry to carry out the commission Father Bardin had given him, carried away by his matrimonial zeal. He was only afraid that the ball would not end without a fight. Mirande, when he got into such a state, was quick to swear and quick to punch too. If he was annoyed, he would resort to violence, and sometimes the party ended with the violin. Paul, who had no desire to follow him there, was already thinking of calming him down and gently leading him back to his home on Boulevard Saint-Germain, where he could lie down and sleep off his wine until the next day. The devil was that the rest of the gang had lost all sense of the respect owed to the authority that watches over the tranquility of public balls. These ladies had already nearly been thrown out by raising their legs higher than the helmet of the municipal officer on duty. Vera, the nihilist, was shouting seditious cries. It’s true that she was shouting them in Russian and that no one understood them, but the students who completed Jean’s procession were pushing everyone aside and making a hellish racket. Paul, despite everything, still hoped that the evening would end peacefully. He wasn’t counting on the drunkard who had already called out to him from the depths of the arbor he was occupying with three creatures. They had tried to restrain him, but he had torn himself from their clutches and came to stand in front of Paul Cormier, his arms crossed, his hat thrown back on his neck, and his hair blowing in a wind. “Where did that one come from?” Mirande grumbled, looking at the intruder, who said abruptly: “It’s not you I’m dealing with… it’s this one. ” “Me?” Paul asked, stunned. “Yes, you.” Why do you call yourself the Marquis de Ganges? Paul turned pale and didn’t reply. He understood that this man had heard the introductions, but he couldn’t guess how they could have offended him. “Are you mentally ill?” Mirande asked the drunkard, whose aggressive attitude was beginning to irritate him. “I’m not mentally ill, and I’m perfectly sure I heard correctly. Once again, why did you, the little blond boy, take a name that doesn’t belong to you? Are you the Marquis de Ganges, yes or no? ” “What does that matter to you?” Mirande retorted, exasperated by that stubborn insistence that is peculiar to drunk people. “What does it matter to me? You want to know? I’m the Marquis de Ganges. ” “Possibly!” sneered Jean. “You don’t look like it. ” “I’m not talking to you.” I speak to this man who persists in not answering me…
and I repeat to him that he took the liberty of taking my name, that I want to know why and that if he persists in refusing to tell me, I will slap him. Paul raised his arm, to take the lead, but Mirande was quicker than him. “After me, if there are any left,” he shouted, applying to the cheek of the demanding a mistress slap. This was the signal for a terrible uproar. The girls who had just been drinking with the slapped one fled screaming as if they had been slapped. Jean’s friends arrived to lend him a hand in case the beaten man tried to return blow for blow. Jean had taken up a boxing position and everything indicated that a fierce fight was about to ensue between these two men, both drunk and equally furious. People were running from all sides of the garden and there were already people climbing onto chairs to get a better look. They almost went : Kss!… kss!… The most annoyed of all the actors in this scene was Paul Cormier, who was the cause of the quarrel and who, lacking presence of mind, had allowed his friend to usurp the leading role, a role that could have led him onto the field. But those who were counting on the spectacle of a fine fistfight were completely robbed. Whether the one being slapped saw that he would not be the stronger, or because he found it beneath his dignity to engage in a fight, he refrained from throwing himself on his adversary, and said to him with surprising composure : “Now, sir, it is no longer your friend I have to deal with, it is you, and you will give me an explanation for the outrage.” The slap had not only sobered him up, but transfigured him. The drunkard now had the attitude and tone of a gentleman, brutally offended. “Whenever you please,” replied Mirande. ” I will give you my card. ” “Not here, I beg you. Here are the police officers arriving. I do not want to be put in the police station, and I suppose you also want to avoid this ridiculous outcome.” Please come out with me and your friends… including Monsieur…–the slapped man indicated Paul–I have another score to settle with him. But come before we are surrounded… we will explain ourselves outside. –I would ask for nothing better. Three of the students escorting Mirande slipped away. They, like Panurge, naturally feared blows. The other three remained. The women had lost themselves in the crowd immediately after the slap. Mirande led the way and they made way for her. Her neck and biceps commanded respect from the curious onlookers and the police, delighted not to have to intervene, let the group pass, suddenly calmed. A temporary peace or rather a truce, dictated by the fear of the police, which is not kind to students. The gentleman, sobered, was a young and elegantly turned man, whose distinguished features seemed to have been altered by prolonged debauchery . Habitual drunkenness had left its mark. It wasn’t the physiognomy of a refined man of vice like the Viscount de Servon. There was some of that, with a little added stupor. Paul pictured Alfred de Musset’s pale Rolla to himself, this Rolla who was none other than the poet himself. Where did this man come from, obviously fallen from on high into villainous habits? What had he come to do at this ball with low-class girls? And what vertigo had driven him to plant creatures there to accost Paul, about a name spoken, a name that should not enjoy any notoriety at the Closerie des Lilas? Had he been suddenly seized by a fit of madness? Mirande was convinced of it and he had told her so. Paul would have liked to believe it, but while wondering anxiously how this new adventure would end, he could not help doubting that this man was mentally ill, and he said to himself: “If only he were the real Marquis de Ganges! ” This idea only crossed Paul Cormier’s mind and everything seemed to indicate that it was not worth his while to dwell on it. What appearance indeed the Marquis de Ganges had, on returning from a long travel, go and party—that was the right word—at the Bullier ball, with creatures, instead of arriving at his hotel on the rue Montaigne where his charming wife was waiting for him? However low a gentleman may have fallen, he does not flaunt himself like that, and besides, Cormier had no reason to believe that Jacqueline’s husband was a fallen marquis. On the contrary, people were talking about his financial successes, the great enterprises that had just increased his already considerable fortune. So, this suddenly sobered drunkard was not, could not be, the Marquis de Ganges. So, why had he become angry when he heard this name and title given to a gentleman who was passing by? It was beyond understanding, and Paul Cormier gave up. Mirande, for his part, did not rack his brains to guess this enigma. He had slapped an insolent fellow who was threatening his friend. He owed him compensation and he was only too happy to grant it. A slap is worth a sword thrust, that was one of his favorite maxims. And he wasn’t leaving . It had been a long time since he had been in the field and he wasn’t the kind of man to miss such a fine opportunity to get his skills back on track. The three students who had followed him were three good young men who had only fought with fists in their lives and who had never set foot in a fencing hall. They were following Mirande because Mirande was the undisputed leader of the neighborhood rowdies and they were quite sure that the affair would end over a bowl of punch. The group left without further incident this Closerie where more blows are exchanged than lilacs are picked. The orchestra had just given the signal for a new quadrille; dancers were running there, no longer worrying about the consequences of an argument, such as one sees in Bullier, almost every evening. The problematic marquis walked in front, as was only right, since it was he who had proposed going out to settle this matter of honor, where honor was not at stake, for it was a quarrel between two drunkards, one of whom had been too quick to use his hand. This touchy slap took the others, under the trees, much further than the statue of Marshal Ney, to the middle of a deserted crossroads, where these gentlemen could confer at their ease, without fear of being disturbed. Paul Cormier, who did not wish anyone’s death, spoke first and it was to preach conciliation. “Gentlemen,” he said, “there is nothing in all this but a misunderstanding… of which I was the cause, quite unintentionally… and everything can be arranged. ” “Not anymore,” interrupted the so-called marquis. “Why not?… I express out loud and before witnesses my regret at having been the occasion of a quarrel without serious cause. Between honest people, one does not cut one another’s throat over a word spoken in the air. ” “And the slap?… It was not in the air, the slap. It is still marked on my cheek. ” “A movement of vivacity… which my friend regrets, I am sure.” Mirande refrained from confirming this assessment of Paul’s and his expression clearly showed that he did not at all repent of what he had done. “Much obliged!” replied the offended man. “Ask him if he will offer his cheek so that I may return what he gave me.” “I don’t advise you to try,” Mirande sneered. “Don’t worry!… I want something else… I want to kill you… ” Just like that!… right away!… you’ll have to wait until tomorrow… and first of all, I don’t fight a duel with just anyone. Start by telling me who you are. ” “I’ve already told you. I am the Marquis de Ganges… and it’s likely that I will do you a great deal of honor by crossing swords with you, because I don’t know you and… ” “Is it my name you need?… My name is Jean de Mirande and I descended from the Counts of Toulouse. Is that enough for you? “I’ll be satisfied with that. I would be ill-founded in asking you to show me your titles, for I suppose you don’t have them in your pocket. ” “I’ll show them tomorrow to the witnesses you send me. ” “Tomorrow!” cried the one who was slapped. “You’re joking, I think!… So, you think I’ll keep my slap until tomorrow? Strike that off your agenda, sir, descendant of the Counts of Toulouse. It’s the first I’ve received in my life. I don’t want to go to bed with it. Only cowards postpone a duel until tomorrow, when the offense can only be washed away with blood. ” “Parbleu! I’m only too happy to line up, but I can’t line up right now, under a gaslight. First of all, to fight, you need witnesses and swords. ” “Witnesses?” Two of these gentlemen will serve me. “Good!… and weapons?” “You must have a friend in this neighborhood who has a pair of foils. We’ll have to clean them out. ” “I have some combat swords at home,” said one of the students, a beardless man in his first year of law school. ” That age only dreams of wounds and bumps. ” “And I live a stone’s throw from here… Faubourg Saint-Jacques… opposite the Val-de-Grâce. ” “Thank you, sir,” said the Marquis gravely. From his attitude and his language, Cormier was beginning to believe that he really was, Marquis, and if he really was Madame de Ganges’s husband, that complicated the situation considerably. “All that remains is for us to find suitable ground,” continued this stubborn gentleman. “And wait until daylight,” said Mirande ironically. “Why?… The moonlight is superb. ” “The duel could take place in my room,” proposed the young student, thirsting for the blood… of others. “I’m not saying no,” replied the irreconcilably offended man. “Come now! Come now, gentlemen!” cried Paul Cormier, “all this, I think, is not serious; you are not going to, with a light heart, expose yourselves to being brought before a criminal court if this absurd encounter ended in the death of one of the two adversaries. Fight, if you insist, but fight fairly. I declare to you, for my part, that I refuse to be a witness in a duel between four walls, and even in a night fight.
” “Well! We will be satisfied with three witnesses. Two would suffice at a pinch. ” “Ah! Now, you are enraged, then,” said Paul. For all reply, the slapped man put his finger on his cheek. And Paul understood that he would not make this devil of a man see reason. Marquis or not, this drunkard, completely and suddenly sobered up, knew very well what he was saying and especially what he wanted. And Mirande, always overexcited, was not inclined to make common cause with his friend to prevent the meeting. It pleased him by its very strangeness; he thought of the first scene of Dumas’s novel where the three musketeers go to battle behind the Luxembourg and he was delighted to put the torch to the wind, like them, to settle at the last minute a quarrel picked up by chance. Paul, who had not yet given up hope of aborting the duel, looked for a way out and believed he had found it. He thought that if he could only gain time, heads would perhaps finally calm down and he said to the marquis: “You absolutely do not want to wait until tomorrow for the reparation that monsieur owes you and that he does not refuse to grant you?” “No… and if he persisted in asking for a delay, I would consider him a coward. ” “No insults, sir!… and do me the favor of listening to me, or else I will believe that by imposing unacceptable conditions on us, you are trying to avoid this duel. ” The offended man protested with a gesture, but he listened. And Paul continued: “Here we are, see you tomorrow… since it is midnight. And we are at the end of May. At three o’clock it will be light, or at least we will see well enough to exchange boots without losing our eyes. You can wait three hours. “Well! That’s an idea!” cried Mirande, who always allowed herself to be seduced by the unexpected. “Three hours is a long time,” grumbled the Marquis. “And besides, I intend not to leave Monsieur until he has come to my senses. ” “And who is talking to you about leaving him? I expect we will not separate until dawn,” said Paul Cormier. “An original idea,” said Mirande; “but we cannot pound the streets of Paris for three hours. ” “We will go up to my place and make kirsch punch,” cried the first-year student. “Why don’t you suggest, while you’re at it, that we all go and have supper together?” asked Paul, shrugging his shoulders. This isn’t one of those duels that are just pretexts for fighting. You’ll go up to your house alone, and take your combat swords there… you’ve never used them, I suppose. “They’re brand new. They were a present from my cousin, who ‘s a second lieutenant in the dragoons. ” “Very well! That’s what we need. You’ll bring them in their envelopes, and we’ll make our way slowly toward the fortifications. I know a place where we won’t be disturbed… on Boulevard Jourdan, to the left of the Porte d’Orléans. ” “But we’ll be there in three-quarters of an hour, at the Porte d’Orléans,” Mirande grumbled, “and if we have to tramp along the ramparts while waiting for daylight, I’m not in it. ” “I know a tavern in these parts that stays open all night. They sell draughts to market gardeners on their way to the market halls.” “And they’ll sell it to us too, won’t they? Thank you! We’d be taken for what we are… people who come to refresh themselves with a pike … and the innkeeper would go and warn the police. I don’t want to bother for nothing. ” “Nor me either,” said the one who was slapped. “I’d rather smoke pipes on a bastion,” Mirande continued. “It ‘s not cold and I don’t feel like sleeping. ” “I agree with my opponent,” the Marquis supported. The other three witnesses agreed, and one of them, who was studying medicine, took care to add, rather inappropriately, that he had his surgical kit in his pocket. All these young people were ready to go there as if to a party . The Marquis remained determined to get it over with as soon as possible, and Mirande, now, was as impatient as he was. Paul Cormier happened to be the only reasonable man in the group, he who usually did not shine by prudence. The die was cast. They were going to fight in extravagant conditions and it was hardly Paul who was concerned about the consequences of this senseless duel. They headed towards the Faubourg Saint-Jacques, two by two, the one who had been slapped in the face with the student with the swords. Mirande managed to stay at the rear with his friend Paul, whom he had not been able to question alone since the beginning of the quarrel and who did not give him the time, for he said to him immediately: “My dear fellow, I do not understand you. What whim possessed you to strike this man who was not speaking to you? Here we are all involved in a silly affair… ” “Ah! by Jove!” cried Jean, “you’re giving me a good one!” You’re the one who had a run-in with that drunkard, and you’re coming to reproach me for having avoided the slap he intended for you! –I don’t reproach you for that. I reproach you for having given him one that made the duel inevitable. –And then, what’s this story?… This Marquis de Ganges who claims that you stole his name?… Is it true? –Not at all. He heard it the wrong way. –And you don’t know him?… –I never saw him when he stood up to call out to me rudely. I took him at first for a mentally ill person. –Me too, but I realized he’s not. I’m even beginning to believe he’s really a marquis, even though he doesn’t look like one. There’s something going on there I don’t understand. My goodness! Too bad for him if I skewer him. He should have kept quiet. –I advise you to take care of him in the field. If you killed him, we ‘d all be in a very bad situation. –Oh! I only want to teach him a lesson. He’s brave, after all. Another man would have backed away from an encounter where he has no one to assist him, and it was he who demanded it. That marquis must have been cheated a lot. Only the declassed would throw themselves headlong into such an adventure. –You who know the world of the nobility, since you are one of them, had you ever heard of a Marquis de Ganges? –Never… I did read once, in a collection of famous cases, the story of a Marquise de Ganges, who was assassinated, if I am not mistaken, by her brothers-in-law and her husband… but that happened in the time of Louis XIV. Is this drunkard from the same family? I don’t know and I don’t give a damn. I would have preferred not to meet him, but now that the wine is drawn, it must be drunk… and since I am fighting, I want things to go properly on the field and even before we get there. So, I think we must not let him make the journey with this young man for sole company. We have two hours of sentry duty before daybreak. I can’t take it upon myself to talk to him while we wait for the moment to come to blows … there’s a slap between us… you who neither gave nor received this slap, nothing prevents you from distracting this gentleman by talking to him about anything. –You’re right! It will be proper… and besides, I wouldn’t be sorry to know exactly who we’re dealing with. I’ll get to it, while the boy goes up to get the swords. Here we are in front of his door. It’s time to approach our man. Don’t worry about me anymore. Mirande took that for granted and approached the two students who had remained on the sidewalk of the Faubourg Saint-Jacques in front of the alley where their friend had just entered. The Marquis had isolated himself from them and it seemed as if he had guessed Paul Cormier’s intention, for he came up to him, and when Paul suggested that they walk alongside each other, he replied: “I was going to ask you. ” A dialogue thus begun should have been self-evident, and Paul saw at once that he would have no difficulty in achieving his ends, that is to say, in finding out about a man who could well be, despite appearances, Jacqueline’s husband, and who added: “I am glad to have another adversary than you, for I no longer hold it against you. And since we will not fight, would you like us to talk openly about the starting point of this quarrel? ” “Very willingly. ” “Well, I beg you to tell me why a gentleman I do not know introduced you to two other gentlemen, under a name and title that belong to me.” I have remembered theirs… Count de Carolles… Mr. de Baffé… I don’t know them, but I can find them and question them later… So I have no doubt that you will answer the question I am asking you frankly. –I didn’t know these gentlemen either. –But you knew the other one… the one who introduced you. –Very little. I met him in a salon, where I set foot that day for the first time and where I exchanged a few words with him. When I found myself at the Closerie des Lilas, he remembered my face and he approached me, but I suppose he will have taken me for someone else. –For me, then, since I am the Marquis de Ganges… the real one…, the only one. We don’t really look alike. –Not at all, and I can’t explain this gentleman’s mistake. He did n’t know my real name and he still doesn’t. But I want to tell you. My name is Paul Cormier and I’m finishing my law. You see he shouldn’t have been confused. And as the offended party seemed to accept this explanation: –Now, Paul continued, will you allow me to add that, if you had questioned me calmly, instead of getting carried away like you did… we wouldn’t be where we are. –Certainly not… and I recognize that I was wrong… but admit that I am excusable. I have arrived in Paris after a very long absence… in Paris where no one was expecting me… at least, not so soon… For reasons which it is useless to tell you, because they would not interest you, I had decided not to go down to my house without being announced… I could have, I admit, made better use of my evening, but I wanted to spend it at this ball where I thought I was sure not to meet any people I knew… judge what I must have felt when I heard a gentleman call you by my name… if I told you that I also thought he was talking about the Marquise de Ganges. “The Marquise de Ganges,” repeated Paul; “no, I don’t think he spoke of her, but… excuse my indiscretion… so you are married? ” “My God, yes,” replied the one who was slapped. “That surprises you, because you have just found me at Bullier, drinking with some rogues.” It would surprise you less if you knew my story. Paul was dying to answer: tell it to me; but it would have been a little premature, at the beginning of a conversation that was to continue since they were going to travel together to the scene of the battle. Besides, the first-year student had just reappeared, carrying under his arm the swords wrapped in green serge and quite proud of this burden. “Whenever you please, gentlemen,” said Jean de Mirande. “I’ll go ahead with our comrades… You, Paul, know the way and you only have to follow us while keeping the gentleman company. ” This arrangement was accepted in advance, and they set off, in the order indicated, towards the fortifications, by the interminable rue du Faubourg-Saint-Jacques. The Marquis and Paul formed the rearguard, and they had no sooner walked a hundred paces side by side than the Marquis continued, shrugging his shoulders: “By the way!… why don’t I tell you my story? I have nothing against you, after all… I even like you, and I want to prove to you that I am not simply a drunken brute, as you might have believed. ” “I am already convinced of the contrary,” said Paul, and I am very flattered by the confidence you have placed in me, but I have no right to receive confidences that you might later regret having made to me. ” “No, because you will not abuse them, I am sure. I saw at once that you were a gallant man and, what’s more, you are not from the world in which I was born. So I have no indiscretions to fear from you and… why shouldn’t I tell you?” I have a certain interest in informing you about myself and my past. And as Paul looked at him with an astonished air, M. de Ganges continued: “Here is why. I am first-rate with a sword and I hope to kill your comrade… I will not hide from you that I hope so… but after all, anything happens and I can be killed, too. In anticipation of this eventuality, I want to tell you certain things, for the sole purpose of not disappearing like a stray dog ​​that is killed behind a hedge. ” “I cannot, Monsieur le Marquis, refuse to hear you, but you will kindly remember that I have not asked you anything. ” “I know it and I will begin. I am indeed the Marquis de Ganges, you no longer doubt it, and I have on me papers that prove it.” I was rich and, when I was very young, I married a woman even richer than I. I had married in the provinces and could have held my own there, but I preferred to lead the high life in Paris and other capitals… I ruined myself completely there. I could not ruin my wife because her property was under the dotal regime… and I got back on my feet more than once by lucky speculations… so, look!… not a week ago, I had made a million again… but I wanted three… and you can guess the rest. Paul was beginning to understand why this husband had not gone straight to his wife. By comparing this story with the remarks he had heard at Baroness Dozulé’s, Paul explained to himself how the rumor of the Marquis de Ganges’s financial success abroad had spread, successes which had been followed by disaster. He did not yet perceive what would result, for the Marquise, from this catastrophe which only affected him because of her. “I no longer had the means to wage war against fortune,” continued M. de Ganges; “I suddenly decided to return to Paris, where I have not been seen for a long time, and I arrived there naked as a little Saint-Jean. You will laugh when you know that I had to leave my trunks as a pledge in the country where I was, and that I do not have five louis left in my pocket. ” So I didn’t stay at the inn… I was planning to spend the night at the ball and in some restaurant… I could have stayed at my place… that is to say, at my wife’s, but I hadn’t told her I was coming… I preferred to postpone my visit until tomorrow… not, as you might think, because I was afraid of making a bad decision… my wife is armored with virtue… not to mention that she has a bodyguard in the person of an old soldier whose family has showered her with kindness and who watches over her like a treasure… –Good! Paul said to himself, it’s the man from the Luxembourg… the one who intervened when Mirande approached her. –No, continued the Marquis, I didn’t play the prudent husband… I was quite sure I wouldn’t disturb poor Marcelle who lives like a saint… but I have such a confession to make to anyone of all types of body that I wanted to think before seeing her. “Could he have some crime or villainy on his conscience?” the student wondered. “If it were only a question of my total ruin, it would be nothing… I have already ruined myself three or four times… she is used to it… and then she is so kind!… but I aggravated my wrongs by writing to her that I was on the point of making an immense fortune, with a railway concession that I had obtained in Turkey… where, between us, I have never set foot… she thought I was in Constantinople, while I was…”
Paul did not dare ask: where, but his eyes questioned M. de Ganges who said abruptly: “Are you a gambler? ” “I have been,” replied Paul evasively, taking care not to mention the eight thousand francs won at baccarat, almost under the eyes of the Marquise. “If you are no longer, I congratulate you, but since you were , you will understand me… and excuse me. I was in Monaco. ” “Oh!” murmured Paul. “Yes, in Monaco… at thirty and forty… and more than once I thought I had the fortune I announced to my wife. I was in full swing… the devil got involved and I lost everything. This time, it’s the final end… not only because I don’t have a penny left, but because I’m tired of the life I’ve been leading for four years. If I had only enough left to pay for my passage, I would have embarked for Australia and my wife would not have heard from me again. I’m going to see her again, but it will be to say my goodbyes… and to advise her to ask for a divorce… I’m afraid she don’t hear it that way, because she has all the prejudices of her caste… it would be better for her if I were dead, and my goodness! If your friend killed me, it would liquidate an inextricable situation. Paul now understood the character of the Marquis de Ganges and he could not help feeling a certain sympathy for this deviant gentleman who had not lost all sense of honor and fairness, since he cheerfully risked his life to avenge an outrage received and since he rendered justice to his wife. Paul also guessed the existence of sacrifices and devotion of this blonde marquise whom he had at first taken for a coquette and who so well deserved to be loved and respected. “Yes,” continued M. de Ganges, “I am a finished man. I might as well die at once. But I prefer that it not be at your hands, because I am quite convinced now that I have no reason to hold it against you.” It’s not your fault if some fool thought he was making a nice joke by calling you by my name. It was written that I would fight tonight… these things are inevitable, like the return of zero in roulette, whatever happens will come of it. I
will defend myself as best I can and I hope not to leave my skin on the marijuana of the fortifications, but still, if I were to stay there, I have a duty to fulfill. My wife would become a widow and that would be very fortunate for her. Still, she would have to know. Would you, if necessary, take it upon yourself to tell her? “Me!… you’re not thinking of it, sir! ” “I’m thinking of it so much that I’m going to give you some papers that I have on me and which will serve to authenticate the death of Pierre-Constantin, Marquis of Ganges and lord of various other places where I no longer own an acre.” I am very anxious not to be thrown into the common grave. It is a weakness, I know. I should not worry about what will become of my carcass. If I had blown my brains out in Monte Carlo, they would not have dedicated a monument to me… nor even a commemorative plaque on the facade of the Casino. But if I die in Paris, I would like poor Marcelle to come from time to time to see my grave… I am sure that, despite all the harm I have done her, she would bring flowers… It is silly, what I am saying to you, but what can you do!… we are not perfect. Paul felt moved to hear this fallen marquis speak so casually of his impending death and he found himself wishing with all his heart that he would return alive from the battle he was going to so cheerfully. And yet, the amorous Paul could not help thinking about the consequences of this death, which would set free an unhappy woman, the touching victim of an ill-matched marriage with a debauched man, who did himself justice by declaring that he had nothing left to do but leave this world where he had done nothing but harm. If he survived the encounter, his good resolutions would quickly vanish, and Marcelle would have nothing left to do but resign herself, to suffer again, to suffer forever. If he succumbed to it, the future belonged to her and to Paul, who only asked to love her… who already loved her. “It remains for me,” continued M. de Ganges, “to tell you what you will have to do to fulfill the mission that, I hope, you will be willing to accept. Madame la Marquise de Ganges lives at 22 Avenue Montaigne, a hotel that belongs to her. You will introduce yourself there on my behalf, and she will certainly receive you.” I don’t have to dictate what you will say to her to tell her the news of my death. I am sure that you will be as careful as possible. I trust in your tact for that. The essential point is that you give her this wallet. She will find everything she needs in it to establish my identity. She will take care of the rest. The Marquis had taken it from his pocket and handed it to Paul, who defended himself. to take it, saying: “It pains me, sir, to refuse you, but you are asking me for such a delicate service that I would hesitate to render it to a close friend. ” “And you don’t know me at all, I know, but the adventure in which we find ourselves involved is so out of the ordinary that you can make an exception in my favor. Take it, I beg you. I see your friends over there who have stopped to wait for us and it is useless for them to know that I have asked you to go and see my wife. If, as I fully expect, I return without a hitch from this walk on the ramparts, you will give me back my wallet and that will be that. This last argument decided Paul, who, very reluctantly, pocketed the object. Jean de Mirande and the three students who were in his entourage had arrived at the roundabout where the Saint-Jacques barrier once stood, and where those condemned to death were executed from 1832 to 1851, who are now guillotined on the Place de la Roquette. Jean’s topographical knowledge ended there; he hardly ever went further than the Observatory, and he was waiting for Cormier to ask him the way to Boulevard Jourdan, where the square indicated as providing them with excellent terrain was located. Paul said that they only had to take Rue de la Tombe-Issoire, which follows the Faubourg Saint-Jacques and leads directly to the fortifications. They took it, moving closer to each other, without the two groups merging into one, but enough to stop the asides. The Marquis, moreover, no longer wanted to continue the conversation with Paul. He had told him everything he had to say, and for his part, Paul preferred to think rather than talk. Mirande continued to joke aloud about every subject that came to mind, but his companions gave him little reply . These gentlemen were beginning to regret having embarked on an affair that could end very badly. In the heat of the moment, after the argument, and encouraged by the aggressive attitude of Mirande, champion of the Schools, they had been all fired up, and if they could have, they would have taken one of the quincunxes planted in front of the Closerie gate as their enclosed field . The walk had calmed them down little by little, and now they thought less of the glory of being witnesses in a serious duel than of the threatening consequences of this improvised duel. It could lead them before the courts and get them expelled, one from the School of Medicine, and the other two from the School of Law. They didn’t dare desert on the way, but they were eager to, and Cormier, who noticed this, promised himself to use their peaceful dispositions on the ground, that is to say, to take advantage of it to prevent the fight or at least to postpone it to a less nocturnal hour. And Paul had some merit in hoping for an arrangement, because anything was better for him than to remain in the situation he had put himself in with Jacqueline’s husband. They were going slowly, very slowly, in order to use the time until dawn, and this trampling on a deserted road was in no way recreational. Mirande had had enough when they emerged onto the patrol path, even more deserted than the street they had just followed in its entire length, and he asked Paul abruptly: “Where is your famous piece of land? ” “Two hundred paces from here,” replied Paul. Do you see over there, that mound that rises in the middle of a bastion? –Good!… and then?… You’re not going, I suppose, to suggest that we climb up there to fight? –No, but between the mound and the rampart, there’s an excellent place… enough space to break through… firm ground under the dry turf… we’re at home there, and no one can see you… The rider serves as a screen… –Is that kind of mound called a rider? “Yes, and it was useful during the siege against shells. ” “The place seems very well chosen to me,” said the Marquis. “Then let’s go!” concluded Jean. And off they went. They hadn’t walked quickly, and by Paul Cormier’s watch, it was past two o’clock. It was still dark, but the wait wouldn’t be long, for the sky was already turning white to the east. The gentlemen began by taking up positions in the corner indicated by Paul and unanimously accepted. Everyone was tired, and each sat down on the ground, some at the foot of the rampart, others at the foot of the hill. The Marquis did better; he lay down on the grassy slope of the cavalier, saying to Paul: “These gentlemen will excuse me. I spent last night in the wagon and I’ve walked more tonight than I’ve walked all this year. I’m falling asleep. It won’t be light for three-quarters of an hour.” I ask that I be allowed to sleep, and I trust that you will be kind enough to wake me as soon as it is light. “I promise you, sir,” said Paul, quite astonished. He hardly thought of sleeping, nor did Mirande, and without saying it to each other, they admired this gentleman who, at the moment of risking his life in a duel, imitated the great Condé, who, as everyone knows, did nothing but nap all night long, the day before the Battle of Rocroy. And this was no pose, for within a minute he was already snoring like an organ pipe. The young students were far too excited to do the same, although their precious persons were in no danger. They regretted having come and would have liked to leave. One of them even dared to whisper in Mirande’s ear that a very nice joke would be to bolt and leave the sleeper to wake up on his own. At which, Mirande reprimanded him sharply and declared that the first one to leave would have to deal with him. The youth’s proposal was not heroic, but it was wise. Therefore, it had no chance of being adopted. Paul himself rejected it, but not for the same reason as his friend Jean.
Jean de Mirande was determined to fight, for the honor of the Latin Quarter, above all, because he had no personal insult to avenge, and he was incontestably the offender. Paul, who would have been quite content with an arrangement, could not accept this way of avoiding combat, since he had taken on, somewhat against his will, M. de Ganges’s portfolio. And, besides, the proposed expedient would not have improved the situation. The duel would have been delayed, if not avoided, but the Marquis would have taken these gentlemen for jokers , and he would not have failed to tell the story to his wife, naming Paul Cormier, who preferred anything to this shame. He therefore argued with Mirande that they should wait for the sleeper to wake up, and there was no further question of the first-year student’s absurd idea. The day did not come quickly, and the morning cold was making itself felt. Pipes were lit and people stamped about to keep warm. The excitement had subsided. Everyone reasoned to themselves and no longer exchanged thoughts. The moments preceding a battle are always silent; the brave men collect themselves, the others try to get their heads around to make a good impression when the fight begins. But everyone finds the time long. This vigil of arms ended at Mirande’s voice. “Come on!” he said, we can see clearly enough now to cut each other’s buttonholes in our jackets. To you, Paul, the honor of waking the Marquis! Show some consideration. Paul could not decline this mission which was rightfully his, since he was to be second in command to M. de Ganges. He bent down and gently pushed the sleeper by the shoulder, who sat up, saying briskly: “I’m doing my best on red.” The incorrigible punter thought he was sitting at the thirty-and-forty table, and he hastened to announce his bet, for fear of missing the series. In any other circumstance, Paul would have laughed at the mistake, but he was not in the mood for joy and he held out his hand to M. de Ganges to help him back on his feet. As soon as he was there, this singular marquis rubbed his eyes, shook himself like a dew-soaked pointer in a field of alfalfa he has just beaten, stretched his arms and resumed, greeting everyone: “I beg your pardon, gentlemen, if I kept you waiting. I was so exhausted that I would have slept for twenty-four hours if they had forgotten to wake me up. ” Mirande made a kind gesture: “If you are exhausted, the game would not be equal and we could postpone it to give you time to rest. ” “Not at all! Not at all!” I had a nap that relaxed me… you are too kind… but I don’t want a respite. My cheek can’t wait. That devil of a man always came back to the slap, and Paul saw clearly that it would be useless to insist. “Then let’s get this over with,” said Mirande, “and hurry, for it’s chilly here… not to mention that if we drag our feet, we might be disturbed. Jules, the swords! ” The beardless student undid the bundle and brought out two freshly polished blades , which had never yet shone on the field. “Mr. Cormier will be one of your witnesses. Please choose the other.” The Marquis pointed at the medical student at random. These young men were all equal, for none of them had ever been present at a serious affair. But Paul was there and he had already fought. So he took charge of the duel, and no one thought of disputing it. The place was marked in advance. The choice of weapons was not in question, since there was only one pair of swords. Paul only had to measure them to make sure they were the same length. The two adversaries took off their coats. All that remained was to arm them, put on the irons, and give the signal. The Marquis approached Paul and said in a low voice: “Do you know English?” “A little,” murmured Paul, who had hardly expected such a question. “That’s enough. I have only one word to say to you… Remember!” Paul understood this word, the last that Charles Stuart, King of England, uttered on the scaffold, this word which means: remember! and he also understood what the Marquis was referring to. It was a question of the portfolio to be given to the Marquise, and for M. de Ganges to think of it at such a moment, he must have been very keen that Paul fulfill the commission. And Paul, determined to keep his promise, saw a sinister omen in this very unexpected reminiscence of the last words of a king who was about to die. But Paul did not have the leisure to philosophize on this connection between a monarch condemned to death by his rebellious subjects and a man derailed by life who insisted on not leaving this world without informing his wife. The combatants were face to face, swords crossed. “Go, gentlemen,” Cormier said, stepping back a little to leave the field clear. They both looked very good under arms. Mirande, academically poised and firm as a rock on his long legs; The Marquis, hunched over, his body very effaced, had immediately taken up a skillful guard and was preparing to attack. Just by his attitude one could see that he was of first-rate strength. He attacked in fact, after a few feints, and with a liveliness that was worrying for Jean de Mirande who had a lot to do to parry a series of very well calculated and masterfully executed blows. He was less nimble and less prompt than the Marquis, but he kept him at a distance, thanks to the reach of his arm, limiting himself to presenting him with the point of his iron and, under the incessant threat of a blow from the draw, The Marquis had not yet found the right angle to risk a decisive thrust. He finally found it, after a wide clearance that deflected his opponent’s sword from the straight line, and he took advantage of it to charge full-bore, with such fury that Mirande had to break off, parrying as best she could, without countering. The Marquis did not give him time. The fight, conducted in this way, could not last much longer and everything indicated that it would end in catastrophe. This was not one of those duels for laughs where the combatants seek to finish with a prick to the forearm. The Marquis shot at the body and he shot so well that it was a miracle that Jean had not yet been skewered. Paul Cormier now expressed sincere wishes for his friend and trembled at the thought of having to pick him up, pierced through and through. He was so moved that he no longer thought of Madame de Ganges at all. On the other hand, he thought a lot about the responsibility that would fall on him, in the event of misfortune, because the other witnesses were only there as accomplices, absolutely incapable of supporting him. Mirande was pressed so closely that, to prevent a hand-to-hand combat, Paul was going to take it upon himself to stop the engagement. He did not need to intervene. The Marquis, lunging at full speed, stepped on a rolling pebble which made him stumble. His sword deviated for a moment from the straight line and he came to be tangled up in Mirande’s sword which pierced his chest deeply. He let go of his own, pressed both hands on his wound and said with an effort: “Still the series with red!… I had thirty-one with black… I had won… and now I catch a remake.” The bystanders could have added, like the croupiers at Monte Carlo: “Nothing is going right, because the Marquis fell like a stone and didn’t get up again.” All this had happened so quickly that Mirande still didn’t understand. He remained on guard, and Paul had to shout at him to throw down his sword. The three other witnesses had lost their minds to the point where they would have fled if Paul hadn’t grabbed the medical student by the collar and forced him to examine the body lying on the bloody marijuana. They would all have been even more frightened if they had looked up at the top of the hill at the foot of which the fight had taken place. They would have seen a man who had no doubt fallen asleep there, who had been woken up by the noise and who must have seen everything. The presence of this unexpected witness would have worried them all the more because, instead of tumbling down from there to offer them his services, after the catastrophe, he was obviously trying to hide, for he had lain flat on his stomach and barely showed anything but his head. These gentlemen had other concerns at the moment than that of ensuring that no one had witnessed the duel without their permission. The main thing was to know if M. de Ganges was dead and the doctor of medicine declared, after examining him, that he had been killed outright.
The sword must have severed the aorta; the hemorrhage had started internally, and the blood had suffocated him. The student did not understand how he could have still uttered a few words before falling. The unfortunate marquis was nothing more than a corpse and all the care in the world would not have brought him back to life. Now it was time to make a decision: go and get some policemen from the nearest post or slip away quietly. The three young witnesses did not hesitate. The one who had supplied the weapons quickly picked up the swords his cousin, the second lieutenant of the dragoons, had lent him and took off like a hare. The other two did the same, and the two friends remained alone beside the dead man, under the eyes of the man who continued to spy on them from the top of the hill. Both were very moved and very perplexed. “What are we going to do?” asked Mirande. “Anything rather than wait to be surprised,” replied Paul Cormier. “Anyone passing by the patrol path who thought of going around the hill would find us near a dead man, and no matter how much we said he was killed in a duel, they’d take us for murderers. ” “Especially since those idiots who just ran off took the swords,” grumbled Mirande, putting on the jerkin he’d taken off before the fight. “But we can’t leave it at that. A man has been killed. The whole Écoles neighborhood will know the story… they’ll be spreading it tonight in the cafes on Boul’Mich’… I absolutely must make my statement to the police commissioner. ” “Me too. Only, it’s better to contact the one in our neighborhood, where we’re known. In the area where we are right now , they’d start by arresting us. ” My advice, then, is that we should return home first. –That’s mine too. Let’s go! They set off, not without remorse at abandoning this corpse, which the first person to come along would discover and which would inevitably be taken to the Morgue. They were in one of those bad situations where one gets out of trouble as best one can, and this was not the time to be sentimental. They took the road they had come by and did not notice that the man lying on the top of the artificial mound got up very quietly, came down from his observation post, and began to follow them from a distance. The journey on foot was forced, for at dawn the cabs do not yet run, and it was not short, but there was no way to do otherwise. Paul, moreover, was in no great hurry to go to the police station. He even preferred to go there only after having fulfilled the mission that the unfortunate Marquis had entrusted to him, and he could not decently go and wake the Marquise at five o’clock in the morning. He intended, however, to arrive there around noon, after having taken a little rest, which he badly needed, and he wanted to begin with this visit. He could not speak of his plans to his friend, who did not know the first word of the true situation, for not only had Mirande not seen the Marquis give his wallet to Paul, but he was still at the point of believing that the quarrel had started out in a misunderstanding. And Paul took care not to disabuse him. He had a heart for that great, mentally ill person Mirande, and, despite the affectation with which he appeared impassive, he felt very keenly the regret of having put the death of a man on his conscience. It was not that he feared much the unfortunate consequences that this tragic event might have for him. The duel, after all, had been fair. There would be people to attest that the affair had begun at Bullier and that the victim of this impromptu encounter had been the first to blame. And, ultimately, Mirande, who had killed the Marquis with his own hand, was less concerned about the consequences of this death than Paul Cormier, who had only witnessed the combat. Mirande thought he had had as an adversary an adventurer without worldly ties, and even without connections in Paris. He was only half mistaken, but he did not believe he had been dealing with a gentleman whose race was worth his own. The two friends were neither talking and they had been walking side by side for more than half an hour when Paul said: “I have thought it over and before doing anything, I would like to consult Father Bardin.” “Who is Father Bardin?” asked Jean. “An old lawyer who was my father’s friend and advisor. I thought I’d already told you about him. ” “It’s possible, but I’ve forgotten. What good can he do us? ” “He knows the Code, the procedure, and everything that goes with it like no other. I’ll explain our case to him, and he’ll tell me how to proceed.” has, moreover, a son who is a magistrate and who, if necessary, would answer for us. –You are right. You must see him, as soon as possible. –Today, by Jove!… I dined yesterday with him at my mother’s. He even spoke to me about you. –About what? –Oh! nothing… some information he asked me to ask you. He knows that you are from the South and he would like to know if you knew in your province a family of… the name escapes me… a strange name… ah! I’m there!… from Marsillargues… –Yes, I’ve heard of those people… in the past, for I left my province a long time ago… they were very rich… and the sole heiress to the fortune was a very young girl, very pretty, who had some infirmity… one-armed, I think… or paralyzed in one hand… I’ve never seen her and I think she’s dead. That whole family has disappeared. Why did Bardin speak to you about her? –It would take too long to explain and it wouldn’t interest you. Let’s get back to our business. Will you give me carte blanche until this evening? –Oh! very gladly. I’m going to bed when I get home, for I can’t stand on my feet anymore. You’ll find me in bed when you come. And everything your man advises you to do, we’ll do together . It will be better than if we acted separately. –Much better. It’s agreed. Paul was saying to himself: –By this evening, I’ll have seen the marquise. They had arrived at the Observatory when Mirande noticed an empty cab returning from some station where it had gone to wait in vain for passengers on a night train. Mirande called him and wanted to take Paul with him, but Paul refused. He was no longer very far from Rue Gay-Lussac, and the walk did him good. He wasn’t sorry to be alone again, to try to put his thoughts back in order. The two friends therefore parted ways. A magistrate would have said: the two accomplices, since they could both be implicated in a case that might end up in the Assize Court. Jean had himself driven to Boulevard Saint-Germain, where he lived . Paul continued walking toward Rue Gay-Lussac. The man who had spied on them from the top of the hill had followed them from a distance without them noticing. He was following them, with a goal that could not have been to do them a favor, because he was hiding by skimming the houses, and one only hides to do harm. When these gentlemen parted, he had to let go of one of the two trails to attach himself to the other, and he had no choice, because the horses of the cab in which Mirande was riding were going faster than him. He therefore fell back on Paul Cormier, who was leaving on foot and who did not once think to look back, because he had no idea that a curious person with bad intentions was on his tail. This suspicious individual followed Paul to the door of the house where he lived. He did not go so far as to enter on her heels, as Paul had entered the Baroness Dozulé’s the day before, at the same time as the Marquise de Ganges. But he did not give up, and Paul realized the next day that he would now have to deal with a dangerous rogue.
Chapter 3. Although his means permitted it, Paul Cormier had not yet settled into his own furniture, like his friend Jean de Mirande, who had treated himself to a superb establishment. Nor did he live in a furnished hotel, like a simple student, provided with a pension. He had rented, in a respectable house, a pretty furnished apartment, consisting of four rooms, on the first floor at the front, and if it were not for the yellow sign hanging on the street door, people who came to see him could have thought that he was at home there. A decent woman could enter without compromising herself. As for servants, he was content with a housekeeper, thus avoiding the obligatory expense of housekeeping, in order to keep more pocket money, the only money he appreciated. He had a certain merit in governing himself in this way, for Madame Cormier, the mother, had remained usufructuary of the entire fortune; and his son, who could have demanded his share of the inheritance, had never claimed it. Since he had won eight thousand francs from the Viscount de Servon, he had already wondered whether he would not use them to create a comfortable home where he could, without blushing at the stinginess of his furnishings, receive the Marquise de Ganges one day or another. But since the tragic death of his husband, he thought much less of the pretty sum that swelled his wallet than of another wallet that he had undertaken to give to the Marquis’s widow. This one weighed a hundred pounds on his chest, and when he took it out of his pocket while undressing, he hardly dared touch it. Yet he was violently tempted to open it. M. de Ganges, in recommending that he take it to his wife, had not forbidden him to examine its contents, and he might find secrets other than that of the deceased’s personality. He knew almost nothing about the Marquise, and perhaps it was up to him to know everything. But he was loath to rummage through the papers of a dead man, and after hesitating a little too long, he was able to resist the temptation. He put it away with his banknotes in the wardrobe with a mirror that served as his safe, and went to bed, where he slept very restlessly until the hour when his housekeeper woke him to bring him his chocolate, that is to say, at noon sharp. Paul hurried to get up and finish this frugal breakfast. He was eager to run to Avenue Montaigne and he still had to dress more carefully than usual before presenting himself to the Marquise. Black was appropriate, since he had to fulfill the painful role of page in Marlborough’s song. The news I bring will make your eyes water. It was still necessary that the mourning clothes he was going to wear be new and cut by a good tailor. He was happy with his own, which only dressed elegant gentlemen, and he chose an outfit appropriate to the occasion. If he had dared, he would have put crepe on his hat. And he had no trouble assuming the appearance that a man charged with announcing a catastrophe should have, for he was not in the mood for joy. He was beginning to worry deeply about the consequences of the nocturnal drama in which he had taken too large a part. He wondered what had happened to the corpse abandoned on the embankment of the fortifications and whether some evidence of his identity had been found on the dead man; perhaps not all of it was in his wallet. And in that case, the police would soon discover that there existed in Paris a Marquise de Ganges with connections in high society and a street address, or rather an avenue, which was even better. So, Paul Cormier had to hurry, if he wanted to reap the full benefits of the mission he had accepted; a delicate mission, if ever there was one, since he was the involuntary cause of the Marquis’s death. It is true that the Marquise shared this fault with him, since she had tacitly lent herself to the confusion of people which had led to the unfortunate presentation at the ball at the Closerie des Lilas. And Paul hoped that this passive complicity would earn him some indulgence from the widow. She had let him play along with her; after the scene he was going to have with her, in fulfilling the message the dead man had entrusted to him, he could not fail to go deeper into it and he fully intended to. Not that he was thinking of taking advantage of the situation to impose his intimacy on her, but she would necessarily need him and she could do nothing less than see him again. He had dismissed his housekeeper and was about to leave when he noticed on his bedside table a letter that she had placed there upon entering, as she was accustomed to doing every morning when she brought the mail. He almost left it there unopened. He had neither business nor creditors, and the women who wrote to him from time to time were now completely indifferent to him. He unsealed it, however, to clear his conscience and was not a little surprised by what he read there. The following was written to him: I saw everything that happened this morning, at daybreak, on a bastion on the Boulevard Jourdan. You killed a man and you were two against one. It is indeed an assassination and you know where that leads. I have only to say the word to have you arrested. But I am good-natured and I only ask to come to an agreement with you. Silence is golden, they say. I estimate that mine is worth at least ten thousand francs. If you are willing to give them to me, you will find me, from noon to two o’clock, in the garden of the Thermes de Cluny, at the corner of Boulevard Saint-Germain and Boulevard Saint-Michel. If you do not come there, you will sleep tonight at the depot of the Prefecture. It will be you who will have requested it. This kind epistle was not signed, but it was very correctly written, without the slightest spelling or French error and perfectly addressed to Mr. Paul Cormier. It was not signed—one does not sign such things—but there was a postscript worded as follows: I am addressing you in preference, because it is you I have at hand, but I will know how to find your accomplice and he will lose nothing for having waited. It was clear and straightforward. It was blackmail. The blackmailer was mistaken, perhaps deliberately, when he said that Paul had killed a man, since Paul had been only one of the witnesses to the duel. He was addressing that one because he did not yet know the address of the other, but the threat of denunciation was no less formidable. Obviously, this rascal had inquired at the doorman of number 9, rue Gay-Lussac, about his tenant, and he had only to report M. Cormier to the police commissioner for him to be sent to his home by two officers. This was what Paul feared above all else, for although he flattered himself that he would be able to provide this commissioner with satisfactory explanations, he absolutely wanted to have the day off, first to go and see the Marquise de Ganges and then to consult his mother’s old friend, the lawyer Bardin. As for buying the silence of the scoundrel who was threatening to denounce him, Paul didn’t think about it for a single instant; not that he wouldn’t have willingly given money so that this rascal would leave him alone, but that would have been putting himself at his mercy, for he would not have failed to do it again. This is the system of all blackmailers. The more the man they exploit pays them, the more their demands increase. They only let him go after they have ruined him, and when he has reached that point, they denounce him anyway .
Paul knew this, and besides, deep down, he was only asking to be called upon to explain himself before a magistrate about this unfortunate duel. It would have to come to that sooner or later, but he preferred it not to be immediately. How was this wretch so well informed? Paul had no idea. And it was all the more incomprehensible to him because, judging by the style and spelling of the letter, he was not dealing with a barrier prowler. But Paul did not have the leisure to look up the word of this enigma, and his resolution was soon made. The singer was not waiting for him in the street, in front of his house, since he announced that from noon to two o’clock he would be in the garden of the Cluny Museum. Paul had only to leave him there to mope and take a cab to be taken to Avenue Montaigne. After his interview with Madame de Ganges, he intended to go to Bardin’s, then to Mirande’s, whom he would most likely find still in bed, and, when he had come to an agreement with him, then it would be time to decide. So he went out and as he left, he took care to look to the right and to the left: he saw no one. Rue Gay-Lussac is not very busy and in the vicinity of number 9, there were none of those establishments where they sell food and drink, and where one can sit down to spy through the windows of the storefront. Cormier could have questioned his porter to find out who had brought the letter and if anyone had come to ask for information. But that would have been to show that he feared being watched, and he preferred to abstain. So he passed in front of the lodge without stopping, and turning left, he came out onto the Boulevard Saint-Michel, very close to the station where the day before he had taken the carriage that had taken him and Madame de Ganges to the roundabout on the Champs-Élysées. Before arriving there, he saw one stopped at the corner of the Rue Gay-Lussac, but it must have been occupied, because the blinds were drawn, and he had to push on to the station on the Rue de Médicis. This time no woman got into the cab he chose. These adventures don’t happen every day. Paul, of course, had not forgotten to bring the wallet entrusted to him by the poor Marquis, nor had he left his own in his mirrored wardrobe, where his banknotes would not have been safe. The journey did not seem long to him, for he spent it preparing to appear before the Marquise, and the closer the solemn moment drew, the less reassured he felt about the result of the step he was about to attempt, a scabrous step if ever there was one. First of all, would Madame de Ganges consent to receive him? He was beginning to doubt it. Under what pretext and under what name would he introduce himself? She knew his name was Paul Cormier. He had told her so. Perhaps that was a reason for her to close her door to him, if she recognized that name on the card he would give to the servant charged with answering visitors. It would probably be better to announce himself under a name unknown to her, adding that he absolutely needed to discuss serious and urgent matters with her. Paul looked good enough not to have to fear being taken for a beggar or even for a traveling salesman who had come to deliver proprietary wines to his home. Once he was in the presence of the Marquise, the rest would be easy . She would be careful not to send him away because, after what had happened at Baroness Dozulé’s, she would certainly want a private explanation as much as he did. The only difficulty, therefore, was to get to her. After some reflection, he decided to take inspiration from the circumstances and got out of his cab, a little before number 22, for the sole purpose of giving himself time to examine the exterior of the square before trying to sneak in . As he approached, he saw a large and handsome mansion with an imposing two-story facade . It was immediately obvious that it had not been built to house one of those enriched horizontals that populate the Avenue de Villiers and the adjacent streets. The Marquise’s hotel was a serious hotel, the likes of which are rarely built for these young ladies. It even looked a little sad with its tall, closed windows and its majestic carriage entrance, both leaves of which were closed. One did not enter there as at the Baroness’s on the Avenue d’Antin, who left hers open on the days when she received her many friends.
At Madame de Ganges’s, one had to show his credentials, and her salon was not open to all comers. Paul, momentarily intimidated by the appearance of this stately home, increasingly doubted whether he would be admitted. He nevertheless decided to ring, and the cord was immediately pulled. He pushed the movable door and found himself in a wide vestibule leading to a garden that seemed to extend very far. A valet in dark livery came to meet the visitor and asked his name, which seemed to indicate that Madame de Ganges was at home. Paul, taken aback, was about to give his card when he saw a man dressed in black at the entrance to the garden, whom he immediately recognized, having already seen him the day before at the Luxembourg, on the terrace. This man was the one who had had a run-in with Jean de Mirande, over the chair occupied so cavalierly by this audacious student, whom Mirande had treated with contempt. The encounter was unpleasant. This personage, who kept the Marquise so well out of her house, must be there to protect her at home against importunates and indiscreet people. “Would he recognize me from having seen me yesterday with Jean?” Paul said to himself, feeling less and less reassured. He forgot that he had kept his distance during the altercation and that this knight of the Marquise had not been able to notice him. He soon had proof that he was wrong to be alarmed, for this grave personage approached and told him very politely that Madame de Ganges, a little unwell, was not receiving anyone. Paul did not consider himself defeated and, speaking at length, he said that he did not have the honor of being known to Madame la Marquise, but that he was charged with making an important announcement to her. The man interrupted him to ask abruptly: “From whom?” Paul could not answer: from me, after having said that Madame de Ganges did not know him. He would obviously have been shown the door. He had an idea that could have come to him earlier, and which he thought was a good one, for he did not hesitate for a second to say: “From Monsieur le Marquis de Ganges.” In speaking thus, Paul Cormier was not lying, since the unfortunate Marquis had expressly charged him to go and deliver his portfolio to his wife and this was the only means left to him to reach Madame de Ganges. But he had forgotten to ask himself how the Black Knight would take this declaration, which must have surprised him greatly, given that he was aware of the household affairs of the noble lady whose bodyguard he seemed to have appointed himself. “It’s impossible,” said this forbidding character brutally, “the Marquis is not in Paris.” This was indeed a denial. On any other occasion, Paul would have sharply reprimanded him, but he had to keep quiet, under penalty of missing his goal by being expelled, and he contented himself with replying: “All I can tell you is that I saw him and that he entrusted me with a mission that I wish to carry out conscientiously. Now, I can only carry it out if Madame does me the honor of receiving me, for I promised Monsieur that I would only deliver to her an object that he asked me to bring him.” This was said in a firm tone that seemed to make an impression on the faithful guardian of the Marquise. Perhaps he believed that this unexpected messenger had arrived from a foreign country where he had met M. de Ganges. Paul, in affirming that he had seen him, had been careful not to say where. And it was possible that Madame de Ganges would have an interest in receiving the message. “I am willing to repeat to her what you have just told me, and take her orders,” grumbled the recalcitrant servant. “She is at the bottom of the garden; I’m going to ask her if she wants to see you. If she agrees, I’ll come and get you. Wait for me here. Paul had only to obey without raising any objections, only too happy to have persuaded this watchdog to consult his mistress. So he did. Well convinced, moreover, that, in the state of mind she must have been in since the day before, she would not refuse to see a gentleman who brought her news of her husband. He remained in the place where the meeting had just taken place and waited, under the eye of the liveried valet who was observing him from afar. The man in black returned after a few minutes and said to him: “Go! She’s alone now. ” “I hope she is alone,” thought Paul, who absolutely insisted on a tête-à-tête and who did not know that the marquise had just sent one of her friends away to receive him. He took the path that the man indicated to him. At the first turn, he passed the friend, and he greeted her as he passed. This friend was a very young woman, modestly dressed, whose dazzling beauty dazzled him: a brunette with a fair complexion, with endless eyes and an air of sadness that only made her more beautiful. No doubt, an unhappy friend, a childhood friend, in whom Madame de Ganges was interested. Paul had other things on his mind than trying to guess who she was. He looked around for the Marquise and saw her, sitting at the foot of an acacia tree, on a rustic bench. She too saw him and got up quickly to come and meet him. “You here, sir!” she cried. ” And you dare to appear here under the pretext of delivering me a message from my husband! Is that how you keep your word? You promised not to try to get to know me.” You had already broken your promise by following me to Madame Dozulé’s… and God knows what trouble you’ve put me in! So you’ve been spying on me again, since you managed to find out where I lived? “No, madame!… I swear you didn’t,” cried Paul. “Then how did you learn my address? You didn’t, I suppose, have the audacity to ask, after my departure, the people who had heard the Baroness’s servant announce you under the name I bear! “I would have been careful not to… someone said in my presence that your hotel was located on Avenue Montaigne. ” “Very well! I’ll believe you… and then you were in no hurry to present yourself here. What did you hope for? Did you imagine that I would continue to lend myself to a confusion of people that I didn’t have the presence of mind to prevent, by declaring aloud that I didn’t know you?” “I didn’t hope for it… but I desired it with all my heart. ” “You knew very well that it was impossible. Neither my friend, nor the people who were at her house yesterday, know my husband; my people don’t know him either. But there is someone here who does. ” “Yes… your steward, isn’t he?… that man who, yesterday, guarded you in the Luxembourg and whom I have just met again… ” “Mr. Coussergues is not my steward. He is a former officer who was my father’s friend and who has remained mine. ” “He knows Mr. de Ganges, but he doesn’t know that I was mistaken for him. So for the present, you have nothing to fear that the mistake will be discovered. ” “It will inevitably be discovered when my husband returns.” It was a case of never replying: he will never return. Paul did not . Before coming to that, he wanted to see a little more clearly into the Marquise’s innermost feelings and he said to her: “Dare I ask you what you will do when M. de Ganges reappears? ” “I don’t know yet,” murmured Madame de Ganges. “I think I will tell him the truth. Lying disgusts me. And besides, I have nothing to reproach myself for except a frivolity that my husband will excuse when I have told him.” said the motive that pushed me to commit it. “That’s his business,” replied Paul, not very politely, piqued to hear this marquise speak of her relations with him as an adventure without consequence. “But your friends… Baroness Dozulé… Viscount de Servon… and the others… how will you explain to them that you did not protest against the error of this valet who announced me in front of ten people under the name of M. de Ganges? ” “I will have nothing to explain, because as soon as my husband returns, I will leave Paris and France with him. ” “But you will return there. ” “I don’t think so. ” “What! Expatriate yourself forever! ” “You will have contributed to it, by placing me in an unbearable situation. ” “I was wrong, I admit… but you, madame, have you nothing to reproach yourself for?” I did not know you when I saw you at the Luxembourg, and you will do me the justice that I did not allow myself to approach you… it was you who… ” Let’s end it there! Monsieur,” interrupted the Marquise curtly. “I very much regret what I did… If you knew what made me act in this way, you would excuse my imprudence… and it is not for you to reproach me for it. I will bear the consequences, and I beg you not to concern yourself with me again. ” “So you forbid me from seeing you again? ” “See you again! I wish I could, you must understand. And if, as I believe, you are a gallant man, you will not seek to prolong a fiction which would end by seriously compromising me, and which the very imminent arrival of M. de Ganges will reveal . I forgive you for having believed that I would not put an end to it. You doubtless thought that I was free.” You know now that I am not, since I am married. “You are mistaken, Madame,” replied Paul Cormier, “you are a widow.” Paul, carried away by a surge of passion, had spoken too quickly and he regretted having announced this great news, which he had intended to reserve for the moment when he had sufficiently prepared Madame de Ganges to receive it. He had not taken the time to prepare himself to explain it and to take advantage of the effect it would produce. He had just put, as they say, his foot in it. “The effect, moreover, was not what he anticipated, for the Marquise replied disdainfully: “You allow yourself, Monsieur, a very inappropriate joke, allow me to tell you so and end this conversation there. ” “God forbid that I joke after such an event,” cried Paul. “I repeat to you that you are a widow, Madame… I swear it on my honor! ” “You don’t realize that you are contradicting yourself,” said Madame de Ganges coldly. “You came into my house under the pretext that you had to deliver a message from my husband, and now you have come to tell me that he is dead. One of your two statements is false. ” “They are both true. ” “Ah! That’s too much!…, and you will allow me, sir, to hear no more of it. ” “I beg you to listen to me to the end. Afterward… you will have no more doubts. ” This was said with such firmness that Madame de Ganges remained and waited for the rest. “I saw your husband last night,” Paul continued. “It’s impossible. My husband is not in Paris. ” “He arrived yesterday… I met him… unfortunately. ” “How could you recognize him?… you had never seen him. ” “It was he who accosted me.” He heard the Viscount de Servon introduce me to one of his friends by calling me: the Marquis de Ganges. Then he intervened… he asked me for explanations that I had taken care not to provide. “Where did this scene take place?” asked the Marquise, already alerted by this unexpected exposition. “At a public ball,” replied Paul, after hesitating a little. –You have been deceived, sir… someone will have thought it funny to pass himself off as the Marquis de Ganges, whom he had perhaps seen in the past and whose name and title you were usurping… –I might have believed that, if the affair had not had consequences. –What consequences? –It pains me to tell you… but you must know everything… I swore, and I must keep my word… a quarrel has broken out. –Between my husband and M. de Servon? –No, madame… M. de Servon was no longer there… one of my friends arrived, at the moment when M. de Ganges was threatening to slap me… my friend, who is very violent, took the initiative and struck him in the face… –That is not true!… M. de Ganges is not a coward. –No, certainly… He has only proved it too well… but he was surprised by this act of brutality. All he had to do was ask the aggressor for an explanation. That’s what he did. “And will a duel result?” the Marquise asked anxiously. “The duel has taken place, Madame,” replied Paul, lowering his eyes. “When?… one doesn’t fight at night. ” “They waited until daylight began to break. God is my witness that I did everything I could to prevent the encounter… or to delay it. All my efforts were in vain… and…” “Finish it!…” “We fought with swords… and M. de Ganges, struck full in the chest… died a brave death… ” “Dead!… No, it’s not possible!…” “I was there, Madame… I saw him fall… ” “Ah!… I understand,” cried the Marquise. It was you who killed him!… and you dare to appear before me covered in my husband’s blood !… “No, madame. I was not his adversary… I was one of his witnesses… and it was he himself who chose me. He knew neither of us … he trusted in my loyalty and I assisted him as best I could.” The Marquise, pale and trembling, remained silent because she no longer had the strength to speak. “If you doubt it,” Paul continued, “I can prove to you that I am speaking only the exact truth. I came to your house because M. de Ganges sent me. How would I have known your address if he had not given it to me? I could not have asked M. de Servon, who took me and still takes me for your husband. ” “Dead!… he is dead!” murmured the Marquise, hiding her face in her gloved hands. –M. de Ganges did more than send me to you. He told me his –What are you saying? asked Madame de Ganges, astonished. –Always the truth, madame. The quarrel began at a ball, near the crossroads of the Observatory, and spilled over into the fortifications. I made this long journey beside M. de Ganges and talking with him. That is how I received confidences from him that I had not provoked. –How could he have chosen you to hear them, you who had seized his name? –I told him that someone had played the foolish joke on me by giving it to me, and that I had nothing to do with it. In truth, I was not lying. He believed me, and if it hadn’t been for the slap, the matter would probably have been settled… and I would have had some merit in pushing, as I did, for an accommodation, since without that fatal duel, you wouldn’t be… “What did he tell you?” interrupted the Marquise. “His story was nothing more than a long confession of his wrongs towards you. He told me that he had ruined himself several times, and that he had abused your kindness, without ever tiring it. He told me that for the past year he has not ceased to deceive you by writing to you that he was rebuilding his fortune in large financial enterprises. This was false. He was most recently in Monaco where he was gambling and where, after winning an enormous sum, he lost his last louis. He arrived in Paris without money, and it was the shame of admitting to you what he had done that prevented him from appearing yesterday at your hotel. “Ah! that’s the final blow!” murmured Madame de Ganges. “I must add,” continued Paul, “that he repented of having offended you and that he asked me to ask you to forgive him for the harm he had done you. It was a mission that did not please me, you will easily believe, but I could not refuse to accept it… and I am carrying it out. ” Lost in her grief, or at least in her emotion, the Marquise seemed to have been changed into a statue. Pale, motionless, her gaze fixed, she could not find a word to say to Paul Cormier, who was waiting. “Who killed him?” she asked slowly, as if emerging from a dream. “A man you know, Madame,” replied Paul. He was with me yesterday, in the Luxembourg, when I saw you for the first time… and he dared to speak to you. “Jean de Mirande!” cried the Marquise; “him, always him!… so it was written that he would once again trouble my life! ” “What do you mean, Madame?” asked Paul Cormier quickly. “What did Mirande do to you, then, before… ” “Nothing to me,” murmured the Marquise; “but he caused the misfortune of… of a person in whom I am interested… and you come to tell me that he killed my husband!…” “Whom he did not know, not even by name. I questioned him after the duel and he assured me that he had never heard of M. de Ganges.” This assurance did not seem to displease the Marquise, and Paul continued briskly: “You see, Madame… it was fate that did everything… and in this misfortune, you can at least tell yourself that you will not be compromised, for no one knows that the man who succumbed in this duel was your husband. ” “They will find out… they will find papers on him… visiting cards … who knows? ” “Nothing, Madame. M. de Ganges, before the duel, gave me his wallet… Here it is,” said Paul, taking it from his pocket to present it to the Marquise. “It bears a crown and arms engraved on the leather. Do you recognize them? ” “Yes… they are his,” stammered Madame de Ganges. “Do I need to swear to you that I did not open it?” –No… I believe you… but what will happen, my God!… Justice pursues duelists, when the duel has caused the death of one of the combatants… you will be questioned… you and your friend… what will you say? The truth, isn’t it?… You will be asked why you took that name which didn’t belong to you… and you won’t be able to hide what happened yesterday, at my friend’s, Madame Dozulé’s… Ah! I ‘m lost! –If I am questioned, I will not speak of you… Mirande either… for an excellent reason, which is that he doesn’t know that you exist. The three other witnesses are three students who were not present at the time when M. de Ganges rudely reproached me for having stolen his name… They know that these gentlemen fought over a slap… They don’t know why this slap was given. I ‘m not the one who’ll tell them… and, besides, it’s not certain that we’ll be questioned… no one saw us in the field. Paul forgot, perhaps deliberately, the letter from the blackmailer, who threatened to denounce him. He thought only of reassuring the Marquise and taking advantage, to enter into her intimacy, of the bizarre situation that the strangest of chances had just created for them. He felt very well that the moment had been badly chosen to speak to her again of his love, as he had not hesitated to do before announcing to her that she was a widow, but he already noted that if the news of the tragic death of M. de Ganges had upset the Marquise, it had not grieved her unduly, for she had not not shed any tears. And he was grateful to her for not feigning a pain that could hardly be caused by the lamentable end of a man who had almost boasted, before dying, of having been the most detestable of husbands. He hoped that once she had recovered from the very natural emotion she had just experienced, this victim of an ill-assorted union would understand that she would be wrong to make a fuss and he was preparing to propose to her, in due time, the modus vivendi that her lover’s brain had suggested to her. He was still waiting for her to take this wallet which, to tell the truth, was burning his fingers. One may not be excessively sentimental, but one does not willingly keep on oneself the relics of a man whom one saw fall, struck to death, in a duel of which one was the primary cause. And, for her part, the Marquise was obviously reluctant to touch this legacy from her unworthy husband. Paul Cormier finally decided to place it on the bench where she had been sitting when it had appeared in the garden. He thought she wouldn’t leave it there, and he wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. “You will no longer accuse me of lying,” he said gently, “and now that I have fulfilled the painful mission imposed on me, I beg you, Madame, to make your will known to me. I will obey whatever you command me, whatever the cost. In the situation in which events have placed us, it is up to you to give orders. And I beg you, as a favor, to think only of yourself when making a decision. It matters little what happens to me, as long as you do not have to suffer the consequences of this duel. ” “Suffer!” repeated the Marquise sadly, I have been suffering for years … nothing worse can happen to me than to live as I have lived since I got married. If you only knew!… “I know. Do you think I don’t guess that you were sacrificed to a man you didn’t love and who made a martyr of you… if he didn’t tell me, he told me enough for me not to pity him … it was God who punished him… and it is you I pity… you for whom I would die with joy, if my death could spare you sorrow… you whom… ” The Marquise stopped with a gesture the burning declaration that Paul had on his lips. “Not another word,” she said to him in a firm voice. “I believe you, but I must not listen to you. I will undergo my fate without murmuring… and I count on you having no less courage than I do.” “Does this mean that you persist in forbidding me to see you again?” And as Madame de Ganges remained silent, “It’s impossible!” cried Paul. “How would you do it? What would you say to your friends… to your friends… to this world where you live and where I have been presented under your husband’s name? Do you hope to persuade them that I have returned abroad? They would soon realize that I have not left Paris… I have already found myself face to face with M. de Servon in a place where I should not have expected to meet him… ” “It is I who will leave… I will leave France… I have already told you that. ” “But I will stay here. What will I say to those who speak to me about you? Will I have to concoct lies to try to explain to them this coming and going of the Marquis and the Marquise de Ganges?” They wouldn’t believe me… they would soon know the truth… everyone would say that I was your lover… and that between us, we invented this deception… they wouldn’t forgive you for making fun of them. –Why wouldn’t you simply tell them the truth?… that you followed me, that you entered Madame Dozulé’s, at the same time as me, who hadn’t seen you… and that a footman’s mistake did all the harm… –They would believe me even less. –But nothing obliges you to see them, you only have to resume your life that you have always led. For them, the neighborhood where you live is as far away as China. You met M. de Servon there by one of those chances that don’t happen twice. “I understood perfectly well… you don’t want to know me anymore… I’m in your way,” murmured Paul Cormier. “I didn’t say that,” replied the Marquise briskly. “Really?… you’re not turning me out? Thank you!… oh! Thank you!… then there is only one way… only one… it is to remain as we are. ” “I don’t understand. ” “Why shouldn’t I continue to pass for your husband?” asked Paul, carried away by his amorous ardor, to the point of not realizing the enormity of the proposition he dared to make to the Marquise. ” First of all, because it’s impossible. At a pinch, my friends might be taken in; but yours?… but your mother?… for you still have your mother, you told me… How will you persuade them that you are no longer yourself?… Will you stop seeing them?… –No… But I will see them less often… I only dine with my mother once a week… on Sundays… she hardly ever comes to my house… and she doesn’t ask me to give her an account of what I do.
–Your mother again, continued the Marquise, would she be very surprised and probably very distressed if she were to learn that her son goes out into society under a false name and bears a title that does not belong to him. I admit that she will know nothing about it, but M. de Mirande, your close friend, how could he be unaware that you are living in double-entry?… A student on the left bank and a marquis on the right bank… –Paris is so big! murmured Paul, at his wit’s end. “Yes, Paris is immense, but everything happens there… you had proof of that yesterday, since you encountered M. de Servon on your way. And if your comrades were to discover that you are passing yourself off as the Marquis de Ganges, what would they not accuse you of!… Agree then, sir, that your plan is mentally ill, if indeed you have conceived it seriously. ” Paul bowed his head and found nothing to reply. “That is not all,” resumed Madame de Ganges; “even if it were practicable, I would not lend myself to an imposture… I cannot find another word to describe the plan of conduct you propose I adopt. ” “You prefer to drive me to despair! ” “No, sir. Only, I want to remain mistress of my actions. I do not know what you think of me, but I beg you to believe that I have always been irreproachable. ” My husband himself, my husband who has caused me so much pain, would do me this justice, if he were still alive. “He told me so before he died.” “You must therefore understand that I cannot and must not remain with you on the terms to which a servant’s mistake has placed us. I have decided to tell the truth to my friend Madame Dozulé. She witnessed the scene and I will explain to her that a lack of presence of mind prevented me from immediately rectifying the error. She will laugh at the incident and will undertake to present it in its true light to her guests yesterday. ” “God knows what they will think of me,” murmured the student. ” What does it matter?… whatever you do will be well done, madame. ” “I should be sorry if you had to suffer from my frankness, but I cannot act otherwise. I will, moreover, take upon myself the responsibility for this disastrous misunderstanding. No one will have anything to reproach you for.” It will, moreover, have lasted so short a time that it cannot have very serious consequences. –If it does, I will bear them, whatever they may be… provided that you do not forbid me from seeing you again. –Later, perhaps… but you feel as I do that for a time our relations must cease. –If I were sure that they will only be interrupted?… –I can promise you nothing. The catastrophe that you have just experienced Announcing myself will turn my life upside down and I don’t yet know what decision I will take… I’m not even certain that I’m a widow… “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t have spoken to you as I just did … But M. de Ganges fell before my eyes and I have brought you proof that he is dead,” said Paul Cormier, pointing to the wallet that the Marquise had not yet dared to touch. The coat-of-arms wallet had remained on the bench and she could not doubt that it had belonged to her husband. “Open it, madame,” continued Paul, “you will certainly find papers there which will leave you no doubt.” The Marquise did not seem in a hurry to follow the advice given to her by the lover who aspired to replace her husband. Perhaps she would have decided to do so, but her bodyguard suddenly appeared. Instead of taking the object, she positioned herself so as to prevent him from seeing it and questioned him with her eyes. The man in black understood the meaning of the look she gave him, for he answered as if she had been speaking to him: “It is M. de Servon’s valet who brings a letter for M. de Ganges. I told him in vain that M. de Ganges has not yet arrived. He claims that his master saw him yesterday.” The Marquise’s expression changed, and Paul Cormier understood. The viscount was sending the eight thousand francs he had lost on parole to M. de Ganges, who had won them for him. “It seems that the letter contains money,” the black knight continued, ” and that it is very urgent.” The situation was getting even more complicated. M. de Servon’s servant was waiting for an answer, and it was not up to Paul Cormier to give it to him. The Marquise could do no less than take charge of it. “Tell him that M. de Ganges is not here and that I am not receiving the letters addressed to my husband,” she replied after a silence. “Good. I will dismiss him,” said the impassive personage. And he turned on his heel, pivoting as one, military-style, like a soldier who has just reported to his superior. Paul let him go before saying in a low voice: “This letter was intended for me.” “You!” cried the Marquise. “Yes, madame. Ever since the baccarat game at Madame Dozulé’s, M. de Servon is my debtor. ” “And it is to me that he sends the sum he owes you! ” “Naturally, since he believes he owes it to M. de Ganges.” The Marquise shuddered. This was the first effect of the error of Madame Dozulé’s footman, and she could now measure what this fatal mistake was going to cost her. “He will come back and bring it himself, this sum,” continued Paul Cormier with intent, not yet despairing of getting the Marquise to accept his plan to remain in the status quo; “and you will see many others. It is the inevitable consequence of what happened at your friend’s house. ” “You are right, sir,” she said; “the situation in which we both find ourselves is intolerable. I have only two options to choose: either tell the truth, or leave Paris and never return. I need to think before deciding, and I wish to be alone. ” It was a formal dismissal, and the Marquise signified it in such a firm tone that her lover understood that he had only to withdraw. “I obey you, madame,” he said sadly. He flattered himself that to soften this injunction, she would extend her hand to him, but she offered it no more than the day before, when he had left her near the Champs-Élysées roundabout. She even withdrew it, as if she feared he might take it without her permission. This marquise definitely did not like contact, even with the tips of her fingers. After this almost discouraging refusal, Paul Cormier had no choice but to leave, without adding a word to what he had said. So he did, very mortified and very dissatisfied with the result of his first visit to the Marquise de Ganges. Crossing the courtyard that preceded the garden, he found the man dressed in black again, that strange character who kept to himself to appear from time to time like the statue of the Commander. Paul knew now that this bodyguard was not a simple servant, but he had not the slightest desire to greet him as he passed and he thought he saw that this knight of the lady of the Avenue Montaigne was looking at him with a suspicious air. He was doubtless wondering what this young man had come to do with Madame de Ganges, and this was clear proof that she had not thought it appropriate to speak to him about her adventures on leaving the Luxembourg and at Baroness Dozulé’s. Paul Cormier cared little for the rest, but he had no sooner left the hotel than, as he had the day before, getting out of the carriage on the Champs-Élysées, he came to consider the situation from a completely different angle. The day before, after the journey in the cab, he had repented of having let himself be dismissed too easily, and now he perceived in the language and attitude of the Marquise aspects that shocked him. “She didn’t bat an eyelid when I told her that her husband had been killed last night,” he said to himself, as he walked towards the numbered vehicle waiting for him twenty paces from the hotel door. “I know perfectly well that this husband was a scoundrel and that his death rids her of him.” I found it perfectly natural that she didn’t put on an act by pretending to be upset, but in the absence of tears, she could have shown some emotion, if only out of propriety… and at most she was troubled for a moment. She immediately began to examine with me the consequences of this death… as far as she personally concerned herself, because she wasn’t very concerned about how I was going to get out of this mess. And yet, if we prosecute the actors in the duel, it’s Mirande and I who will pay the price. This marquise didn’t just inquire about what had become of the body of the unfortunate man we left lying on the marijuana of a bastion on Boulevard Jourdan. I’m beginning to think she has no heart. It was time, moreover, for Paul to think about his own affairs, which could turn out very badly, especially since he had received the anonymous letter in which a scoundrel threatened to denounce him to the courts. His peace of mind was at stake; almost his honor, for a night duel, followed by the abandonment of the corpse, was bound to give rise to a criminal investigation, and although he was not the most compromised, he certainly risked being brought before the assize court or the correctional police, which would have been much worse, for juries almost always acquit duelists whom magistrates condemn very willingly. And not knowing at all how to go about warding off this danger, or at least mitigating it, he could do no better than to seek the advice of his friend Bardin. He therefore told the coachman who had brought him to Avenue Montaigne to take him to Boulevard Beaumarchais, at the corner of Rue Saint-Claude, where Rue des Arquebusiers branches off. He could have taken advantage of the opportunity to go and see his mother, since Rue des Tournelles is just a stone’s throw away, but he was afraid that she might notice the state of agitation in which he had been put by the events that had just occurred, events of which the conversation with Madame de Ganges was not the least disturbing. He was therefore determined to see only the old lawyer that day, and during the journey he prepared the consultation he was going to seek at the Marais. He was not concerned about telling Bardin the whole truth at once. He wanted first to test the waters by asking him what he would think of a case similar to his own; whether he would advise a compromised man, in such an opportunity, to remain silent or, on the contrary, to go ahead with legal action, spontaneously declaring that he had taken part in the meeting and what part he had played in it. He could hardly say more, because he was not the main person concerned in this matter. Mirande was more exposed than he was since he had killed the Marquis de Ganges with his own hand . Paul therefore had no right to take a position without the prior approval of his friend, who, at that hour, must still be asleep. Paul planned to go home, after having obtained the opinion of Father Bardin and to decide by mutual agreement with Jean what should be done in the thorny situation in which they had put themselves. The three other students did not count: kids who had witnessed the meeting, by chance, and who could only be reproached for having acted like starlings. The plan was wise, but between conception and execution, there is always room for unforeseen incidents. As he got out of the car on Rue Saint-Claude, Paul found himself face to face with the lawyer, who was trotting along at a brisk pace, and who said to him: “What! It’s you again!… in my neighborhood at the time of your administrative law class!… and then, you only go by carriage now?” “I was going to your place… to talk to you about a matter…” Paul stammered, rather annoyed. “You can talk to me about it another time… today, I have no time to lose and I’m not going to go back up my three flights of stairs to hear you… ” “It’s just that… I can’t put it off until another day… ” “I can’t imagine what you could have to tell me that’s so urgent, but since you’re so keen to talk to me, you’ll just have to come with me; we’ll talk while we walk. ” “Never mind, my dear Mr. Bardin.” I only ask you for a minute to send my cab back. Paul paid the coachman double what he owed him, to avoid having to wait for him to give him the change, and returned to say to his mother’s old friend: “Now, I am ready to follow you wherever you please, provided you listen to me. Where are you going? ” “To the Palais de Justice. ” “Good! It’s not very near here; I’ll have time to tell you what brings me here. ” “No matter!… be brief!… and above all, be clear!… but before I begin, let me tell you something that will please you. ” “Anything you like, Monsieur Bardin. ” “It concerns my son.” I’ve often told you that all he needed was a fine crime to investigate to make himself known… to stand out from the crowd… one of those crimes that all the newspapers cover and that highlight the talents of a judge… –Perfectly… and I always thought that this chance would come to him sooner or later. –Hum!… it took a while… and poor Charles’s promotion suffered… if we only looked at merit, he should already be a court counselor… but anyway, he’s got his crime. –Bravo! said Paul, who smiled under his mustache at the fatherly enthusiasm of the old lawyer. So, is this crime serious? How many bodies? –Only one, replied Bardin, without noticing that the student was making fun of him a little; but the victim belongs to the upper classes of society… and theft has nothing to do with it, for money was found in the dead man’s pockets. –Revenge, then? –Probably… and for your information, learn that these crimes always fascinate the Parisian public… firstly, because they are rarer… and then, because they are looking for the woman. –Ah! There’s a woman in the case? –I’d bet on it, but I don’t know yet. Charles just wrote me a note to tell me that he had just been asked to investigate and that he was running to the Palace… He doesn’t give me any details… but I will have some… I thought right away of going to find him in his office to pay him my compliments, and I’m going there right away. “So this crime is very recent?… The newspapers don’t say anything about it. “It happened last night. ” “Ah!” murmured Paul, who was already, as they say, on edge at this information. “Yes… the body of the murdered man was found around five o’clock in the morning by some market gardeners who were driving their carts to Les Halles. ” “In what district?” asked Cormier quickly. “Charles doesn’t tell me. I suppose it’s near one of the barriers of Paris… on the path of the cars coming from the suburbs?… which suburb?… I don’t know and it’s all the same to me… to you too, I suppose. ” “Oh!” completely equal, Cormier hastened to reply, not saying what he thought, for this incomplete statement was beginning to worry him seriously. “The important thing is that the matter benefits Charles’s advancement, and I’m sure he’ll clear it up, although it seems to be very mysterious. But enough of that… Explain yours to me… What is it about?” Paul was in no hurry to explain. Before this dialogue, in which the old lawyer had the floor almost all the time, he wouldn’t have been asked twice. He would have approached the question directly and wouldn’t have been embarrassed to present it in such a way as not to arouse the attention of this excellent Bardin. Now he didn’t know how to go about it , for he sensed that the fine crime on which the good man based his hopes for his son’s legal fortune could well be nothing more than the Marquis’s incident. Consulting the father of the examining magistrate was, so to speak, throwing oneself into the lion’s den. It was necessary to speak, however, otherwise Bardin would have imagined that Paul had wanted to mystify him and he would have taken it badly . Jean de Mirande’s friend hoped to get away with it by sticking to the generalities of a vague consultation. “Here,” he said, trying to adopt a casual tone. “One of my comrades found himself caught up in a fight where we hit each other hard. We exchanged blows… ” “Are your comrades all right? This happened, of course, in the Latin Quarter? ” “My God, yes. Fights are not rare there… but this one ended badly. There were some cripples. It even seems that one of the combatants was left on the floor. ” “That’s nice!… and no doubt it was one of your friends who did this? ” “He’s afraid of it.” –What, he’s afraid of it!… so he knocked a man unconscious without noticing it? –Lady!… you understand… in a melee… –You’re giving me a good run for your money with your melee! Well, what do you want from me?… it wasn’t to tell me about this escapade that you had yourself rushed to the Rue des Arquebusiers. –But, yes. I wanted to ask your advice. –So you were there, then, in the brawl? –I was there, like many others. –And afterward… when there was a death and wounded, everyone fled… all those who could, that is. –That’s more or less it. No one was arrested. And I came to consult you, dear sir. –On what!… this case doesn’t seem to me to fall within my area of ​​expertise. –But, yes… since it involves facts that could give rise to prosecution . –Instead of using the conditional, you should say: which will give rise. There has been a death. The matter cannot rest there. My son, since he has been a judge, has investigated twenty of the same category. They are not very serious, but they always result in months or years in prison. Your sweet friend can expect to taste it, if he is caught. –He is not, so far… and it is precisely on this point I would like to have your opinion. Should he go to the district commissioner and tell him, for his justification, how this quarrel began… or should he let the police look for the culprits?… –Are you seriously asking me this question? –Yes, indeed. It is a matter of conscience that I submit to you. –Go for a walk with your matter of conscience and meditate on the famous words of President de Harlay: If I were accused of having stolen the bells of Notre-Dame, I would start by taking shelter… –You do not advise my friend to escape abroad, I suppose? –No, but I advise him to keep quiet. One is not obliged to denounce oneself, and judges must not rely on the declaration of the one who denounces himself. It is an axiom of criminal law that you should know… nemo creditur … –I know the rest. So, you think my friend would be wrong to give himself up? “He would have to be mentally ill… and you can tell him from me that he would do very well to play dead… especially since if he did reveal himself, you would most likely be compromised… It’s your mother who wouldn’t be happy! ” Deep down, Paul was of the old lawyer’s opinion and he wasn’t sorry to hear him advise him to abstain. However, he felt he should insist by saying: “So, you, an eminent legal expert, definitely think it’s better to let things go? ” “It’s not the legal expert who’s talking to you, it’s your mother’s friend… and any sensible man will talk to you as I do. If you doubt it, there is a way to make sure I’m right. ” “Which one? ” “Consult a magistrate. ” “Are you thinking about it?” “A magistrate who knows you and who believes you incapable of a nasty deed. I’m going to the Palace to see my Charles. Take advantage of the opportunity. Come up with me to his office. ” “What!” cried Paul, “you’re suggesting I go and consult your son on a case he might have to investigate! Never in my life! He ‘d think I was making fun of him, and he’d throw me out. ” “No, since I’ll be with you,” said Bardin. “Charles, on the contrary, will be very sensitive to a mark of deference from you… especially since you haven’t always been good to him… you avoid meeting him, and when you are with him, you pretend to only talk to him indirectly … about trifles, as they say in billiards.” “It’s out of respect… you understand… he’s a magistrate… a judge at the tribunal of the Seine… and I’m just a poor devil of a student… ” “Not so poor, since your mother will leave you six hundred thousand francs… while I won’t leave much to Charles. But that ‘s not the point. You’re giving me bad reasons and you’d do better to tell me the truth. Charles doesn’t suit you because he’s too serious and too wise to please a rascal like you. You probably imagine that the antipathy is mutual. You’re completely mistaken. He’s never said anything but good things about you, and I know he greatly appreciates your wit and cheerfulness. ” “I wouldn’t have believed it, but I’m delighted to hear it. If I don’t seek him out much, it’s because of the difference in age and situation.” And, for the matter in question, I would fear, by submitting it to him, putting him in a terrible embarrassment… just think!… asking a judge if I would do well to evade the action of justice!… that would be stiff. –You will not address the judge; you will address the man. He will give you his opinion just as if he had never worn the robe and I have no doubt that this opinion will be in accordance with mine. I authorize you, moreover, to repeat to him what I have just told you about your case and I will repeat it to him myself. Come on! It will be a pleasure to see you exchange a handshake with Charles and I suppose you want to please your mother’s oldest friend. Paul protested with a gesture, and the old lawyer continued mischievously: ” First of all, you’d better be gentle with me… because of the heiress… ” “What heiress? ” “The girl with the six million? Have you already forgotten the story I told yesterday at dinner? ” “No… but I hadn’t thought about it anymore. ” “You have to think about it. I’ve got it into my head to make you marry this orphan. ” “Why not your son instead?” “Because she’s not twenty and Charles will soon be forty. She wouldn’t want him… and besides, my son doesn’t need a wife who’s six times a millionaire. He wouldn’t know what to do with so much money, while you, with the tastes I know you have, wouldn’t find it too much. ” “I’m not that ambitious.” –Perhaps, but you’re such a spendthrift!… in short, you’re wrong not to take seriously the project I told you about. Look! I bet you didn’t even think to ask your friend to give you information about the family whose name I mentioned. –A name I didn’t remember… –A name from that region… a name that rhymes with Camargue… –Good! I remember… Marsillargues… I confess I didn’t remember the recommendation you made to me. –You did, however, I suppose, see your friend last night? “I met him at the Closerie des Lilas, but…” “You had other things to do than talk about Languedoc, I’m sure … and about this Mirande, is that it?… but yes, of course!… it’s he, isn’t it, who got himself into this fine mess?… and it’s for him that you came to consult me?… the troublemaker, it’s him. ” “I assure you it’s not,” Cormier replied briskly. Bardin thought what he wanted and didn’t insist. He had taken his young friend’s arm and he intended not to let go until he had brought him into the presence of his son, for the sole purpose of patching things up. Paul let himself be led away and he was very perplexed. He greatly regretted having gone so far, but he felt that he could no longer back down, for fear of spoiling his business. Bardin might have believed that he had a real crime on his conscience, and Bardin, vexed, might very well have shared with his son the incomplete confidences that Paul Cormier had made to him, during the journey from the Rue des Arquebusiers to the Boulevard du Palais where they were arriving at that moment. Paul also told himself that he risked little by accompanying Bardin senior to the office of Bardin junior, who was certainly a gallant man, incapable of abusing the situation. Paul even thought that he might gain by knowing what to expect from the criminal case that this judge was charged with investigating. The father would not fail to speak to the son about it, in Paul’s presence, and the son would allow himself to give details. Paul, informed, could draw up a plan of conduct with full knowledge of the facts, and even if he were to decide later to confess his part in the Marquis’s death, nothing would oblige him to declare the truth before consulting with Jean de Mirande. “Here we are,” said the old lawyer, pushing Cormier under an archway that leads to a courtyard. “We only have to go up two floors. Have you never been inside an investigating judge’s office? ” “Never, thank God! ” “Why, thank God?… The most honest people can be called there as witnesses and even as defendants, although that is more unfortunate. Not all defendants are guilty. You’ll see how much fun it will be… we’ll meet some curious types and comical faces in the corridors. ” “What! Now you’re making fun of the judiciary! ” “You don’t understand. I’m talking about people called to testify.” We see all sorts of things, not to mention the lawyers who prowl around the corridors. There are some who have good faces. Let’s go up! Charles must have arrived. Let’s try to see him before he starts hearing the testimonies. If we delay, we might disturb him. Paul Cormier let himself be guided by Father Bardin, through a maze of staircases and corridors where Paris Guards were stationed, and where individuals of both sexes who did not pay much attention passed. There were some sitting on benches fixed to the wall, waiting their turn to appear before the judge who had summoned them. Master Bardin knew all the twists and turns of this labyrinth and he led his young friend straight to the door of his son’s office, guarded by an orderly, to whom he gave his card and asked him to give it immediately to the examining magistrate. While the soldier was carrying her, Paul had time to notice, among some other witnesses who were waiting in the antechamber, a rather decently dressed man who was looking at him a lot, as if surprised to see him there. “Be nice to Charles,” said Father Bardin in a low voice, when the orderly came back to fetch them to show them into the judge’s office. The old lawyer entered first. His son, seeing him, came to him with both hands outstretched, leaving a gentleman with whom he was talking standing there. His face beamed at this magistrate. It darkened a little when he saw Paul Cormier, but he did not give this unexpected visitor a bad reception. The judge affectionately asked him how his mother was and asked him to sit down while he finished with the gentleman who had preceded them in the office. It did not take long. He took his interlocutor to a corner, exchanged a few words with him in a low voice, and escorted him to the door. Then, returning to his father, he said joyfully: “You’ve come to congratulate me, haven’t you? I think I’ve got an interesting case. And you did well to come early… I have I don’t know how many witnesses to hear, and my clerk hasn’t arrived yet… so we have time to talk a little before I begin the interrogations. And you, my dear Paul, by what happy chance have you accompanied my father? Have you also come to compliment me?” asked the examining magistrate with a smile. Charles Bardin had the stern air appropriate to a magistrate, but his voice was as sympathetic as his face. “That’s not quite it,” said the old lawyer, laughing. “I met him at my door as I was leaving to see you. He had a consultation to ask me. I took him with me, gave it to him on the way, and added a piece of advice that he’s hesitant to follow.” So, I persuaded him to appeal from father to son… you will be the final judge . –It is indeed an honor you are doing me. What is it about? –In a nutshell, here it is: last night, in the neighborhood, there was a big fight outside Bullier. Paul was there. We knocked each other out badly and perhaps one person was killed. –Devil! –That would be serious, but it is not certain that anyone was killed. The fighters dispersed after the battle. Paul did like the others. It seems that no one was arrested. So he would only have to keep quiet to avoid being worried. But he was seized by a scruple and he came to present his case to me. Should he present himself to the police commissioner and spontaneously declare that he took part in this brawl which ended so badly? I advised him to keep quiet and I think you agree with me. “As a magistrate, I recuse myself,” said Charles almost cheerfully. “That goes without saying… but as a friend, that’s another matter, isn’t it ?… Note well that if one of the combatants remained in the square, it is not the fault of Paul, who is perfectly sure that he has not killed anyone. He fears that this unfortunate blow was struck by one of his comrades… it is very regrettable, but I declare in my soul and awareness that Paul is not obliged to denounce this boy. “What is certain is that the laws which punish non-revelation have been repealed,” Charles Bardin replied evasively. “And we must see things as they are,” Bardin senior continued; “if it were a murder… like, for example, the one you have been charged with investigating… Paul would have the duty to enlighten the justice system; but this is a brawl between drunkards, which is quite different… assault and battery resulting in death without the intention of causing it… it is the police’s business to find the guilty parties. ” “My dear father, you plead so well that I agree with your opinion. ” “Do you hear, Paul?… you only have to stay put. ” “That is what I will do,” said the student. “Above all, see to it that your mother knows nothing.” If she suspected that you had compromised yourself in such a fight, she would be sick of it, the poor woman. Ah! I do hope that your friend the knocker will keep quiet too… and that if he were arrested, he would not think of talking about you. “I answer no. ” “Then you can sleep soundly. ” “I am surprised not to have heard of this affair,” said Charles, less optimistic than his father. “I have just left the prosecutor’s office and I spoke with these gentlemen who would probably have said a word to me about it , if they had known about it . ” “No doubt they have not yet received the police report. It happened last night… and it is not of great importance compared to the other one… the one they have just entrusted to you. That one is big, isn’t it? My boy. ” “Very big and above all very mysterious.” So far, we haven’t had a single clue that could lead us to the murderer. You found me earlier talking with the Chief of the Sûreté. He came to tell me that the body has just been displayed at the Morgue. “Ah!” said Paul, “that gentleman who was there… he’s… ” “The Chief of the Sûreté, and he thinks, like me, that the crime was not committed by one of those bandits who attack, in order to rob, mentally disabled passers-by in neighborhoods far from the center. The dead man wasn’t robbed… A few gold coins were found on him. Those who killed him … for there must have been several of them… were content to undress him… halfway… ” “What, halfway?” cried the old lawyer. ” They left him only his trousers… the waistcoat and frock coat were thrown beside the body… ” “That’s strange.” Murderers don’t usually waste their time ridding their victims of clothes that bother them. Why did these men take this precaution? “I think I’ve found the explanation,” said Charles Bardin. ” They took them off to search them at their leisure. It wasn’t money they were looking for; it was papers… and they took them… the breast pocket of the frock coat had obviously contained a wallet… you could see that from the folds of the lining, the officer who examined it told me… it was gaping, because it was empty… and the wallet must have been someone of any body type. ” “Bravo!” cried the father. “I admire your perspicacity.” Paul hardly admired him. He thought of the wallet that M. de Ganges had entrusted to him before the duel and it sent shivers down his spine. “So,” the old lawyer continued, “you suppose that this unfortunate man had valuables on him… titles?… ” “Or compromising letters for someone. He was killed to get them back. ” “And he had nothing on him that could be used to identify him? By a business card? ” “Perhaps he did. The assassins made them disappear, and that’s understandable. If we knew who he was, we would be able to find out who had an interest in killing him and we would get to them.” I hope I’ll manage it anyway. They didn’t think to take the hat. Now, on the headdress, there is the address of the hatter who sold it and a marquis’s crown. Ever since the judge had begun to expose, with visible satisfaction, the precious clues noted by the agents, Paul Cormier had been on tenterhooks. All the details that Charles Bardin so complacently gave related so well to the case of the night duel that Paul hardly doubted any longer that he had fallen into a hornet’s nest by letting himself be led to consult precisely the magistrate designated for the investigation that had just opened into a still unexplained incident. But in the end, he wasn’t sure, and he was still trying to persuade himself that this was only a fortuitous coincidence. Now, he could no longer entertain the slightest illusion. It was indeed the death of M. de Ganges that was in question. It was even a pleasure to hear this grave magistrate, reputed to be clever, talk nonsense and mistake a duel for murder. But these serious errors would not prevent us from discovering the true personality of the Marquis de Ganges. The address of his hatter would be enough. “The hat was bought in Nice,” the judge continued. “He bought it on his way to Monte Carlo,” thought Cormier, dismayed. And this story of the missing wallet was finally disturbing him. On this single point, Charles Bardin and the head of the Sûreté had glimpsed not the truth, but part of the truth. Paul knew where the wallet he had just given to the Marquise was, and he contemplated with dread the possible consequences of these beginnings of discoveries. He was beginning to wonder if he would not do well to ward off the danger by telling the truth at once. To recount the duel and the part he had played in it would have been to play it safe. It would cost him no one of any kind of inconvenience, but at least he would no longer have to fear being accused of having committed a murder. He might have decided to enter, as they say in judicial style, into the path of confession—a path strewn with thorns and which does not always lead to salvation for those who take it; but by denouncing himself, he would have been led to denounce Mirande, and friendship would have shut his mouth. He thought only of putting an end to the torture he was enduring, that is to say, of taking leave of this judge who, without realizing it, was playing with the son of his father’s old friend, as a cat plays with a mouse. Certainly, Charles Bardin would not try to detain him, for he must have been eager to get down to his task as instructor, and he had given his opinion on the student’s case. Paul was counting on Father Bardin, who was not yet tired of admiring his son’s sagacity and who would have gladly questioned him for two hours, to provide him with new opportunities to highlight his incomparable merits. “My dear child,” he said to him effusively, “you will be a counselor next year. Now we will leave you. You have already wasted enough time listening to me. ” “Oh! there is no harm… my old clerk is late, as always… I even intend to tell him that if he continues to be inaccurate, I will ask for his retirement. And I do not yet know if all the witnesses I must question have arrived. ” “What witnesses?… No one witnessed the crime. ” “No, unfortunately.” I’m going to hear from the market gardeners who found the body on Boulevard Jourdan. This information would have removed Paul Cormier’s last doubts, if he had still had the shadow of a doubt. –Where is this boulevard? –At the fortifications, near the Porte de Montrouge. It’s simply the patrol path to which a Marshal of the France. And what’s curious is that the man was killed, not on the road, but behind a mound of earth in the middle of a bastion. Under what pretext could he have been lured there? “I wonder,” murmured Father Bardin. Paul could have informed the father and son, but he was careful not to. Only, their blindness astonished him and he felt like shouting at them: How come you didn’t guess he was killed in a duel?… It’s not the first time, however, that people have fought in Paris behind a horseman. They’re better hidden there than in the Bois de Vincennes. ” “Besides,” continued Charles Bardin, “today, I won’t do much. This first session will only be a prologue… my investigation will only become more serious after the corpse has been identified at the Morgue. ” “The devil!… but… what if it wasn’t?” “It will be. Only the unfortunates who had neither hearth nor home during their lifetime are not recognized on the slabs of the Morgue. This dead man must have had friends… one always has when one is not in poverty… and besides, the hatter from Nice who sold him his hat will tell me. But… allow me to ring to see if my market gardeners are there. ” “At your ease, my dear Charles… we are leaving.” The door of the office opened; a waiter entered, called by the ring of the bell, and answered the judge’s question that the market gardeners in question had been waiting for ten minutes. He added that there was also a man there who had not received a summons, and who asked to be heard, having, he claimed, to make a very important and very urgent communication to the investigating magistrate . “Let him do it in writing,” said M. Charles Bardin. When I have read it, I will see if I should receive him, but first I will hear the witnesses I have summoned. “This is what he has just written in pencil,” said the office boy, presenting to the judge a dirty and crumpled scrap of paper which appeared to be a sheet torn from a pocket notebook. Charles Bardin glanced at it and started to shake his head, as if he had read something unexpected and prodigious. He even opened his mouth to say what it was, but he did not say it and he asked the messenger who had just brought this strange note: “What kind of man is he?” “A man like everyone else, sir. He is not too badly dressed. He has a frock coat. He says that he went first to the Public Prosecutor’s Office, where they would not receive him and that the bailiffs sent him here. He has been waiting in the corridor for three-quarters of an hour.” He was already there when these gentlemen arrived. The judge seemed to hesitate. He looked at his father, as if he wanted to ask him what he thought of this visit. The old lawyer made a mistake and said eagerly: “This time, my dear Charles, I’m leaving for good and I’m taking Paul with me. Receive this fellow, as the magistrates of the good old days used to say. He may bring you the answer to the riddle. And we would be in the way. Good luck and see you this evening, if you have time to call on me. ” “No, father, no… stay, I beg you… both of you,” said Charles Bardin briskly. And addressing the office boy: “Bring this man in! ” “But we’ll be in your way,” said Father Bardin. “This man is undoubtedly a witness. You can’t hear him while Paul and I are here.” “He’s the one asking,” replied the son, staring fixedly at Paul Cormier.
“What!… what are you telling us?… so he knows us? ” “Perhaps… I’ll call on him to explain, but I can’t avoid seeing him. ” “I still don’t understand.” “You’ll understand, my dear father… and I’m sure you ‘ll approve of me…” Paul didn’t understand either, and yet he was on edge. An idea had suddenly come to him, and he was afraid he might have guessed why the examining magistrate was detaining him. He was reassured when he saw that he didn’t know the individual who came in, pushed by the office boy. The person’s physiognomy didn’t speak in his favor, and although he wasn’t badly dressed, he didn’t seem to be one of what used to be called honest people, that is, people of the world . He looked more like a countermark dealer who had seen better days before falling so low. His complexion was leaden, his mouth villainous, and his searching eyes had a disturbing mobility. “Who are you?” the magistrate asked him sternly. “My name won’t tell you anything,” the man replied. “My name is Brunachon… Jules Brunachon… my profession?” I’m without a job at the moment… but I was employed in a club. –Do you have a home? –I change often… but you can request my file… there’s nothing against me… If there was something, I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to come and see you. Father Bardin wondered if his Charles had lost his mind to keep him to question this vagabond in front of him about his civil status and his background. –What do you have to tell me? interrupted the examining magistrate. –You know that very well, since I wrote it down for you on this scrap of paper that you still hold in your hand. –So, you’ve come to bring me information about the incident that took place this morning at the fortifications… Boulevard Jourdan? –About those who carried out the deed… yes, sir. –And you couldn’t prevent it? –No… it was too late… and I was lucky they didn’t see me, because… –You could at least have made your statement immediately after the crime. –I wasn’t in a hurry… when you’re just a poor devil like me, you think twice before getting involved in these matters… yet, I made up my mind… and I did it with good will, because I ran all over the Palace before finding someone who was willing to take my statement. Anyway, I was directed to your office and I did very well to go there, because while I was posing at your door in the corridor, I saw… –Start by telling me what you saw, over there… on the patrol walk … –There. I was a person with an intellectual disability last night, in Montrouge, with some friends, in a brasserie. When they closed the establishment, they let me loose at the fortifications. I didn’t know any lodgings in that neighborhood and I’m not afraid to sleep in the open air when the weather is nice… I found a place that suited me to sleep… an earthen mound, in a bastion. I climbed up on it. I lay down on the marijuana and I just slept. I was sleeping like a log, when I was woken by screams. I said to myself: watch out! and instead of getting up, I dragged myself flat on my stomach to the edge of the mound and I looked… there was down there, lying on the ground, a man in his shirtsleeves … and two others who ran off without asking for their change… the account of the bourgeois they had cooled was settled, they had no idea I was there… if they had noticed, I would have had a bad quarter of an hour… you can imagine I didn’t run after them. –That’s what you should have done. –So that they can stun me like they stunned the other one?… Thank you! I let them go and when they were far away, I ran off… –Without worrying about the unfortunate man they had killed? –It would have been useless. From the top of my hill, I could see that he had unscrewed his billiard table. And then, if I had amused myself by feeling him to see if he was dead and had been found there, I would not have been white… one would have said that it was I who had made him lose his taste for bread. – Well, you did not witness the assassination, since you were asleep. – No, but I saw the assassins, as I see you, Your Honor … and that is why just now… – What time was it when you saw them? interrupted Charles Bardin. – I could not tell you exactly, since I do not have a watch; what is certain is that it was barely daylight. – What have you done since that moment? –I walked slowly down the Faubourg Saint-Jacques… I drank a bottle of white wine at a tavern on Rue des Écoles, to kill the worm, and afterward, I went into a dairy on Rue de la Huchette where I had a bite to eat… but it didn’t go down… the Boulevard Jourdan affair had stayed with me… I told myself that I should report it and I was afraid that it would get me into trouble… so, I wandered through the streets wondering what I was going to do… By dint of wandering around the neighborhood, I found myself on Boulevard du Palais… and I said to myself: too bad! I must go and tell this story to a curious person… sorry, Your Honor! to a magistrate. It came over me all at once and I went in. Father Bardin had not listened to this tedious tale without showing marked signs of impatience and, unable to bear it any longer, he said to his son: “You don’t need us anymore, I’m going. Come on, Paul.” Paul was only too happy, for he foresaw the end and was about to follow the old lawyer who was approaching the door. A gesture from the examining magistrate stopped them and this judge said abruptly: “So, you would recognize the murderers if they were shown to you? ” “It’s done… for one of them,” replied the man named Brunachon. “And I ‘m sure I would recognize the other one if I met him. ” “What, it’s done?” grumbled Father Bardin. “All he needs now is to say it was me.” “So,” Bardin Jr. continued, “you persist in asserting that just now, in the corridor where you were waiting… ” “I saw one of the two scoundrels who bled the man over there pass by… he entered your office… and there he is,” said the witness, pointing at Paul Cormier. A shell bursting in the middle of the office would not have stunned the audience much more than this statement did. The least astonished of all was Paul Cormier, who had been beginning to anticipate it for a few moments, but he did not hear it without becoming disturbed and he remembered very well having seen, upon arriving with the old lawyer in the corridor, this man sitting on a bench. Father Bardin called out to his son. “So that’s why you detained us!” he shouted to him. “Do you believe this vagabond’s absurd denunciation?” “Tell me, you!” Brunachon shouted at him, why do you dare insult me? The judge silenced him. He could not tolerate a discussion, seasoned with insults, starting in his office and he knew that his father was very capable of retorting. But things could not end there and he said to this stunned witness: “So, you definitely recognize Monsieur? ” “Ah! I think I recognize him!” replied the man. “Be careful!… you are speaking to a magistrate in the exercise of his functions; if you lie, it is false testimony… it is a matter of forced labor for you. ” “I know it, but it is not this time that I will be sent to the Nouvelle. I am sure I am not mistaken.” It was indeed him that I saw there… and if you doubt it, you only have to look at his face…
Cormier was very pale and Father Bardin who was watching him was no longer there. very far from believing him guilty. He waited for him to justify himself; Cormier remained silent, and this silence did not reassure the lawyer at all. His son did the only thing he could do to put an end to a terribly tense situation. He rang the bell and to the waiter who entered, he ordered the man to be taken to the witness room. “I will have you summoned shortly,” he said to the informer who left without asking. And when Brunachon had passed through the door, Charles Bardin continued: “Did you hear, my dear Paul?” “I heard too,” cried Father Bardin, “and I hope you are not going to take into account the words of a drunkard. ” “I am quite ready not to believe it, but I would like our friend to explain to me… ” “And what do you want me to explain to you!” interrupted Cormier. and then answer you that by asking you a question… Do you believe me capable of murder? –I don’t hesitate to say: no. But I can’t help being struck by a coincidence… singular. You told my father that you were involved yesterday in a quarrel in which a man was killed … –A battle at the exit of Bullier has no connection with an incident at the fortifications, interrupted Father Bardin, always ready to defend the son of his old friend. –Certainly not, said the judge; but things may not have happened as claimed by this man whose testimony does not seem to me… a priori … to deserve much confidence. I only ask Paul to justify himself by simply telling me the truth about this brawl which took place, if I understand correctly, near the Closerie des Lilas… Paul, it seems to me, did not specify. Cormier could see perfectly well that Charles Bardin was offering him the opportunity, and he could only be grateful for the intention, but he was nonetheless perplexed. If he had been the only one involved, he would have taken advantage of the judge’s obvious goodwill to recount what had happened during that unfortunate night, but it would have cost him horribly to compromise his friend Jean, not to mention Madame de Ganges, who might well be affected by the investigation if it were to be discovered that the man killed was her husband. And, on the other hand, Cormier was loath to get entangled in lies that he did not feel he had the courage to maintain indefinitely. “Another peculiarity,” Charles Bardin continued. I have just had a long chat with the Chief of the Sûreté… he was still here when you arrived… he didn’t say a word to me about a battle that took place near Bullier, in which one of the combatants was apparently knocked unconscious… yet he read his agents’ reports this morning, and if a body had been picked up somewhere other than Boulevard Jourdan, he would have told me about it. Bardin senior listened silently to his dear son’s wise speeches and was gradually coming around to his opinion; Paul’s statements no longer seemed clear enough to him, and he too was beginning to think that Paul had to explain himself. “Come now!” he said, putting his hand on his shoulder. “This is not about acting like a child.” I am quite convinced… and Charles too… that you didn’t murder anyone, but… that story you told me about a student left behind… this individual who recognizes you… there’s something there… tell us what. –I swear on my word of honor that I have just seen for the first time this fellow who claims to recognize me. –That’s what I call evasive talk. You’ve never seen him, fine!… but the story he just told us explains very well how he was able to see you without you seeing him. –So, you too believe in that mound where he had climbed… –Why not? I don’t know the one on Boulevard Jourdan, but I know others… I sometimes go for a walk by the fortifications… and I have often thought that behind one of these mounds of earth, we would be very well suited to fighting a duel. At the word duel, Paul shuddered. Father Bardin had hit the nail on the head with his old lawyer’s finesse. “Come now!” cried the old man, rubbing his hands; “here we are!… hic jacet lepus! as my seventh-grade teacher used to say, when he confiscated cockchafers from my desk. The battle in question ended in a duel. ” “And if you had guessed!” said Paul crossly. “The case would not be hanging… if the duel had been fair… and I suppose that otherwise you would not have gotten involved. ” “I beg you to believe it. ” “Then,” asked the judge, “the man whose body was found… ” “Was killed by a sword blow… yes, sir. ” “But the witness you have just heard did not speak of a duel.” “He just told you himself that it was all over when he woke up. He saw two men standing and a corpse lying on the marijuana in the bastion. ” “And one of those two men, was it you? ” “Yes… but I wasn’t the one who fought. ” “So, was it the other one? ” “Yes. There were four of us witnesses. Three had already left when that prowler saw us… he was careful not to show himself, and we didn’t suspect he was there. ” “And that other one… the one who killed… is he… one of your friends?” Paul didn’t answer. “Well,” the judge continued, “you knew him, since you were his witness.” Paul was tempted to say that, having happened to witness a quarrel between students he had never seen, he had agreed out of arrogance to assist them in the field, but that would have been too improbable, and besides, he was tired of lying. After hesitating a little, he replied: “It’s true. I know him. ” “Then, name him? ” “I can’t. ” “And why, I pray? ” “Because I am not obliged to denounce him. That is the opinion of your father, who knows the laws thoroughly. I am willing to admit that I took part in the duel. By admitting this, I only expose myself to harming myself. I have no right to harm a comrade. ” “You express a generous sentiment, but I cannot accept that you refuse to enlighten justice, and you must desire that light be shed on the matter. ” “Especially since I’m taking it upon myself to shed light on it,” said Father Bardin. “I see who your friend is. I guessed it when I came here, when you told me we’d knocked on Bullier’s door. He’s quite well known in the neighborhood. Charles won’t have any trouble finding him. ” “Let him look for him! I have no power to prevent him. If he finds him, I’ll have nothing to reproach myself for. I won’t have denounced anyone.” At this proud reply, the judge fell silent. He felt he had placed himself on bad ground. “Very well!” he said, “I’ll look. I can’t force you to say what you’ve decided to keep quiet… but I can question you on other points, and I trust you won’t refuse to answer me. You also knew the unfortunate man who was killed…” “Not at all.” I saw him for the first time when the quarrel began… –But before fighting, he had to say his name. –The argument began at the ball. My friend made the mistake of responding with a slap to a rather heated remark… –Ah! he was the aggressor!… that was all he needed. –He was completely at fault… I agree, and he agrees. His only excuse was that he was almost drunk. His opponent wasn’t cool either. –But you, interrupted the old lawyer; you hadn’t been drinking… I can certify that, since we dined together at your mother’s. How come you didn’t put a stop to it? –I tried. They didn’t listen to me. If I agreed to be a witness, It’s that I hoped to settle the matter. –And you didn’t succeed!… So you were all furious!… I understand that the unfortunate man who had been slapped wanted to fight. I even understand, strictly speaking, that your friend couldn’t refuse him compensation, but the others… we’ve never seen witnesses like that… where did you find them? –In Bullier. They had seen the slap, and when we left the ball, they followed us. –Students, then? –Yes… first-year students… children… –Nice company to go and cut each other’s throats!… Do you even know their names? –If I knew them, I wouldn’t say them… but I don’t know them. –What became of them, those ones, after the affair? –They were afraid and they ran away… leaving my friend and me there… and taking the swords. –Ah! Yes, by the way, the swords!… they weren’t found on the ground. “Unfortunately, because if they had remained there, no one would have believed it was a murder. Besides, I don’t understand how they were mistaken. The dead man had taken off his clothes and the wound made by a thrust from a point does n’t look like one made by a knife. ” “I haven’t yet received the report from the doctors appointed to examine the body,” said the judge, who sensed the accuracy of the observation. “Good!” cried Father Bardin. “If they conclude that death was caused by a sword thrust, that will prove that Paul has just told you the truth. And the case will change its face. I knew perfectly well that my old friend’s son hadn’t murdered anyone. ” “I didn’t believe that for a single instant,” said the examining magistrate, “and I have no doubt that Paul is telling the truth… now. He would have done better to tell it right away.” “I was wrong, I confess,” Cormier murmured. “What do you expect!… I was very embarrassed… I didn’t expect to see this man here… and I was loath to explain myself to him. If I had known that I would find in you an indulgent magistrate, I would not have hesitated… ” “I am not indulgent,” Charles Bardin said briskly, a little offended by the description; “I claim to be only just, and I recognize that the matter is much less serious, since it is only a duel… but it will have consequences. I am pleased that it has been entrusted to me, and I will investigate it… you know that I have a duty to clarify it completely. I must question all those who took part in it. I will not insist that you tell me the name of your friend who had the misfortune to kill a man.” The police will find him… but I expect you will advise him to come to my office of his own accord. I will be grateful to him for this step. “I promise you I will urge him to do so… and I have no doubt I will persuade him to do so. ” “It is in his own interest… and I am sure that is my father’s opinion. ” “Now, yes,” said the old lawyer. “As long as I believed it was a brawl, I thought, on the contrary, that these rascals would do better not to denounce themselves, but since I know that it is a duel, and that this duel resulted in the death of one of the combatants, I strongly support your opinion.” Paul, my dear boy, you must come back here with your friend… otherwise, you would spoil your business… and, between us, you know very well that it would be up to me to point out this annoying friend to Charles… I guessed a long time ago who it is. “Let him have the merit of coming without being sent for. ” “I will wait for him,” said the Bardin son. “Note also, my dear Paul,” continued the father, “that another examining magistrate who did not know you as Charles knows you would probably not let you go free, after the confrontation I have just witnessed. ” “I do not know what one of my colleagues would do, if he were at my place, said the examining magistrate simply, but I am sure that I will not have to regret having trusted Mr. Cormier’s word. Paul, very touched by this declaration, extended his hand to Charles Bardin, who shook it cordially. And the old lawyer hastened to add: “Now, let’s go. My little Charles has no time to lose… and neither do you. Besides, the clerk will arrive, and it is useless for him to hear what we still have to say to each other. ” Paul did not want to prolong the session at all, and he very willingly followed the lawyer who had pleaded so well for him. The judge’s last word to his father was: “I will call on you this evening, and by then I will have some news. I have telegraphed to Nice to find out to which marquis the hat found next to the dead man was sold , and I hope the answer will not be long in coming. ” “So much the better!” It’s very important, and you’d also do well to keep that zealous Brunachon who came to inform you proprio motu under your belt. He didn’t lie, since Paul admits that this man was able to see him, but he doesn’t inspire much confidence in me. “He doesn’t inspire any more confidence in me than he does in you, my dear father. I’m going to question him again, and afterward, I’ll have him watched. ” “Well, you’ll do. See you this evening, my boy.” The lawyer and the student left together, and they didn’t encounter the informer in the corridors, who had been relegated to the witness room by order of the examining magistrate. Bardin said nothing while they were within the confines of the Palais de Justice, but on the boulevard, he burst out: “I’ve just heard some fine news!” he cried. “So you swore to make your poor mother die of grief! ” “I really hope she won’t find out what’s happening to me,” Paul said quickly. “I won’t be the one to tell him. But if you think the newspapers will keep quiet, you’re wrong, my good man. Tomorrow it’ll be all the talk of Paris, and your mother will read about the Boulevard Jourdan affair in the Petit Journal. ” “She won’t read my name there… thanks to your dear son who has just shown me so much kindness. ” “By Jove! He’s full of kindness towards you… he’s almost compromised himself by letting you go… because he could perfectly well have sent you to the Depot. But what happens next doesn’t depend on him. The prosecution will continue, that’s for sure… a duel at night is a matter for the courts… they might let you go on bail, but your rascal of a friend will go to the Assize Court, and you’ll follow him there, my boy! That’ll teach you to cultivate bad acquaintances.” Finally, I hope that you and the other mentally ill people who participated in this great escapade will be acquitted. Your mother will have received the blow nonetheless. It’s not you I pity, it’s her. “You’re right, and I am unforgivable,” murmured Paul, very sincerely moved. “Yes, repent, go!… only repentance doesn’t repair anything. At least try to walk straight, now. Go to… you know who… it’s not far from here… and don’t go to bed without bringing that cursed swordsman back to Charles… he was born for your perdition, that being, and he must have the devil in his body… fighting in the moonlight , on a boulevard in Paris!… you have no idea of ​​that!… ” Not in the moonlight… at dawn… and at the fortifications… in a deserted place. ” “Not so deserted, since that rascal saw you… look!” You annoy me… go your way… I’ll go mine… I won’t give up defending you, but leave me alone. With that conclusion, the old lawyer turned his back on his protégé, who didn’t think of running after him. Paul made his way towards the left bank, reflecting on his situation, which was becoming more and more complicated. Fate was involved, and he bitterly regretted having allowed himself to be drawn into the judge’s chambers. of investigation. But he did not understand how this man who had tried to blackmail him had decided so quickly to go and tell the judge what he had seen on Boulevard Jourdan. The meeting in one of the corridors of the Palace was certainly the result of chance, because the rascal could not have foreseen that Paul Cormier would pass by there. He had therefore come to carry out, without profit for himself, the threat written in his letter; and why, when he had been put face to face with Paul, had he refrained from calling him by his name, which he knew very well since he had made inquiries that morning at the doorman of Rue Gay-Lussac? Why had he disarmed himself by denouncing him, instead of renewing, before acting, his first attempt at blackmail? Was it then that he had not said everything he knew and that he was holding in reserve another threat more disturbing than the first? Paul was inclined to believe it. He had just suddenly remembered a cab he had noticed at the corner of Rue Gay-Lussac, when he was looking for one to take him to Avenue Montaigne: a cab that must be occupied since the blinds were drawn. And Paul was thinking that the blackmailer could have hidden there, instead of going to wait for him in the Square de Cluny, watched for his exit and, after seeing that Paul was not heading towards the meeting place, followed him in his carriage to the door of Madame de Ganges’s mansion. There, while Paul was at the Marquise’s, this man could have made inquiries, as he had already done on Rue Gay-Lussac, about the person who lived in this fine mansion. There is more than one way to do this and one is spoiled for choice. And, once informed, the rascal must have been shrewd enough to have guessed that there was a secret between this marquise and this student that he would later discover and that there would always be time to exploit. On the other hand, he could not delay giving his statement much, for fear of appearing suspicious. He had therefore decided to go immediately to the Palace with the laudable intention of denouncing Paul Cormier, at any risk, except to use, when the moment seemed propitious, the discovery he had just made of Paul Cormier’s relations with a great lady of the Avenue Montaigne. The encounter in the corridor could have modified his plans. He must have noticed that Paul Cormier and the old man who accompanied him were received immediately, that the examining magistrate did not make them wait in the antechamber and concluded that they already knew this magistrate. After which, he had confined himself to accusing Paul without naming him, saying that he had come to give his statement on the Boulevard Jourdan affair, without suspecting that he was meeting one of the guilty parties at the judge’s door . And if the judge let Paul go free, the amiable Brunachon intended to threaten him in due course with implicating a woman who must have been close to him. Was he sincere in accusing him of murder? Strictly speaking, one could believe the accuracy of his story, although it seemed very unlikely that he had woken up on his hill, just as the duel had ended with the death of M. de Ganges. It mattered little to Paul Cormier, who, in any case, would not be embarrassed to reestablish the truth of the facts, and it would have been up to him to confound this impudent singer, since he had in his pocket the letter in which the scoundrel offered his silence at the price of ten thousand francs. If Cormier had not exhibited it, it was because he had not thought about it during the confrontation and now that he thought about it, he was not sorry to have kept a weapon to defend himself against a new and more dangerous attack that he was beginning to foresee. These reflections did not occupy him for long. He did not have the leisure to dwell on them, because he had to think about how to get out of the situation where had put him on his visit to the judge. And to get out of it, he had to see Jean de Mirande first . He was grateful to Father Bardin for not having named him, but he felt that the old lawyer would not always keep quiet about this name, which he had had no trouble guessing, knowing to what extent the son of his old friend was linked to this fighter. Paul even intended to use this argument to persuade Mirande to appear at the Palais de Justice, if he dared to make difficulties, and he hoped to find him still in bed. When he left him in the morning, Mirande had told him that he would stay in bed all day to rest from the fatigues of the night, and Paul knew him to be chivalrous enough to be sure that he would not think of shirking his bet, while his friend, less compromised than he, was perhaps struggling with the examining magistrate. Arriving at Jean’s house on Boulevard Saint-Germain, Paul was greatly disappointed. Mirande had just gone out and, as was his custom, he had said neither where he was going nor what time he would be back. Paul assumed that he had not left the neighborhood and that he would find him seated at a table in front of one of the cafes frequented by the students. But which one? Mirande, to vary his pleasures and to distribute the honor of his presence equally, appeared sometimes at one, sometimes at another, morning and evening, at the hours of absinthe. Paul resolved to pass them all in review, until he discovered him, and if he was there, it would not be difficult, for thanks to his tall stature and noisy manner, he could be seen and heard from a great distance. Paul therefore headed towards the Boulevard Saint-Michel and went up it to the Rue de Médicis, without seeing Mirande. He then inspected the cafes on the Rue Soufflot and saw no more of him. Only, at the corner of the Place du Panthéon, he met the three students who had witnessed the duel and he thought he noticed that they were trying to avoid him. But he approached them and began by abusing them about their conduct after the affair. They let him talk, and he soon realized that the fear that had seized them when the Marquis fell still held them. They begged him in unison to speak more quietly and, lowering their voices, informed him that the rumor was already circulating in the Latin Quarter that the quarrel at the Closerie had ended tragically. Secret police agents had been seen prowling around Boul’Mich, and the three witnesses had sworn to say nothing of their nocturnal adventure to anyone, not even their students. Paul would have liked them to be a little more assertive, but he advised them to persist in their silence and asked them if they had met Mirande. They replied that, since the duel, Mirande had not appeared anywhere and that he was probably hiding. Whereupon, Paul Cormier, seeing that he would get nothing out of these frightened young people, left them there and resumed his search. He spent two hours there without any more success and he gradually came to be seriously worried about this sudden disappearance of a boy who was usually seen everywhere. It was impossible to suppose that the carefree Mirande, suddenly seized by remorse, had fled to La Trappe or La Grande-Chartreuse to do penance. He was more likely to have locked himself away at the home of some neighborhood joker, Maria the apprentice midwife or Vera the nihilist, his two favorites. And Paul did not feel in the mood to go and chase him back to these ladies. He had done his best and no one is obliged to do the impossible. If he failed to get his hands on his untraceable comrade, Paul would go the next day to tell his disappointment to Father Bardin, and even if necessary, to the son who would see to it and who was only too well disposed to hold him responsible for the inexplicable absence of his friend. Paul had another duty to fulfill: that of informing Madame de Ganges of what was happening and he didn’t know how to go about fulfilling this duty without exposing himself to compromising it. The day had been hard, but his troubles were not over. Chapter 4. The big clubs in Paris are not all, like the big English clubs, owners of the building they occupy, but they are almost all located in the Madeleine district which corresponds roughly to the West End of London. Many have windows overlooking the boulevard; some have balconies. The old Imperial club even had a terrace overlooking the Place de la Concorde. Terraces and balconies are frequented by clubmen, at certain times, during the summer. These gentlemen willingly show themselves there at the end of a warm spring day, to get some fresh air and also a little to be seen, when the club is one of those where one is admitted only with great difficulty. When you are a member of the Union or the Jockey, you are not sorry to excite the admiration and envy of certain passers-by who will never be received there, despite their millions, and who would give handsome sums for the right to exhibit themselves on this privileged perch. After the Grand Prix, you no longer see anyone there, but in the month of May, before and after dinner time, there are only smokers leaning on the balustrade, and people exchange cheerful remarks, embellished with a few gossips. The day after Paul Cormier had strayed into the examining magistrate’s office, the gentlemen who had met him on Sunday evening at the Closerie des Lilas had settled on the balcony of their club to chat in the cool air. There were three of them, like Alexandre Dumas’s Musketeers, three inseparable friends: the Viscount of Servon, the Count of Carolles, and Captain Henri de Baffé; all three well-placed, well-related, and rich enough to cut a fine figure in Paris. They were not discussing battles and love affairs, like La Môle and Coconnas in another novel by the same Dumas; they were talking about the English Derby that had just been run at Epsom, the latest winners at Chantilly, and the big game in which Servon kept losing every night. This freewheeling conversation seemed to interest them, for it did not languish, but deep down they were bored stiff, and each of them wondered to himself what he was going to do with his evening after dining at the club. A serious question to resolve, and while waiting for it to be settled, they yawned to each other’s hearts’ content. “Paris is definitely boring,” said M. de Carolles; “always the Circus and the Garden of Paris… Never anything new… ” “You must have something new,” interrupted the Viscount de Servon; “I’ll give you some. Listen to what happened to me yesterday and tell me if anything like this has ever happened to you. This is the first time in my life I’ve seen anything like it. ” “What?” asked the Viscount’s two friends at once. “A gentleman who has won eight thousand francs at baccarat and refuses to accept it. ” “It’s rare, indeed,” said Captain Henri de Baffé, “but it simply proves that this gentleman is not short of money… ” “Or that this gentleman is impertinent.” Here is what happened: The day before yesterday, Sunday, in a house where I sometimes go for a cup of tea, because you meet pretty women there, I decided to suggest a baccalaureate… between men, of course… I cut a bank, I jumped on four hundred louis that I had on me and as the game was ending, I bet them double or quits, red or black… –You lose them? –Naturally. I’ve been doing nothing else for a month, and if my story ended there, I wouldn’t tell you. But do you know who I ‘m still in debt to?… –Tell us right away, instead of taking time, like a actor on stage. –The Marquis de Ganges. –The one you introduced us to yesterday at Bullier? That doesn’t surprise me. He seems like a lucky guy, that Marquis… and his wife is so pretty, that his luck can perhaps be explained. –What can’t be explained is that, yesterday… gambling debts are paid within twenty-four hours… I was in order, since the game had only ended the day before at seven o’clock… so, yesterday, I sent my valet to deliver, to 22 Avenue Montaigne, the eight thousand-dollar notes in an envelope, addressed to M. de Ganges… –And this gentleman didn’t want to take them? –My servant didn’t see him. He had to deal with a sort of butler who replied that the Marquis was not in Paris… I had seen him there the day before and you saw him there as I did… –Perhaps he is there incognito… a lord who is spending his evening at Bullier!… –I had the same idea as you, but my valet wanted to leave the letter. The butler went to consult the lady who was at home, and who sent word that she was not receiving letters addressed to her husband. –I understand that… it’s so that the husband does not receive those addressed to her. –Anyway, François must have brought me mine with the thousand-dollar notes I had inserted in it. “You’ll have to send them back to your elusive creditor… by post… by loading the package… it’s a method rarely used to pay off a gambling debt… but when that’s the only way… ” “No. I’ll go myself. There’s something there that intrigues me and I want to get to the bottom of it. If I don’t find the Marquis, I’ll find the Marquise and have an explanation with her. ” “Good! You want to take advantage of the opportunity to get into her intimate circle. You hope she’ll complain to you about her husband’s behavior and allow you to console her,” the captain said, laughing. “What are these people really like?” asked M. de Carolles. “Ganges is a name in Languedoc, I believe?” –Yes… a very old name… and the Marquise belongs to an old family from that country… good nobility of the robe, I’m told… I don’t know them otherwise. They didn’t live in Paris a few years ago and since the Marquise bought a hotel there, she has seen very little of the world. –And the Marquis has done little but travel, it seems, to organize important financial affairs abroad… it’s funny!… he doesn’t have the physique for the job at all. I barely caught a glimpse of him at that Closerie des Lilas, but before you mentioned him, I took him for a student… He looks so young!… how old is his wife? –My goodness! My dear, I don’t know and I don’t intend to ask her. I’ll just talk to her about her husband and I’ll find out what she thinks. I will also see that excellent Baroness Dozulé, who is very friendly with her… “Where did she get her barony?” asked M. de Carolles, who prided himself on knowing all the French nobility. “Oh! It doesn’t date from the Crusades. Her husband was the son of a general of the First Empire… But she receives very good company and is a reliable woman… one can rely on her… and she will not refuse to give me information about M. de Ganges… but I must first speak to the Marquise herself and I will push on, presently , as far as the Avenue Montaigne… ” “You had better hurry, if you don’t want to end up at her house at dinner time. ” “On the contrary, I do, for I suppose she doesn’t dine every day without her husband and if he is there, he will have to receive me.” When I see how they live together, I will know what to think about many things. “He must be very rich, since he’s the head of large companies in some country or other. He would be a good recruit for the big game. You should introduce him to the club. ” “I’ll wait until he asks me to be one of his sponsors… and I’ll only use it wisely… when I know his biography thoroughly … his background, as they say at the Palais de Justice. ” “And you wouldn’t be wrong. The marquisate doesn’t make the marquis, and we’ve seen people step into someone else’s shoes. ” “I don’t think that’s the case, but it’s always better to take precautions. I imagine, moreover, that if M. de Ganges were to apply, he would run a great risk of being blackballed. ” “Why is that? He’s in the best position to be admitted, since no one knows him. We’ll have nothing to say against him.” “Who knows?… But I doubt he’s thinking of being one of us, and I don’t care whether he is or not. What concerns me, for the moment, is paying him what I owe him, and it’s time I headed for Avenue Montaigne. ” “On foot? ” “Yes, I feel the need to walk… and the Marquise’s hotel isn’t that far . I hope she’ll receive guests there now that her husband has returned to Paris. ” “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” asked Henri de Baffé. “Ravishing, my dear, adorable… blonde as wheat… with the eyes and complexion of an Andalusian from Seville. ” “You’ll have me invited to her house,” interrupted the captain cheerfully. “I’m not saying no, but we’re not there yet. ” “Oh!” cried the Count de Carolles suddenly, “a ghost!… ” “Where?… Who are you talking about?” “There… on the sidewalk, that man looking at the balcony of the club… don’t you recognize him, either of you? ” “My goodness! No.” “Yet he lent you both money more than once … back when you used to go and play at the Cercle des Moucherons , where there was such a good game. ” “It seems to me, in fact, that I have already seen that face,” murmured the Viscount de Servon. “He’s the old boy from the Cercle des Moucherons, by Jove!” said M. de Carolles. “I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him right away. ” “If you think I pay attention to the faces of these people… I forgot his a long time ago. ” “I have a better memory than you, for I even remember his name… it ‘s true that he has one of those names that one remembers because they are ridiculous… Brunachon.” “Why not Patachon, like in Offenbach’s The Two Blind Men?” the captain teased. “Yes, I remember now,” said Servon. “He lent to the poor… at handsome interest rates… a louis a day for every fifty louis he advanced. He must have made a tidy fortune. ” “You wouldn’t think so, from his appearance. And that’s understandable; he was kicked out of the Moucherons after a very nasty story… ” “Well! I’ve got it!… the case of the cards marked with fingernails… he was strongly suspected of having brought them in… and if the matter was hushed up, it was because they feared he might compromise members of the Circle… he certainly had accomplices among the players, since he couldn’t play himself… they were content to send him away, and God knows what he’s been doing since he was shown the door.” –Blackmail, most likely. He had already tried it when the scandal broke. –It doesn’t seem to have succeeded. –Aren’t you going to feel sorry for him? –No, but I’m sure they miss him at Moucherons. It was so convenient to immediately find a thousand-dollar note when you were broke . I remember that once, after having bought a pair of enormous panties, I made up for it, immediately, with fifty louis that he lent me… –One hundred percent. –No, fifty percent… per night. I gave him back fifteen hundred francs before going to bed. –He has fond memories of you; that’s why he stopped to contemplate you. He hopes you’ll come down to give him alms, in memory of his kindness. –You can see he’s leaving. –Yes… here he is, heading towards the Madeleine… he’s probably going to take a stroll along the Champs-Élysées, in the hope of meeting some old client like you who will have an easy time with the louis. –My goodness! I wouldn’t refuse him the louis if he asked me for it. –Hey, Servon! cried the captain, if you want to oblige him, you could ask him to find out about the Marquis de Ganges. Brunachon would be just as likely to engage in espionage as he would in blackmail. –Who do you take me for? –I take you for a lover… and when you’re in love, you don’t look so closely. The Marquise is well worth using every means to find out exactly what to think about her and her husband… back from India… or Turkey, since the rumor is going around that he has tripled his fortune in the Sultan’s dominions. “You are a mentally ill person. There is no way to talk seriously with you. I’ve had enough and I’m leaving. ” “At her place?… Good luck, my dear! Carolles and I are going to make a Rubicon at a hundred sous a point. With a lot of misfortune, the loser will be by a thousand points. It might be cheaper than running after the Marquise. ” Servon shrugged his shoulders and went into the drawing room to leave the club. “Keep your eyes open, if you don’t want to meet Brunachon,” Henri de Baffé shouted to him, before he was out of sight. ” He was exaggerating, that captain, when he said that his friend was in love with Madame de Ganges.” The Viscount found her charming and only asked to secure entry to her home, but in this desire for rapprochement there was as much curiosity as passion. He especially wanted to find out about the husband, who had earned her money and who was almost beginning to seem suspicious. He hoped to achieve this by explaining himself to the woman he fully expected to find at her home, and if he did not succeed, he felt capable of resorting to other methods, despite the protests he had just energetically formulated. He left therefore, at a quick pace, wondering if the Marquise would agree to receive him and what advantage he could gain from this first visit. It would require a great deal of skill and tact, but his familiarity with society allowed him to attempt the adventure with a good chance of success. The day was superb and it was the time when people returned from the Bois. The grand avenue of the Champs-Élysées was teeming with fine carriages, and elegant strollers crowded the two alleys that border the roadway, on the right and left. The Viscount, annoyed at being jostled, turned toward the Palais de l’Industrie, whose surroundings were less crowded. This route, moreover, was the shortest way to reach the Avenue Montaigne, and he was eager to reach Madame de Ganges’s. He walked straight ahead without turning around or looking at anyone, preoccupied as he was with what he was going to say to the Marquise. On that side, behind the rotunda of the Panorama, there are quincunxes arranged like a square, where one hardly encounters anything but children with their maids and sometimes lovers seeking solitude. Servon paid no attention to these strollers, but as he advanced, he noticed two gentlemen sitting side by side on a bench who immediately caught his attention. They were almost touching and they were standing bent over like people talking in low voices, from mouth to ear. The taller of the two held a cane in his hand, with the end of which he absentmindedly traced circles in the sand of the path, which is a very characteristic sign of preoccupation. The Viscount could not see their faces, but without being able to explain why, he had the impression that he had already met them elsewhere and, instinctively, he slowed down to give himself time to observe them. Soon, the one who was using his stick to draw geometric figures raised his head and took off his hat which was doubtless bothering him: a pointed felt hat such as one rarely wears when walking on the Champs-Élysées. M. de Servon recognized this strange headgear more quickly than he recognized the man; but as he examined him, he remembered having seen him from afar, the day before yesterday, at the Closerie des Lilas where he was directing the parades of a turbulent band of male and female students. A little surprised to find this elegant man from the Latin Quarter so far from the Bullier ball, Servon would not have stopped to look at him, if the other talker, also straightening up, had not shown him his face. That one was his creditor from the party at the Baroness’s. It would be difficult to say which of the two was more astonished by the Viscount or by Paul Cormier, whom he took for the Marquis de Ganges. Only, the Viscount was delighted by the meeting, which, on the contrary, dismayed Paul Cormier. The Viscount could wish for nothing better than to find the husband he was looking for very close to Avenue Montaigne, and who would certainly not dare refuse to take him to his wife’s house, who lived just a stone’s throw away.
Paul, caught red-handed chatting intimately with Jean de Mirande by a gentleman from Madame de Ganges’s society, by the one of all from whom he most wanted to hide his real name, Paul would have liked to go underground. He could not think of running away. The Viscount had seen him and was already smiling at him. Even less could he hope to continue playing the Marquis, Mirande being present. Mirande, at the first equivocal word, would have demanded explanations and overturned all his lies; Mirande, whom he had had so much trouble finding, and whom he had just decided to go and tell the truth to the investigating judge. Yet it was Mirande who got him out of this predicament, without wanting to and without knowing it. He had not noticed M. de Servon at the Closerie des Lilas and when he suddenly found himself face to face with people he did not know, his first impulse was always to turn his back on them and take off. He did not fail to do so when he saw that the Viscount was about to approach Paul. He left without greeting this troublesome person who had taken it into his head to disturb them and shouting to his friend:
“I’ll go, since you want me to. Go wait for me at the Café Soufflot. I ‘ll be there in two hours. ” Paul would have been happy to avoid being called out in this way, within earshot of M. de Servon, who was now only two steps away, but the damage was done and all that remained was for him to try to mitigate the unfortunate effect of this strange invitation. A marquis had been able to show himself one evening at the Closerie des Lilas, but that he would show himself in broad daylight at the Café Soufflot was unbelievable. And, to add insult to injury, Mirande had just addressed him in a loud and clear voice. Poor Paul bitterly regretted having accepted the meeting that this tall, mentally ill person Jean had arranged for him. Jean, whom he had sought so much the day before in the Latin Quarter, had allowed himself to be kidnapped by a former mistress who had come to wake him up and taken him to the rue Jean-Goujon where she owned a pretty little hotel; he had known her as an extra at the Cluny Theatre; she had become a great cocotte, and she was keen to show him the splendors of her new installation; he had not refused to accompany her to her house and he had forgotten himself there for twenty-four hours. Seized with remorse for having forgotten Paul Cormier at such a critical moment, he had written to him to explain his situation and to ask him to come and join him on the Champs-Élysées, behind the rotunda of the Panorama. And Paul had come. For an hour, he had been preaching to him to go and declare and he had not yet been able to decide to do so, when the Viscount’s appearance had cut short the tête-à-tête. Whether or not he went to the Palais de Justice, as he had just announced, Mirande had left. It was now a matter for Paul to prepare to answer the questions that M. de Servon was sure to ask him and, showing boldness, Paul did not wait for M. de Servon to approach him. He got up, he came to him and he was looking for a polite phrase to begin the conversation, when the Viscount exclaimed gaily: “At last, I have my creditor!” Paul was so troubled that he no longer remembered the eight thousand francs he had won at the Baroness’s, and as he seemed not to understand: “It is not my fault if I am still your debtor,” resumed M. de Servon. I sent to you yesterday… you were out… no one wanted my money, and my valet had to bring it back to me. I was going straight to Avenue Montaigne, but since I have the good fortune to meet you, allow me to pay. Paul hesitated for a moment before taking the thousand-dollar notes that the Viscount presented to him. He almost felt scruple about receiving them. The Viscount believed he owed them to the Marquis de Ganges, and it seemed to Paul that he had no right to touch them. He resigned himself to it, however, for he could not refuse them, unless he confessed everything, without Madame de Ganges having authorized him to do so. Even so, M. de Servon, as a perfect gentleman, would have insisted that he accept them, and Paul would have had to go through with it. “Now that I am in good standing with you,” the Viscount continued, ” I must apologize for having interrupted you.” You were in conference with a young man whom I thought I recognized… wasn’t he Sunday evening, at that ball where my friends and I met you? “Perhaps,” Paul stammered. “He goes there very often. He’s studying law in Paris… but he’s from the same country as me, and I know his family very well… ” “That’s what I thought… and it’s quite natural that he addresses you informally… ” “He was my schoolmate.” And as Servon’s face expressed a certain astonishment, Paul hastened to add: “I married very young. ” “I’m sure you’ve never regretted not remaining a bachelor,” the Viscount said politely. “May I ask you about Madame de Ganges?” Paul made an effort to reply: “She’s very well… thank you.” When he was obliged to speak of her as if he had been her husband, the words stuck in his throat. “I won’t hide from you that when I went to see you, I hoped to find her at home, and if, as I suppose, you return to the hotel… ” “On the contrary!… I’m just leaving,” said Cormier quickly. He was lying, for he intended to run to the Avenue Montaigne as soon as he had finished with Mirande, and he would have run there if the Viscount hadn’t arrived. It was now necessary to postpone this urgent visit to a better opportunity, for he wanted to avoid at all costs accompanying M. de Servon to the Marquise’s. And for fear that M. de Servon might think of going without him, Paul hastened to add: “Madame de Ganges has gone out too… she is to dine in town… and I must go and join her… I am already late… ” “Oh! Then I would reproach myself for keeping you.” I will have the honor of seeing you again very soon… as soon as Madame de Ganges has chosen a day for a reception and, in any case, Sunday, I hope, at Madame Dozulé’s. –I hope so too… but… –I even hope that you will be willing to join us, at the club to which Carolles, Baffé and I belong. I introduced these gentlemen to you the other evening … they are very keen not to stop there and I am very keen to introduce you to the circle where we can meet meet every day. If the Viscount had intended to put Paul Cormier to torture, he would not have spoken otherwise. Every word he said was like a pinprick, and the obliging offer of his sponsorship at the club completed the painful embarrassment of the false Marquis de Ganges. And poor Paul thought only of escaping as soon as possible from the torture that M. de Servon was inflicting on him, with or without intention. “I thank these gentlemen very much for their goodwill,” he said hastily, “and I am very obliged to you, but I do not yet know if I will settle in Paris… when I have the honor of seeing you again, we will discuss this project again, but at this moment… ” “You are in a hurry, I know, dear sir, and I will not detain you any longer… ah! One more word, however… you have a steward who carries out the instructions given to him too well… yesterday, you told him not to receive anyone… –Not me… Madame de Ganges, no doubt… –Well, he carried out the order, but he added an explanation of his own… he told my valet that you were still away… Monsieur is not there, it is accepted that a servant should reply that when his master insists on closing his door; but to reply: Monsieur is away when everyone knows that Monsieur has just arrived in Paris… that is clumsy. I take the liberty of bringing this fact to your attention so that you can clear the head of this overzealous servant. Paul had known him for twenty-four hours, the fact, since, the day before, he was at the Marquise’s, at the moment when the valet had appeared to deliver a letter. The Viscount therefore told him nothing new, but Paul could no longer hope that the situation would continue. She was too tense, and the slightest incident would bring the truth to light. And he was all the more eager to flee M. de Servon, who, from explanation to explanation, would have finally discovered her. While talking, these gentlemen had advanced, under the trees, to the edge of the Avenue d’Antin, which one must cross to reach the Avenue Montaigne. A cab was passing at a walking pace. Paul signaled to the driver to stop and said quickly to M. de Servon: “Excuse me, sir… I am so late that you will allow me to leave you… Thank you for the kind advice you have just given me, and goodbye!” He jumped into the carriage, which immediately sped off towards the platform. This sudden departure looked so much like an escape that the Viscount was stunned. It had already occurred to him that there was a mystery in the life of this noble couple; now he no longer doubted it, and he promised himself to maneuver accordingly. What kind of mystery was this? What secret did the Marquis’s bizarre manner conceal? It mattered little to Servon, who had no other goal than to insinuate himself into the Marquise’s house and try to establish himself there. But before trying, he wanted to be better informed, and he didn’t know how to go about it. Should he present himself alone at Madame de Ganges’s, under a pretext that remained to be found, or should he try to get Baroness Dozulé to talk? This Baroness wished him well, and she must know a great deal. Besides, the Marquise’s mansion was just a stone’s throw away, and the Viscount suspected M. de Ganges of having lied when he said that his wife was dining in town and that he was going to join her. If she had stayed at home, the opportunity was tempting to risk it. The whole question was whether she would agree to receive him. If she received him, he would know how to steer his boat so as to anchor himself in the house. He was about to decide to run this adventure, when he noticed on the sidewalk, on the other side of the avenue, a man who seemed to hesitate to come to him. Servon could have seen him earlier, for it was a good two minutes ago that he had emerged from Avenue Montaigne, just as Paul Cormier was getting into the carriage. This man had nothing that could attract attention, but he looked at the Viscount so persistently that the Viscount looked at him too and recognized him. It was the individual who, an hour earlier, had stopped under the balcony of the Club and whom Servon had pointed out to his friends. He was the former gambling boy of the Cercle des Moucherons, dismissed on grounds of legitimate suspicion and missed by the bigwigs whom he formerly forced to pay extremely exorbitant rates. It did not appear that he had prospered since his change of status. He had the sallow complexion of a man who had suffered and his clothes were not new, but he was not at the point of showing off and, at a pinch, a gentleman could, without compromising himself too much, speak to him in the street. Even yesterday, Servon, if he had met him, would very probably have pretended not to see him, but in the frame of mind in which the Viscount was at that moment, it was no longer the same. There are services that one can only ask of a disaffected person, and Servon found himself in the position of needing someone less scrupulous than himself. He did not go halfway, but he waited for the man who had decided to approach and who said to him, raising his hat, without removing it—the greeting of a disaffected man who does not know how his politeness will be received: “I see that Monsieur le Viscount wishes to recognize me. Monsieur le Viscount is very kind. ” “I recognize you all the more since I already saw you pass a little while ago on the boulevard,” replied Servon. –Monsieur le Viscount was at the club with his friends… Monsieur le Comte de Carolles… Monsieur le Capitaine de Baffé… These gentlemen remember me, when I was at the Moucherons… Those were the good old days… –Yes… you were suspended, I think… –On the pretext that I had brought marked cards into the Club. It would have been up to me to justify myself… but it would have been necessary to name the real culprit and I preferred to lose my job than to denounce a gentleman. The proof that I was not guilty is that I was not prosecuted. –How are you living now? –I am living… badly. –You had, however, I suppose, amassed a capital… –Quite a lot… that’s true… I left it in Monte Carlo. –You’re a gambler, you!… ah! parbleu, that’s too strong… after seeing where gambling has led so many people who borrowed money from you!… –Passion doesn’t reason… and gambling is my passion… but I ‘ve come back from it, and now I’m looking to do business. –Business, what kind? –I have no preferences. However, if I could set up an intelligence agency, I think I would make my fortune… Research in the interest of families… discreet surveillance… –I understand. You would like to do police work for individuals. –Exactly. I’m already trying it, and if I could be of use to Monsieur le Vicomte… From this former gambling boy to the Viscount de Servon the proposition was impertinent and the gentleman to whom this rascal dared to make it had a bitter retort on his lips. But if the first move is the right one, as is claimed, it often happens that the second is not worth the first. Servon, indignant at first, quickly said to himself that this overture was not to be disdained. He was keen to know what to expect about the Ganges spouses; he who wants the end wants the means and it was not the case to be difficult about the choice of the agent who would take charge of informing him. One does not cook with white gloves and for menial tasks one does not employ gentlemen. “You try your hand, you say?” asked Servon. “My God, yes,” replied Brunachon modestly; “when one has been seven years employed in a large circle, one knows all of Paris… fashionable Paris … and one knows a lot of things. Since I have been trying to work in the intelligence department, I have already picked up quite a few and made some new acquaintances. If it were one day or another that Monsieur le Vicomte were pleased to put my talents to the test, I flatter myself that Monsieur le Vicomte would be satisfied with me. –So, for the moment, you are doing police work, as an amateur? –To get my hand in. –It’s pretty much the same thing. And you practice on the first person you come across? –Yes… when it happens… and then I have kept friends among my old comrades… they inform me on occasion… and I never forget anything… I have an excellent memory… –You also have good eyesight to have recognized me on the balcony. –I would recognize Monsieur le Vicomte from much further away, said Brunachon respectfully. Monsieur le Vicomte is not like everyone else. –So, I must be easy to… how do you say?… to tail, I think?
— To tail is indeed the technical word. This term and the correct language of the former croupier would have greatly astonished Bardin père and fils who had heard him the day before, in the judge’s chambers, expressing himself like a barrier prowler. They did not know the character. Brunachon spoke slang, when it suited him to use it, but he also knew how to adopt the tone of a well-bred man on occasion . –Have you just tailed me? M. de Servon asked him suddenly . –Oh! sir!… I would not have dared… –Yet, it looks like it to me. I saw you stopped, earlier, under the balcony of the club… and I found you, an hour later, in this corner of the Champs-Élysées. “I arrived here well before the Viscount, and I came here on a matter I am beginning to attend to. If I have just met the Viscount, it was entirely by chance. I was leaving Avenue Montaigne when I saw him… The Viscount must have seen that I did not dare approach him…, and besides, if I had allowed myself to follow him, I would have been careful not to show myself. “So, you are looking for someone, Avenue Montaigne? ” “I was looking for… information. I had come to reconnoiter… as if to a battle… to explore the terrain and monitor the enemy’s movements… I wasted my efforts. All this was unclear, and these convoluted answers only piqued the curiosity of M. Servon, who also had information to gather and was thinking of asking Brunachon to gather it for him. “You who claim to know so many people,” he asked him suddenly , “do you know a certain Marquis de Ganges? By sight… yes… perfectly,” replied Brunachon, already on his guard. “Where did you see him?… and when? ” “In Monte Carlo, this winter. ” “I thought he was in Turkey. ” “I don’t know if he went there, but I know he was still in Nice a week ago. ” “But since then, he has returned to Paris. ” “It’s possible. His wife lives there… very close to here, in a very fine hotel that belongs to him. It was said there that the Marquis did not live with her… they may have reconciled… but I doubt it… ” “Why do you doubt it?” “Since the Viscount does me the honor of asking me, I must tell the Viscount that this lady has a lover.” That’s no reason why she shouldn’t get back together with her husband… –Finally, you persist in asserting that, if you met the Marquis de Ganges, you would recognize him? –Right now. –Well! You’re boasting, for you’ve just seen him. –Where then? –I was talking to him when you arrived. –What! That young man who got into the carriage… “Precisely. This young man is Monsieur de Ganges, whom you claim to know. ” “That’s the Marquis!” cried Brunachon. “Ah! But no! He doesn’t even look like him… and the Marquis is at least five years older. ” “So there must be two Marquis de Ganges, because the one you just saw bears that name and title, and he goes out into society with the Marquise. I met them there together. ” Brunachon gave a nod that must have meant: everything is explained, but he said nothing. He had not yet decided to bring the Viscount into his game. Brunachon, after having failed his first attempt at blackmail, had been preparing another since he had left Monsieur Bardin’s office. He knew that Paul Cormier had not been arrested, and he was beginning to foresee that the affair on Boulevard Jourdan would not have serious consequences. A duel is not murder. Besides, Paul Cormier, after appearing before the examining magistrate, no longer feared being denounced. Brunachon had therefore changed his batteries. It was now the Marquise de Ganges whom he hoped to blackmail. He had thought of it from the first day, for, as Paul had suspected, he had hidden in a cab to follow him from the Rue Gay-Lussac to the Avenue Montaigne; he knew whose house Paul had gone to—he had found out by talking to the neighboring merchants, all suppliers to the hotel—and he had promised himself to exploit Madame de Ganges as soon as he was completely informed about the nature of the relations that this great lady had with a student. He had returned the next day to look for information. He was arriving, and he had come very close to surprising Jean de Mirande, whom he could also have exploited, talking with Paul Cormier. He had only caught a glimpse of Paul, who had not seen him, but M. de Servon had just told him everything he did not know, except for one thing that Servon himself did not know, since he did not know the story of the duel; the name of the man Mirande had killed. Brunachon was not lying when he said that he knew the Marquis de Ganges, having met him at the gaming tables of Monte Carlo; and Brunachon had not lied either when he told the examining magistrate that he had only woken up at the moment when the duel on the bastion had just ended. He had seen from above a dead man lying on the marijuana, face down. He had not suspected that this dead man was the Marquis and he still did not suspect it. “Well,” said M. de Servon, shrugging his shoulders, “you see that you sometimes make mistakes just like anyone else. ” “I am not mistaken,” murmured the former gambling boy. ” This gentleman passes himself off as the Marquis de Ganges, but he is lying. ” “So he is in agreement with the Marquise? ” “Obviously, since he accompanies her in society. ” “So he is her lover? ” “I supposed so, before I heard the Viscount. Now I no longer doubt it. ” “Good! But who is he? ” “Ah!… there!… ” “You must know. ” “If I knew, the Viscount would understand that I should not say it. In business, discretion is indispensable for success. ” “In business?… how? Ah!” Yes, I mean… the business of the agency you want to set up, said Servon with a slight grimace of disgust. You will trade in information and you will not give it away for nothing. “Monsieur le Viscount guesses everything. ” “Well… I am used to paying for what I buy. State your price. ” “Oh! I will always rely on the generosity of Monsieur le Viscount… and besides, for the moment, I have so little to sell him that it is not worth negotiating. ” The rascal said: “treat,” as if it were a question of signing a diplomatic convention. “If the Viscount had an interest in being informed about this false Marquis and his relations with Madame de Ganges, I would go into action and undertake to procure for him all the information he might need. ” “Very well. I will pay you handsomely.” The Viscount had already recovered from his reluctance to resort to the vile offices of a spy. “Then I can proceed. A word from the Viscount is worth gold.” Brunachon was, as they say, changing his tune. Brunachon was not a man to refuse M. de Servon’s offers; especially since, while serving him, he could occasionally blackmail the Marquise. It was even on her that he based his greatest hopes of profit. The Viscount would soon tire of buying information, and Paul Cormier was in no position to pay dearly for silence that he could soon do without; but the Marquise was rich and she had her reputation to preserve. “Well?… the name of this man?” asked M. de Servon. “His name is Paul Cormier… and he is a student… he is studying law. ” “I suspected as much. Where does he live? ” “In the Latin Quarter. Rue Gay-Lussac, number 9. ” “That must be true,” murmured the Viscount. “But how does this student know the Marquise de Ganges? ” “That, Viscount, is something I am completely ignorant of, but I undertake to find out within a very few days. All I can tell you today is that yesterday he had himself driven to the door of this lady’s mansion on Avenue Montaigne, that she received him, and that he stayed with her for more than an hour. I could play the mysterious man and let you believe that I know much more.” I prefer to tell you the truth. “And he’s known her for a long time,” Servon continued, following his idea. ” On Sunday, they appeared together at a house where I was… the Marquis and the Marquise de Ganges were announced… and he said he had arrived that morning from a long trip… they had agreed in advance, for she didn’t deny it… so they were in agreement. ” “It’s obvious. ” “There’s only one thing I can’t explain, and that’s how they could have believed that no one would notice the substitution… the real Marquis would only have to reappear…, and he certainly will… he won’t stay in Monte Carlo all his life.” –Unless they have come to an agreement with him… there are husbands with whom one can come to an agreement… and he doesn’t have a very good reputation, this Marquis. –They would always end up finding out in Paris that he exists… his wife would risk too much by putting her lover in her husband’s place… there must be something else… –That’s what I tell myself too… but, what?… –Perhaps the real Marquis de Ganges died recently in Monaco… he’s a gambler… he could have killed himself… Perhaps his wife knows this and has thought of replacing him, because she’s quite sure he wo n’t come to claim… –I hadn’t thought of that, murmured Brunachon, who seemed to be struck by the idea. Then, correcting himself: “But no… if he had blown his brains out there, the newspapers would have announced it… so we would have to assume that he died incognito and that his widow hopes that no one will ever know that he is dead. ” The Viscount reflected and could not find a satisfactory explanation. “Actually!… why not?” said Brunachon between his teeth. “I see,” continued Servon, impatiently, “that you don’t guess any better than I do. When you have found out, you will let me know. But our conversation has lasted long enough… and since all hard work deserves a reward…” He was about to put his hand in his pocket, when Brunachon said sharply: “Not yet, Monsieur le Vicomte. Let me earn my money. Can you spare an hour?” “Yes… but why? ” “I’ve just had an idea, and if I’m not mistaken, within an hour you’ll have settled on the main point… the rest will come afterward, very easily… ” “That’s a lot of promises! What must I do to achieve this result? ” “A ride in a carriage… with me. ” “I prefer: not with you,” said the Viscount, who did not want to appear in the streets of Paris in the company of this man. It was quite enough to have talked with him in a secluded corner. ” “Good! I understand,” said Brunachon cynically. “There’s a way to arrange things. I’ll get into the first uncovered fir tree that passes, and you’ll get into another. You’ll tell your coachman to follow mine and stop when he stops. Each of you will get out on his own side, and where you see me come in, you’ll go in behind me, without appearing to know me. You can even, if you prefer, wait for me at the door.” “What you’re proposing is very complicated,” said the Viscount, who had a good mind to send this trail-finder to hell. “But no… it’s quite simple, on the contrary,” replied Brunachon, “and Monsieur le Viscount won’t risk compromising himself, since I won’t speak to him… that is to say… I’ll speak to him… afterward… and in a place where no one will notice us… ” “What, afterward?… afterward what? ” “After I know what I’m going to know… and it won’t be long… half an hour’s journey by car… and even less, if we happen upon some good coachmen… five minutes of… checking… and I’ll know. I’ll then join Monsieur le Viscount and give him my report. ” “In the street? ” “In a square where you only meet soldiers and nurses . ” “What mysteries! You can tell me where you want to take me.” –Monsieur le Vicomte wouldn’t come if I told him. –Then I refuse. –Monsieur le Vicomte would be very wrong. I would still report to him … I would write to him… but we would waste time… and in these sorts of matters, one must not delay… whereas if Monsieur le Vicomte would be so kind as to come, he would know at once what the true situation of this lady is… –Of the Marquise de Ganges? –Why yes, sir. Isn’t that precisely the point on which you wish to be informed above all? –No doubt, but… –Well, when you are, you will tell me what I have to do to serve you and I will do it. Brunachon was already speaking as if he had been entrusted with a mission by M. de Servon, who was still hesitating whether to employ him. He was even reluctant to do so, for he came from a world where one does not readily commit oneself to people of that sort, but on the other hand, he was so eager to unravel the mystery surrounding Madame de Ganges’s life that he was bound to end up deciding to accept the proposal of the ignoble Brunachon. What would he risk, after all?… Just driving on a useless errand. It was nothing compared to the result the spy promised him. “I will allow myself to point out to Monsieur le Vicomte that it is time to leave,” the man continued. “If we delay any longer, we shall arrive too late.” He still did not say where he intended to arrive, and Servon felt that he would not. But it mattered little, in the end. Servon would always be free not to follow him to the end, if he realized that he was being led where he did not want to go. Perhaps it was even better that he did not know; for if this journey were to have unfortunate consequences for someone, his responsibility would be less engaged. Chance—a chance easily foreseen—put an end to the Viscount’s uncertainties. At this time of year, at the hour when one returns from the Bois, empty carriages and coachmen looking for a practical way of life abound on the Champs-Élysées. Two free victorias were passing at that moment in a row, marching in step towards the Place de la Concorde, hugging the sidewalk of the service road. Brunachon glanced at the clubman, who responded with an affirmative sign, and without waiting for a more formal order, Brunachon jumped into the first. The die was cast. Servon climbed into the second, which was not far behind , and told his coachman to follow. Brunachon quickly gave his instructions to his driver, who put his horse into a trot. The Viscount had nothing left to do but let himself be carried away by this curious adventure, and he was beginning to take a certain pleasure in it. The attraction of the unknown. He had often enough followed a pretty woman, without knowing where she would lead him. It was an amusing sport for an idle man who easily consoled himself for being left behind on the road. This time, he was sure that such a disappointment would not befall him, and his interest was keener, for he could not guess the outcome. Brunachon had refused to say where he was going and had refrained from giving the slightest indication of the direction he intended to take his victoria. It was going down the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, and that only proved that Brunachon was not heading for the eccentric and elegant districts of the West: Passy, ​​the Etoile, the Faubourg Saint-Honoré. Brunachon was heading for central Paris. As he emerged onto the Place de la Concorde, the victoria carrying him turned right and crossed the bridge. Servon was sure. They were going to the Left Bank. And an idea came to him quite naturally. Brunachon had told him that the Marquise’s lover lived in the Latin Quarter. Servon had no doubt that Brunachon would take him to the student’s house, whom he intended to subject to an interrogation in the presence of the Viscount, who was not at all keen on it, for he would have gained nothing by putting Paul Cormier up against the wall.
This boy, if Brunachon was to be believed, lived on Rue Gay-Lussac. The Viscount promised himself that he would let Brunachon go up alone to the false Marquis’s house, if the Victoria stopped at the door of number 9. For the moment, it was following the Quai d’Orsay, and that was more or less the way to Rue Gay-Lussac. After the Quai d’Orsay, she took the Quai Voltaire, but instead of turning by the Rue des Saints-Pères, to arrive almost directly at the Luxembourg, she continued by the Quai Malaquais, and by the Quai Conti, passing in front of the Institute and the Mint, then leaving the Pont-Neuf on the left, she launched herself up the slope of the Quai des Augustins. “Good!” said Servon to himself, still imbued with the idea that they were going to Cormier’s, “he’s going to take the Boulevard Saint-Michel… this coachman has no feeling for the straight line, but it’s the way all the same. I ‘ll let him have his way; only I’ll let this rascal go at the door. He must really be stupid to imagine that I’m going to present myself with him at this young man’s house. ” The resolution was laudable, but the Viscount had no need to persevere in it. Arriving at the Place Saint-Michel, instead of going up the boulevard, the carriage carrying Brunachon entered the bridge that leads into the Cité. “It’s unheard of!” grumbled Servon; “here he is retracing his steps now . There was no point in crossing the Seine at the Pont de la Concorde only to cross it again ten minutes later. Where the devil is this Brunachon taking me? Is he making fun of me and planning to drag me after him across all of Paris? No, he wouldn’t dare… but where are we going? This street that crosses the island is the Boulevard du Palais… And here is the Palais itself. I like to believe that he has no intention of entering it to warn the law. The Viscount certainly had nothing to do with the law in his country, but if he had known that the man named Brunachon had spent all The afternoon of the day before, in the office of an examining magistrate, he would have dwelt longer on the singular idea that had come to him. Besides, there was no need, for the Victoria turned sharply to the right, to cross the Parvis Notre-Dame. It was becoming incomprehensible and the adventure was turning almost comical. There is nothing on the Parvis but Notre-Dame and the Hôtel-Dieu—a church and a hospital. It was impossible to suppose that Brunachon was going to visit a sick person or light a candle before the altar of the Virgin. Where would this walk end? The Viscount kept asking himself, but he no longer thought of abandoning the game, for he supposed that they were approaching their goal. The square led to nothing but the Île Saint-Louis, and Servon had no idea that his strange guide could go to this peaceful neighborhood to seek information about the eccentric Marquis de Ganges. Brunachon, however, seemed to know perfectly well what he was doing. Since we had been driving, he had turned around more than once to make sure that the Viscount’s carriage was following, and the last time, upon arriving at the Place Notre-Dame, he had given the persistent clubman a sign from a distance that undoubtedly meant: Don’t get impatient. We ‘re here.
And Servon, although annoyed at being transported in this way, was grateful to him for observing convention by refraining from communicating with him other than by gestures. But he still didn’t guess where they were going. Brunachon’s Victoria turned into a dark street dominated on the right by the colossal mass of the cathedral: the Rue du Cloître, which is neither wide nor long, and which the Viscount had never passed through in his life. He no longer tried to figure out the roads he was being taken, and he sometimes wondered what the two coachmen must think of this single-file race of two gentlemen who obviously knew each other and who had felt the need to take two carriages instead of one. At the end of the Rue du Cloître, the one in front stopped, and M. de Servon immediately told his coachman to do the same. Brunachon got out, and M. de Servon hurried to get out as well. This was the decisive moment. Was Brunachon going to approach the Viscount and explain why he had brought him there? Not at all. Brunachon, true to his promise, simply pointed to the railing along which the two victorias were parked, ten paces apart. This railing surrounded a sort of square, planted with stunted trees and furnished with worm-eaten benches, a poor square where puny children played and old ragged women warmed themselves in the sun. This was indeed the place designated by Brunachon, who had urged the Viscount to wait for him there while he went to find out the true situation of Madame de Ganges. Find out where and from whom? He had not said, and Servon, who had not the slightest idea, saw him enter with others into a building leaning against the parapet of the quay, at the tip of the Cité, and of rather sad appearance. It looked like one of those buildings that one sees from time to time on the banks of the Seine, from the Pont de Bercy to the Auteuil viaduct, and where the offices of the navigation employees are located. Servon did not bother to find out what it was and was not tempted to enter it following Brunachon. Servon belonged to that category of Parisians who only know the districts inhabited by the happy people of this world. He could boast of never having set foot in the neighborhoods where the underprivileged live, for he had only crossed them in a carriage, on his way to some railway station. He had not entered the Jardin des Plantes since his childhood, and if he had seen the towers of Notre-Dame, it was from a distance and so to speak in spite of himself, for he had never stopped to admire them. He therefore hardly knew where he was, and he did not have, like foreigners who visit the big city for the first time, a traveler’s guide in his pocket, for the sole purpose of not getting lost and of finding out the destination of the monuments. He cared little, moreover, provided that Brunachon returned promptly to put an end to his uncertainties. He entered the square and, taking care not to sit on public seats of doubtful solidity and cleanliness, he began to walk along the alleys, after lighting a cigar. He soon noticed that many people who were passing on the quay turned away from their path to enter, like Brunachon, the small, long, low building which faced the entrance to the square. Others came out. It was a continual coming and going. From this crowd, the Viscount wisely concluded that there was a branch of the Mont de Piété there and wondered again what the former gambling boy had gone there to find. He was beginning to get tired of this enigmatic expedition and he promised himself to leave Brunachon there, if he took too long to reappear. He even felt a little ridiculous to have let himself be carried away by this rascal in this police campaign and he swore that he would not be caught out again, whatever the result. He did not wait too long. After ten minutes, he saw Brunachon coming down the steps leading to the little house he had entered and, impatient to question him, he took a few steps to go and meet him, but he changed his mind when he saw Brunachon nodding towards the back of the square where there was absolutely no one and where they could talk without attracting attention. Brunachon gave the Viscount a lesson in prudence, and the Viscount complied . He was even grateful for his discretion, for the matter seemed to be getting more complicated, and M. de Servon was becoming increasingly anxious not to be seen conferring with this suspicious personage. Brunachon passed, without saying a single word, very close to the clubman whom he had promptly caught up with, and went to lie in ambush in a corner of the ground that extends beyond the square, between the high buttresses of Notre-Dame and the parapet of the Quai de l’Archevêché. Servon came to join him there, a little astonished to see him take so many precautions, and questioned him with his eyes. “Monsieur le Viscount had guessed,” Brunachon told him. “I didn’t want to believe it. ” “Believe what?… Explain yourself, clearly, damn it!” “Madame la Marquise de Ganges is a widow. ” “Widow!” cried the Viscount. What do you know about it? “I’ve just made sure,” replied Brunachon calmly. “What? Does that mean you’ve just seen her husband’s death certificate ? So this ugly little monument is a town hall? ” “No… it’s not a town hall,” said the former bachelor with a smile that resembled a grimace. “Then what is it? ” “The Viscount is joking… The Viscount is not unaware… ” “I tell you I don’t know. This is the first time in my life I’ve come here, and if you think I amused myself by questioning the ragged people I saw in the square… ” “Oh! I think not… But, I thought… anyway, I have only one more request to address to Monsieur le Vicomte… –If it’s a question of driving through Paris again, I warn you that I ‘m no longer here. –No… no… I’ll wait here and Monsieur le Vicomte has only to come in. –Where? –In the building I just came from. Monsieur le Vicomte will see for himself… and afterwards, if Monsieur le Vicomte will be so kind as to come and join me, I’ll explain to him what he hasn’t understood. –Very well! said Servon, annoyed. I’ll go… but I warn you that if I realize that you’ve made fun of me, you’ll regret it. And while Brunachon protested against this supposition, the Viscount crossed the square almost at a run and quickly climbed the steps leading to a sort of peristyle, beyond which stretched like a screen a wall that masked the interior of the building. To enter, one had to turn right or left through this wall, which was open at both ends. He did so and found himself in a vast square room whose polished stucco walls were covered with long inscriptions that he did not bother to read. Lit from above, this hall vaguely resembled the vestibule of a museum. The Viscount continued not to understand. He noticed, however, that the people who entered all went towards a window that blocked the back of the room and filed past this glass enclosure, as one passes past the stalls of a bazaar. They only stopped at the end, but there a group had formed and two police sergeants on duty were making sure that the curious did not linger too long. Move along, gentlemen!… Move along! This oft-repeated warning accelerated the procession. In this corner, evidently, was what the English call the great attraction, but damned if Servon could guess what was being shown there that might interest this eager crowd. In order to find out, he joined the queue like the others and, as he approached, he saw behind the window a double row of marble tables, two of which were occupied by two drowned corpses, green, blue, purple, hideous. This time, Servon was sure of the building’s destination. “That rascal took me to the Morgue,” he said between his teeth. “He played a funereal joke on me, but he’ll pay for it.” He was about to retreat, for he had no taste for gloomy spectacles, but he changed his mind. “No,” he continued, speaking to himself, “he wouldn’t have dared to deceive me like that. In pushing me to enter, he had a purpose. What was it? Is it the Marquis de Ganges?… But yes… that’s it… this man has just recognized him, lying on one of the black slabs… I would be quite unable to recognize him, I who have never seen him alive… and even if I had seen him, I would not recognize him any more, if he is in the same state as these two bodies which no longer have human forms.” Servon soon realized that there was a third, the one who attracted the public, the one who brought in the money, as the regulars of the establishment say. He followed the movement and saw that this dead man was much better preserved than the two drowned men. He was lying in the front row, right next to the window, and he hadn’t been undressed. He was wearing fancy trousers and a fine shirt with gold cufflinks at the cuffs. The tie had been removed and the shirt opened so that the chest, which had a hole in it below the right breast, could be seen. He must have died very quickly, and without suffering, because his face was calm. It was as if he were asleep. This man certainly didn’t belong to the same social category as the unfortunates who usually appear in the Morgue, and around the astonished Viscount, comments rained down: “There’s someone who didn’t stab his stomach because he didn’t have anything left to crutch with.” “No. He’s a rich man… he should have just taken his buttons to my aunt’s; They would have lent him at least thirty bullets, unless they were fake.–No danger!… it’s a high-flyer, I tell you.–And it wasn’t him who stabbed himself. It’s the steeps… over there, near the Porte de Montrouge.– Move along, gentlemen!… move along!… shouted one of the police. The viscount, who had seen enough, moved along, but he wasn’t in too much of a hurry to get out. He was sure now. This dead man was the Marquis de Ganges, whom Brunachon had thought he recognized it, and if Brunachon had not been mistaken, he was until now the only one who had recognized it, since the body remained exposed. The recognized dead are removed immediately. In Paris, everyone knows this, and Servon had heard it, like everyone else. How had this husband of the Marquise, the real one, come to be murdered in Paris, after arriving from Monte Carlo, if one were to believe the former gambling boy who said he had seen him there? Servon could not guess, and this was not the side of the question that preoccupied him the most. For the moment, he could do no better than to go and find the man who was waiting for him and ask him for further explanations. Brunachon was at his post, and he greeted the clubman with a: “Well , did Monsieur le Vicomte see?” which prompted Servon to reply: “I saw a man who was killed by a knife wound in the chest, yes.” So, you claim that this man is M. de Ganges? “I affirm it because I am sure of it. And if any croupier from Monte Carlo were here, he would recognize him, for he has not changed at all. He has his face from back there, when he closed his eyes while the ball turned in the cylinder. It looks as if he is about to open them again to say: half to the pot! Poor Marquis!… he was a good player, all the same, and he did not look at the money when he won. And not proud, at that… he gave me a louis more than once, when I was at the odds,” concluded Brunachon by way of a funeral oration. “If you are sure that it is he, why did you not go into the Morgue with me?” asked M. de Servon to put an end to the talk that was boring him.
“But… because I was just leaving,” replied Brunachon. “If I had gone back in immediately, I would have been noticed and perhaps tailed. It’s full of police officers in there… they notice faces… and I didn’t want to show them mine twice in ten minutes. ” The explanation seemed strange to the Viscount, who didn’t know that the former gambling boy had had and probably would still have to deal with the examining magistrate about the tragic death of the Marquis de Ganges. But he didn’t waste time asking for clarification. “Since you recognized him,” he said curtly, “you must make your statement to the police. ” “I would prefer that the Viscount take care of it. ” “Me!… are you mentally ill?… how could I say that I recognize him?… it’s the first time I’ve seen him. ” “Oh!” I understand that the Viscount does not want to get involved in a matter into which the law has delved. –So we believe in a crime? –And we are right to believe it. This poor Marquis was found dead on the embankment of the fortifications… he must have been killed the day he arrived in Paris. The investigation is open… only, the judge does not yet know his name… it seems that he had no papers on him… and as he had not lived in France for years, those who knew him there once forgot him. –All the more reason for you to inform the police. –Is that the Viscount’s opinion? –No doubt. Why this question? –Because… it seemed to me… I imagined that the Viscount would prefer to begin by inquiring about this young man whom I saw with him on the Champs-Élysées… and who took the name and title of the Marquis de Ganges. Servon didn’t reply, but the objection struck him. “If I were to tell the police everything I know, I might unwittingly compromise honorable people,” Brunachon continued, “and poor devils like me should think twice before interfering in matters that don’t concern them. That’s why I prefer to keep quiet. That doesn’t mean I don’t remain at the disposal of the Viscount. Whatever he commands me to do, I will do.” “I have no orders to give you,” replied Servon disdainfully. “But Monsieur le Vicomte may need information about… about anything and anyone… later, as now, Monsieur le Vicomte will always find me ready to serve him.” Servon was beginning to think that the case might well arise before long, for he had not yet finished with the strange adventure into which chance had thrown him. “Very well,” he said, “I will see. Where do you live? ” “For the moment, I am not living anywhere,” replied Brunachon modestly; “and when I have a home, which will not be long, it would be unseemly for Monsieur le Vicomte to disturb himself. ” “I could write to you.” “If Monsieur le Vicomte permits, I will write to him first, to give him my address.” I will address my letter to the circle, and besides, from tomorrow on, I will pass by the boulevard every day, around five o’clock, like today. Monsieur le Vicomte, if he wishes to speak to me, need only give me a sign… I will go and wait for him behind the Madeleine. All this was clear, precise, and well planned. One could despise Brunachon, but one could not dispute his merit as an agent full of resources and zeal. He added: “Now I am going to leave Monsieur le Vicomte. I hope he will excuse me for having brought him here. I wanted to prove to him that this student was not the Marquis de Ganges and for that, I had to make sure that the real Marquis was dead. ” “So you knew that his body was in the Morgue?” the Viscount asked abruptly. “No,” replied Brunachon, with a little embarrassment, “but I suspected it when I read in the newspapers this morning that the body of a well-dressed gentleman had been picked up near the Porte de Montrouge. The idea came to me, I don’t know how, that it was the body of M. de Ganges… a real inspiration, that idea, since now I am sure that it was he who was killed. We have only to bring witnesses from Monte Carlo; we can draw up the death certificate. His widow would perhaps not be sorry if it were drawn up.” And as M. de Servon remained silent: “Perhaps she also likes things to remain as they are,” continued Brunachon, looking at him fixedly. ” It is a question I am not in a position to decide and so… I apply the proverb to myself: When in doubt, abstain.” These thoughts spoken aloud annoyed Servon, precisely because they were quite apt, and to cut them short, he took two hundred-franc notes from his wallet and handed them to Brunachon, saying: “Take these to pay the coachman who brought you. ” “Not the one who brought Monsieur le Vicomte?” asked the impudent scoundrel , pocketing the gratuity as he used to pocket the gamblers’ tips at the Moucherons club. “No. I’ll keep the carriage. Now go! Our open- air conversation has lasted long enough. ” Brunachon didn’t need to be told twice. He left without adding a word. What would he have said? His work was done. He had sown ideas in the Viscount’s mind that would not fail to germinate and from which he hoped to derive some profit. He had not compromised himself and he remained free to blackmail either Paul Cormier, or the Marquise de Ganges, or even M. de Servon, – as he chose. That would depend on the turn taken by the investigation entrusted to Charles Bardin. M. de Servon was much less satisfied with his expedition, and he regretted having committed himself to it. As long as it had been a question of gaining entry to the Marquise’s home, he would have done everything to force his way into her intimacy, even if he had had to take advantage of the situation a little, but he now perceived that behind this situation there was a drama, and even a rather complex drama, since it had just been resolved, – or begun, – by an incident. And in the life Servon led, there was no room for drama. He valued his tranquility as much as his pleasures, and he was already wondering how he was going to manage to extricate himself from a case that could end up before a criminal court. Yet it cost him to ignore the misfortunes that threatened the Marquise and to give up on penetrating the mystery of the double-entry existence of the so-called Marquis Paul Cormier. The Viscount really didn’t know what to think of this student who played, and not too badly, the role of a Marquis of the old rock. A student, he was, the Viscount had no doubt about it since he had surprised him on the Champs-Élysées chatting familiarly on a bench with a tall, strapping man in a pointed hat who, two days before yesterday, had been leading the drunkards’ party at the Closerie des Lilas. Brunachon, moreover, affirmed the fact, and Brunachon must have known it, although he had refrained from saying how he knew it. Was this student Madame de Ganges’s lover? Everything seemed to indicate so. M. de Servon had seen him arrive with her at Baroness Dozulé’s, he had heard him advertised under the Marquis’s name, and she had gone along with this deception, since she had not claimed him. Was it then necessary to suppose that she hoped to pass him off indefinitely as her real husband, who was practically unknown in Paris? That might be so—some women are very bold—but then it was also necessary to suppose that she knew that the real Marquis would never reappear. And from there to concluding that she had had him killed by her lover was only a small step. The Viscount hesitated to draw that terrible conclusion. Neither Madame de Ganges nor Paul Cormier represented to him one of those adulterous couples who seek happiness in crime and find it there. Such couples are rare and they go about it more skillfully. They do not act like children, they do not put themselves at the mercy of chance, they do not expose themselves to being encountered by a friend, or even by a simple acquaintance of the murdered husband. And then, this lover and this mistress did not at all look like criminals. The Marquise was gentle and cheerful; Paul Cormier, less expansive, had an open face that inspired sympathy. Servon found him to his liking and would have felt some remorse for cheating on him with his wife, at the time when he believed him to be married. He was therefore very inclined to believe that this young man did not have the slightest murder on his conscience, but after the trip to the Morgue, he absolutely could not leave it at that. He didn’t want to meddle in their affairs, but he wanted to know the truth. Who could he turn to to find out? He already regretted having dismissed Brunachon, who probably knew more than he had said. It was a little late to be running after him, and besides, he would have thought twice before questioning such a rogue about the Marquise. Questioning her herself, by tackling the delicate question squarely, would have been more loyal and more dignified. But the difficult thing was to get to her. Madame de Ganges had refused the day before to receive a letter from the Viscount de Servon; how much more would she refuse to receive the Viscount himself. By racking his brains, he finally came up with an idea. It occurred to him that the simplest and most honest way to find out was to ask Paul Cormier to tell him everything he could tell him without compromising Madame de Ganges; to ask him politely, gently, after explaining to him the embarrassment he was in since the man named Brunachon had shown him the Marquis’s corpse, and offering to serve him if he could be of use to him in this grave circumstance. Paul Cormier, if the Viscount had judged him correctly, would not reject these courteous overtures. Perhaps he would even welcome them with a certain pleasure. He must be embarrassed by his situation, this good student, and very eager to get out of it. M. de Servon, by approaching him gently, would obtain many things from him: a confession first of all which would not be too painful, for a young man can well play, in a worldly and fleeting comedy, a role imposed by a woman who pleases him. Once he has entered this path, Paul Cormier could well come to trust a man more experienced than a student could be and to ask him for advice, unless he does not follow it. And if the interview turned conciliatory, Servon felt quite capable of giving him excellent advice, even disinterested ones. Servon was not irreproachable; he allowed himself a host of licenses of conduct, but, despite the extravagant life he led, Servon had retained the feelings of a gentleman and he was incapable of abusing the trust of a rival. And besides, he did not have for Madame de Ganges one of those violent passions which make a lover’s conscience capitulate. It was only a very lively taste, sharpened by difficulty. In occupying himself with her, he was only seeking a pleasant liaison, such as he had had a few in the society in which he lived. After all this thought, he decided to get in touch with Paul Cormier as soon as he could. He no longer hoped to meet him in the street. Chances like the one which had just brought them together do not happen every day. The Viscount therefore had only one way to see the false Marquis, which was to go to his house, to the address given by Brunachon. Servon was convinced that he would find him there. Cormier, when leaving him, had told him that he was going to join his wife who was dining in town. Obviously he had lied, since he was not Madame de Ganges’s husband , and he had to return to his home on Rue Gay-Lussac. Servon had himself driven there in the Victoria that had brought him to the Morgue and which he sent back upon arriving on Rue Gay-Lussac. He was tired of riding in the cab and he anticipated that he would feel the need to walk, after the explanation, which would perhaps be long. Unfortunately, the porter at number 9 told him that M. Cormier had not returned, and from the tone of the reply, Servon saw clearly that he was not lying , on orders from his tenant. Quite annoyed by this setback, the Viscount had to resign himself to returning to the Right Bank on foot, since he had left his Victoria. He therefore began to walk down the Boulevard Saint-Michel, in the very vague hope of meeting his man there, but when he read on a corner house the name of the wide street that runs from the Luxembourg to the Panthéon, he suddenly remembered that the student with the pointed hat had shouted to his friend, who had remained on the bench, on the Champs-Élysées: Go wait for me at the Café Soufflot; I ‘ll be there in two hours. The two hours were almost up and Paul Cormier must have been there. It was only a matter of finding the Café Soufflot and that was not difficult. It must be located in the street of the same name, in front of which Servon was passing at that moment. And Servon, turning right, immediately entered it , without really knowing how he would manage to discover the student who was perhaps standing at the back of some room with some friends. He was lucky enough to spot him seated at a table outside, all alone in front of a glass of vermouth, and absorbed in reading the evening newspaper . People dine early in the Latin Quarter, especially in summer, so as to have time to go to the Luxembourg Gardens after leaving the table. The café terrace had gradually emptied and there was hardly anyone left except Paul Cormier, waiting for his friend, and tormented by the fact that he hadn’t arrived. To assuage his impatience, he had begun to read a newspaper. He had found a long article in which the Boulevard Jourdan affair was discussed, rather poorly presented and presented as an assassination. Paul, who was particularly interested in this news item, was paying so much attention to it that he did not see M. de Servon approach, who was able to take a seat at the next table without the reader raising his eyes. “Good morning, sir! It’s me again,” said the viscount almost gaily. ” It’s a happy day for me to meet you. ” “Indeed,” stammered the student, “I didn’t expect… ” “To see me again so soon! And you must be surprised to find me so often in your path. This time, chance has something to do with it again, but chance hasn’t done everything, for… why should I hide it from you? I came from your house, I didn’t find you there, and I was looking for you… ” “From my house?” murmured Cormier, who was still at the point of believing that M. de Servon still took him for the Marquis de Ganges. “My God, yes,” said the viscount with the most natural air in the world; “I went to ask for you in the rue Gay-Lussac, and your porter having answered me that you had not returned, I thought that I might perhaps meet you in this quarter.” Paul opened his mouth to deny it; but he read on M. de Servon’s face that it would be useless, and he waited for the continuation. “That is to say to you, dear sir,” resumed the viscount, “that I know who you are… and I hasten to add that I have not come to pick a quarrel with you about… the error into which I have fallen… I have not even come to ask you for explanations… in the sense that is most often attached to that word… ” “Then, sir, I do not see…” “Let me finish, I beg you. ” You have not forgotten what happened Sunday at Madame Dozulé’s any more than I have, nor our meeting that Sunday evening at the Closerie des Lilas. Just now, when I saw you again on the Champs-Élysées, I was still at the same point… not quite, however, because I found you talking with a young man I had noticed at Bullier’s ball and who can only be a student. Now that I am better informed, I only want to be more so on one point. I have often met Madame la Marquise de Ganges in society. I have the deepest respect for her, and God forbid that I do or say anything that might harm her reputation. But what I have just learned, by chance, others besides me may also learn. You have comrades who know that you are not the Marquis de Ganges… if one of them, at that ball on Sunday, had heard me give you that title, you would have found yourself in a very difficult situation. The Viscount did not think he was right, for he had not seen the quarrel with the real Marquis begin. “That,” he continued, “would still be only half the harm; but if a man received in the salons where Madame de Ganges goes were to come to know your real name, what would happen? Of what would she not be accused?… Well ! Sir, I came to tell you that I would be ready to defend her… but in order to defend her usefully, I must know what happened, and it is to you that I address myself to find out. Paul started, and almost exclaimed: ” Who do you take me for?” But the Viscount hastened to add: “Do not misunderstand my intentions. I am not seeking to surprise the secret of your relations with her, but if, as I am convinced, Madame de Ganges has nothing to reproach herself with, I would like to be informed so that I can put an end to the malicious remarks. In a word, sir, I have come to ask you what I should answer if she were accused in my presence. My approach may seem strange to you, but if you will take the trouble to reflect, you will see in it proof of the esteem I have of you and of the sympathy that you inspire in me. This was so well said that Paul Cormier gave in to the impulse that pushed him to confide in the gentleman who spoke to him in this warm and persuasive way. “Sir,” he began with emotion, “I believe you and I will confess the truth to you. It is I who am the cause of everything that has happened. On Sunday, I met Madame de Ganges, whose name I did not know and whom I had never seen. Her beauty struck me and I allowed myself to follow her. ” “Following a pretty woman in the street is not a hanging matter,” said the Viscount, smiling, who was accustomed to this act. –I followed her down the Champs-Élysées, to the Avenue d’Antin, where she was going, and there… when she entered, without noticing that I was almost on her heels, into the mansion of this Madame Dozulé, I went in with her… the servant who announced the door didn’t know M. de Ganges… –And he announced Monsieur le Marquis and Madame la Marquise!… It’s very funny and it would be charming at the theater. –You don’t believe me? –But yes… I even tell you that the idea had come to me… not that day, but since… that there was nothing in all this but a misunderstanding. I’m only surprised that Madame de Ganges didn’t say anything… –She’s lost her mind… she was counting on me to withdraw after apologizing, and that’s what I should have done. When she saw that I was staying and accepting the Baroness’s congratulations to the Marquis de Ganges, she continued to remain silent. “Now I understand why she slipped away before the end of our baccarat game. You must have been very embarrassed. ” “Not too much. I hoped never to see the people who were at Madame Dozulé’s again. ” “You must have thought, however, that I would send you, at Avenue Montaigne, the sum that I thought I had lost to the Marquis. ” “I swear to you, sir, that I hadn’t thought of that, and just now, when you gave it to me, I was on the point of refusing it. ” “I saw it, but when you met me on Sunday evening at the Closerie des Lilas, you must have cursed me.” –I agree… and just now, seeing you appear… –You gave me the devil. I hope that you are now reassured about my intentions. Now, will you allow me to ask you if you have seen Madame de Ganges again?… I hasten to add that you are not obliged to tell me. –Why should I hide it? I saw her only once… yesterday, at her house.
–So she gave you her address? Paul did not expect this question and he could well have remained brief, but he had the presence of mind to reply: –I knew her name… I had no trouble finding her address… I only had to leaf through the Tout-Paris. The explanation was timely, because to provide another, Paul Cormier would have been obliged to say that it was the Marquis himself who had given him his wife’s address, and he expected that this interview, full of peril, would end there. Paul Cormier was careful not to mention the tragic death of M. de Ganges. He believed he had cleared the air by admitting that he had allowed himself to be given a name and a title that did not belong to him, and he had been careful to remain silent about the beginning of the adventure—the meeting in the Luxembourg and the journey by cab from the Luxembourg to the roundabout on the Champs-Élysées—compromising episodes for the Marquise. He hoped that it would not be discussed again, and that M. de Servon would soon adjourn the session. To persuade him, he said warmly: “Sir, I mistrusted you because I did not know you. Now, I have nothing left to do but thank you with all my heart for having enabled me to justify Madame de Ganges, and I have a duty to you.” learn that she will not find me on her path. I have returned to my student skin and I will not leave it again. –You will have merit in disappearing like that, for she is charming, the Marquise… and you could well have aspired to please her. Is she informed of your resolution? –Yes… and she approves of it… –I understand… she is married… Perhaps she would change her mind if she were to lose her husband. Cormier said nothing. He was already wondering why the Viscount was asking him this question. –It is an eventuality to be foreseen, continued M. de Servon and if Madame de Ganges were a widow, you could marry her. –Assuming that she wanted me. –Why not? Women love the bold. I would bet that she was grateful to you for having followed her to the Baroness’s hall. –She reproached me very bitterly. “In such cases, women always say the opposite of what they think. If I were in your place, dear sir, I would take advantage of my advantages to gain acceptance. Perhaps you don’t know that she is very rich? ” “I believe so, and it doesn’t matter to me,” replied the student, a little piqued. “I am not without money, and I am not seeking a marriage of means. ” “If I venture to tell you this, it is because I have just learned something that you certainly do not know and that it is good for you to know. M. de Ganges is dead. ” “Who told you?” asked Paul Cormier carelessly. “You knew it then?” retorted the viscount. “No… that is to say… I supposed… ” “Well, I would have known nothing about it, if a man who knew M. de Ganges had not shown me his corpse. ” “His corpse!” repeated Paul Cormier, who was turning pale before his eyes. “Yes, dear sir; at the morgue where he is lying in state. The Marquis died a violent death. It is believed he was murdered. ” Paul made a gesture of denial. “Whether he was or not, Madame de Ganges has a person of all body types an interest in being informed of this event… if only to have the death certified, which sets her free… unless she prefers, for reasons unknown to me, to remain in the status quo. ” “But it seems to me that she has no choice. The man who recognized the body must have gone to make his statement. ” “Not yet. There is no time lost, for the recognition has only just taken place. I was there. ” “You, sir! ” “Yes, and that is what determined me to set out immediately to find you. I believed that my duty, in this sad circumstance, was to inform Madame de Ganges.” I would have gone to her house if I hadn’t been afraid of not being received. “I wouldn’t be any more afraid than you,” said Paul, shaking his head. He hardly regretted that the Marquise was not being told of an event she had already known about for twenty-four hours. “You can at least write to her… if you didn’t, I would, for it’s urgent. ” “Why? Bad news always arrives early enough,” murmured Paul, who did not say the real reason for his lukewarmness in agreeing with M. de Servon’s views. “Good! If it were only bad news that Madame de Ganges will know sooner or later. But a danger threatens her. ” “What danger?” asked the student. “I haven’t told you by whom the body of the Marquis has just been recognized. “By one of your friends, I believe. ” “No, not. None of my friends knew M. de Ganges when he was alive.” The man I told you about is a bad joker who has done all sorts of nasty jobs and who saw the Marquis a lot in Monaco where he was still playing until recently. You will ask me how I knew an individual of this kind. It is quite simple. He was once a boy in a club where I sometimes went. I met a moment after leaving you, he approached me to ask for help which I did not refuse him and, no doubt to thank me, he told me that he had just seen the body of the Marquis at the Morgue . How does he know that I know the Marquise? … I don’t know, but he does. As I didn’t seem to believe much in the news he was giving me, he suggested I go and see… and out of curiosity, I went… not in the same carriage as him, I beg you to believe him… and he showed me on the flagstones of the Morgue… a corpse. He assured me that it was that of the Marquis and I have no doubt that it is true. I don’t see what he would gain by lying, while I see very well what he will gain by exploiting the secret he has discovered. –Exploit it!… how? –By blackmailing Madame de Ganges. By threatening, for example, to denounce her as having had her husband murdered. Paul Cormier made the movement of a man who suddenly sees a bottomless precipice opening up at his feet. He had already had vague worries. He had wondered if he would be suspected of having been involved in an organized plot to eliminate a troublesome husband. But this misfortune was so unlikely that he hadn’t given it much thought. And now these fears took on a form: there was a wretch who was preparing to threaten Madame de Ganges, offering to sell her silence at a high price, just as another scoundrel had tried, the day before, to intimidate him, Paul Cormier, a simple witness to the duel in which the Marquis had been left on the floor. There was reason to be frightened… and to make inquiries in order to prepare to defend himself. “You have just told me where this poisonous scoundrel came from,” he said, “and I thank you for it… but I would like to know his name… ” “His name is Brunachon,” replied the Viscount without hesitation. Brunachon was the scoundrel who, in the examining magistrate’s office, had named Paul Cormier as having taken part in the incident on Boulevard Jourdan. And this same scoundrel had discovered that Paul Cormier was in contact with Madame de Ganges, Paul Cormier who had refused to give ten thousand francs to force the rascal to keep quiet. It was the height of irony: the height of misfortune, or rather of bad luck, for justice would have had to have three blindfolds over its eyes, instead of one, to end up condemning innocent people, but it was far too much for it to suspect them. ” “Do you know this man?” asked M. de Servon. “No,” the student articulated painfully, “but he might know me… he seems to know everyone…” “That’s more or less true, and he has a poor memory… I had proof of that at the Morgue. ” “What do you advise me?” Paul Cormier asked suddenly. “Since you’re consulting me, I advise you to take the initiative… that is, to go and find the investigating judge in charge of this case… to go there, after consulting with Madame de Ganges… who is always the main person concerned.” The advice was perhaps excellent, but it came too late, since Paul Cormier had been questioned the day before. Jean de Mirande must have been questioned at the time the Viscount was speaking, and his friend was already worried about his absence. What should we do while waiting for him to reappear? How could I still delay giving a categorical answer to M. de Servon who, while pretending to be uninterested in the situation, insisted on trying to find out more than Cormier wanted to tell him? “I can’t do anything until I see my friend again,” Paul finally replied. “Good! But when will you see him again? ” “He can’t be long now. ” “I heard what he said just now, when he left you on the Champs-Élysées… that he would be at the Café Soufflot in two hours.” That’s what even gave me the idea of ​​looking for you there. But it’s possible that he’ll be detained longer than he thought. In that case, I’ll be obliged to leave you. Cormier guessed that if the Viscount adjourned the meeting, it would be to run to the Marquise’s, in order to give himself the credit for being the first to inform her of the turn events seemed to be taking. And, whatever he had said, Cormier was not at all inclined to lose interest in Madame de Ganges’s affairs. On the other hand, he was afraid of setting the powder keg alight by bringing the Viscount up with Mirande, who was as discreet as a cannon shot. “But here he is, your comrade,” cried M. de Servon. “I see the astonishing pointed hat he usually wears peeking out over there.” The question was settled. The two-person explanation was about to be continued by a three-person explanation, for it was indeed Jean de Mirande who was coming up the Rue Soufflot, swaying on his hips like a drum major of old. And thanks to his height of five feet ten inches, he could be seen from as far away as if he were wearing a gigantic plume at the top of his felt hat. “Well, sir,” Paul Cormier hastened to say, “I will consult with him, and if you will let me know where I can join you this evening, in an hour… ” “What’s the point of wasting time?” replied the Viscount. “Introduce this young man to me … or introduce me to him… as you please… we will share with each other the information that each of us has been able to gather on this singular affair and then we will deliberate with full knowledge of the facts. He is a proper man, is he not? ” “Very proper, but…” “That’s good.” I will introduce myself. Having said this, the Viscount rose, Paul rose also, and quite surprised by this ceremonious welcome, Mirande, who was only two steps away, could do no less than raise her hat and give Cormier a look which evidently meant: “What does this animal want from us now?… And why do I find him constantly on your heels?” Paul thought it prudent to let M. de Servon explain himself, and M. de Servon began with an explanation which only confused the already very confused situation: “Sir,” he said, “I have not yet the honor of being known to you, but you know how I came to know your friend, M. Cormier. ” “Me!… I have no idea,” Mirande replied dryly. “We met last Sunday at Baroness Dozulé’s, who was entertaining some ladies that day… among them the Marquise de Ganges. ” “I knew absolutely nothing about her, and I am completely indifferent to learning it. ” “So, you don’t know this Marquise at all? ” “Only by name… Ganges is a Languedoc name, and I am from Languedoc. I also saw… Sunday evening… a gentleman who claimed to be the Marquis de Ganges… only my relationship with him was not long-lasting. ” Mirande answered with a gentleness and prudence that one would hardly have expected of him. Paul Cormier could not believe it. “Now,” Mirande continued without raising her voice, “I have answered, sir, all the questions you asked me.” It seems to me that it is my turn to ask you: by what right do you question me?… –I should have, I admit, started by telling you, since your friend forgot to mention my name to you. My name is Viscount de Servon. And you, sir? –I am Jean de Mirande, and I believe my name is as good as yours. I do not know what business you may have with Cormier and I do not want to know, but I want to know what you want from me. –I came to inform your friend and to inform you, too, sir. –About what, I pray you? “On the death of this Marquis de Ganges you just mentioned… and that in your interest as well as in the interest of M. Cormier. ” “You are really too kind,” said the student with an ironic grimace, ” but I have no use for your information, nor does he, for I bring him some… I have my hands full of information…” And as Paul glanced at him to beg him to be quiet: “So much the worse for you, my dear! If you had warned me that there were I don’t know what stories underneath that that I don’t know, I wouldn’t be treading on your toes. On the contrary, you pushed me to go and see the examining magistrate… well! I just left his office after a two-hour session, and I told him everything. He knows now that it was I who killed the man. Jean de Mirande no longer beat around the bush, as they say. He began by saying in front of M. de Servon: I killed the man, and M. de Servon was already well enough informed to guess that the man was the Marquis de Ganges. This declaration had at least the advantage of simplifying the situation, making feints and reticence unnecessary. All that remained for Paul Cormier was to frankly confess to the viscount the role he had played in this duel affair. Paul had made the mistake of confining himself to half-confidences with this gentleman. He would have done a hundred times better to tell everything from the beginning. He had not told Jean de Mirande everything either, since he had hidden from him his adventure in the Luxembourg and its consequences. Hence the inextricable imbroglio in which all three of them were agitated. It was time that the sudden frankness of his friend Jean put an end to it. Now that he was off to a good start, he wouldn’t stop there. And besides, neither the Viscount nor the student wanted to stop this Saint John the Golden Mouth, who would very likely, if they let him continue, spare them long explanations. “Yes,” he continued, “I told him that I was the one who fought and that you only served as my witness. I even started with that, without waiting for him to question me. And I didn’t forget to mention the slap I gave that man, which made the duel inevitable. I, as you see, blamed myself… and I was right, because he took it quite calmly. He seems like a good fellow to me, this son of that old lawyer you’ve been talking about so much. ” “You and I owe him a proud debt of gratitude,” said Paul. If we had been dealing with another magistrate, we wouldn’t be talking right now in front of this café. “I think he had a good mind to send me to prison, but he changed his mind while talking to me. I’m going to have to deposit twenty-five thousand francs, the deposit of which will guarantee that I won’t break the rules before the justice system in my country. The Code is stupid!… as if that would stop me from running off if I thought I was guilty! It seems that they won’t demand bail from you… nor from the three jokers who so graciously abandoned us after the duel. ” “Did you name them? ” “No… the police tracked them down this morning. They couldn’t stop themselves from telling other kids about the affair… the whole neighborhood knows about it. They were asked to come to the Palace, and when I left your Mr. Bardin’s office, he was waiting for them there. I’d rather not have met them there, because I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from telling them what I think of them. That’s where we are. As for what happens next, I don’t know anything, I don’t foresee anything. It may end with a dismissal order… but it will more likely end up before the Assize Court… where we will be acquitted hands down. –So, the murder charge… –That’s out of the question. It didn’t hold water. Now you’re reassured, I think. Ah! I forgot!… it seems that, definitely, it was the Marquis de Ganges that I killed… the judge received a telegram from Nice which leaves no doubt… I suppose, moreover, that you already knew what to expect since you know his wife… that is to say, his widow. When it pleases you to inform me of your relations with her, I will listen to you willingly. Now that I have spoken in front of Monsieur, as if Monsieur were one of your oldest friends, in front of Monsieur whom I had never seen… “You don’t remember, but we have already met,” the Viscount interrupted gently… “Where?” “First, at the Closerie des Lilas, last Sunday. I was talking with Monsieur Cormier, and I had just left him when you joined him… ” “Then you must have been present at the quarrel?” “No, not even at the beginning.” And today, I saw you again near the Champs-Élysées roundabout. You were sitting on a bench, next to your friend… –Yes, and when I noticed that you were going to approach Cormier, I slipped away without looking at you… but I recognize you… and I have no doubt that you are related to Paul. That is why I spoke in front of you about my visit to the examining magistrate. It seems to me that the time has come for you to give me a little information… about… –Anything you want, sir, said the Viscount eagerly , or, to put it better, anything that might interest you. I told you who I was and where I met Mr. Cormier. It remains for me to explain the aftermath of this meeting and the role that Madame de Ganges played in it. –Precisely. –My role, personally, was very inconspicuous and I did not seek it. Your friend knows that well. And I want to consult him before answering you about the Marquise. Does he ask me to tell you facts that he knows as well as I do, or does he prefer to tell them himself? I defer entirely to his decision. “It’s better that it be me,” Paul said without hesitation. “That’s my opinion too. I will therefore let Mr. Cormier enlighten you on a very delicate situation for him… for Madame de Ganges and for me, if I were to get involved, which God forbid. I remain nonetheless at your disposal, gentlemen. You will always find me ready to serve you.” The Viscount did not go so far as to shake hands, which Mirande might perhaps have refused. He bowed politely and left along the Boulevard Saint-Michel. Mirande let him go before saying angrily to Cormier: “Ah! You have a strange friend, you!… and you’ve done it so well that if we’re not all locked up, it’s not your fault. What! You send me to the examining magistrate, pressing me to declare myself and you hide the ins and outs of the affair from me!… You let me believe that you did n’t know this Marquis de Ganges… and now I learn that you ‘re on the best of terms with his wife… you should at least have warned me. And you ‘ll allow me to add that since you’re his lover, it was up to you to beat him. –I’m not his lover and I urge you to listen to me, instead of getting carried away and addressing reproaches I don’t deserve. –Very well!… what have you to say to me? –Here, nothing. You’ll do me the pleasure of coming with me to the Luxembourg. We’ll talk while we walk under the trees. This will be long and I don’t want anyone to disturb us. Mirande always shouted louder than his friend Paul, but he always ended up agreeing with him. So he fell silent and followed him to the garden, which, in the season we were in, stays open very late. Paul led him through the paths surrounding the pool between the two terraces. He had decided to tell him about his adventures with the marquise in the place where they had begun. The setting hadn’t changed since the memorable Sunday when Paul Cormier, without intending any harm, had made the acquaintance of a marquise. The large chestnut trees on the Terrace still had their white plumes, and the setting sun shone obliquely down the long path to the Observatory. Only, it was late, and there were fewer people strolling. The bourgeois women sitting with their families had left the garden, and the students were not yet numerous. It was the route they preferred to take to Bullier, but the ball hardly began before ten o’clock, and these ladies were finishing their cigarettes in front of the cafés on Boul’Mich. The two friends were hardly thinking at this moment about the pleasures of the neighborhood. Paul, very upset and rather worried, was looking for a way out of the terrible predicament he had gotten himself into, and Jean, very haughty and very ill- disposed, was waiting for explanations that his friend was in no hurry to provide. “Let’s see,” he said, stopping suddenly, “will you decide to speak, yes or no?” I’m tired of prowling around this terrace and I beg you to finally tell me what this Marquise de Ganges is that everyone keeps talking about. “You know her,” replied Cormier. “Me! … come on!… no jokes!… I don’t feel like laughing. ” “I repeat very seriously that you saw the Marquise de Ganges and that you spoke to her. ” “Where?… when?…” shouted Mirande, whose voice had the brilliance of cymbals.
“Not so loud, please. It’s at least useless for passers-by to notice us… and there may be spies, here as elsewhere. ” “All right. I’ll be quiet… but explain yourself… ” “You saw Madame de Ganges last Sunday, during the music, at the Luxembourg. She was sitting over there, at the foot of that statue… ” “What! the blonde prude who blackballed me so thoroughly… –It was the Marquise. –So, by Jove! You knew her, and you should have warned me that she was so fierce. –I did everything I could to keep you from approaching her. You wouldn’t listen to me. But, at that time, I didn’t know her at all. It was afterward… long afterward… when you had already left with your party girls. It was only then that I saw her again and had a conversation with her… –Ah! I recognize you well!… you’re making your moves on the sly, you… you waited until I was no longer here to cut the marijuana under my foot… I don’t care, but I want to tell you that you don’t behave like that when you pose as the perfect gentleman. –Let me speak… I wasn’t thinking of supplanting you. “But you still managed it… without realizing it… I understand why you let yourself go… A marquise has been your dream ever since I’ve known you… and the first one you found by chance, you didn’t miss it. ” “You’re reasoning incorrectly, because at the moment she spoke to me, I had no idea she was a marquise. I even took her for a big henpecked woman. ” “And it was a flash of insight from above that made you see a marquise’s crown under her hat! ” “It was later that I found out who she was… and I found out by chance… that is to say… ” “Don’t get bogged down in jokes… ” “Ah! You’re boring me, really!” cried Paul Cormier. “You’re constantly interrupting me and I can’t get a word in edgeways.” I tell you that if you continue, I’ll leave you there… you’ll go and find out elsewhere… I won’t see you again. –Come on!… I’m listening… tell us and be brief. You left off at the moment when you found the blonde you were looking for. –I wasn’t looking for her at all. I was going quietly to dine at my mother’s, in the Marais. As I was getting into a cab, near the gate of the rue de Vaugirard, a veiled woman entered the cab through the other door and signaled me to take a seat next to it. of her. Naturally, I didn’t need to be asked twice. Two minutes later, she lifted her veil, and I recognized the lady from the terrace. Then, I confess, I thought I was in luck. –I would have thought so unless!… a woman who carries you off in a carriage! –Well, I was completely mistaken… As soon as I tried to court her a little more, she rebuffed me in a fine way, threatening to get out. –And you were stupid enough to keep quiet! –I might have insisted, if I hadn’t quickly realized that I was completely indifferent to her and that she had only brought me up to talk to me about another man. –That’s stronger! –Yes, my dear, to ask me a host of details about the life this man leads in Paris… –A man you know? –Of course! If I weren’t related to him, she would have addressed herself to someone other than me. “One of your friends then?… and you didn’t know that he was this woman’s lover ? ” “I still don’t know, and I might add that I don’t believe it. ” “Then why is she so interested in him? ” “I couldn’t find out. ” “Ah! You’re really telling me stories that would put me to sleep… and I’m beginning to tire of guessing riddles. Let’s get this over with! Name this friend who turned your marquise’s head. I suppose I know him, because otherwise it wouldn’t be worth telling me a name that wouldn’t tell me anything. ” “No one knows him better than you. ” “So go on… what’s his name?” “Can’t you guess?” “Not at all. ” “His name is Jean de Mirande. ” “Are you making fun of me? ” “Not at all.” I repeat, she spoke to me of nothing but you, the whole time the journey lasted. And do you know how she began?… by thanking me for not having accosted her when she was sitting on the terrace… and she added, speaking of you: What a pity that such a well-born boy should be so badly brought up. –What would she know if I was well-born? –That is precisely what I asked her. She replied that you had thrown out your name and address to her. She did not know your address, but your name was perfectly well known to her, because she is, like you, from Languedoc. Only, if she has heard a lot about your family, it seems, if she is to be believed, that you have never heard of hers. –That proves that hers is hardly illustrious, for I am still quite well versed in the coat of arms of my country. So, I’ve known for a long time that there are Counts or Marquises of Ganges. –She married the last of the name. –And this noble alliance doesn’t seem to have worked for her, sneered Mirande. But why is she bothering with me? –I’m not in a position to answer you, replied Paul Cormier. She
questioned me about the life you lead in Paris. She went so far as to ask me if you had a mistress… and it seemed to me that she was pleased to learn that you ran around a lot, without becoming attached to any woman. –If that’s how you wrote my panegyric, I don’t thank you . –I couldn’t have said anything more favorable to you, because I saw very clearly that she was afraid that you had your heart taken. Anyway, she talked to me so much about you that I ended up getting angry. I asked her who she took me for. So she apologized, swearing that I had just done her a huge favor and that later she would tell me everything, on condition that, for the moment, I would not ask her for more. –And you submitted to the condition? –For lack of being able to do otherwise. I got out of the carriage without having obtained anything except the promise of a letter that she was to write me and that I would still be waiting for if I had stopped there… Ah! I forgot to to tell you that, to calm me down, she swore to me that she didn’t love you, and that she never would, because she couldn’t love you… I didn’t understand. –And I don’t understand… unless this marquise is a sister that my late father gave me long ago without warning. But that doesn’t matter to me. Come to the end of the adventure. You’re still pretty much at the same point. It’s as if you’re sparing your effects. –I’ll cut it short. She left me there near the Champs-Élysées roundabout , but I followed her so skillfully that she didn’t see me. She went into a house on the Avenue d’Antin. I entered on her heels and arrived at the same time as her at the threshold of a sort of open-air hall where a servant took me for her husband and bravely announced: Monsieur le Marquis and Madame la Marquise de Ganges. “That’s amusing,” said Mirande, laughing. “Not as amusing as you think. It’s to the mistake of that imbecile flunky that we, you and I, will owe countless troubles. I suppose you’re beginning to guess what’s coming next. ” “I can see it, but… ” “You were there… you even played the main role in a scene I’m just getting to. At the house of the lady who was entertaining on Avenue d’Antin, was this Viscount de Servon, whom I’ve just introduced to you.” He had never seen the other Marquis de Ganges, the real one… he thought it was me… I couldn’t disabuse him of that belief without putting the Marquise in a terrible embarrassment. I let him talk and I was able, after two hours, to slip away without there being any scandal. I thought I was quits; I went to dinner at my mother’s and afterward, I came to join you at Bullier. I didn’t foresee that fate would bring this Viscount de Servon there, that he would call me very loudly by my false name and by my false title, that the husband, having arrived in Paris that very day, would be there just in time to hear… now you know the rest. – Yes… and I agree that you are less guilty than I thought. I reproach you, however, for not having told me the truth before the duel. – You didn’t give me time. The slap you gave the Marquis cut me off. –Good!… I was too hasty… but after the affair, why did you let me believe that you didn’t know this unfortunate man I had just skewered?… it was so simple to tell me that… –It was impossible. Before the fight, during the journey I made side by side with him, he told me his story and he charged me with handing over his wallet to his wife if anything happened to him. I had agreed and I couldn’t tell you anything until I had carried out this sad mission. –That’s true, and a lot of incidents happened that you told me about earlier on the Champs-Élysées… among others the intervention of that rascal who saw us at the bastion and denounced you. It’s all starting to sort itself out. But the Marquise… this Marquise you just spoke to me about this evening for the first time, you saw her again, since you gave her her husband’s message. –I saw her again yesterday, at her house, and our interview lasted more than an hour. –So, you must know about her. –Not much better than I was the first day. At first, I had a lot of trouble getting to her. I didn’t want to pass my card for fear that she would refuse to see me. I said I came on behalf of the Marquis de Ganges. I wasn’t lying. But the man I had to deal with began by telling me that it was impossible… you know the man… you had a run-in with him on Sunday, at the Luxembourg. –That lout who looks like a gendarme in bourgeois clothes? –Precisely. It seems that he is a former officer who was once a friend of the Marquise’s father and he holds the position of bodyguard or bearer of respect… In short! Madame de Ganges finally received me… in the garden of her hotel where she was with a young woman friend of hers, who gave me her seat and whom I greeted in passing… a marvelous beauty, my dear, as dark as the Marquise is blond… I didn’t dare ask who she was. –And I don’t want to know. Come to your explanation with the Marquise. –It was long and stormy, the explanation. Madame de Ganges bitterly reproached me for my behavior the day before. I tried to justify myself by telling her that I was in love with her… and it’s true, my dear… I’m taken… –Too bad for you!… Continue. How did she take the news of her husband’s death? –At first she refused to believe it. But when I gave her the wallet, she changed her tune. She was very moved, very troubled… it didn’t seem to me that she was very distressed… this marquis was a very bad husband who played every trick imaginable on her and who ate up part of her fortune. She can’t miss him very much. –Did you tell her how he died? –You had to, and I told her everything: the confidences her husband had confided in me… the incidents that led to the meeting… and even the name of the marquis’s adversary… She asked me. –And when she found out it was me? –She had a cry from the heart… an exclamation that I want to repeat to you as I heard it… she said: Jean de Mirande! So it was written that he would once again trouble my life!… And as I naturally asked her what you had done to him, she replied: He has caused misfortune to someone in whom I am interested. –The devil if I guess who! She should have taken the trouble to tell me when I approached her on Sunday on that terrace you brought me back to this evening. “We probably wouldn’t be where we are now. But let me tell you how my interview ended. The Marquise ended it by dismissing me, rather curtly, without promising me anything and by letting me understand that she was going to leave Paris. I told her in vain that nothing was forcing her to leave, that this matter would soon be forgotten and that, if necessary to reassure her, I would refrain from seeing her again; she wouldn’t listen and I had to leave without having obtained anything from her that resembled a commitment. “That’s better for you,” Mirande said philosophically. “That Marquise doesn’t bring luck. The best thing for you to do is to stop thinking about her.” “I might add,” Cormier continued, still full of his subject, “that while I was there, someone came to bring a letter addressed to the Marquis de Ganges—that is, to me—a letter containing money… eight thousand francs which, the day before, I had earned on my word from this Viscount de Servon at the lady’s house on the Avenue d’Antin. The Marquise sent it back… ” “And you haven’t heard anything more about it?” asked Mirande, bursting into laughter.
“M. de Servon gave me the sum today, when I met him on the Champs-Élysées. ” “So, you’re rolling in it!… I’ve never known you to have so much money at once. ” “And I’ve never had any the possession of which gave me so little pleasure. I would give it without regret to the first beggar I meet. ” “Keep it for a better opportunity.” Now that you ‘ve told me everything…, because I suppose that’s all… –Yes… you know the rest… my visit to Father Bardin and the interrogation in his son’s office… the entrance on the scene of that abject scoundrel… –I know all that. Now, let’s summarize. Here I am seriously compromised, you a little less, and your marquise, not at all, so far. What do you intend to do? Do you still intend to do her champion, without her having invited you, or even authorized you? –I cannot defend her in spite of herself, but I left her, swearing to her that she would always find me ready to do what she asked, and I will keep my word. –So, you are definitely in love with her? –In love with a mentally ill person. –Well, a mentally ill person, indeed; but that is your business. I will not undertake to cure you. I have only one simple question to ask you and I beg you to answer it clearly. –Speak! –Will you find it wrong that I, who am not in love with the lady in question and who will never become so, I assure you… will you find it wrong that I go to see her? –No… but you will not see her. –That is my business. I only ask you if you will not be angry with me for trying. –Why should I be angry with you? “You would be very wrong, for I swear I will not court her. ” “I believe you… but you can tell me why you want to know her. It seems to me, moreover, that you forget a little too much that you killed her husband. She knows it, since I told her, and I am very sure that she remembers it. ” “It is a hard service that I have rendered her there. ” “Perhaps, but it would not be decent for her to admit it… and even less for her to receive you. ” “Whether she receives me or not, I will find a way to speak to her. ” “Speak to her about what? ” “The past, by Jove!… about her life which, if she is to be believed, I have already troubled without suspecting it… about this person in short who interests her and whose misfortune I have caused!… I quote her own words which you repeated to me just now.” –And you hope she’ll tell you more? –Not only do I hope so, but I don’t doubt it. It would be a fine thing if she refused to explain herself. I claim not to have caused anyone’s misfortune, and I do not accept that I be accused without proof, even when it is a woman who accuses me. I will therefore categorically demand that your Marquise name my alleged victim… if only to enable me to repair my wrongs, if, by some impossible chance, I have had any. I suspect that there is a misunderstanding underlying this, but I want to be sure… and if, as she claims, she is from Languedoc, we will quickly come to an understanding. I do not, I think, need to add that my relations with her will remain there. At most, I’ll take advantage of this first and only meeting to pay him a heartfelt eulogy, concluded Jean de Mirande, laughing. “As you wish,” said Paul. “As long as I don’t interfere. ” “I hope so. You’d be in my way. ” “I’m going to try to see our judge. He might come to his father’s tonight… I’ll go there. ” “And dinner?” asked Mirande. “You’re thinking of dinner, aren’t you? ” “Perfectly. And I tell you that I’m going right away to get some food from Foyot. ” “Well, I, who’s not hungry, will take… a carriage that will take me to the Marais… ” “Then come with me to the Rue de Vaugirard… We only have time… the retreat is beaten… they’re going to close the gates.” Indeed, night was falling, the terrace had gradually emptied, and the guards had begun their rounds to get the latecomers out. At the end of the quincunx, under the last chestnut trees, near a shack where cakes and toys are sold and which the vendor had just closed, a sergeant, a medal-winning warrant officer, was talking to a child who insisted on staying on a chair where he had sat down Turkish-style, legs crossed. “Come on, kid, get out of here!” said the sergeant. “We’re closing up. ” “I don’t care, I’m waiting for Mama,” replied the child. “Where is your Mama? If she were in Luxembourg, she would come and see you.” look for it. –She’ll come. –Well! She’ll find you at home. Come on! I don’t have time to listen to you. Houste!… get out of here or I’ll fiddle with you. The guard was about to grab the recalcitrant by the collar; but the little one jumped up, jumped down from the chair, leaned against the pedestal of a statue, and, brandishing a wooden shovel he held in his little hand, he shouted at the top of his childish voice: –You, if you touch me, I’ll smash your face in. He was so comical in this threatening attitude that the adjutant couldn’t help but do the same as the two friends, who were laughing heartily. –I like that gnat, said Mirande. –He’s as sweet as a darling, but it seems to me that his education has been somewhat neglected, Paul Cormier continued cheerfully. –I don’t think so. They want to make him walk, he doesn’t like it. He rebels . He’s right. If I had a boy, I’d want him like that. Let’s see how this discussion ends. “Come on, you naughty kid,” the guard continued, “let’s get this over with. Go, if you don’t want me to take you to the station, where they’ll put you in a pitch-black dungeon until tomorrow. You’ll be much better off at your mother’s. ” The child, instead of replying, remained on the defensive, his back against the pedestal and the shovel raised like a saber. The guard had only to stretch out his hand to snatch it away like a feather, but the good man hesitated for fear of hurting a recalcitrant who wasn’t much more than five years old and who was hardly more of a nobody than a sparrow . This precocious rebel was very well dressed, in the Russian style, with a cap on his head, velvet breeches, a red silk shirt, and tiny boots that came up to his knees. He looked just like a child from a good home, well-groomed and well-fed. His face was charming, round with a matte white complexion, large, wide-open black eyes, and very fine brown hair cut squarely across his forehead. Serious, too, like a little man, and no more intimidated by this soldier with the big mustache than if he had been dealing with his maid. “He’s a little young to be sleeping at the station,” laughed Mirande, who had come closer. “Hey! By Jove! I don’t want to put him there,” cried the adjutant. ” It’s not that kid’s fault if his parents forgot him there. Of course, he didn’t come here alone… he must have been with his mother , and she left without worrying about him… You have to be in Paris to see things like that! ” “What do you say about my mother?” shouted the little one, raising his voice and pretending to throw himself at the guard. He was so funny that the guard started laughing and said to Mirande, who was holding his sides: “That toad is the stuff of rebels. Ah! They’re being brought up well these days, the kids! To teach him how to live, I’ve a good mind to lock him up in the garden… when it gets dark, he’ll be scared and he’ll know how to call for help. ” “Perhaps it’s your uniform that’s frightening him,” said Jean. “Do you want me to try to make him see reason? ” “As you wish, as long as it doesn’t drag on… because we’re going to close… and you’ll be caught, gentlemen… ” “No danger, and I’ll answer for the little one.” The adjutant shrugged his shoulders and resumed his rounds while Mirande approached the child, who hadn’t stopped looking at him since the beginning of this little scene and who waited for him firmly. Cormier admired the nonchalance of his friend who, in the situation they both found themselves in, took care of a kid lost under the trees of a public garden, without worrying about predicting where this fantasy of playing Saint Vincent de Paul would lead him. And Cormier was careful not to interfere, because he was eager to be taken to the Marais to meet Bardin. “My little friend,” Mirande said to the kid who was still standing like a young rooster. who is about to play the snare, that soldier was wrong to want to take you away by force, but it is quite true that we are going to close the garden. You see that monsieur and I are leaving. Do you want to come? “With you, I am happy to,” the child replied immediately. “You do n’t address me informally and you speak to me politely. ” A disguised son of a king sneered at Paul Cormier through his teeth. “Give me your hand,” Mirande continued. The boy gave it to him, not without having once again looked him up and down. He had started with that before answering him. Probably he liked the student’s physiognomy. “You are mentally ill,” Paul whispered in his friend’s ear; “what are you going to do with this child? ” “I don’t know… take him back to his mother… that will amuse me… she may be pretty… ” “You will always be the same. ” “I hope so.” –But, wretched man, a mother who forgets her child in the Luxembourg, as she would forget her parasol there, I ask you what sort of woman she can be! –A distracted woman, certainly. –I think she did it on purpose to lose him. –Like Little Thumb, then… it would be amusing. The tale has been turned into a fairy tale. I saw it at the Gaieté and I would gladly play a part in a machine like that. –You would play the part of a dupe if, as I suspect, this mother wants to get rid of a son who bothers her. –I bet you, I do, that she is a very good woman who will thank me for bringing her boy back to her. And, besides, even if you had guessed, I would not abandon this little one. He suits me, because he has the devil in him. –Like you, of course! –Perhaps so… but don’t get carried away, old Paul, and go about your… no, our business. I’ll see what I can do with this brat, and if I have to keep him until tomorrow morning, it won’t be much harm. I have room at home to put him to bed. But don’t worry, I’m not planning to adopt him yet. And tomorrow I’ll have other fish to fry than playing nanny , because I want to see Madame de Ganges, when I should have to climb the wall of her garden. The two friends had arrived at the gate of the Rue de Vaugirard, Mirande still holding the child’s hand, who was silent. “See you tomorrow morning!” said Paul, pulling in his direction. “Don’t go out until you’ve seen me.” Mirande let him go and hurried off towards the Rue de Tournon where he intended to dine, at the Foyot restaurant. He took care, of course, to shorten his strides, in order to keep pace with the little one, who trotted along beside him, without showing the slightest inclination to leave him, and without asking where his guide was taking him. And Mirande, who was not easily surprised, was beginning to be astonished by the carefree boldness of this kid he had just picked up in the Luxembourg. This brat was no more worried about his mother than if he had never had one. In front of the Senate Palace, Vera, the Russian student, and Maria, the midwifery student, blocked their way. Mirande, who had not seen them since Sunday evening at the Closerie des Lilas, would have been happy to avoid meeting them; but he made up his mind, knowing full well that he could not always avoid them, and as he never did things by halves, he began by inviting them to dinner. The young ladies accepted enthusiastically, and Maria cried out: “Is this monkey yours? Oh! Don’t say no… He looks just like you… He’s exactly you. ” Mirande was about to protest the paternity attributed to her; but the child freed her hand, came and stood in front of the apprentice midwife, and in his shrill voice, he shouted to her, raising himself up on his toes: “Why do you call me monkey? I’m not a monkey… and first of all, I don’t know you and I forbid you to speak to me.” “He heard monkey,” said Vera, bursting into laughter. “Ah! the darling of a child!” cried Maria; “proud and angry like his father… you can’t deny him.” “Shut up, you others!… you only talk nonsense,” interrupted Mirande. “Let me speak to this young man.” And squatting down until his face was level with the child’s: “My little friend,” he said gently, “these ladies, who are friends of mine, would like to know you. Will you tell us your name? ” “Not to them… to you, yes,” replied this strange boy. “My name is Roch. ” “Thank you, my friend! Roch is your nickname. What is your father’s name? ” “I don’t have a father.” “But you have a mother? ” “I have two.” At this reply, the students giggled, and Mirande had great difficulty keeping a straight face. He managed it, however, and as he did not care to continue this interrogation in the street, which would have ended up attracting the attention of onlookers, he continued, changing the subject: “Will you come and dine with me, my dear Roch? ” “With you, yes,” replied the enfant terrible; “with these nasty girls, no.” The nasty ones were the two students who writhed even more , despite the eyes Mirande was giving them. “Ah! He didn’t tell us!” cried the student from the Maternity Hospital. “I assure you, my little friend, that these young ladies love you very much and are only asking to please you. You will give me a very big one if you want to come. ” Roch listened gravely to this speech, as one rarely does to five-year-old children, and he finally replied, no less gravely: “Well, I’ll come for you. ” “Good!… Are you hungry? ” “No. I ate a lot of cakes in the Luxembourg. I always eat a lot when I go out with Mama Jacqueline. ” “So she was with you, Mama Jacqueline? ” “Yes. And then, a lady came to get her. So, she told me to wait for her… but she didn’t come back… she’ll come back tomorrow… she comes every day… I would have stayed in the garden if that nasty soldier hadn’t said anything to me. ” “You would have been very scared at night. ” “No, I’m not afraid of anything.” “You did well to come with me… because tonight , when we’ve had dinner, I’ll take you back to your mama’s. ” “So you know where she lives? ” “No, but you’ll show me the way.” “I… I don’t know him… it’s very far away… Mama Jacqueline and I always come by car. ” “And do you think she’ll come tomorrow? ” “Oh! Yes… to the place where I was when you came by. ” “Good, my little friend, I’ll take you back there… tonight, you’ll sleep at my place. ” The two students didn’t miss a word of this chat, which forced Mirande to walk bent double to make herself heard by the little boy and which led them to the door of the restaurant. He had his grand entrances there and was treated with all the consideration due to a customer who regularly spent a lot of money. Every evening, a table was kept for him on the ground floor, in the right corner, and a room on the first floor, in case there were any ladies there—and that was not uncommon. That evening, of course, they took possession of the study, and the ladies, as always, ordered the dinner menu, while Mirande amused himself by making the astonishing kid he had just taken in chatter. Paul Cormier’s friend had never seen or imagined such a child. Roch, at times, reasoned like a man and, at the same time, he gave proof of extraordinary ignorance. He knew nothing, he had seen nothing, and yet nothing seemed to surprise him. Thus, it was clear that he had never eaten in a restaurant, and yet he did not ask a single question about the waiters’ service and noises rising from the ground floor. It was as if he had spent his early life in a tower, like some princes in fairy tales. He made no mistakes in French when speaking and only used phrases of studied politeness, but when he showed him a price list of the establishment, Mirande could see that he did not know how to read. The two guests had recovered from their initial ideas of resemblance between the boy and Mirande, although Maria persisted in maintaining that they had exactly the same eyes and the same way of holding their heads. But they were very amused by this little creature who was examining them with imperturbable insolence. Vera having thought of saying that his Russian-style clothing was not successful, he had sharply reprimanded her, telling her that it was Mama Jacqueline who had chosen it and that Mama Jacqueline had very good taste.
Mirande would have liked to push him on this mother Jacqueline, but when he spoke to her about her, the child didn’t respond much. His other mother, whom he didn’t name, must have been a friend of the real one, perhaps a sister whom he hadn’t been accustomed to calling my aunt. He also spoke very little about her. Besides, the poor baby was visibly tired. Mirande, who was beginning to take a liking to him, took pity on him and let him doze off little by little on the little chair where he had been perched to sit him down at the table after Maria had tied a napkin around his neck. As a future midwife, Maria had maternal instincts that she kept in check so as not to disturb her studies, but which were just waiting to be revealed. The rumor of the duel had slowly spread through the neighborhood, and Mirande, who had played the main role in it, had to undergo a full interview by these young ladies. He said what he liked and he had no trouble avoiding bringing into the picture the Marquise de Ganges, whose existence the two students were completely unaware of. Then he returned to the child, whom he was beginning to worry about, without really knowing why. He had taken him away, without asking himself what he was going to do with him. An idea that had come to him suddenly and the consequences of which he had not taken the time to reflect. Jean de Mirande was a man of the first impulse, which was not always the right one. And, this time, he did not regret having given in to it. Taking in a lost or abandoned child was a good deed for which he could only congratulate himself and which he felt quite ready to perfect by taking care of returning this singular little boy to his mother. He would not even have been averse to keeping him and taking charge of him, if he had not found this even more singular mother who had left without her son, and whom no one had seen again. Since he had reached manhood, Mirande had never concerned himself with children except to ask what time they went to bed. He considered them to be harmful and above all troublesome beings. He had always avoided like the plague women afflicted with offspring, and since such are rare in the Latin Quarter, where he spent his life, he never had the occasion to be bothered by the brats. He strongly approved of the legislator for having prohibited the search for paternity and it had never occurred to him to wish to perpetuate the name of Mirande which would die out in his person, if he did not decide to change his existence. And he did not take that path. So he couldn’t believe it when he discovered feelings he didn’t even know he had. He didn’t want to believe it and he was counting on this fit of paternal tenderness to pass like many other whims to which he was subject. Vera, the Russian, who, like him, absolutely lacked any vocation for marriage and its consequences, began to joke with him about the little one. Maria, the student midwife, took the opposite view, and Mirande, to keep up a discussion that amused her, took malicious pleasure in exaggerating by declaring that all she lacked to be happy was to have an interest in life, and that her happiness would be to have a child like that. “You joker!” the nihilist told him. “I’d like to see you there with a kid on your hands. Where would you put him, on Bullier evenings? ” “He would only have to entrust him to me,” replied Maria. “To raise him on a bottle, with absinthe instead of milk! You ‘d do better, old Jean, to send him to school, since he can’t read… at five years old!… that’s steep! What can his father and mother be? ” “Absent, the father. The kid just told you he didn’t have one.” Probably, the mother isn’t in favor of compulsory education. “I have a feeling she’s not worth much, that mother.” Roch, who was dozing, opened one eye, looked fixedly at Véra, and fell asleep again almost immediately in his chair. “That’s funny,” murmured the apprentice midwife. “It’s as if he heard and understood. ” “A child prodigy, then!” sneered the Russian. “Hey, Jean? Are you quite sure he’s not yours? ” “One can never be sure of these things,” replied Mirande, laughing. “Suppose we were to ask him to tell us where he came from… and what he ‘s been doing since he left the wet nurse? ” “Oh! Leave him alone. You can see he can’t take it anymore. ” “And besides,” continued Véra, “I bet you can question him as much as you like, but he won’t tell you what he was forbidden to tell you.” “What! You think he’s been lectured. ” “Perfectly. ” “And to what end? ” “Do I know? A woman who has a grudge against you and is trying to play a trick on you… ” “I wonder what trick they could play on me with this little boy. ” “Perhaps compromise you… say that you’re his father and force you to admit it… ” “If I believed that,” Mirande grumbled, frowning, “I ‘d take him to the police commissioner tonight and leave him there. ” “That would be very bad!” Maria cried with conviction. “I’d rather take him home with me. I have a little bed for him to sleep in, poor Cherubino. But you see he’s sleeping soundly. It’s that Vera with her fancies! If we listened to her, we’d see mysteries and plots everywhere, just like in her own country. This time, there was no doubt about it.” The child slept so soundly that he slid imperceptibly on his chair and would have fallen if Mirande had not lifted him up and laid him on a couch that had not been put there to serve as a cradle for a little boy. The conversation took another turn. Moreover, it was beginning to irritate Mirande, who almost reproached herself for having made the lost child dine in the company of two disreputable young ladies. “If I find his mother,” he thought, “and if he tells her that I took him to Foyot’s with some regulars from the Closerie des Lilas, she will not have a high opinion of me.” They resumed talking about the duel, and Mirande noticed that he had grown a hundred cubits in Vera’s eyes since she learned that he had nimbly dispatched a man to the other world. This Muscovite dreamed only of battles and exterminations. Maria, less fierce, but more curious, wanted to know details about the drama in which Jean had played the principal role, and she asked him so many that he finally stopped answering her and thought of adjourning the session. They were getting down to liqueurs and Vera, who couldn’t keep still, smoked big cigarettes at the window, while tender Maria contemplated little Roch, sleeping the sleep of innocence. “I was sure of it,” the Russian suddenly cried, “we were followed by a spy. ” “Oh! you,” said Mirande, “you see spys everywhere.” “I can see where they are. Come here and I’ll show you that one.” Jean stood up, walked over, and saw on the other side of the Rue de Tournon, at the corner of the Rue de Vaugirard, a man, motionless as a milestone, who looked as if he were standing guard. “Well! What?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders. ” He’s waiting for a woman who arranged to meet him there. He has every right to be. ” “Maria or me, then, for he never takes his eyes off our study window. ” “Ah! You’re really boring me. I’m not hiding, and if it’s me he’s after, he’ll know how to tell me, for I’m going home on foot.” And as the waiter brought the bill he had asked for, Mirande paid it without checking the addition, took little Roch in his arms, who woke up, mumbled a few words, and fell asleep again almost immediately, went down the stairs, left the restaurant, turned toward the Odéon, and strode toward the Boulevard Saint-Germain where he lived. He didn’t even turn around to see if the supposed spy was following him, and he arrived home without incident of any kind. Clearly, the paternal instinct was taking over, and if his friends from the neighborhood had met him playing nurse, they would certainly have believed that he had become mentally ill. Chapter 5. While Jean de Mirande was taking a little boy he had found in the Luxembourg Gardens to dinner at Foyot’s, Paul Cormier, who was not very interested in the child, took a cab along the road to the Marais, but it was not to go and dine with his mother. He hadn’t seen her since the Sunday that had ended so badly, and he didn’t want to see her again until he was sure that the duel wouldn’t have too serious consequences for him. He was going to Bardin’s to ask him how things had progressed since the unfortunate scene that had taken place the day before in the examining magistrate’s office. The lawyer must be aware, because he had most certainly seen his son again, and he wouldn’t refuse to inform Paul, out of consideration for his old friend Madame Cormier, who still knew nothing and who had to be prepared before telling her the sad truth. Paul, however, expected to be very badly received in the Rue des Arquebusiers, but he was determined to endure anything to get back into the good graces of Father Bardin. He knew that the old man dined at six-thirty and that after his dinner, he was almost always in a good mood. So he took his time and calculated that he would arrive just as Bardin was sipping his coffee, supported by two or three glasses of a nearly century-old brandy —a present from Madame Cormier. Paul had been at the Luxembourg gate with Mirande, and night had fallen when he arrived at the door of his mother’s old friend’s house. Looking up to see if there was any light on the third floor, he was a little surprised to see the three windows of the apartment brilliantly lit. Bardin did not usually light up like this, and as he only ever received his son, it was difficult to suppose that he was giving a party. Finally, this profusion of light proved that he had not gone out, and Paul, who feared nothing so much as not meeting him, hurried upstairs. The servant who came to open the door told him that his master was expecting someone; but she showed him in, and as he crossed the dining room, he could see on the table a most appetizing cold supper. He even noticed that there was only one place setting, which proved abundantly that the good man was not in good fortune. Paul found him sitting in his study, in front of a file spread out on his desk; and Bardin, when he heard the door open, got up, exclaiming without turning around: “There you are, my good friend!… I didn’t expect him until nine o’clock.” Didn’t the railway tire you out too much? When he turned around and saw Cormier, it was another note: “What, it’s you!” he said gruffly. “What are you doing here? ” “To ask your forgiveness for all the trouble I’ve caused you. ” “It’s about time, by Jove!… Ah! You can flatter yourself that you made me spend twenty-four pleasant hours! I didn’t sleep a wink all night. And it’s at this hour that you come to apologize to me? You ‘ve come at a bad time. My evening is taken. ” “I couldn’t come earlier. Yesterday, I ran after Mirande all evening, without managing to find him. It was only today that I was able to see him… and persuade him to present himself at your son’s office… He stayed there for two hours… ” “I know that. Charles is leaving here. ” “And I waited for Mirande to come back.” I just left him. “Can’t you do without him? ” “I wanted to know what decision your son had made regarding him. ” “Well, you must be happy, and so must your Mirande! Charles thought it his duty to let him go free on bail. He was very kind. I would have sent that tough guy to sleep in the Prefecture Depot… and I’m not saying I wouldn’t have sent you there too… Well! That’s his business, that excellent Charles. Ah! He’s not getting ahead, my dear son! Another case that was looking good… a superb case that’s going nowhere. ” “It’s not my fault if the supposed murder was only a duel,” said Paul, half-smiling. “By Jove! I don’t blame you, but I’m saying that Charles has no luck… and that you and your animal friend have ten times more than you deserve.” Admit that you’ve gotten off lightly! “Yes, if I do. There’s no dismissal order. ” “And there won’t be one, I’ve already told you; what will save you is that they won’t find a jury to convict you. ” “Who knows if this man won’t invent something against us? ” “The man who denounced you? They won’t believe him. Charles got some detestable information about him at the Police Prefecture. He’s a scoundrel of the worst kind. ” “He tried to blackmail me. ” “When? ” “Yesterday, before coming to the Palace, he wrote to me asking for ten thousand francs, threatening to denounce me if I didn’t give it to him . He was present at the duel and followed me to my door, rue Gay-Lussac. ” “Why didn’t you tell Charles that?” “I’ll tell him later,” murmured Paul, who was careful not to admit that he had kept quiet because he feared that this scoundrel might attack the Marquise de Ganges. “You’ll have the opportunity soon, for I believe Charles will soon have you summoned again. He still has a lot of things to ask you and to tell you. He received the reply to the telegram he sent to the Public Prosecutor’s Office in Nice. He knows the name of the man your Mirande killed. ” “Ah!… he knows…” stammered Paul. “What was the name of this… unfortunate man? Paul knew only too well, but he remained in his role by pretending not to know; and Bardin, without noticing that he was becoming upset, cried: “Parbleu! I didn’t bother asking.” Whether his name is Pierre or Jacques, whether he is a marquis or a traveling salesman, he is still a dead man, and you helped send him to the other world by serving as witness for your handsome friend. “Come now!” thought Paul, “there has not yet been any question of Madame de Ganges. Let’s hope that Brunachon doesn’t denounce her. ” “And to think,” Bardin continued, “that you got yourself into this mess just when it would have been up to you to make a magnificent marriage. Your escapade will cost you dearly. ” “A marriage!… I hardly think of getting married. ” “Good! But I had thought of it for you.” “Ah! yes, the heiress you told me about at Mama’s. But you told me you were still looking for her. ” “Yes, I told you that on Sunday; but since then, there’s been something new; I received news this morning. She’s been found, the heiress with the six million. ” “Where was she hiding?” asked Paul, to say something. This discovery, which seemed to fascinate Father Bardin, affected him only slightly, and if he pretended to be interested in it, it was to flatter the old lawyer’s mania. “I don’t know yet,” resumed the good man, “but I know she’s in Paris.” “The devil!… it’s vague!…” “So far, yes; but tomorrow, I’ll know where… in what neighborhood… in what house. ” “Will you have the police look for her?” –So!… I now know who to contact to get in touch with her… You would know it as well as I do, if you hadn’t forgotten the story I told you last Sunday, when we were dining with you at your mother’s…
–I admit I don’t remember it very well. It was, I think, about a young girl who lived in the Hérault department. –Yes… in Fabrègues… a village, not far from Montpellier. –And who disappeared several years ago. –Disappeared… that is to say, she left the country at the same time as someone who was interested in her… –A young lady from a distinguished family… –A young lady from Marsillargues. I even asked you to ask this Mirande if he knew her, he who is from Languedoc. –I asked him and I remember very well what he answered me. He told me he had heard of the family, but had never seen the young girl who bore that name. All he knows is that she was very pretty, very rich, and that she had the misfortune of being paralyzed in one hand… “Paralyzed?… that’s the first time I’ve heard of that,” said Bardin. Mirande must be mistaken. “It’s possible. Besides, she disappeared too, apparently , and Mirande thinks she’s dead. ” “She’s alive and very much alive. She lives in Paris, what’s more, and she’ll tell us where her protégée is. ” “His protégée is the heiress? ” “By Jove!… only neither of them knows the story of the inheritance I told you, and we have reason to believe that the protégée doesn’t live in opulence. The millions will fall from the sky.” That’s why I thought about making you marry her. I’d still be thinking about it if you hadn’t taken care to make yourself impossible by getting yourself involved in this bad business. We can’t decently propose that she marry a boy who’s going to be tried in the Assize Court one of these days. –It would be, I think, completely pointless… But why do you speak in the plural?… you say: we… –Because I will be and can only be an auxiliary in this matter… It’s my old friend Lestrigou who holds all the threads and he alone can bring it to a successful conclusion… –A lawyer from Montpellier, I believe? –Yes… a former president of the Bar who is almost seventy-six and who was for a long time the lawyer of the Marsillargues family. Despite
his age, he took the matter to heart and for a month now we ‘ve been exchanging letters about the orphan. He is completely in agreement with my ideas on the necessity of marrying her off promptly and properly… I had spoken to him about you and he had not said: no… Now, we must reduce… your chances have dropped by fifty percent. Cormier made a gesture of indifference and Bardin continued, angrily: –Yes, I know that you don’t care. You prefer to continue the life that brought you to where you are. Well! I predict that you will regret having her missed through your fault, this marriage that I had found for you. “You speak of it as if I only had to present myself to do it,” said Paul, smiling. “It seems to me that it would be good to consult first the principal interested party. ” “That, I will take care of, in agreement with this good Lestrigou who is entirely devoted to me and who would use his influence on the last of the Marsillargues. ” “I thought he had lost sight of her… ” “Yes, since she got married; but now that he knows where to find her, he will quickly become again what he was formerly: her friend, her advisor, almost her guardian. ” “And the husband?… he will have a good say in the matter, I suppose. ” “The husband no longer lives with his wife… and she will be careful not to consult him… besides, he has never taken any interest in the orphan of Fabrègues. If you pleased the protectress, you would certainly please the protégé.” –You will allow me to doubt it… and to point out to you that you reason as if this young girl had never seen the world. How old is she then? –Twenty years old… perhaps twenty-two… I don’t know exactly… Lestrigou will tell you… –Lestrigou?… but he is in Montpellier. –He arrives this evening. I am expecting him… and the train must have been late, because he should already be here. –What! At his age, he has decided to make such a long journey. –But very well. He is as healthy as the Pont-Neuf, Lestrigou. And besides, the thing is worth it. Six million that he brings to a poor girl who has no idea! He took enough trouble to find her… he wants to give himself the pleasure of telling her this great news. –That is too true. So, he has not written to her, nor to this lady either ? –To anyone but me. And he has wasted no time, for he has not known for two days where the protectress lives. “Only the protectress? ” “That is enough. The protégée will not be difficult to discover. Lestrigou has reason to believe that they have only one and the same domicile. The lady must be well enough housed to give hospitality to a poor friend. Besides, we are talking here quite uselessly, since you are not putting yourself forward… and perhaps you are not wrong… at least for the moment. When your bad business is settled… if it is settled as I wish… we will talk again about the heiress. ” Bardin interrupted himself to listen to the sound of wheels coming from downstairs. “A carriage stops at my door,” he said. “At this hour, it can only be Lestrigou. ” “Then I will leave you,” murmured Paul. I still had a lot to tell you… but I would be in your way of receiving your friend. I ‘ll come back tomorrow, if you don’t mind. “Eh! No, stay! You big simpleton,” said Bardin, who never sulked for long at Madame Cormier’s son. “I’ll always introduce you to Lestrigou. He likes young people. He’ll be delighted to see you. And besides, it can’t hurt that he knows you. You’re good to show off. Afterwards, we’ll see. You never know what might happen.” It was indeed Lestrigou arriving in one of those four- seater cabs with a grille that you only find at railway stations . That was all it took to stir up the peaceful house on the quiet Rue des Arquebusiers. The porter, warned by Bardin, had rushed out of his box to help the coachman unload the trunk of the former president of the Montpellier bar. A few windows had opened and the heads of tenants could be seen , curious to witness this landing. Paul also looked and saw a tall old man, as thin as a matchstick, descend, who, in three strides, disappeared under the arch of the carriage entrance. Bardin had rushed up the stairs to meet his old friend. Lestrigou climbed so fast that they met halfway . They entered, holding each other by the waist, into the dining room, where Paul was waiting for them, and Lestrigou began by beating an entrechat to show that the journey had not tired him. He was a fellow, this old Bazochien, dried out by the Languedoc sun. He was nothing but skin and bones, with a small round head like a sugar cane at the end of a long body that moved all of a piece, a head lit by two small black eyes, pierced as if by a gimlet and shining like two burning embers. “Hey!” he said, “do you know how comfortable you are here! Do you remember the time when we used to perch on the gutters in an old shack on the Rue de la Pomme?” Bardin had once done his first year of law school in Toulouse, where his father was then a clerk in the registry office, and it was there that he had met Lestrigou. “Ah! I should think so!” said the old lawyer, rubbing his hands. And he added wisely: “But if you launch into the memories of our youth, you won’t come out. You must be hungry. ” “A wolf’s hunger from the Cévennes. I haven’t had a single bite since the buffet in Vierzon. ” “Well, sit down and eat, my friend. Attack this Nérac terrine I bought for you. Tomorrow, my cordon bleu will cook you a cassoulet, and you’ll tell me about it. ” “So you’re still a foodie? ” “I haven’t lost my good habits and I still have a good appetite. You can convince yourself of that at lunch. But tonight, I won’t keep you company. I’ve had dinner.” “You did well, my boy, and I’ll make up for it; but I do n’t want to be uncivil, and before you sit down to eat, you’re going to introduce me to this young man… ” The young man was Paul, who was dying to laugh, despite his sorrows and worries. “He’s the son of the late Cormier, of whom I often spoke to you in my letters,” said Bardin, “and whose widow has remained my friend. You’ll soon taste a certain Corton that’s coming out of his cellar. ” “Sir, allow me to shake your right hand,” said Lestrigou, holding out his hand to Paul, who was only too happy to fraternize with this cheerful compatriot of his friend Jean de Mirande. “As you see him, my dear,” continued Papa Bardin, “this boy is in his third year of law school. I wouldn’t say he only got white balls in his exams, but he’ll be admitted as a lawyer all the same.” “All colleagues, then!” cried Lestrigou, sitting down. “By Jove, we’re going to have a laugh ; tomorrow for serious business!” “Ah! yes, the inheritance. ” “You said it, Bardin of my heart, I’m bringing you this rascal of an inheritance; everything is in order. I only have to make a fuss; but your young friend doesn’t know what it’s about. ” “I said a word to him while I was waiting for you. ” “You did well. It’s no longer a secret. Tomorrow I’ll see the heiress, and in a few days, all the newspapers will be talking about it. ” “She’s capable of going mad, your little country girl. Have you written to her, at least, to prepare her to receive the gold tile that’s going to fall on her head? ” “You know perfectly well that I couldn’t. ” “That’s true. You don’t have her address yet.” Are you sure she’s in Paris? “If I weren’t sure, I wouldn’t have come.” While answering his old friend’s questions, the old man did nothing but twist and swallow, as they say; and Paul admired this seventy-five-year-old man who didn’t seem to know what indigestion was. “Ah! My little Venus of Fabrègues will be a fine match,” sighed Lestrigou, clicking his tongue after emptying his glass in one gulp. “Venus!… devil! how you go!… Is she really beautiful?” –Like the mother of Loves… if she hasn’t changed. –Hey! Hey! Change happens to young and old. How long has it been since you last saw her? –It will be six years ago at the grape harvest that she left Fabrègues with Mademoiselle de Marsillargues, who married in Montpellier six months later, and who took her to Paris. So that’s about five years. But I’m quite sure she’s still the same. The girls from our region aren’t like Parisians, lunches in the sun. My little sweetheart of yesteryear will be beautiful as long as she lives. –Lestrigou, my good man, patriotism is misleading you. Languedoc women age like everyone else, and sometimes even faster. In Toulouse, you see some on the doors that are wrinkled like baked apples and aren’t even forty. I’m not saying that about your heiress, who’s only twenty. “Twenty-two, next month. But I guarantee you she’s charming… A brunette with skin that looks like the good Lord had amused himself by gilding it with a ray of sunshine. ” “She could be as black as a mole and she’d find lovers with her six million. But, tell me… what education did she receive in this village of Fabrègues? ” “Excellent, my dear. The late Marsillargues, the father, took a liking to her when she was very young. She spent all her days at the château and had the same teachers as Mademoiselle. She knows English, she sings perfectly, and she’s first-rate on the piano. ” “The piano… I would spare her,” laughed Bardin, who didn’t like music; “but as I’m not the one who will marry her, I console myself. Now, tell me a little about her protector who taught her so many beautiful things.” So she has returned to Paris, after having traveled a great deal. “Yes, and she lives in the Champs-Élysées district. ” “What is her married name? ” “Didn’t I write it to you?… then, I forgot. She is the Marquise de Ganges, by marriage.” At this name, blurted out ex-abrupto by the former president of the bar of Montpellier, Paul shuddered and his expression changed. The scales fell from his eyes; and he was surprised not to have guessed sooner that the protector of this heiress, whose name he still did not know, was the Marquise. “And yet, how could he have guessed, when he did not know that Madame de Ganges was called, before her marriage, Mademoiselle de Marsillargues? Bardin, for his part, was not at all moved. He had never heard of the Marquis de Ganges. His son, who had just learned the name of the man killed on the Boulevard Jourdan, had not mentioned it during the short visit he had just paid to the old lawyer. “It’s almost a historic name,” said Madame Cormier’s old friend. ” It appears in the collection of famous cases. ” “Yes, I know,” replied Lestrigou. “The one who bears it now is the last of his race, and he does her no credit. He’s a very bad fellow, who has made his wife very unhappy. I think I wrote to you. ” “You wrote to me that he had ruined himself and was not living with her. ” “That’s the truth… but I shall have nothing to do with him… even if he had returned to Paris, for he never took any notice of his wife’s protégée. It is with Madame that I shall have to deal.” Starting tomorrow, I’ll go to her house. –Do you have her address? –I kind of do: Avenue Montaigne, 22. Nice neighborhood, eh? –Very nice… but not very close to here. –Uh! Cabs aren’t made for dogs. You’ll come with me, won’t you, old Bardin? –Never in a million years. What would I do at this lady’s house? –You’ll help me explain the situation to her. And besides, she doesn’t don’t know. You’ll answer for me. –Good guarantee, my goodness!… she doesn’t even know that I exist. It would be as well, since you’re so shy, to have my young friend, here present, accompany you . –Hey! Hey! That wouldn’t be such a bad idea . Youth loves youth and she is young, my marquise… almost as young as her protégée… and if she kept her promise, she must be very pretty. –Hey, Paul, asked Bardin, winking, perhaps you wouldn’t be sorry to see her? She would introduce you to the heiress. –I don’t think so, murmured Cormier. –Hey! By the way! cried Lestrigou, my little peasant girl will soon need a husband , and if she liked the gentleman… “I’m not thinking of living together,” interrupted Jean de Mirande’s friend, without paying any attention to the angry looks Father Bardin was giving him. The old man was returning to his fixed idea of ​​marrying him to the girl with the six million, and he was furious to see that Paul was doing his best to thwart this fine plan. Lestrigou, moreover, seemed only slightly inclined to support him, for he continued: “To speak frankly to you, my old Bardin, I wouldn’t be very surprised if the little girl had already made a choice. She must have met some fine gentlemen at the Marquise’s… and she may well have feelings… ” “Oh! she won’t lack suitors, as soon as they find out she’s inheriting,” grumbled Father Bardin. I had dreamed of marrying her to my old friend’s son, but he seems to lack enthusiasm… and you too. Let’s not talk about it anymore. Try this Corton, it will be better than talking about the fantasies I had put in my head. Lestrigou did not want to dwell on this subject at all. He collected himself to savor the nectar that Bardin had just poured for him and solemnly declared that he had never drunk anything close to it. This great Burgundy vintage put him back in a good mood and loosened his tongue so well that he no longer ran out of stories of the good old days. At most, he gave Bardin time to give him a reply. Their youthful memories paraded one after the other, evoked by the man who was getting drunk as he spoke. It would not have taken much persuasion to persuade him to go and finish his evening at the Closerie des Lilas. Seeing this, Paul Cormier, who had no desire to take her there, signaled to Father Bardin that he had had enough and slipped away without Lestrigou noticing. Paul longed to be alone to put some order into his thoughts, which had been deeply troubled by the news he had just learned. Madame de Ganges and Mademoiselle de Marsillargues, the heiress’s protector, were one and the same person. Paul could not believe it and he went through the streets of the Marais, trying to connect the facts he remembered and which seemed at first glance to have no connection between them.
He was hardly successful, and from everything he had seen and heard since he had known the Marquise, nothing clear emerged. No light was shed on the widow’s past, nor even on the present. How had she lived since she married M. de Ganges? Where was this protégée hiding who, if Lestrigou was to be believed, had not left him for four years? A fact suddenly came back to Paul’s memory. He remembered that, in the garden of Madame de Ganges’s mansion, he had crossed paths with a marvelously beautiful young woman. One of my friends, the Marquise had said; and this friend certainly seemed to be at home there. Was it the orphan with the six million? Everything seemed to indicate so. And, if it was she, Lestrigou would have no trouble finding her. Madame de Ganges could show her to him immediately, if she agreed to receive him. Paul intended to see the Marquise the next day; and Mirande, on leaving him, had announced his intention of presenting himself, too, the next day, at the hotel on Avenue Montaigne. “I absolutely must come to an agreement with him this evening,” Cormier said to himself. ” After dinner, he must have returned. I’m almost certain to find him… and if he had gone out, I would ask his porter to inform him that I would return first thing tomorrow morning, as we had agreed. ” The Boulevard Saint-Germain is not as far as one might think from the Rue des Arquebusiers, and by taking the shortest route, Cormier, who was walking quickly, did not take long to get there. Passers-by are rare there after a certain hour, and there are not many lit shops . Crossing the deserted road, Cormier saw, in front of the house where his friend lived, a man walking slowly, back and forth, without ever leaving the door. In other times, Paul Cormier would have paid no attention to this man who could well be a simple loiterer; but since he had had a brush with the law, he was on his guard and suspicious of everything. This scoundrel who had been on his trail after the duel and who had denounced him to the examining magistrate was perhaps still spying on him. Paul slowed his pace, turned a little to the right so as not to touch the sidewalk in front of the door of Mirande’s house, and, as he walked , observed the individual who seemed suspicious to him. He only had to examine him from a distance very carefully to convince himself that he did not at all resemble the dreadful Brunachon. This one was much taller and dressed in a completely different way: a long buttoned frock coat, a high-topped, wide-brimmed hat pulled down to his eyes. He looked like a police sergeant in bourgeois attire. As soon as he saw Cormier, he unmasked the door before which he appeared to be standing guard, and without hurrying, he moved away. Cormier did not amuse himself by following him. He would have gained nothing by it, even supposing that this personage was there on surveillance, and he had no desire to make a profit by going to look under the nose of a gentleman who meant no harm. What did it matter to him that he was seen entering Mirande’s house? They knew very well that he was her friend and even her accomplice, if one qualified complicity in the fact of having served as her witness in her duel. And he was in a hurry to tell Mirande what he had just learned at Bardin’s; to consult him even, although this fighter was not exactly what one might call a man of good advice. Paul had only one fear: that of not finding him at home. The porter reassured him. Mirande had just returned. It was he who came to open the door when Paul rang and, seeing him, he exclaimed joyfully: “You’ve arrived all right,” he cried; “I was going to spend my evening swallowing my tongue. You’ll keep me company. We’ll talk while smoking pipes and drinking grogs. ” “It’s just that… I have a lot to tell you,” murmured Paul. “And me, then!… We’ll settle down in my living room. You’ll see why. ” Mirande occupied a pretty bachelor’s apartment, not very large, but very complete, which he had taken pleasure in furnishing according to his tastes. Few objets d’art, but collections of pipes from all countries and fencing room utensils, hanging on all the walls: masks, foils, combat swords and the rest. On the table, boxes of cigars, tobacco jars, glasses and a bottle of brandy still three-quarters full. “You speak,” said Mirande. “Afterwards, it will be my turn. Sit down, pour yourself a drink, light whatever you like and go on with your story. Have you just had dinner at the Marais? ” “I’m from the Marais, but I haven’t had dinner and I won’t have dinner this morning.” evening. The news I heard has taken away my appetite. “What’s the matter now? Are we going to be arrested?… This judge told me… ” “It’s not about that. I saw Father Bardin and I found at his house a gentleman who has just arrived from Montpellier. ” “That’s your famous news! ” “He’s come expressly to see Madame de Ganges. ” “The Marquise in question?… The one who accuses me of having disturbed her life? ” “Yes… let me finish. You haven’t forgotten that I asked you, on behalf of Father Bardin, for information about a family in your country, the de Marsillargues family. ” “I told you that I had heard of these people, but that I didn’t know them. ” “Well! Madame de Ganges is a young lady from Marsillargues, the last of her race. ” “Good for her!” said Mirande, shrugging her shoulders. “So, you’re not interested in knowing that she, like you, is from Languedoc and that you were able to meet her once? ” “My goodness! No. ” “You spoke to me differently just now. You told me that you absolutely wanted to know how, if I can believe her, you had disturbed her life. ” “I still want it, and I’m more determined than ever to go and see her tomorrow to ask her. ” “Perhaps you’ll meet Father Bardin’s friend at her house…, the man who came from Montpellier expressly to get in touch with her… Mr. Lestrigou, a former president of the Bar. ” “Too many lawyers on the line, certainly,” sneered Mirande. “Well! I’ll see what he’s got in his belly, this president of the Bar.” Paul had on his lips the words that might have put his friend Jean on the right track. He had never spoken to her about Madame de Ganges’s protégée, this orphan girl she had taken with her four years ago, and who still didn’t know she was inheriting six million. It was a good idea to inform Mirande of the situation. And Paul did nothing; not that he wanted to keep this heiress to himself; but he told himself that this secret didn’t belong to him, and that Lestrigou would have the right to find it wrong if he confided it to someone, even a friend. He therefore fell silent, and Mirande continued cheerfully: “My dear fellow, you remind me of La Fontaine’s fable: the mountain that gives birth to a mouse… The revelations you announced to me so pompously seem to me to be of little interest… ” “For you, perhaps,” interrupted Paul Cormier; “and even then… if you would take the trouble to think, you would recognize that they should interest you too… if only indirectly. ” “Pardon!” My dear friend, I’m not in love with the Marquise. If I insist on questioning her tomorrow, it’s purely out of curiosity on my part. It’s enough for me that I’m not bothered anymore about this duel, and if I understand what you’ve led me to believe, your old lawyer’s son has no intention of going back on his decision. Tomorrow, I’ll pay the bail he set, and if he doesn’t end up issuing a dismissal order, I’ll be off to trial and acquitted. That suits me all the better since I have plenty to keep me busy until then. –A new mistress? –Oh! No, for example. I’m tired of spending my time falling in love with women I’m disgusted with after a month. I’m looking for something better… –What, my God?… Do you dream of being appointed deputy in your country? –I’m not there yet. It will be fine when I am fifty. Now I would simply like to live as I please. –It seems to me that you do not deprive yourself of it. You amuse yourself twenty-four hours a day. –Can you imagine that! Well! I am bored to death, and all I want is to change my life. –That’s something new, for example!… Since when? –I have been aspiring to it for a long time, without realizing it. –Really?… I hardly suspected it. –It only took one opportunity to enlighten me… –About your feelings? –You said so. I was missing something and I didn’t know what. I know it now. I was missing an interest in my life. –You’re always going around in the same circle. Explain yourself a little more clearly. What kind of interest? –I felt, without realizing it, the need to attach myself… –To whom? You just told me that women disgusted you… –And I’ll tell you again. I’ve discovered another hump… And as Paul looked at him in astonishment: –The hump of fatherhood, Mirande continued. –That’s a big one, that one! The devil if I would have guessed that you aspire to elevate yourself to the dignity of father of a family. –No… not exactly… but… –Then get married… with the advantages you have, if you decide to do so, it will be done soon. –Perhaps, but I won’t. –Do you have an insult to acknowledge? –No… fortunately. –Then I don’t see how you will go about procuring the joy you dream of… unless you apply to the Foundling Home. There, you will be spoiled for choice. –It wouldn’t be so stupid, but I don’t need to go there. I have my own business. Come with me, let me show you. Paul, stunned, got up and followed his friend who was heading towards the bedroom , separated from the living room where they were talking by a tapestry portiere . Mirande approached, walking on tiptoe, gently lifted the curtain and said in a low voice: –Look at him sleeping. The room was lit by a lamp whose shade softened the light. Lying on a sofa, his head resting on a cushion and his legs wrapped in a burnous, a child was sleeping soundly. Cormier had completely forgotten what had happened on the terrace and at the gate of the Luxembourg, but he immediately recognized the singular little boy that Mirande had found there. “What!” he cried, “it’s about this poor little boy that you ‘re talking to me so finely! ” “Not so loud!” murmured Mirande, putting a finger to her lips. “You ‘re going to wake him… and he needs rest… Let’s let him sleep and get back to our grogs… and to what I was telling you. ” “Decidedly,” said Paul, when they had resumed their places at the table, “you ‘re even more mentally ill than I thought. What! You took that child away!” “Perfectly, my dear, and I don’t regret taking him at all ,” replied Mirande, unmoved. “And where did you take him, good God!?” “Dinner at Foyot’s, with Véra and Maria, whom I met on the way, on the Rue de Vaugirard. ” “Nice company for a brat his age! ” “If you had heard how he treated them! He called them ‘ nasty.’ I was holding my sides. ” “Aren’t you ashamed of having him used for the amusement of those slobs?” “And you think you have the hump of paternity! ” “I have it… and I boast about it? ” “I’ll bet they’ve intoxicated him, the poor little fellow. ” “Not at all, I would have opposed it; and, besides, he wouldn’t have let it happen. He has a will, I can guarantee you that. ” “Of course!” I saw it clearly just now, when he was arguing with the adjutant. He must have had a strange upbringing. “Not so bad. When he speaks, he expresses himself like a child from a good family. Only, he has a bad temper. He’s been angry ten times since we met him… Not with me, for example… he only smiles at me… It’s as if he’s always known me. ” “Elective affinities, by Jove!… He guessed that you yourself have a terrible temper… You’re made for each other. ” “I believe so,” said Mirande seriously. “Good! But he doesn’t have a mother, that he throws himself like that at the head of the first comer? “No mother? He has two, he says. ” “And how many fathers?” asked Cormier ironically. “Not even one, I think. ” “Very well. That’s your business. You’ll give him some… if both mothers are willing. You should have started by asking them. ” “That’s what I would have done, if I had known where to find them… that is, where to find the real one; for I suppose that mother number two is an aunt or an older sister… But he couldn’t give me the address; he knows very well where it is, and he will recognize the house… but it seems that this house is very far from here… and in the evening, he wouldn’t have been able to find his way. ” “Good! I’m coming back to the idea I had earlier. His excellent parents wanted to get rid of him; and since you were foolish enough to take him in, they’re going to leave him in your hands.” “Well! I’ll have it left. That’s what I’m asking. ” “Oh, where did this sudden itch for paternity come from? ” “What do you want me to say? I don’t know. It came over me all at once and it’s holding me firm. ” “The voice of the blood, perhaps!” sneered Paul Cormier. “That would explain everything, and I’ve thought about it,” replied Mirande very seriously ; “but I’ve searched my memory in vain, and I haven’t found anything that would allow me to suppose that I was ever a father. ” “One can be one and not suspect it… Jean de Mirande or the father without knowing it… a drama in many acts. ” “Joke all you like. I’m delighted with what’s happening to me. I won’t be bored anymore.” “You’re going to be this little boy’s tutor… and his maid into the bargain, for he’s still at the age when one needs to be blown. It will, indeed, be very cheerful. ” “Don’t worry. I’ll give him all the necessary teachers… but I’ll teach him horsemanship myself… fencing… ” “And boxing, while you’re at it. If he benefits from your lessons, he’ll be an accomplished gentleman. But… will you do me the pleasure of telling me if you propose to keep him without trying to find the mother? ” “Oh! no,” said Mirande without conviction. “The little boy told me that she comes every day to the Luxembourg… to the terrace where he was staying when we met him earlier. I’ll take her there tomorrow, and if she is there, I’ll have to resign myself to handing him over to her. ” “I’d be very curious to see her. ” “There’s nothing to stop you from being there.” I plan to spend the afternoon there. –I don’t know if I can come. I absolutely want to see Madame de Ganges tomorrow. –Me too, by Jove! I want to see her. But there’s time for everything… And now that I’m in charge of souls… –You’re superb in that role!… Fortunately, your priesthood will come to an end if you get your hands on one of the two mothers of this enigmatic boy… yes, enigmatic, because whatever you say, a child doesn’t just get lost… there’s certainly something there. –It’s possible, but I don’t care. –Do you also know that you’re taking your time getting involved in a new affair, when we already have a terrible one on our backs? The investigation isn’t closed, and the scoundrel who denounced me hasn’t said his last word. Just now, I saw a man walking along the sidewalk in front of the door who seemed to be watching your house. “You’re like Vera, who sees spies everywhere. While we were dining at Foyot’s, she pointed out an individual standing on the corner of Rue de Vaugirard and claimed that he was a spy. ” “Perhaps Vera was mistaken, but I’m sure I saw it correctly. And I’d bet that the man is still there.” Mirande went and opened the window very quietly, leaned out to look into the street, and came back to say to Paul: “It’s true. He’s walking along the sidewalk… but there’s no proof that he’s is watching us. And then, what does it matter to us? Now that I’ve told the examining magistrate everything, we don’t need to hide what we ‘re doing. –It’s not the police I fear. –Who then? –I don’t know… but I fear everything. –And I fear nothing… We will never agree. Let’s talk about something else. At what time will you see this marquise tomorrow? –At the time it suits her to receive me; I will present myself at her house in the morning. Very probably, she will not receive me, but I will let her know that I will return in the afternoon and I hope that this time I will be admitted. Why do you ask me that? –Because, after all that, I will not see her until later. I had thought of accompanying you to Avenue Montaigne, but I prefer to remain free to dispose of my day. So many things can happen… –As you wish. I think, however, that we’d better go separately, said Paul, who had no desire at all to take his friend to Madame de Ganges. “Tomorrow,” Mirande continued, “I’ll only concern myself with my little one. In the morning, I’ll talk with him at length and I’ll try to get some information from him about his mothers, as he calls them. He only wants to talk and he doesn’t talk like a child… he speaks clearly, calmly, like a little man. This evening, he fell asleep at table because he was tired; but tomorrow, he’ll be as awake as a chowder . I’ll give him a good lunch and after lunch, a long walk in the Luxembourg. I’ll settle down there with him and while he’s enjoying himself, I ‘ll smoke countless cigars. I’ll stay there until nightfall, if necessary.” And if I don’t see him throw himself into a woman’s arms, I’ll conclude that he was deliberately lost and that he has nothing left in the world but me. “A nice prospect!” said Paul, grimacing. “You’d do much better to take him to the police commissioner in your neighborhood… This commissioner would receive your statement; he would give orders to search for the child’s parents… and he would score you a good point for having acted well… whereas if you keep quiet, they will still know that you have a child at home who doesn’t belong to you and… ” “Shh!” said Mirande, listening and lowering her voice. ” Listen!… I think he’s calling. ” “No,” murmured Cormier, “he’s dreaming aloud.” Mirande left her place once more and moved quietly closer to the tapestry that separated the living room from the bedroom. He was curious to hear what the child was saying in his sleep. Paul did the same, although the sleeper interested him much less. They heard only words without connection, among which one name often recurred: Mama Jacqueline. “Good!” murmured Mirande, “he’s dreaming of his mother. ” “His mother!” said Paul quietly, “what! His mother’s name is Jacqueline! ” “One of his mothers, since he has two; but he speaks more often of that one than of the other. She’s his favorite. ” This name, for Mirande, was a name like any other. For Cormier, it was a revelation. He had never forgotten that, in the cab he had ridden with her, the day he had seen her for the first time, Madame de Ganges, at the moment he was about to leave her, he had said to her: “When you think of me, think of Jacqueline.” They count the women named Jacqueline, and it was strange that there should be two with the same name among the regulars at the Luxembourg terrace. The child had said that his mother came there every day. Should we conclude from this that he was the son of the Marquise and that it was she who had forgotten him under the chestnut trees where the two friends had found him? Paul was tempted to believe it. And if Madame de Ganges was the child’s mother, M. de Ganges was not his father, for this unfortunate gentleman, in confessing to Cormier before the duel in which he had succumbed, would not have failed to speak to her about his son, if he had had one. This son, moreover, if he had been legitimate, would have been raised ostentatiously in the mansion on the Avenue Montaigne, and the Marquise would not have left him there, when she happened to go and spend the afternoon in a public garden. He was therefore an insult or an adulterer, depending on whether he was born before the marriage of Mademoiselle de Marsillargues, or during one of the husband’s long absences, and Madame de Ganges had him raised in secret. But she did not deprive herself of seeing him often. This explained the naive error of the child who believed he had two mothers. The other was a woman charged with looking after him. Maman Jacqueline was the real one. And this Marquise whom everyone believed to be irreproachable had a great flaw in her life. Paul was falling from the height of his illusions and his face was visibly lengthening . “What’s the matter with you?” Mirande asked him. “Do you know a Jacqueline? ” “Me! Not at all,” Cormier replied briskly, taking care not to expose his perplexities to his turbulent comrade. And almost immediately, he continued: “What’s the other one’s name?” “Mother number two?… I don’t know. The little one didn’t tell me anything, and I didn’t think to ask him. He’ll tell me tomorrow. Are you interested then? ” “Oh! It’s pure curiosity on my part. ” “Your curiosity will be satisfied. I’m not like you, who hid your affair with your marquise from me as long as possible. I won’t be mysterious about this child, and however the adventure turns out, I’ll act in broad daylight. ” “You’ll be quite right.” “I foresee, moreover, that the outcome will not be long in coming. Tomorrow evening, after my walk in the Luxembourg, I will know for sure. ” “Me too,” Cormier said to himself, promising himself to tell the whole story to the Marquise and to boldly ask her what she thought of it. After this short exchange of questions and answers, the conversation ceased, and each of the two friends became absorbed in reflections that did not have the same object. Mirande returned to caressing her chimera of paternity and Paul to recalling his memories, with the sole aim of forming a clear idea of ​​Madame de Ganges’s case. After all, he was accusing her without proof, on mere appearances based on a coincidence of names. The day he met her in the Luxembourg, the child was not with her. Perhaps he was playing further away on the terrace, under the supervision of his maid or nurse. But, if she had been with her mother, she would not have left without kissing her. There remained the name, the name Jacqueline that he gave to his mother and which had remained engraved in Paul’s memory, ever since the journey in the cab from the rue de Vaugirard to the roundabout on the Champs-Élysées. He suddenly remembered that Madame de Ganges had another one. Baroness Dozulé, when speaking to her, and speaking of her, had called her: my dear Marcelle, in front of fifteen people assembled in the open-air hall where she received her guests. So, this pretty first name was indeed that of the Marquise. Why had she taken another one? Probably because she did not want to say the real one to a man whom she might never see again and whom, at that moment, she barely knew. And, no doubt, she had said the first one that came to her mind, Jacqueline, as she would have said Jeanne or Andrée. This reasoning, based on a fact, reassured Cormier; and for fear of becoming gloomy again while listening to Jean de Mirande talk, he decided to leave. They had talked enough about the child. The subject was exhausted and they had nothing more to say to each other. Mirande only asked to go back to watching over the child’s sleep. mysterious kid he was sheltering. Cormier thought only of returning home to dream alone of the marquise. They therefore separated by mutual agreement, saying: Goodbye! and See you tomorrow! but without making a specific appointment. They both had a feeling that unforeseen incidents would disrupt their plans, and it was enough for them to know that, if nothing prevented them, they could meet again in the Luxembourg. The little sleeper gave no further sign of existence before Paul left , who took care not to wake him. Time had passed and it was quite late when Cormier came down. However, the porter was not in bed and he pulled the cord without waiting for his tenant’s friend to knock on the window of the lodge. The street door opened silently, and as Cormier stepped onto the wide sidewalk of Boulevard Saint-Germain, he almost bumped into a passing gentleman who turned to avoid him. There was a gas lamp there, the light of which fell squarely on the face of this walker whom Paul had already noticed on arrival, and whom, this time, he recognized. The man recognized him too and jumped aside, turning his back and striding away. This was the person who had had a run-in with Mirande in the Luxembourg, and the next day on Avenue Montaigne with Paul when he had come to see the Marquise. He was Madame de Ganges’s bodyguard, a former friend of her father’s, she said, and a former soldier. His name was M. Coussergues, and certainly, he was not a member of the police, although he was evidently there on surveillance duty like a simple agent. He had undoubtedly been sent there by the Marquise, and it was not Paul Cormier he had any interest in, for he did not abandon his watch to follow him, and Paul did not think of calling him out, for he easily guessed what he was doing there. He was guarding the child. He must have been following him from a distance, ever since Mirande had taken him from the Luxembourg; his mission was to stay in front of the house where the child was going to spend the night; to remain there until he left and not to lose sight of him until he met his mother. The light was finally coming on. The mother was indeed Madame de Ganges. She had left the child at the Luxembourg so that Mirande could find him there, and she had lectured the little one so that he would let himself be led by Mirande, whom she must have pointed out to him from a distance, without showing herself. All this was the result of a prearranged plan, and the next day would resolve the situation, for Mirande, informed by the intelligent boy, would not fail to bring him back to the place where he had found him. But why Mirande? So she knew him from a long time ago? Yes, since she had told Paul Cormier, who was driving with her. So, how could Mirande, when he approached her on the terrace, not have recognized her? It was incomprehensible, and Paul, while returning to his home on Rue Gay-Lussac, racked his brains in vain, trying to find the key to this mystery. And this thought kept coming back to him: Mirande is the father. That is why Madame de Ganges has questioned me so much about him. He is a father without knowing it. Anything is possible. A traveling adventure, at night, with a woman whose face he has not seen. She may not have known who he was; it was only much later that she learned, and ever since she found out, she has been trying to see him again. She does not dare to address him directly and she uses devious means to attract him to her. It is me that she used. The day she saw us together, she said to herself that she would have no trouble seducing me and that I would be a docile instrument in her hands. I was her dupe and I played a ridiculous role. She must be mad about him, since she didn’t give up trying to bring him back when she found out he had killed her husband. This woman is a monster. Thus Paul Cormier raved, forgetting facts he knew well and which proved that his suppositions were not common sense. Passion blinded him to such an extent that he would have denied the evidence rather than admit that he was wrong. He was forming plans for revenge against a woman he loved. He hoped that Brunachon would denounce her as having had her husband murdered. The accusation would not hold water, but the Marquise would still lose her reputation in the world where she lived.
He had no grudge against Mirande; but he hated her as much as he had adored her; or at least, he thought he hated her, for he still did not see very clearly into the feelings that agitated him. And he swore to himself that he would be done with her. But before chasing her from his heart, which she occupied entirely, he wanted to give himself the satisfaction of telling her what he thought of her unworthy conduct. He had condemned her without hearing her; he resolved to execute her the very next day, and he returned home, without asking himself whether the night would not bring him counsel. Chapter 6. It seemed long to Paul Cormier, that night that he spent entirely tossing and turning in his bed without being able to find the sleep that eluded him, and which he would have greatly needed to put his thoughts in some order . It was long after daybreak when he was able to close his eyes, and he was awakened by his housekeeper who came to tell him that two gentlemen were asking to see him. She did not know them and they had not wanted to give their names. In other circumstances, Paul would have absolutely refused to receive them; but he was in a position not to send people away, without knowing what they wanted from him. He sent word to them to wait until he was up and jumped out of bed to dress quickly. His lodgings were not so large that any visitors who came would be out of earshot of what was going on in the room where he slept. The housekeeper had, moreover, neglected to close the connecting doors. So a voice rose up, a voice Paul recognized, which said: “Don’t make such a fuss. It’s me, Bardin, and I’m with a friend who will excuse you from all ceremony. You can receive us in your shirt, if you like. ” “Come in then,” cried Paul, all the while wondering who Bardin was bringing to him. In the situation he was in, everything worried him. He was reassured when he saw Lestrigou, but he didn’t guess what the two old lawyers he had left the night before were doing at his house so early in the morning. “Still in bed, young man?” the former president of the bar asked him. “What time is it?” asked Paul, putting on a pair of trousers. “Past noon, and very past noon, my boy,” replied Bardin. ” What have you been doing all night, that you’re waking up so late?… Have you been up to anything stupid again? ” “Oh! no… I was in bed at midnight… only I had a lot of trouble getting to sleep. ” “Because you’re in the habit of going to bed at ungodly hours. Lestrigou and I were up at dawn this morning… and yet Lestrigou had spent the other night on the train. Don’t you have any idea where we’re coming from? ” “Not at all. ” “We’re coming from Avenue Montaigne.” Lestrigou was eager to see this Marquise de Ganges to ask her for the heiress’s address. I told him in vain that it doesn’t get light at the Marquises’ house before four o’clock in the evening, but he absolutely insisted on going to her house in the morning. “And she received you? ” “Ah! Well, yes!… we ran into a tall, braided lackey.” on all seams, who began by telling us that his mistress was not visible. We insisted. Lestrigou gave us his card on which he had written a few words to indicate the purpose of his visit. The footman refused to take charge of it. And as I was getting angry, he ended up telling me that Madame la Marquise was away on a trip. “Perhaps that’s true,” murmured Paul. Madame de Ganges, the last time he saw her, had told him that she was almost determined to leave Paris. “I didn’t believe a word of it,” Bardin continued. “Nor did Lestrigou. What reasons does this lady have for hiding? We don’t know, but she’s certainly hiding. We can do without her, but we need the heiress; and I’ve just persuaded Lestrigou to contact the police headquarters, who will be able to find her. ” “You won’t do that!” cried Paul. “And why not?” “Because you would compromise a woman who perhaps has nothing to reproach herself for. ” “What do you know? Do you know her? ” “No… but she is very well known in Paris, and if you involved the police in a case in which her name was involved, you would do her the greatest harm. ” “I should be very sorry,” said Lestrigou. “I am an old friend of the family, and when she was a young girl, I never had anything but praise for her. The devil is, I don’t know how to go about getting my hands on Bernadette. ” “Bernadette!” repeated Paul, who was hearing that name for the first time. “Eh!” Yes… Bernadette Lamalou… the orphan that Mademoiselle de Marsillargues took in at Fabrègues and who hasn’t left her for five or six years… She also interests me, and I’m eager to get in touch with her… if I knew of a way to do so, without implicating her protectress… “Do you want me to try?” Cormier asked abruptly. “You, young man!… eh! But, it wouldn’t be a refusal, if I believed that… ” “Are you losing your mind?” cried Bardin. “How will you manage to… ” “Don’t ask me for an explanation. I couldn’t give you one. But I promise to tell you this evening if the Marquise de Ganges is still in Paris and if her protégé is living with her.” Bardin consulted his friend Lestrigou with a glance, who nodded in approval. “When wise men are at the end of their Latin,” said Madame Cormier’s old friend, shrugging his shoulders , “the best thing they can do is hand over to a mentally ill person. Go on, my boy. You have carte blanche until tomorrow. We’ll wait for your report before starting any official proceedings… we’ll wait for it at my house until noon… And now, be free with your time… you have none to lose, if you want to succeed… I came to get you to help me do Lestrigou the honors of your Latin Quarter, which he absolutely wants to see again, but I’ll do it without you. Goodbye!… see you tomorrow morning!” Lestrigou said nothing more; he had put himself under Bardin’s direction, and he could only see through his eyes. In Montpellier, it would have been the opposite; but in Paris, the former president of the bar felt completely out of place and felt the need to let himself be guided by his old friend. Cormier let them go willingly. They would have bothered him; they already did. But he did not regret having seen them. Their arrival had roused him from the torpor he was in after a bad night, like a whiplash brings the heart back to the stomach of a good horse overcome with fatigue. His mind, numbed by a heavy sleep following a long period of insomnia, had suddenly awakened; his ideas had become clearer, and he finally saw the situation as it was. It was no longer a question of seeking schemes to penetrate the secrets of the Marquise. It was a question of seeing her at all times. price, whether she wanted it or not, and to have a decisive explanation with her, not to overwhelm her with reproaches, as he had resolved to do the day before, but to demand the truth from her on all points and to break off, if he became certain that she had made fun of him. He did not believe in her hasty departure and he promised himself that, if necessary, he would lay siege to her hotel until she agreed to hear him. Otherwise, he had no fixed plan. He intended to take inspiration from the circumstances. He finished dressing and had breakfast in all haste, as he had done on the day of his first visit to Madame de Ganges, the day after the duel. And, this time, when he went out into the street, he did not see a suspicious cab. Brunachon seemed to have disarmed, for he had not given any sign of life to Cormier since they had found themselves face to face in the examining magistrate’s office. Perhaps he was counting on the support of the Viscount de Servon to set up an intelligence agency. And whatever the case, Paul no longer had to worry about the attacks of this blackmailer, for Paul no longer had anything to hide that concerned him personally, and he no longer felt obliged to protect Madame de Ganges from being denounced. Getting out of the car at the entrance to Avenue Montaigne, he made sure at a glance that this rascal was not prowling around the hotel and he slipped past the houses to the carriage entrance, which he had expected to find closed. To his great surprise, he found it, not open, but wide open. It was a lucky break, and he didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it to let himself in without ringing. He foresaw that he wouldn’t get far without running into trouble with the recalcitrant valet who had blocked his way during his first and only visit. He saw no one, and instead of making his presence known by calling out, he quickly crossed the courtyard and entered the garden where the Marquise had received him. If she was there, he would surprise her, and she wouldn’t be able to escape him. He wished for nothing better, for the place was as propitious as any for a decisive explanation that could turn stormy. The Marquise wasn’t there. He walked around the garden without meeting her and without any servant showing themselves. Paul wondered if the mansion was abandoned, and he was tempted to believe that Madame de Ganges had really left Paris, taking all the staff of her household with him. A discovery he made changed the course of his ideas. On the bench where he had seen her sitting, at the foot of an acacia tree, he saw a saber, a cartridge pouch, and a tiny rifle: all the paraphernalia of a little boy who likes to play at being a soldier. “Ah!” he murmured, turning pale, “the child is hers.” There was hardly any reason to doubt it. Those toys, forgotten there, proved that the hotel garden was being used for the frolics of a child, and that this child was a boy; for little girls are not accustomed to amusing themselves with miniature military utensils. Little girls amuse themselves with dolls. And this boy could only be the belligerent lad who had been so up in arms the day before against a guard at the Luxembourg. As for toys, this one must have preferred sabers. And if the Marquise had just left Paris, it was permissible to suppose that she had left him behind with Mirande. Her bodyguard, Coussergues, had stayed to ensure that Mirande did not get rid of the boy, by depositing him at the Police Prefecture as he would have deposited an umbrella found in the street. Everything could be explained thus; and Madame de Ganges, who had not stopped lying to Paul Cormier since she had known him, Madame de Ganges, unmarried mother or unfaithful wife, did not deserve Paul to defend her. His indignation returned, and this time he didn’t bother to consider the pros and cons, or even to look for a servant who could give him information about the lady’s sudden departure. He thought only of getting out of the hotel, which he swore he would never set foot in again. What did the heiress with the six million francs matter to him now? He had promised Bardin and Lestrigou that he would tell them where they would find this untraceable protégé; but no one is obliged to do the impossible. He would tell them that she had probably left Paris with her protectress, and he would no longer hesitate to tell them everything he knew about the Marquise. Ah! Lestrigou, now he could well go to the police! Paul would not intervene to prevent him. He left as he had come, without meeting anyone, and he found the door half-open as he had left it. Nothing stirred in this vast residence, where the servants were numerous. It looked like Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Paul, once outside, wondered how he would spend the rest of the day. He would have liked to go to the Rue des Arquebusiers, just to inform his old friends, but he didn’t expect to find them there. They had announced their intention of touring the Latin Quarter, in search of their old memories, and this retrospective tour would probably keep them up for several hours. It would have been better for Paul to wait until the next day to report to them. And since he felt the need to confide his troubles to a friend, he immediately thought of going to Mirande’s and telling her everything that was on his mind. He was looking around for a carriage when he saw the Viscount de Servon coming towards him. This gentleman was arriving from the direction of the Champs-Élysées and he looked as if he were going to pay a visit to the Marquise. He had more or less announced this visit the day before, while talking with Paul at the Café Soufflot, and it was quite natural that he should make it. Paul would have liked to avoid him, for he was not disposed to take him as a confidant; but the Viscount had seen him from a great distance and Paul no longer had time to evade. They approached each other politely and the first word from M. de Servon was: “You have just seen Madame de Ganges, I suppose? ” “I was not received,” replied Cormier evasively. “Perhaps, sir, you will be happier than I. ” “My goodness! I will try… and as I had the honor of telling you yesterday, I intend to point out to him the maneuvers of the man who denounced you and who might slander her, if something doesn’t stop him.” “That’s what I would have done if I had seen her… but you are better placed than I to act against this wretch, since you know all his antecedents. ” M. de Servon had that finesse that comes from experience of society and men. He noticed very well that the student seemed no longer to be as interested in Madame de Ganges, and to know what to make of the feelings she inspired in him, he began to speak of her in a tone more casual than respectful. “She is, in truth, a strange person, this Marquise,” he said, smiling. “We forgive her everything, because she is adorably pretty, but it must be admitted that she has done everything necessary to demote herself. Any other woman would have succeeded long ago; but society has these indulgences for women who know how to position themselves well from the start. She is decidedly very strong.” Paul would have gladly joined in chorus with M. de Servon, but he was displeased to hear him treat Madame de Ganges so lightly and, through his instinct of an unhealed lover, he tried to defend her. “I didn’t know that people spoke ill of her in the salons where she is received,” he replied rather dryly. “Oh! not in those…, but she does not hold in Paris the rank to which her name and her fortune would allow her to aspire… And when it is known how her husband died, she will find herself in a difficult situation. But you and I are willing to support her and everything will work out, I’m sure of it. Paul didn’t reply. He was looking for a transition to take his leave of this malicious chatterbox without abruptness. “She is singular in everything,” the indiscreet viscount continued. “Have you noticed, dear sir, that she never takes off her gloves? ” “No,” Cormier stammered, “I’ve seen her so little… ” “She has yet another habit: that of never allowing anyone to shake her hand… not even the tips of her fingers. ” Paul had noticed this twice, but it didn’t suit him to say so and he assumed an astonished air that did not stop the flow of the viscount’s gossip, for he added: “It seems she is afflicted with a strange infirmity. The skin on her hands is as cold as a snake’s skin.” When she was a young girl, her companions called her the Cold Hand. If she ever made an exception in my favor, I imagine that touching her would give me an unpleasant feeling. And as Paul persisted in not replying, M. de Servon continued cheerfully: “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, dear sir. These are salon rumors that aren’t worth reporting; and whether they are founded or not, Madame de Ganges is charming. And then, there is the saying: cold hand, warm love… I am inclined to believe that it applies very well to the Marquise… I wish I could experience it, but I hope not… and I leave you to go and present my very platonic respects to her… if she will be so kind as not to close her door on me. Goodbye, and my apologies for having kept you so long.” Cormier took care not to detain him. This gentleman irritated him with his insinuations and his persifflage, the purpose of which he did not perceive. Cormier wanted to curse Madame de Ganges, but he had impatiently suffered someone else to speak ill of her in his presence, and he thought only of getting away to avoid meeting M. de Servon again, when he left the hotel of the absent marquise. So he turned right and threw himself under the trees, in order to reach the quay by passing behind the Palais de l’Industrie. There, he jumped into a carriage and had himself driven to the Boulevard Saint-Germain. He was done for. Mirande had gone out with the little boy. Paul had missed him by a quarter of an hour. The concierge told him that he had gone out on foot. Paul thought that he must have gone to the Luxembourg as he had told him the day before, and Paul got back into the cab to go and join him there. He knew what his comrade was going to do there: look for the mother of the lost child, or rather wait for her there. This was a reason for Paul, who was also looking for her, and who thought he knew her, to go to where he still had some chance of meeting her. He got out in front of the gate that borders the rue de Vaugirard, at the level of the rue Féron, paid his coachman and entered the garden, determined not to leave until he had found his comrade. Mirande came there like a fisherman setting his nets. The child would serve as bait to attract the mother. Mirande must have settled in the place where the mother had left this strange little boy the day before. Paul therefore began his rounds at this end of the terrace. He recognized the toy shop near which the boy had taken refuge to resist the adjutant who wanted to take him away; but he saw neither Mirande nor young Roch. No doubt he had gotten there before them and they would soon appear. The idea came to him to question the shopkeeper and explain how the child was dressed, and the woman replied that he came almost every day with his mother, around four o’clock. She had seen him again the day before and as she had closed the shop early , she had not witnessed the scene with the watchman. Paul, thus informed, pushed further along the terrace, in the direction of the Nursery, to make sure that Mirande was not walking in that direction. He did not meet him and he retraced his steps, intending to return to his starting point and stay there. It was not Sunday and the weather was not very safe. There were few people on the terrace: a few women sitting here and there on chairs. Paul, before retracing his steps, began to review them, and was petrified when he saw the Marquise de Ganges. She had sat in the place she had already occupied the day he had met her for the first time, at the end of the terrace on the side of the Observatory walk, leaning against the pedestal of a statue—the same one—and absolutely alone. She didn’t see Paul Cormier, and she hadn’t noticed him when he passed in front of her, any more than he had noticed her. It wasn’t her he was looking for, it was Mirande and the little boy. But it was enough for him to see Madame de Ganges for him to forget what he had come to do in the Luxembourg. He had finally found her again, this untraceable marquise who had people saying she had left Paris. The opportunity was perfect to ask her for an explanation that she owed him, and he went straight to her, determined to get this over with and not to spare her. He was almost brutal. Instead of greeting her, when he approached her, he did what Mirande had done on the Sunday of their first meeting. He grabbed a chair and sat down opposite her, without saying a word. She turned pale and was about to get up, but she stayed and said to him in a voice altered by emotion: “I beg you, sir, leave me.” “I’m sorry to refuse you,” he replied harshly. “I came to your house and you weren’t there. Since I’m meeting you, I absolutely must speak to you. ” “Not now. I’ll see you whenever you like; but at this moment, I can’t hear you. ” “You will hear me, however; for I warn you that if you leave the square, I will follow you. It will be, if you like, another ride in a cab, but this time I won’t get out on the way to please you. ” “What have I done to you to make you take this tone with me?” asked Madame de Ganges, who was gradually recovering from her confusion. “You made fun of me… you lied… I must call a spade a spade… ” “I have never lied in my life,” the Marquise interrupted coldly. ” Except for the day you swore to me that my friend, Jean de Mirande, was indifferent to you. ” “You are mistaken. I told you that I did not love him and that I could not love him, that is all. ” “Oh! I have not come to make a scene of jealousy! ” “You have no right,” said Madame de Ganges with great dignity. “You took the liberty of declaring that you loved me, me whom you hardly knew. I did not encourage you to do so, and above all, I did not promise you anything. What do you blame me for? “For having tried to make me play a ridiculous role, by using me to achieve your ends. ” “I do not understand. ” “You understand very well.” I haven’t yet guessed your purpose, but I’m certain you wouldn’t dare admit it… and look! I wish Mirande were here… perhaps you would decide to lay your cards on the table… He will come, anyway… Madame de Ganges shuddered, but said nothing. “Yes, madame, I expected to find him there and I will wait for him. ” “As you please, sir. You are free to stay, and I am free to leave. ” “Not alone. ” “Does that mean you intend to follow me, despite my wishes? ” “I intend you to listen to me to the end.” “Hurry up then and speak clearly. What do you want from me? ” “I want the truth. ” “On what?” Paul hesitated, restrained by a remnant of delicacy that prevented him from hurting a woman he loved by asking her point-blank a question that had been on his lips. Passion prevailed, and he said abruptly: “You have never had children?” This time, the rudeness was so strong that tears came to Madame de Ganges’s eyes; but she remained in control of herself, and calmly replied: “Never, sir. Why do you ask me that?” “Because I thought you had one.” “And on what did you base this supposition, which is offensive to me? ” “Offensive?” “But no, since you have only been a widow for three days. You were married, I think, for several years. You may well have had a child by your husband.” “If I had one, he would never leave me, and you have never seen him with me. ” “No… I only saw his toys, which he left on a bench in your garden. I went into that garden today. The door of your hotel was open, and I did not find one of your people to answer me. ” “And from the fact that a child left his toys at my house, you conclude that I am his mother? ” “I have other proofs. ” “What are they, please? ” “What is your first name? ” “Marcelle,” replied the Marquise without hesitation. “So you have two names?… The other is Jacqueline… you told me so in the carriage last Sunday. ” “That’s true. I remember. You were pressing me to tell you, and at that time, I still didn’t know if I would ever see you again.” I gave you the first name that came to mind. Besides, a quarter of an hour later, you could hear my friend Madame Dozulé call me Marcelle. “Marcelle de Marsillargues, then? ” “Yes, I was born in Marsillargues. How do you know?… I never told you. ” “What does it matter how I know?” “From my husband; perhaps,” stammered Madame de Ganges, slightly troubled. “No, madame, it wasn’t your husband who told me. ” “Who then?” “Do you know Maître Lestrigou in Montpellier? ” “The former president of the bar!… yes, certainly… he was my father’s friend and advisor … but it’s several years since I saw him. ” “It will be up to you to see him. ” “I would like to… but he is so old that he no longer goes out. ” “He is in Paris.” “Since when?” asked the Marquise, quite astonished. “Since yesterday evening. He came expressly for you. ” “For me!… why didn’t he write to me!… he would have saved himself the fatigue of this long journey. ” “He didn’t know your address. He learned it very recently… And he came to your hotel this morning. You refused to see him. ” “I wasn’t at home,” said Madame de Ganges quickly. “And if I knew where he was staying in Paris… ” “I know, and I’ll tell you … when you have answered the questions I am going to ask you. ” “Speak, sir!” Paul took a moment to prepare his effect, and when he read in Madame de Ganges’s eyes a concern that closely resembled anxiety, he began thus: “Do you remember the stays you made at the Château de Fabrègues before your marriage? ” “Yes, certainly,” replied the Marquise without hesitation. “So, you also remember a little peasant girl… an orphan, in whom you were interested?… “And in whom I am still interested; yes, sir. ” “Well, Mr. Lestrigou is looking for her. He doesn’t know where she is, and he thinks you don’t know. ” “Why is he looking for her? ” “To give her some good news. ” “I don’t understand. Explain yourself, sir, I beg you.” “She inherits an enormous fortune. ” “It’s impossible. Her parents were poor. ” “Her father became rich in California, where he died, leaving her six million. ” “What are you saying?” murmured the Marquise, very moved. “The truth, Madame. The inheritance is liquidated, Monsieur Lestrigou has taken all the necessary steps. Your protégée has only to take possession. Only, she must show herself. And if she doesn’t , the good man who is looking for her will contact the police, who will be sure to find her. ” “I will find her, and Monsieur Lestrigou will see her… at my house. ” “When? ” “Whenever he pleases. ” “That’s enough, Madame. Monsieur Lestrigou has stayed in Paris with one of his old friends, who is also an old friend of my family. I’m not sure I’ll meet him today, but I will go tomorrow morning to tell him that you are ready to introduce him to Bernadette Lamalou.” “You know her name!” cried Madame de Ganges. “Why would Monsieur Lestrigou have hidden it from me? He trusts me, and he told me the whole story of this young girl… ” “What did he tell you about her?” asked the Marquise quickly. “That she was raised with you at the Château de Fabrègues, that she followed you to Montpellier, and that after your marriage, she never left you… you made long journeys with her; Monsieur Lestrigou lost track of her, and even of you. ” “Did he tell you anything else? ” “He also told me that you did not find happiness with Monsieur de Ganges and that you must have become even more attached to your protégée. ” “That’s true. Her friendship consoled me for many sorrows… but she suffered even more than I did. ” “Well, her bad days are over. Now she’s rich.” “It wasn’t poverty that she suffered,” murmured the Marquis’s widow. “Poverty is nothing. I’ve always been rich and I’ve never been happy. ” “What did you lack to be so?” asked Paul, looking fixedly at the Marquise. “I lacked being loved,” she replied without hesitation. “What do you know? ” “Don’t tell me you love me… I couldn’t believe you… and even if you didn’t delude yourself about the nature of the feeling you claim to have for me, I couldn’t answer it… it’s too late… my life is over… I have only one affection left… that which I bear to Bernadette… she, too, suffered through her heart… the wound she received still bleeds, and if I could manage to heal it, I would ask nothing more of God.” This desperate declaration, which did not enlighten Paul Cormier on the situation of the two friends, did not affect him as it should have done if he had been less prejudiced against Madame de Ganges. The child taken in by Mirande was still in his head, and the Marquise’s answers had not convinced him that she was not the mother of this little boy who forgot his toys at her house. He had not pushed the interrogation to the limit and had lost himself in secondary questions about Mademoiselle de Marsillargues’s past before telling her about the incident which had brought little Roch to Jean de Mirande’s. But he had not given up on broaching this subject, and it was time to get there, because Madame de Ganges was going to tire of hearing it and, whatever he had said, he had no intention of detaining her by force if she got up to leave. And, carried away by the liveliness of the dialogue he had begun with her, he forgot that Jean would soon arrive on the terrace, leading the child who would not fail to settle the matter by recognizing his mother, if she were there. Nor did he notice that the Marquise seemed to be expecting an event, for it had happened to her more than once, especially at the beginning of the conversation, to look into the distance, as if she were watching for someone to appear. Since Paul had begun to press her with embarrassing questions, she was less interested in what was happening on the terrace. She turned her head less often and she hardly ever stopped looking her interlocutor in the face, no doubt in order to guess his ulterior motive and be ready to retort. “Madame,” Cormier continued, without pitying the Marquise’s heartache , “I spoke to you just now about a child I believed to be yours. You say the opposite, and it may be that I was mistaken. But I did not tell you that I saw him yesterday… that I spoke to him… and that I know where he is.” And, as Madame de Ganges did not say a word, and lowered her eyes: “He is at the house of someone you know well…” At that moment, Roch, who had come out of nowhere, arrived, running as fast as he could , and jumped onto the Marquise’s knees, crying: “Mother Jacqueline! Good morning, Mother Jacqueline!” And without giving her time to recognize herself, he threw his little arms around her neck and began to devour her with caresses. She was very upset, and with good reason, but she did not push him away and tenderly returned his kisses. “Come now!” thought Cormier, “she admits it, because she cannot do otherwise… The child is indeed hers, for if she were not his mother, she would chase him away. ” “Well!” cried the little boy, as soon as he had had his fill of kisses. “Good morning, sir!… Have you been well since yesterday?” He had recognized Paul at once, although he hadn’t seen him much the day before, and Paul, delighted by the incident, hastened to say to him: “I’m very well, and you? Did you sleep well at our friend’s?” “Oh! Yes. I only woke up this morning, very late, and I was looked after at his place as I had been at Mama Jacqueline’s. He took me to lunch at a cafe where there were ice creams everywhere… I ate as many strawberries as I wanted… nice big ones… But I’m really happy all the same to see Mama Jacqueline again. ” “And where is our friend?… Did he come with you to the Luxembourg?” “Yes… but at the bottom of the terrace stairs he met two ugly women… the ones who dined with us yesterday… he started talking to them… it bothered me… so I hopped up the stairs … when I got to the top, I saw Mama Jacqueline… and here I am! “He must be worried about you. You’d better go and get him. You’ll tell him I’m here. ” “Should you, Mama?” Roch asked, his eyes questioning the Marquise. “Go, my child,” she replied calmly. The boy took off like a shot and rushed up the stairs. Paul was only waiting for him to leave before beginning the decisive explanation. Madame de Ganges warned him. “Well! Sir,” she said to him, “here he is, this child you claimed was mine… ” “But it seems to me he can’t belong to anyone else. ” “Why? Because he calls me Mama?” “Mother Jacqueline… he probably only knows you by that name… the first one that came to mind when I asked you the other day, you said just now! “That name is mine… I have two, I’m called Marcelle-Jacqueline. “Marcelle, to the world… Jacqueline, to your son? ” “So you persist in believing that Roch is my son? ” “Would you still dare to maintain the contrary? ” “Yes, and I’ll prove it to you soon. ” “Then it’s a foundling that you adopted?… You had already adopted an orphan… it’s a mania!…” “The mania for loving,” murmured the Marquise. This was said so gently that Paul turned around. Madame de Ganges, instead of being angry at the accusation he threw in her face, answered without emotion and without taking the trouble to justify herself. He was beginning to wonder again if this resigned attitude, which he had at first taken for a confession, was not proof of innocence. And he continued in a less assured tone: “He has gone to join a man you know… Jean de Mirande. ” “I know it. ” “But he will return… and Mirande will not fail to approach you. ” “I expect it.” “What will you do, then?” “You will see. Now, I beg you to stay . I wish you to attend the interview I will have with your friend. You will be free to take part in it. ” “What!… in the presence of the child! ” “The child will play around us. He would not understand… and he will not try to understand. I hope that M. de Mirande will not bring the women he has just met,” added Madame de Ganges , smiling sadly . “He only needs to see you to get rid of them. You already saw them… Sunday… they were here and they took him away…
” “I remember it very well. ” “But since that day, things have happened… ” “That have changed your friend’s mood. That is the favor I wish for him. ” “I will not hide from you that I was counting on finding him here… and I knew he would take the child there, who told us yesterday that his mother came here every day… his mother! Do you hear, madame? ” “I hear very well… and Roch told you the truth. ” “Then it is I who no longer understand. But, since everything will become clear, we can talk about something else… About your protégée, for example. She must hardly expect the news you are going to tell her… because I suppose you will see it before she has seen that excellent Mr. Lestrigou who is bringing her six million.” “I will certainly see her today. ” “And Lestrigou will not see her until tomorrow. You will then have the pleasure of announcing to her that she is a millionaire. Dare I ask you if she is married? ” “No, sir, she is not. ” “She will not lack suitors. I shall astonish you by telling you that I was put in the running without consulting me. ” “You!” murmured Madame de Ganges, blushing a little. “My God, yes… and here is how it is: Mr. Lestrigou’s friend is very interested in me; he dreams of marrying me, and as soon as he learned that Mr. Lestrigou knew an heiress, he took it into his head to make me marry her. He preached to me at length; he threatened to give me his curse if I shied away. ” “May I know what you answered him?” –That I didn’t want his millionaire… who, moreover , most likely wouldn’t want me. Was I wrong? –No, sir, Bernadette doesn’t want to get married. –Nor do I. So all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds. –I envy your optimism, sighed Madame de Ganges. –If only I could convert you to it! –For that to happen, events would have to happen… which won’t happen… But it seems to me that Roch is taking a long time… Provided that M. de Mirande brings him back to us! –You can count on it… The little one knows you’re here and Mirande, who adores him, wouldn’t leave him for an empire. –Ah! He’s already become attached to him? –That is to say, there’s no one who’s mentally ill!… He’s suddenly discovered that he has a pronounced vocation for fatherhood… and I’d wager that he’s terribly afraid that the child will be taken away from him. If his mother had abandoned him, he would be delighted because he could keep him… and if she wanted to sell him, he would buy him for his weight in gold. –Roch is not for sale. –Oh! I think so… but he would manage wonderfully well living with my friend. I was there last night when Mirande met him on the terrace. The child was arguing with a guard who wanted to take him out of the garden because they were going to close. As soon as Mirande got involved, he became as gentle as a sheep and followed him, without a hint of difficulty. They got along right away . And I could see that they have the same character. The little one is as angry as the big one is violent. –That’s saying something, I think. Your friend gives me the impression of a savage who has been suddenly thrown into the midst of civilized people. He obeys only his passions or rather his instincts… he knows no restraint. He walks through the world without a care for the victims he crushes… He frightens me. –Really? I thought you were interested in him. –As one worries about a dangerous enemy… as a shepherd worries about the wolf prowling around the flock… –I assure you, madame, that Jean is worth much more than you think… the sheep he kidnapped were just waiting to be eaten. –What do you know about them? asked Madame de Ganges quickly. –Those I know at least… the young ladies of the Latin Quarter… –He hasn’t always lived in Paris. –He hasn’t left it since he left college. –I thought he had an uncle in the province where I was born…, in Languedoc. –He hasn’t seen him for five years, this uncle… and he fell out with him during a trip to Montpellier…, the only one he’s made since he came of age. –Did he ever speak to you about that trip? –Very little. He has bad memories of it and it’s a subject he avoids discussing. I understand that something unpleasant happened to him there , but he never told me about it. “The contrary would surprise me greatly. ” “So you know about this adventure? ” “Excuse me, sir, from answering you. ” “You prefer to answer Jean, whom you will see soon, and who will not fail to question you… ” “About what, I pray? ” “But… even if it were only about this child who, shortly, will come and throw himself into your arms. ” “Throw himself into my arms?… no… I don’t think so,” murmured Madame de Ganges, who for some moments had been looking persistently in the direction where, the day before, the two friends had met little Roch. “But,” she continued, “whatever happens, I will thank M. de Mirande. ” “What will you thank him for?… for having been unseemly when he approached you last Sunday on this terrace? ” “I will thank him for having taken in this poor little one.” “He will answer you by asking if he is yours. ” “I should expect it, since you asked me the same question. ” “A question that does not seem to embarrass you. ” “Oh! Not at all. And you will soon know, sir, what you think. ” “What are you waiting for to tell me the truth? ” “I am waiting until your friend is here. He is more interested in knowing it than you are. ” “That is the beginning of a confession!” cried Cormier; “but look!… Here he is!… or rather, here they are! Mirande, at that moment, appeared at the top of the stairs, holding little Roch by the hand and freed from the company of the maidens who had accosted him near the pool. No doubt, he had just dismissed them on learning from the child that the enigmatic mother Jacqueline was on the terrace. Paul Cormier stood up to call her with a gesture. The Marquise didn’t move, and Roch let go of Mirande’s hand to run to her; but suddenly, turning right, he launched himself at full speed towards the quincunxes where there was no shortage of children his own age, nor of women sitting at the foot of the chestnut trees. Mirande didn’t try to catch up with him. He had seen his friend and the blonde who had recently been so surly in his hussar-like gallantry. He knew from Paul that this recalcitrant blonde was the Marquise de Ganges, but he didn’t suspect that she was also Mama Jacqueline, and he couldn’t resist the urge that took him to explain. with her before running after the child. He had killed her husband. That was no reason to flee from her, and he came to her with all the bravado of Don Juan inviting to supper the statue of the Commander he had sent to the other world. Pale, but resolute, Madame de Ganges looked at him, without lowering her eyes. She waited for him to speak and it was Cormier who said to his friend: “Madame knows you. It is useless for me to introduce you. ” “Perfectly useless,” Mirande added. “I know that I have the honor of being the compatriot of Madame who was formerly called Mademoiselle de Marsillargues… and I also know that she accuses me of having disturbed her life… it was to you that she said it and it was you who repeated it to me.” And as the Marquise continued to remain silent, he resumed in a less assured tone: “If this reproach applied to a recent misfortune that I deplore, I would ask madame to forgive me… but, if I am not mistaken, it would be a question of serious wrongs that I would have committed in the past… ” “Five years ago,” interrupted Madame de Ganges. “Towards you, madame?… I thought I saw you for the first time last Sunday, in the place where you are sitting at this moment. ” “So you have forgotten that you came to Fabrègues? ” “To Fabrègues!” repeated Mirande, frowning. “Yes… to the village near which my father had a château. ” “I know… but I do not remember having met you during the very short stay I made nearby, on an estate that still belongs to my uncle. ” “You were there on the day the grape harvest opened? ” “Yes… I think so… ” “You think so!” repeated the Marquise; you are not sure?… then, you have not kept a distinct memory of that day!… it should have left its mark on your life. Paul was very surprised to see that Mirande’s face had changed. He was even more surprised to hear her reply: “It’s true… that day, I committed a bad deed. ” “No, sir… not just a bad deed… a crime, because you could have repaired it and you did not.” Paul was stunned. He wondered what kind of crime his comrade could have loaded his conscience with, in Languedoc. It was quite enough to have killed the Marquis on the Boulevard Jourdan. He was beginning, however, to guess that it was not another incident and that Mirande’s first victim was not a man. “How could I have repaired it?” stammered the culprit. I left the next day.
–And you never came back… and you never worried about what would become of the unfortunate child you had shamefully deceived! –You might add that she did nothing to remind me of her. –What could she have done?… you had taken a false name, because she would not have given in to you if she had known that you were the nephew of the Count of Mirande, the richest landowner in the department of Hérault. But she believed your promises of marriage… for you went so far as to swear to marry her… and when she knew the truth… it was I who told it to her… it was too late… she had been obliged to confess her fault to me. –She could have written to me. –Why? To ask you for help? She did not think of it… and if that thought had come to her I would have dissuaded her from attempting a humiliating step. It wasn’t money she wanted from you… what would she have done with it anyway?… since her misfortune, I have taken charge of her, and she has never had to suffer from poverty… that would have been too much!… she has suffered enough in her heart… “Oh! in her heart!” murmured Mirande ironically, already tired of putting up with reproaches without answering them. “Yes, sir,” replied Madame de Ganges. “She loved you and you betrayed her.” –She loved me, you say? –And she still loves you. –A strange love that did not inspire her with the simple idea of ​​giving me news of her. A silence of five years!… I had every right to believe I was forgotten. –She has not ceased for a single instant to think of you… but she was no longer in France… she was traveling with me, for she has never left me… and she will never leave me… –So she is in Paris? –Since I came back, yes, sir. –And she did not try to see me? –She saw you. –Without my seeing her, then. –Perhaps you saw her without recognizing her. –I don’t think so… or she would have to be very changed. –She is as beautiful as when she was called: the pearl of Fabrègues. –Well! why is she hiding? “She’s not hiding,” replied Madame de Ganges, looking in the direction where little Roch had run. Paul Cormier was beginning to understand. Since his friend’s entrance, he hadn’t said a word, but he had seen where the child had gone, and he waited anxiously for the Marquise to decide to explain a situation he thought he could guess. “Sir,” she continued, still addressing Mirande, “you will no longer deny that you have troubled my life. I have forgiven you for the harm you have done me. It remains for me to tell you that I am grateful to you for a good deed… Without you, God knows what would have become of the child you have taken care of since yesterday… ” “What!… you know…” “Your friend told me.” “He is here, this child… I brought him… He has just left me. ” “He is not far,” murmured Paul. –And it seems that his mother is there too… he told me… and I suppose that having seen her, he must have run to join her… Then, correcting herself, Mirande added: –No, he was mistaken… it wasn’t her, because here he is coming back. Roch arrived, in fact, at full speed, and without worrying about his good friend Jean, as he already called him, he jumped straight onto Madame de Ganges’s knees, shouting: –Don’t scold me, Mama Jacqueline!… it was little mother who held me back. Mama Jacqueline had its effect once again. But it was Mirande who received the blow. Like Paul Cormier just now, he thought he understood that Roch was the son of the Marquise and this discovery was not likely to please him. He was not in love with Madame de Ganges, and it mattered little to him that she had hidden the birth of an illegitimate child; but he could hardly hope that she would leave him, this child he would have liked to keep. And he did not hesitate to express aloud what he felt. “Come now!” he said, “I’m definitely unlucky! I’ve grown attached to this little one and I’ll never see him again. ” “What would you do with him if he stayed with you?” asked the Marquise, looking at him fixedly. “I would make a man of him. ” “A man in your image!” sighed Mama Jacqueline. “No, madame; a man who would be worth more than me… it would not be difficult… and I would have adopted him, so that he would inherit my name and my fortune… I tried to persuade myself that he had no one to love him… I see that I was mistaken… it was a dream… I will try to forget it. –You will succeed… you have already forgotten so many things! –Not as much as you think… but what can you do!… it seems that I have the hump of fatherhood and that I do not have the hump of marriage… –In other words, you have sympathy for this child, and if he were an orphan, you would be happy to take charge of him… –You guess my thought… but he has at least a mother… and a mother who would not consent to part with him. –Oh! no, murmured Madame de Ganges, embracing little Roch. –You see that I have nothing left to do but try to console myself. One does not fight against one’s destiny. It was written up there that I would end up alone… like my uncle, who for years has led the life of a solitary old boar… It is in the blood of the Mirandes… no one loves them… they do not love often and when it happens to them, it does not suit them… well! I resign myself. –It is a pity! You had the vocation… it only took a few hours for you to become attached to this child you had never seen. What would it be like if he were your son! –If he were my son, I would take him, whatever anyone did to prevent me; no sacrifice would cost me… –Even that of your freedom? –Yes, madame, I would go so far as to marry his mother… But you know better than anyone that it is impossible. –Why better than anyone? This child is not mine. Mirande bowed, smiling, to express that he did not want to contradict a woman. “Mother Jacqueline,” little Roch suddenly cried, “I don’t know why Mother Bernadette is upset… she does nothing but cry… let’s go and console her, shall we?” The name Bernadette made the two friends tremble. Paul knew from Lestrigou that it was the heiress’s. He had not mentioned it in front of Mirande, but Mirande had known it for a long time, this name, quite common in the south of France, and almost unknown in Paris. Mirande had had good reasons for holding it back, and he was surprised to hear it come from the lips of this child. “He talks about his mother,” said Madame de Ganges, “and his mother is my best friend… I’ll bring him back to her. ” “So she’s here?” asked Mirande, greatly troubled. “Yes, sir; and I would reproach myself for depriving her of her son any longer . Madame de Ganges added, rising: “I’m not stopping you from following me, gentlemen.” They took advantage of the permission, without really knowing where it would lead them, for they could only see under the quincunxes bands of kids and the maids watching over them. Roch ran in front of the marquise and they saw him disappear behind the trunk of a chestnut tree, which partly hid from them a woman sitting in the shade of this veteran of the Luxembourg plantations. They both sensed that they were approaching the denouement of a situation which, for three days, had only become more and more complicated, and they were too moved to exchange their impressions, even in low voices. Paul was the first to see Bernadette’s profile, between two embraces from the little boy who held her by the head and covered her with caresses to dry her tears. And, at first glance, Paul recognized the charming young woman he had met in the garden of the mansion on Avenue Montaigne, the day of his visit to the Marquis’s widow. The truth was finally out. The child who had left his toys on a bench was the child of Madame de Ganges’s friend, who had no reason to be ashamed of a clandestine motherhood. Paul already reproached himself for having suspected her. Mirande felt a pang in his heart. He, too, recognized Bernadette, and not from having glimpsed her for a moment the day before. It was Bernadette he had seduced at Fabrègues, during that fatal journey from which he had brought back the curse of his old uncle and the remorse of having abused the innocence of a defenseless young girl. His past suddenly rose up before him, and, before this apparition, he remained motionless and speechless. He would have liked to ask his victim for forgiveness, but he could not find a word. She looked at him, pale and distraught, and she held little Roch close to her heart, as if she feared that Mirande would take him away from her. “He is yours, sir,” said Madame de Ganges, pointing to the child. Will you love him less because you are his father? The handsome Mirande, the brilliant champion of the Schools, the Don Juan of the Latin Quarter, passed through a cruel moment. His pride still revolted at the thought of confessing his wrongs and humiliating himself before the one he had offended, begging her to give him back this child whom he had abandoned as he had abandoned the mother. “Ask him to choose between you and her,” the Marquise continued. And as he remained silent: “Roch,” she asked, “do you want to go and live with Monsieur, or stay with Mama Bernadette? ” “I want to stay with Mama,” the child replied without hesitation, “but I am happy for him to come to us, because I love him. ” “He has chosen,” said Madame de Ganges. “You will not see him again, because you will not see his mother again. And your son, who will not bear your name, will have the right to curse you.” Mirande’s pride could not resist this evocation of the future that awaits guilty fathers. He bent his knee, without worrying about the astonishment of the strollers in the Luxembourg, where lovers rarely kneel, and taking Bernadette’s hand he said to her: “Forgive me and… be my wife.” The last words were a little delayed, but he spoke them very distinctly and very resolutely. “No,” replied Bernadette, “that’s too much. You might regret having married me. May our acknowledged son bear your name, and I will bless you. I have already forgiven you. ” “If I confined myself to acknowledging him, Roch de Mirande would only be my natural son. Our marriage will legitimize him.” Madame de Ganges, too moved to speak, silently extended her hand to her compatriot, who took it and, in squeezing it, could not hide a shudder of surprise. “Yes,” she said, smiling sadly, “I have a cold hand. Didn’t you know that, you who are from my country? That’s how you recognize girls of my race… My mother was like that… ” “There’s a proverb about icy hands,” Mirande tried to say. She didn’t let him finish, and she continued: “Will you have the courage to keep the promise you just made? You are noble and Bernadette is of the people… you are rich and she has nothing… ” “I don’t care about caste prejudices, and I am very happy that she is poor. If she were richer than me, I would hesitate to marry her. ” “No,” the Marquise said quickly, “you would not hesitate. You would not give up being happy for fear of being accused of having made a misalliance out of self-interest. You are above such suspicion, and your friend is witness that you did not bother to find out if Bernadette had any money.” “Little mother, don’t cry anymore,” Roch interrupted. “Will you let me go and play, Mama Jacqueline? ” “Go, my friend, but don’t go far. ” The child didn’t need to be told twice. He rushed off to join a group of kids who were playing with a top, and as he ran, he threw himself between the legs of two gentlemen whom he almost knocked over. The eldest stumbled so much that he let out some resounding curses; and as he swore in the Languedoc dialect, Madame de Ganges and Bernadette turned to look at him, for they were surprised to hear the langue d’oc spoken under the chestnut trees of the Luxembourg. Paul Cormier turned too and could not suppress a cry of surprise at seeing Mr. Lestrigou, flanked by his old colleague Bardin. The two veterans of the bar had come to the Luxembourg to complete their tour through the Latin Quarter and they half expected to meet Paul there; but they hardly expected to meet the heiress to the six million. Lestrigou recognized her more quickly than she recognized him; but, as for Madame de Ganges, he took longer, because she had changed, to her advantage, since she was no longer Mademoiselle de Marsillargues. He approached them both at once: the Marquise respectfully and Bernadette familiarly. And after a brief greeting, he began an exordium ex-abrupto: “Little one,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “that was his tic,” I’ve brought you something to find a husband to your liking… you’ll just have to choose. ” This opening made Mirande frown, and Bernadette blushed to the ears. The former president of the bar had just put his foot in it, as they say. “Why don’t you start by introducing me?” Bardin interrupted. “That’s right,” replied the imperturbable Lestrigou. “Madame la Marquise… and you, little one… I present to you my friend Bardin, who was once one of the leading figures of the Parisian bar and who is also a friend of Mr. Paul Cormier, whom I have the pleasure of seeing in your company… Are you happy?” the former president of the bar asked mockingly . “Very pleased. All I have to do is ask Paul to put us in touch with the gentleman?” “Monsieur Jean de Mirande,” Paul began, looking the old lawyer straight in the eye. Bardin grimaced, but said no more. “But if I’m mistaken, Monsieur de Mirande is a compatriot?” Lestrigou continued. “Originally from Languedoc, yes, sir,” the student replied coldly, giving the two old lawyers, who had arrived at such an inopportune moment, a damnation. “All countries!” cried Lestrigou. “I can then speak without constraint about a piece of news that will revolutionize our province. Six million falling into the apron of an honest girl.” Of the five people who were listening to this good man, Bernadette alone was unaware of the great news and she didn’t guess at all that it concerned her. Lestrigou hastened to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. “Yes, little one,” he continued, “here you are, a millionaire six times over.” This time, everyone was astonished, except perhaps Bardin, who had just heard, a moment before, his old friend call the heiress by her name, and Paul Cormier, who had known since morning that this name was that of the Marquise’s protégée. “Me!” murmured Bernadette, “it’s not possible!… From whom would this fortune come to me?… I no longer have any relatives… ” “You still had your father, six months ago,” replied Lestrigou. “You thought he was dead because he never gave you any news… Well ! He lived very well in San Francisco where he had become rich and he died there… suddenly… It’s fortunate, because he didn’t have time to make a will and he might have disinherited you… American law gave him the right to do so since he had become a naturalized citizen of the United States… But he didn’t leave a will and all of François Lamalou’s fortune belongs to you… the formalities were completed there, through the French consul. All that remains is to send you into possession and it won’t be long. Well! Little Bernadette, was I right to tell you earlier that in fact you would be spoiled for choice as to husbands. Since I arrived in Paris, that is to say since yesterday evening, one has already been recommended to me, added the former president of the bar, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Paul Cormier, who was mentally giving him the devil . No one understood the allusion, except the one it concerned and also Father Bardin, who was charmed by it. The Marquise had heard Paul tell her, a few moments before, that Bardin dreamed of marrying her to the Languedoc heiress, but she had already forgotten about it and she hastened to speak to cut short the plans of the two old lawyers. “Bernadette has chosen, gentlemen,” she said simply. “Bernadette is engaged to M. Jean de Mirande, whom M. Cormier has just introduced to you. ” “You’re joking!” cried Lestrigou. ” Joking! Madame de Ganges hardly thought of it, and in the situation the word was grotesque; but the southerners use it in every sauce, and Lestrigou had said it so naturally that there was no reason to get angry. “If you doubt it, gentlemen,” continued the Marquise, “ask M. de Mirande. ” He was very troubled, Mirande, and he hesitated before replying: “When I asked for Mademoiselle’s hand, I didn’t know she had millions… ” “And what does it matter if she’s rich!” cried the Marquise. “I’m not rich enough to marry her.” Bernadette turned pale; her protectress frowned, and Lestrigou did not miss the opportunity to say, as the legendary M. Prud’homme might have done in a similar case: “That’s a trait of disinterestedness that should serve as an example to the youth of today. ” Bardin approved with a gesture the sentence pronounced by his friend. He hadn’t yet completely given up his infatuation with marrying Paul off to Bernadette’s millions, and he thought it a good thing that Mirande withdrew her candidacy. At that moment, the gathering was suddenly interrupted by an unexpected arrival. Roch, after having jostled the two old men, had gone to mingle with a group of children who had given him a bad reception. He wasn’t part of the game, and they wouldn’t admit him. In the small world, it’s just like in the big one. There are cliques. And Roch, rebuffed by these exclusive kids, ran back to the group surrounding the two mothers. He didn’t address the real one, nor the other one. He climbed up to Mirande’s legs, who couldn’t resist the urge to lift him up in her arms and kiss him. “Will you lend me your cane?” the boy shouted, struggling. “My cane?… and what for?” asked the student. “To beat the rascals who are playing tops over there. ” “It’s taller than you, my cane… you couldn’t carry it… ” “Well, then, come with me and let me call you papa in front of them… They’ll think you are, and they won’t dare refuse to play with me anymore. ” “By Jove!” said Bardin in a low voice. “This scrap metal dealer really is the father of that brat who’s already talking about beating up the others. It wouldn’t surprise me, because good heavens can’t lie.” Mirande cut the most singular figure in the world. After the declaration he had just made, he should, to be consistent with himself, have returned the child to his mother, whom he no longer wanted to marry, for fear of being accused of becoming an unfaithful wife through speculation. But Roch, who had clung to his neck, would not let go and shouted in his flute-like voice:
“Papa!… papa!… I’ve found little mother, but I don’t want to leave you… Come with us. ” “It’s out of delicacy that you refuse,” said Madame de Ganges; “do you think so? Well, no, it’s out of vanity. If you had any heart, you would only think of repairing the harm you have done, instead of worrying about the world’s opinion. Bernadette has some heart, and I ‘m sure she would renounce this inheritance, if necessary, to legitimize her child. ” “I renounce it,” murmured the young woman. “Pardon!” cried Lestrigou, “one doesn’t renounce an inheritance like that… it’s not enough to say: I don’t want to…” Mirande’s resolution did not hold up in the face of this scene in which little Roch played the principal role. He carried him in his mother’s arms, and as the boy clung to him, he said to him: “Don’t be afraid. There will be two of us who love you. ” At the same time, he kissed Bernadette’s hand, without kneeling this time; but this kiss in front of four witnesses was as if he had placed the engagement ring on her finger. “So, you’re going to come and live with us?” asked the terrible child. And as his mother had tears in her eyes: “Why are you crying, Mama Bernadette?… my good friend is staying with us… you You see that Mama Jacqueline is happy. It wasn’t just Mama Jacqueline. Bernadette was crying, but it was with joy. Mirande was happy, as one is when one has just settled one’s conscience, and Lestrigou rubbed his hands together, saying: “How right I did to come to Paris!” Relegated to the background, Paul Cormier approved, but Father Bardin did not share in the general satisfaction. He had never cared for Mirande and he found it supremely unfair that this fighter should crown his career as a bad boy by marrying an arch-millionaire who could very well have made Paul Cormier happy. He forgot that this marriage was only a reparation, and he had no idea that his protégé Paul had other plans. “So,” Roch continued, “we’re all going to go back to Mama Jacqueline’s, I’ve had enough of the Luxembourg.” “He’s fine, little one!” said Lestrigou, laughing. The Marquise took the opportunity to explain a point of interest to everyone. “Gentlemen,” she said, “my friend, Bernadette Lamalou, has never stopped living with me since we left Languedoc. She and her son will remain there until the day she gets married. In the meantime, my house will be open to you, and I shall be delighted to see you there. ” The invitation was collective. Paul thought he read in Madame de Ganges’s eyes that she wanted him to take advantage of it, and he began to hope again that the future would compensate him for the painful ordeals he had just gone through. “Well!” suddenly cried Roch, who never remained at rest for very long, “here’s Coussergues. I’m going to say hello to him.” And he set off at full speed to join the man whom Paul had surprised the previous evening, on guard duty in front of Mirande’s house and who, now standing under the trees, fifty paces from the group surrounding the Marquise, seemed to be standing guard while waiting to be called. And the Marquise signaled to him to come. He came at a measured pace, bringing the child back, and Madame de Ganges presented him without his opening her mouth. She had only called him to question him before beginning a confession that Paul Cormier sensed. To the brief questions she asked him, M. Coussergues replied briefly and the Marquise began by addressing Mirande: “Sir, it was I who did everything. I could not resign myself to letting Bernadette suffer any longer.” Neither she nor I could attempt a direct approach… especially after what had happened on Sunday between you and me. And Bernadette couldn’t continue to live as she was. So I had an idea. I’ve always believed in the voice of blood… I wanted to give it a try… I said to myself that perhaps, if you saw your son, your heart would speak… I wasn’t mistaken, since you took him in without knowing him… “So it was deliberately that yesterday you left him on that terrace?” interrupted Mirande. “Against the advice and despite the prayers of his mother, yes, sir. I had a lot of trouble convincing Bernadette to leave and I had taken precautions so that nothing bad would happen to the child. Mr. Coussergues was watching over him. If you hadn’t spoken to Roch, as you passed by, Mr. Coussergues would have taken him back to my house.” You took an interest in this child, you took him away. Mr. Coussergues followed you. He will have been following you for almost twenty-four hours. –So you had guessed that I would return today, to the Luxembourg, since I found you there? –I knew, from Mr. Cormier, that you came there every day, and I supposed that you would be looking for the mother of the child you had taken in. If you hadn’t come, I would have gone myself to claim him from you. –And him?… had you taken him into your confidence? “No, sir. I knew he wouldn’t be afraid if he saw himself all alone… He’s not afraid of anything… and I had no doubt that he would ask you himself to take him back today to the place where you found him yesterday. Everything happened as I had planned, and I have said everything. It only remains for me to ask your forgiveness for having resorted to this method. My excuse is that I had no other at my disposal. And,” added the Marquise, smiling, “by using it, I risked something … I risked being thought to be Roch’s mother!… ask M. Cormier instead.” Paul blushed and stammered a few words of protest, but Madame de Ganges continued: “Everyone would have been mistaken. This child is accustomed to making no difference between my dear Bernadette and me. He thinks he has two mothers.” “He told me so,” murmured Mirande. “He’s only half mistaken, for I love him as if he were my own. Yet he is not without faults,” added the Marquise mischievously, looking in a certain way at Mirande, who understood and said without hesitation: “He has mine. ” “He also has his mother’s qualities. ” “And I’m not sorry that he has my faults,” said Mirande, reassured. Then, to Bernadette: “You will cure him of them, won’t you?… I will do my best to help you.
” This declaration was equivalent to a new promise of marriage, and Mirande would not go back on this one, under the pretext that Bernadette was too rich. Madame de Ganges thought it best to leave it at that. “Goodbye, gentlemen!” she said. And she said it so well that everyone understood that they had nothing left to do but leave, without asking for more. This goodbye was addressed as much to Lestrigou as to the two students; but Bardin did not take it personally, and perhaps he was not wrong. Roch did not let Mirande leave without making her promise that he would come back the next day to play with him in Mama Jacqueline’s garden. Mirande was careful not to fail to do so. He took Paul’s arm, who was more troubled than satisfied. Lestrigou clung to Father Bardin. And so as not to bother the ladies any longer by remaining on the terrace where they were leaving them, they went two by two towards the staircase by which Mirande had arrived with little Roch. The old people only met up with the young people at the edge of the central pool, and that was to separate after exchanging a few words. –Well! Mirande asked abruptly, as soon as he was alone with his friend, and the voice of blood? “I’m beginning to believe it,” murmured Paul. “This child is yours. You can’t deny it. ” “Then you approve of me recognizing it! ” “It’s your duty. And I also approve of you marrying the mother. ” “I’ll marry her, but you… won’t you marry anyone? ” “Who would want me? ” “The Marquise. She loves you. ” “You’re mistaken. I’m indifferent to her, unless she hates me, and I wouldn’t be surprised. ” “You don’t understand anything. I know, and I assure you that she will be your wife, if you wish. We will marry on the same day. ” “In ten months, then, for she hasn’t been a widow for four days… look up the article in the Civil Code… It would be too long to keep Bernadette waiting.” EPILOGUE
Ten months have passed and Madame de Ganges is still a widow. She will marry Paul Cormier, but she wanted to wait until the tragic end of her husband was forgotten. It already is. The tragedy in which the unfortunate marquis died had no impact, because it was not resolved in the Assize Court. After much hesitation, Charles Bardin issued a dismissal order, and his father’s advice influenced his decision. However, his superiors approved. He had clearly demonstrated that the duel had been fair. Acquittal was certain. The magistrates wisely judged that it was better not to subject young people who could invoke many mitigating circumstances to the publicity of the hearing. Besides, the Marquise was not a woman to marry, on the spur of the moment, on a whim, like an eccentric lady who falls in love with a tenor. Paul, from the day they first met, had made a very strong impression on her and it didn’t take her long to fall in love with him, but she wanted to know him before linking her destiny to that of a boy barely older than her, and who was neither of her caste nor of her world. She imposed a training period on him. Paul did not find the condition too harsh. Marcelle was grateful to him. She now knows all he is worth and she has decided to call herself Madame Cormier, when the time seems right to put an end to the ordeal her lover is undergoing with good grace. Jean de Mirande and Bernadette Lamalou did not make so many ceremonies to consecrate their union. Mirande wanted to repair his wrongs, and he jumped with both feet over social prejudices. His uncle disinherited him, but he does not care. He is rich enough to do without his inheritance and to live without touching his wife’s income. He married Bernadette, burning what he had adored, and this conversion is causing a stir in the neighborhood. Last year, there was a great uproar in the Latin Quarter, when it was learned that the King of the Schools was renouncing the student life to take refuge in the harbor of marriage. His favorites regretted it, but they quickly consoled themselves; and Vera, the nihilist, declared loudly that Mirande, at heart, was only a bourgeois. He broke so abruptly with his friends and with his habits that he did not think for a single instant of burying his bachelor life by offering the Latin youth a Pantagruelian feast. Bernadette was not long in becoming, within the strict deadlines, the legitimate wife of the father of her child. She was no longer a widow and she was a mother: two excellent reasons to hasten the reparative marriage. Roch now has only one mother, because little mother, since she became Madame de Mirande, no longer lives with Mama Jacqueline; but he has a father, a real one, whom he adores and who loves him back. If ever a man saw himself reborn in his son, that man is Jean de Mirande. Roch resembles him so much that Bernadette finds that he resembles her too much; for if he has all the qualities of his paternal lineage, he also has all the faults. He is willful and quarrelsome; he obeys only his father and the sweet Bernadette is already worried about the future of this fighter in marijuana. But the torments he gives her do not prevent her from cherishing him. He will be raised in the countryside, because she will buy the castle of Marsillargues, and the new spouses intend to spend eight months of the year near this village of Fabrègues where they met. They will replace the family of the Marquise there, and they will be in turn the benefactors of the country. Lestrigou is at the height of joy. He has not stopped rubbing his hands since he persuaded them to come and settle in Languedoc. He will do their business for nothing, for pleasure. Coussergues will not leave the Marquise when she has changed her name. This faithful guardian is like a building by destination. He will be part of the household until the end of his days and he will live on better terms with Paul than he ever did with the late Marquis. Marcelle has not fallen out with anyone, because she has decided to tell the truth to the people of her world. Baroness Dozulé and her five o’clock tea guests now know that she will owe her marital happiness to a servant’s mistake. The Viscount of Servon, informed like the others, has given up on consoling the charming widow of M. de Ganges. He knows that the place is taken and he has rallied willingly to the friends of his happy rival. He even rid Paul and Mirande of the dreadful Brunachon by reporting to the police the old and recent misdeeds of this dangerous rascal. Bardin no longer shuns the son of his old friend, but he still regrets—without saying so—that his own has missed out on advancement in the judiciary, for lack of having to investigate a famous crime. Well-informed people assure that the Marquise de Ganges will marry again before the end of winter. She has and will always have a cold hand, but not a cold heart, and she will passionately love her new husband. The proverb will be right, once again. You have just listened to La main froide by Fortuné Du Boisgobey, a work that perfectly illustrates the art of the French detective novel. With his striking style and characters with complex motivations, the author reminds us that the line between innocence and guilt is sometimes thinner than a breath. This story, by revealing its twists and turns and its shadows, invites us to reflect on truth, justice, and the secrets that each of us may carry. Thank you for sharing this literary moment with us. We hope that this reading has fascinated you and inspired you to continue discovering the great masters of classic suspense.