The very atmosphere seemed lighter and brighter to Glynn when Deering was safe away. Lambert was visibly relieved, and his daughter reflected her father's mood. Things went on much as before. Madame Davilliers' Fridays were more crowded and varied. They made little excursions to Sèvre, and to the beautiful woods of Mendan; sometimes with the Davilliers, sometimes only a quartet—Lambert, Elsie, Madame Weber, and Glynn.
These were delightful days. The quiet harmony of the present made Glynn regardless of the future. It was wonderfully interesting to draw Elsie from the observant silence which was habitual to her into sympathetic talk. There was always something to discover in her, something to win, of confidence, of self-revelation, and she was so teachable, with all her honest clinging to the conclusions of her own clear sense.
There were moments when his hesitation disappeared, and Glynn was almost resolved to make her his wife if she would have him; but that vague cloud of mystery was a bad accompaniment for married life.
The only discordant ingredient in this happy interlude was the occasional intrusion of Vincent, to whom Lambert showed a curious ceremonious politeness, dashed at times with epigrammatic bitterness, of which the dandified American took no notice. Elsie, on the contrary, was more friendly to him than formerly.
It was about ten days after Glynn's return, and he was debating in his own mind the prudence and advisability of a retreat while he had still some command of his own will. Dinner was over in Lambert's prettysalle à manger. Elsie had left her father and his friend to talk and smoke for the lazy, comfortable half-hour which succeeds the evening meal.
"Miss Lambert is looking quite herself again," said Glynn, his imagination too full of her to resist speech.
"She is," returned her father. "That is because I am brighter; but I am not out of the wood yet—not yet." He was silent for a moment or two, puffing vigorously while he thought. "Ay!—many an anxious thought she costs me. I'd give a good deal—all I possess, life itself, to know she was safe and in better hands than mine. Glynn, I am going to prove the confidence I have in you. We are men of the world, and can talk to each other without fear of misunderstanding."
"It's coming at last," thought Glynn. "You may be sure that anything you like to tell is safe with me," he said aloud.
"I know it." He rose, lifted the curtain which hung across the doorway leading to Elsie's little study, assured himself it was unoccupied and the outer door shut. Then he resumed his seat, and placing his arms on the table leant towards Glynn, and began in a low voice, which, as he plunged deeper into his subject, grew clearer and louder. "Look here, now, I don't see why, when I am in Rome, I shouldn't do as Rome does. I know you'll meet me in my own spirit. If you like what I am going to propose, well and good; if not, there's no harm done. First of all I suppose I am right in concluding you are not married—that you are free and independent?"
"I am," said Glynn, greatly surprised.
"Then what do you say to settling yourself? You are old enough. You are six or seven-and-thirty, I guess. Now, if you are so disposed, I'd die happy if I saw you married to my Elsie!"
Glynn started at this bold proposition; yet gazing at the eager eyes, the earnest face, the slight nervous twitch in the lips which had just uttered it, he felt strangely moved.
"Don't answer all at once," continued Lambert; "I calculate there's a goodish bit more to be said on the subject. I know this sort of thing isn't our fashion, but I am too uneasy about—ah! about the future, to wait for the chance of my jewel meeting the right man, and life is uncertain—mine especially. I wouldn't give her to you empty-handed, either."
"Why, Lambert, you take my breath away! In the first place I don't fancy Miss Lambert ever wasted a thought on me, except as to how far I might be of use to you."
"I know that; I am sure of it. If I thought she was in love with you I don't think I could speak out like this. No, love hasn't come into her heart yet, and you are too much a high-minded gentleman to try and rouse it; but she could love well; and look here, I have saved up and invested nearly five thousand pounds—I'll make it five full—that would be a nice lift to whatever business you are in. You see how I trust you. I don't care if you have a struggle; Elsie is no foolish, extravagant doll."
"Pray hear me," interrupted Glynn with difficulty; "so charming a creature as your daughter, wants no makeweight to recommend her; she would be a treasure in herself to any man of taste and feeling. But I do not wish or intend to marry for a considerable time to come," he continued, with increasing firmness, quite determined not to yield to the suggestion of another what he denied to the passionate craving of his own heart. "As you say, we are men of the world, and can discuss such a question coolly and fairly without, on my part, the smallest infringement of the warm respect and regard I feel for Miss Lambert. There are circumstances—reasons on which it is unnecessary to dilate—which forbid my entertaining your flattering and attractive proposition."
"Suppose I guess what they are," said Lambert, eagerly rolling up a cigarette, and scattering the shreds of tobacco as he did so. "You're a bit of a swell, I calculate; you are among a desperate respectable set of city bosses. Hear me now; I'm not thin-skinned. I know I'm not the sort that would go down with them, and you know I was a queer lot once. Well, if you take my Elsie, I'll go right away; I'll never ask to trouble you or her. What matter what becomes ofmeif she is safe?—oh, God! safe with an honorable, kind man, who would give her a peaceful home. Ay, Elsie, I love you well enough never to ask to see your sweet face if I could earn peace and security for you!"
"And do you think she would love a husband who could part her from such a father as you are?" asked Glynn, deeply touched.
"But she should never know,"—eagerly: "I'd just go away on business, and stay away, and she'd forget; she would always have a kind thought for me, but the new love would fill her heart; and if you tried to win her she'd love you. I am sure she would! Now, can't it be, Glynn?—can't it?"
"No. It is with deepest reluctance I say it. If I can in any way serve you or her, command me; but unfortunately for myself this cannot be."
There was a short expressive silence; then Lambert said in an altered voice, "Anyhow, there is no harm done; I am sure you've some good reason, and we'll not be the worse friends because we can be nothing nearer."
"Certainly not; and for my part I have a higher esteem for you than I ever had before. I trust, however, that you have no serious cause for uneasiness about your daughter. If her little fortune is secured, these are too prosaic times for daring and villainous lovers, murderous conspirators, or other dramatic dangers."
"Ay, civilization is just deep enough to hide the devils that work underneath it. I had one or two things to tell a son-in-law that, maybe, I had better keep to myself now."
"I sincerely hope you will not look on me as the less warm a friend because I cannot unfortunately fall in with your views; you do not wish me to absent myself?"
"Far from it," interrupted Lambert; "be true to me—be true to her; maybe by and by you'll have a good wife that might befriend my girl; she has no one in the world belonging to her but myself, and I begin to fear I am a broken reed."
"My marriage is a remote contingency," said Glynn. "Were you in London, I could introduce Miss Lambert to a somewhat peculiar but kind-hearted woman, a connection of mine, who would most probably be interested in her,—I was going to say charmed with her, only it is hard to answer for the impression one woman may make upon another."
"Everything is hard," remarked Lambert moodily, and as if to himself. "Well, let us forget this fruitless palaver, and be as we were. I am quite sure you are ready to do me a good turn if you can—if—Ah! I hear Elsie singing. Come along, let us forget our troubles for a bit over a game of baccarat."
But Glynn did not attend to his cards, his head was in a whirl. He was infinitely touched by the unconsciousness of the songstress, who received them with the soft composure peculiar to her, which had in it so much womanly dignity. How little she dreamed that the man who thrilled at her touch, who drank in the tones of her voice greedily, had refused to share his life with her—had rejected the chance of winning her, for Glynn acknowledged there was a "con" as well as a "pro" in the case. He had survived the age at which men think they have but to ask and they must receive.
"Oh! Mr. Glynn," said Elsie, suddenly turning to him, "Madame Davilliers begs you to take a ticket for a ball which is to be given at the Louvre Hotel, for the benefit of an orphanage under the direction of sisters of St. Vincent de Paul. Madame is one of the committee."
"I shall be very happy. Are you going?"
"Yes; that is, if my father can spare me." She rose as she spoke and turned towards Lambert, who was sitting in an attitude of deep dejection, his cards lying on the table beside him.
"Dearest," said Elsie, stealing to his side, and laying her cool white hand on his brow, "does your head ache?"
"No, no, not much"; then with a sudden impulse, "You love your dad then, though heisa rugged old cuss?"
Elsie smiled, an exquisitely tender smile. "So well, that nothing and no one could make up for the want of him."
Glynn was struck with her words. Could she by any possibility have overheard her father's proposal, and his refusal? Such an idea was appalling. But no, it was quite impossible.
Glynn was far from being satisfied with his own decision. Of course the mere fact of having any woman offered to him is enough to make an Englishman reject her, were she an amalgamation of the Blessed Virgin, Florence Nightingale, Venus, and Psyche in one. That he should decline Lambert's suggestion was right enough, though the evident singleness of purpose, the intense fatherly feeling which prompted him, took from his strange proceeding all trace of coarse worldliness; but having congratulated himself on his own wisdom and firmness, another train of thought put itself in motion, haunting him with maddening pertinacity in all his comings and goings throughout the day which succeeded the memorable conversation. Elsie's face, her eyes, the quiet grace of her figure and movements, were perpetually before him. Her tender gravity, which did not prevent her from enjoying in brief light flashes of perception the droll side of things, the generous sympathy, ever ready to well up when needed,—all this was vividly present to his imagination. Had he done well to turn from so rich a store of goodly gifts because it was set in uncouth surroundings? Was it the part of a true man to count the cost, to shrink from any possible risk, rather than to brave all things for true love? When and where should he find a companion so sweet, so intelligent, so satisfying to heart and sense? Then again came the doubt,—would it be well to plant in the midst of one's home and its sanctities this branch of a wild vine, lovely though it was? Might not sorrow and disgraceful associations be the bitter fruit thereof? How would imperfect human nature—imperfect human love, stand such a test? If Elsie loved him, then he would dare all things; but she did not. It would be better for her, as well as for him, to leave her in the tranquillity of indifference than awaken an interest that could only lead to trouble. Yes, he would continue to preserve the tone of quiet friendliness he had adopted. Still he must not leave Paris immediately. He would not desert poor Lambert, who was evidently in a mess of some kind. Later on he would probably make a clean breast of it. So as it was Friday, Glynn determined to go to Madame Davilliers' in the evening, for the result of his wise cogitations was a burning desire to meet Miss Lambert to assure himself of her indifference.
The gathering at Madame Davilliers' was less crowded than usual; still a considerable number of visitors were present, among them one or two professional singers and Mr. Vincent, who was talking to Elsie when Glynn made his appearance. He was soon called away, however, by the hostess, and Glynn eagerly took his place.
Elsie greeted him with a bright amused smile, as though his presence suggested some droll idea.
"I don't see your father here to-night," said Glynn.
"He has been called rather suddenly to Dunkerque," she replied, "but will return on Monday. He seemed in better spirits, and I think the change will do him good."
"I hope so, especially as you reflect his moods. You are looking more like yourself than when I first returned."
"Ah, I was very miserable then. But one reason why I feel so much brighter is that my father has promised I shall go for a few months to Mrs. Kellett, to my old home, Woodburn, and then we shall give up ourétagehere."
"And how will you bear the seclusion—the change from Parisian gaieties?" looking earnestly into her eyes, and wondering what motive underlay this sudden scheme.
"I shall like it very much; I should like anything that would secure peace."
"Pray, monsieur," said Madame Davilliers, who came up at that moment, "have you received your card for the ball on the 20th? Our youngdébutantes, Mademoiselle Lambert and my Antoinette, count on you for one of their partners."
"I am infinitely honored; but I fear my dancing is not of the best. However, in such a cause, one would attempt the impossible."
"It is much to be regretted that the amiable Monsieur Dérin is not in town; andce cherM. Vincent does not know when he will return. Still our party will be large anddistingué."
Of that Glynn had no doubt. He had received his ticket, and if still in Paris would certainly present himself, etc., etc.
Then he felt obliged to offer his congratulations to Mademoiselle Antoinette, after which M. Le Vicomte was introduced, and it seemed to him that half the evening was over before he managed to return to Elsie. She was by no means solitary or neglected, however. Antoinette chattered perseveringly at her side, and various well-dressedemployésin sundry imperial bureaux bestowed fragments of their time upon her. Vincent came back more than once to her side, and was tranquilly, if not favorably, received. At last Glynn contrived to obtain a seat beside her.
"Are you not going to sing to-night?"
"No; these gentlemen and Madame d'Italia will give us far better music than I can."
"Not in my opinion; your singing goes straight to my heart."
Elsie smiled and looked at her fan. Glynn felt almost irresistibly impelled to tell her how charming she was, but hedidresist.
"I suppose I must not call while your father is absent," he resumed; "and I have found some delightful volumes in Tauchnitz, which I should like to give you."
"Can you not send them?" she asked, looking at him with laughing eyes. "I want books very much; no one gives me books but you."
"Then I must bring them myself."
"Why not? I shall be very glad to see you, so will Madame Weber."
"Thank you! May I come to-morrow?"
"To-morrow? No; to-morrow I go with Antoinette to visit the good ladies of the Annonciades, the convent where we were at school. But come on Sunday if you like. On Monday my dear father will be with me again; then he will be able to tell me when we can go to England."
"But you will return to Paris?"
"I do not know; nothing is certain."
"I hope you will promise certainly to dance with me at this ball."
"Shall you be here when it takes place?"
"Yes, certainly; nothing shall prevent me from being present."
A faint color flickered over Elsie's cheek, as if this resolution implied a personal compliment, and an amused smile parted her lips.
"Then you like dancing?"
"That depends. At any rate I want to dance the first dance with you at your first ball."
Elsie laughed. "Very well. But though I have never been at a great ball, I have been at severalsoirées dansanteswith Madame Davilliers. Whenever Antoinette went they kindly took me."
"And I supposeyouare fond of dancing?"
"I love it," earnestly.
"Does your friend Vincent dance well?"
"I believe he does; most Americans do; but he is not my friend, and I cannot bear to dance with him."
"You receive him very well considering you do not like him."
Elsie paused an instant, and looking up with an expression of trust, said in a low tone, "I am afraid of him."
"Why?" drawing unconsciously nearer to her.
"I cannot tell—no, that is not quite true; I begin, I think, to understand why."
"And will you not tell me?"
"I should rather like to tell you, but not here."
"On Sunday, then, when I bring you your books?"
"No; I do not want to mention his name before Madame Weber."
"Is she a friend of his?"
"I am not sure, but it is well to be cautious."
"It gives me a kind of shock to think you are obliged to be on guard in your own home."
"That will be all over when I am at Woodburn."
"I wish your father would come and settle in London; it would be pleasant and useful for you to have some English friends."
"It is more likely my father would settle in America."
"Then I should never see you!"
The words had passed his lips before he could restrain them, and he watched their effect keenly.
"I suppose not," very quietly. "I should be sorry, and my father would be very sorry."
Glynn felt unreasonably irritated. Was this young, slight, inexperienced girl stronger than himself, that the tone in which he was conscious his words were uttered should in no way move her? He was dimly aware of a change in her manner, so delicate as to be indefinable; it was not less friendly, but more collected, as if she thought before she spoke.
But Antoinette, approaching with an elderly cousin of herfiancé, who had requested an introduction to thebelle Américaine, put an end to their conversation, and not long after Elsie went away.
The days which intervened between Lambert's sudden journey to Dunkerque and the ball went rapidly—too rapidly. Glynn dined twice in the Rue de L'Evêque. Lambert was grave, but less dejected than previously. He had the air of a man who had escaped from a period of indecision, and had thoroughly made up his mind. Glynn, on the contrary, sank deeper and deeper into the quicksands of irresolution, and felt each day more vividly how strong an effort it would cost him to tear himself away; how impossible it seemed to leave Elsie to the chances of undefined danger, none the less formidable because it was impalpable.
It was with an unaccountable impression that something important, something decisive would occur before the evening was over. Glynn dressed and dined, taking care to be in the ball-room and near the door in good time, in order to claim Elsie's promise of the first dance on her arrival. Madame Davilliers and her party were rather late, and, to Glynn's annoyance, she entered the room leaning on Vincent's arm. Mademoiselle followed, conducted by the Vicomte, and finally Elsie, leaning on M. Davilliers—Elsie in her first ball-dress, a delicious combination of white silk andtulleand lace, with sprays of wild roses, long grass, and foliage, a delicate wreath of the same flowers in her hair, and a simple necklace of shimmering Venetian shells round her throat. She looked a little shy, a little self-conscious, less composed than usual, and when she distinguished Glynn's tall figure, and met his dark, eager, admiring eyes, she colored suddenly, looking away with a smile so sweet, so glad, that Glynn's heart gave a quick bound, and throbbed with a triumphant sense of victory, after which reason gave up the struggle and resigned herself to defeat.
"This is our dance, Miss Lambert," said Glynn, after a brief greeting to the rest of the party as he took her hand. "But it is a set of lancers; would you not like to walk round and look at the decorations until the next dance, which is a waltz?"
"Thank you, I should." So Glynn took her programme and wrote his own name for several waltzes, prefacing each inscription with a persuasive "May I?" Elsie laughingly restricted the number, saying she had promised some dances to M. Davilliers, Henri Le Clerc, and M. de Pontigny. "But," she added, with slight graceful hesitation, "if it does not interfere with your other dances, might I say I am engaged to you if Mr. Vincent asks me for a waltz? Imustdance with him, butnota waltz,—I cannot."
"Yes, I will grant your very serious request," said Glynn, smiling down upon her. "I shall keep all waltzes at your disposal, and take care to be within hail! Is it permitted to a brutal Englishman to say your toilette is perfect?"
"I am very glad you think so; it is chiefly Madame Davilliers' choice. It pleased my father, who never counts the cost of anything for me," she sighed.
"Why is Lambert not here to see your triumph?"
"He did think of coming, but felt too tired; he has been very busy, so it was decided that I should come with the Davilliers; and if we stay very late I am to go home with them, for my father always wakes when I come in."
The decorations were duly admired, and then the waltz for which Glynn had been longing struck up.
Given good music, a first-rate floor, a partner whose step suits yours, and waltzing is certainly a pleasant exercise; but when in addition your partner is just the very creature that you have felt tempted over and over again to clasp in your arms, and pour out expressions of tenderness and admiration while your heart throbs against hers, the pleasure becomes almost painful.
Glynn, as the hours went rapidly by, felt his power over himself melting away; there was a soft reserve, a frequent avoidance of being alone with him on the part of Miss Lambert, that fanned the long-smouldering fire of passion into a strong, an irresistible glow. Why should he let himself be cheated by cold caution out of the delicious, perhaps invigorating draught which fortune offered him? He was no mere conventional man of the world to turn his back on a woman worthy of all love because her father was not exactly eligible to be comptroller of Her Majesty's household! He would be true to his better instincts, his higher self.
Meantime it was infinitely irritating to be obliged to give up his fascinating partner from time to time as other cavaliers came to claim her.
Suddenly, as he was leading her across the room to Madame Davilliers, he felt her start and press his arm, a movement which he attributed to Vincent's approach.
"You have not granted me a waltz yet, Miss Lambert; may I have the next?" said the American.
"I am engaged for the next."
"Indeed! to Mr. Glynn? He has been so highly favored that I think he might permit a change of partners, as I am obliged to leave almost immediately, and shall not see you again for some time. I start by the early mail for Bordeaux to-morrow, or rather this morning."
"I have less benevolence than you credit me with," Glynn haughtily. "I am not disposed to forego an iota of my temporary right."
"What would your father say to your desertion of your old friend for a new acquaintance?" asked Vincent with an unpleasant laugh.
To Glynn's surprise Elsie made a slight movement as if to withdraw her arm. Glynn held it tightly against his side.
"I have not deserted you, Mr. Vincent," she said quietly, as if recovering her first impulse to leave Glynn, "for I was not engaged to you."
"Perhaps not; we will discuss that point when we meet next," returned Vincent with insolent assurance. "Meantimeau revoir, Miss Lambert. Good-bye, Mr. Glynn; I don't suppose I shall see you again." He made a sort of defiant bow and turned away.
"Come and sit down in the ante-room," said Glynn, "it is cool and quiet; that brute has disturbed you." Miss Lambert silently accepted the suggestion, and as a new dance proceeded they were soon alone.
"For heaven's sake tell me what it is that enables that fellow to annoy you?" said Glynn earnestly; "you said you would tell me."
"I never liked him, but latterly I perceive that he has some curious influence over my father, who has even asked me to be civil to him. Perhaps I ought not to tell you this, but my father trusts you, and I—I believe you are loyal. I am still uneasy about my father. He is so restless, and I imagine he is always more restless when he has been with Mr. Vincent. I sometimes think that my father has had a hard, sad life, though he tries to forget his troubles, and I want to make up to him for the past. He loves me so much that I must do everything for him, and be with him always."
"The young cannot always promise for their future, and he would be happiest, knowing you were happy."
"ButIshould not; he deserves all I can do, and it would hurt me, oh! cruelly, to think he ever wanted anything when I was not there to give it to him." The sweet, soft lips quivered with feeling as she spoke.
"This is a heart worth winning," thought Glynn, as he gazed on her pensive, downcast face.
"I wish he would tell you something about Mr. Vincent before you go," continued Elsie. "I feel oppressed with a sense of indefinable mischief."
"Before I go!" repeated Glynn. "How do you know I am going?"
"I heard my father say you were going, and of course you will not stay in Paris."
"I cannot tear myself from it," said Glynn with passionate emphasis.
"Why?" asked Elsie, looking up surprised, then meeting his gaze, a vivid blush passed over her cheek, fading away quickly.
"Why?" he exclaimed. "May I come and tell you why? to-morrow will you hear my explanation, with kindness, with patience?"
"Ah!" she returned, shrinking slightly, "it is late—Madame Davilliers will be looking for me."
"But, Elsie, may I come,—will you hear me?"
"Yes," she said, very gravely and softly, "you may come." Other couples now invaded their solitude, and Glynn was obliged to take her to her chaperon.
Madame Davilliers was ready to leave the ball, and observed that the dear child, meaning Elsie, looked quite tired.
Glynn accompanied them to the door, wrapping Elsie's cloak round her carefully.
"To-morrow," he whispered, pressing her arm to his side. She looked up—a serious, searching look.
"You puzzle me!" she said.
"How? but you will tell me how and why! When may I come to-morrow?"
"In the afternoon."
"You will stay with us to-night,chèreElsie?" cried Madame Davilliers from the carriage.
"A thousand thanks, but I should rather go home; I have caught cold, I think." Her voice was unsteady, and Glynn noticed that she was trembling. He longed to speak some soothing words to her, but there was no possibility of doing so. The next moment the door was shut, the coachman ordered to drive to the Rue de L'Evêque, and Glynn left gazing after the retreating vehicle.
Bidding good-night to young Le Clerc, who was returning to the ball-room, Glynn lit his cigar, and walked slowly down the Rue de Rivoli. It was a heavy, intensely dark night; but he was too much excited to feel atmospheric influences. In his own mind he had passed the rubicon; and his request to Elsie for an interview on the morrow had, he considered, pledged him to offer his future life for her acceptance. Would she accept it? He was too deeply and truly in love to make sure of the impression he had created himself, too much in earnest not to be humble. Elsie had been startled, touched; but it did not follow that she loved him. However she decided, he was glad he had spoken as he did. She must know what his intended explanation meant; would she have promised to hear it if she were not disposed to hear it favorably? If!—what rapture of anticipation shivered through him at the possibilities thus suggested. Then he almost laughed aloud at the idea of Lady Gethin's anger and despair at such a marriage as he contemplated. He even pictured a future home, so peaceful, so lovingly home-like, that not even the tolerably frequent visits of Lambert in his gorgeous array and most anecdotal mood should disturb its delicious harmony! The first faint streaks of daylight were stealing across the eastern sky when Glynn at length entered his hotel.
The porter handed him his key, and with it a card, on which was printed, "Travers Deering, Denham Castle," and written in pencil, "Want particularly to see you. Will call to-morrow about two."
"What an infernal nuisance!" was Glynn's rather profane reflection; "he shall not keep me here after 2.30 if it were to save his life!"
Deering was not punctual. It was already two o'clock when he presented himself, and he at once asked Glynn to let their interview take place in the latter's private room, as he wished to speak of personal matters. They therefore adjourned from the generalsalon, and Deering quickly plunged into his subject, which was to ask Glynn's advice as to the organizing of a scheme for making a branch from the main line of railway, which ran within eight or nine miles of Denham, to some villages on his estate, and past a certain quarry he had lately begun to work. This had been suggested by a shrewd land-agent, and Deering was anxious to consult Glynn before he left Paris for his summer wanderings. The conversation which ensued was animated and interesting; but Glynn did not forget to look at his watch from time to time.
"I see I am keeping you," said Deering, observing his movement; "I shall not trespass any longer. I shall follow your advice, and see the heads of your firm as to funds on my way through London. How is our queer acquaintance Lambert and his incomparable daughter? I have found traces of a curious story connected with him, which if true——," as he spoke the door was burst open, and Lambert rushed in—Lambert in a state of intense agonized excitement. His eyes wild with angry terror, his face pallid through all the deep sunburn of its acquired tint, a slight froth at the corners of his mouth, his necktie disarranged, his hands gloveless; both Deering and Glynn started to their feet at this unexpected apparition.
"My child!" cried Lambert hoarsely, "where is my child? Deering, you limb of the devil! have you helped that scoundrel Vincent to take her away? For God's sake tell me! have mercy! I'll do anything! Glynn,youwill help me? you are an honest, honorable man. She's gone, and I am going mad!"
"Gone!" cried his hearers together, "what do you mean?"
"Listen," said Lambert, gasping as if for breath, and throwing himself into a chair. "She was at the ball last night. Why did I ever let her from under my own eyes! It was agreed that if she was late she should stay at the Davilliers'. When I asked for her this morning thebonnesaid she had not returned, so I thought no more about it, and went to work as usual. I had some business appointments, and then I turned into Davilliers', thinking I'd walk home with Elsie—my jewel! if she was still there. But she wasn't,—oh! great heavens! they had left her at her own door, seen her go in, and heard it close; and now she is gone!"
"But this is not possible! Mademoiselle Antoinette is playing some stupid trick. Have you——"
"I tell you they are nearly as distracted as I am," interrupted Lambert, starting up and grasping the back of his chair. "I rushed to your hotel, Deering, for I cannot help thinking Vincent has some hand in it. He is a double-dyed scoundrel. Deering, I charge you not to screen him!"
"How dare you accuse me of such villainy!" cried Deering in great agitation. "I am as ignorant of the affair as you are—more so; don't pretend that you are without suspicion. She has not been taken away without her own consent; you must have some idea who it is she has gone off with."
Glynn, in the midst of his own stunning horror, was struck with the consternation which Deering's face expressed, and was inclined to acquit him of any guilt in the matter.
"Have you been to the police? No; for God's sake let us lose no time." Glynn seized his hat. "I will go with you."
"I returned to question theconciergein order to get some clue before going to thePrefécture de Police; then I felt obliged to question him," nodding to Deering, "to tell you—to—Oh! stand by me, Glynn, my head is going."
"You must keep calm for her sake," said Glynn; "come on, if she is above ground we'll find her!"
"And I'll second you so far as I can," cried Deering, "though you have attacked me so shamefully."
Lambert with a dazed, half-stupefied air, stared at him, till Glynn, who felt his own head reeling under the shock, passed his arm through his, and led him to thefiacrewhich was waiting.
Little was said, except to urge the driver to greater speed, until they reached the Rue de Jérusalem, where, after a short parley with one or two lower officials, they were admitted to the presence of the chief of the detectives, a quiet, simple-looking, iron-grey man, with watchful eyes, and a clear, penetrating voice. He listened with profound attention to Lambert's statement, scarcely putting a question, only occasionally restraining the details. Lambert had evidently made a supreme effort to master his terrible emotion, the vital necessity for clearness giving him a force beyond himself.
While Glynn listened with agonized keenness to the recital, he also heard the whispered terrors of his own heart. What horror had befallen the tender, delicate darling whom he had hoped to call his promised wife that day? To what hideous plot had she fallen a victim? He scarcely knew how to restrain the wild impulse to rush forth in hopeless blind pursuit.
Having heard all particulars, M. Claude (thechef) took a sheet of paper, and demanded a description of the young lady. This was furnished by both Lambert and Glynn, the latter eagerly adding some characteristic details of which even the father did not think. Claude then touched a bell, and ordered the subordinate who answered it to telegraph the description at once to every seaport and frontier-town in France, warning thepolice de sûretéin each place to arrest any person answering to it, no matter who accompanied.
"Time has been lost already," said the immovablechef. "Still, things are always discovered. Have the goodness to answer my questions."
"Will you say," broke in Deering with his supreme air, addressing himself to Glynn, "that I shall be happy to guarantee expenses."
"Damn your money!" cried Lambert, turning on him fiercely; "not a penny of it shall pay for the recovery of my child."
"He doesn't know what he is saying, poor beggar," said Deering in an undertone, with contemptuous pity, and an evil look on his face. "As I don't understand what is going on, I'll leave you. I have an idea she'll make for England, if she hasn't gone off with some Yankee. So I shall write to my lawyers to stir up our detectives. I will call at your hotel for further news this evening, Glynn." He left thebureau, and Glynn gave his undivided attention to the interrogatories, noting with despair, which increased every moment, the hopelessness of the search in the face of nearly twenty-four hours' start.
That the extraordinaryfinesseof the police should finally succeed was possible, but in the interim what crime might not be committed?
The distinct queries of the astute detective established—That Lambert had risen at his usual hour; that on receiving his coffee from thebonne, he asked if mademoiselle had returned; and finding she had not, remarked that doubtless she had danced well and late, so it was better for her to stay at Madame Davilliers' for the night. He also inquired if Celestine, thebonne, had taken her young lady's morning-dress to Madame Davilliers', to which she replied in the affirmative.
Theconciergehad heard the bell about two or half-past, had pulled thecordon, heard the door shut—it was a heavy door—and recognized Mademoiselle Lambert's voice; after that there was no trace.
"Have you any suspicion? Had your daughter any admirer to whom you were averse?"
"No; certainly not."
"Certain you cannot be where a young lady is in question," said M. Claude with quiet cynicism. "But is there no one towards whom your suspicion points? you spoke angrily to the gentleman who has just gone out."
"There is one man respecting whom I have some doubts, and that gentleman is his associate." Lambert proceeded to describe Vincent with considerable accuracy, adding that he had more than once demanded the hand of his daughter; but that the young lady herself was strongly opposed to him.
Here Glynn, who had been listening with painful, feverish interest to the dialogue, volunteered an account of his appearance at the ball on the previous night; of his endeavor to persuade Mademoiselle Lambert to dance with him, and his avowed intention of leaving early that morning for Bordeaux. These details were all carefully noted down.
Then M. Claude, rising, said, "Now to view the house." He struck a bell which stood beside his desk, and while he gave some instructions to the officer who answered his summons, he put on his gloves, locked his desk, and directed that a certaincommissaireshould accompany him to M. Lambert's residence. "I suppose you will wish to assist in the examination of the premises?" said M. Claude; "you may help to throw light on the case."
"Of course I will go with you."
"And you will allow me to assist so far as I can," urged Glynn.
"But can nothing more be done? no more rapid action taken?" cried the fevered, agitated father, letting his closed hand fall heavily on the table. Thecheftook out his watch, glanced at it, and remarked dramatically, "It is forty minutes since I noted down your description of your daughter, and all egress from France is closed to her."
Lambert uttered a low moan.
"We must let them work their own way. They know what they are about; but the suspense is almost intolerable," said Glynn, whose heart was bursting with despair and remorse. Why had he not accepted Lambert's proposition? Had he been Elsie's betrothed, this might not have happened!
The drive to the Rue de L'Evêque seemed endless; Lambert sat immovable and speechless. Arrived, thechef de la sûretéand his subaltern immediately proceeded to examine the house carefully, and to question theconciergeas to the tenants. In therez-de-chausséewas themagasinof a Patent Polish Stove Company; on the firstétagean old lady with her son and daughter-in-law resided. "Persons of high consideration," said the tearfulconcierge. The secondétagewas vacant; M. Lambert occupied the third. Then came a Professor of Music, Mons. le Capitain Galliard, Maitre d'Armes, and others.
Both Lambert and Glynn watched with quivering interest the deliberate minuteness of the examination, first of theconcierge, then of the house itself. The Professor of Music and the Maitre d'Armes were out, so M. Claude contented himself for the present by asking some leading questions about them.
Then he and his attendantcommissaireascended to Lambert's apartment, and questioned Madame Weber and thebonneas to the smallest details concerning the missing girl; her character, her habits of life, her friends, her pursuits, and finally asked for her last photograph. It sent a sharp dart of angry pain through Glynn's heart to see thechef de la sûretéand his aide-de-camp coolly examining the portrait which to him had a certain sanctity, to observe the unmoved composure of the practiced detectives in face of the father's despairing anxiety, the professional instinct which subordinated human interest to the keen perception of possible crime, the sleuth-hound scent for a legitimate prey.
From Lambert's abode they proceeded to the vacantétage, which theconcierge, in all the tearful yet delightful excitement of such an extraordinary occurrence, threw open with eager zeal.
It was almost the same as the dwelling above, and after looking carefully through the empty rooms they reached the kitchen. The door was fastened.
"Tiens!" cried theconcierge, looking rapidly through the keys she carried, "this is strange. I do not remember locking the door, and I have not been in here more than twice since the day you looked at the apartment, Monsieur Lambert, for some friends who thought of coming to Paris."
While she spoke thecommissairehad thrust the blade of his penknife into the key-hole. "The key is inside," he said.
"It is impossible," cried theconcierge.
"Go round byl'escalier de service(back stair) with madame," said M. Claude to his subordinate. "There is a door leading thence to the kitchen, is there not?"
"But yes, certainly that will also be locked; I have a pass-key, however, for these outer doors." A few minutes of silent waiting and voices were heard within, then the door was opened by theconcierge, whose usually rosy face looked a yellowish white. "Bon dieu!" she whispered, "the outside door was unlocked, and here is the key which opens both, in this lock. I swear that the day before yesterday I locked the outside door carefully; nor have I ascended this stair since."
"Let us examine this room carefully," said thechef, with a shade of additional gravity.
The search was most thorough, every little cupboard, every nook, the stove, the oven, an old box, every inch of the dingy empty kitchen was minutely scrutinized,—all present assisting. Suddenly a speck of white in a dark corner attracted Glynn's eye. He picked it up. It was a morsel of fine lace entangled with a knot of the narrowest black velvet ribbon, from which dangled a broken end. With a sickening sensation of horror and dread Glynn picked up this infinitesimal yet eloquent suggestion of a struggle, and silently handed it to M. Claude.
"Ha!" exclaimed that functionary, gazing at it with some eagerness; then he added, "Mademoiselle changed her toilet too hastily."
"Good God!" cried Lambert, "she wore just such a velvet string as this through the lace of her dress; I noticed it!"—and so had Glynn. With what bitterness he recalled his admiration of the creamy whiteness of her neck contrasted with the black line surrounding it. "Do you—do you think she is murdered?" continued Lambert in an agonized whisper, staring wildly at the lace.
"No, I do not," said M. Claude, apparently somewhat moved by the father's intense misery. "I do not suppose her life would be attempted by any one, unless indeed there are some circumstances in her or your history with which I am unacquainted. But I believe what may be as bitter as her death to you,—that she has gone with her own free consent."
"And that I never can believe," cried Lambert. "She—the sweetest, most loving, obedient child man ever had!"
"Even so," said the detective with a tinge of sadness.
"The affair might have occurred under chloroform," said thecommissairein a low submissive tone. "A resolute practiced villain meets her ascending the stairs; a handkerchief saturated with chloroform suddenly wrapped round her face renders her helpless. She is carried through this empty apartment, her dress changed while she is still insensible." An irrepressible groan from Glynn made thechef de la sûretélook at him. "They carry her down-stairs," continued thecommissaire.
"And then," interrupted theconciergeshrilly, "they are caught! how can any one get out without calling me? My faith! do you think I neglect my duties, or that a great warrior like my husband, nowen retraite, and employed at the Gare St. Lazare, would permit half a dozen such brigands to pass?"
"Silence!" said M. Claude, impressively. "Feel along the floor, in that corner beyond the window."
His subordinate obeyed, and discovered a small square of chocolate, a few crumbs of bread, and two pins. These last were most carefully examined.
"They are English," said the detective. "But that is easily accounted for; the person or persons engaged in the abduction evidently partook of refreshment; nor is there any sign leading to the supposition of violence. The difficulty is to discover how they managed to leave the house. At what hour did you lock the door and put out your light last night?" to theconcierge.
In reply to his questions she stated that the entrance door was always locked at ten o'clock, but that she herself often sat up till eleven. Last night, feeling weary, she went to bed at half-past ten. Before she slept the bell rang, and she pulled thecordon. M. Lambert's voice said who was there, and bid her good-night. Twice after, entrance was demanded by different inmates; then, after what seemed to her a long time, some one rang, and waking completely, she distinctly heard Miss Lambert's voice. She did not sleep again for what seemed to her more than an hour, during which all was profoundly quiet. She always rose before six, and after lighting her fire to prepare the coffee of monsieur her husband, she unlocked the great door and went to fill her pail with water at a pump, which was in a court on which the entrance opened at the far side from the street, in order to wash the passage.
"Can you see the chief entrance from this court?"
"But yes, certainly."
"And the pump, how is it situated?"
"About the centre."
"I shall inspect it," said M. Claude. Having carefully wrapped up the morsel of lace and ribbon, the square of chocolate and the two pins, and placed them in an inner pocket, M. Claude led the way down-stairs to the court mentioned by theconcierge, followed by her, Lambert, and Glynn, who were too penetrated by the sense of their own helplessness in such an affair to offer any interference or suggestion.
The court, which was like a well, being surrounded by lofty houses, was exactly opposite the entrance; and the pump, as stated, was in the centre, but with its back towards the doorway, so that any one using the handle to raise the water would naturally turn his or her face from it, especially as it was necessary to watch the filling of whatever vessel was placed below the spout. After looking carefully at the relative positions of the door and the pump, M. Claude requested theconciergeto fill a pail of water as she was in the habit of doing. She obeyed; he stood behind her during the operation, and at the end observed, "The fugitives walked through the open door while you were pumping; no force or chloroform could have been used." Theconciergeburst into tears. "Gentlemen," continued thechef de la sûreté, "I shall now proceed to Madame Davilliers, and the remainder of my inquiries I wish to prosecute alone. M. Lambert, do me the favor to call at my office to-morrow morning about ten, and comeunaccompanied."
"And can you do no more to-day?" asked poor Lambert, his mouth twitching from the nervous strain of suppressing his cruel anxiety.
"I consider that we have secured a clue. I feel sure of finding your daughter; if not immediately, at no distant date."
"At no distant date," repeated the father, as thechef de la sûretéleft the house followed by thecommissaire. "But in the meantime!—Oh God, Glynn, how can I live on such a rack, and I don't know where to turn!"
"It is almost unbearable. Can you remember nothing that might serve as a clue to her extraordinary disappearance?"
"Nothing. If I don't find her, I have done with life."
"I feel for you, Lambert, from the bottom of my soul. I'd give all I possess to know that Elsie is safe! you'll have an awful night of it. Shall I stay with you?"
"I am best alone," returned Lambert, looking sharply at him. "I didn't think you cared so much. Thank ye—I am best alone."
Glynn had known some rough times in his life, but a stupendous calamity such as had now overtaken him can only happen once in an existence. Little more than twelve hours before he had thrilled at Elsie's touch, and dreamed of winning her love! Why had he not accompanied her to her house, and seen her safely within her father's door? What was the dim haze of mystery which had hung about her, and had now suddenly deepened into darkness so profound that it defied conjecture? And suppose she were discovered, might not the discovery be nearly as terrible as the loss? In spite of M. Claude's profound conviction that Miss Lambert had gone willingly, Glynn could not, would not believe that there was a shadow of duplicity in the soul that looked so candidly, so earnestly out of those glorious deep-blue eyes. No; but she might have been decoyed away by some plausible story; if so, she was not wanting in courage and resolution; she would probably manage to communicate with Lambert. But in the meantime what agonies of terror, what unspeakable distress she must endure.
After a hideous night, during which he did not attempt to undress, Glynn was early next morning at the Rue de L'Evêque.
Lambert looked less terribly agitated than he was the day before, but he had an exhausted, stupefied air, as if nature could not hold out much longer. He was dressed and ready to go out, however, and as he was too soon for the appointment with M. Claude, Glynn accompanied him to see Madame Davilliers, who with her husband had visited and condoled with the bereaved father more than once during the previous evening.
They found her still much agitated. She received Lambert with affectionate sympathy, but talked in a strain that maddened Glynn. Thechef de la sûretéhad evidently communicated to her his own belief that Elsie had fled willingly.
"Antoinette," she said, "was weeping in her own room; the poor child could not of course understand the despair of her elders. To her it was like some fairy tale of a cruel ogre; the less she heard of so awful a catastrophe the better. It is not for me to judge the habits of other nations," continued madame, "but the results of such freedom as is permitted to young American girls cannot fail to be fatal! That dear Elsie was an angel of goodness and purity, brought up by those holy ladies of the convent, and all the more likely to be led away, because of her extreme innocence. She" (Madame Davilliers) "was the last woman to be taken up with egotism; but the disgrace of such an occurrence would reflect onallwho had come in contact with the unhappy one."
"Do you mean to say that you think my child, my jewel, my pride, is to blame? that any one living could lead her astray?" almost screamed Lambert, stung from his despairing apathy into angry excitement.
"Dear monsieur, I only blame your system, not its victim!"
"You are premature in your conclusions," said Glynn with cold displeasure. "Within twenty-four hours she will no doubt be discovered, and all that seems inexplicable explained."
"I trust it may be so, monsieur; meanwhile I agree with the excellent M. Claude that the affair should be kept as secret as possible; rumor will make everything worse than it really is, and for the sake of——"
"Adieu, madame; mine is too terrible an affliction to leave room for thought about appearances!" cried poor Lambert, turning away.
"Poor unhappy father! all things may be pardoned to him," said madame compassionately to Glynn, who bowed silently and followed his distracted friend.
Arrived at theBureau de la sûreté, Glynn remained outside, slowly pacing the street; and while he waited, somewhat to his surprise he saw Deering come out from a different door to that by which Lambert had entered. He was accompanied by a man in uniform, and walked briskly away, in the same direction in which Glynn was sauntering; but as they were considerably ahead of him, it was useless to attempt pursuit. Nor did Glynn particularly wish to speak with Deering. He felt that for some occult reason he was Lambert's enemy, and he entirely acquitted him of any share in Elsie's disappearance. That he should make independent inquiries was natural, as Lambert's treatment of him the previous day almost forbid their holding further intercourse; probably the man with him was an official interpreter. Glynn's thoughts were sufficiently painful as he strolled to and fro. He wished Lambert would voluntarily confide to him the secret of his enmity to Deering. He felt an unreasoning conviction that the extraordinary disappearance of Elsie was in some way connected with it.
Time went slowly, painfully; but at length asergent de villeapproaching, saluted him, saying, "Will monsieur give himself the trouble to enter? M. Le Chef wishes to speak to him."
Glynn followed readily, and found Claude alone.
"Monsieur Lambert awaits you in an ante-chamber," said the gravechef; "you shall soon be at liberty to join him. Meantime you will have no objection to answer a few questions." He proceeded to put a few leading queries as to Glynn's position and occupation, the origin of his acquaintance with Lambert, its renewal, his knowledge of Deering and Vincent, and their connection with father and daughter. The astutechefwas courteous though searching, and having meditated for a moment or two, said, "I should recommend your advising your friend to confideeverycircumstance connected with his daughter to me. He is keeping something back, and that something nullifies all our efforts."
"I think he must have told you everything, especially connected with his daughter."
"There is small chance of success if he does not."
"I suppose you have no intelligence as yet?" said Glynn.
"This is all we have discovered," said M. Claude, throwing open the doors of a largearmoire, or clothes-press, and there hung, in ghastly mockery, the pretty white ball-dress which had so delightfully become the wearer, its bouquets of wild flowers crushed and flattened, and a long revolting stain of half-dried mud along one side of the creamy silk.
"Good God!" exclaimed Glynn, starting back horror-struck. "Where—where did you find this?"
"One of our men found it near the Pont de L'Alma early this morning. See! here is where the lace and knot of ribbon were torn away. There is no other mark of violence. The intention evidently was to throw the parcel (it was tightly rolled up) into the Seine; but it fell short, and the river was low. You recognize the dress?"
"Yes; and now?"
"This proves nothing," said the imperturbable M. Claude. "The dress was deliberately thrown away, either to direct attention on a wrong scent, or simply to get rid of an encumbrance."
"Then you have not advanced since yesterday?"
"Not much. I have found that M. Vincentisat Bordeaux, but alone."
"And you have seen M. Deering?" said Glynn, quickly.
"Yes," returned M. Claude, looking at him for an instant. "He came to seek tidings of the missing young lady, in whom he seems deeply interested."
There was a pause. Glynn sought in his soul for some suggestion to keep the inscrutable detective in conversation. He could not help a conviction that he was in possession of more information than he cared to impart; but nothing came to him.
"You do not, then, believe that any great crime has been committed?" he faltered.
"All things are possible; but I hope that before many days are over you will hear from the young lady herself. I believe it is an unusually clever case of elopement. I have communicated with the English police; but"—an eloquent shrug—"they have fewer facilities than we. My telegram yesterday was too late to catch the Dover mail-boat—not that I think it was of much consequence, for——"
His reason was never uttered; a tap at the door interrupted him. He rose, took a dispatch from the hands of a messenger. Closing the door, he read it, and then with a grim smile said:
"My suspicions are not far wrong. The young lady is safe and well at Bordeaux—andnotalone."
"What does youremployésay?" cried Glynn, not much comforted by the announcement.
"Read for yourself," said M. Claude, handing the telegram to him.
Glynn eagerly scanned the lines.
"Young English or American lady answering to description arrived here last evening; is staying at 'The Lion d'Or,' on the quay. Has been visited by the captain of an American steamer and another man. Father must come at once and identify her, or she may escape."
"This is some mistake," said Glynn, the words dancing before his eyes. "This cannot be Miss Lambert."
"It is most unlikely that my colleague at Bordeaux should be in error. He is one of the shrewdestemployésof thesûreté. At all events we must inform the father."
He rang, and desired that M. Lambert should be recalled. Glynn was infinitely touched by the dulled, helpless look of the once bright, alert Lambert. He watched him read the telegram, and observed with surprise that his face brightened, and an expression of pleasure gleamed in his eyes.
"This is a chance, anyhow," he exclaimed. "Of course I'll go. When is the next train?"
The detective watched him curiously.
"But, Lambert," exclaimed Glynn in English, "you surely do not believe this can be your daughter? You do not think that delicate, tender creature would fly fromyouto meet men of whom you know nothing?"
"Maybe I do," said Lambert, "and maybe I don't. Drowning men catch at straws. I'll go, anyway."
He swayed slightly as he spoke, and caught Glynn's arm.
"It is more than he can bear," said M. Claude, with a rare gleam of feeling. "I will telegraph to my colleague to meet you at the Gare. The mail train leaves at six. You will be in Bordeaux about noon to-morrow. You will, I trust, need no further assistance from my department. I wish you good-morning, gentlemen."
He opened the door politely, and they went forth.
"Lambert," said Glynn, as he supported his friend's unsteady steps, "you are not fit to travel alone. I will go with you."
"I'm better," returned Lambert, withdrawing his arm, "and I thank you from the bottom of my heart; but I'd rather go alone. If—if—oh! great heavens!—She mightn't like to see you, Glynn. No, no," with increasing decision, "I would rather go alone, and I will send you wordwhatI find. You have been wonderfully good to me, and you know what she was—is. Why do I despair? If—oh if," with sudden fury, "I ever get my grip on the infernal villain that drove her to this, he'll have seen the last of light, and go down to darkness forever. There, I don't know what I am talking about. My head seems all wrong."
"You had better let me go with you, Lambert. Believe me, you are not fit to go alone, and you must keep well, at any rate, till you recover or rescue your daughter."
"Recover her! Ay, that I will," standing still suddenly. "Do you think I'm not proof against everything till I find her? and then—and then, when she is safe, I have done my work, and I'll rest—ay, rest well and long. But I'll make this journey alone."
There was nothing for it but to give up all thoughts of persuading him. Then he seemed to revive, to master his terrible despondency. He accepted Glynn's invitation to luncheon, and forced himself to take food and wine. Then he returned to his desolate home, to make preparations for his departure; finally Glynn saw him safely into the train.
The hours which succeeded, how slowly, yet swiftly, they dragged their torturing length! slowly, for the moments as they dropped into the abyss of the past seemed deliberately distilled from the bitterest ingredients life could supply; swiftly, for every hour of delay added to the difficulty of the search, on the success of which all Glynn's hopes hung. He exhausted himself wandering to and fro the Rue de L'Evêque, the Rue de Jérusalem, even the Morgue, where he would rather have found the corpse of her he loved than know her alive under such circumstances as the detective's telegram suggested. But this he did not for a moment believe, though through his long mental agony strange doubts would obtrude themselves—more of Lambert than his daughter. He was evidently concealing something. Those vague threats against some unnamed villain, what did they indicate? Knowledge of some possible and real abduction, or merely imaginative fury?
Still, fast or slow, the hours went by. Glynn was finally overcome with fatigue and sleep, so enjoyed a few hours of blessed oblivion.
He woke with a startled sense of wrong-doing in having forgotten even for a moment the awful uncertainty that had laid its curse upon him, and collecting his thoughts, remembered his surprise at not having received a telegraphic message from Lambert. True, he might not have succeeded at once in seeing his supposed daughter.
The expected communication came, however, before he sallied forth to renew the restless round of yesterday——
"Officer mistaken. A fresh track. Am off to Marseilles Will write."
In a sense this was a relief; but Marseilles? that seemed the most unlikely place to find the object of their search. However, all places were unlikely. Lambert had better keep at hand in Paris. He would write and beg him to return.
Glynn had taken his hat and was at the door, when some one knocked, and Deering entered, well-dressed, cool, distinguished-looking, as ever, but with a somewhat haggard aspect, and a set, sinister expression about his mouth.
"I suppose you have heard nothing fresh? no discovery of any clue to the whereabouts of Lambert's daughter?" he asked.
"Nothing. Her father went down to Bordeaux yesterday at the suggestion of M. Claude to identify a girl described as resembling Miss Lambert. I have just had this telegram from him."
"Ha!" said Deering, on reading it, "I doubt if Lambert will afford M. Claude much assistance. I fancy some of his raffish associates have carried off the young lady, and he is too much in their power to be very earnest about discovering or punishing them."
"Have you suggested this idea to thechef de la sûreté?" asked Glynn coldly.
"Why should you think so?"
"Because he talked to me of Lambert's concealments as militating against the success of the search, just after you left him."
Deering's brows met in a fierce, quick frown, and then resumed their ordinary haughty composure. "Yes; I thought it well to warn him. I am even now endeavoring to sift a curious story about Lambert; it may not be true, but I am a good deal concerned at this disappearance of his daughter, and, I think, so are you. She is a fascinating morsel of female flesh, and it is maddening to see the prize you had marked for your own carried off under your very eyes. Really there is no line deep enough to fathom a woman."
"I never marked Miss Lambert as my own," said Glynn angrily. "I object to your mode of mentioning her. As to Lambert, no one can doubt the unfortunate man's despair and distress. I do not believe that Miss Lambert left her home willingly, unless decoyed by false pretences."
"Be that as it may, I would give a good deal to know where she is. I believe she is in England; she was brought up there, I believe. Well, I cross to-night, and will set the police at work so soon as I get to London. Shall you be much longer here?"
"My movements are uncertain," returned Glynn stiffly.
"You'll wait and assist the bereaved father, I presume," said Deering, with an unpleasant smile. "By the way, Vincent has returned, and is awfully cut up about the affair. Vincent was, I fancy, a suitor; might have been a decent match for Miss Lambert; he is a shrewd fellow. But you are in a hurry, I will not detain you."
He bid Glynn "good-morning" with courteous friendliness, and left him half-maddened with torturing waves of doubt, which seemed rising on all sides.
Another long miserable day, its only solace a visit to poor Madame Weber and Celestine, who talked of the "dear lost child" with unbounded panegyric and floods of tears.
No letter from Lambert, and failure in an attempt to see thechef de la sûreté, completed the day's trials.
The fourth morning brought Lambert's promised letter. The girl supposed to resemble Elsie was a rougedmodeste, with dyed hair, and rather good blue eyes, the only real point of resemblance. "The reasons for his expedition to Marseilles were too numerous for a letter," Lambert wrote. "He had some faint hopes of success, and would tell all when he returned, if Glynn was still in Paris."If!how could he tear himself away till this cruel mystery was cleared up?
In the porter's lodge, as he passed out, Glynn found a police agent with a message—Could he come soon to theBureau de la sûreté? M. le Chef wished to speak with him.
Glynn's reply was to hail afiacre, and making the agent come with him, drove at once to thebureau.
"So thecommissaireat Bordeaux was mistaken," said M. Claude. "That is the difficulty of descriptions, even photographs sometimes deceive. I am having several copies made of mademoiselle's, and shall send them to the principal towns." He paused, and looking at Glynn, said, "I do not approve thisdémarcheto Marseilles; M. Lambert should have confided his reasons to us. He cannot work independently; but he will make nothing by his journey. Were he here—there is a fresh and more hopeful report from Bruges this morning."
"And it is?" exclaimed Glynn, leaning forward in his chair, quivering with anticipation.
"Two ladies, one young, fair, blue-eyed and English; the other elderly, German or Russian, well-dressed and well-bred, arrived the day before yesterday at the Hôtel des Trois Couronnes. They keep most retired, and only go out in a covered carriage, to the convent of the Béguines. The younger lady weeps a good deal, and often mentions the word 'father' with emotion. They have told their landlord that they await the coming of the young lady's father."
"This sounds more promising," cried Glynn, all eager attention.
"Were M. Lambert here he might take the journey to Bruges, and identify them. Probablyheis the father they expect."
"I wish he were here, but, in his absence,Iwill undertake the journey; I can identify Miss Lambert."
"Do you think her father will thank you?"
"I do. Can you doubt his agonized impatience until he can get tidings of his daughter?"
"No; but there is something in the affair I cannot quite fathom."
There was a pause. "I suppose," resumed Glynn, "there is no objection to my visiting the ladies your agent describes?"
"None; in the absence of the father."
"Then I shall start at once. Give me a line of introduction to your representative. I shall telegraph to you the result of my journey. No doubt you will see M. Lambert back to-morrow."
M. Claude wrote the desired letter, and armed with it, Glynn left thebureau.
A rapid journey followed, a journey such as men make in bad dreams, with a curious sense of acting under some hideous malignant influence, a depressing anticipation of coming failure. Often in after-life the memory of that journey came back as the most painful experience of all he had ever known for years—it haunted him with thrills of horror. Little he heeded the quaint aspects of the old mediæval town, though the picture of the streets through which he was conducted to the Hôtel des Trois Couronnes remained forever stamped upon his memory.
His anticipations were fulfilled. The ladies were both total strangers to him; he had therefore nothing for it but to apologize and retire.
Back to Paris, where Lambert had not yet returned, and M. Claude received him with cold displeasure. M. Claude was growing impatient at the unwonted failure of his emissaries. It was now six days since the disappearance of Miss Lambert, and not the faintest clue had been found by which to trace her.
The keen-eyedchef de la sûretéthrew himself into the pursuit with all the energy of his nature, all the professional pride that a high reputation could inspire. There was not a town of any importance in Europe where his researches did not penetrate, and yet the days rolled on, and not a trace was to be found of the missing girl. For some reasons unknown very little was said of the occurrence in the newspapers. The police, always powerful in France, were especially potent in the later days of the Empire. One or two journals mentioned the mysterious disappearance of a young lady, and the matter was dropped.