Story 2, Chapter IX.The Post-Office.On my return to New Orleans, one of my earliest solicitudes was about my European correspondence. There letters are not delivered by a carrier, or were not at the time of which I speak. To obtain them, you must either send to the Post-office, or go for them yourself; and expecting some letters of importance, I chose the latter alternative.I reached the office at the hour when the Atlantic steamer’s mail was being delivered. As is usual at that time, there was a crowd around the delivery-window; but by means of the simple contrivance of a gallery, orcoulisse, each applicant was enabled to take his turn. I fell into rank, and awaited mine.As we moved gradually forward, I could hear the different individuals asking for their letters—each giving his name, or sometimes both name and address.Rarely was any question asked, beyond the demand for the amount of postage—the applicant paying it through the delivery-window, receiving the letter, and passing on to make room for the impatient gentleman in his rear.I had arrived within some half-dozen files of the box, when I heard pronounced a well-known name.“Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.”It was not very distinctly enunciated—in fact rather in a sort of muttered tone—but I could not be mistaken as to the name.There was nothing to surprise me in this. The young lawyer was no doubt there to receive his morning correspondence, like any other man of business. I should not have given a thought to the circumstance, farther than to congratulate myself on the good fortune of having opportunely encountered my friend—since I was just on my way to call upon him, at his office. I say, I should have given no farther thought to the circumstance; but, just as the letter was being delivered, I overheard the words “From Saint Louis,” pronounced by the delivery clerk. No doubt it was some matter relating to the amount of postage; but the phrase had a singular effect on my ears, and at once called up a train of ideas.“So,” soliloquised I, “Monsieur Luis has receivedtheletter. The mail must have come down by the same boat in which I travelled. Very amusing! I should know the contents of that epistle better than he. Ha! ha! ha! Perhaps the most important letter he ever received in his life! The opening of that envelope will reveal to him a world of happiness. Within, he will find the offer of a hand, a heart, and a fortune. Lucky fellow! he is indeed to be envied!”I should have felt greatly inclined to have anticipated the post in its office, and to have had the pleasure of imparting the delicious newsviva voce, but was restrained by remembering the injunctions of Madame Dardonville. I was curious, however, to observe the effect which the letter from Saint Louis would produce upon my friend; and I leaned over to catch a glimpse of his face. It might not be he who had inquired for the letter—some messenger from the office, perhaps,—and it now occurred to me that it was not his voice I had heard. But I was unable to determine the point. Three or four very stout tall fellows were in front; and, twist myself as I might, I could not see over or around them. “Never mind!” thought I, “I shall follow him directly to his office, and then—”This reflection was interrupted by observing my friend, as I supposed, emerge from the exit end of the slip, and pass into the street. I thought it was he, and yet I was not quite certain. His back was towards me; but as he walked out of the portico, he turned slightly, and I caught a momentary glimpse of his side face. It was certainly like him; but I was struck with a sudden impression that it was more like the face of Monsieur Despard. This caused me to scrutinise the figure with more eagerness; but some one stepped in front of me, and when I looked again, he was gone out of sight.“It matters little,” thought I, “as I am on my way to De Hauteroche’s office, where, at this hour, I shall, no doubt, find him.”After waiting as patiently as possible for my “turn,” I obtained it at length; and, possessing myself of the expected letters, I sallied out into the street. I did not go direct to the office of my friend, but made a long détour—to give me time to glean the contents of my correspondence.I arrived at length in the Rue Royale. As I had anticipated, De Hauteroche was in his office, and received me with a genuine expression of welcome.He was differently dressed from the man I had seen—in a coat altogether unlike! There was hardly time to have changed it? It could not have been he!“Parbleu! my friend, what’s the matter?” he inquired, observing my astonishment. “Do you perceive any change in me since we parted? I hope none for the worse, eh?”“Answer me!” said I, without replying to his question. “How long have you had that coat on?”“Ha! ha! what an eccentric question! ha! ha! ha! I fear,mon ami, you have left more than your heart in Saint Louis, ha! ha! ha!”“Nay, please answer my question—how long?”“To-day, do you mean?”“Yes, to-day.”“Oh! about an hour. It is my business coat. I put it on when I came into the office, about an hour ago.”“And you have not had it off since?”“No.”“You have not been out of the office either?”“Not that I am aware off,mon ami; but pray why do you make these inquiries?”“Simply because I fancied I saw you just now.”“Where?”“At the Post-office.”“Oh, no! I was not there. I never go. I always send for my letters; it is so unpleasant, squeezing through the horrid crowd.”“I certainly saw some one wonderfully like you; and now I am convinced of what I had only suspected, that he whom I saw was that same gentleman, to whom I am indebted for your acquaintance.”“Peste!” exclaimed the young Creole, springing to his feet, and assuming a serious countenance. “Likely enough it may be.Mon Dieu! this is intolerable. Do you know, my friend, that I am frequently mistaken for him, and he for me; and what is still worse, I have reason to believe that the fellow has, on more than one occasion, personated me.Mère de Dieu! it is not to be borne; and if I can only get proof of it—I am even now about the affair—if I can only establish the proofs, I shall effectually put a stop to it. He shall find I can handle the small-sword a little more skilfully than your unfortunate friend.Mon Dieu! it is infamous: a commonspoilsman—a swindler—even worse, I have heard; and to think how my character suffers! Why no later than yesterday, would you believe it, I was joked by one of my oldest and most respected friends, for having figured at a low quadroon ball in the Faubourg Tremé! It is positively vexatious!”Of course I assented to this denunciation, and to the necessity of some inquiry being made into the goings on of Monsieur Jacques Despard. During my winter sojourn in New Orleans, I had more than once dropped accidentally upon this last-mentioned personage, but never did I observe him in any very creditable position. It did not need the declaration of De Hauteroche, to prove to me that he was bothsportsman(gambler) and swindler; but just then other matters came before my mind. I was the bearer of a pretty little billet from Olympe to Adele; and the hour had arrived in which it was proper for me to make my call and deliver it. Leaving my friend, therefore, to his books and briefs, I went off upon my errand.I was a little puzzled at De Hauteroche’s behaviour. He must have received the letter in time to have read it before my arrival at the office; and yet I observed none of the effect that the reading of such an important document would be likely to produce. On further reflection I felt convinced that he could not have read it at all. Perhaps his messenger, who had taken it from the post-office, had not returned. Or, what was likely enough, it might not bethatletter, but some other one of no importance, or more probable still, there might have been none, and I had mistaken the name. Certainly, if it were the epistle I supposed it to be, and if he had already perused it, the effect was far from what I should have expected. Of course I did not imagine he would appear in ecstasies in my presence, and all at once reveal to me the secret of his happiness; but, on the other hand, I could not account for the imperturbable coolness he had exhibited throughout our short interview—his thoughts, indeed, only occupied by vexation at the unfortunate resemblance he bore to the gambler. Of course, then, he could have had no letter—at least not one that offered him a wife and a fortune. I might have ascertained this to a certainty by simply putting a question, and some vague suspicion floating about in my mind, half prompted me to do so; but I remembered the caution which I had received from the little Madame Dardonville—besides, it was a delicate point, and I dreaded being deemed a meddler. After all, I had no doubt about the matter. His supreme happiness was still unknown to him. The messenger of glad tidings had not yet arrived. The next mail-boat would bring the precious epistle, and then—I had entered the vine-shadowed verandah in the Rue Bourgogne. The greenjalousieopened at the sound of my steps; and those beautiful brown eyes, smiling upon me through the fringework of the white curtains, carried my thoughts into a new current. Luis and his affairs were alike forgotten. I had eyes and thoughts only for Adele.
On my return to New Orleans, one of my earliest solicitudes was about my European correspondence. There letters are not delivered by a carrier, or were not at the time of which I speak. To obtain them, you must either send to the Post-office, or go for them yourself; and expecting some letters of importance, I chose the latter alternative.
I reached the office at the hour when the Atlantic steamer’s mail was being delivered. As is usual at that time, there was a crowd around the delivery-window; but by means of the simple contrivance of a gallery, orcoulisse, each applicant was enabled to take his turn. I fell into rank, and awaited mine.
As we moved gradually forward, I could hear the different individuals asking for their letters—each giving his name, or sometimes both name and address.
Rarely was any question asked, beyond the demand for the amount of postage—the applicant paying it through the delivery-window, receiving the letter, and passing on to make room for the impatient gentleman in his rear.
I had arrived within some half-dozen files of the box, when I heard pronounced a well-known name.
“Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.”
It was not very distinctly enunciated—in fact rather in a sort of muttered tone—but I could not be mistaken as to the name.
There was nothing to surprise me in this. The young lawyer was no doubt there to receive his morning correspondence, like any other man of business. I should not have given a thought to the circumstance, farther than to congratulate myself on the good fortune of having opportunely encountered my friend—since I was just on my way to call upon him, at his office. I say, I should have given no farther thought to the circumstance; but, just as the letter was being delivered, I overheard the words “From Saint Louis,” pronounced by the delivery clerk. No doubt it was some matter relating to the amount of postage; but the phrase had a singular effect on my ears, and at once called up a train of ideas.
“So,” soliloquised I, “Monsieur Luis has receivedtheletter. The mail must have come down by the same boat in which I travelled. Very amusing! I should know the contents of that epistle better than he. Ha! ha! ha! Perhaps the most important letter he ever received in his life! The opening of that envelope will reveal to him a world of happiness. Within, he will find the offer of a hand, a heart, and a fortune. Lucky fellow! he is indeed to be envied!”
I should have felt greatly inclined to have anticipated the post in its office, and to have had the pleasure of imparting the delicious newsviva voce, but was restrained by remembering the injunctions of Madame Dardonville. I was curious, however, to observe the effect which the letter from Saint Louis would produce upon my friend; and I leaned over to catch a glimpse of his face. It might not be he who had inquired for the letter—some messenger from the office, perhaps,—and it now occurred to me that it was not his voice I had heard. But I was unable to determine the point. Three or four very stout tall fellows were in front; and, twist myself as I might, I could not see over or around them. “Never mind!” thought I, “I shall follow him directly to his office, and then—”
This reflection was interrupted by observing my friend, as I supposed, emerge from the exit end of the slip, and pass into the street. I thought it was he, and yet I was not quite certain. His back was towards me; but as he walked out of the portico, he turned slightly, and I caught a momentary glimpse of his side face. It was certainly like him; but I was struck with a sudden impression that it was more like the face of Monsieur Despard. This caused me to scrutinise the figure with more eagerness; but some one stepped in front of me, and when I looked again, he was gone out of sight.
“It matters little,” thought I, “as I am on my way to De Hauteroche’s office, where, at this hour, I shall, no doubt, find him.”
After waiting as patiently as possible for my “turn,” I obtained it at length; and, possessing myself of the expected letters, I sallied out into the street. I did not go direct to the office of my friend, but made a long détour—to give me time to glean the contents of my correspondence.
I arrived at length in the Rue Royale. As I had anticipated, De Hauteroche was in his office, and received me with a genuine expression of welcome.
He was differently dressed from the man I had seen—in a coat altogether unlike! There was hardly time to have changed it? It could not have been he!
“Parbleu! my friend, what’s the matter?” he inquired, observing my astonishment. “Do you perceive any change in me since we parted? I hope none for the worse, eh?”
“Answer me!” said I, without replying to his question. “How long have you had that coat on?”
“Ha! ha! what an eccentric question! ha! ha! ha! I fear,mon ami, you have left more than your heart in Saint Louis, ha! ha! ha!”
“Nay, please answer my question—how long?”
“To-day, do you mean?”
“Yes, to-day.”
“Oh! about an hour. It is my business coat. I put it on when I came into the office, about an hour ago.”
“And you have not had it off since?”
“No.”
“You have not been out of the office either?”
“Not that I am aware off,mon ami; but pray why do you make these inquiries?”
“Simply because I fancied I saw you just now.”
“Where?”
“At the Post-office.”
“Oh, no! I was not there. I never go. I always send for my letters; it is so unpleasant, squeezing through the horrid crowd.”
“I certainly saw some one wonderfully like you; and now I am convinced of what I had only suspected, that he whom I saw was that same gentleman, to whom I am indebted for your acquaintance.”
“Peste!” exclaimed the young Creole, springing to his feet, and assuming a serious countenance. “Likely enough it may be.Mon Dieu! this is intolerable. Do you know, my friend, that I am frequently mistaken for him, and he for me; and what is still worse, I have reason to believe that the fellow has, on more than one occasion, personated me.Mère de Dieu! it is not to be borne; and if I can only get proof of it—I am even now about the affair—if I can only establish the proofs, I shall effectually put a stop to it. He shall find I can handle the small-sword a little more skilfully than your unfortunate friend.Mon Dieu! it is infamous: a commonspoilsman—a swindler—even worse, I have heard; and to think how my character suffers! Why no later than yesterday, would you believe it, I was joked by one of my oldest and most respected friends, for having figured at a low quadroon ball in the Faubourg Tremé! It is positively vexatious!”
Of course I assented to this denunciation, and to the necessity of some inquiry being made into the goings on of Monsieur Jacques Despard. During my winter sojourn in New Orleans, I had more than once dropped accidentally upon this last-mentioned personage, but never did I observe him in any very creditable position. It did not need the declaration of De Hauteroche, to prove to me that he was bothsportsman(gambler) and swindler; but just then other matters came before my mind. I was the bearer of a pretty little billet from Olympe to Adele; and the hour had arrived in which it was proper for me to make my call and deliver it. Leaving my friend, therefore, to his books and briefs, I went off upon my errand.
I was a little puzzled at De Hauteroche’s behaviour. He must have received the letter in time to have read it before my arrival at the office; and yet I observed none of the effect that the reading of such an important document would be likely to produce. On further reflection I felt convinced that he could not have read it at all. Perhaps his messenger, who had taken it from the post-office, had not returned. Or, what was likely enough, it might not bethatletter, but some other one of no importance, or more probable still, there might have been none, and I had mistaken the name. Certainly, if it were the epistle I supposed it to be, and if he had already perused it, the effect was far from what I should have expected. Of course I did not imagine he would appear in ecstasies in my presence, and all at once reveal to me the secret of his happiness; but, on the other hand, I could not account for the imperturbable coolness he had exhibited throughout our short interview—his thoughts, indeed, only occupied by vexation at the unfortunate resemblance he bore to the gambler. Of course, then, he could have had no letter—at least not one that offered him a wife and a fortune. I might have ascertained this to a certainty by simply putting a question, and some vague suspicion floating about in my mind, half prompted me to do so; but I remembered the caution which I had received from the little Madame Dardonville—besides, it was a delicate point, and I dreaded being deemed a meddler. After all, I had no doubt about the matter. His supreme happiness was still unknown to him. The messenger of glad tidings had not yet arrived. The next mail-boat would bring the precious epistle, and then—
I had entered the vine-shadowed verandah in the Rue Bourgogne. The greenjalousieopened at the sound of my steps; and those beautiful brown eyes, smiling upon me through the fringework of the white curtains, carried my thoughts into a new current. Luis and his affairs were alike forgotten. I had eyes and thoughts only for Adele.
Story 2, Chapter X.Another Epistle.The hospitality of my Creole friends had not cooled in my absence, and my visits were as frequent as of yore. I had now much to tell them of. My prairie excursion had furnished me with facts—deeds upon which I could descant. It pleased me to fancy I had an attentive listener in Adele. I could make Luis listen too at times—especially when I dwelt upon the merits of Olympe. No doubt it would have flattered me to believe that Adele was a little jealous, but I could not tell. I only knew that she liked better to hear me discourse upon the wonders of prairie land, than to listen to the praises of Olympe. But Adele had much romance in her disposition, and the plumed and painted horsemen of the plains—the chivalry of modern days—almost rival in interest the steel-clad heroes of the mediaeval time—certainly they are quite as brave, and perhaps not much more barbaric.My visits to the Rue Bourgogne were of daily recurrence. Besides the other occupation, I could not help closely regarding the behaviour of Luis. I was watching for some sign, but day after day passed without his showing any. The letter had not yet come to hand. My position was a strange one. With one word I could have made De Hauteroche supremely happy; and yet my promise hindered me from uttering that word. It was really tantalising to be thus restrained—for the pleasure of giving happiness is almost equal to that of receiving it.A week passed, and still no word—no sign of the letter having been received; and then the half of another week without report. Two mail-packets I knew had come down from Saint Louis—for I had taken the pains to ascertain this fact—but neither brought the precious epistle.Had Madame Dardonville not written after all? or had her letter miscarried?The former I could not reconcile with probability, after what she had said: the latter was perfectly probable, considering the character of the American post-office, and the adventurous vagaries that sometimes occur to an American mail bag, in its transit upon the great western rivers.Still the route from Saint Louis to New Orleans was a direct one. There was but one shipment from port to port, and where could be the risk?I was puzzled, therefore, at the non-arrival of the letter. In truth, I was something more than puzzled. At times I felt a vague feeling of uneasiness as to its fate; and this was more definite, when I reflected on the incident that had occurred at the post-office on the morning after my return. I could not well doubt that some one asked for a letter for Luis De Hauteroche; for though the words were mumbled in a low tone, they reached my ear with sufficient distinctness. At the time I had not the shadow of a doubt about the name.Did De Hauteroche receive a letter that morning, and from Saint Louis? For reasons given, I had never asked him, but I could no longer see any harm in putting the question. If an unimportant letter, he might not remember it; and whether or no, the question would surprise and puzzle him. But no matter. It was important I should have an answer—yes or no. I needed that to resolve a doubt—a dark suspicion that was shaping itself in my mind.I came to the determination to call upon him: and at once put the interrogatory—outréas it might seem.I was preparing to sally forth from my hotel chamber, when a somewhat impetuous knock at the door announced an impatient visitor. It was the man I was about to seek—Luis De Hauteroche himself.I saw that he was strangely excited about something. “My friend,” he exclaimed on entering, “what can this mean? I have just had a letter from Saint Louis—from Madame Dardonville—and for the life of me I cannot comprehend it. It speaks of a will—of conditions—of Olympe—of strange contingencies.Mon Dieu! I am perplexed. What is it? You have lately seen Madame. Perhaps you can explain it? Speak, friend! can you?”While giving utterance to this incoherent speech, De Hauteroche had drawn out a letter, and thrust it into my hand. I opened and read:—“Mon cher Luis,—Since my letter, accompanying the copy of my lamented husband’s will, I find that my duties as administratrix will detain us in Saint Louis a week longer than I had anticipated. If you have not started, therefore, before receiving this, I wish to suggest a change in our programme—that is, instead of coming alone, you should bring Adele along with you, and we can all return together. Perhaps your young English friend would be of the party; though, from the anxiety which he exhibited at the first appearance of frost here, perhaps he thinks our Saint Louis climate too cold for him. He shall be welcome notwithstanding.“You could come by the ‘Sultana,’ which I see by the New Orleans papers is to sail on the 25th. Come by her if possible, as she is our favourite boat, and I should wish to go back in her.“Yours sincerely,“Emilie Dardonville.”“P.S.—Remember, Luis, that your choice is free, and though I shall be proud to have you for my son-in-law, I shall put no constraint upon Olympe. She knows the conditions of her father’s will, and I have no fear of her desiring to controvert what was with him a dying wish. I am well assured that her heart is still her own; and since you have always been the favourite friend of her childhood, I think I might promise you success as a suitor. But in this, and everything else relating to the conditions of the will, you must act, dear Luis, as your heart dictates. I know your honourable nature, and have no fear you will act wrongly.”“E.D.”By the time I had finished reading, De Hauteroche had become more collected.“When did you last hear from Madame Dardonville?” I asked.“About a month ago—only once since the letter announcing our friend’s death.”“And your sister—has she had a letter since?”“None—except the note brought by yourself from Olympe.”“That could not be the letter referred to here. There was no copy of a will?”“I never heard of such a thing. This is the first intimation I have had, that Monsieur Dardonville had made a will; and the postscript both surprises and perplexes me. Madame Dardonville speaks of conditions—of Olympe being bound by some wish of her father! What conditions? What wish? Monsieur, for heaven’s sake, explain to me if you can?”“I can!”
The hospitality of my Creole friends had not cooled in my absence, and my visits were as frequent as of yore. I had now much to tell them of. My prairie excursion had furnished me with facts—deeds upon which I could descant. It pleased me to fancy I had an attentive listener in Adele. I could make Luis listen too at times—especially when I dwelt upon the merits of Olympe. No doubt it would have flattered me to believe that Adele was a little jealous, but I could not tell. I only knew that she liked better to hear me discourse upon the wonders of prairie land, than to listen to the praises of Olympe. But Adele had much romance in her disposition, and the plumed and painted horsemen of the plains—the chivalry of modern days—almost rival in interest the steel-clad heroes of the mediaeval time—certainly they are quite as brave, and perhaps not much more barbaric.
My visits to the Rue Bourgogne were of daily recurrence. Besides the other occupation, I could not help closely regarding the behaviour of Luis. I was watching for some sign, but day after day passed without his showing any. The letter had not yet come to hand. My position was a strange one. With one word I could have made De Hauteroche supremely happy; and yet my promise hindered me from uttering that word. It was really tantalising to be thus restrained—for the pleasure of giving happiness is almost equal to that of receiving it.
A week passed, and still no word—no sign of the letter having been received; and then the half of another week without report. Two mail-packets I knew had come down from Saint Louis—for I had taken the pains to ascertain this fact—but neither brought the precious epistle.
Had Madame Dardonville not written after all? or had her letter miscarried?
The former I could not reconcile with probability, after what she had said: the latter was perfectly probable, considering the character of the American post-office, and the adventurous vagaries that sometimes occur to an American mail bag, in its transit upon the great western rivers.
Still the route from Saint Louis to New Orleans was a direct one. There was but one shipment from port to port, and where could be the risk?
I was puzzled, therefore, at the non-arrival of the letter. In truth, I was something more than puzzled. At times I felt a vague feeling of uneasiness as to its fate; and this was more definite, when I reflected on the incident that had occurred at the post-office on the morning after my return. I could not well doubt that some one asked for a letter for Luis De Hauteroche; for though the words were mumbled in a low tone, they reached my ear with sufficient distinctness. At the time I had not the shadow of a doubt about the name.
Did De Hauteroche receive a letter that morning, and from Saint Louis? For reasons given, I had never asked him, but I could no longer see any harm in putting the question. If an unimportant letter, he might not remember it; and whether or no, the question would surprise and puzzle him. But no matter. It was important I should have an answer—yes or no. I needed that to resolve a doubt—a dark suspicion that was shaping itself in my mind.
I came to the determination to call upon him: and at once put the interrogatory—outréas it might seem.
I was preparing to sally forth from my hotel chamber, when a somewhat impetuous knock at the door announced an impatient visitor. It was the man I was about to seek—Luis De Hauteroche himself.
I saw that he was strangely excited about something. “My friend,” he exclaimed on entering, “what can this mean? I have just had a letter from Saint Louis—from Madame Dardonville—and for the life of me I cannot comprehend it. It speaks of a will—of conditions—of Olympe—of strange contingencies.Mon Dieu! I am perplexed. What is it? You have lately seen Madame. Perhaps you can explain it? Speak, friend! can you?”
While giving utterance to this incoherent speech, De Hauteroche had drawn out a letter, and thrust it into my hand. I opened and read:—
“Mon cher Luis,—Since my letter, accompanying the copy of my lamented husband’s will, I find that my duties as administratrix will detain us in Saint Louis a week longer than I had anticipated. If you have not started, therefore, before receiving this, I wish to suggest a change in our programme—that is, instead of coming alone, you should bring Adele along with you, and we can all return together. Perhaps your young English friend would be of the party; though, from the anxiety which he exhibited at the first appearance of frost here, perhaps he thinks our Saint Louis climate too cold for him. He shall be welcome notwithstanding.
“You could come by the ‘Sultana,’ which I see by the New Orleans papers is to sail on the 25th. Come by her if possible, as she is our favourite boat, and I should wish to go back in her.
“Yours sincerely,
“Emilie Dardonville.”
“P.S.—Remember, Luis, that your choice is free, and though I shall be proud to have you for my son-in-law, I shall put no constraint upon Olympe. She knows the conditions of her father’s will, and I have no fear of her desiring to controvert what was with him a dying wish. I am well assured that her heart is still her own; and since you have always been the favourite friend of her childhood, I think I might promise you success as a suitor. But in this, and everything else relating to the conditions of the will, you must act, dear Luis, as your heart dictates. I know your honourable nature, and have no fear you will act wrongly.”
“E.D.”
By the time I had finished reading, De Hauteroche had become more collected.
“When did you last hear from Madame Dardonville?” I asked.
“About a month ago—only once since the letter announcing our friend’s death.”
“And your sister—has she had a letter since?”
“None—except the note brought by yourself from Olympe.”
“That could not be the letter referred to here. There was no copy of a will?”
“I never heard of such a thing. This is the first intimation I have had, that Monsieur Dardonville had made a will; and the postscript both surprises and perplexes me. Madame Dardonville speaks of conditions—of Olympe being bound by some wish of her father! What conditions? What wish? Monsieur, for heaven’s sake, explain to me if you can?”
“I can!”
Story 2, Chapter XI.The Cheque.De Hauteroche stood before me in an appealing attitude, and with wild impatience in his looks. I felt that I was going to give him supreme happiness—to fill his cup of bliss to the very brim. I had long ere this fathomed the secret of his heart, and I knew that he loved Olympe with a passionate ardour that he could scarcely conceal. His last visit to Saint Louis had settled that point, and though it was doubtful whether the young girl was, at the time, sufficiently forward to have felt the passion of love, I had discovered some traces of a certain tender regard she had exhibited towards him I had no doubt that she would love him—almost at sight: for to say nothing of the direction which had been given to her thoughts—both parents carefully guiding her affections in the one particular channel—there were other circumstances that would favour this result. Luis De Hauteroche was by far the handsomest gentleman she had ever seen—handsome as well as highly accomplished—and I knew that no pains had been spared to impress Olympe with this idea. He was almost certain to be beloved by her.Concealment of what I knew, was no longer required of me. My promise to Madame Dardonville was simply to keep silent, until the letter had spoken for itself. It was clear, however, that the letter had miscarried; and it therefore became a necessity that I should declare its contents. I rather joyed at thus having it in my power to make my friend happy; and I hastened to perform the pleasant duty.In brief detail I made known to him the nature of the ex-merchant’s will—that part of it relating to his daughter and to Luis himself.Joy overspread the young man’s countenance as he listened; and my repetition of those interesting conditions was interrupted only by expressions of gratitude and delight.For the rest, I knew not the precise contents of Madame Dardonville’s letter. These could only be guessed at; but the communication just now received was a good key to that which had been lost.“What matter,” added I, “about the other having gone astray? It is certainly not very agreeable that some post-office peeper should get such an insight into one’s family affairs; but after all, it’s only acopyof the will that has been lost.”“Oh! the will; I care nothing for that, Monsieur—not even if it were the original—the will of Olympe alone concerns me.”“And that I promise will be also in your favour.”“Merci, Monsieur, what a true friend you have proved! How fortunate I should have resembled Monsieur Despard! Ha! ha!”I almost echoed the reflection—for that resemblance had been the means of introducing me to Adele.“But come, Monsieur De Hauteroche! the letter of Madame Dardonville requires attention. You must answer the demand. You are expected in Saint Louis, to bring the ladies down to New Orleans. If I mistake not theSultanaleaves here this very evening; you must go by her.”“And you will go with me? You perceive, Monsieur, you are invited.”“And M’amselle De Hauteroche?”“Oh! certainly. Adele will go too. In truth, my sister has not travelled much of late. She has only been once to Saint Louis since papa’s death. I am sure she will enjoy the trip exceedingly. And you will go, then?”“Willingly. Your sister will need time for preparation. Shall we proceed to the Rue de Bourgogne?”“Allons! on our way we can call at the post-office. Perhaps the missing letter is still lying there—we may yet recover it.”“It can matter little now, I fancy; but there is no harm in trying.”I had not much hope of success. Something whispered to me that the document was gone from the post-office, and had fallen into other hands: though of what use could it be to any one? Perhaps it had been detained by some one, in the expectation that it contained an enclosure of money—an occurrence which the loose arrangements of the American post-office rendered by no means uncommon.I was now more than ever convinced of the correctness of my first impressions. On that morning when I visited the post-office, a letter for De Hauteroche had been asked for and taken out; and as he now informed me that he had received no letter, nor did he remember having sent any one to the office on that particular day—there was but one conclusion to be drawn. Some one, unauthorised by him, had obtained the letter—no doubt the very one in question.The coincidence of Despard’s presence—for it must have been he whom I had mistaken for De Hauteroche—led me to other misgivings. I had not seen the person who made inquiry for the letter—the files of men in front preventing me—but judging by the time at which thespoilsmanpassed out at the exit end of the slip, he must have been near the delivery-window when the inquiry was made. These circumstances, taken in connection with what I already knew of this person, naturally led me to the conclusion that De Hauteroche’s letter had fallen into his hands. His motive for such a vile act I could only guess at. The hope of obtaining money, perhaps—though there might appear but slight probability of that. In truth, the affair was sufficiently inexplicable; and neither De Hauteroche nor I could arrive at any definite resolution of it at the time.On our arriving at the post-office, a gleam of light was thrown upon the transaction.“Has there been any letter addressed to Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche?”The inquiry referred to a date of some days anterior.The clerk could not answer that—indeed the question was rather an idle one. Of course, amidst the thousands of letters delivered by the official, it would have been miraculous in him to have remembered a particular one. He had no recollection of such a letter being delivered; and there was none for the address lying in the office.“Stay—thereisa letter that has just come in by an extra mail, for ‘Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.’”My friend eagerly grasped the document—the more eagerly that he saw upon it the stamp of the Saint Louis post-office! It was scarcely large enough to contain the copy of a will. It could hardly be that of which we were in search.It proved not to be that, but a document of a very different character. It read thus:“Monsieur,—The 1,000 dolls, cheque transmitted to you upon the Planters’ Bank of New Orleans, by a mistake of one of our clerics, was not crossed. It has been paid by the Bank and returned. We are anxious to know if it reached your hands safely. Please state by return mail.“Gardette and Co,“Bankers,“Saint Louis,“Mi.”“Mystery of mysteries, Monsieur!” exclaimed De Hauteroche, gasping for breath, as he thrust the letter into my hands. “What can all this mean? I know of no thousand dollars. Never received a cheque—never expected one—know of no one in Saint Louis who should have sent it, nor for what purpose! Ho! there must be a mistake. This is not for me.”And the speaker once more referred to the envelope. But the address was full and complete:—“Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche,“Avocat,“16, Rue Royale,“New Orleans.”There was no other Luis De Hauteroche—no other avocat of the name. Undoubtedly the letter was for him—however little he understood its contents.I was less puzzled than he. A gleam, or rather a flood of light, was let in upon the mysterious transaction, which to me was no longer a mystery. Whence had come the cheque I could not tell I could only surmise; and my surmise pointed to the hand of the generous widow of Dardonville. Where it had gone was unfortunately less doubtful,—for the fingers of thechevalier d’industriewere easily recognisable here. Beyond a doubt, Monsieur Despard had got the cheque; and this would account for his after inquiry at the post-office, that led to his obtaining the letter with the will. He had watched the arrival of the mails from Saint Louis, and obtained such letters as were addressed to De Hauteroche. Why he had done this at first, it would be difficult to say; but afterwards—after obtaining the money—his object would be to prevent the young lawyer from knowing it, until he could get out of the way.In all likelihood he was now beyond reach either of accusation or conviction. The two letters which had just come to hand were of themselves evidence, that in all likelihood he was no longer near.De Hauteroche was furious—half frantic when I imparted to him my convictions; for, although the source whence the 1,000 dollars had come, was still a mystery to him, yet there was the proof of its having been sent, and the presumption of its having been stolen.The New Orleans police were at once put in charge of the matter; and, as no communication could possibly reach Saint Louis sooner than by theSultana, it was resolved that we ourselves should be the bearers of the answer, and call upon the banking-house of Gardette and Co, the moment we arrived in that city.Detectives were set upon the search for Despard, but of course only as spies—since as yet we could allege nothing stronger than suspicion against him. Theespionage, however, was likely to prove unsuccessful: for up to the hour of theSultana’sleaving—which occurred just at sunset—the sportsman’s whereabouts had not been ascertained; and the detectives, in quaint phraseology, declared their belief that the “gentleman was G.T.T.” (Gone To Texas).
De Hauteroche stood before me in an appealing attitude, and with wild impatience in his looks. I felt that I was going to give him supreme happiness—to fill his cup of bliss to the very brim. I had long ere this fathomed the secret of his heart, and I knew that he loved Olympe with a passionate ardour that he could scarcely conceal. His last visit to Saint Louis had settled that point, and though it was doubtful whether the young girl was, at the time, sufficiently forward to have felt the passion of love, I had discovered some traces of a certain tender regard she had exhibited towards him I had no doubt that she would love him—almost at sight: for to say nothing of the direction which had been given to her thoughts—both parents carefully guiding her affections in the one particular channel—there were other circumstances that would favour this result. Luis De Hauteroche was by far the handsomest gentleman she had ever seen—handsome as well as highly accomplished—and I knew that no pains had been spared to impress Olympe with this idea. He was almost certain to be beloved by her.
Concealment of what I knew, was no longer required of me. My promise to Madame Dardonville was simply to keep silent, until the letter had spoken for itself. It was clear, however, that the letter had miscarried; and it therefore became a necessity that I should declare its contents. I rather joyed at thus having it in my power to make my friend happy; and I hastened to perform the pleasant duty.
In brief detail I made known to him the nature of the ex-merchant’s will—that part of it relating to his daughter and to Luis himself.
Joy overspread the young man’s countenance as he listened; and my repetition of those interesting conditions was interrupted only by expressions of gratitude and delight.
For the rest, I knew not the precise contents of Madame Dardonville’s letter. These could only be guessed at; but the communication just now received was a good key to that which had been lost.
“What matter,” added I, “about the other having gone astray? It is certainly not very agreeable that some post-office peeper should get such an insight into one’s family affairs; but after all, it’s only acopyof the will that has been lost.”
“Oh! the will; I care nothing for that, Monsieur—not even if it were the original—the will of Olympe alone concerns me.”
“And that I promise will be also in your favour.”
“Merci, Monsieur, what a true friend you have proved! How fortunate I should have resembled Monsieur Despard! Ha! ha!”
I almost echoed the reflection—for that resemblance had been the means of introducing me to Adele.
“But come, Monsieur De Hauteroche! the letter of Madame Dardonville requires attention. You must answer the demand. You are expected in Saint Louis, to bring the ladies down to New Orleans. If I mistake not theSultanaleaves here this very evening; you must go by her.”
“And you will go with me? You perceive, Monsieur, you are invited.”
“And M’amselle De Hauteroche?”
“Oh! certainly. Adele will go too. In truth, my sister has not travelled much of late. She has only been once to Saint Louis since papa’s death. I am sure she will enjoy the trip exceedingly. And you will go, then?”
“Willingly. Your sister will need time for preparation. Shall we proceed to the Rue de Bourgogne?”
“Allons! on our way we can call at the post-office. Perhaps the missing letter is still lying there—we may yet recover it.”
“It can matter little now, I fancy; but there is no harm in trying.”
I had not much hope of success. Something whispered to me that the document was gone from the post-office, and had fallen into other hands: though of what use could it be to any one? Perhaps it had been detained by some one, in the expectation that it contained an enclosure of money—an occurrence which the loose arrangements of the American post-office rendered by no means uncommon.
I was now more than ever convinced of the correctness of my first impressions. On that morning when I visited the post-office, a letter for De Hauteroche had been asked for and taken out; and as he now informed me that he had received no letter, nor did he remember having sent any one to the office on that particular day—there was but one conclusion to be drawn. Some one, unauthorised by him, had obtained the letter—no doubt the very one in question.
The coincidence of Despard’s presence—for it must have been he whom I had mistaken for De Hauteroche—led me to other misgivings. I had not seen the person who made inquiry for the letter—the files of men in front preventing me—but judging by the time at which thespoilsmanpassed out at the exit end of the slip, he must have been near the delivery-window when the inquiry was made. These circumstances, taken in connection with what I already knew of this person, naturally led me to the conclusion that De Hauteroche’s letter had fallen into his hands. His motive for such a vile act I could only guess at. The hope of obtaining money, perhaps—though there might appear but slight probability of that. In truth, the affair was sufficiently inexplicable; and neither De Hauteroche nor I could arrive at any definite resolution of it at the time.
On our arriving at the post-office, a gleam of light was thrown upon the transaction.
“Has there been any letter addressed to Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche?”
The inquiry referred to a date of some days anterior.
The clerk could not answer that—indeed the question was rather an idle one. Of course, amidst the thousands of letters delivered by the official, it would have been miraculous in him to have remembered a particular one. He had no recollection of such a letter being delivered; and there was none for the address lying in the office.
“Stay—thereisa letter that has just come in by an extra mail, for ‘Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche.’”
My friend eagerly grasped the document—the more eagerly that he saw upon it the stamp of the Saint Louis post-office! It was scarcely large enough to contain the copy of a will. It could hardly be that of which we were in search.
It proved not to be that, but a document of a very different character. It read thus:
“Monsieur,—The 1,000 dolls, cheque transmitted to you upon the Planters’ Bank of New Orleans, by a mistake of one of our clerics, was not crossed. It has been paid by the Bank and returned. We are anxious to know if it reached your hands safely. Please state by return mail.
“Gardette and Co,
“Bankers,
“Saint Louis,
“Mi.”
“Mystery of mysteries, Monsieur!” exclaimed De Hauteroche, gasping for breath, as he thrust the letter into my hands. “What can all this mean? I know of no thousand dollars. Never received a cheque—never expected one—know of no one in Saint Louis who should have sent it, nor for what purpose! Ho! there must be a mistake. This is not for me.”
And the speaker once more referred to the envelope. But the address was full and complete:—
“Monsieur Luis De Hauteroche,
“Avocat,
“16, Rue Royale,
“New Orleans.”
There was no other Luis De Hauteroche—no other avocat of the name. Undoubtedly the letter was for him—however little he understood its contents.
I was less puzzled than he. A gleam, or rather a flood of light, was let in upon the mysterious transaction, which to me was no longer a mystery. Whence had come the cheque I could not tell I could only surmise; and my surmise pointed to the hand of the generous widow of Dardonville. Where it had gone was unfortunately less doubtful,—for the fingers of thechevalier d’industriewere easily recognisable here. Beyond a doubt, Monsieur Despard had got the cheque; and this would account for his after inquiry at the post-office, that led to his obtaining the letter with the will. He had watched the arrival of the mails from Saint Louis, and obtained such letters as were addressed to De Hauteroche. Why he had done this at first, it would be difficult to say; but afterwards—after obtaining the money—his object would be to prevent the young lawyer from knowing it, until he could get out of the way.
In all likelihood he was now beyond reach either of accusation or conviction. The two letters which had just come to hand were of themselves evidence, that in all likelihood he was no longer near.
De Hauteroche was furious—half frantic when I imparted to him my convictions; for, although the source whence the 1,000 dollars had come, was still a mystery to him, yet there was the proof of its having been sent, and the presumption of its having been stolen.
The New Orleans police were at once put in charge of the matter; and, as no communication could possibly reach Saint Louis sooner than by theSultana, it was resolved that we ourselves should be the bearers of the answer, and call upon the banking-house of Gardette and Co, the moment we arrived in that city.
Detectives were set upon the search for Despard, but of course only as spies—since as yet we could allege nothing stronger than suspicion against him. Theespionage, however, was likely to prove unsuccessful: for up to the hour of theSultana’sleaving—which occurred just at sunset—the sportsman’s whereabouts had not been ascertained; and the detectives, in quaint phraseology, declared their belief that the “gentleman was G.T.T.” (Gone To Texas).
Story 2, Chapter XII.The Missouri Belle.The traveller who ascends the mighty Mississippi, will see neither hill nor mountain—nothing that can he called highland—until he has attained a thousand miles from its mouth. Only the bold headland on which stands the town of Natchez, and those very similar projections known as the “Chickasaw Bluffs,” one of which forms the site of the flourishing city of Memphis. All the rest, on both sides of the river, as far as the eye can reach, is lowalluvion, rising only a few feet above the surface of the stream, and often, for hundreds of miles, periodically drowned by inundation, or covered continuously by a stagnant marsh. The forest hides all this from the eye; and frequently the banks of the river have the appearance of dry land, when there is not a spot of earth upon which you may rest your foot.This character continues till you have passed the mouth of the Ohio, and have entered upon the regions of Missouri and the Illinois. There the scene changes as if by magic. The river no more appears wandering over a flat country; but runs in the bottom of a deep gorge or valley, whose sides are nearly precipitous—often rising to the height of hundreds of feet above the surface of the water.We had been six days steaming up the river; and on the seventh at sunset, theSultanareached the highland region, entering the gorge-like valley, just as night was closing over it.It was the period of a full moon, and as yet the fair queen was low in the heavens—so low that her light fell upon the water, only in those reaches where the river trended in an easterly or westerly direction.Whenever the course was north or south—and this was the general direction—the high bluffs completely overshadowed the stream; and then only the glare of the fires lit up the dark water ravine through which we were passing.The sudden changes from light to darkness, and from darkness back to brilliant moonlight, had an effect that was curious and interesting. They resembled the transformations in a theatre. One moment we were steaming along in the most sombre shadow—the crest of the bluffy with its crowning trees andshottowers, dimly outlined above us—the next, we would shoot out under the white fulness of the moonlight, that rendered even minute objects along thefaçadeof the banks, almost as visible as by day.This ever-shifting panorama appeared more the work of magic, than the effect of natural causes, and I had lingered upon the hurricane-deck to observe its changes long after my companions had gone below.While thus engaged, my ear caught the peculiar sound produced by the ’scape pipe of a high-pressure boat; and which is easily distinguished from all other explosive noises. At first it seemed the echo from our own—for I had already noticed the reverberations which the cliffs sent back at different points on our passage. I soon became convinced that the sounds I now heard were not echoes; but that another boat was making its way through the dark gorges, apparently coming down stream. This was made certain by the sudden appearance of a brilliant lamp directly in front of us, find more conspicuous still was the red glare of the fires burning in the furnaces—which are always placed in the forward part of the boat.It was one of the darkest ravines of the river, where the two boats came in sight of each other; but the lights of each guided the pilot of the other, and there was neither danger nor difficulty in passing. Each held to the larboard—as two carriages would have done upon an ordinary road—and a wide space was left between them: for the channel, though narrower here than elsewhere, still afforded a sufficiency of room.It was quick work, however, and the pilot of each boat adroitly performed his duty. The bend was of short reach; and, from the time I caught sight of the descending steamer, I could scarcely have counted two hundred till she had met and was overlapping theSultana. Like two fiery meteors they brushed past one another—each bearing onward in her own direction, without hail or the exchange of a single word I had just time, as the stranger glided by, to make out upon her wheel-house the nameMissouri Belle; but, before I could have counted another hundred, she had forged round a projection of the bluffs, and her lights were no longer visible.I stood gazing after her with emotions vivid and singular. What was there that caused me to do so! The incident of meeting a steamboat on the Mississippi? There was nothing extraordinary in that—an occurrence so common as scarcely to deserve being regarded an incident. Was it the name of the boat, which I had been enabled to decipher? Some old remembrance connected with her?No, nothing of the kind. The emotions that had suddenly arisen in my mind, were springing from a very different cause; and I may at once declare it.Abaft of theMissouri Belle, and in the little gangway that encircles the ladies’ cabin, I had caught sight of a group of three persons, standing outside one of the state-room doors. Of the identity of these persons I could not be mistaken—though the sight was sufficient to stagger my belief. Of two I was sure: for the light shone more fairly upon them. The third only remained unrecognised—the darkness hindering my view of this individual—and, but for a horrid suspicion that flashed into my brain at the moment, I should not have thought of even guessing at his identity.The two that I had recognised were women—ladies. They were Madame Dardonville and her daughter Olympe. The third was a man, who stood sufficiently near them to come under the same light—the glare of theSultana’sfires—but the unexpected presence of the ladies so astounded me, that I did not seehimtill too late to distinguish either his form or face. I only saw that it was a man—nothing more; but, for all that, a painful suspicion—a presentiment of some horrid evil—took immediate possession of my soul; and I became at once imbued with the idea that my friends were in danger.Gladly would I have adopted the belief that there was some error; and that what I had seen was a fancy—a vision of the brain. Certainly the glimpse I had of those fair faces—especially of the beautiful countenance of Olympe—was short and evanescent as any dream could have been; but it was too real. I saw her face well enough to recognise it—well enough even to note its expression, which I fancied to be more sad than smiling. Beyond a doubt the widow and her daughter had passed us in theMissouri Belle—strange though the circumstance might and did appear to me at the moment.And what, after all, was there strange in it? Could it not be easily explained? Her affairs may have been set tied earlier than she expected—they should have been arranged by that time—and, without waiting for De Hauteroche, she may have formed the resolution to travel without him. The journey from Saint Louis to New Orleans is accounted nothing; and in all parts of the States ladies are accustomed to travel alone, and may do so with perfect safety and convenience.But, then, they werenotalone—at least they did not appear to be. There was the man—the man!Some friend, perhaps, of the family? Some distant relative or retainer? Perhaps, only a domestic?Could I have believed this, I should have escaped that feeling of uneasiness that was every moment growing upon me; but I could not. Something seemed to tell me, that the man I had seen was neither relative nor friend—but anenemy. Something seemed to whisper his name—Monsieur Jacques Despard.
The traveller who ascends the mighty Mississippi, will see neither hill nor mountain—nothing that can he called highland—until he has attained a thousand miles from its mouth. Only the bold headland on which stands the town of Natchez, and those very similar projections known as the “Chickasaw Bluffs,” one of which forms the site of the flourishing city of Memphis. All the rest, on both sides of the river, as far as the eye can reach, is lowalluvion, rising only a few feet above the surface of the stream, and often, for hundreds of miles, periodically drowned by inundation, or covered continuously by a stagnant marsh. The forest hides all this from the eye; and frequently the banks of the river have the appearance of dry land, when there is not a spot of earth upon which you may rest your foot.
This character continues till you have passed the mouth of the Ohio, and have entered upon the regions of Missouri and the Illinois. There the scene changes as if by magic. The river no more appears wandering over a flat country; but runs in the bottom of a deep gorge or valley, whose sides are nearly precipitous—often rising to the height of hundreds of feet above the surface of the water.
We had been six days steaming up the river; and on the seventh at sunset, theSultanareached the highland region, entering the gorge-like valley, just as night was closing over it.
It was the period of a full moon, and as yet the fair queen was low in the heavens—so low that her light fell upon the water, only in those reaches where the river trended in an easterly or westerly direction.
Whenever the course was north or south—and this was the general direction—the high bluffs completely overshadowed the stream; and then only the glare of the fires lit up the dark water ravine through which we were passing.
The sudden changes from light to darkness, and from darkness back to brilliant moonlight, had an effect that was curious and interesting. They resembled the transformations in a theatre. One moment we were steaming along in the most sombre shadow—the crest of the bluffy with its crowning trees andshottowers, dimly outlined above us—the next, we would shoot out under the white fulness of the moonlight, that rendered even minute objects along thefaçadeof the banks, almost as visible as by day.
This ever-shifting panorama appeared more the work of magic, than the effect of natural causes, and I had lingered upon the hurricane-deck to observe its changes long after my companions had gone below.
While thus engaged, my ear caught the peculiar sound produced by the ’scape pipe of a high-pressure boat; and which is easily distinguished from all other explosive noises. At first it seemed the echo from our own—for I had already noticed the reverberations which the cliffs sent back at different points on our passage. I soon became convinced that the sounds I now heard were not echoes; but that another boat was making its way through the dark gorges, apparently coming down stream. This was made certain by the sudden appearance of a brilliant lamp directly in front of us, find more conspicuous still was the red glare of the fires burning in the furnaces—which are always placed in the forward part of the boat.
It was one of the darkest ravines of the river, where the two boats came in sight of each other; but the lights of each guided the pilot of the other, and there was neither danger nor difficulty in passing. Each held to the larboard—as two carriages would have done upon an ordinary road—and a wide space was left between them: for the channel, though narrower here than elsewhere, still afforded a sufficiency of room.
It was quick work, however, and the pilot of each boat adroitly performed his duty. The bend was of short reach; and, from the time I caught sight of the descending steamer, I could scarcely have counted two hundred till she had met and was overlapping theSultana. Like two fiery meteors they brushed past one another—each bearing onward in her own direction, without hail or the exchange of a single word I had just time, as the stranger glided by, to make out upon her wheel-house the nameMissouri Belle; but, before I could have counted another hundred, she had forged round a projection of the bluffs, and her lights were no longer visible.
I stood gazing after her with emotions vivid and singular. What was there that caused me to do so! The incident of meeting a steamboat on the Mississippi? There was nothing extraordinary in that—an occurrence so common as scarcely to deserve being regarded an incident. Was it the name of the boat, which I had been enabled to decipher? Some old remembrance connected with her?
No, nothing of the kind. The emotions that had suddenly arisen in my mind, were springing from a very different cause; and I may at once declare it.
Abaft of theMissouri Belle, and in the little gangway that encircles the ladies’ cabin, I had caught sight of a group of three persons, standing outside one of the state-room doors. Of the identity of these persons I could not be mistaken—though the sight was sufficient to stagger my belief. Of two I was sure: for the light shone more fairly upon them. The third only remained unrecognised—the darkness hindering my view of this individual—and, but for a horrid suspicion that flashed into my brain at the moment, I should not have thought of even guessing at his identity.
The two that I had recognised were women—ladies. They were Madame Dardonville and her daughter Olympe. The third was a man, who stood sufficiently near them to come under the same light—the glare of theSultana’sfires—but the unexpected presence of the ladies so astounded me, that I did not seehimtill too late to distinguish either his form or face. I only saw that it was a man—nothing more; but, for all that, a painful suspicion—a presentiment of some horrid evil—took immediate possession of my soul; and I became at once imbued with the idea that my friends were in danger.
Gladly would I have adopted the belief that there was some error; and that what I had seen was a fancy—a vision of the brain. Certainly the glimpse I had of those fair faces—especially of the beautiful countenance of Olympe—was short and evanescent as any dream could have been; but it was too real. I saw her face well enough to recognise it—well enough even to note its expression, which I fancied to be more sad than smiling. Beyond a doubt the widow and her daughter had passed us in theMissouri Belle—strange though the circumstance might and did appear to me at the moment.
And what, after all, was there strange in it? Could it not be easily explained? Her affairs may have been set tied earlier than she expected—they should have been arranged by that time—and, without waiting for De Hauteroche, she may have formed the resolution to travel without him. The journey from Saint Louis to New Orleans is accounted nothing; and in all parts of the States ladies are accustomed to travel alone, and may do so with perfect safety and convenience.
But, then, they werenotalone—at least they did not appear to be. There was the man—the man!
Some friend, perhaps, of the family? Some distant relative or retainer? Perhaps, only a domestic?
Could I have believed this, I should have escaped that feeling of uneasiness that was every moment growing upon me; but I could not. Something seemed to tell me, that the man I had seen was neither relative nor friend—but anenemy. Something seemed to whisper his name—Monsieur Jacques Despard.
Story 2, Chapter XIII.The Two Pilots.My suspicions were only vague and ill-defined. I had the presentiment of an evil—but what evil? Even admitting that the man who accompanied Madame Dardonville and her daughter, was the swindler Despard—what injury could they receive from his presence? But what reason had I to think it was he? Not the least. Indeed, upon reflection, I could not myself imagine what had brought this man into my mind: though that might be accounted for—since the forgery, of which we more than suspected him, was one of the first things to be inquired into, on our arrival in Saint Louis—and there we should be in the morning.There was little reason, however, in all this, to connect him with the presence of the ladies on board theMissouri Belle; and the more I reflected on the matter, the more improbable did it appear.The circumstance of meeting Madame Dardonville on her way downward, was certainly strange enough—especially when I remembered her letter. In that she had distinctly arranged that we should come up for her; and had stated her intention to travel back by theSultana. Had she written again, and once more altered the arrangement? It had been her original design, as appeared by her second letter—to have gone to New Orleans at an earlier date; but some business, connected with the administration of her estate, had delayed her. Was this cause of detention unexpectedly removed? and had she, in consequence, started southward, without waiting for theSultana? Perhaps she had written a third letter, which had not reached New Orleans at the time of our leaving it?All these were probabilities—or rather possibilities—that passed through my mind; but, viewing them in their most favourable aspect, they failed to satisfy me. I could not help suspecting that there was a mystery—that there was something wrong.The pilot was at his post inside his little cabin of glass, silent as is his wont. I would have entered into conversation with him; but just at that moment his second appeared, coming out of the pilot’s cabin, and rubbing his eyes to get them open for his work. A bell had just announced the hour of change, and the second was about to enter on his turn of duty. The ceremony was simple; and consisted in the old pilot handing over the spokes to the one that relieved him, and then squeezing himself out of the glass house. A little conversation followed before the relieved officer retired to his “bunk.” Seated within ear-shot, I could not help overhearing it. “Durnation dark—whar are we anyhow?”“Jest belowShirt-tailbend—thar’s the bluff.”“Durn me! if I can see a steim. I couldn’t see a white hoss at the eend of my nose this minnit. I reckon I’ll be runnin’ the old boat into the bank, if it don’t clear a bit.”It certainly was a dark night. Some heavy clouds had drifted over the moon, and she was no longer visible.“Oh, no fear,” rejoined the other, “you ain’t got the sleep out of your eyes, you’ll see clearer by-’n-bye.”“Wal—it’s to be hoped. Much dirt in the water?”“A few—there’s a putty considerable drift comin’ down. That last spell o’ wet has done it, I reckon. I han’t seed manysawyers, but you’d better keep a sharp look-out. Thar’s bound to be some o’ ’em settled in the bend.”“I’ll watch ’em—say, what boat was that?”“Massoury Belle.”“Oh! she’s in the Ohio trade now?”“So I’ve heerd.”“I thought they wouldn’t run her to Orleans agin. She aint the style for below.”“No, she wa’nt big enough. Old What’s-his-name has bought her, and’s goin’ to run her reg’larly ’tween Saint Louis and Cinc’natti. She’s jest the thing for that trade. Good night!”Thus ended the dialogue; and, in a few seconds after, the retiring officer had entered one of the little boxes adjacent to the wheel-house, and shut himself up for the night.Up to a certain point I had listened to this conversation with but little attention, and might not have noticed it at all, but for its quaint oddity. All at once, however, it became deeply interesting to me—at that point when it turned upon theMissouri Belle.What could the man mean by the boat no longer running to Orleans? New Orleans, of course, he meant—for these men are perfect Lacons in conversation, and I understood the curtailment of the name. Was it possible the boat was notthenon her way to New Orleans? and was she bound round to Cincinatti?If such were the case, the presence of Madame Dardonville on board of her, would indeed be a mysterious circumstance! For what purpose couldshebe going to Cincinatti? and, least of all, at such a crisis—when she should be expecting her friends from the south?Had I heard aright? Or had I properly interpreted what I had heard?Beyond doubt the pilot’s words were to the effect, that the boat was no longer to run to New Orleans, but from Saint Louis to Cincinatti, and of coursevice versâ. Perhaps he might mean prospectively? Was it some new arrangement of ownership, not yet completed?The boat might be hereafter intended for the Ohio trade, but had not yet commenced running to Cincinatti: she might be making her final trip to New Orleans? Only this hypothesis could explain the puzzle.It occurred to me that I might arrive at a more lucid understanding by an application to the occupant of the wheel-house—at all events he could interpret what I had just heard. I addressed myself him accordingly.I had no fear of being snubbed. These Mississippi pilots are fine fellows, sometimes a little dry with curious intruders, but never rude, never impolite to a gentleman.“Did I understand you to say that the boat we have just met—theMissouri Belle—is in the Ohio trade?”“Wal, stranger, that’s what I’ve heerd.”“That means that she is to run between Saint Louis and Cincinatti.”“Course it do.”“And do you think she is on her way to Cincinatti now?”“Why, stranger, whar else ’ud she be goin’?”“I thought she might be going down to New Orleans.”“Wal, she did run thar form’lly; but she’s off that now. She’s changed hands lately, and’s been put on the other line, ’tween Saint Louis and Cinc’natti, which air a trade she’ll suit for better. She wa’nt big enough for below; but bein’ a light draught critter, she’s jest the thing to get over the Falls.”“And you are certain she is now on the way to Cincinatti?”“No, that I aint, stranger. She may be on top o’ a durnation snag, or chuck up on a sand-bar at this minnit, for what I can tell. All I know for sartin is that she’s boun’ for Cinc’natti; and if nothin’ happens her, she’ll be thar in less ’n four days from now. Whether she breaks down, howsomever, air a question beyont my calkerlationa. She mout an’ she mout not.”With this sublime resignation to probabilities, the tall speaker in the glass house, evidently intended that the conversation should come to a close, for I observed that he bent his gaze more eagerly ahead, and seemed to direct his attention exclusively to the tiller. Perhaps the idea of theMissouri Belleresting upon a snag or sand-bar, had suggested the probability of theSultanagetting into a similar predicament, and stimulated him to increased caution in the performance of his duty.Though I had succeeded in concealing my emotions from the steersman, it was not without an effort. The information he imparted was full of serious meaning; and augmented the feeling of uneasiness, from which I already suffered. Stronger than ever did I feel that presentiment of evil.The statement of the pilot admitted of no interpretation but one. It was direct and point blank: that theMissouri Bellewas bound for Cincinatti. The man could have no motive for misleading me. Why should he? I had asked a simple question, without much show of interest or curiosity; he had answered it from pure politeness. There was not the slightest reason why he should make a misstatement; and I accepted what he had said as the truth.The riddle had assumed a new character, and had become altogether more difficult of solution. “What,” I repeated to myself, “can Madame Dardonville have to do on a Cincinatti boat? Surely there is something astray?”It did not appear exactlyen règle, for the lady to leave Saint Louis in the expectation of a visit from her New Orleans friends; but I presumed she had sent a second despatch, which had not been received. Moreover, she was going down to them, and it mattered less about their coming up for her. These were my first reflections after seeing her upon the down-river boat, and until I had heard the talk of the two pilots. Now, however, circumstances had a different appearance. On theMissouri Belleshe could not be going to New Orleans, but to Cincinatti. Did she expect us to follow her there? and for what end? Perhaps she would only go as far as the Ohio mouth, in this boat, and there wait for another, coming down the Ohio river? This method of getting from Saint Louis to New Orleans was common enough, when there did not chance to be a boat going direct. The large hotel at Cairo offered a temporary sojourn for such passengers. But why should Madame Dardonville adopt this roundabout method, and especially at such a time?A score of conjectures passed through my mind, all ending idly. The only one at all satisfactory, was that, perhaps, I had been in an error from the very beginning. Perhaps, after all, I had neither seen Madame Dardonville nor her daughter; but two ladies who very much resembled them! It was not the firstequivoqueI had experienced; and this should have rendered me less confident of the evidence of my senses. Notwithstanding these reflections, however, I could not convince myself that I was in error.So long, therefore, as there was the slightest doubt, I felt that it would be imprudent to communicate my suspicions to my travelling companions. It could serve no good purpose; and would only render them uneasy, as I was myself,—in all likelihood, much more so. Ere long we should all know the truth; and should it prove that I was mistaken, I would have the satisfaction of having saved my friends from unnecessary pain, and myself from ridicule.Though I joined them the moment after, I gave neither of them the slightest hint of what I had seen or suspected.
My suspicions were only vague and ill-defined. I had the presentiment of an evil—but what evil? Even admitting that the man who accompanied Madame Dardonville and her daughter, was the swindler Despard—what injury could they receive from his presence? But what reason had I to think it was he? Not the least. Indeed, upon reflection, I could not myself imagine what had brought this man into my mind: though that might be accounted for—since the forgery, of which we more than suspected him, was one of the first things to be inquired into, on our arrival in Saint Louis—and there we should be in the morning.
There was little reason, however, in all this, to connect him with the presence of the ladies on board theMissouri Belle; and the more I reflected on the matter, the more improbable did it appear.
The circumstance of meeting Madame Dardonville on her way downward, was certainly strange enough—especially when I remembered her letter. In that she had distinctly arranged that we should come up for her; and had stated her intention to travel back by theSultana. Had she written again, and once more altered the arrangement? It had been her original design, as appeared by her second letter—to have gone to New Orleans at an earlier date; but some business, connected with the administration of her estate, had delayed her. Was this cause of detention unexpectedly removed? and had she, in consequence, started southward, without waiting for theSultana? Perhaps she had written a third letter, which had not reached New Orleans at the time of our leaving it?
All these were probabilities—or rather possibilities—that passed through my mind; but, viewing them in their most favourable aspect, they failed to satisfy me. I could not help suspecting that there was a mystery—that there was something wrong.
The pilot was at his post inside his little cabin of glass, silent as is his wont. I would have entered into conversation with him; but just at that moment his second appeared, coming out of the pilot’s cabin, and rubbing his eyes to get them open for his work. A bell had just announced the hour of change, and the second was about to enter on his turn of duty. The ceremony was simple; and consisted in the old pilot handing over the spokes to the one that relieved him, and then squeezing himself out of the glass house. A little conversation followed before the relieved officer retired to his “bunk.” Seated within ear-shot, I could not help overhearing it. “Durnation dark—whar are we anyhow?”
“Jest belowShirt-tailbend—thar’s the bluff.”
“Durn me! if I can see a steim. I couldn’t see a white hoss at the eend of my nose this minnit. I reckon I’ll be runnin’ the old boat into the bank, if it don’t clear a bit.”
It certainly was a dark night. Some heavy clouds had drifted over the moon, and she was no longer visible.
“Oh, no fear,” rejoined the other, “you ain’t got the sleep out of your eyes, you’ll see clearer by-’n-bye.”
“Wal—it’s to be hoped. Much dirt in the water?”
“A few—there’s a putty considerable drift comin’ down. That last spell o’ wet has done it, I reckon. I han’t seed manysawyers, but you’d better keep a sharp look-out. Thar’s bound to be some o’ ’em settled in the bend.”
“I’ll watch ’em—say, what boat was that?”
“Massoury Belle.”
“Oh! she’s in the Ohio trade now?”
“So I’ve heerd.”
“I thought they wouldn’t run her to Orleans agin. She aint the style for below.”
“No, she wa’nt big enough. Old What’s-his-name has bought her, and’s goin’ to run her reg’larly ’tween Saint Louis and Cinc’natti. She’s jest the thing for that trade. Good night!”
Thus ended the dialogue; and, in a few seconds after, the retiring officer had entered one of the little boxes adjacent to the wheel-house, and shut himself up for the night.
Up to a certain point I had listened to this conversation with but little attention, and might not have noticed it at all, but for its quaint oddity. All at once, however, it became deeply interesting to me—at that point when it turned upon theMissouri Belle.
What could the man mean by the boat no longer running to Orleans? New Orleans, of course, he meant—for these men are perfect Lacons in conversation, and I understood the curtailment of the name. Was it possible the boat was notthenon her way to New Orleans? and was she bound round to Cincinatti?
If such were the case, the presence of Madame Dardonville on board of her, would indeed be a mysterious circumstance! For what purpose couldshebe going to Cincinatti? and, least of all, at such a crisis—when she should be expecting her friends from the south?
Had I heard aright? Or had I properly interpreted what I had heard?
Beyond doubt the pilot’s words were to the effect, that the boat was no longer to run to New Orleans, but from Saint Louis to Cincinatti, and of coursevice versâ. Perhaps he might mean prospectively? Was it some new arrangement of ownership, not yet completed?
The boat might be hereafter intended for the Ohio trade, but had not yet commenced running to Cincinatti: she might be making her final trip to New Orleans? Only this hypothesis could explain the puzzle.
It occurred to me that I might arrive at a more lucid understanding by an application to the occupant of the wheel-house—at all events he could interpret what I had just heard. I addressed myself him accordingly.
I had no fear of being snubbed. These Mississippi pilots are fine fellows, sometimes a little dry with curious intruders, but never rude, never impolite to a gentleman.
“Did I understand you to say that the boat we have just met—theMissouri Belle—is in the Ohio trade?”
“Wal, stranger, that’s what I’ve heerd.”
“That means that she is to run between Saint Louis and Cincinatti.”
“Course it do.”
“And do you think she is on her way to Cincinatti now?”
“Why, stranger, whar else ’ud she be goin’?”
“I thought she might be going down to New Orleans.”
“Wal, she did run thar form’lly; but she’s off that now. She’s changed hands lately, and’s been put on the other line, ’tween Saint Louis and Cinc’natti, which air a trade she’ll suit for better. She wa’nt big enough for below; but bein’ a light draught critter, she’s jest the thing to get over the Falls.”
“And you are certain she is now on the way to Cincinatti?”
“No, that I aint, stranger. She may be on top o’ a durnation snag, or chuck up on a sand-bar at this minnit, for what I can tell. All I know for sartin is that she’s boun’ for Cinc’natti; and if nothin’ happens her, she’ll be thar in less ’n four days from now. Whether she breaks down, howsomever, air a question beyont my calkerlationa. She mout an’ she mout not.”
With this sublime resignation to probabilities, the tall speaker in the glass house, evidently intended that the conversation should come to a close, for I observed that he bent his gaze more eagerly ahead, and seemed to direct his attention exclusively to the tiller. Perhaps the idea of theMissouri Belleresting upon a snag or sand-bar, had suggested the probability of theSultanagetting into a similar predicament, and stimulated him to increased caution in the performance of his duty.
Though I had succeeded in concealing my emotions from the steersman, it was not without an effort. The information he imparted was full of serious meaning; and augmented the feeling of uneasiness, from which I already suffered. Stronger than ever did I feel that presentiment of evil.
The statement of the pilot admitted of no interpretation but one. It was direct and point blank: that theMissouri Bellewas bound for Cincinatti. The man could have no motive for misleading me. Why should he? I had asked a simple question, without much show of interest or curiosity; he had answered it from pure politeness. There was not the slightest reason why he should make a misstatement; and I accepted what he had said as the truth.
The riddle had assumed a new character, and had become altogether more difficult of solution. “What,” I repeated to myself, “can Madame Dardonville have to do on a Cincinatti boat? Surely there is something astray?”
It did not appear exactlyen règle, for the lady to leave Saint Louis in the expectation of a visit from her New Orleans friends; but I presumed she had sent a second despatch, which had not been received. Moreover, she was going down to them, and it mattered less about their coming up for her. These were my first reflections after seeing her upon the down-river boat, and until I had heard the talk of the two pilots. Now, however, circumstances had a different appearance. On theMissouri Belleshe could not be going to New Orleans, but to Cincinatti. Did she expect us to follow her there? and for what end? Perhaps she would only go as far as the Ohio mouth, in this boat, and there wait for another, coming down the Ohio river? This method of getting from Saint Louis to New Orleans was common enough, when there did not chance to be a boat going direct. The large hotel at Cairo offered a temporary sojourn for such passengers. But why should Madame Dardonville adopt this roundabout method, and especially at such a time?
A score of conjectures passed through my mind, all ending idly. The only one at all satisfactory, was that, perhaps, I had been in an error from the very beginning. Perhaps, after all, I had neither seen Madame Dardonville nor her daughter; but two ladies who very much resembled them! It was not the firstequivoqueI had experienced; and this should have rendered me less confident of the evidence of my senses. Notwithstanding these reflections, however, I could not convince myself that I was in error.
So long, therefore, as there was the slightest doubt, I felt that it would be imprudent to communicate my suspicions to my travelling companions. It could serve no good purpose; and would only render them uneasy, as I was myself,—in all likelihood, much more so. Ere long we should all know the truth; and should it prove that I was mistaken, I would have the satisfaction of having saved my friends from unnecessary pain, and myself from ridicule.
Though I joined them the moment after, I gave neither of them the slightest hint of what I had seen or suspected.
Story 2, Chapter XIV.No One on the Watch.It was ten o’clock on the following day, when theSultanasnorting under a full head of steam, brought us within sight of the “Mound City,” so called from certain Indian tumuli, that here form a conspicuous feature on the banks of the mighty river.Long before reaching our destination, my travelling companions and I had ascended to the hurricane-deck; and we were straining our eyes to catch sight, not of the spires and cupolas that overtop the town, but of a building that had for all of us a far greater interest—a white cottage or villa, with green Venetians—the villa Dardonville. As it stood conspicuously near the western bank of the river, and we knew that it was visible from the level of the water, we expected soon to be gratified with a view of it, especially, as we were now nearly opposite to it. A skirting of oak woods appeared alone to conceal it; and, as the boat forged ahead, we gazed eagerly into the vista that was gradually opening beyond them.Slowly and gently, as if by the passage of a panoramic picture, the villa was disclosed to our view; and my companions hailed its appearance with exclamations of delight. Visions of a happy meeting with old dear friends, of sumptuous hospitality, of free rural enjoyments, of many pleasurable incidents, were before the minds of both; and as for Luis, the sight of that pretty homestead could not fail to call up emotions of a still more thrilling kind.Though I had myself seen the villa before, and from the water, it was a new sight to both my friends. It was, in fact, a new house, and had been built by Dardonville on retiring from business. On Luis’s last visit to Saint Louis, the family was residing in the city. It was shortly after, that they had removed to the charming abode on the bluff.My friends were enthusiastic in their praises of the pretty mansion. They admired its style of architecture, its smooth sloping lawn, its shrubberies; in short, both were in the mood for admiring.As the boat arrived directly in front of it, and the house came fully into view, it did not strike me as presenting so hospitable an appearance: in fact, an observer, knowing nothing of its inmates, would have given it a character altogether different. The front door was shut close; and so, too, were the Venetian shutters, every one of them. Even the gate of the verandah railings appeared to be latched and locked. There was no life, human or animal, stirring about the place; not a creature to be seen. There was no smoke issuing from the chimneys, not a film. The place had the appearance of being uninhabited, deserted!My companions could not help noticing this, though without having any suspicion that the house might be empty.Why are the windows closed? and on such a beautiful morning?I could only make answer to this pertinent query, by observing that the house faced eastward; and the sun might be too strong at that hour.“Parbleu!” exclaimed Adele, “I feel cold enough; you see, I shiver? For my part, I should open every blind, and admit all the sun I could get. I shall do so, as soon as we get there.”“But la!” continued she, after a pause, “surely they expect us? and by theSultana, too? You would think some one would be on the look out? They must certainly hear the blowing of our grand boat? And yet no one appears—not even a face at the windows! Come, M’amselle Olympe, this is barely kind of you.”Adele endeavoured to disfigure her beautiful countenance with a slight grimace, expressive of chagrin; but the laugh that followed showed how little she was in earnest.“It may be,” interposed Luis, “they are not astir yet: it is early.”“Early,mon frère? it is ten o’clock!”“True, it is that hour,” assented Luis, after consulting his watch.“Besides, where is old Pluto? where Calypse and Chloe? Some of them should be abroad. At least, one of them might have been playing sentinel, I think?”These were the familiar names of Madame Dardonville’s domestics, all known to myself.“Ah!” exclaimed Adele, a new thought suggesting itself, “I fancy I can explain. Madame and Olympe are gone up to town, that’s it. Perhaps she knows that the boat is near: she may have heard it from below, and has driven up to the landing to meet us? Of course Pluto would be with her, and the others are busy in the house. That explains all. So we shall meet her at the landing. Well, that will be charming!”I gave my assent to this explanation, though far from believing it to be the true one. The deserted appearance of the house was a new element of anxiety to me; and, combined with what I already knew, almost confirmed the terrible suspicion that had shaped itself in my imagination. Though straggling to conceal my real thoughts, it was with difficulty I succeeded in doing so. More than once my companions regarded me with inquiring looks: as though they observed a singularity in my bearing and behaviour.With a sense of the keenest anxiety, I looked forward to the moment of our arrival: I did not indulge in much hope that Adele’s conjecture would prove correct.Alas! it did not. As the boat was warped in, broadside to the wharf, I scanned the crowd with keen glances: not a group—scarcely an individual—escaped my observation. There were no ladies there—no Madame Dardonville, no Olympe! There were carriages, but not theirs. No private carriages were to be seen, only hackneys waiting for a fare from the boat.I looked at Adele. There was a slight curl upon her pretty lip—this time really expressive of disappointment and chagrin.“Perhaps they are up in the town?” I suggested, gently.“Nay, Monsieur, they should behere. It is cruel of Olympe.”“The Madame may have business?”“N’importe pas.”I saw by this that Adele was really offended. Perhaps she had been hearing too many encomiums upon Olympe’s beauty. It is notwomanto like this; and least to be expected from a woman who is herself a beauty.Nothing remained but to engage a hackney. This was the work of a moment; and, as our united luggage was not large, we were soon passing through the streets of Saint Louis. The Jehu had received his directions to drive to the Villa Dardonville. He knew the house, and we were soon carried beyond the suburbs in that direction.We met people on the way. The faces of one or two of them were known to me. As the carriage was an open phaeton, we could all be seen. I observed the eyes of these people turn towards us with a strange expression: a look, as I thought, of astonishment! Luis appeared more especially to be the object of interest. As we were driving rapidly, however, no one spoke. If they had anything to say, there was no opportunity for them to say it. I do not know whether either of my companions observed this, nor might I have done so; but for the foreknowledge of which I was possessed.We at length reached our destination. The phaeton being driven to the front, halted opposite the verandah. No one rushed out to greet us! no one opened the door!“C’est drôle!” murmured Adele.Luis stepped out of the carriage and knocked. A heavy foot was heard inside: some one coming along the hallway? There was heard the turning of a bolt, and then the rattle of a chain. Strange! the door has been locked!It was opened at length, though slowly, and with some degree of caution; and then a round black face was presented to our view. It was the face of Pluto.
It was ten o’clock on the following day, when theSultanasnorting under a full head of steam, brought us within sight of the “Mound City,” so called from certain Indian tumuli, that here form a conspicuous feature on the banks of the mighty river.
Long before reaching our destination, my travelling companions and I had ascended to the hurricane-deck; and we were straining our eyes to catch sight, not of the spires and cupolas that overtop the town, but of a building that had for all of us a far greater interest—a white cottage or villa, with green Venetians—the villa Dardonville. As it stood conspicuously near the western bank of the river, and we knew that it was visible from the level of the water, we expected soon to be gratified with a view of it, especially, as we were now nearly opposite to it. A skirting of oak woods appeared alone to conceal it; and, as the boat forged ahead, we gazed eagerly into the vista that was gradually opening beyond them.
Slowly and gently, as if by the passage of a panoramic picture, the villa was disclosed to our view; and my companions hailed its appearance with exclamations of delight. Visions of a happy meeting with old dear friends, of sumptuous hospitality, of free rural enjoyments, of many pleasurable incidents, were before the minds of both; and as for Luis, the sight of that pretty homestead could not fail to call up emotions of a still more thrilling kind.
Though I had myself seen the villa before, and from the water, it was a new sight to both my friends. It was, in fact, a new house, and had been built by Dardonville on retiring from business. On Luis’s last visit to Saint Louis, the family was residing in the city. It was shortly after, that they had removed to the charming abode on the bluff.
My friends were enthusiastic in their praises of the pretty mansion. They admired its style of architecture, its smooth sloping lawn, its shrubberies; in short, both were in the mood for admiring.
As the boat arrived directly in front of it, and the house came fully into view, it did not strike me as presenting so hospitable an appearance: in fact, an observer, knowing nothing of its inmates, would have given it a character altogether different. The front door was shut close; and so, too, were the Venetian shutters, every one of them. Even the gate of the verandah railings appeared to be latched and locked. There was no life, human or animal, stirring about the place; not a creature to be seen. There was no smoke issuing from the chimneys, not a film. The place had the appearance of being uninhabited, deserted!
My companions could not help noticing this, though without having any suspicion that the house might be empty.
Why are the windows closed? and on such a beautiful morning?
I could only make answer to this pertinent query, by observing that the house faced eastward; and the sun might be too strong at that hour.
“Parbleu!” exclaimed Adele, “I feel cold enough; you see, I shiver? For my part, I should open every blind, and admit all the sun I could get. I shall do so, as soon as we get there.”
“But la!” continued she, after a pause, “surely they expect us? and by theSultana, too? You would think some one would be on the look out? They must certainly hear the blowing of our grand boat? And yet no one appears—not even a face at the windows! Come, M’amselle Olympe, this is barely kind of you.”
Adele endeavoured to disfigure her beautiful countenance with a slight grimace, expressive of chagrin; but the laugh that followed showed how little she was in earnest.
“It may be,” interposed Luis, “they are not astir yet: it is early.”
“Early,mon frère? it is ten o’clock!”
“True, it is that hour,” assented Luis, after consulting his watch.
“Besides, where is old Pluto? where Calypse and Chloe? Some of them should be abroad. At least, one of them might have been playing sentinel, I think?”
These were the familiar names of Madame Dardonville’s domestics, all known to myself.
“Ah!” exclaimed Adele, a new thought suggesting itself, “I fancy I can explain. Madame and Olympe are gone up to town, that’s it. Perhaps she knows that the boat is near: she may have heard it from below, and has driven up to the landing to meet us? Of course Pluto would be with her, and the others are busy in the house. That explains all. So we shall meet her at the landing. Well, that will be charming!”
I gave my assent to this explanation, though far from believing it to be the true one. The deserted appearance of the house was a new element of anxiety to me; and, combined with what I already knew, almost confirmed the terrible suspicion that had shaped itself in my imagination. Though straggling to conceal my real thoughts, it was with difficulty I succeeded in doing so. More than once my companions regarded me with inquiring looks: as though they observed a singularity in my bearing and behaviour.
With a sense of the keenest anxiety, I looked forward to the moment of our arrival: I did not indulge in much hope that Adele’s conjecture would prove correct.
Alas! it did not. As the boat was warped in, broadside to the wharf, I scanned the crowd with keen glances: not a group—scarcely an individual—escaped my observation. There were no ladies there—no Madame Dardonville, no Olympe! There were carriages, but not theirs. No private carriages were to be seen, only hackneys waiting for a fare from the boat.
I looked at Adele. There was a slight curl upon her pretty lip—this time really expressive of disappointment and chagrin.
“Perhaps they are up in the town?” I suggested, gently.
“Nay, Monsieur, they should behere. It is cruel of Olympe.”
“The Madame may have business?”
“N’importe pas.”
I saw by this that Adele was really offended. Perhaps she had been hearing too many encomiums upon Olympe’s beauty. It is notwomanto like this; and least to be expected from a woman who is herself a beauty.
Nothing remained but to engage a hackney. This was the work of a moment; and, as our united luggage was not large, we were soon passing through the streets of Saint Louis. The Jehu had received his directions to drive to the Villa Dardonville. He knew the house, and we were soon carried beyond the suburbs in that direction.
We met people on the way. The faces of one or two of them were known to me. As the carriage was an open phaeton, we could all be seen. I observed the eyes of these people turn towards us with a strange expression: a look, as I thought, of astonishment! Luis appeared more especially to be the object of interest. As we were driving rapidly, however, no one spoke. If they had anything to say, there was no opportunity for them to say it. I do not know whether either of my companions observed this, nor might I have done so; but for the foreknowledge of which I was possessed.
We at length reached our destination. The phaeton being driven to the front, halted opposite the verandah. No one rushed out to greet us! no one opened the door!
“C’est drôle!” murmured Adele.
Luis stepped out of the carriage and knocked. A heavy foot was heard inside: some one coming along the hallway? There was heard the turning of a bolt, and then the rattle of a chain. Strange! the door has been locked!
It was opened at length, though slowly, and with some degree of caution; and then a round black face was presented to our view. It was the face of Pluto.