“But suppose some one asks me in what corps I am to serve, what reply shall I give?”
“You will say, ‘I am going to Rhetel. It will be settled there.’”
“Very well, father.”
“Take hold of one of the handles of the box, and help me to mount it to the shop.”
“Leave it to me, father.”
Whereupon, seizing in both his arms the heavy box, filled with gold, he raised it on his stout shoulder, and, preceded by Moses, who held aloft his candle to light the staircase, he bore away without flinching all his father’s fortune.
The double combination conceived by Lichtenbach succeeded, as all simple ideas do. Within Metz, besieged and filled with troops, stored provisions were not long in coming to a premium. The salt Moses thought of selling at a moderate price gave him a great surprise. It proved more valuable than sugar. The want of salt caused keen suffering to the soldiers, who had become disgusted with horseflesh. The brandy, largely adulterated, also sold well. Still the old man’s profits did not recompense him for lack of news of his heir. Elias’s last letter, delivered on the evening of the Battle of Borny, announced the young man’s arrival in Paris. He had left thirty thousand francs in goldwith the firm of Baradier, at Troyes, and was preparing to make for Orleans, as he did not consider himself in safety in Paris, which would infallibly soon be blockaded.
He had introduced five thousand sheep into the town. But he did not consider it necessary to continue business with the Government, which was too economical and avaricious. After the 14th of August not a word did the old man receive. During those long, sleepless nights, whilst listening to the cannon of Saint Julien or of Plappeville thundering away at long intervals, the old man reflected bitterly that his son was very young and inexperienced, that he might be robbed, and that the sum he had entrusted to him represented twenty years’ wanderings along the roads of Lorraine, buying up all the old iron in the province. Still, he had the consolation of thinking that Elias was not taking part in the terrible and bloody battles, doleful and desperate tidings of which came across the outposts right to the besieged town. He saw his neighbours and clients pass along with bowed heads, wondering uneasily, and asking one another—
“What news? Have you heard anything of your son? Where is he? If only all our boys are not dead!”
He at least could reply, “I do not know,” with comparative assurance. But the others? Old Graff especially was an object of pity. He seemed as though he would go mad. One evening he had gone out bareheaded into the streets, when the weather was icy cold, saying to all he met, “If Antoine does not come back, I shall have been his murderer. Why did I send him to the war; he was not even of age? He ought to be here by my side. All this time they have been fighting around Paris. A presentiment comes to me that my son is dead!” and he wept bitterly. They were obliged to take him back homeby force, whilst little Catherine hid herself behind her mother’s skirts. Moses congratulated himself for the prudent resolution he had imposed on Elias, though he did his best to lament with the rest on the dangers run by this brave and valiant band of youth gone out in defence of their country.
One evening, on returning homeythe inhabitants of the district around the cathedral found ambulance carriages in the streets and assistants carrying wounded men into private houses. No more beds were to be had at the hospitals. All the untenanted houses had been requisitioned, and now the military authorities appealed to the patriotism of the inhabitants of Metz for lodging the victims of the last sortie. A captain of light infantry belonging to the Guards had just been carried to the house of Moses, and Graff had taken in a captain of artillery, named M. de Trémont. As he was bringing back his battery from the hills of Servigny, the young officer had received a ball in the thigh.
Anxiety for the health of his patient, the remedies he needed, and other little attentions, caused a happy diversion to the ever-present anxiety of Antoine’s father. As he saw this handsome young officer, who had fought so heroically, and who under such solicitous care, was about to recover his health under his roof, Graff began to hope once more. He said to himself, “If my own son is wounded, why should not he also be so fortunate as Captain de Trémont? He has been brought a long distance, with his wounded thigh, but he will be quite well again in less than a couple of months. They do not all die who are wounded in war. I feel sure Antoine will come back now.” And his spirits returned with renewed hope. The captain, well cared for by Graff and his wife, was soon able to leave his bed, and after dinner, at night, he would relate to them his campaignsin Algeria and Mexico. He explained to his hosts the reasons why France was coming off the worst in this disastrous campaign, attributing all the advantages of the Germans to their remarkable organizing capacity, and the perfection of their artillery.
“You see, the whole future of war consists in war material. We have to give way before breech-loading cannons, which have, from the very first, given proof of a marked superiority over our grooved arms. The moral effect on our troops has been decisive. The first thing to be done after the war, will be to investigate a new kind of cannon and explosives of a terribly destructive power. The question of explosives will be of capital importance. This ought to be the main end of our efforts in the artillery.”
With remarkable clearness he explained all that modern chemistry offered in cunning combinations, such as would guarantee victory to that adversary which could most scientifically assure massacre and death. So, in the evening silence in that large town, besieged by the conquering enemy, the conquered were already engaged in thinking of preparations for revenge.
The siege came to an end, and all the brave soldiers who would have defended Metz to the death were surrendered alive to the enemy. The flags, a prey to famine, were carried off to form trophies of victory in Germany. Paris fell in her turn, then the final armies of France, driven back across the snow, stained with blood, not so tired of death as exhausted with the fight, stopped at the country’s call. And on that immense battlefield, two hundred leagues square, the victors’ shout of triumph mingled with the despairing cry of the vanquished. By degrees news arrived, bringing sorrow to some and joy to others. Among the brave young fellows who had gone forth to fight, so ardent and proud, many never returned,whilst the numbers of prisoners and wounded will never be known.
One morning, Graff, in the dining-room, was taking breakfast with his family and Captain de Trémont, who was still a convalescent in Metz, when the outside door was opened, a rapid step was heard on the staircase, and father, mother, and little Catherine, looked at one another with pale faces. Not a word was uttered as they listened tremblingly to this quick, seemingly joyful ascent. They had all been struck by the same thought; he who comes hastening to us in this way, without asking any questions, who enters as though he were master of the house, and mounts the well-known steps four at a time, must be Antoine! Before they had time to give expression to their thoughts the door opened, and a tall, bearded young man, so thin and terrible that they did not recognize him, but whose eyes were instantly flooded with tears, appeared before them.
“Father! Catherine! Mother!”
They all rose to their feet, mad with joy, for they could not mistake the voice, and the long-expected child for whom so many tears had been shed, was taken in their arms and covered with kisses, amid the cries and sobs, questions and exclamations, of parents and servants, whilst the Captain looked on with a smile at this family scene. Finally, Antoine escaped from their arms, and his first words were the following—
“Good heavens! How hungry I am!”
As he spoke he cast hungry looks on the coffee and cake with which the table was spread. In a trice he was seated there, and served and fed so well, that he was obliged to beg them to desist. Then explanations began, and long accounts of events, interspersed with questions as to the fate of such and such a one. He himself, after fighting atSedan, had escaped by Mézières, reached the North, where, with Faidherbe, he had passed the whole campaign. He had not slept in a bed for three months. But he had fought at Pont-Noyelles, Bapaume, and Saint Quentin, and had been lucky enough to come out without a scratch, with the grade of sergeant-major; disgusted all the same, with the soldier’s profession for the rest of his life. His father said to him—
“Well, it is all over now! You shall never begin again. Our unhappy country is crushed. It will take a score of years to bring things to their former condition. Ah, my poor Antoine, how ill I have slept the last six months! I may say, with truth, I have not had a single hour’s peace of mind since you left. But here you are back again once more, and all is forgotten.”
Then the incidents of the campaign would begin again. Captain de Trémont questioned the young soldier on the details of the campaign in the North, and Antoine could not dwell too long on the valour of the calm and indefatigable Faidherbe, the bravery of his companions, and the services rendered by François Baradier, a volunteer like himself, the son of a banker of Troyes, who had saved his life, snatching him away from the hands of the Prussians of Manteufel on the evening of the battle of Bapaume, within a farm which the shells had set on fire, and where he was surrounded by a dozen of the enemy.
“He will come and see you—he promised me so—and you will appreciate such a fine brave fellow as he is.”
“Your rescuer? Certainly, he shall be welcome. But let me look at you, my poor child. Who would have recognized you? You look like a brigand! Had I met you in the street, I should have been afraid!”
All day long the Graffs were visited by whole lines of relations and friends, who had called to congratulate them,to admire the returned soldier, and to listen to the hundredth account of the episode of the Battle of Bapaume, whilst tumblers of beer and glasses of kirsch-wasser were served, bringing to their height the overwrought feelings of Graff, who was usually sober enough, though, on this occasion, he had completely lost his bearings.
The following morning fresh stirrings in the quarter. Elias Lichtenbach made his appearance in a cab. He looked well and hearty, and, after greeting his family, immediately entered into conference with the German authorities. The rumour soon spread that young Lichtenbach had been sent by the authorities of Bordeaux, and had become a person of importance during the war. In reality, his mission concerned the re-victualling of the army on the frontiers of the East. The delegate to the war, who appreciated the services rendered by Elias, his skill as an intermediary, and his facility in avoiding difficulties, had sent his agent to the enemy’s headquarters. He was now full of self-importance, and proudly looked down upon his compatriots, worn out by privation and hunger, though furious at defeat.
After the first few hours of astonishment full fling was given to curiosity. Where had Elias come from, looking so strong and well? Of all who had left at the same time as himself, he was the only one who had returned looking better than when he left. All the rest were pale and savage-looking. Inquiries were set afoot. At the very first question the representatives of the authorities replied, with circumspection, that M. Lichtenbach had rendered eminent service to the country, and that the delegate for the war considered him with the most benevolent esteem. What kind of service? It was young Baradier who, on reaching Metz, on a visit to Antoine and his family, began to throw light on the obscure conduct of the boasting Elias.
Sergeant Baradier, ruddy of complexion, full of life and vigour, was as firm in disposition as Antoine was gentle. His open frankness pleased everybody, and amongst all these good people he was immediately at his ease. Twenty-four hours had not passed before he was on very good terms with Captain de Trémont, and had grouped together all the volunteers of Metz to a banquet to celebrate their return. Elias had had the calm audacity to give in his name, like the rest, and had put in an appearance at the Hotel de l’Ours, to take part in the banquet. But his reception had been a cold one. All who were present, though in civil dress, as the German authorities had forbidden the uniform, knew in what regiments they had served, in what battles they had been wounded. Elias alone lost himself in vague explanations. He pretended to have been everywhere—with the armies at Chanzy and Bourbaki, at the camp of Conlie, and near Garibaldi. This gift of ubiquity astonished everybody. Sergeant Baradier undertook to give an explanation clearer than all those behind which Elias had sheltered himself.
“Are you not the Lichtenbach who did business with the firm of Baradier at Troyes?” he asked old Moses’ son, point-blank. “Is it not you who bought sheep in the Ardennes, and drove them through Belgium into France?”
“Yes, it is myself,” replied Elias, cautiously.
“Well! No wonder you have been everywhere during the war, since you were buying meat from every available spot, on behalf of the management.”
As Elias became agitated and turned pale, Baradier continued—
“Oh, I am not reproaching you, I am simply stating a fact. These gentlemen just now did not appear to understand the part you played. I am explaining it to them. M. Lichtenbach is a patriot in a fashion. Instead of fightinghe undertook to feed the fighters. If not a glorious employment, it is, at least a useful one.”
“But I risked my life like the rest,” exclaimed Elias, red with anger. “Had the Germans caught me they would have shot me!”
“It is most extraordinary that they allowed you to move in and out so freely through their lines, for they did not generally show themselves over confident. The good reception, too, they gave you must have appeared very strange.”
“What do you mean!” exclaimed Elias.
“Simply what I say; nothing more,” replied Baradier, coldly. “But if you wish me to explain, I merely remark that remaining out of the reach of sabre cuts and musket shots, whilst others are fighting, being warm and comfortable, and deprived of nothing, whilst your companions are dying of cold and hunger, seeing in the misfortunes of one’s country only an opportunity of making a fortune, is not what one would call the height of heroism.”
“You insult me!”
“I am ready to give you satisfaction.”
“Good! you shall hear from me.”
“Do not cry out so loud; I can easily be found. I am staying with M. Graff, and am the son of M. Baradier, your banker at Troyes. Now we will change the subject.”
Immediately Elias found himself alone. Everybody turned their backs on him. Flinging on his adversary a look of hatred he left the room. As he closed the door he heard Graff exclaim—
“Now that there are none but good patriots left let us drink to the health of France!”
The following morning Baradier, accompanied by Captain de Trémont and his friend Graff, waited for Lichtenbach toput in an appearance. They waited in vain. The prudent Elias, having avoided wounds during the war, seemed quite determined not to run the risk of receiving any in times of peace. Still, as though by chance, M. Baradier at Troyes, received in his house a supplement of twenty Hessian hussars, to board and lodge, and old Graff was summoned thrice in a single week to reply to denunciations representing him as having spoken in insulting terms concerning the German army. Finally, Baradier received notice to leave Metz within twelve hours.
It was quite possible that chance alone might have caused the increase of the burden laid on the banker of Troyes, and the expulsion of Baradier might have been the consequence of the banquet, at which more was said than the circumstances warranted. But old Graff was convinced that his neighbour Lichtenbach’s son was an agent of the enemy, and that the rogue had simply turned informer against him. All the same, Elias bowed to him in the street with the greatest deference, and he always showed himself very polite to Antoine.
The quiet and taciturn heir to the firm of Graff avoided, as far as possible, his former companion. He did not openly break with him, his nature being opposed to violence of every kind. But very few words were spoken on either side, and he avoided transacting business with him. The firm Graff stored up large quantities of wool, which were sold to the manufacturers of Champagne and the Ardennes. The Baradiers, who had just bought a large factory at Ars, were great customers of theirs. Elias, who continued his father’s wholesale business, bought and sold everything in the nature of a business transaction, and had often made offers to the Graff for the wool of Germany. The latter had always declined his offers. Still, in spite of such evident ill-will, Elias was not discouraged, and, with that tenacity which is one of thevirtues of his race, he periodically visited Graff and his son, in the hope of bringing off a bargain.
Thus, after two years spent by Mademoiselle Graff in one of the best boarding schools in Nancy, Elias, one fine morning, found himself in front of her in the garden, whilst waiting for Antoine. He was stupefied and completely dazzled. The child had become a young lady, tall and graceful, with dark eyes, light hair, and brilliant complexion. He dared not speak to her, and could only bow as she passed. On returning home he mentioned the incident to his father, and, with a wealth of biblical comparison, he depicted the maiden, like Rebecca appearing to Jacob. He left his father in no doubt that he was passionately in love, and that if, as the shepherd had served Laban, he should have to serve Graff, he would submit to it for love of the fair Elise.
Old Moses remarked that, being a Jew, and the Graffs being Christians, there was no chance of being accepted by them, without prejudice to the grievances they had manifested against him ever since the war. Elias replied that he could abjure his religion, and by his conversion give great prestige to the Catholic faith, that he had earned sufficient money, and that a young fellow of twenty-two years of age, who would place four hundred thousand francs on the table when the contract was signed was not a suitor to be thrown over so easily.
Moses warned his son that he was entering upon a perilous negotiation. He did not dissuade him from changing his religion, if he found any advantage in such a course, but he warned him that, whether as Christian or Jew, he would not obtain the hand of Mademoiselle Graff, and that he would gain nothing but the shame of his apostacy. Elias, however, had a will of iron; he astonished the archbishop by his determination, conciliated him by his piety andgenerosity, and, with remarkable skill, brought over to his interests all the high Catholic powers. At a time when German pietism was struggling in the conquered provinces, with a clergy of purely Protestant tendencies, the conversion of Elias was a political event.
Had Elias not been so well known he might have become popular. All the same, he met a thorough refusal at the hands of the Graff family, and, as though to intensify the insult offered to him, before six months the beautiful Elise married the former sergeant, Baradier. At the same time, a rumour spread abroad that the Graffs were leaving the town. Antoine followed his step-brother to Paris, and entered with him into the banking establishment of Baradier senior.
It was too much for Elias. He lost his sleep, and one day, after meeting the Graffs, who were being escorted to the station by all their friends, he returned home, and was taken suddenly ill. Old Moses, terrified, put his son to bed, summoned the doctor, and learnt that the new convert was at the point of death. A furious delirium had taken possession of him; during its course he negotiated fabulous bargains with imaginary buyers and sellers. A semblance of reason returned only when he poured forth floods of insults and threats against the Baradiers and the Graffs, whilst his father calmed him by saying—
“Yes, Elias, you shall have your revenge on these rascals! You shall ruin them! You shall crush them under your heel!”
Then a happy smile came over the patient’s lips; he slept a few hours, and awoke feeling much better. One may affirm that it was the intensity of his hatred that kept him from dying. Plans of revenge haunted his fevered brain, and when the doctor, in astonishment, declared that the young man was convalescent, the first words Elias utteredwere, “All the better! Had I died, the Baradiers and Graff’s would have been too glad!”
To tell the truth, the latter paid not the slightest heed to the feelings of rancour they had so violently aroused. They had assumed the direction of the firm, had extended the business, and founded additional woollen factories. Marcel Baradier and his sister Amélie were born. Complete harmony seemed to exist in this happy family, when Elias Lichtenbach, his father having died, came to establish himself in Paris.
A singular metamorphosis had been wrought in him. The first time Baradier and his rival met at the Bourse the banker did not recognize Lichtenbach. He saw before him a thin, stooping man, almost bald, with cold, passionless eyes, hidden behind gold spectacles. His very voice had changed. M. Lichtenbach spoke little, said only what was absolutely essential, and remained impassive before the most important news. A contraction of the jaws alone betrayed his emotion, giving to his countenance a character of singular ferocity.
Lichtenbach’s connection with the firm of Baradier and Graff was full of meaning. He caused them to lose three hundred thousand francs in a single morning on a contract for wool, concluded at the Bourse of Troyes. Elias sold wool from Hungary at so low a rate that Baradier and Graff, who had speculated on a rise, were obliged to sell out rapidly to limit their risks. It was the first clear flash from the cloud. Henceforward an enemy, always on the watch, was ever ready to strike the Baradier firm in its most vulnerable part. Lichtenbach’s evil intentions, though concealed, were none the less certain.
When attacked they ingeniously defended themselves, took needful precautions, and trusted nothing to hazard. Lichtenbach was very powerful and dangerous. Left a widower, with one daughter, whom he had sent to theSacre-Coeur, there to be brought up according to the principles of the most rigid devotion, Elias was a type of the renegade who had become more Christian than the Pope himself.
Still, if Lichtenbach was dreaded, he was received everywhere, and his influence in society was as secret as it was sure. He rendered priceless help to ruined families. Instead of aiming his financial batteries against the established Government, he divided his attempts, placed his hands on all the syndicates of Europe, and by means of the capital he collected caused diverse speculations not only to benefit himself, but all his friends in addition.
The simplicity of his life was extreme. He lived in a gloomy mansion in the Rue Barbet-de-Jouy, attended by servants from Lorraine, who spoke German better than French. He never received visitors, whilst a game of whist seemed to form his only distraction. It was at his office, right in front of the Bourse, that he received his clients. Although only forty-five years of age, he seemed to have lost all interest in the fair sex, as though all women were an object of terror for him. The little Duchess de Bernay, who, thanks to speculations conducted by Elias, had been able to pay her debts, one day said to her friend, the Marchioness de Premeur—
“I must find out what Lichtenbach really thinks. After all, the manner in which he treats us is almost humiliating.”
For some evenings, in the presence of all her friends, she flirted with Elias, without succeeding in thawing him. Then suddenly she ceased paying attention to him. To her companions’ ironical questions she replied, evasively—
“I have lost my time. It is no use.”
But it was noticed that her style of living changed; that she spent large sums of money, and that, according as she ceased joking with the financier, she became more andmore settled in money matters. Elias, distant and silent as ever, continued to speculate in the four corners of the globe, to advise the Prince, manage his journal, and prove to the-firm of Baradier and Graff, as well as to those in any way connected with him, that the enmity he was nourishing would be with him as long as he lived.
Onreaching the Rue de Provènce, the Minister of War descended from his brougham with the eagerness of a young man, crossed the court-yard, entered the offices, and, in loud tones, asked the office boy—
“Is M. Baradier in?”
The office-boy instinctively stood at attention, and replied—“Yes, General; I will announce you at once.”
The Minister, with nervous steps, strode to and fro in the ante-chamber, behind whose windows the Havas despatches gave the current rates of all the Exchanges of Europe. Suddenly a door opened, and a stout man with ruddy complexion entered the room with outstretched arms.
“Ah, it is you, General! What trouble you have taken! Just step into this room.”
The Minister entered, and as soon as the door was closed he exclaimed—
“Ah, my poor friends! How sad it all is!”
“We cannot get over the shock, Baradier and I,” said Graff, rolling forward an armchair. “Take a seat, General.”
“Who has told you the news?”
“Baudoin, who was sleeping here last night, and came in terrified this afternoon with the dismal tidings. What has happened down there? The whole circumstances are even more serious than the disaster itself. Graff and I have beenquestioning and discussing with one another, without succeeding in settling the frightful problem.”
“If only Marcel were here!” moaned Uncle Graff. “He would enlighten us. He is so well acquainted with Trémont’s life and habits, his weaknesses.”
“His weaknesses?” asked the Minister. “A woman? Is that what you mean?”
“Yes, General.”
“You are taking the paltry side of the matter,” said the old soldier, firmly. “It is no question of a merepassade. The affair before us is far more than a paltry intrigue. The woman—yes, indeed, she has had arôleto play. But she has only been the agent, perhaps unwittingly, of an attempt, carefully thought out and boldly executed.”
“With what object?” asked Baradier. “Tell me everything, General. Let us communicate our suspicions to one another, in an attempt to throw light on the affair.”
“Ah! It is evident that the object of the attack was the discoveries made by Trémont. In this abominable plot, which has ended in the murder of a man we loved, a remarkablesavant, I see—but do not let this go beyond the three of us here present—the hand of the foreigner.”
There was a moment’s silence. Baradier and Graff looked at one another, uneasily, and as though undecided. But the impetuous Baradier could not long keep to himself the idea working in his brain.
“We, too, General, seem to recognize in the blow which has fallen on our friend some hateful intention against him and against ourselves at once.”
“Baradier,” intervened Graff, “you are going too fast and too far! How can you risk such a charge, on suppositions alone?”
“Ah! You still hesitate!” exclaimed Baradier. “You are still bound down by scruples! The deuce! I feel thereis treason and infamy in all this! I—Let me continue! I would swear that Lichtenbach is at the bottom of it all!”
“You have no right to speak in that way!” exclaimed Graff, rising to his feet and quivering with emotion. “How can you insinuate that a man against whom nothing can be said from either a professional or a moral point of view, is a party to a crime, simply because he is our enemy? It is abominable! We must give some place to justice!”
Baradier, boiling over with excitement, rose in his turn, and began to walk to and fro, speaking in snatches.
“For the last two hours, General, we have been disputing in this way, Graff and myself, and the only reply he can give me is that I am not just! As though that were a matter of concern when an imperious instinct cries out to you: ‘There is the culprit. He is not seen; he is well masked, cunningly concealed, and appears in nothing.’ Probably he will not be found out, but it is he all the same who has done the deed, because it was to his interest and hatred combined to do it! No! With his justice, humanity, and philanthropy, you can have no idea how stupid Graff is, at times!”
In spite of the gravity of the situation, the three friends burst into a loud laugh, and Graff, bending forward his great body, exclaimed—
“Thanks!”
The Minister then intervened to give a little order to the debate.
“Come, Baradier, explain yourself. As your brother-in-law says, vague presentiments are not sufficient to establish an accusation. Presumptions lead to investigations, and if guilt results from information obtained, then one may proceed. Besides, I will observe to you that the authorities have been notified, an examination has been commenced, and if you have proofs to furnish—”
“Impossible!” interrupted Baradier. “To you I have been telling my inmost thoughts; to an examining magistrate I would not repeat what I have just said.”
“Ah!” triumphed Graff; “what did I tell you?”
“For me to quit my reserve, such discoveries ought to be brought to light, that the proofs—moral as they are—upon which I lean, should have material coincidences. But do not think I am retreating. I will make inquiries, and if I find—”
“You will not find anything. If your suspicions are true, we have to deal with those who are stronger than ourselves.”
“We shall see about that!”
The General intervened again.
“Is this Lichtenbach, of whom you speak, the great merchant-prince who is allied with the clerico-royalist party?”
“Yes, the same man.”
“And you imagine him capable of a crime?”
“I believe he is capable of anything.”
“Doubtless you know that he is very influential with the Ministry, and obtains whatever he wishes.”
“He is very powerful everywhere; his arms stretch in all directions.”
“But what interest would he have in trying to circumvent Trémont, in the first place, and, afterwards, in bringing about his disappearance?”
“Well, General, what do you think of the investigations into explosives? Lichtenbach is at the head of the French syndicate of mining exploitations. In Russia, Austria, and Spain, he has considerable interests. Now, in the composition of a powder, easy to control in results, capable of being handled without harm, and of very moderate cost—and all these advantages were claimed by the Trémont powder, as was seen from the report read by the General, at theAcademy of Science, six months ago—was there not something to tempt the covetousness of business men, ever on the look-out for progressive and remunerative processes? Trémont had received splendid offers, but had always refused even the initial overtures. Then he explained to Graff and myself his intention of promoting a company, the working of which should be exclusively French. It was a point of honour with him that his own country should profit from his discovery.”
“The fine fellow! Just like him!”
“He was well aware that he had found an opportunity of making a fortune, but he did not wish foreign money to have a hand in it. Besides, at the same time, he had almost completed his investigations into a new war-powder. He would not throw the commercial affair on the market until he had given his new explosive to the Government. He said to us: ‘Both powders at once. The one that will make me rich, and the one that will make us conquerors. In this way I shall be pardoned for the benefits I shall reap from the first, in favour of the prestige the second will give our Army.’”
“Yes; secret experiments had already taken place with his war-powder. Never had my colleagues or myself seen such destructive effects. Nothing could have resisted an artillery firing projectiles charged with this powder! And the secret has vanished in smoke! It is a great misfortune for France!”
A strange smile passed over Graff’s mouth, and, with a gesture of dissent, he said—
“Ah! Who knows?”
“What do you mean?”
“Yes, it is not absolutely certain that the secret is lost! Perhaps some one possesses the General’s formulæ in duplicate.”
“Who?” exclaimed the Minister.
Graff rubbed his hands together and replied—
“My nephew!”
“Marcel? Has he said anything to you?”
“Yes. A week ago.”
At these words Baradier turned pale. Turning to his brother-in-law, with a look of anguish, he exclaimed—
“Never let the slightest suspicion of this be known! Repeat to no one what you have just said! They have killed Trémont! Do you want them to kill my son?”
“Ah! Baradier, have you no courage left?” asked the General. “You are afraid of your shadow now. Do you imagine that, if your hypothesis be true, and I am much inclined to share it, those who have dealt the blow will be disposed to recommence without delay? We have time to act, and we are warned. Why the deuce should we be afraid? Just now, the authors of the crime have carefully gone to earth, for they can have no doubt that the police are on the look-out for them. Do not be alarmed, and let us speak frankly.”
“My dear General, if the possession of the secret of the powders has been fatal to Trémont, whom they thought simply of robbing, what is not to be feared for Marcel Baradier, if this terrible intrigue is conducted by the implacable enemy of all his family? They would have spared Trémont’s life, could they have obtained possession of his formulæ. Marcel can expect no pity, for it is Graff and myself—it is his own mother whom they will reach in striking him.”
“We shall be there to defend him,” said Graff, in trembling tones. “I am not an evil-disposed person, but still I feel myself capable of the utmost ferocity in preventing any harm befalling my nephew!”
“You understand,” said the General, “that if the policehave no clue to your suspicions, I will take it upon myself to inform them.”
“It would be wiser not to do anything of the sort,” interrupted Baradier. “If, as we imagine, it isLichtenbach who has directed the frightful plot, you may be certain beforehand that it will not be brought to light. Both he and his accomplices are free from all responsibility. The woman who appears to have acted as a decoy will have disappeared. The man whose arm has been torn off will be carefully attended to in some dark spot, perhaps abroad, and the coachman who accompanied the accomplices to Vanves is a trusted member of the band. Nothing will be discovered, you may be sure. The examining magistrate may prepare at once to shelve the whole affair.”
“I think as you do. But that is no reason for not making investigations. In the first place, if Lichtenbach is watched, perhaps some proof will be discovered. But all that concerns the police. We will change the subject. General de Trémont has left an only daughter, without support.”
“I beg your pardon, General. We will console her and pay her all possible attention.”
“Yes, my dear friend, I know the poor child may rely upon you. But she is without fortune. Trémont left very little property; his pension was almost all that he had.”
“Reassure yourself. She shall never lack anything. This very morning my wife went to her to the Sacre-Coeur, and brought her here. She shall stay with my daughter and be treated as though she bore my own name.”
“All the same, I will obtain for her a pension from the Ministry.”
“Certainly, if you wish; but it will simply be to ease your conscience. She will have every want fulfilled. I take charge of her as though she were my child.”
“Can I not speak to her? Is she in a fit state to receive me?”
“She is in great grief, but very calm. Graff will tell her that you are here.”
The uncle left the room. Baradier drew his chair nearer the General’s, as though afraid the walls would hear what he was about to say.
“Between you and myself—for Graff is too sentimental—is this a matter that concerns other countries?”
“How can we tell, so long as we have not laid our hands on the culprits? Even if they are found, how can we throw light on that question? We can never hope for absolute certainty in this respect, as foreign agents always keep themselves aloof from direct responsibility, and disclaim all connection with abroad, if they are caught. We shall never get beyond probabilities. Our artillery material and explosives are at present, and will long remain, a matter of anxiety to rival Powers. Our armaments are well known, though our projectiles are continually being perfected. It is certain that the artillery which made use of the Trémont powder would have had an overwhelming advantage. Hence the attempt against the inventor, evidently.”
“So you attach a great value to the formulæ discovered by the General?”
“A very great value. Its possession would render our country an immense service.”
Baradier became serious. Bowing his head, he continued resolutely—
“I am a good patriot, General. I fought for France to the very last hour of the war. All the Baradier family, Lorraines from Metz, went into voluntary exile so as not to live in the midst of our conquerors. If my country needed my life, I would not hesitate to give it up. Iwill do more, I will risk my son’s life. If Marcel knows Trémont’s secret, I give you my oath you shall have the powder.”
A flash of joy shone in the old soldier’s eyes. Stretching out his hand to Baradier, he exclaimed, in trembling tones—“Thank you. You are a brave soldier.”
At this moment the door opened, and the General gave a sonorous hum, and regained his composure. Madame Baradier and Mademoiselle de Trémont entered the room, followed by Graff. Still slender and graceful, Madame Baradier now showed a few silver threads among the beautiful blonde tresses of her youth. But her frank look and smiling lips revealed the young girl beloved of Elias Lichtenbach. Mademoiselle de Trémont, wearing a blue convent dress, slender and dark-complexioned, showed in her countenance, overwhelmed with grief, the charming grace of her sixteen years. Without the slightest awkwardness or hesitation, she walked straight to her father’s friend. At the first words the old soldier addressed her, however, her eyes filled with tears, which silently flowed unheeded down her cheeks. She listened with eager satisfaction to the consoling words of praise, consecrated to him who had just disappeared, and the silent nod she gave from time to time seemed an acquiescence of resignation and grief, in the bitterness of life now beginning for her.
Alas! she had scarcely known her father. A widower very soon after the birth of his daughter, he had been obliged to entrust her to the care of pious and devout women. She had scarcely ever tasted of the delights of home. Geneviève often tried, in vain, to recall the sound of her mother’s voice. How sad it was! She had never felt on her heart the caressing warmth of an ever-present affection. Isolation, in the midst of strangers, kind and benevolent though they were, had been her lot, right to the dayon which death had broken the slender bond which still attached her to her father. And now what a sorrowful end, in this catastrophe, at once stupefying and terrible, which left her an orphan, and filled her mind with thoughts of violence and massacre!
She had not even the supreme consolation of thinking that the one she mourned had had a calm and peaceful death. As a soldier, he had not fallen on the field of battle; as asavant, he had not succumbed, a victim to his investigations. In a base and cowardly fashion, he had been assassinated by bandits. She heard the Minister telling her that she might rely on his protection. Stammering out her thanks, and blinded by tears, she left the room with Madame Baradier, almost heart-broken at being made to understand more vividly, from the expressions of condolence addressed to her, the extent of her loss.
The Minister, on leaving the room in his turn, found General de Trémont’s servant awaiting him in the antechamber. He looked with interest at the latter’s intelligent and energetic countenance.
“Well, my poor Baudoin, this is a great loss for us.”
“It is a great crime, General.”
“They had sent you away, my good fellow; but for that, all this would not have happened.”
“Ah, General, it is always the fair sex who ruin everything!”
“Come, come! Don’t say anything more on the subject.”
“Pardon me, General. I do not mention it from lack of deference for my poor master, but if attempts are not made to find the scoundrel, the woman who controlled the whole affair, nothing will be discovered, and my master will remain unavenged.”
“Do you know the woman?”
“Ah! If I had known her, I, too, should have been dead!”
Baradier, Graff, and the Minister looked at one another. What Baudoin had just said was so clear a confirmation of Baradier’s fears, concerning his son, that the threatening power of the mysterious woman instantly forced itself on the Minister’s thoughts. He was already so well acquainted personally, and through his predecessors, with these fortune-hunters, always in quest of a speculation or intrigue to work out, or a secret to be stolen, from the sellers of crosses of honour, to searchers of official desks. He could have named several of them. And the experience of the past: all these acts of imprudence and folly, were there to prove the truth of what the simple and devoted Baudoin now said. The Minister continued—
“I heard her voice, General, last night, and I will warrant that if she uttered a word in my hearing, I should recognize it.”
“Ah, a voice, my poor fellow, a voice heard for a single moment, uttering a few sentences only. How could one dare to accuse another on such feeble evidence? Do you know, there are voices so similar that one may be mistaken, even when one is familiar with their owners. If you have no other proof to give, my poor Baudoin, you had better say nothing at all.”
“We shall see, General.”
“Ah, you are obstinate!”
“A little, General.”
“Well, well! What can I do for you? You have been a good soldier, and a devoted servant. I imagine your master would have recommended me not to abandon you. Would you like to enter the office of the Ministry?”
“Thank you, General. M. Baradier has offered to takeme into his office, and I have accepted. But if you would be good enough to—”
“Well, speak!”
“Could you please tell me the name of the Ministerial agent who has been conducting the investigations? He seemed to me a very intelligent man, and I should like to speak to him.”
“His name is Laforêt. But keep the name to yourself. I have sufficient confidence to mention it to you; still, it must not be generally known.”
“You may rely on my discretion, General. I will say nothing.”
“Well, good day!”
The Minister shook hands with Baradier and Graff, and rode away in his brougham. When the two partners returned into the hall, Baudoin, to whom they wished to speak, had disappeared.
As soon as he learnt the agent’s name, Baudoin had taken his hat, and, leaving the hotel by the servants’ exit, had made his way to the Ministry. On reaching the entrance he made inquiries. Being an old soldier, he knew how to speak to soldiers. The orderly he met in the hall pointed out to him the building he wished to enter, right at the end of the court, staircase C. There the porter had stopped him; no one could enter without authorization. He had none; he must accordingly ask for one.
“I simply wanted to speak to M. Laforêt.”
The porter looked at him with suspicion. Then he said—
“M. Laforêt? You will not find him at the Ministry, call at his private residence.”
“Where is that?”
“You must inquire.”
It was quite evident there was nothing to be gained here.Bowing, he thanked the porter and took his departure. In the Rue Saint-Dominique, at the corner of the Rue Martignac, he noticed a small café. He entered with the object of making inquiries, as the porter had recommended. Four customers, under the complaisant eye of the proprietor, were playing at cards. At the far end was a room, containing a billiard-table. The players could be seen, though indistinctly, each time they passed before the door. There appeared to be spectators present. Probably a pool was being contested.
“A bock. Is there a billiard academy here?”
“Ah, sir, we have some very fine players. Some of these gentlemen from the Ministry come every evening. M. Trousset, the head clerk, though an amateur, would be a match for the best players in Paris, and even from abroad!”
“Indeed! And may one watch the game?”
“If you wish, sir, I will carry the beer into the next room.”
Baudoin had already entered the billiard-room, which contained two tables. Taking a seat, he looked on. One of the players was a stout, jovial fellow, who accompanied his cannons with stale jokes. The other, a tall, thin dark-complexioned man, was Laforêt himself. Baudoin gave himself a slap on the thigh, took out a cigarette, and exclaimed to the astonishment of his neighbour—
“I am lucky this time!”
As he was looked at inquisitively, he said no more, but lit a cigarette, and began to sip his beer. The stout player said to his opponent, with a wink—
“The balls are in the corner; now for the final!”
Whereupon he made a series of seventeen cannons, and missed the eighteenth. Laforêt, without being disconcerted, took up the cue, but only scored five points. His adversary exclaimed—
“If I score fifteen now, I win the set.”
He won without the slightest effort, turned down his shirt-sleeves, put on his coat, and, holding out his hand to his opponent, said:
“No ill feeling?”
“None at all. You have played very well, M. Moussin,” said Laforêt. “My revenge next time.”
“Whenever you like.”
Laforêt, with perfect indifference, approached Baudoin, exclaiming in loud tones—
“Waiter, a bitter.”
Then, turning towards the General’s servant, he asked—
“Are you waiting for me?”
“Yes; so you recognized me?”
“That is my business. Anything fresh?”
“No; all the same, I wish to speak to you.”
“Good!”
The few loiterers gradually filed out into the other room, which was lighter and more pleasant in appearance. A few players alone remained, and Baudoin and Laforêt found themselves isolated.
“You may speak here, no one will pay any attention to us.”
“Well! This morning, when I saw you, in the presence of all the others, I had an impression that you were a man to be relied upon, and that, in case it were necessary to appeal to any one concerning something difficult or dangerous, one would run no risk with you of being left in the lurch. Am I mistaken?”
“No.”
“If I think rightly, you do not work under the same conditions as the agents in the service of the Prefecture, who are entirely allied to the Administration. You are, I suppose, a kind of volunteer of the police, at liberty to giveinformation as you please, consequently free as regards initiative.”
Laforêt interrupted him.
“If you wish to speak to me on the Vanves affair, I must stop you at once. My principal ordered me not to take any further steps in the matter for the moment. The Public Prosecutor is in possession of the information. Every one to his own department. We shall not take up the matter again, provisionally.”
“But if I simply asked you to enlighten me on certain points?”
“One can always give advice.”
“Good! The police are about to make a search for the authors of the crime of which my master has been the victim. But I, also, should like to investigate.”
“There is no one to prevent you.”
“Ah! One must know how to go about it. One does not become a detective by instinct. Which end shall I begin with, to unravel the skein?”
“Come! Had your master any family?”
“A daughter.”
“She had no interest in wishing to be rid of him?”
“Not the slightest.”
“Had he any visitors?”
“Very few; he was so distrustful! The woman who called on him only came mysteriously by night, on which occasions he always sent me away.”
“That is the same woman who came last night?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know if M. de Trémont had any enemies?”
“No.”
“Was there any one who had reasons for injuring him?”
“In a certain sense, yes.”
“Why do you suspect this?”
“I judge from personal observation, confirmed by the conviction of one of my master’s friends.”
“A man who can offer good guarantees?”
“Perfect.”
“Very good! Search must be made in that direction.”
“If only you knew what difficulties I am likely to meet with.”
“That is the most interesting part about it. It is not very clever to arrest a coal-dealer who has been thrashing his wife in his shop, or a hair-dresser who has cut his lady’s throat with one of his razors! What excites one is the struggle and pursuit, the necessity of employing trickery and invention. We are men of imagination, and novelists often make us laugh by the poverty of their combinations.”
“That is because you like your profession. It is not so with me; I am not inquisitive. Were I not mad with grief at seeing my master, whom I was so fond of basely murdered, I should take good care not to meddle with other people’s affairs. But vengeance seems a kind of duty my master would impose on me, could he do so. Had he had time to think, the moment he was struck, he must have said to himself: ‘Ah! If only Baudoin were here he would defend me with his last breath.’ You see, I must find his murderers. I shall have no rest till I have succeeded in this pursuit.”
Laforêt had become thoughtful. After a moment’s hesitation, he said—
“You are a brave fellow. But you do not possess the qualities necessary for the unravelling of an affair like this one. You will spoil everything by putting on their guard the very people you suspect. Do not stir; just wait. Patience is the first duty of a detective. Time is a precious auxiliary. At first, a criminal is very cautious; he takes every precaution. By degrees, as his feeling of securityincreases, his prudence lessens, he trusts himself out of his lair once more, and it is then that there is a good chance of catching him. Instead of undertaking a campaign, remain inactive. If you have to deal with powerful and determined men, be sure they will keep a watch on you, in proportion to their unwillingness to be caught. You will do more for the success of your side by giving them to believe that you do not suspect them, than by plotting against them, without knowing how to out-trick them. Go back home, warn those who, like you, wish to avenge the General, and wait and see the trend of events. Be sure something will happen which will put you on their track. Then go ahead boldly. If ever you need me, come here about five o’clock. You will find me regularly at this hour. My principal may be disposed to allow me to co-operate with you.”
Baudoin rose from his seat.
“Very good. I will follow your advice. If you have anything to tell me, send to Messieurs Baradier and Graff.”
“The bankers of the Rue de Provènce?”
“Yes.”
“Strange! My principal has just gone to see them, on leaving the Ministry. I heard it from the coachman. Good! Everything will turn out for the best, when the right moment comes.Au revoir!”
The two men shook hands, and Baudoin returned home.
Marcel, summoned by wire, had just returned from Ars. He was closeted with his father and uncle. Walking to and fro about the room, he gave brief replies to the questions asked him. Tall and slender, of fair complexion, with long moustache, and blue eyes, he offered a perfect pattern of the Lorraine type, in its full purity and strength. He was a very fine-looking young fellow, and his Uncle Graff watched him with a glow of pride and satisfaction.
“Well, then, what did Trémont tell you, the last time you saw him?”
“From a scientific point of view, we spoke of nothing but my investigations on the subject of aniline.”
“Nothing concerning his powders?”
“He had already told me the results he had reached. I shared his opinion that the main difficulty was solved. In the composition of explosives there was nothing more to do besides introducing a few details of manipulation.”
“And you knew his formulæ?”
“I know every one of them.”
“You could prepare them?”
“Without the slightest difficulty.”
“That is what I was afraid of,” exclaimed Baradier, sorrowfully.
“What! Afraid of? But it is very lucky for us all. For Geneviève, for whom a fortune is assured; for the Army, which will possess the Trémont powder; and for the General’s memory, by reason of the glory attaching to so important a discovery.”
“Well, Marcel, I beg of you,” said Baradier, in trembling tones, “for the sake of us all, for the time being, not to breathe a word to any one concerning what you have just revealed to us. It is a matter of life or death. So long as those who have killed Trémont remain at large, and unpunished, there will be no safety for those who might be suspected of being in possession of his scientific secret. It was to rob him of this that the blow fell. In Heaven’s name, be very careful not to let it be known that you have been taken into the confidence of our friend.”
“Do not be uneasy,” said the young man, with a smile. “No one in the world knows, except my uncle and yourself. I feel no inclination to proclaim it on the housetops. But I cannot refuse to refrain from profiting by it, whenthe right time comes, even though there may be risks to run.”
“Nor do we. But let us continue our investigations. Trémont was very free with you. He spoke to you of his private life. He told you of his adventures in the early days of his military career.”
“Poor man! That was his only weakness. His heart remained as young as ever. His imagination was very inflammable, and he gave way to it with unparalleled facility. I was often obliged to stop him.”
“Did he mention nothing that had happened recently?”
“No; he appeared preoccupied and less expansive than usual. Probably he had been recommended to be very discreet, and his promise had been given. I must say that his passion for the fair sex rather disgusted me, and I gave no encouragement to tales which appeared to me unworthy of our friend’s noble mind. Latterly, therefore, finding him reserved and quiet, I did not encourage him to speak. I preferred him to say nothing on the subject.”
“What a pity! Just the time when his explanations would have been so useful.”
“It is always so!”
“Had he made no fresh male acquaintances? Was there no name you could catch?”
“He spoke to me of no one except a foreign savant, with whom he had struck up a friendship, and who seems to have been an extraordinary man. He suspected him of being a nihilist, and that worried him. But he spoke of him with the utmost admiration.”
“Was he a Russian?”
“I do not know. His name was Hans.”
“Hans!” exclaimed Baradier. “That was the name of the man whose arm was torn off! It is the name on thering worn by the man who caused the explosion of the house at Vanves. This is the first flash of light.”
“So the General was acquainted with this Hans? Still, Hans is a German name!”
“Only a German Christian name. As you are aware, there are several Russians of German origin. If the Hans in question is the author of that catastrophe, the end he aimed at by obtaining access to the General might well be the possession of the formulæ of the explosive found by him. But then, how had he become acquainted with the discoveries the General kept strictly secret?”
Graff, who had not yet spoken, but had been listening in a reverie to the observations exchanged between his brother-in-law and his nephew, raised his hand, and slowly began, as though following the slender thread of a still fugitive idea—
“You are getting lost. The motives of the instigators of this crime—for, certainly, there are several of them—are of a much higher order than you imagine. You are looking for robbers trying to obtain possession of some exceedingly fruitful discovery, or of anarchists on the scent of some powerful means of extermination. All this is very vulgar and commonplace. You have to deal with criminals of a higher stamp. The care they took to rob Trémont after killing him prove that his murderers wished to throw one off the scent. When one has a house to pillage, he does not linger behind to steal a watch or a pocket-book. The mysterious proceedings of those who effected thecoupare those of political conspirators, and the thing that gives the whole plot its special character is the presence of a woman. Every undertaking of interest to foreign politics, for the past century, has been carried on by women. From my point of view, this is in a large measure what must have taken place. One or several European States have been acquainted withthe investigations carried on by Trémont. His communications to the Institute may have sufficed to give the alarm. Immediately, means have been sought for becoming intimate with him, or obtaining his confidence. Our friend’s nature has been studied, and a young woman, clever and beautiful, has been fastened on him, soon to serve as intermediary between the General and Hans. The latter is no Russian, but probably some native of Baden. The woman is a spy in the service of our enemies. The man, introduced into the premises by the woman, failed in his attempts to obtain, by trickery, Trémont’s secrets; accordingly he had recourse to violence. Be certain the wholecoupwas entered upon for interests far higher than you imagine. You see a Lichtenbach in the affair, and imagine that it is in his interests that Hans and the mysterious woman have been playing each a perilous game. You attach to him more importance than he deserves. You must seek higher, or rather not seek at all, for nothing will be found now.”
“I cannot deny,” replied Baradier, “that Graff’s explanation possesses some semblance of likelihood. Graff is a man of imagination, who often sees things that do not exist. Still, in the present circumstances, he would be a bold man who would say that he was mistaken. Perhaps his supposition and mine both contain part of the truth. What cannot be doubted is that the authors of this audacious plot are persons who will shrink before nothing. Accordingly we must be prudent, and not appear to suspect them, living in just our usual manner. Apparently we must abstain from all participation in the work of justice. If the police succeed we shall be satisfied, without having been involved in the affair. If they find nothing, as is very likely, then our turn will come. In my opinion clever and cool-headed criminals it is almost impossible to run to ground. It is only by theirimprudence that they betray themselves. It is when they begin to be no longer on their guard that there is a chance of finding some clue to their guilt. So, after all, the most prudent and skilful plan will be to wait. Marcel will return to Ars—”
“Not until I have seen Geneviève.”
“Of course, you will dine and sleep here, and take the train to-morrow morning. Your mother and uncle will not be sorry to see a little of you.”
“And my father?” asked the young man, smiling.
“And your father. Now come along with me to see your mother. Graff, you are staying in the office?”
“For a few minutes. Then I return home, but will be back in time for dinner.”
Proceeding along an inner staircase, father and son reached the private rooms, and were astonished to find in the hall a tall footman waiting there.
“Your mother has visitors,” said Baradier. “How has that come about; to-day is not her reception day?”
They entered Madame Baradier’s small salon. There she sat, pensive, near the window, her needlework lying idly in her lap.
“What! You here?” said Baradier. “I thought you were receiving.”
“The visit is not for me.”
“What is the meaning of this? No one can have called for Amélie. Then it must be for Mademoiselle de Trémont?”
“You are right,” said Madame Baradier.
“What is the matter with you?” asked the banker. “There is something extraordinary going on. Explain.”
“It is, indeed, very extraordinary. It is a schoolmate of Geneviève, who has come especially from the convent to assure her of her sympathy and affection; a trustedservant came with her, since her father could not come in person.”
Baradier’s face turned crimson, as he asked with a frown—
“Then it is—?”
His wife did not give him time to continue. They understood one another at a glance.
“Yes, my dear, it is Mademoiselle Lichtenbach.”
A silence fell throughout the room. Marcel had gone straight to his mother, to embrace her. He now stood looking at his father, who, standing before the mantelpiece, was endeavouring to fathom the meaning of this unexpected visit.
“What is she like?” asked Marcel.
“I scarcely looked at her, I must confess, my child. When her name was announced I was very much astonished. Amélie and Geneviève were with me at the time. I left them in the salon as soon as Mademoiselle Lichtenbach entered. She appeared to me to be tall, and rather good looking. It was, however, her voice, a sweet, charming voice, which impressed me most favourably.”
“It is different from her father’s, then,” growled Baradier.
“And how long has she been here?”
“Half an hour, at least.”
“And my sister is with them?”
“She could not help staying with them, otherwise it would have been a show of hostility quite out of place. Parents’ enmities, I hope, form no necessary part of children’s inheritances.”
“Mother, what you are now saying is contrary to all poetical tradition. Look at Romeo and Juliet. What would become of literature were there no hereditary enmities? They form part and parcel of romantic stock-in-trade.The deuce! We must not diminish it, as it is becoming less and less quite fast enough!”
Baradier was not listening to his son; he remained still plunged in his own reflections. At last he murmured—
“What has she come for? Why has Lichtenbach permitted her to come?”
“Shall I go and ask her?” asked Marcel.
“Try to be serious, Marcel,” exclaimed the banker. “This is no matter for jest.”
“Oh, I know that well enough. I wonder what it is that upsets you so much? Here is my mother as pale as death, and yourself in a fever-heat, and all because a young girl has come to sympathize with her school-mate! There is something extraordinary going on.”
Baradier glanced sideways at his son, and replied in a tone of irritation—
“Don’t be such a fool, Marcel. You are incapable of understanding!”
Marcel bowed, in mock humility.
“Thanks! What do I owe you for that?”
But Baradier had no time to give way to his increasing irritation. The door of the salon opened, and Amélie appeared on the threshold.
“Mamma, Mademoiselle Lichtenbach would like to say good-bye to you before leaving.”
“She seems to be very well bred,” said Marcel, in low tones. “Are you going, mother? I will accompany you. I should like to see what she looks like.”
It was in vain that Baradier shouted to his son—
“Marcel, stay here; I forbid you!”
Already the young man, with a laugh, had slipped behind his mother into the salon.
“The young rascal will never have any common sense,” moaned Baradier. And he sat down in the seat his wife hadjust left, vaguely listening to the sound of voices, which now reached him.