At the very first glance Marcel Baradier noticed that Mademoiselle Lichtenbach was of a very elegant figure, with a countenance of great gentleness. On further examination he did not find her pretty. Her features were irregular, but her face was lit up by eyes of limpid blue, radiant with frankness and amiability. She was standing there, an upright and slender form, in her sombre school-dress, with the blue ribbon on her breast. On Madame Baradier introducing Marcel to her she made a respectful bow, and said in delightful accents—
“I could not take my leave, madame, without thanking you for your kind welcome. Mademoiselle de Trémont and myself are very fond of one another. For a year we have been close companions, and I sympathize with her present suffering, as though her loss were also mine. It is a great relief to me, now that we are obliged to separate, to know that she will be with one who loves her. I hope you will permit her to speak to you of me, so that she may not forget me too soon, and, perhaps, instil into your mind a little of the sympathy her heart feels for me.”
Marcel was still under the charm of the voice that uttered these gentle words, when those clear, luminous eyes fell on him. He returned the look with an inquisitive and, perhaps, rather bold glance, for she immediately turned aside. At the same time a slight blush, as though accompanied with a shudder, passed over her smiling face, which suddenly became serious.
“I must thank you, mademoiselle, for the sentiments you express regarding our dear Geneviève. For ourselves,” continued Madame Baradier, “rest assured we shall not endeavour to influence her in her affections.”
Mademoiselle Lichtenbach bowed, gave a graceful nod to Amélie, and, on passing in front of Marcel, heard the latter say to her, in troubled tones—
“Permit me, mademoiselle, to show you the way.”
Opening the door of the salon, and, taking the mantle the young girl had left in the hall, he placed it over her shoulders. Then, walking by her side, his mother and sister looking on in stupefaction, he descended the steps, followed by the footman. On reaching the bottom he said, with a charm full of grace—
“Mademoiselle de Trémont’s departure will doubtless make your stay at the convent seem rather sad to you now, mademoiselle?”
“Yes. I hope Geneviève will not forget me, but come and see me.”
“After all, probably you will not stay long yourself at the Sacre-Coeur.”
“I was like Mademoiselle de Trémont, alone with my father. Geneviève will find a mother in Madame Baradier, whilst I—”
She left the sentence unfinished. Marcel, however, well understood the sadness of her meaning—“I shall remain abandoned, as I have been all my life. My youthful years will pass away behind the sad walls of a convent, under the cold, methodical surveillance of nuns, most excellent persons, but incapable of giving me that warmth of affection I need to be happy. My friend is leaving me, and all the sweetness of my life is past.”
She looked so melancholy and resigned that Marcel was moved with pity at her grief. They had now reached the brougham, the door of which was held open by the footman.
“No, mademoiselle,” said Marcel. “Rest assured Geneviève de Trémont will not forget you.”
He fastened his eyes on Mademoiselle Lichtenbach’s face, which now, in feature, seemed delicate and charming in its modest grace; then, bowing, he added, in lower tones—
“I do not think you are one of those whose fate it is to be forgotten.”
Mademoiselle Lichtenbach smiled and bowed. Then, entering the carriage, she said to the servant—
“Drive back home.”
Not another word was exchanged, whilst the footman climbed to his seat, and the coachman put the reins in order. Marcel, with head uncovered, stood there on the footpath in the Rue de Provènce, looking through the window of the brougham at this young girl, who appeared so simple and attractive to him, though he had never seen her until an hour before. Mademoiselle Lichtenbach sat there with bowed head, while a smile played on her lips. The carriage started, and the charm was broken.
On returning to the house Marcel reflected: If the father is a rogue, the daughter, at any rate, is a very charming person. After all, she is not responsible for her father’s misdeeds. But all this has nothing to do with me. In all probability we shall never meet again, so she may be what she likes. All the same, he could not get over the idea that Mademoiselle Lichtenbach, daughter of the declared enemy of Baradier and Graff, was a very striking character.
“Well,” said his father, who was awaiting his return, “you show yourself very polite. You could not be more gallant to a princess.”
“Probably not,” said the young man, calmly.
“Will you have the goodness to explain why you show yourself so obliging towards the daughter of our enemy?”
“For the sole reason that she is the daughter of our enemy.”
“It may be very chivalrous on your part, but to me it appears stupid.”
“Do you intend to introduce the fair sex into your quarrels?”
“I should like to see how Lichtenbach would treat your mother and sister if ever they fell into his power!”
“Let us hope we may never experience it. Still, Baradier and Graff are not obliged to act like Lichtenbach. Ask my uncle what he thinks about it.”
“Oh, your uncle is too sentimental. For the last hour I have been trying to find motives for this intervention. Evidently Lichtenbach wishes to throw us off the scent by this demonstration of affection for Mademoiselle de Trémont, but it is this very thing which awakens my suspicions. Do you know what Barentin, of the Supreme Court, told me lately? Not twenty-five per cent. of the criminals are ever discovered, and then only by their own folly. The rich calculate, and are almost sure of impunity.”
“My dear father, if the whole might of the law cannot seize a murderer, how can you expect Baradier and Graff to succeed? We must be sensible, and not attempt impossibilities. We will do the best we can—you by protecting Mademoiselle de Trémont, and I by assuring her the fortune her father promised her. For the rest let us trust in Providence.”
“In Providence!” growled Baradier. “Trust rather in the devil! Attend to what I tell you, Marcel. Your mother, yourself, and myself are all involved in the quarrel between Lichtenbach and your uncle. Lichtenbach is one of those revengefulmenwho strike both their enemies and their enemies’ offspring. Trémont has met his fate; it will be our turn next.”
“No, father, our turn will never come,” said Marcel, energetically. “At the very first threat, the faintest attempt, I will go to Lichtenbach myself, and settle all our accounts with him at a single time. That I swear!”
Graff, clean shaven and elegantly attired, now entered the office. Baradier signed to his son to say no more, and all three mounted to the salon to join the ladies.
Inhis study, soberly furnished, Elias Lichtenbach, seated in front of a large Louis Fourteenth bureau, was speaking in low tones, as though afraid of being heard, to a priest, lolling at ease in an enormous armchair. By the light of the setting sun, the sharp, bony face of the banker, with hiskeeneyes and thin, well-shaven lips, could be faintly distinguished. He was no longer the stout healthy-looking Elias of former days. The cares of life had withered the flower of youth on his cheeks, and wrinkled the once careless brow. The jaws were still pronounced, but hard and thin, like those of a powerful and ferocious man-eater. The hairy hands, long and grasping as they lay there on the desk, revealed unusual love of wealth. A black skull-cap covered Lichtenbach’s bald forehead. His visitor was a young and elegant ecclesiastic of graceful and intelligent mien. He spoke with a southern accent, which gave his voice a kind of hilarity in sound.
“It will be a very profitable undertaking. The property we have in view has no value whatever at present, nothing but waste land and marshes. The purchase will be effected in your name, and when we have signed an emphyteutic lease with you, we shall at once commence building. We want an advance of three hundred thousand francs.”
“There will be no difficulty there,” said Lichtenbach. “I have clients disposed to lend—”
“You need not go very far, eh?” said the young priest, with an ironical glance at the drawer of the desk, over which the banker spread his formidable hands.
“No, Monsieur l’Abbé, not very far, indeed; but, all the same, not here. It is a principle of mine never to advance money on securities which cannot immediately be realized. Now, the matter you have just been laying before me offers no actual guarantee. But that does not matter. You wish me to find the capital.”
“After all, this is the main point. Still, we have to rely on others than yourself. These gentlemen will not place their confidence lightly. They trust you, as they are certain of you, but they would not listen to strangers.”
“These gentlemen, as usual, will only have to deal with me,” said Lichtenbach, with deference. “I know what I owe them, and they will always find me at their service.”
“Then, as soon as the land is bought, and placed at our disposal, we immediately commence excavations, which will reveal the presence in the subsoil of the layers of ore I have been speaking to you about. At a bound the value of the land will be increased tenfold. You will sell back a small part of the ground, and with the profits, without further expenditure, we shall have paid for the establishment of our community.”
“If the tenor of the ore is such as you state, the exploitation, once granted to a company, will bring you in large revenues for several years.”
“That is what Monseigneur said on receiving the report of the engineer who undertook the soundings. Oh! we need a great deal of money to make the work a success,” sighed the young priest. “Our religion is attacked with such violence that if we do nothing but defend it we are lost. We must carry the war into the enemy’s territory.”
“That is my own opinion, Monsieur l’Abbé. As you see, my journal has zealously undertaken the campaign.”
“Yes, it is doing good; but yourpanache blancis not sufficiently dogmatic as regards pure doctrine. Too much space is given to speculation and business enterprise. Your columns smack too much of the Bourse.”
“Monsieur l’Abbé,” replied Elias, roughly, “I do not possess, as these gentlemen do, the art of conducting business in a double-faced manner. But I will learn from them.”
“Come, do not play the jesuit, my dear Lichtenbach,” said the young priest, airily. “We appreciate your services; that you have had proof of, and shall have again. By-the-by, who is this wounded man we picked up yesterday at Issy? The poor fellow was in a bad way. He came under your recommendation.”
Elias turned pale. In tones of alarm he exclaimed—“Not so loud! Monsieur l’Abbé—not so loud! No one must suspect that—”
“Oh! what a state you are in! Rest assured. The Superior and myself alone were taken into the poor wretch’s confidence. After all, he said very little. He was completely exhausted by the efforts he had made in dragging himself to our door. It was four o’clock in the morning, and the whole brotherhood was at matins. It was, accordingly, possible to introduce the wounded man without any one seeing him. It was quite time, for, as soon as he was put to bed, he fainted away.”
“Who is attending to him?”
“Our Superior himself; he has a thorough knowledge of medicine. Besides, the arm was cut off as though by a thermo-cautery, and all that had to be done was to dress the wound. The man has given evidence of the most heroic courage. But now he is ravaged by fever, and he speaks.”
“What does he say?”
“A most extraordinary mixture of things. He mentions, in almost the same breath, a fortified camp in the Vosges, and a war powder possessed of extraordinary virtues. His object is to carry off the plans of the former, and obtain possession of the formula of the latter.”
“Does he mention no names?”
“Yes, the name of a woman, whom he calls Sophia, and sometimes the baroness. He consults and threatens her in turn. She appears to be his accomplice in some underhand work or other.”
“Has he expressed himself more clearly?”
“No, he beats about the bush, and it is impossible to understand his meaning. After all, you have nothing to fear.”
Elias gave a sigh of relief.
“Monsieur l’Abbé, I am not afraid for myself, but for others. I am engaged in great international relations, as you are aware. The interests entrusted to my care represent not merely immense capital, but a great number of human lives. It is accordingly my duty to be very prudent.”
The young priest gave a gesture of protest. His countenance assumed a serious expression.
“I do not want to hear anything about it, M. Lichtenbach. These gentlemen, as you are aware, are thorough Frenchmen. Everything that happens beyond the frontiers is foreign to them—I might almost say hostile. Outside of France, which we love with deep and enlightened tenderness, and wish to save from the corruption of revolution, we recognize only the Pope, Sovereign of all Catholics, and our chief, whom we blindly obey. Keep your secrets; we will respect them, as you are serving us. But do not expect from us any help in the success of enterprises which would not concur towards the triumph of the cause to which we are devoted—monarchy and religion. In allelse you will find us neutral. That is all you may expect of us.”
“Have you been commissioned to tell me this?” asked Elias, in tones of anguish.
“No, my dear Lichtenbach; I was only to speak to you of the ground purchase.”
“Thanks, Monsieur l’Abbé. Tell them I will send my agent to-morrow to Grasse, to bring the matter to a conclusion, and that before the month is over we shall be in possession.”
“Very well!”
The young Abbé rose from his seat. He stopped, and, in negligent tones, said—
“Ah! I was forgetting. Have you heard of that frightful catastrophe which took place at Vanves? The explosion even shook the buildings here at Issy. Were you not acquainted with this General de Trémont?”
Lichtenbach looked paler and more sombre than ever, as he replied stammeringly—
“Yes, Monsieur l’Abbé, I knew him a long time ago.”
“It appears he was a dangerous maniac, dabbling with chemical experiments which were destined to kill him in time. A person of doubtful morality as well, according to public rumour, and who, even at his advanced age, gave himself up to the most degrading debauchery. He will not be missed. They say he was assassinated and robbed, before his house blew up. That is what comes of investigating in explosives! Well,au revoir, my dear Lichtenbach. When you come to see the patient give me due notice, and I will introduce you to him privately.”
Lichtenbach made no reply. He showed out his visitor with a semblance of respectful humility. Then he bowed, as to a superior, and said—
“Assure your friends, Monsieur l’Abbé, of my devotion to their interests.”
“Good! Though it is scarcely necessary,” replied the young priest, carelessly; and, slowly descending the staircase, he disappeared.
Lichtenbach, in thoughtful mood, returned to his study. It was now almost dark. Where the Abbé had just been sitting, a female form now sat stretched out in the armchair. A fresh, clear voice said—
“It is as dark as in an oven here, Lichtenbach; let us have a little light.”
“What! You are here, Baroness!” exclaimed the banker, eagerly.
“Yes, I have just arrived. Was that the little Abbé d’Escayrac you were just taking leave of?”
Lichtenbach had turned on the electric light, bringing into view the unceremonious visitor Elias had just called Baroness. She was a light-complexioned young woman, of exceeding beauty, with proud profile, blue eyes, intelligent forehead, though there was an expression of harshness in her small mouth, with its charming red lips, as well as in her strong chin. She was very elegantly clothed in black, and wore a hooded lace cloak. Patent leather shoes covered her charming feet.
“Have you been here long?” asked Elias abstractedly.
“No, I have only just come, I say. Your servant showed me into the salon, and I came in here when I heard your visitor leave. Do not be uneasy, I was not listening to what he said.”
“Oh! I have no need to be on my guard against you.”
“Yes, you mistrust me, as you do every one else. I do not blame you for it. It is a sign of prudence. Though, all the same, you have nothing to fear from me, and neither have I from you.”
“Oh! Baroness, you know that I belong to you, body and soul,” exclaimed Lichtenbach.
“Yes, yes, and you would not be sorry if the converse were true, would you?” interrupted the young woman, with a mocking smile.
The banker’s pale face lit up with passion; he drew near the Baroness, and, taking her hand within his own, said—
“And yet, Sophia, if you would only—”
Withdrawing her hand, she tossed her head with an air of disdain, and replied—
“Yes, but I will not, there!”
“Never?”
“Who can tell? If ever I am in great pecuniary difficulties, perhaps I may apply to you. Would you advance me money, Lichtenbach, if I needed any?”
As she spoke she looked at the banker with a bewitching glance and a smile full of promise. The latter, as soon as mention was made of money, regained possession of himself. Placing his hand on her lap, he said, in a tone of assurance—
“I will give you as much as you need.”
“You undertake a great deal. Take care! After all, there is no hurry; the time has not come yet.”
As she spoke, she drew back slightly from Lichtenbach’s presence. The latter sighed—
“Ah, Sophia, you are a terrible flirt—your only pleasure consists in making men mad.”
“I? You are dreaming, Lichtenbach. Have you ever seen me trouble about any man unless it were to my interest to do so? And yet you say such silly things. One would think you did not know me!”
“On the contrary, I know you well. Even better than you imagine, for there are portions of your shortlife-which, all the same, has gone through so many sensations—which you leave in a favourable light, so that I have understood them. You are very clever and bold. I, too, am very tenacious and patient, and have an instinctive knowledge of what it is useful for me to know, as well as the means of obtaining information. Accordingly, I am well aware what you are to-day, Baroness Grodsko. But I also know what you were before.”
Sophia’s eyes flashed, and her lips contracted, giving her face an aspect of terrible import. Looking boldly at Elias, she said, dryly—
“Ah, ah! Tell me all about it. I should be very pleased to know what you have learned about me. If it is true I will not deny it, upon my honour I will not. If false you may stop the wages of your informers. When one has spies in one’s pay one should always try to have reliable and intelligent ones.”
“Mine never deceive me; it is not to their interest to lie.”
“We shall see about that. Well—”
“Well, before becoming the wife of Baron Elmer Grodsko, a Hungarian nobleman, who quarrelled with his family in order to marry you, you were dancing and singing at the theatre of Belgrade, in a touring troupe, directed by an adventurer, half villain, half rogue, named Valaque. It was there that Baron Elmer, on his way from Varna, saw you, fell in love, and carried you off, after shooting down Escovisco, who pursued him with a poniard.”
The young woman’s lips quivered, as she said with a look of disdain—
“Then that is all you know? You cannot go back any further than the theatre of Belgrade, and the Escovisco affair? You are making much ado about very little!”
“Oh! I was proceeding in order. I could go backfurther, and tell you of the mysterious strange death of Madame Ferranti, a charitable lady of Trieste, who had taken you, almost dead with hunger, from the streets into her service. You were sixteen years of age. Your benefactresses had a son. On the day his mother died—she was said to have been poisoned, though there was no definite proof of this—young Ferranti left home with you, carrying off all the ready money, negotiable deeds, and jewels of his dead mother. Was it you or he who gave Madame Ferranti the cup of tea she drank before she fell asleep never to wake again?”
“Indeed it was neither he nor I. It was an old servant, who had been twenty years in their service. Besides, she confessed it, and as there was no proof against her, nor against any one else, she was released.”
“Whilst you set out for Venice, and had a pleasant time with your companion. Ah! He had a fine way of mourning for his mother, the young Ferranti! It was at the Café Florian, on the Place Saint-Marc, that, one evening when he was drunk, the young ninny picked a quarrel with an Austrian major, who, the following morning, on the Lido, ran six inches of steel into his body, killing him on the spot.”
“Quite true! Poor Ferranti! He was a handsome fellow, who waltzed divinely, but was too fond of absinthe. Itwasthat which killed him, or rather the stoccata of Major Bruzelow—a fine man, whose moustaches went almost round his head, but as stupid as his sabre, and as dangerous. It was he who forced me to leave Venice, where I was enjoying myself so well! I could not even speak to a man without the Major challenging him. He would have called out the whole town; I was obliged to go.”
“The Austrian police had something to do with it, had they not?”
“I have always hated the Tedeschi, and they have always paid me back in the same coin!”
“So that you cannot return to Austria, even now?”
“No, all by reason of that fool of a Grodsko.”
“And what has become of this excellent Grodsko, who broke his mother’s heart all for your sake?”
“The excellent Grodsko spends the summer in Vienna, and the winter at Monte Carlo. Both winter and summer he gambles to pass the time, and when he has lost he drowns his disappointment in drink.”
“Does he always lose?”
“Yes, so he is always drinking.”
“Here are a few corpses already, if I know how to count, to your credit, without mentioning the grief, despair, and shame of others. You have lived a very exciting life, though you have scarcely yet reached the age of thirty.”
“I was twenty-eight last week,” rectified the Baroness, coldly.
“You have trampled on humanity as on a carpet to gain your objects: luxury, pleasure, domination. And here you are to-day more brilliant, better loved, and more powerful than ever, with a strength of will which shrinks before nothing, and a conscience ready for anything. Am I right?”
She looked boldly at Lichtenbach, then, drawing from her pocket a cigarette-case of chased silver, she took out an Oriental cigarette, which she lit with perfect coolness; then she replied in gentle tones—
“Quite right, though incomplete. I am far more to be dreaded than you imagine. You are well aware of it, but are afraid of displeasing me by depicting me as I really am. You are in the wrong. I have such a scorn for mankind that you cannot vex me by declaring me to be ready to profit by it, as though it were a piece of merchandise. In my opinion, men are no more interestingthan cattle destined for slaughter. They serve to feed and enrich me; it is for that they toil and die. Apparently, it is their function, since they cannot escape this fate, and as soon as one disappears another offers to replace him. Are you going to say that I am a destroying flail? Possibly. All over the world there are beings born for work, sacrifice, and suffering; as there are others born irremediably for idleness, egoism, and enjoyment. It is nature which has made it so. To some instinct manifests itself, leading to servitude, to others leading to tyranny. Beings exploited and exploiting, beasts of burden and beasts of prey. Is not that the sole social classification founded on common sense? Look all around you, Lichtenbach, it is an invariable rule: a flock of simpletons led away, fleeced, and strangled by a few audacious individuals. Will you reproach me for being of the number of those who strangle, rather than of those who fleece? We are both at the same game, Lichtenbach; the only difference is, I am bold enough to confess it, whilst you are hypocritical enough to say nothing. Our object is the same—the exploitation of the human race for our greatest mutual profit and pleasure. There you are! If I am wrong, prove it to me now.”
She had spoken without raising her voice, and the calm tone in which these terrible theories had been expounded as they came from that charming mouth formed so strange a contrast with the ferocious cynicism of the confession that Lichtenbach, who, although he appeared to have no illusions left concerning his beautiful and dangerous partner, was placed for a moment out of countenance. He had very few scruples, this trafficker in all kinds of goods, who had commenced by despoiling his country in its hour of trial, and who continued speculating on social poverty and infamy. But now he found himself confronted by a creature more audacious and violent, if not more redoubtable, than himself, And heweighed in imagination the perils she might make him incur and the advantages she could bring him. This beautiful, intelligent, and unscrupulous woman was an admirable instrument. He knew what she was capable of, but he had no wish to run so great a risk as she ran without any need. The adventures which offered the Baroness Sophia her most certain means of existence were not open to him; other matters, those of a man on the eve of becoming a Deputy, perhaps a Minister, and those of this industrial cosmopolity, coining money with filth and blood. His coolness returned. He had said too much that was foolish at the beginning of the conversation. The time had come to mitigate the confidence of the beautiful Sophia, and to give her to understand that, between herself and himself, their existed a stout barrier of respectability and of millions of francs.
“On the whole, my dear Baroness,” he said, “there is some truth in what you have just said, though your manner of explaining yourself is rather exotic. Your pompous and declamatory cynicism is of the Orient. All you have declared a few moments ago may be summed up in a very few words; human inequality is unchangeable. There are fools and rogues. The first are exploited by the second, under the surveillance of the police and the control of the law. In your theory, you have not granted sufficient importance to police and law. I could not recommend you too strongly to pay more attention to them. They are one of the most important factors in the problem you are spending your life in solving. If you consider them as a neglectable quantity, one of these mornings you will receive a rude awakening.”
She smiled disdainfully—
“The small fish are caught in the meshes of the net, the large ones break through and escape. I am afraid of no thing or person except myself. I alone am capable ofdoing myself any harm. That, of course, I never think of doing.”
“Not just now. But you have gone through moments of anxiety. I heard that in London two years ago.”
A dark cloud came over Sophia’s brow. She suddenly flung her cigarette into the fire, and in changed accents, said—
“Yes, I have committed acts of folly, for I was in love. And a woman in love becomes as stupid as a man.”
“The object of your affections was an actor, I believe, the handsome Stevenson?”
“Yes, Richard Stevenson, the rival of Irving.”
“You were madly in love with him, but he played you false. Accordingly, one evening you found means to entice your rival on board a yacht you had hired, lying at anchor on the Thames. Since that time she was never heard of.”
“Ah! You are acquainted with that anecdote? Indeed you have been well informed. Do you also know that Stevenson, to whom in a fit of madness I had said that he would never see her again, beat me with his cane, and left me almost dead on the spot?”
“The stick presented to him by the Prince of Wales, doubtless. You must have felt highly flattered. It did not prevent you two days later from going to the Empire, and cheering your brutal persecutor.”
“Yes, I loved the wretch; but now, luckily, all that is over.”
Lichtenbach burst into a laugh.
“What have you done with the handsome Cesare Agostini?”
“Ah! He forms a mere pastime for me. I must interest myself in some one or other. That is no passion at all.”
“All the same, he costs you a great deal, I suppose?”
“Enormous sums! These Italians are terrible spendthrifts. This one knows one good way of making money, and ten better ways of spending it. In the first place, he is a gambler, and then, he cannot see a fine ring without buying it. But then, he has a few good qualities. He is no novice at either pistol or sword.”
“He is simply a bravo.”
“At your service, if there is any one you wish to be rid of.”
“Is he bold and intrepid?”
“Yes; but, above all, to be relied on. Try him, you will be well satisfied.”
Lichtenbach’s countenance grew dark, as it always did every time a subject was mentioned which did not please him, and he said in arrogant tones—
“Much obliged, but I do not deal in drama; comedy is sufficient for me.”
“Ah! You’re fond of a joke. You are still one of those good apostles who insinuate a crime, have it executed, and then exclaim in candid tones, ‘I have had nothing to do with it!’ Have you had nothing to do with this affair at Vanves, I should like to know?”
This time Elias became quite angry.
“Silence! What are you thinking of to cry out in such a loud voice? Are we the only ones in the house?”
She burst into a laugh.
“Well, well! You amuse me! For an hour you have been telling me my own history, without the slightest precaution, and when I make the slightest allusion to your’s you tremble with fear. You do not mind compromising me, but not yourself. Very kind of you.”
“My daughter is here, and I have no wish—”
“For her to know you under your real aspect. For you are a regular scoundrel, Lichtenbach, and of the very worstkind, one who wishes to keep up appearances, even with one’s accomplices. Do you think you can deceive me, eh? Your jesuitism has no affect on me; I am well acquainted with your lubricity. In the whole world there is no more villainous character than yourself, and yet you wish to be taken for a man of honour and virtue!”
Lichtenbach, pale with fear and anger, exclaimed—
“Baroness! Really, you wish to throw me into a passion.”
“Oh no, no! Now I will be very nice with you. Listen, my voice is a mere whisper. Lean over and listen. I need a hundred thousand francs to-night, to have Hans carried off to Geneva. He can bear the journey now. Cesare has gone to see him.”
“Do you think he will survive?” asked Lichtenbach.
“Yes. That vexes you? You would rather be well rid of him? Calm yourself, he would bite off his tongue rather than betray a companion. Besides, what does he know? That your interests were the same as ours, and that, had he found the formula for the explosive for commerce, you would have paid as much for them as those for whom we are working would have paid for the war explosive. Thecoupmissed. Hans is maimed. But, thanks to me, you are free from all suspicion.”
Looking calmly at Elias, she said—
“A hundred thousand francs, on account.”
“On account?”
“Yes, on account. And do not waste any time. General de Trémont, whom you hated so strongly, has been killed for you. How much would you give for Baradier and Graff.”
“Nothing, nothing!” groaned Lichtenbach. “What crimes are these you are laying to my account? That I desired the death of General de Trémont and am anxiousto harm Baradier and Graff? You are wandering! It is sheer madness! Certainly they are my enemies, and have done me a great deal of harm. But, commit a crime on that account! Never, never! If they were to die, ah! I should consider it as a divine providence, but hasten their last moments by a single hour or minute, I, great God!”
“Of Abraham, of Jacob, and of Moses! Yes, my fine renegade! My good Lichtenbach!” said the Baroness, with a look of scorn. “Yes, you are quite ready to accept the favours of providence, incarnated under the features of the Baroness Grodsko, but you will not take the initiative yourself. Hypocrisy again! You ask for nothing, but you accept all! Well, your unuttered prayer shall be granted!”
“Baroness! In the name of God, do not compromise me. Do not proceed without instructions.”
“Ah, ah! How terrified you are. You remind me of old Trémont when I handled his chemical products after dessert. ‘Don’t touch that, it is deadly!’ he would say. Meanwhile, I tried to take in wax the impress of the lock of the iron casket, which Hans succeeded in opening, but which cost him his arm. And all for nothing. The box exploded, and destroyed the secret in the midst of the flames. But some one has this secret, and I must find it out. Whatever it cost I will obtain possession of it!”
“What have you been promised for it?”
She looked at him, with a laugh.
“You are very inquisitive! Don’t think I shall tell you, however. Professional pride apart—for, after all, one does not care to fail in a mission of this importance—the affair is worth all the trouble I am taking. Meanwhile, my hundred thousand francs!”
Lichtenbach opened a drawer, took out ten bundles of bank-notes, and held them out to the Baroness.
“Here they are.”
“Thanks. Now, Lichtenbach, what would you say if it were young Marcel Baradier who was the depository of old Trémont’s formulæ?”
Elias sat up with renewed interest.
“What! What makes you think—”
“Ah, ah! Cannibal, you have just smelt human flesh, and have become quite young again in consequence.”
“Baroness, you will kill me with anguish.”
“Ah! Yes, you look as though you would die, indeed! Hate, Lichtenbach, hate is a far stronger sentiment than love, is it not?”
He made no reply. The only thing that was now of importance to him was the supposition Sophia had just given utterance to. He saw nothing, except that the son of his deadly enemy might possibly be in possession of this secret they were so anxious to fathom. If only it were possible! Suppose chance were to give him the opportunity of crushing the very people he hated with all his soul, and, at the same time, depriving them of a fortune. He asked the Baroness in eager tones—
“What makes you think the General took Marcel Baradier into his confidence?”
“In the first place, they saw one another constantly; the young man was admitted into his laboratory, a most exceptional favour. I know well he worked there with Trémont, who had entire confidence in him. However mysterious a man may be, however close and sullen, a fatal hour is sure to come, when he is forced to unburden himself. The General would never have imparted his plans to a man, even to his best friend, for he was as cunning as a fox. But, after dinner, with a good cigar between his lips, he felt strongly impelled to dazzle me, and as he could not do this either by his youth or his beauty, he attempted towin me over by his genius. In this way, on different occasions, he let slip several small incidents, which, collected and coordinated by a good memory, form a certainty.”
“Then all is not lost?”
“Nothing is ever lost.”
“Then what are you going to do, Baroness?”
“You shall know when it is to my interest to tell you.”
“You have no confidence in me?”
“Under what pretext should I have confidence in you? I know you only too well. You will serve me until the time comes when you find it more to your advantage to throw me over.”
“I!”
“You, Elias Lichtenbach; but that is all the same to me—I hold you now.”
“Do you hope to succeed?”
“I always hope to succeed. Look at me now, please.”
She threw back her head with a movement of voluptuous grace, which seemed to intensify her beauty a hundred-fold. She smiled, and her eyes and lips assumed an expression of passionate ardour, which sent a thrill through the veins of Lichtenbach. Who could resist this creature’s imperious power? She well knew the extent of her charm. At a sign from her men became changed into slaves. She was the magician who loosened human passions and appetites, and led lost creatures to folly, shame, and crime.
“Yes; you will succeed in whatever you undertake,” murmured Lichtenbach, fascinated by her charm.
“No exaggeration! I am not infallible, as you know, since Trémont escaped me. Still, I will do everything a human being can do to succeed. Have confidence, and keep calm, that is all I ask.”
A rolling of wheels was heard under the carriage gate,and a trampling of horses’ hoofs announced the return of Mademoiselle Lichtenbach.
“It is my daughter returning,” said the banker.
“Then she is at home for the present?”
“She wished to assist at the funeral of the General de Trémont, whose daughter is a friend of hers.”
A smile flitted across the lips of the Baroness.
“Chance or precaution?”
“Chance,” said Lichtenbach, coldly. “They are both at the Sacre-Coeur. They found themselves thrown together, and a mutual attachment sprang up.”
“And now that you know of it, you encourage this intimacy?”
“I never oppose my daughter.”
“That is true; I forgot. You are a good father, Lichtenbach. It is the last concession you have made to humanity. And it is there that you are still vulnerable. Take care!”
“My daughter is an angel, who prays for me. I dread nothing. She has her mother’s goodness and grace.”
“And she imagines you to be a good and honourable father. Suppose the day were to come when her eyes were opened about yourself?”
Elias stood upright in threatening attitude.
“Who could do that?”
“One of your enemies; you do not lack them now. Perhaps a friend; the world is so wicked.”
“His boldness would cost him dear!” growled Lichtenbach.
The Baroness arose. She walked about the room for a few seconds, as though undecided to leave. Then she asked—
“Before I go, could I see your daughter?”
Lichtenbach looked steadily at her, then he replied rudely—
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it is useless.”
“Are you afraid that I shall corrupt her by speaking a few words to her?”
“Perhaps.”
“Bravo! Well, you are frank now, at any rate.”
Lichtenbach raised himself to his full height, and, repaying Sophia in a single moment for all the insolent expressions she had been so prodigal with the last hour, said—
“Mademoiselle Lichtenbach can have nothing in common with the Baroness Grodsko.”
Sophia gave a gesture of indifference.
“Very well. As you please.Au revoir, Lichtenbach.”
She was going in the direction of the hall when he stopped her.
“Not that way.”
Opening a door, concealed behind some folds of tapestry, he said—
“Go down this staircase, you will meet no one.”
“There is no trap-dungeon at the bottom?” she asked, laughingly.
“No; there is only the concierge’s room.”
“Adieu. No ill will?”
“I should think not; you ought to be well satisfied. You carry away with you indulgences to the extent of a hundred thousand francs.Au revoir.”
She disappeared. He returned to his desk in dreamy mood. This woman, so dangerous and depraved, always disturbed him, though he knew her well.
A knock at the door threw him from his reverie. Rising to open it, an expression of pleasure came into his face. It was his daughter, who had come to see him.
“Am I not disturbing you?” she asked, with a shade of uneasiness in her voice.
“No, my darling, you never disturb me. Have you had a pleasant visit?”
“Very pleasant. They were all very kind to me.”
Lichtenbach said nothing; his eyes fell on the ground. He did not wish his daughter to catch their expression.
“Madeline is very fortunate to find such devoted friends in her trouble. Madame Baradier is an excellent lady. She is going to keep the poor girl with them. Although I am very sorry she is leaving the convent, since we shall be separated in future, I am very glad to know that she has found such good friends. It will be like a renewal of life for her.”
“You are so sympathetic, my little Marianne.”
“The blow which has struck Madeline is so terrible. Can anything more terrible happen to a child than to lose its parents? And when one has no longer one’s mother, as was the case with both of us.”
The young girl’s voice shook, tears stood in her eyes. Lichtenbach turned pale, but kept his eyes still fixed on the ground.
“It was this similarity of situation which, from the very first day, drew us together. Our common sorrow has been the source of our affection. It seemed to us that, as we were less loved than the rest we ought to be all the dearer to one another. She had for her father the same affection I have for you. It seems he was a greatsavant. Did you know him?”
He was obliged to reply. In tremulous tones he said—“No; I have only heard mention of him.”
“He was a very close friend of M. Baradier, and the godfather of his son Marcel. They all bewail his loss.”
Lichtenbach raised his eyes from the ground; he looked at his daughter with keen look—
“Who has told you all this?”
“Madame Baradier and Madeline.”
“You have spoken to Mademoiselle Baradier?”
“Yes; and to her mother as well.”
“And the son also, perhaps?”
The sudden harshness of tone in Lichtenbach’s questions troubled Marianne. She stopped astonished—
“But, papa, I assure you, everybody was exceedingly kind to me. M. Marcel Baradier accompanied me right to the carriage. Was it not quite natural?”
“Yes, yes, perfectly natural. Repeat to me all they said to you. Did they make no mention of me?”
“Not once. Your name was not even pronounced. I was surprised at that, for the Baradier family must know you. You formerly lived in the same town.”
“Yes, we lived in the same town, and left it together. But we did not travel the same road. For, I ought to tell you, there was no friendship between us. My father and the Graffs had been hostile to one another. Graff is Baradier’s brother-in-law.”
“But all this happened so long ago that it is doubtless forgotten.”
“No, my dear girl,” said Elias, solemnly. “Nothing is forgotten.”
“So you are not well disposed towards Madeline’s friends?”
“Had I been ill disposed, should I have permitted you to call on them?”
“Then it is they who wish you ill? That must be unjust on their part, for you are so good and kind. There must be some misunderstanding, and you do not know one another sufficiently.”
“It is not so, my child. We have long known one another very well, and have always been opposed to oneanother. You are grown up now, and in a position to learn what life has in store for you. Very well! From the Baradiers and Graffs you have nothing favourable to expect. Every time you have dealings with them be on your guard. I had made up my mind to enlighten you some day on the situation this inveterate hostility has created between us. To-day is as good a time as any. I permitted you to enter the house which has received Mademoiselle de Trémont that you might not be in a position to accuse me of having concealed from you the least fraction of truth. Now you have seen the Baradiers, and you are convinced that I can treat with them on equal terms. Your grandfather Lichtenbach suffered a great deal at their hands in days gone by. He was an honest man, who commenced life in a very humble way. They humiliated and tortured him. When I was a poor little trader they spread abroad all kinds of calumny and slander about me. But I repaid them for all their insolence to old Lichtenbach. All this happened before we had left Lorraine—long before you were born. Still, this kind of hatred leaves an almost indestructible ferment in the heart. Whatever goes back to days of childhood and youth remains graven more firmly in the memory than things that happen in mature life. The Baradiers and Graffs came to Paris, so did I at a later date. We have been separated by life more completely than by immense distances, for in this great city, from street to street, quarter to quarter, one is more separated than from province to province. And yet, we have never forgotten the past. The Baradiers and Graffs are the inveterate enemies of the Lichtenbachs. Keep that well in your mind, my child, and let it be the rule of your conduct under every circumstance in life.”
Marianne looked at her father uneasily.
“Then you wish me to espouse your quarrel?”
“God forbid! I love you too well to endanger yourpeace of mind, and I will do all I can to protect you from anything which might cause you pain and suffering. I have opened your eyes, for you must know how to discern, at a given moment, the causes of certain events, and the bearing of certain expressions. Leave to me the responsibility of assuring your security and happiness.”
“Can I go and see Madeline again?”
“Why should you? If you do not call on her what will prevent her coming to see you?”
“I shall be at the convent.”
“Not for ever.”
The young girl gave her father a beseeching look as she said—
“Ah! If you would only let me stay with you, how pleased I should be.”
Lichtenbach’s face lit up with an expression of joy and gladness.
“What would you do here?” he asked good humouredly.
“I would keep the house for you. There is great need of it, though I do not wish to criticize. A woman would not leave this fine mansion in so gloomy and so dismal-looking a condition. So little would be needed to arrange the rooms so as to make them comfortable and agreeable. Besides, you could devote yourself entirely to your own work, and you would see how much better everything would go. It is not a man’srôleto give orders to servants. Would you not like to have some one about you who would ever be affectionately on the watch to attend to your every need and comfort? I am eighteen years old now; they no longer know what to teach me at the convent. Very soon it will be I who will be giving lessons to the pupils. Have I been born into the world to be a teacher at the Sacre-Cœur? You have a daughter; she does not belong to others, she is your own. Why don’t you keep her to yourself?”
As she spoke she flung her arms round him and pressed him to her breast, so that the paternal instinct of Elias warmed gently under the influence of her fond caresses. This man, harsh-natured and ferocious as he was, became filled with generous and tender sentiments as his child looked down upon him. A sigh escaped his lips.
“If I were to listen to you, should I not be doing something very imprudent? One should be alone and untrammelled if he wishes to remain strong and safe.”
“But what are you afraid of? To listen to you one would imagine you were in a state of war with enemies lying in ambush for you. Is life so full of dangers? Is there no protection in this world from one’s foes?”
Elias smiled.
“Simple upright minds never see anything threatening to be afraid of. They are blind. But sagacious observers look at everything with anxious, uneasy eyes, and see danger all around. Look at the sea; at the first glance all you can distinguish will be an immense sheet of water, azure-blue, the mirror of the sky, furrowed all over by vessels, and troubled by the winds. Then lean over, and try to pierce the ocean’s deep bed, and you will see frightful reefs, whose existence you never suspected, and terrible monsters ever on the watch.Débrisand wrecks, the lamentable remains of ships and seamen, will prove to you that danger is ever present, that catastrophes are everyday events, and to avoid them, unceasing attention and prudence are needed. It is the same with society, which you believe trustworthy, and with life, which you judge so easy. The surface is smooth and attractive, but beneath everything is monstrous and terrifying. Still, I am here to watch over you, do not be uneasy. By my side you will be sheltered from danger, and as you wish to stay at home, my dear child, you shall do so. Your presence will be a consolation and a joy to me in the decline of life.”
Holding out his arms, she threw herself on his breast with a cry of gratitude. Lichtenbach, rather ashamed at having given way to such tender emotions, said briefly—
“Well, that is settled. I will send to the convent for your wardrobe and all your belongings, and you shall settle down here at once.”
“Oh, my dear father, it would scarcely be worth while to take back the few garments I have; they may be disposed of in charity. There are only a few personal souvenirs I should like to keep. You will give me some money, will you not, as a present for these excellent nuns who have taken such good care of me?”
“But you are rich, my darling,” said Elias, with a smile. “You have your mother’s fortune, which has been accumulating interest. Besides, I must give up my accounts to you.”
Marianne went up to her father, and, kissing him tenderly, said—
“This will serve as a receipt for everything!”
M.Mayeur, examining magistrate, was seated in his study, near the fireplace, whilst his clerk, in listless mood, was engaged in questioning one of the agents, charged with investigating the Vanves affair. M. Mayeur was terribly bored; he was accustomed to carry through sensational affairs, without giving himself much trouble. The results were obtained with regularity, and as though by enchantment. Chance seemed to favour him, and he was reputed to be the luckiest judge on the bench. He had become accustomed to his good fortune, so, when the Vanves affair had been placed in his hands, he gave a smile of satisfaction and confidence, whilst his clerk, rubbing together his hands, with a look of pity for the culprits, said—
“We shall not need to spend much time over this matter!”
And yet matters were dragging along slowly. For a whole week, M. Mayeur had multiplied his investigations, sent out detective after detective, summoned witnesses, and fulfilled judicial commissions. Nothing came of it all. As he expressed it, he was moving about in a thick fog, from which he could not escape. Every evening the Government agent sent for him, and asked in satirical accents—
“Well, Mayeur, where are we now?”
And the magistrate, accustomed as he was to success, found himself obliged to reply—
“Ah, sir, we are still on the look-out, but we have found nothing yet.”
“Ah, ah! The deuce! A week already flown since the crime was committed. Your chances are diminishing. In proportion as time passes, false tracks appear, and the scent becomes fainter. I expected a better result from you! As a rule, your inspiration is clearer.”
“But there is nothing whatever to take hold of—not the slightest clue in the cursed affair!”
“What! Nothing? You have the corpse of the victim, the house in ruins, and the arm of the assassin! What are you doing with this latter? It ought to reveal something.”
“For the present it is in the frigorific apparatus,” growled M. Mayeur. “But neither corpse, nor house, nor arm gives me the slightest results. An evil genius seems to have passed over everything, carrying with it death and mutilation, and leaving nothing behind. It is enough to drive one mad!”
“Gently, Mayeur, keep a cool head, whatever happens. Persevere. You have been spoiled by success, but do not be discouraged; at any moment light may flash on the whole affair, and clear up everything.”
What caused M. Mayeur the greatest chagrin was that he was perfectly aware of the secret pleasure his want of success gave all his colleagues. A magistrate who had failed in so important an investigation; how could he expect to be nominated to the Assize Court, contrary to all normal promotion, if he had no longer his invariable good luck as his supreme justification? And, seated in his study, with his back to the light, looking vacantly into the fire, whilst his clerk ran the risk of dislocating his jaw with too much gaping, M. Mayeur, to satisfy his conscience, in mournful accents, questioned one of his agents, who had returned after a fruitless search.
“So there was no trace of the wounded man having passed through the cottage gardens, nor on the road to Paris?”
“No, sir. I have visited all the inns frequented by the quarrymen and gardeners of the district. No one could give me any definite information. One would imagine the murderer had been annihilated by the explosion itself.”
“Nothing of the kind! He was tracked to within three hundred paces from the Trémont property, and there a trail of blood, quite visible, which he had left all the way, suddenly disappeared. Did he, at that spot, find his accomplices waiting for him? Was he carried off? How and where? Nothing but darkness and obscurity!”
“Those who committed the crime are not professional thieves, although the General has been robbed of objects of value he carried on his person. Accordingly, they will not be found so easily. That is where the whole difficulty comes in.”
The magistrate gave a gesture of discontent, as though to signify that he knew all that. Stroking his beard, he said, with a sigh—
“You may go now. Send me Baudoin, the General’s servant, whom I have sent for afresh.”
The agent bowed, and left the room. A moment after the door opened again, and the valet’s resolute, intelligent face appeared. He already sympathized with the clerk, who gave him a friendly nod. The magistrate said, in sulky tones—
“Take a seat, M. Baudoin. I have disturbed you once more, with the object of explaining certain details which I find incomprehensible.”
“Do not apologize, sir; it is no disturbance if it is for anything concerning the General. Ah! I should only be too happy if I could give you any efficient help in your task!”
How could this servant throw light on a mystery which he, Mayeur, could not succeed in unravelling? Well, it could not be helped. The clerk seemed overjoyed at his master’s humiliation. He had been worrying him long enough with his lack of capacity. A striking failure would make him less self-confident, and he would be a little more indulgent towards his subordinate, whom he always appeared to look upon as an imbecile. Fume away, my good master! That will not help you much. And the clerk gave another mighty yawn.
“This woman you saw leave the carriage at the door of the house—was she tall or short?”
“Rather tall. But as she was wrapped in a large mantle I could not say precisely. By the way in which she descended from the carriage, I should imagine she was rather slender in build.”
“And her companion?”
“Oh! her companion; I saw him distinctly. He was a strong man, with a thick beard, light-complexioned, and brutal in appearance. He wore a grey felt hat and a dark suit. His accent was foreign, and—”
“Do you think it is the man your master called Hans?” asked the magistrate.
“It could be no one else. The General received no one, except his friends, Messieurs Baradier and Graff. The people who came on different occasions at night to the villa must have been regular villains for him not to permit me to stay with him.”
“What do you consider the reason of this precaution on the part of M. de Trémont?”
“The fact that he would see me trying to fathom the plots of this lady and her acolyte.”
“Then, in your opinion, it is a feminine intrigue which is at the root of the matter?”
“Apparently, yes.”
“And in reality?”
“It was their object to steal from the General his formulæ for the manufacture of his new powders.”
“Then the woman was only an intermediary?”
“An intermediary, no. They well knew the General would never consent to a bargain. A bait, yes. I did not see the woman, but every time she came she left the General’s study impregnated with a peculiar perfume of a very captivating odour. Oh! I should recognize it amongst a hundred! The woman’s voice, too, was caressing and seductive. Ah! my poor master! She knew what power she had over him. That woman was capable of anything—of driving mad a brave warm-hearted man like my master, of pouring over him the poison of her looks and smiles, and having him cruelly killed for some cause I know nothing of. As for the man Hans, he was only an agent—a well-informed man, for the General respected his opinions, and could speak with him of his discoveries, but not of the same social position as his accomplice. He was an ordinary, even a rough individual. The woman’s prestige must have been demanded to have had him received by M. de Trémont, who was so aristocratic.”
“And you could never find out, by means of the cook, who remained in the house, what took place when you had left the house?”
“No, she was of a very dull intellect. Outside of her work, there was very little to be obtained from her. That is the reason M. de Trémont had no cause to mistrust her. All the same, she saw the woman on several occasions, and told me that she was a miracle of beauty—young, light-complexioned, with eyes that would have damned a saint. She spoke with the General in a foreign language. Now the General could only speak English and Italian.”
“Was your master rich?”
“No, sir, he had a very modest fortune—about twenty thousand francs income. But his discoveries were very valuable. And it was these the woman was aiming at. In all probability, whilst she was with the General, her accomplice was examining the papers and searching among the products.”
“You never found any paper dealing with the relations of the General with this woman?”
“Never.”
“What became of the telegrams the General received telling him of the arrival of his visitors?”
“The General burnt them himself. I saw him do it. Ah! Every precaution was taken by my brave master not to compromise the fair Baroness. God knows how he loved her! He trembled like a student at the idea of seeing her!”
“And yet he never gave up to her the secret of his discoveries?”
Baudoin’s face became serious.
“Ah! He was reserving his secret for France. I heard him say so more than once, after an experiment which satisfied him: ‘Baudoin, my good fellow, when our artillery has this powder, we shall no longer be afraid of any one.’ Certainly the General was passionately fond of this woman. But he loved his country far more, and between the two, he did not hesitate. Besides, that was certainly the cause of his death. They could not succeed in taking his secret by fair means, so they attempted to obtain possession of it by force.”
The clerk had ceased yawning; he was listening to Baudoin with sympathetic interest all the while he was writing his deposition. He wrote down the main outlines only, for it was the third time M. Mayeur was having thesame thing repeated to him, as though he hoped to discover among expressions already heard, some special signification which would permit him to unravel the truth. And it was always this love intrigue, cloaking the criminal attempt, the bearing of which he could not succeed in gauging. Was it a matter that concerned international politics or was it mere spying? Or simply a bold attempt to seize a commercial product of considerable value? Still, before whatever hypothesis he stopped, there was obscurity with regard to cause, ignorance concerning details, an impenetrable mystery which maddened him, and which seemed as though it would compromise his career. Flinging himself back in his chair, he said—
“Yes, the criminals have taken great precautions. The General is dead, the servant, too, is dead, and you had been sent away. The wounded man has disappeared, as though buried in the bowels of the earth. And the unknown woman is mocking at our researches.”
Baudoin shook his head.
“So long as attempts are made to find her, she will hide, and nothing will be discovered. If the matter concerned me, I know what I should do.”
M. Mayeur, in his distress, flashed at the valet a look of curiosity. When he, the examining magistrate, so famous for a resourceful imagination, no longer knew what expedient to try, a simple witness pretended to understand the position, and point out the means to be followed. He was on the point of crushing him with official disdain, by telling him to trouble with what concerned him, when he thought that, after all, advice was not to be neglected, and he might despise it afterwards, if necessary. He accordingly asked, in mocking tones, to safeguard his dignity—
“Then, what would you do, M. Baudoin?”
“Please pardon me, sir, if what I say is foolish, but ifthe affair were in my hand, instead of sending out in every direction, seeking information everywhere, I would not stir a step. I should let it be known that I had given up the pursuit, and was engaged in something else. You must know what takes place in a barn, where there are mice. There is a general rush to the holes as soon as the sound of entering feet are heard. If you remain quiet, after a few moments the mice are seen to be risking out again, and playing about the floor as before. Well, I believe it would be the same in the present case. I beg pardon, if I interfere in the matter, but I, too, am bent on finding the rascals who killed my master, and if I can contribute towards their capture it will be the brightest day of my life.”
M. Mayeur no longer cast a disdainful glance at the General’s valet. He smiled at him in most amiable mood. For, in a flash he had furnished him with the means of taking advantage of the difficulty in this cursed affair. When the Government agent should say to him, that very evening—“Well, my dear Mayeur, where have you got to now? Nothing yet?” instead of replying in a tone of vexation, “Nothing at all,” thus confessing his inability to discover, and even the absence of grounds on which to found his researches, he would be able to reply: “This matter has been badly begun, I undertake to recommence everythingab ovo. We have to deal with rogues who are exceedingly cunning. I intend to change my plans entirely.” This time he would no longer appear incapable, as though he were entrusted with a task too difficult for his capacity. He would secure an honourable retreat, and gain time as well.
Resuming his stiff and formal gravity, he said—
“There will be plenty of time to act as you suggest. But I have still at my disposal many other means of throwing light on the subject.”