by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER III
At ten o'clock the next morning the old gentleman paid a visit to hislittle guest. This time the child was really asleep, and opened her eyesonly when the curtains were drawn back and the light from the windowfell on her face.
"How kind of you to waken me, monsieur!" she said, smiling; she was in agood humor, as children are who have slept well. "I have sleptsplendidly. This bed is as good as my own at home. And how delightfulnot to hear my governess scolding! You never scold, do you, monsieur? Ideserve to be scolded, though, for I was very naughty last night, andyou were so kind to me--gave me such nice egg-punch; see, there is aglass of it left over; it will do for my breakfast. I love cold punch,so you need not trouble to bring me any chocolate." With these words,the little maid sprang nimbly from the bed, ran with the naivete of aneight-year-old child to the table, where she settled herself in thecorner of the sofa, drew her bare feet up under her, and proceeded tobreakfast on the left-over punch and biscuits.
"There! that was a good breakfast," she said, after she had finished hermeal. "Oh, I almost forgot. Has mama sent for me?"
"Certainly not, my dear! We are going, by and by, to look for her. Thecountess very likely has not yet learned of your disappearance; and ifshe does know that you did not return home last night, she believes yousafe with the marquis. She will think you were not allowed to returnhome in the storm, and will not expect to see you before noon."
"You are very clever, monsieur. I should never have thought of that! Iimagined that mama would be vexed, and when mama is cross she is _so_disagreeable. At other times, though, she is perfectly lovely! You willsee how very beautiful she is, monsieur, for you are coming home with meto tell her how you found me--you are so very kind! How I wish you weremy papa!"
The old gentleman was touched by the little one's artless prattle.
"Well, my dear little maid," he said tenderly, "we can't think ofshowing ourselves on the street in such a costume. Besides, it wouldfrighten your mama to see you so. I am going out to one of the shops tobuy you a frock. Tell me, what sort was it Diana took from you?"
"A lovely pink silk, trimmed with lace, with short sleeves," promptlyreplied the little maid.
"I shall not forget--a pink silk, trimmed with lace. You need not beafraid to stay alone here. No one will come while I am away."
"Oh, I am not the least bit afraid. I like to be alone sometimes."
"There is the doll to keep you company," suggested the old gentleman,more and more pleased with his affable little visitor.
"Is n't she lovely!" enthusiastically exclaimed the child. "She sleptwith me last night, and every time I woke up I kissed her."
"You shall have her for your own, if you like her so much, my dear."
"Oh, thank you! Did the doll belong to your dear little daughter who isdead?"
"Yes--yes," sorrowfully murmured the old gentleman.
"Then I will not play with her, but keep her locked in my littlecupboard, and call her Philine. That was the name of my little sisterwho is dead. Come here, Philine, and sit by me."
"Perhaps you might like to look at a book while I am away--"
"A book!" interrupted the child, with a merry laugh, clapping her hands."Why, I am just learning the alphabet, and can't bring myself to call atwo-pronged fork 'y.'"
"You dear little innocent rogue!" tenderly ejaculated the old gentleman."Are you fond of flowers?"
He brought from the adjoining room a porcelain flowerpot containing anarcissus in bloom.
"Oh, what a charming flower!" cried the child, admiringly. "How I wish Imight pluck just one!"
"Help yourself, my dear," returned her host, pushing the plant towardher.
The child daintily broke off one of the snowy blossoms, and, withchildlike coquetry, fastened it in the trimming of her chemise.
"What is this beautiful flower called, monsieur?"
"The narcissus."
At mention of the name the little maid suddenly clapped her hands andcried joyfully:
"Why, that is the name of our palace! Now don't you know where it is?"
"The 'Palace of Narcissus'? I have heard of it."
"Then you will have no trouble finding my home. Oh, you dear good littleflower!" and she kissed the snowy blossom rapturously.
The old gentleman surveyed her smilingly for a few moments, then said:
"I will go now, and buy the frock."
"And while you are away I shall tell Philine the story of Gargantua,"responded the child.
"Lock the door after me, my dear, and do not open it until I mention myname: Alfred Cambray--"
"Oh, I should forget the second one! Just say, 'Papa Alfred'; I canremember that."
When the child was certain that the old gentleman had left the house,she began hastily to search the room. She peered into every corner andcrevice. Then she went into the adjoining chamber, and opened everydrawer and cupboard. In returning to the first room she saw some scrapsof paper scattered about the floor. She collected them carefully, placedthem on the table, and dexterously fitted the pieces together until theentire note-sheet lay before her. It was covered with writing which hadevidently been traced by a hurried hand, yet the child seemed to have nodifficulty in reading it.
When she heard the old gentleman's footstep on the staircase, shebrushed the scraps of paper from the table, and hastened to open thedoor before the signal was given; and when he exhibited his purchase shedanced for joy.
"It is just like my ball-gown--exactly like it!" she exclaimed, kissingthe hands of her benefactor. Then the old gentleman clothed the child asskilfully as if he were accustomed to such work. When the task wasfinished he looked about him, and saw the scraps of paper on the floor;he swept them together, and threw them into the fire.
Then, with the hand of his little companion clasped in his own, hedescended to the street in quest of a cab to take them to the Palace ofNarcissus.
The Palace of Narcissus had originally been the property of thecelebrated danseuse, Mlle. Guimard, for whom it had been built by theDuke de Soubise. Like so many other fine houses, it had been confiscatedby the Revolution and sold at auction--or, rather, had been disposed ofby lottery, a lady who had paid one hundred and twenty francs for herticket winning it.
The winner of the palace sold it to M. Perigaud, a banker and shrewdspeculator, who divided the large dwelling into suites of apartments,which became the favorite lodgings of the young men of fashion. Theseyoung men were called the "narcissi," and later, the "incroyables" and"_petits creves_." The building, however, retained the name of thePalace of Narcissus.
When the fiacre stopped at the door of the palace which led to hermama's apartment, the little countess alighted with her escort, and saidto the coachman:
"You need not wait; the marquis will return home in my mama's carriage."
M. Cambray was obliged to submit to be called the "marquis." Theharmless fib was due to the rank of the little countess; she could nothave driven through the streets of Paris in the same fiacre with a_pekin_!
"We will not go up the main staircase," said the child, taking hercompanion's arm and leading him into the palace. "I don't want to meetany of the servants. We will go directly to mama's boudoir, and take herby surprise."
The countess mother, however, was not in her boudoir; only a screamingcockatoo, and a capuchin monkey that grimaced a welcome. Through thefolding-doors which opened into an adjoining room came the melancholytones of a harmonium; and M. Cambray recognized a favoriteair--Beethoven's symphony, "_Les adieux, l'absence, et le retour_." Hepaused a moment to listen to it.
"That is mama playing," whispered the child. "You go in first, and tellher you have brought me home. Be very careful; mama is very nervous." M.Cambray softly opened the door, and halted, amazed, on the threshold.
The room into which he had ventured unannounced was a magnificent salon,filled with a brilliant company. Evidently the countess was holding amatinee.
The assembled company were in full toilet
. The women, who were chieflyyoung and handsome, were clad in the modest fashion of that day, whichdraped the shoulders and bust with embroidered kerchiefs, with pricelesslace adorning their gowns and genuine pearls twined among their tresses.The men also wore full dress: Hungarian trousers, short-waisted coat,with large, bright metal buttons, opening over an embroidered waistcoat.
Surrounded by her guests, the mistress of the house, an ideal of beauty,Cythera herself, was seated at the harpsichord, her neck and shouldershidden by her wonderfully beautiful golden hair. When M. Cambray, in hisplain brown coat buttoned to the chin, with black gloves and dullbuckle-shoes, appeared in the doorway of the boudoir, which was not opento all the world, every eye was turned in surprise toward him.
The lady at the harpsichord rose, surveyed the intruder with a haughtystare, and was about to speak when a lackey in silver-embroidered liverycame hastily toward her and said something in a low tone.
"What?" she ejaculated, with sudden terror. "My daughter lost?"
The guests crowded around her, and a scene of great excitement followed.
Here M. Cambray came forward and said:
"I have found your daughter, countess, and return her to you."
The lovely woman made one step toward the child, who had followed M.Cambray into the room, then sank to the floor unconscious. She wastenderly lifted and borne into the boudoir. Two physicians, who were ofthe company, followed.
When the door closed behind them, the entire company remaining in thesalon gathered about M. Cambray. The ladies seized his hands; and whilea blonde houri on his right sought to attract his attention, a brunettebeauty claimed it on his left--both women ignoring the attempts of themen to shake hands with the hero of the hour.
One of the men, an elderly and distinguished-looking personage with acommanding mien, now pressed forward to introduce himself. "Monsieur, Iam the Marquis Lyonel de Fervlans," he repeated in a patronizing tone.
"I am Alfred Cambray," was the simple response.
"Ah? Pray, have the kindness to tell us--the friends of thecountess--what has happened?"
M. Cambray related how and where he had found the lost child, thecompany listening with eager attention. All were deeply affected. Someof the women wept. When M. Cambray concluded his recital, the marquisgrasped both his hands, and, pressing them warmly, said in a tremblingvoice:
"Thanks, many thanks, you brave, good man! We will never forget yourkindness."
One of the physicians now came from the boudoir, and announced that thecountess was better, and desired to speak to the deliverer of her child.
The countess was reclining on an ottoman, half buried in luxuriouscushions. Her little daughter was kneeling by her side, her head restingon her mother's knee. It was a charming tableau.
"I am not able to express my gratitude, monsieur," began the countess,in a faint voice, extending both hands toward M. Cambray. "I hope youwill allow me to call you my friend. I shall never cease to thank you!Amelie, my love, kiss this hand; look at this face; impress it on yourheart, and never, _never_ forget it, for this brave gentleman rescuedyou from a most horrible fate."
M. Cambray listened to these profuse expressions of gratitude, but withheedless ear. His thoughts were with the fugitives. He longed to know ifthey had escaped pursuit. While the countess was speaking he could nothelp but think that a great ado was being made because a little countesshad been abandoned half clad in the public street. _He_ knew of anotherlittle maid who had been treated with far greater cruelty.
His reply was brief:
"Your little daughter is very charming."
The mother sat upright with sudden decision, and unfastened the ivorylocket from the black ribbon around her neck. It contained a portrait ofthe little countess Amelie.
"If the memory of the little foundling you rescued is dear to you,monsieur, then accept this from me, and think sometimes of yourprotegee."
It was a noble gift indeed! The lovely countess had given him her mostvalued ornament.
M. Cambray expressed his thanks, pressed his lips to the countess'shand, and kissed the little Amelie, who smilingly lifted her face forthe caress. Then he bowed courteously, and returned to the salon. He wasmet at the door by the Marquis de Fervlans, who exclaimed reproachfully:
"What, you are going to desert us already? Then, if you will go, youmust allow me to offer you my carriage." He gave his arm to the oldgentleman, and conducted him to the vestibule, where, among a number ofliveried servants, stood a trim hussar in Swiss uniform.
The marquis ordered the hussar to fetch his carriage, and, when it drewup before the door, himself assisted M. Cambray to enter it. Then heshook hands cordially with the old gentleman, stepped back to thedoorway, and watched the carriage roll swiftly across the square.
* * * * *
When the servant Jocrisse had closed the boudoir door behind M. Cambray,the suffering countess sprang lightly from her couch, and pressed herhandkerchief to her lips to smother her laughter; the little Amelie,overwhelmed by merriment, buried her face in her mother's skirts; themaid giggled discreetly; while Jocrisse, clasping his rotund stomachwith both hands, bent his head toward his knees, and betrayed hissuppressed hilarity by his shaking shoulders. Even the more important ofthe two physicians pursed his lips into a smile, and proffered hissnuff-box to his colleague, who, smothering with laughter, whispered:
"Are we not capital actors?"
* * * * *
Meanwhile M. Cambray drove rapidly in the Marquis de Fervlans's carriagethrough the streets of Paris. He was buried in thought. He glanced onlynow and then from the window. He was not altogether satisfied withhimself that he was riding in a carriage which belonged to so importanta person--a gentleman whose name he had never heard until that day.
Suddenly he was surprised to find the carriage entering a gateway. Acarriage could not enter the gate at his lodgings! The Swiss hussarsprang from the box, opened the carriage door, and M. Cambray foundhimself confronted by a sergeant with a drawn sword.
"This is not my residence," said the old gentleman.
"Certainly not," replied the sergeant. "This is the Prison of St.Pelagie."
"What have I to do here? My name is Alfred Cambray."
"You are the very one we have been expecting."
And now it was M. Cambray's turn to laugh merrily.
When M. Cambray's pockets had been searched, and everything suspiciousconfiscated, he was conducted to a room in the second story, in which hewas securely locked. He had plenty of time to look about his newlodgings.
Apparently the room had been occupied by many an important personage.The walls were covered with names. Above some of them impromptu verseshad been scribbled; others had perpetuated their profiles; and stillothers had drawn caricatures of those who had been the means of lodgingthem here. The guillotine also figured among the illustrations.
The new lodger was not specially surprised to find himself a prisoner;what he could not understand was the connection between the two events.How came it about that the courteous and sympathetic Marquis deFervlans's carriage had brought him here from the palace of the deeplygrateful countess?
He was puzzling his brain over this question when his door suddenlyopened, and a morose old jailer entered with some soup and bread for theprisoner.
"Thanks, I have dined," said M. Cambray.
The jailer placed the food on the table, with the words: "I want you tounderstand, citizen, that if you have any idea of starving yourself todeath, we shall pour the soup down your throat."
Toward evening another visitor appeared. The door was opened with loudclanking of chains and bolts, and a tall man crossed the threshold. Itwas the Marquis de Fervlans.
His manner now was not so condescending and sympathetic. He approachedthe prisoner, and said in a commanding tone that was evidently intendedto be intimidating:
"You have been betrayed, and may as well confess everything; it is theonly
thing that will save you."
A scornful smile crossed the prisoner's lips. "That is the usual form ofaddress to a criminal who has been arrested for burglary."
The marquis laughed.
"I see, M. Cambray, that you are not the sort of person to be easilyfrightened. It is useless to adopt the usual prison methods with you.Very well; then we will try a different one. It may be that we shallpart quite good friends! What do I say? Part? Say, rather, that we maycontinue together, hand in hand! But to the point. You have a friend whoshared the same apartment with you. This gentleman deserted you lastnight, I believe?"
"The ingrate!" ironically ejaculated M. Cambray.
"Beg pardon, but there was also a little girl secreted in yourapartment, whom no one ever saw--"
"Pardon me, monsieur," interrupted Cambray, "but it is not the customfor French gentlemen to spy out or chatter about secrets which relate tothe fair sex."
"I am not talking about the sort of female you refer to, monsieur, butabout a child--a girl of perhaps twelve years."
"How, pray, can one determine the age of a lady whom no one has seen?"
"Certain telltale circumstances give one a clue," retorted De Fervlans."Why, for instance, do you keep a doll in your rooms?"
"A doll? I play with it myself sometimes! I am a queer old fellow withpeculiar tastes."
"Very good; we will allow that you are telling the truth. What have youto say to the fact that you took to your apartment yesterday evening astray child, and an hour later your friend came out of the house withanother child, wrapped in the shawl which had enveloped the lost childwhen you found her--"
"Have they been overtaken?" hastily interrupted Cambray, forgettinghimself.
"No, they have not--more 's the pity!" returned the marquis. "Mydetective was not clever enough to perceive the difference between theeight-year-old girl who was carried to your apartments at ten o'clock,and the twelve-year-old little maid whom your friend brought downstairsat eleven, pretending that he was going in search of the lost child'smother. Besides, everything conspired to aid your friend to escape. Hewas too cunning for us, and got such a start of his pursuers that therewas no use trying to follow him. We do not even know in what directionhe has gone."
Cambray repressed the sigh of relief which would have lightened hisheart, and forced himself to say indifferently:
"Neither the young man nor the child concern me. It is his own familyaffair, in which I never meddled."
"That is a move I cannot allow, M. Cambray!" sharply responded themarquis. "There are proofs that you are perfectly familiar with hisaffairs."
Again Cambray smiled scornfully.
"You have evidently searched my lodgings."
"We have done our duty, monsieur. We even tore up the floors, broke yourfurniture and ornaments,--for which we apologize,--and found nothingsuspicious. Notwithstanding this, however, we know very well that youreceived a letter yesterday warning you of approaching danger. We knowvery well that you and your friend traced out the route of his flight;we have a witness who listened to your plans, and who fitted togetherthe scraps of the torn letter of warning, and read it."
"And who may this witness be?" queried Cambray.
"The child you picked up in the street."
"What!" ejaculated Cambray, incredulously. "The little girl who satshivering in the snow?"
"Yes; she is our most skilful detective, and has entrapped more than oneconspirator," triumphantly interrupted De Fervlans.
"Then"--and M. Cambray brought his hands together in a vehementgesture--"what I have believed a myth is really true. The policeauthorities really employ a number of beautiful women, handsome youngmen, and clever children to spy out and entrap suspected persons?'Cythera's Brigade' really exists?"
"You had the pleasure of meeting that celebrated brigade this morning,"replied De Fervlans.
"And those grateful men and women, who gathered about me with tearfuleyes and sympathetic words--"
"Were members of Cythera's Brigade," supplemented the marquis.
"And the mistress of the house--the beautiful woman who fainted at sightof her child?"
"Is the fair Cythera's substitute! She taught her little daughter thepart she played so successfully."
With sudden fury M. Cambray tore from his breast the ivory locketcontaining the little Amelie's portrait, and was about to fling it onthe floor and trample upon it. On second thought, he restrained himself,returned the locket to his breast, and muttered:
"The child is not to blame. Those who have made her such a monster areat fault. I will keep the miniature as a talisman for the future."
"And now, M. Cambray," pursued the marquis, "we want to learn what hasbecome of your young friend. In fact, we _must_ know what has become ofhim and his charge."
"I don't know where he is."
"You do know. According to the report from our witness, he has fled to a'country where order prevails, and where there are no police.' Where isthis country, M. Cambray?"
"In the moon, perhaps!" was the laconic response.
"Our witness heard these words from your own lips, and you pointed outthe spot on the map to your friend."
"Your witness dreamed all this!"
"M. Cambray, let us talk sensibly. You are a banker--at least, that iswhat you are registered in the police records. It is to the interest ofthe state to discover your secret. If you will reveal the hiding-placeof your friend you may demand your own reward. Do you wish to beintrusted with the management of the state's finances? Or--"
"I regret, monsieur le marquis," interrupted Cambray, "that I mustrefuse so handsome an opportunity to enrich myself. Although I am abanker, I am no swindler."
"Very good! Then you require no money. You are _not_ a banker, M.Cambray; that is merely a fable. What is your ambition? Should youprefer to be a governor? Name any office; let it be what it may, youshall receive the appointment to-morrow."
"Thank you again, monsieur. I must repeat what I said before: I knownothing about the future residence of the fugitive gentleman."
"And if I tell you, M. Cambray, that your refusal may cost you yourhead?"
"I should reply," returned Cambray, smiling calmly, as he took up thepiece of bread lying on the table, "that it is a matter of perfectindifference to me if this daily portion of bread is enjoyed by some oneelse to-morrow. That which I do not know I cannot tell you."
"Very well, then," in a harsh tone rejoined De Fervlans. "I will tellyou that Cambray the banker may say what is not true; but the noblemancannot lie. _Marquis d'Avoncourt_, do you know to what country yourfriend has flown?"
At this question the old gentleman rose from his chair, drew himself upproudly, and gazing defiantly into the eyes of his questioner, replied:
"I do."
Instantly De Fervlans's manner changed. He became the embodiment ofcourtesy. He bowed with extreme politeness, then, slipping his armfamiliarly through that of the prisoner, whispered insinuatingly:
"And what can we do to win this information from you?"
The gray-haired man released himself from De Fervlans's arm, andanswered with quiet irony:
"I will tell you what you can do: have my head cut off, and send it toM. Bichet, the celebrated professor of anatomy; perhaps he may be ableto discover the information in my skull--if it is there! And now I begyou to leave me; I wish to be alone."
De Fervlans took up his hat, but turned at the door to say, in a meaningtone:
"Marquis d'Avoncourt, we shall forget that you are a prisoner so long asit shall please you to remain obstinate. As for the fugitives, Cythera'sBrigade will capture them, sooner or later. _Au revoir_!"
That same night the old nobleman was removed to the prison at Ham.
