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The Mysteries of Paris V2

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"I can assure your lordship that I do not groan."

"This gallery will be destined for _fetes_; I wish it to be
built, as it were, by enchantment; now, enchantments being very dear,
you must sell fifteen or twenty thousand livres of stock, to be ready
to furnish the funds, for I wish the work commenced as soon as
possible." Joseph entered.

"Here is the address of the jeweler, my lord; his name is Baudoin."

"My dear M. Doublet, you will go, I beg you, to this jeweler, and tell
him to bring here, in an hour, a diamond necklace worth about two
thousand louis. Women can never have too many jewels, now that dresses
are trimmed with them. You will arrange with the jeweler for the
payment."

"Yes, my lord. It is on account of the surprise that I do not groan
this time. Diamonds are like buildings, the value remains; and,
besides, this surprise to the marchioness! It is as I had the honor to
say the other day--there is not in the world a happier man than your
lordship."

"Good M. Doublet!" said D'Harville, smiling; "his felicitations are
always so inconceivably _apropos_"

"It is their sole merit, my lord; and they have, perhaps, this merit
because they come from the bottom of the heart. I go to the jeweler,"
said Doublet, retiring.

As soon as he was gone, D'Harville paced the floor, his arms folded,
his eyes fixed and meditative.

Suddenly his countenance changed; it no longer expressed the content
of which the attendant and the old servant had just been the dupe, but
a calm, cold, and mournful resolution. After having walked some time,
he seated himself, as if overcome by the weight of his troubles, with
his face buried in his hands. Then he suddenly arose, wiped away a
tear which moistened his burning eyelid, and said, with an effort,
"Come, courage."

He wrote letters to several persons about insignificant objects, but
in the letters he appointed or put off different meetings several
days. This correspondence finished, Joseph came in; he was so gay that
he so far forgot himself as to sing in his turn.

"Joseph, you have a very fine voice," said his master smiling.

"So much the worse, my lord, for I never knew it; something sings so
loudly within that it must be heard without."

"You will put these letters in the post-office."

"Yes, my lord; but where will you receive these gentlemen?"

"Here in my cabinet; they will smoke after breakfast, and the odor of
the tobacco will not reach her lady-ship."

At this moment the noise of a carriage was heard in the courtyard.

"It is her ladyship going out; she ordered the horses this morning at
an early hour," said Joseph.

"Run and beg her to come here before she goes out."

"Yes, my lord."

Hardly had the domestic gone, than D'Harville approached a glass, and
examined himself minutely. "Well, well," said he in a gloomy tone;
"that's right--the cheeks flushed, the eye sparkling--joy or fear--no
matter--as long as they are deceived. Let us see now--a smile on the
lips. There are so many kinds of smiles. But who can distinguish the
false from the real? who can penetrate under this lying mask, to say,
this smile conceals a black despair? no one, happily, no one! Stay,
yes, love could never be mistaken; no, its instinct would enlighten
it. But I hear my wife--my wife! Come to your post, inauspicious
buffoon."

"Good-day, Albert," said Madame d'Harville, with a sweet smile, giving
him her hand. "But what is the matter, my friend? You appear so happy
and gay!"

"It is, that at the moment you came in, dear little sister, I was
thinking of you. Besides, I was under the influence of an excellent
resolution."

"That does not surprise me."

"What took place yesterday--your admirable generity, the noble conduct
of the prince--gave me much to think about, and I am a convert to your
ideas. You would not have excused me last night if I had too easily
renounced your love, I am sure, Clemence."

"What language, what a happy change!" cried Madame d'Harville. "Oh! I
was very sure that in addressing myself to your heart, to your reason,
you would comprehend me. Now I have no longer any doubt for the
future."

"Nor I, Clemence, I assure you. Yes, since the resolution I have taken
last night, the future, which seemed to me dark and gloomy, has become
singularly cleared up--simplified."

"Nothing is more natural, my friend; now we move toward one object,
leaning fraternally on each other: at the end of our career we will
find ourselves as we are to-day. In fine, I desire that you shall be
happy, and this shall be so, for I have placed it there," said
Clemence, putting her finger on his forehead, ere she resumed, with a
charming expression, lowering her hand to his heart: "No, I am
mistaken; it is here that this good thought will incessantly watch for
you, and for me also; and you shall see what is the obstinacy of a
devoted heart."

"Dear Clemence," answered D'Harville, with constrained emotion; then,
after a pause, he added gayly, "I begged you to come here before your
departure to inform you that I could not take tea with you this
morning. I have a number of persons to breakfast with me; it is a kind
of impromptu assemblage to congratulate M. de Lucenay on the happy
issue of his duel."

"What a coincidence! M. de Lucenay comes to breakfast with you, while
I go, perhaps very indiscreetly, to invite myself to do the same with
Madame de Lucenay; for I have much to say to her about my unknown
_protegees_. From there I intend to go to the prison of Saint
Lazare, with Madame de Blinval, for you do not know all my ambition;
at this moment I am intriguing to be admitted into the Discharged
Prisoners' Aid Society."

"Truly, you are insatiable," said the marquis; "thus," added he,
restraining with great difficulty his emotion, "thus I shall see you
no more--to-day!" he hastened to add.

"Are you vexed that I go out this morning so early?" asked Madame
d'Harville, quickly, astonished at the tone of his voice. "If you ask
it, I will put off my visit to Madame de Lucenay."

The marquis was on the point of betraying himself; but said, in the
most affectionate manner, "Yes, my dear, I am as much vexed to see you
go out as I shall be impatient to see you return; these are defects I
shall never correct myself of."

"And you will do well, dear; for I should be very angry."

A bell announcing a visit resounded throughout the hotel.

"Here are, doubtless, some of your guests," said Madame d'Harville; "I
leave you--by the way, what are you going to do to-night? If you have
not disposed of your evening, I wish you would accompany me to the
opera; perhaps, now, music will please you more!"

"I place myself under your orders with the greatest pleasure."

"Are you going out soon? Shall I see you again before dinner?"

"I am not going out. You will find me here."

"Then, when I return, I will come and see if your bachelor breakfast
has been amusing."

"Adieu, Clemence."

"By, 'by! I leave you the field clear; I wish you much pleasure. Be
very gay!" And after having cordially pressed the hand of her husband,
Clemence went out by one door a moment before M. de Lucenay entered by
another.

"She wishes me much amusement--she tells me to be gay--she went away
tranquilly--smiling! this does honor to my dissimulation. By Jove! I
did not think myself so good an actor. But here is Lucenay."

The Duke de Lucenay entered the room; his wound had been so slight
that he did not carry his arm in a sling. He was one of those men
whose countenances are always cheerful and contemptuous, movements
always restless, and mania to make a bustle insurmountable. Yet,
notwithstanding his caprices, his pleasantries in very bad taste, and
his enormous nose, he was not a vulgar man, thanks to a kind of
natural dignity and courageous impertinence which never abandoned him.

"How indifferent you must suppose me to be as regards anything
concerning you, my dear Henry!" said D'Harville, extending his hand to
Lucenay; "but it was only this morning I heard of your disagreeable
adventure."

"Disagreeable! come now, marquis! I got the worth of my money, as they
say. I never laughed so much in my life! M. Robert appeared so
solemnly determined not to pass for having a cold. You don't know what
was the cause of the duel? The other night at the embassy, I asked
him, before your wife and the Countess M'Gregor, how he got on with
his cough; between us, he had not this inconvenience. But never mind.
You understand--to say that before handsome women is annoying."

"What folly! I recognize you there. But who is this M. Robert?"

"I' faith! I don't know anything about him; he is a gentleman whom I
met at the watering-places; he passed before us in the winter-garden
at the embassy; I called him to play off this joke; he answered the
second day after by giving me, very gallantly, a nice little thrust
with his sword. But don't let us talk of this nonsense. I come to beg
a cup of tea." Saying this, Lucenay threw himself at full length on
the sofa; after which, introducing the end of his cane between the
wall and the frame of a picture placed over his head, he commenced
moving it backward and forward.

"I expected you, my dear Henry, and I have arranged a little surprise
for you."

"Oh, what is it?" cried Lucenay, pushing the picture into a very
ticklish position.

"You'll end by pulling that picture on your head."

"That's true, by Jove! you have the eye of an eagle. But your
surprise, what is it?"

"I have sent for some friends to breakfast with us."

"Ah, good! marquis, bravo! bravissimo! archibravissimo!" screamed
Lucenay, striking heavy blows on the sofa cushions. "And whom shall we
have?"

"Saint Remy."

"No; he has been in the country for some days."

"What the devil can he manage to do in the country in winter! Are you
sure he is not in Paris?"

"Very sure; I wrote him to be my second; he was absent; I fell back on
Lord Douglas and Sezannes."

"That is fortunate; they breakfast with us."

"Bravo! bravo!" cried Lucenay, anew. Then he turned and twisted
himself on the sofa, accompanying his loud cries with a series of
somersaults that would have astonished a rope-dancer. The acrobatic
evolutions were interrupted by the arrival of Saint Remy.

"I have no need to ask if Lucenay is here," said the viscount, gayly.
"He can be heard below."

"How! is it you? beautiful sylvan! countryman! wolf's cub!" cried the
duke, much surprised; "I thought you were in the country."

"I came back, yesterday; I received the invitation just now, and here
I am, quite delighted at this surprise," and Saint Remy gave his hand
to Lucenay, and then to the marquis.

"I take this very kind in you, my dear Saint Remy. Is it not natural
that the friends of Lucenay should rejoice at the happy issue of this
duel, which, after all, might have had a very grievous result?"

"But," resumed the duke obstinately, "what have you been doing in the
country in midwinter, Saint Remy? that beats me."

"How curious he is!" said the viscount, addressing D'Harville. "I wish
to wean myself from Paris, since I must so soon quit it."

"Ah! yes, this beautiful whim to attach yourself to the legation of
France at Gerolstein. None of your nonsense and stuff about diplomacy;
you will never go there. My wife says so, and everybody repeats it."

"I assure you that Madame de Lucenay is mistaken, like every one
else."

"She told you before me that it was a folly!"

"I have committed so many in my lifetime!"

"Elegant and charming follies, very well, so as to ruin yourself, as
they say, by your Sardanapalus's magnificence--I admit that; but to go
and bury yourself in such a hole of a court as Gerolstein! Come, now,
this is folly, and you are too sensible to do a stupid thing."

"Take care, my dear Lucenay; in abusing this German court you will
have a quarrel with D'Harville, the intimate friend of the grand duke,
who, besides, received me most kindly the other night at the embassade
of----where I was presented to him."

"Really! my dear Henry," said D'Harville, "if you knew the grand duke
as I know him, you would comprehend that Saint Remy could have no
repugnance to go and pass some time at Gerolstein,"

"I believe you, marquis, although, your grand duke is said to be
proudly original; but that doesn't prevent that a beau like Saint
Remy, the finest flower among blossoms, cannot live, excepting at
Paris; his value is only known at Paris."

The other guests had just arrived, when Joseph entered, and said a few
words in a low tone to his master.

"Gentlemen, will you allow me," said the marquis; "it is the jeweler
who brings me some diamonds to choose for my wife--a surprise. You
know, Lucenay, you and I being husbands of the old schools."

"Oh! if you talk of a surprise," cried the duke, "my wife gave me one
yesterday; a famous one, I tell you."

"Some splendid present?"

"She asked me for a hundred thousand francs."

"And as you are a magnifico, you--"

"Lent them! they will be mortgaged on her Arnonville farm--short
accounts make long friends. But never mind; to lend in two hours one
hundred thousand francs to some one who wants them, is generous and
rare. Is it not, spendthrift? You who are an expert at loans," said
the Duke de Lucenay, laughing, without dreaming of the bearing of his
speech.

Notwithstanding his audacity, the viscount at first slightly blushed,
but he said with effrontery, "One hundred thousand francs! enormous.
How can a woman ever have need of such an amount. With men that's
another story."

"I don't know what she wanted with the money. It is all the same to
me. Some bills, probably some urgent creditors; that's her look-out.
And, besides, you well know, my dear Saint Remy, that in lending her
my money, it would have been in the worst taste in the world to ask
what she wanted it for."

"It is, however, a very excusable curiosity in those who lend, to wish
to know what the borrower wants to do with the money," said the
viscount, laughing.

"Saint Remy," said D'Harville, "you, who have such excellent taste,
must aid me in choosing the set I intend for my wife; your approbation
will sanction my choice--be it law."

The jeweler entered, carrying several caskets in a large leather bag.

"Ah! here is M. Baudoin!" said Lucenay.

"At your grace's service."

"I am sure that it is you who ruin my wife with your infernal and
dazzling temptations," said Lucenay.

"Her grace has only had her diamonds reset this winter," said the
jeweler, slightly embarrassed. "I have this moment left them with her
grace, on my way here."

Saint Remy knew that Madame de Lucenay, to assist him, had changed her
diamonds for false ones; this conversation was very disagreeable to
him, but he said boldly, "How curious these husbands are! do not
answer, M. Baudoin."

"Curious! goodness, no," answered the duke; "my wife pays; she is
richer than I am."

During this conversation, Baudoin had displayed on a bureau several
admirable necklaces of rubies and diamonds.

"How splendid! how divinely the stones are cut!" said Lord Douglas.

"Alas! my lord," answered the jeweler, "I employed in this work one of
the best artisans in Paris; unfortunately, he has gone mad, and I
shall never find his equal. My broker tells me that it is probably
misery which has turned his brain, poor man."

"Misery! you confide diamonds to a man in poverty!"

"Certainly, my lord, and I have never known an instance of an artisan
concealing or secreting anything confided to him, however poor he
might be."

"How much for this necklace?" asked D'Harville.

"Your lordship will remark that the stones are of splendid cutting,
and the purest water, almost all of the same size."

"Here are some wordy precautions most menacing for your purse," said
Saint Remy, laughing; "expect now, D'Harville, some exorbitant price."

"Come, M. Baudoin, your lowest price?" said D'Harville.

"I do not wish to make your lordship haggle, so I say the lowest is
forty-two thousand francs."

"Gentlemen!" cried Lucenay, "let us admire D'Harville in silence. To
arrange a surprise for his wife for forty-two thousand francs! The
devil! don't go and noise that abroad; it will be a detestable
example."

"Laugh as much as you please, gentlemen," said the marquis, gayly. "I
am in love with my wife, I do not conceal it; I boast of it!"

"That is easily seen," said Saint Remy; "such a present speaks more
than all the protestations in the world."

"I take this necklace, then," said D'Harville, "if you approve of the
black enamel setting, Saint Remy."

"It sets off to advantage the brilliancy of the stones; they are
beautifully arranged."

"I decide, then, for this necklace," said D'Harville. "You will have
to settle with M. Doublet, my steward, Baudoin."

"M. Doublet has advised me, my lord," said the jeweler, and he went
out, after having put in his sack, without counting them, the
different sets of jewels which he had brought, and which Saint Remy
had for a long time handled and examined during this conversation.

D'Harville, in giving this necklace to Joseph, who awaited his orders,
whispered to him, "Mlle. Juliette must put these diamonds quietly with
her lady's, without her suspecting it, so that the surprise will be
complete."

At this moment the butler announced that breakfast was served; the
guests passed into the breakfast-room and seated themselves at the
table.

"Do you know, my dear D'Harville," said the duke, "that this house is
one of the most elegant and best arranged in Paris?"

"It is commodious enough, but it wants space; my project is to add a
gallery on the garden. Madame d'Harville desires to give some grand
balls, and our three saloons are not large enough; besides, I find
nothing more inconvenient than the encroachments made by a fete on the
apartments which one habitually occupies, and from which, for the
time, you are exiled."

"I am of your opinion," said Saint Remy; "nothing is in worse taste,
more in the 'city' fashion, than these forced removals by authority of
a ball or concert. To give fetes really splendid, without any
inconvenience to one's self, a particular suite of apartments must be
arranged exclusively for them; and, besides, vast and splendid
saloons, destined for grand balls, ought to have a different character
from rooms in ordinary occupation: there is between the two species of
apartments the same difference as between a splendid fresco and a
cabinet picture."

"He is right," said D'Harville; "what a pity that Saint Remy has not
twelve or fifteen hundred thousand livres a year! what wonders we
should enjoy!"

"Since we have the happiness to enjoy a representative government,"
said the Duke de Lucenay, "ought not the country to vote a million a
year to Saint Remy, and charge him to represent at Paris French taste
and fashion, which would thus decide the fashion of Europe and the
world?"

"Adopted!" was cried in chorus.

"And this million should be annually raised in form of a tax on those
abominable misers who, possessors of enormous fortunes, shall be
arraigned, tried, and convicted of living like skinflints," added
Lucenay.

"And as such," said D'Harville, "condemned to defray the magnificences
which they ought to display."

"While waiting for the decision which will legalize the supremacy
which Saint Remy now exercises in fact," said D'Harville, "I ask his
advice for the gallery I am about to construct."

"My feeble lights are at your disposal, D'Harville."

"And when shall this inauguration take place, my dear fellow?"

"Next year, I suppose, for I am going to commence immediately."

"What a man of projects you are!"

"I have many others. I contemplate a complete change at Val Richer."

"Your estate in Burgundy?"

"Yes; there are some admirable plans to execute there, if my life is
spared."

"Poor old man! But have you not lately bought a farm near Val Richer
to add to your estate?"

"Yes, a very good affair that my notary advised."

"Who is this rare and precious notary who advises such good things?"

"M. Jacques Ferrand."

At this name a slight shade passed over the viscount's brow.

"Is he really as honest a man as he is reputed to be?" asked he,
carelessly, of D'Harville, who then remembered what Rudolph had
related to Clemence concerning the notary.

"Jacques Ferrand? what a question; why, he is a man of antique
probity!" said Lucenay. "As respected as respectable. Very pious--that
hurts no one. Excessively avaricious--which is a guarantee for his
clients."

"He is, in fine, one of our notaries of the old school, who ask you
for whom you take them when you speak of a receipt for money confided
to them."

"For no other cause than that I would confide my whole fortune to
him."

"But where the devil, Saint Remy, did you get your doubts concerning
this worthy man, of proverbial integrity?"

"I am only the echo of vague rumors, otherwise I have no reason to
defame this phenix of notaries. But to return to your projects,
D'Harville; what are you going to build at Val Richer? The chateau is
said to be superb."

"You shall be consulted, my dear Saint Remy, and sooner, perhaps, than
you think, for I delight in these works; it seems to me there is
nothing more pleasant than to have your plans spread out for years to
come. To day this project--in a year this one--still later some other:
add to this a charming wife whom one adores, is the motive of all your
plans, and life passes gently enough."

"I believe you; it is a real paradise on earth."

"Now," said D'Harville, when breakfast was over, "if you will smoke a
cigar in my cabinet, you will find some excellent ones there."

They arose from the table and returned to the cabinet of the marquis:
the door of his sleeping apartment, which communicated with it, was
open. The sole ornament of this room was a panoply of arms. Lucenay,
having lighted a cigar, followed the marquis into his chamber.

"Here are some splendid guns, truly; faith, I do not know which to
prefer, the French or the English."

"Douglas," cried Lucenay, "come and see if these guns will not compare
with the best Mantons."

Lord Douglas, Saint Remy, and the two other guests entered the chamber
of the marquis to examine the arms.

D'Harville took a pistol, cocked it, and said, laughing, "Here,
gentlemen, is the universal panacea for all woes, the spleen, or
ennui." He placed the muzzle laughingly to his mouth.

"I prefer another specific," said Saint Remy; "this is only good in
desperate cases."

"Yes, but it is so prompt," said D'Harville. "Click! and it is done;
the will is not more rapid. Really! it is marvelous."

"Take care, D'Harville, such jokes are always dangerous, and accidents
might happen," said Lucenay, seeing the marquis again place the pistol
to his lips.

"Do you think that if it was loaded I would play these tricks?"

"Doubtless, no, but it is always wrong."

"Look here, sirs, this is the way they do it; the barrel is introduced
delicately between the teeth, and then--"

"How foolish you are, D'Harville, when you once get a-going," said
Lucenay, shrugging his shoulders.

"The finger is placed on the trigger," added D'Harville.

"Is he not a child--childish at his age?"

"A little movement on the lock," continued the marquis, "and one goes
straight to the land of spirits."

With these words the pistol went off.

D'Harville had blown his brains out!

We will renounce the task; we cannot describe the affright, the
amazement, of the guests. The next day was seen in a newspaper:

"Yesterday an event, as unforeseen as deplorable, agitated the whole
Faubourg St. Germain. One of those imprudent acts, which lead every
year to such fatal accidents, has caused a most lamentable affair.
Here are the facts which we have gathered, the authenticity of which
we can guarantee.

"The Marquis D'Harville, possessor of an immense fortune, hardly
twenty-six years of age, noted for the elevation of his character and
the goodness of his heart, married to a lady whom he adored, had
invited a few friends to breakfast. On leaving the table, they passed
into the sleeping apartment of M. d'Harville, where were displayed
several valuable arms. In showing some of his guests, M. d'Harville,
in jest, placed a pistol, which he did not know was loaded, to his
lips. In his security, he drew the trigger; it went off, and the
unhappy young nobleman fell dead, with his skull fractured. The
frightful consternation of the surrounding friends may easily be
imagined, to whom, but a moment before, in the bloom of youth, he had
just been conversing of his projects for the future. And as if all the
circumstances attending this painful event should be more cruel from
contrast, the same morning M. d'Harville, wishing to surprise his
wife, had just purchased a valuable necklace. And it is just at this
moment, when, perhaps, life never appeared more smiling, more
desirable, that he falls a victim to a deplorable accident.

"Before such a misfortune all reflections are useless; we can only
remain, as it were, annihilated by the inscrutable decrees of
Providence."

We quote the papers merely to show that general belief attributed the
death of D'Harville to a deplorable accident. It is hardly necessary
to say, that D'Harville carried with him to the tomb the mysterious
secret of this voluntary death. Yes, voluntary; calculated and
meditated with as much coolness as genorosity, so that Clemence could
not have the slightest suspicion of the true cause of this suicide.

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