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The Mysteries of Paris V2

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Edward was about forty years of age; never did a more skillful or
fatter coachman cause his seat to groan under a rotundity more
imposing, nor to ornament with a powdered wig a face more rubicund,
nor to collect more elegantly, in his left hand, the quadruple ribbons
of a four-in-hand; as good a judge of horses as Tattersall of London,
having been, in his youth, as good a trainer as the celebrated elder
Chifney, the viscount had found in Edward a rare thing, an excellent
coachman and a man very capable of directing the training of some
race-horses which he had had for wagers. Edward, when he did not
display his sumptuous brown and silver livery on the emblazoned
hammer-cloth of his seat, looked very much like an honest English
farmer; it is under this guise we now shall present him to our
readers, adding, that in his broad and red face one could easily
perceive the diabolical and unmerciful cunning of a horse-jockey.

M. Boyer, his guest, the confidential valet, was a tall, slender man,
with gray hair, rather bald, and with a sly, cool, discreet, and
reserved expression; he used very choice language, had polite, easy
manners, rather literary, political opinions of the Conservative
stamp, and could creditably play his part of first violin in a quartet
of amateurs; at short intervals he took, with the best grace in the
world, a pinch of snuff from a golden box mounted with fine pearls,
after which he brushed negligently, with the back of his hand, the
folds of his fine linen shirt, quite as fine as that of his master.

"Do you know, my dear Edward," said Boyer, "that your servant, Betty,
makes quite a supportable plain cook?"

"She is a good girl," said Edward, who spoke French perfectly, "and I
shall take her with me if I should decide on housekeeping; and on this
subject, since we are here alone, my dear Boyer, let us talk business;
you understand it very well."

"Why, yes, a little," said Boyer, modestly, and taking a pinch of
snuff. "That is learned so naturally, when one occupies himself with
the affairs of others."

"I have then, very important advice to ask of you; it is on this
account that I begged the favor of your company to a cup of tea this
morning."

"Quite at your service, my dear Edward."

"You know that besides the race-horses, I had a contract with my lord
for the complete maintenance of his stables, cattle, and people; that
is to say, eight horses and five or six grooms and jockeys, for the
sum of twenty-four thousand francs a year, my wages included."

"It was reasonable."

"During four years, my lord punctually paid me; but about the middle
of last year he said to me, 'Patterson, I owe you about twenty-four
thousand francs; how much do you estimate, at the lowest price, my
horses and vehicles?' 'My lord, the eight horses would not sell for
less than three thousand francs each, one with the other, and then
they would be given away' (and it is true, Boyer, for the phaeton pair
cost five hundred guineas), 'that would make twenty-four thousand
francs for the horses. As to the carriages, there are four, say twelve
thousand francs, which, in all, would make thirty-six thousand
francs.' 'Well,' answered my lord, 'buy them all from me at this
price, on condition that, for the twelve thousand francs remaining
after your claim is paid, you will keep and leave at my disposition,
horses, servants and carriages for six months.'"

"And you wisely agreed to the bargain? It was a golden affair."

"Certainly it was; in two weeks the six months will have expired, and
I enter into possession."

"Nothing can be plainer. The papers were drawn up by M. Badinot,
the viscount's agent. In what have you need of my advice?"

"What ought I to do? Sell the establishment on account of my lord's
departure (and it will sell well), or shall I set up as a horse-dealer,
with my stable, which will make a fine beginning? What do you advise?"

"I advise you to do what I shall do myself."

"How?"

"I am in the same position that you are."

"How?"

"My lord detests details. When I came here I had, through economy, and
by inheritance, some sixty thousand francs. I paid the expenses of the
house, as you did the stables. About the same time that you did, I
found myself in advance some twenty thousand francs; and for those who
furnished the supplies, some sixty thousand. Then the viscount
proposed to me, as he did to you, to reimburse myself by buying of him
the furniture of the house, comprising the plate--which is fine--the
pictures, and so on, the whole estimated at the very lowest price, one
hundred and forty thousand francs. There were eighty thousand francs
to pay; with the remainder I engaged, as long as it lasted, to defray
the expenses of the table, servants, and so forth, and for nothing
else: it was a condition of the bargain."

"Because that on these expenses you would gain something more."

"Necessarily; for I have made arrangements with those who furnish the
supplies that I will not pay until after the sale," said Boyer, taking
a huge pinch of snuff, "so that at the end of this month--"

"The furniture is yours, as the horses and carriages are mine."

"Evidently. My lord has gained by this, to live as he always liked to
live, to the last moment--as a tip-top don--in the very teeth of his
creditors, for furniture, silver, horses, vehicles, all had been paid
for at his coming of age, and had become my property and yours."

"Then my lord is ruined?"

"In five years."

"And how much did he inherit?"

"Only a poor little million, cash down," said M. Boyer, quite
disdainfully, taking another pinch of snuff. "Add to this million
about two hundred thousand francs of debts, it is passable. It is
then, to tell you, my dear Edward, that I have had an idea of letting
this house, admirably furnished as it is, to some English people. Some
of your compatriots would have paid well for it."

"Without doubt. Why do you not do it?"

"Yes, but I fancy things are risky, so I have decided to sell. My lord
is so well known as a connoisseur, that everything would bring a
double price, so that I should realize a round sum. Do as I shall,
Edward; realize, realize, and do not adventure your earnings in
speculations. You chief coachman of the Viscount de Saint Remy! It
will be, who can get you. Only yesterday some one spoke to me of a
minor just of age, a cousin of the Duchess de Lucenay, young Duke de
Montbrison, arrived from Italy with his tutor, and about seeing life.
Two hundred and fifty thousand livres income, in good land; and just
entering into life--twenty years old. All the illusions of confidence--all
the infatuation of expense--prodigal as a prince. I know the
intendant. I can tell you this in confidence: he has already nearly
agreed with me as first valet de chambre. He countenances me, the
flat!" And M. Boyer shrugged his shoulders again, having recourse to
his snuff-box.

"You hope to foist him out?"

"Rather! he is imbecile or impertinent. He puts me there as if he had
no fear of me! Before two months are over I shall be in his place."

"Two hundred and fifty thousand livres income!" said Edward,
reflecting, "and a young man. It is a good seat."

"I will tell you what there is to do. I will speak for you to my
protector," said M. Boyer, ironically. "Enter there--it is a fortune
which has roots, to which one can hang on for a long time. Not this
miserable million of the viscount's--a real snowball--one ray of
Parisian sun, and all is over. I saw here that I should only be a bird
of passage: it is a pity, for this house does us honor; and up to the
last moment, I will serve my lord with the respect and esteem which
are his due."

"My dear Boyer, I thank you, and accept your proposition; but suppose
I was to propose to the young duke this stable? It is all ready; it is
known and admired by all Paris."

"Exactly so; you might make a mint."

"But why do you not propose this house to him, so admirably furnished?
What can he find better?"

"Edward, you are a man of mind; it does not surprise me, but you give
me an excellent idea. We must address ourselves to my lord, he is so
good a master that he would not refuse to speak for us to the young
duke. He can tell him that, leaving for the Legation of Gerolstein,
where he is an _attache_, he wishes to dispose of his whole
establishment. Let us see: one hundred and sixty thousand francs for
the house, all furnished, plate and pictures; fifty thousand francs
for the stables and carriages; that makes two hundred and thirty
thousand to two hundred and forty thousand francs. It is an excellent
affair for a young man who wants everything. He would spend three
times this amount before he could get anything half so elegant and
select together as this establishment; for it must be acknowledged,
Edward, there is no one can equal my lord in knowing how to live."

"And horses!"

"And good cheer! Godefroi, his cook, leaves here a hundred times
better than when he came. My lord has given him excellent counsels--
has enormously refined him."

"Besides, they say my lord is such a good player."

"Admirable! Gaining large sums with even more indifference than he
loses; and yet I have never seen any one lose more gallantly."

"What is he going to do now?"

"Set out for Germany, in a good traveling carriage, with seven or
eight thousand francs, which he knows how to get. Oh! I feel no
embarrassment about my lord: he is one who always falls on his feet,
as they say."

"And he has no more money to inherit?"

"None; for his father has only a small competency."

"His father?"

"Certainly."

"My lord's father is not dead?"

"He was not about five or six months since. We wrote to him for some
family papers."

"But he never comes here?"

"For a good reason. These fifteen years he has lived in the country,
at Angers."

"But my lord never goes to see him?"

"His father?"

"Yes."

"Never, never--not he!"

"Have they quarreled?"

"What I am going to tell you is no secret, for I had it from the
confidential agent of the Prince de Noirmont."

"The father of Madame de Lucenay?" said Edward, with a cunning and
significant look, of which Boyer, faithful to his habits of reserve
and discretion, took no notice, but resumed, coldly:

"The Duchess de Lucenay is the daughter of the Prince de Noirmont; the
father of my lord was intimately connected with the prince. The
duchess was then very young, and Saint Remy the elder treated her as
familiarly as if she had been his own child. Notwithstanding his sixty
years, he is a man of iron character, courageous as a lion, and of a
probity that I shall permit myself to designate as marvelous. He
possessed almost nothing, and had married, from love, the mother of
the viscount, a young person rather rich, who brought a million, at
the christening of which we have just had the honor to assist," and
Boyer made a low bow. Edward did the same.

"The marriage was very happy until the moment when my lord's father
found, as was said, by chance, some devilish letters, which proved
evidently that, during an absence, some three or four years after his
marriage, his wife had had a tender weakness for a certain Polish
count."

"That often happens to the Poles. When I lived with the Marquis de
Senneval, Madame the Marchioness--_une enragee_--"

Boyer interrupted his companion. "You should know, my dear Edward, the
alliances of our great families before you speak, otherwise you
reserve for yourself cruel mistakes."

"How?"

"The Marchioness of Senneval is the sister of the Duke of Montbrison,
where you desire to engage."

"Oh!--the devil!"

"Judge of the effect if you had spoken of her in this manner before
the envious or detractors: you would not have remained twenty-four
hours in the house."

"It is true, Boyer. I will try to know the alliances."

"I resume. The father of my lord discovered, then, after twelve or
fifteen years of a marriage until then happy, that he had reason to
complain of a Polish count. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the
viscount was born nine months after his father, or rather, Saint Remy
had returned from this fatal journey, so that he could not be certain
whether it was his child or not. Nevertheless, the count separated at
once from his wife, not wishing to touch a sou of the fortune she had
brought him, and retired to the country, with about eighty thousand
francs which he possessed; but you shall see the rancor of this
diabolical character. Although the outrage was dated back fifteen
years when he discovered it, yet he set off, accompanied by M. de
Fermont, one of his relations, in pursuit of the Pole, and found him
at Venice, after having sought for him in almost all the cities of
Europe."

"What an obstinate!"

"A devilish rancor, I tell you, my dear Edward! At Venice, a terrible
duel was fought, in which the Pole was killed. All was done fairly;
but, my lord's father showed, they say, such ferocious joy at seeing
the Pole mortally wounded, that his relation, M. de Fermont, was
obliged to drag him away; the count wishing to see, as he said, his
enemy expire under his eyes."

"What a man! what a man!"

"The count returned to Paris, went to the house of his wife, announced
to her that he had just returned from killing the Pole, and left her.
Since then, he has never seen her nor his son, but has lived at
Angers, like a real 'wehr-wolf' as they say, with what remains of his
eighty thousand francs, well curtailed, as you may suppose, by his
race after this Pole. At Angers he sees no one, except the wife and
daughter of his relation, M. de Fermont, who has been dead for some
years. And, besides, it would seem as if this was an unfortunate
family, for the brother of Madame de Fermont blew his brains out a few
weeks since, it is said."

"And the viscount's mother?"

"He lost her a long time since. It is on that account that my lord, on
his coming of age, has enjoyed the fortune of his mother. So you
plainly see, my dear Edward, that as regards inheritance, my lord has
nothing, or almost nothing, to expect from his father."

"Who besides must detest him?"

"He would never see him after the fatal discovery, persuaded that he
is the son of the Pole."

The conversation of the two personages was interrupted by a footman of
gigantic size, carefully powdered, although it was hardly eleven
o'clock.

"His lordship has rung twice," said the giant.

Boyer appeared distressed at this neglect; he arose precipitately, and
followed the servant with as much eagerness and respect as if he had
not been the proprietor of the mansion of his master.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE OLD COUNT DE SAINT REMY.


Two hours had passed since Boyer had gone to attend the viscount, when
the father of the last mentioned knocked at the gate of the house in
the Rue de Chaillot.

The Count de Saint Remy was a man of tall stature, still active and
vigorous, notwithstanding his age; the almost copper color of his skin
contrasted strangely with the silvery whiteness of his beard and hair;
his heavy, still black eyebrows overshadowed piercing but sunken eyes.
Although, from a kind of misanthropy, he wore clothes quite rusty,
there was in his whole appearance that which commanded respect. The
door of his son's house flew open, and he entered. A porter in a grand
livery of brown and silver, profusely powdered, and wearing silk
stockings, appeared on the threshold of an elegant lodge, which had as
much resemblance to the smoky den of the Pipelets as a cobbler's stall
could have to the sumptuous shop of a fashionable "emporium."

"M. de Saint Remy?" demanded the viscount, in a low tone.

The porter, instead of replying, examined with much contempt the white
beard, the threadbare coat, and the old hat of the stranger, who held
in his hand a large cane.

"M. de Saint Remy?" repeated the count, impatiently, shocked at the
impertinent examination of the porter.

"Not at home." So saying, Pipelet's rival drew the cord, and with a
significant gesture, invited the unknown to retire.

"I will wait," said the count, and he passed on.

"Stay, friend! one does not enter that way into houses!" cried the
porter, running after and taking him by the arm.

"How, scoundrel!" answered the old man, raising his cane; "you dare to
touch me!"

"I will dare something else, if you do not walk out at once. I have
told you that my lord was out, so walk off."

At this moment, Boyer, attracted by the sound of voices, made his
appearance. "What is the matter?" demanded he.

"M. Boyer, this man will absolutely enter, although I have told him
that my lord is out."

"Let us put a stop to this," replied the count, addressing Boyer; "I
wish to see my son---if he has gone out, I will wait."

We have said that Boyer was ignorant neither of the existence nor of
the misanthropy of the father, and sufficiently a physiognomist, he
did not for a moment doubt the identity of the count, but bowed low to
him, and answered, "If your lordship will be so good as to follow me,
I am at his orders."

"Go on," said Saint Remy, who accompanied Boyer, to the profound
dismay of the porter.

Preceded by the valet, the count arrived on the first story, and still
following his guide, was ushered into a little saloon, situated
immediately over the boudoir of the ground floor.

"My lord has been obliged to go out this morning," said Boyer, "and if
your lordship will have the kindness to wait, it will not be long
before he returns." And the valet disappeared.

Remaining alone, the count looked around him with indifference, until
suddenly he discovered the picture of his wife, the mother of
Florestan de Saint Remy. He folded his arms on his heart, held down
his head, as if to avoid the sight of this victim, and walked about
with rapid steps.

"And yet I am not certain---he may be my son---sometimes this doubt is
frightful to me. If he is my son, then my abandoning him, my refusal
ever to see him, are unpardonable. And then to think my name--of which
I have ever been so proud--belongs to the son of a man whose heart I
could have torn out! Oh! I do not know why I am not bereft of my
senses when I think of it." Saint Remy, continuing to walk with
agitation, raised mechanically the curtain which separated the saloon
from Florestan's study and entered the apartment.

He had hardly disappeared for a moment, than a small door, concealed
by the tapestry, opened softly, and Madame de Lucenay, wrapped in a
shawl of green Cashmere, and wearing a very plain black velvet bonnet,
entered the saloon which the count had just left. The duchess, as we
have said before, had a key to the little private garden-door; not
finding Florestan in the apartments below, she had supposed that,
perhaps, he was in his study, and without any fear had come up by a
small staircase which led from the boudoir to the first story.
Unfortunately, a very threatening visit from M. Badinot had obliged
him to go out precipitately.

Madame de Lucenay, seeing no one, was about to enter the cabinet, when
the curtains were thrown back, and she found herself face to face with
the father of Florestan. She could not restrain a cry of alarm.

"Clotilde!" cried the count, stupefied.

The duchess remained immovable, contemplating with surprise the old
white-bearded man, so badly clothed, whose features did not appear
altogether strange.

"You, Clotilde!" repeated the count, in a tone of sorrowful reproach,
"you here--in my son's house?"

These last words decided Madame de Lucenay; she at length recognized
the father of Florestan, and cried, "M. de Saint Remy!" Her position
was so plain and significant, that the duchess disdained to have
recourse to a falsehood to explain the motive of her presence in this
house; counting on the paternal affection which the count had formerly
shown her, she extended her hand, and said, with an air--gracious,
cordial, and fearless--which belonged only to her, "Come, do not
scold! you are my oldest friend! Do you remember, more than twenty
years ago, you called me your dear Clotilde?"

"Yes, I called you thus, but--"

"I know in advance all that you will say to me; you know my motto;
_What is, is; what shall be, shall be._"

"Ah, Clotilde!"

"Spare me your reproaches; let me rather speak to you of my joy at
seeing you! your presence recalls so many things; my poor father, in
the first place; and then my fifteenth year. Ah! fifteen--sweet
fifteen!"

"It was because your father was my friend, that--"

"Oh, yes!" answered the duchess, interrupting him, "he loved you so
much! Do you remember he called you, laughingly 'Green Ribbon.' You
always said to him, 'You will spoil Clotilde; take care!' and he would
answer, embracing me, 'I believe I spoil her; and I must hurry and
spoil her more, for soon fashion will carry her off, and spoil her in
its turn.' Excellent father that I lost!"

A tear glistened in the fine eyes of Madame de Lucenay, and giving her
hand to Saint Remy, she said to him, in an agitated voice, "True, I am
happy, very happy to see you again; you awaken souvenirs so precious,
so dear to my heart! If you have been in Paris for any time,"
continued Madame de Lucenay, "it was very unkind in you not to come to
see me; we should have talked so much of the past; for you know I
begin to arrive at the age when there is a great charm in talking to
old friends."

Perhaps the duchess could not have spoken with more nonchalance if she
had been receiving a visit at Lucenay House.

Saint Remy could not refrain from saying, earnestly, "Instead of
talking of the past, let us talk of the present. My son may come in at
any moment, and--"

"No!" said Clotilde, interrupting him, "I have the key of the private
door, and his arrival is always announced by a bell when he comes in
by the gate; at this noise I shall disappear as mysteriously as I
came, and leave you alone. What a sweet surprise you are going to
cause him! you, who have for so long a time abandoned him!"

"Hold! I have reproaches to make you."

"To me, to me?"

"Certainly! What guide, what assistance had I on entering into
society? and, for a thousand things, the counsels of a father are
indispensable. Thus, frankly, it has been very wrong in you to--"

Here Madame de Lucenay, giving way to the peculiarity of her
character, could not prevent herself from laughing heartily, and
saying to the count: "You must avow that the position is at least
singular, and that it is very piquant that I should preach to you!"

"It is rather strange; but I deserve neither your sermons nor your
praises. I come to my son; but it is not on account of my son. At his
age he can no longer need my counsels."

"What do you mean?"

"You must know for what reasons I detest society and hold Paris in
horror!" said the count. "Nothing but circumstances of the last
importance could have induced me to leave Angers, and, above all, to
come here--in this house! But I have conquered my repugnance, and have
recourse to every one who can aid me in researches of great interest
to me."

"Oh! then," said Madame de Lucenay, with most affectionate eagerness,
"I beg you dispose of me, if I can be of any use to you. Is there need
of any applications? M. de Lucenay ought to have a certain influence:
for, on the days when I go to dine with my great Aunt de Montbrison,
he gives a dinner at home to some deputies; this is not done without
some motive; this inconvenience must be paid for by some probable
advantage. Once more, if we can serve you, command us. There is my
young cousin, Duke de Montbrison, connected with all the nobility,
perhaps he could do something? In this case, I offer him to you. In a
word, dispose of me and mine: you know if I can call myself a devoted
friend!"

"I know it; and I do not refuse your assistance; although, however--"

"Come, my dear _Alceste_, we are people of the world, let us act
like such, whether we are here or elsewhere, it is of no import, I
suppose, to the affair which interests you, and which now interests me
extremely, since it is yours. Let us speak of this, and sincerely; I
require it."

Thus saying, the duchess approached the fireplace, and, leaning
against it, she put out the prettiest little foot in the world to warm
it.

With perfect tact, Madame de Lucenay seized the occasion to speak no
more of the viscount, and to converse with M. de Saint Remy on a
subject to which he attached much importance.

"You are ignorant, perhaps, Clotilde," said the count, "that for a
long time past I have lived at Angers?"

"No--I knew it."

"Notwithstanding the isolated state I sought, I had chosen this city,
because one of my relations dwelt there, M. de Fermont, who, during my
troubles, acted as a brother toward me, having acted as a second in a
duel."

"Yes, a terrible duel; my father told me of it," said Madame de
Lucenay, sadly; "but happily, Florestan is ignorant of this duel, and
also of the cause that led to it."

"I was willing to let him respect his mother," answered the count,
and, suppressing a sigh, he continued, and related to Madame de
Lucenay the history of Madame de Fermont up to the time of her leaving
Angers for Paris.

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