A Cardinal Sin Part 18

"Don't you see that he is laughing at us!" exclaimed the old woman harshly. "He has no intention of marrying you and giving me a pension, I can tell you. If he is really rich, he will cajole you and entice you into a trap; then some fine morning, you will hear of his marriage with another woman--go, I say, and never set foot in this house again!"

"Madame," said Louis, "I shall come with my father to beg the honor of Mariette's hand in marriage, and will at the same time inform you of the advantages I shall be able to give you."

"Yes, yes, those fine propositions will come when I am in my grave,"

she muttered, as she climbed into her bed and turned her face to the wall.

"It shall be no later than to-morrow," declared Louis. "Good-bye, Mariette. I shall call with my father to-morrow."

"Can it really be true that, after so much sorrow, we should at last know happiness--happiness forever," murmured the young girl, as Louis clasped her hand tenderly in his.

"Will you ever get done? you are driving me wild with your happiness!"

came sharply from the bed. "Go, and leave me in peace!--and don't you dare to move from the room, Mariette! You are dying to go down with that gay deceiver, I know; but when I say _no_, I mean _no_!"

The young couple exchanged one last loving glance and, with a whispered: "Good-bye, my darling," Louis was gone, while Mariette returned slowly to the bedside of her G.o.dmother.

CHAPTER XI.

Louis at once proceeded to his father's business place, anxious to get over the inevitable explanation which had become necessary between them. But to his great astonishment and alarm, he found the door and shutters still closed, and was informed by the neighbors that the old man had not made his appearance that day. This break in his regular habits seemed so unusual and inexplicable, that the young man felt a vague uneasiness invading him as he hurried toward home, and all sorts of wild conjectures flashed through his mind. He soon reached the Rue de Grenelle, however, and was running up the first flight of stairs when the concierge called him from his door.

"Monsieur Louis," he said, "your father went out a couple of hours ago and left a letter for you. I was to take it to your office if you did not return before two o'clock."

The young man grasped the letter and tore it open. It ran thus:

"My dear child:

"I have just received a few lines from my friend Ramon, informing me that he and his daughter will arrive in Paris to-day.

"As he has never traveled in a railway train and antic.i.p.ates much pleasure in that mode of conveyance, he will stop at Versailles, where he begs us to meet him. We shall visit the palace, and return together by the last train.

"I shall wait for you at the Hotel du Reservoir; but if you are late, you can join us at the palace. Remember, that this interview with Mademoiselle Ramon will compromise you in no way. My only desire is that you should take advantage of this opportunity to study that young person's character and see the injustice of your groundless prejudices.

You will moreover understand that, whatever may be your projects, it would be most ungracious on your part to fail at a rendezvous given by one of my oldest and dearest friends.

"Your father, who loves you deeply, and whose sole desire is your happiness.

"A. RICHARD."

Notwithstanding his habitual deference to the wishes of his father, Louis thought it unnecessary to go to Versailles and face Mademoiselle Ramon a second time; so he hastened to his employer's office instead, and resumed his usual work, undeterred by the astounding revelation of his father's wealth. Owing to the numerous distractions caused by the various events of the day, however, it was late when he finished his day's task and put away his papers.

He had just closed his desk and was taking his hat from its accustomed peg, when one of his comrades burst into the room and cried excitedly: "My G.o.d! what a terrible thing!"

"What is it," asked the clerks in chorus.

"I have just met a friend on his way back from the Versailles station--"

"Versailles station!" echoed Louis, with a sudden start. "Well, what has happened?"

"A frightful accident!"

"Great Heavens!" cried Louis, turning deathly pale. "But go on."

"The return train to Paris ran off the track, throwing the cars in a heap; and it is reported that all the pa.s.sengers have either been crushed or burnt to death, and--"

But Louis stopped to hear no more. Rus.h.i.+ng out, bareheaded as he was, he dashed down the street to the first corner, where he leaped into a cab, crying: "Twenty francs if you take me to the Versailles station at breakneck speed--and from there somewhere else--I don't know where; but in mercy, go!"

"Which side of the river, monsieur," asked the coachman, as he lashed his horse.

"What do you mean?"

"There are two stations. One on the right, the other on the left bank."

"I want to go where that terrible accident occurred."

"This is the first I hear of it, monsieur."

Louis was forced to return to the office for information; but he found the place already deserted, and returned to the cab in despair.

"I have just learned it was on the left bank," the coachman informed him from his seat.

"To the left bank then!" he ordered, sinking back on the cus.h.i.+ons with a moan.

There he learned that the sad news was unfortunately but too true, and was directed how to reach the scene of the accident.

It was nightfall when he finally reached Bas-Meudon; and, guided by the flames of the burning debris, he soon found himself on the sinister spot, where he spent the night in a fruitless search for the charred remains of his father among the ma.s.s of crushed and burnt flesh piled on the roadside or pinioned in the wreck. Worn out in body and spirits, he returned to Paris at dawn, hoping his father might have been one of the small number that had escaped with slight injuries.

"Has my father returned?" were his first words to the concierge.

"No, monsieur Louis," replied the man.

"There is no doubt possible then--he perished in the accident," he moaned, sinking into a chair and bursting into sobs.

In a few moments he had recovered his self-possession however; and, without stopping to hear the concierge's words of condolence, he slowly ascended to the fifth landing and entered the dreary room. At sight of this gloomy home, so long shared with his beloved father, the young man's grief again became uncontrollable; and, throwing himself on the bed, he buried his face in his hands and gave free scope to his overwhelming sorrow.

He had sobbed thus for half an hour, absorbed wholly in his bitter despair, when he was startled by a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of some one into the room.

"What is it?" asked Louis, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"I am sorry to disturb you at such a time, Monsieur Louis," said the concierge timidly, "but the coachman--"

"What coachman?" questioned the young man in surprise, having entirely forgotten the cab in his grief.

"Why, the coachman you retained all night. It seems you promised him twenty extra francs if he would lash his horse to the utmost speed.

This, with his night's run, comes to forty-nine francs, and he claims his money."

"Well, give him the money and tell him to go!" rejoined Louis impatiently.