The Mysteries Of Paris Volume Iv Part 35

"And you and Edwards will thus clear--"

"About forty thousand francs (1,600_l._), my lord."

"A very nice sum! But so much the better, for, after all, I am very much satisfied with you, and, if I had to make my will, I should have bequeathed that sum to you and Edwards."

And the vicomte went out, first to call on his creditor, then on Madame de Lucenay, whom he did not suspect of having been present at his conversation with Badinot.

CHAPTER XII.

THE SEARCH.

The Hotel de Lucenay was one of those royal residences of the Faubourg St. Germain, which the s.p.a.ce employed, and, as it were, lost, make so vast. A modern house might, with ease, be contained in the limits devoted to the staircase of one of these palaces, and a whole quarter might be built in the extent they occupy.

About nine o'clock in the evening of this day the two vast folding-doors of this hotel opened on the arrival of a magnificent chariot, which, after having taken a das.h.i.+ng turn in the s.p.a.cious courtyard, stopped before the large covered flight of steps which led to the first antechamber. Whilst the hoofs of two powerful and high-couraged horses sounded on the echoing pavement, a gigantic footman opened the door, emblazoned with armorial bearings, and a young man alighted gracefully from this brilliant carriage, and no less gracefully walked up the five or six steps of the entrance. This young man was the Vicomte de Saint-Remy.

On leaving his creditor, who, satisfied with the undertaking of Florestan's father, had granted the required delay, and was to come and receive his money at ten o'clock in the Rue de Chaillot, M. de Saint-Remy had gone to Madame de Lucenay's, to thank her for the fresh service she had rendered him, and, not having seen the d.u.c.h.ess during the morning, he came triumphant, certain of finding her in _prima sera_, the hour which she constantly reserved for him.

By the attention of the footmen in the antechamber, who hastened to open the gla.s.s door as soon as they saw Florestan's carriage, by the profoundly respectful air with which the rest of the livery all rose as the vicomte pa.s.sed by, and by certain, yet almost imperceptible touches, it was evident that here was the second, or, rather, the real master of the house.

When the Duc de Lucenay returned home, with his umbrella in his hand and his feet protected by clumsy goloshes (he hated going out in a carriage in the daytime), the same domestic evolutions were gone through with similar respect; still, in the eyes of a keen observer, there was a vast difference between the reception accorded to the husband and that reserved for the lover.

A corresponding attention displayed itself in the footman's waiting-room when Florestan entered it, and one of the valets instantly arose to announce him to Madame de Lucenay.

The vicomte had never been more joyous, never felt himself more at his ease, more confident of himself, more a.s.sured of conquest. The victory he had obtained over his father in the morning, the fresh proof of attachment on the part of Madame de Lucenay, the joy at having escaped, as it were, by a miracle, from a terrible situation, his renewed confidence in his star, gave his handsome features an expression of boldness and good humour which rendered it still more captivating.

In fact, he had never felt himself more himself. And he was right. Never had his slender and graceful figure displayed a finer carriage, never had his look been more elevated, never had his pride been more deliciously tickled by the thought, "The great lady--the mistress of this palace is mine--is at my feet! This very morning she waited for me in my own house!"

Florestan had given way to these excessively vain-glorious reflections as he traversed three or four apartments, which led to a small room in which the d.u.c.h.ess usually sat. A last look at himself in a gla.s.s which he pa.s.sed completed the excellent opinion which Florestan had of himself. The _valet de chambre_ opened the folding-doors of the salon, and announced, "Monsieur the Vicomte de Saint-Remy!"

It is impossible to paint the astonishment and indignation of the d.u.c.h.ess. She believed the comte had not concealed from his son that she also had overheard all.

We have already said that, on discovering Florestan's infamy, Madame de Lucenay's love, suddenly quenched, had changed into the most frigid disdain. We have also said that, in the midst of her errors, her frailties, Madame de Lucenay had preserved pure and intact her feelings of rect.i.tude, honour, and chivalric frankness, whose strength and requirements were excessively strong. She possessed the better qualities of her faults, the virtues of her vices.

Treating love as cavalierly as a man treats it, she pushed as far, nay, further, than a man, devotion, generosity, courage, and, above all, intense horror of all baseness. Madame de Lucenay, being about to go to a party in the evening, was, although without her diamonds, dressed with her accustomed taste and magnificence; and her splendid costume, the rouge she wore without attempt at concealment, like a court lady, up to her eyelids, her beauty, which was especially brilliant at candle-light, her figure of a G.o.ddess walking in the clouds, rendered still more striking that n.o.ble air which no one displayed to greater advantage than she did, and which she carried, if requisite, to a height of insolence that was overwhelming.

We know the haughty and resolute disposition of the d.u.c.h.ess, and we may imagine her physiognomy, her look, when the vicomte, advancing towards her, conceited, smiling, confident, said, in a tone of love:

"Dearest Clotilde, how good you are! How you--"

The vicomte could not finish. The d.u.c.h.ess was seated, and had not risen; but her gesture, her glance, betokened contempt, at once so calm and crus.h.i.+ng that Florestan stopped short. He could not utter another word, nor advance another step. He had never before seen Madame de Lucenay under this aspect. He could not believe that it was the same woman, whom he had always found gentle, tender, and pa.s.sionately submissive; for nothing is more humble, more timid, than a determined woman in the presence of the man whom she loves and who controls her.

His first surprise past, Florestan was ashamed of his weakness; his habitual audacity resumed its ascendency, and, making a step towards Madame de Lucenay in order to take her hand, he said, in his most insinuating tone:

"Clotilde, what ails you? I never saw you look so lovely, and yet--"

"Really, this is too impudent!" exclaimed the d.u.c.h.ess, recoiling with such disgust and hauteur that Florestan was again overcome with surprise.

Resuming some a.s.surance, he said to her:

"Will you, at least, Clotilde, tell me the cause of this change, sudden, singular as it is? What have I done? How have I offended?"

Without making any reply, Madame de Lucenay looked at him, as is vulgarly said, from head to foot, with so insulting an expression that Florestan felt red with the anger which displayed itself upon his brow, and exclaimed:

"I am aware, madame, that it is thus you habitually break off. Is it a rupture that you now desire?"

"The question is singular!" said Madame de Lucenay, with a sarcastic laugh. "Learn, sir, that when a lackey robs me, I do not break with him, I turn him away."

"Madame!"

"Oh, a truce to this!" said the d.u.c.h.ess, in a stern and peremptory tone.

"Your presence disgusts me! Why are you here? Have you not had your money?"

"It is true, then, as I guessed, the twenty-five thousand francs--"

"Your last forgery is withdrawn, is it not? The honour of your family's name is saved,--that is well,--go!"

"Ah! believe me--"

"I very much regret that money, for it might have succoured so many honest families; but it was necessary to think of the shame to your father and to myself."

"So then, Clotilde, you know all? Ah, then, now nothing is left me but to die!" exclaimed Florestan, in a most pathetic and despairing tone.

A burst of derisive laughter from the d.u.c.h.ess hailed this tragic exclamation, and she added, between two fits of fresh hilarity:

"I could never have believed infamy could appear so ridiculous!"

"Madame!" cried Florestan, his features contracted with rage.

The two folding-doors opened with a loud noise, and M. le Duc de Montbrison was announced.

In spite of his self-command, Florestan could scarcely repress the violence of his resentment, which any man more observing than the duke must certainly have perceived.

M. de Montbrison was scarcely eighteen years of age. Let our readers imagine a most engaging countenance, like that of a young girl, white and red, whose vermilion lips and downy chin were slightly shaded by a nascent beard. Let them add to this large brown eyes, as yet timid, but which in time would gleam like a falcon's, a figure as graceful as that of the d.u.c.h.ess herself, and then, perhaps, they may have some idea of this young duke, the Cherubino as complete in idea as ever countess or waiting-maid decked in a woman's cap, after having remarked the ivory whiteness of his neck.

The vicomte had the weakness or the audacity to remain.

"How kind of you, Conrad, to think of me this evening!" said Madame de Lucenay, in a most affectionate voice, and extending her hand to the young duke, who was about to shake hands with his cousin, but Clotilde raised her hand a little, and said to him gaily:

"Kiss it, cousin,--you have your gloves on."

"Pardon me, my dear cousin," said the young man, as he applied his lips to the naked and charming hand that was offered to him.

"What are you going to do this evening, Conrad?" inquired Madame de Lucenay, without seeming to take the slightest notice in the world of Florestan.

"Nothing, cousin; when I leave you, I shall go to the club."