I.
The dawn of a fine October morning, in 1817, was just breaking when the Paris diligence of Messrs. Lafitte and Co. took the opportunity of breaking also. That of the former, however, was as glorious as that of the latter was disastrous. I had been rambling during the summer months through that most interesting country; the volcanic district of Auvergne had laved both my inward and my outward man in most of the celebrated waters which abound in that neighborhood, and was on my return to Paris, where I expected to find the friends with whom I had travelled from England, and hoped to travel back again. It was then with a light heart that I had, on the preceding evening, jumped into the coupée of the luckless vehicle at the little town of Gannât, congratulating myself, firstly, on my good luck in finding a vacant place at all, and secondly, on that place being in the coupée, and lastly, and most especially, on there being only one other passenger therein, whereby, as all travellers by diligence are aware, I was spared the uncomfortable task of performing bodkin all the way to Paris, and could take mine ease in mine own corner. When all prudential arrangements for the night, such as air cushion disposed at back, and cloak drawn over knees, were duly made, I began to take a survey of my fellow-traveller, who had greeted me on my entrance with much civility, but the light did not enable me to do more than perceive that he was a venerable-looking old gentleman, whose white locks escaped from under his travelling cap, and descended on his shoulders in great profusion. His manners, however, were so courteous and dignified, that I, at once, recognized in him a specimen of that now well-nigh obsolete race the ancienne noblesse. After sundry inquiries and observations on the country through which we were travelling, and divers speculations as to the period at which our journey might possibly end, my fellow-traveller turned to the topic of the battle of Waterloo, then a recent event. "Now," thought I, "for a quarrel." But no; though he felt for the tarnished glory of the French arms, he felt yet more for the old family, and bore me no ill-will for being one of that nation by whose efforts they had been restored, and the Corsican usurper expelled. From these he reverted to the "good old days" of Louis XV., to whose body of Gardes du Corps he had formerly, it seemed, had the honor of belonging, he related many anecdotes of that period, and was especially prosy about the ceremonies observed at the court of that dissolute and bien-aimé monarch. It was during a long story of this sort that I fell into a sound sleep, from which I was awakened by a loud crash, a pretty considerable thump on the head, and a heavy weight pressing on my chest, for all which phenomena, though startling at first, I was quickly able satisfactorily to account. The crash was caused by the ponderous diligence coming into sudden and violent collision with the ground; the thump by the same sort of rude contact between my head and the roof thereof; whilst the weight which I felt so oppressive was the body of my fellow-traveller, lying upon me in a state of complete insensibility, and bleeding profusely. Freeing myself as gently as I could from the apparently lifeless mass, I managed to get the window down, and creep through the somewhat-narrow aperture, when the cause and full extent of the accident was intelligible enough. The iron arm of the axle of the near hind wheel had broken off short, and such was the weight of luggage and packages of all kinds and descriptions stowed away on the roof, that, going, as I understand we were, at, for a French diligence in those days, a rapid pace, the shock had been sufficient to completely capsize us. Sudden and severe, however, as the shock had been, the lives and limbs of the passengers had escaped without loss or material damage; those in the interior being too closely packed for any very violent collision with each other, and the three individuals in the cabriolet, of whom the conducteur was one, being pitched clean, I do not mean any reference to their persons, but to their mode of projection, into a ploughed field by the roadside, where they lay sprawling, and sacréing and mondieuing, in the most piteous and guttural tones imaginable, though none appeared to have sufficient excuse for the unearthly noises he made from any actual hurt he had sustained. I was, however, too anxious to afford help to my companion in the coupée, to ascertain very minutely their condition, even had I been able to obtain an answer to my inquiries, where all insisted on talking at once and at the top of their voices, and in a tone and with a vehemence which, in any other country, would have seemed a prelude to nothing short of a battle royal. Seeing, however, a peasant, en blouse, standing hard by, leaning on his spade, and looking quietly on, I concluded he was not one of the passengers, and might consequently be of some use. Accordingly I hailed him, and after some irresolute gestures, he came up to me, when I explained, rather by dragging him to the door of the carriage than by any verbal communications, which would probably have failed, for what purpose I wanted his assistance. Having opened the door of the carriage, I looked in. There lay my unfortunate companion, "his silver skin laced with his golden blood," still insensible and somewhat cramped, it is true, but not in so uncomfortable a position as might, under the circumstances, have been expected, seeing that I had propped him up as well as I could, before I made my own exit, with my air cushion, and that of the seat he had occupied. Being a tall and heavy man, to get him righted and out was a work of no small difficulty; however, our united efforts were at last successful, and the poor sufferer was laid on the turf by the roadside, on a couch formed of cushions, great-coats, &c., &c.
My assistant, who, I must say, now exhibited all the alacrity I could wish, and more handiness than I had expected from him, ran for water, whilst I proceeded to examine my unlucky friend's wounds. He exhibited an ugly gash on the head, from which had flowed the stream of blood which had so disfigured his venerable locks. His left shoulder, too, I found was dislocated. By the plentiful application of cold water to his head and temples, and of some hartshorn, which I happened to have about me, to his nostrils, I at length succeeded in restoring him to consciousness, of which the first symptoms he gave was to glare upon me with an expression of terror and alarm, and exclaiming, in accents of deep despair, "Hah! blood!—more blood!" He uttered a piercing shriek, and again relapsed into syncope. Thus assured, however, that he still lived, the present moment seemed so favorable for the reduction of the dislocated limb, that I set to work forthwith, and, with the assistance of my friendly paysan, quickly divested him of his coat, and having placed him in a proper position, instantly slipped the joint into the socket, and bound it with my neckcloth. The snap recalled him to sense, and by the help of a little brandy from my travelling flask, he was completely restored. Still he surveyed me with a terrified look, for which I could not well account, until I discovered that my face and dress were stained with the blood which had flowed from his wound whilst he lay upon me in the carriage. I hastened to remove what I conceived to be the cause of his anxious looks, by assuring him I had received no injury whatever except a slight contusion not worth mentioning, and that the blood, which I washed off in his presence, was his own. The next consideration was—what was to be done? To stay where we were was out of the question; no sort of public conveyance would pass that way en route to Paris until the second morning at the same hour. My companion's wound required dressing, and I wanted my breakfast, for the sharp air of the morning had so quickened my appetite, that the thoughts of my disaster were fast fading away before the vision of café au lait and a biftek. The realization of this pleasing prospect became the more probable when I learnt that we were not more than a short league from the town of Moulins, whither I instantly dispatched my trusty paysan, whose faculties and movements were much quickened by the promise of a five-franc piece when he returned with some sort of vehicle to convey us into the town. During his absence, which lasted two mortal hours, I had abundant time to consider and contemplate the person and demeanor of the individuals whom chance had thus thrown in my way, and, as it were, upon my charity. The former still exhibited sufficient traces of manly beauty to show that, in his youth, he had been strikingly handsome, whilst the latter spoke the accomplished and high-bred gentleman in the truest and least hackneyed acceptation of the word. Being now perfectly himself again, he listened with much interest to such account of our accident as I was able to give, and, ascertaining from his bandaged head and shoulder the nature and extent of my services to him, his gratitude was expressed in the warmest terms.
"I am the last of an ancient house," said he, "and but for you should have died on the road like a dog. I am the Marquis de Marigny, pray tell me to whom I am under so much obligation."
"Why, sir," said I, "my name is D——, by profession a physician, and, at a pinch, a tolerable surgeon, and I never so congratulated myself on my slender knowledge of this branch of the healing art as on the present occasion."
Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the paysan with a sort of rickety cabriolet, drawn by so small a horse, decorated with so large a collar, and covered with such a profusion of trappings, that, until he drew up beside us, and I could clearly distinguish the animal's four legs, I was not quite sure that the vehicle did not progress by some locomotive power of its own.
Having roused the conducteur, whom we found fast asleep amidst a pile of disorganized packages, we selected our respective baggage, and, having secured it as well as we could on and about the cabriolet, I took an affectionate leave of the good paysan, and, mounting by the side of my venerable companion, handled the ribbons and started. Our diminutive steed however required no great skill in coachmanship, nor any persuasion to get home again as quickly as the weight behind him would permit, so that we soon arrived at the town where, our arrival being expected, we found mine host of the Hôtel d'Allier and his domestiques on the alert; and, by the time I had made a hasty toilette, a good breakfast, to which I did ample justice, was on the table. Our meal being ended, and my companion complaining of a good deal of pain, I set forth in search of an apothecary's shop, where I procured the necessary materials; and his hurts having been properly dressed and bandaged, I advised him to go to bed and seek the repose he so much needed till dinner time. In the mean time I amused myself by writing some letters and in strolling through and about the environs of this neat and lively town, which the pen of Sterne has rendered classic ground. The evening was spent in my friend's bedroom, as he was not well enough to join the party in the salon. Nevertheless he was in good spirits, and very communicative; informed me that he was the younger son of a noble family in Dauphiny, but that by the death of his elder brother, many years since, he had succeeded to the title and family estate, to which he had been paying a farewell visit when I joined him at Gannât. These family histories and sundry interesting anecdotes of the days of Louis XV. and XVI. so animated the old man, that I, fearing the excitement in his present condition, thought it prudent to plead fatigue and retire to rest.
Before we parted, however, for the night, he made me promise that I would not desert him on the morrow if he should not be able to travel, but that I would accompany him to Paris, and take up my quarters with him during my stay in that capital. The next morning I found him, though much better, yet still unfit for a continuous journey of any length. With the assistance, therefore, of our host, we engaged a voiturier who, for a certain sum, agreed to take us to Paris by such easy stages as we might direct and find agreeable. To describe the road from Moulins to Paris would be to write a guide-book; suffice it to say, that the weather was delightful, and my companion, who not only bore the journey well, but seemed to derive both health and spirits from this easy mode of travelling, was altogether the must amusing companion I had ever happened to meet with; insomuch, that I almost regretted, when we pulled up at the Barrière d'Italie on entering the gay capital of France, that our journey was at an end. We arrived about four o'clock P. M., and drove straight to the Place Beauveau, where, without his order to the driver to stop, I should not have failed to pitch upon his residence, so perfectly was it in keeping with the appearance and character of its venerable owner. There prevailed throughout the same air of antiquity; we were admitted by an ancient porter and received by another elderly domestic, well-nigh as venerable and aristocratic in his appearance as the master, who expressed in affectionate, yet respectful terms, the lively satisfaction he felt on again beholding his cher marquis, whose arrival he had been expecting for some days, and manifested the most touching anxiety when he saw the traces, and heard a brief account of the accident which had befallen him. My friend, having most courteously and cordially welcomed me to his house, consigned me to the care of Antoine, as this ancient serving man was called, and by whom I was conducted to a suite of apartments, au seconde it is true, but most comfortably and tastefully furnished in the Louis-Quatorze style of decoration. The walls were hung with tapestry, relieved at intervals by splendid mirrors and tables of rare marbles, whilst a bed, with green silk hangings, worthy of, and apparently coeval with, Anne of Austria herself, promised me a night of luxurious repose.
Having, with Antoine's assistance, unpacked and arranged my wardrobe, I proceeded to dress for dinner, and my operations were scarcely concluded ere he knocked at my door and announced that it was served. I immediately followed him down stairs to a spacious and well-lighted salon, where my friend awaited me. The repast to which we sat down gave me a very exalted opinion of the savoir faire of my friend's chef. There was no rosbif, no plomboudin, no clumsy attempt at imitation of the English cuisine, out of compliment to me; all was French, and all was perfect—the soup pure and restoring—the côtellettes magnifiques, and the vol au vent superbe. The Champagne was frappé to the minute, the Chambertin shed its bouquet, and the Bordeaux of rare quality. Mine host ate and drank sparingly, but he did the honors of his table in a manner so courteous, yet so jovial withal, that our dinner was a protracted one, and it was late ere we retired to coffee in his library, an oblong room of noble dimensions, and so furnished that it would have been called comfortable even in England, and elegant every where. The sides were covered with bookcases, whose shelves contained the best German, French, and Italian authors, and a much larger assortment of English works than is usually found in a foreigner's collection. The ends were hung with some choice specimens of the old masters, and one or two of the modern French school, whilst here and there on marble tables, or pedestals, stood some exquisite pieces of sculpture, which showed to the greatest advantage under the soft light of three lamps of the purest alabaster, which hung suspended from the ceiling; in short, the aspect of the whole apartment proclaimed the owner to be a man of wealth, taste and literature.
Amongst the pictures, I observed that a large one, which hung alone over the mantlepiece, was covered by a black crape veil or curtain. This, of course, excited my curiosity; but as my friend, in describing the others, never in any way alluded to it, I felt that inquiry was impossible. In fact, he always contrived, or appeared to contrive, to divert my attention when he perceived me looking in that direction.
"You see, sir," said he, "that I do in some measure cultivate English literature. I have read the works of most of your best writers, and flatter myself that I can almost taste and appreciate the beauties of your great poet Shakspeare. I have seen, too, your Siddons give vitality and form to the sublime conceptions of his genius. Her Queen Katharine was noble, her Constance touching, and her Lady Macbeth terrible. I shall never," continued he, in a low tone, and as if talking to himself, "never forget it; it recalled too vividly," and here, methought, his eye glanced at the veiled picture, when, suddenly starting up, he fetched from one of the shelves the volume containing that play, and read aloud some passages with a power and effect that quite surprised me. I was about to compliment him on the correctness of his conception and the force of his elocution, but he waived his hand, as if pained by the images produced on his mind by the scene he had just read, hastily restored the book to its shelf, and turned the conversation to some topic of the day, which, with other trivial matter, occupied us till I proposed to retire. Shaking my hand warmly, my friend jocularly expressed his hope that, "as I had less on my conscience than Lady Macbeth, so I should rest better," and we parted for the night.
Sleep, however, I could not, though my body was weary and my couch soft. My mind had been strongly and strangely excited, as well by my host's impassioned recital of Macbeth, as by the crape-clad picture, and I could not help fancying that there was some mysterious connection between it and the play. Thus I lay watching the flickering light emitted by the embers of my wood-fire, which was now fast dying away on the hearth, until the pendule on the chimney-piece announced in silver tones that it was three o'clock.
"I can endure this no longer," exclaimed I, "see that picture I must and will. Every soul in the house is now buried in sleep; why should I not steal down to the library and gratify my indomitable curiosity? If it be a breach of hospitality, it is surely a venial one? What can the old gentleman expect, if he will thus tantalize his guests?"
Whilst I thus reasoned with myself, I was busily employed in wrapping my robe de chambre about my person and in lighting my candle, and in one minute, I stood before the object of my waking dreams, and in another the light was raised to its proper level and the crape thrown back; when, instead of some scene of blood, which my heated imagination had conjured up, there stood revealed before my wondering eyes the portrait of one of the loveliest women I ever beheld. The head, set gracefully on exquisitely turned shoulders, exhibited a countenance in which sweetness and intelligence were intimately blended. The features, though not what is termed regular, were most harmonious, and gave me a clearer idea of Lord Byron's "the mind, the music breathing from her face," than I had ever had before. Her dark chestnut hair, parted Madonnawise on her pale and thoughtful brow, fell in rich clusters down an ivory neck, and finally rested on a bosom "firm as a maiden's, as a matron's full." But it was the eyes that chiefly riveted my gaze. Deep and clear as one of Ruysdael's lakes, they seemed to reflect in their limpid mirror every surrounding object. At the first glance their expression was that of softness; but on fixing mine upon them as I did, in all the intensity of admiration, they seemed gradually to assume so stern an aspect, as if reproving my impertinent curiosity, that I fairly quailed beneath their glance. Whilst I thus stood, rooted as it were to the spot, and lost in mingled feelings of admiration and wonder, not unmixed with a certain sensation of awe, a hand laid gently on my shoulder caused me to start round, and I beheld my friend standing beside me. I was about to mutter some apology, but he stopped me, saying, "It was my fault, I do not blame you. I ought to have known that that veiled picture would excite your curiosity, and I ought not to have brought you here unless I was prepared to gratify it. But return to bed, and to-morrow you shall know my history and that of the picture now before you. I never yet imparted it to mortal ear, but as it will interest, and may possibly be useful to you in afterlife, you shall have it, as some return for the services you have rendered me. Good night." So saying he waived his hand in a friendly but somewhat authoritative manner, and I betook myself to my apartment, a good deal abashed and ashamed of my adventure.
It was late the next morning when Antoine, presenting himself at my bedside, broke my slumbers, and with them the current of a dream of which the picture and the occurrences of the past night formed the basis. He informed me he had just dressed his master, and tendered me the like service, which, however, I declined, and proceeded, unaided and alone, to dress with all expedition. My friend received me in the salon, where we had dined the preceding day, with his usual benignant smile; but it was easy to perceive that his night had not been passed in sleep. He looked languid and out of spirits, and our breakfast was a somewhat silent one. When it was over, he sat awhile lost in deep thought, but at length, as if by sudden effort, he arose and took me by the arm, saying, "Allons, M.D., let us adjourn to the library, where I will unburden my mind, and perform the promise of last night."
The picture was still uncovered, and we were no sooner seated than, as if fearing his resolution might give way, he immediately began thus:
In the year 1770 I had, as I have already informed you, the honor of belonging to that distinguished body the Gardes du Corps, and though my duty required my almost constant presence at Versailles, I, nevertheless, had a lodging in this house, which is now mine. I had at that time but little prospect of ever possessing a house of my own, and could not always pay my rent for the room I then occupied therein. My family, of which I was the youngest, was rich, but I was poor, and have often gone without a dinner, because I had not wherewithal to pay for one. I fell into debt, which my brother promised, some day or other, to pay; or I might, perhaps, get a rich wife, for we men of fashion, whilst youth and good looks lasted, thought ourselves fairly entitled to use the folly of wealthy old dowagers as an instrument placed in our hands by Providence to enable us to revenge ourselves on Fortune for her cruelty in making us younger sons. "Remember," my father used to say to me, "that there is nothing on which our good or ill-fate in life so much depends as on women; we are in their hands; they manage us as they please; and it is the gentlest and the meekest who rule us the most effectually." I, however, led a gay and thoughtless life, and never troubled myself to inquire what influence, good or evil, women might have on my future life. I had three occupations which took up all my time—the ordinary routine of duty at Versailles; to pay assiduous court to the Prince de Beauveau, who honored me with his patronage, and for which reason I chose my lodgings as near as I could to his hotel; and last, though not least, there was Mademoiselle Zephirine, première dansuese at the Theatre Audinet. You smile, Mr. D., but recollect that I am now speaking of more than forty years ago. Ah! it was then no slight affair to keep a mistress, I assure you; for, though not allowed to hear one's name, she was to be openly acknowledged and as openly fought for when there was occasion. I had, for instance, to call out an officer in the Swiss Guards, for presuming to say that Zephirine had failed in one of her favorite and most admired pas. The Princess de Beauveau knew of the connection, and did not disapprove; so I practiced all the fashionable dances of the day, that I might qualify myself to appear as the partner of Zephirine at the public balls in Paris and at the fêtes champêtres at Versailles, where we danced on the verdant carpet of the mossy turf. Zephirine had all the accomplishments and tastes that take the fancy of a sprig of fashion of that period; she fenced and rode beautifully; loved champagne suppers, and doted on all the costly fineries of Madame Bertia's splendid show-room. In short, I ruined myself with so little thought and so much pleasure that I believed myself to be in love, and was quite sure that Mademoiselle was as warmly attached to me; when, one evening, she came into my room here,—this very room, my dear Mr. D., where we are now sitting, still attired in her theatrical costume, and with the stage paint not yet rubbed off her pretty face.
"Chevalier," said she, "take care of yourself, your creditors are about to pounce upon you—yes, to arrest you. I learnt the fact not five minutes ago from an attorney's clerk, who makes love to my maid, and I came in to—"
"How can I sufficiently thank you, dearest," said I; "and so for me you brave even a prison, and—"
"Why, not exactly," replied she. "You see, Chevalier, you have no longer either cash or credit, and I should be a burden to you."
"Well?"
"Well, at first I had thoughts of sharing your fallen fortunes, but a Monsieur Edmond, the son of an East India Director, has advised me to abandon my intention and accompany him to England; 'twill be a saving to you, and we are going to start immediately; our travelling-carriage waits. Goodby, my dear chevalier,—au revoir!"
With that she made a pirouette, and in three bounds was out of the room. I ran, I flew, but Zephirine was too nimble for me, and I reached the street just in time to see her jump lightly into the carriage of the rich Englishman, and drive off at a gallop. To follow them—to overtake the ravisher and force him to resign his prey, was my first impulse; but, alas! I had no money, nor the means of borrowing any, and stood, moreover, in need of the kind intervention of the Prince de Beauveau between me and my importunate creditors. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to digest the affront as well as I could. When my mind became somewhat calmer, and I had pretty well got over the jeers of my acquaintance, I began to ask myself if I had really loved Zephirine, and if there had not been more vanity than passion in all the follies she had led me to commit? The response was, that I had not been in love with her, nor she with me. We both loved a jolly, rackety life—that was all; she was too flighty for affection, and I too dissipated for serious attachment. Besides, a man rarely allows his whole mind and thoughts to be entirely engrossed by any woman; he courts distraction in the variety of other occupations and tastes; all pursuits, all channels of employment, are open to him; and if he be a soldier, he is exposed to so many vicissitudes and dangers, and meets with so many adventures, that all the passions are brought into play, and each in its turn so blunts and weakens the influence of the other that none makes any durable impression. He abandons without scruple, a beloved mistress for a wealthy wife, and speaks of it openly without shame or reserve, whilst a woman would blush at the bare idea of such an act. Woman's love lives on self-denial, grows by sacrifices, and expands under the pressure of misfortune. I do not say that such is the love of all women, but it is of that chosen few with whose feelings it is dangerous to trifle, and who are not to be cast off with impunity. I have dwelt the more at length on my connection with Zephirine, because her name will re-appear in the course of the history of my first real love. I was, however (continued M. de Marigny), more cut up by my misfortune than I cared to confess, and had thoughts of quitting my lodgings in the Place Beauveau, and of having no other residence than the barracks of the Gardes du Corps at Versailles, when one evening, at about eleven o'clock, as I was returning home, pondering upon the urgent importunities of my creditors, and my brother's slackness in carrying into effect his promises and good intention towards me, I heard piercing shrieks proceeding from the very place whither I was going, and from the spot where it is crossed by a narrow street which leads into the Champs Elysées, then, neither paved, nor, as now, ornamented by good houses on each side. I need hardly add that this street was as dark as pitch, whilst even the place itself was only dimly lighted by the flickering gleam of the one poor lamp which hung before the hotel of M. le Prince de Beauveau. I drew my sword, and ran towards the spot whence the cries proceeded, but had scarcely gone twenty yards before I stumbled over a lifeless body. I stretched out my hands, and caught by the arm a fainting female, who at the same moment, seemed to come to herself only to redouble her cries and lamentations.
"Help! help!" cried she, in a voice choked by tears.
"Here is help, madame," said I; "what is the matter—tell me?"
"Help! they have slain this unhappy gentleman by my side."
My lodging being close by I ran and shook the great gate by repeated knocking, until I roused the porter and my own servant, cried murder, and, as at that hour of the night many of the inmates were not yet gone to bed, a light was soon procured, and all hastened to the scene of the murder. There we found, stretched in a pool of blood, a young and handsome female, her face whiter than the kerchief which encircled her blood-stained neck, her ears torn, her hands wounded, and close beside her the dead body of a man, somewhat older than herself, and which the neighbors speedily recognized as that of M. de Fosseux, a gentleman of some distinction at the bar, and who lived in the Place Beauveau, right opposite to my house. A general cry of horror burst from us all. The victim had been stabbed to the heart by a strong and steady hand, and the dagger—the instrument with which the crime had been perpetrated—had dropt from the wound, and was bathed in blood.
"There were two of them," cried the young lady, sobbing; "one seized my hands, tore the ear-rings from my ears, and snatched my necklace from my neck, whilst the other stabbed M. de Fosseux, who fell without a groan. Ah! if they had but been content only to rob us!"
Then were the lamentations of the unhappy lady renewed, and she fell into repeated swoons, from which she was recalled only to weep more and more bitterly. We raised her up and carried her to her own house, or rather to that of M. de Fosseux, whither we also carried him, and sent for a surgeon; but his help was useless; M. de Fosseux had long ceased to breathe. On receiving information of the occurrence, a lieutenant of police came instantly, and very speedily and satisfactorily decided on a very evident fact, namely, that the sole object of the assassins had been plunder, for M. de Fosseux had been robbed of his watch, his purse, a valuable ring, the mark of which was still visible on one of his fingers, and a pair of diamond buckles. Having satisfied himself on this point, the officer next proceeded to the apartment of the young lady, whom he interrogated most strictly as to all the details and circumstances attending the commission of the deed. She replied to all his questions with much self-possession, and the most exact precision—"stated her name to be Eugenie d'Ermay, by birth a gentlewoman, and a native of Poitou; twenty-five years of age, and an orphan, without any private fortune; and," added she, casting her eyes on the ground, "I have lived for seven years with M. de Fosseux, without the sanction of the marriage tie." He, her sole protector, and the only friend to whom she could look on leaving the convent where she had been educated, had also been her seducer; but he introduced her to society and to the families of his friends, and that very evening they had been supping with Madame la Comtesse de T——, and were returning on foot, when, close to their own door, the above tragical event took place. As to the deed itself, all had been effected with the utmost rapidity. Two men whom they had for some time observed to be following them, suddenly rushed upon them—one of the two had seized her and held her fast, whilst he stripped her of her trinkets; the other laid hold of M. de Fosseux, had struck him a too sure and fatal blow, and robbed him with a dispatch and address which showed an experienced hand; all this had been but the work of an instant, and the two assassins had fled towards the Champs Elysées with such speed that they were already far beyond pursuit before the unhappy lady suspected that he whom she loved was at all hurt, much less that he was killed.
"Did you observe," asked the police officer, "if one of the men was tall and strongly made and had red hair, and the other short and high-shouldered?"
Mademoiselle d'Ermay could not answer these questions; she felt certain, however, that the man, who had killed M. de Fosseux was tall, and her impression was confirmed by the fact of the blow having evidently been struck from above downwards. There were at that time in Paris two highwaymen, one of whom was called Pierre le Mauvais, and the other Guillaume le Bossu. These worthies were the theme of market-places and wine-shops, and as every robbery and murder committed in the capital was attributed to them, this was of course laid at their door.
Whilst listening attentively to this examination, and marking the profound grief of Eugenie—her deathlike paleness and her silent despair—I could not but pity M. de Fosseux, whom cruel fate had thus severed at the early age of thirty-two, not only from life, but from so young and lovely a companion. As Mademoiselle d'Ermay had mentioned the name of the Comtesse de T——, the officer of police called upon this lady in order to ascertain the truth of the statement as to her supper party, and found it to be perfectly correct. The comtesse, as soon as she heard of the sad event, hastened to assure Mademoiselle d'Ermay of her sympathy by every demonstration of kindness and affection, and, determined not to leave her in a house now become one of mourning, with the corpse of M. de Fosseux for her sole companion, insisted on taking her instantly to her own. Mademoiselle d'Ermay consented on one condition, namely, that she should be permitted once more to look on him who had been the only object she had loved on earth. I was present at this last scene of this sad drama. Mademoiselle d'Ermay said nothing, but throwing herself on her knees by the side of the bed on which they had laid M. de Fosseux, her hands convulsively clasped together and her head sunk on her breast, she was absorbed for some minutes in fervent prayer, when, suddenly rising and turning to Madame de T——, she said, "I am ready, madame." She then immediately quitted the house in that silence which is the surest sign of profound affliction, and having seen her safely conveyed to Madame de T—— 's, I took my leave.
On reaching my own abode, I fell into a reverie in which I could not help contrasting the attachment of such a woman as Mademoiselle d'Ermay with the light and heartless nature of my connection with Zephirine. Yet all my feelings revolted at the odious comparison. What? could I for a moment, even in thought, place a young lady of good family, well educated, and whom the arts of a seducer, under the guise of a friend, had betrayed into her first and only error—could I for an instant allow myself to place her in the same class with an opera-dancer? I hated myself for the very thought, which could never have suggested itself but to one who had never known any other sort of tie than such as had bound me to Zephirine—who had never been loved, nor ever felt the genuine passion. I slept not that night, nor did I wish to sleep; my mind was too fully occupied in recalling every movement, every gesture, every word that fell from the lips of Mademoiselle d'Ermay; her gentle countenance, her angelic look, and that brow so fair and so open, whose polished surface even terror the most appalling had not been able to ruffle. Still I was not in love with her; I merely tried to recall her features, which the darkness of the night and the uncertain glimmer of candles had not enabled me to see and examine so perfectly as I could have wished. However, I promised myself better success the next day, when I resolved to observe her with the closest attention, although I felt that in so doing I was rashly exposing myself to that undefinable and seducing something which hung around her like a charm.