“What! for throwing herself away on Rameau? True. There is a great deal of good in that girl’s nature, if she had been properly trained. Rameau wrote a pretty poem on her which turned her head and won her heart, in which she is styled the ‘Ondine of Paris,’—a nymph-like type of Paris itself.”
“Vanishing type, like her namesake; born of the spray, and vanishing soon into the deep,” said Graham. “Pray go and look for the Duval; you will find me seated yonder.”
Graham passed into a retired alley, and threw himself on a solitary bench, while Lemercier went in search of Madame Duval. In a few minutes the Frenchman reappeared. By his side was a lady well dressed, and as she passed under the lamps Graham perceived that, though of a certain age, she was undeniably handsome. His heart beat more quickly. Surely this was the Louise Duval he sought.
He rose from his seat, and was presented in due form to the lady, with whom Frederic then discreetly left him. “M. Lemercier tells me that you think that we were once acquainted with each other.”
“Nay, Madame; I should not fail to recognize you were that the case. A friend of mine had the honour of knowing a lady of your name; and should I be fortunate enough to meet that lady, I am charged with a commission that may not be unwelcome to her. M. Lemercier tells me your nom de bapteme is Louise.”
“Louise Corinne, Monsieur.”
“And I presume that Duval is the name you take from your parents?”
“No; my father’s name was Bernard. I married, when I was a mere child, M. Duval, in the wine trade at Bordeaux.”
“Ah, indeed!” said Graham, much disappointed, but looking at her with a keen, searching eye, which she met with a decided frankness. Evidently, in his judgment, she was speaking the truth.
“You know English, I think, Madame,” he resumed, addressing her in that language.