‘But Duguet,’ said I—‘what has he to do with Duguet?’
‘Don’t you see that’s a feigned name,’ replied she—‘assumed by him as if he had half-a-dozen such? Read on, and you’ll learn it all.’
I took the paper, and continued where she ceased reading—
‘This Duguet is then, it would appear, identical with a very well-known Polish Count Czaroviski, who with his lady had been passing some weeks at the Hôtel de France. The police have, however, received his signalement, and are on his track.’
‘But why, in Heaven’s name, should he spread such an odious calumny on himself?’ said I.
‘Dear me, how very simple you are! I thought he had told you all. As a mere escroc, money will always bribe the authorities to let him pass; as a political offender, and as such the importance of his mission would proclaim him, nothing would induce the officials to further his escape—their own heads would pay for it. Once over the frontier, the ruse will be discovered, the editors obliged to eat their words and be laughed at, and Gustav receive the Black Eagle for his services. But see, here’s another.’
‘Among the victims at play of the well-known Chevalier Duguet—or, as he is better known here, the Count Czaroviski—is a simple Englishman, resident at the Hôtel de France, and from whom it seems he has won every louis-d’or he possessed in the world. This miserable dupe, whose name is O’Learie, or O’Leary——’
At these words the countess leaned back on the sofa and laughed immoderately.
‘Have you, then, suffered so deeply?’ said she, wiping her eyes; ‘has Gustav really won all your louis-d’ors?’
‘This is too bad, far too bad,’ said I; ‘and I really cannot comprehend how any intrigue could induce him so far to asperse his character in this manner. I, for my part, can be no party to it.’