"By my faith, neighbor," said Rudolph to Miss Dimpleton, "this good fat woman shall have the preference. She takes us for young married people; the supposition flatters me, and I decide for her shop."
"To the good fat woman's, then," answered Miss Dimpleton; "her face pleases me too."
The grisette and her companion then entered Mother Bouvard's shop. By a magnanimity perhaps unexampled anywhere but at the Temple, the rivals of Mother Bouvard did not rebel at the preference accorded her; one of the neighbors, indeed, had the generosity to say, "So long as it is Mother Bouvard, and no other, who has this customer, it is very well: she has a family, and is the oldest inhabitant of the Temple, and an honor to it." It was, besides, impossible to have a face more prepossessing, open, and joyous than hers.
"Here, my pretty little lady," said she to Miss Dimpleton, who examined everything with the manner of one capable of judging, "this is the purchase of which I spoke; two beds, completely fitted up, and as good as new. If by chance you want a little old secretary, and not dear, there is one," and she pointed to it, "that I had in the same lot. Although I do not generally buy furniture, I could not refuse to take it, as the person of whom I had all this seemed so unhappy. Poor lady! it was the parting with that, above all, that appeared to rend her heart; an old piece of furniture very long with the family."
At these words, while the shopkeeper and Miss Dimpleton were debating the prices of different articles, Rudolph looked more attentively at the piece of furniture which Mother Bouvard had pointed out. It was one of those old secretaries of rosewood, in shape nearly triangular, shut in by a panel in front, which, thrown back, and supported by two long brass hinges, could be used as a writing-desk. In the middle of the panel, inlaid with different-colored wood, Rudolph noticed a cipher in ebony, an M. and R. interlaced, and surmounted by the coronet of a count. He imagined its last possessor to belong to an elevated class of society. His curiosity increased; he examined the secretary with renewed attention; he opened mechanically the drawers, one after the other, when, finding some difficulty in opening the last, and seeking the cause, he discovered and drew out carefully a sheet of paper, partly entangled between the drawer and the bottom of the secretary. While Miss Dimpleton was finishing her purchases with Mother Bouvard, Rudolph narrowly scrutinized the paper; from the many erasures it was easily to be seen that it was an unfinished draught of a letter. Rudolph, with difficulty, read as follows:
"Sir,—Be assured that misfortunes the most frightful could alone compel me to address you. It is not from ill-placed pride I feel these scruples, but the absolute want of any claim to the service I venture to ask of you. The sight of my daughter, reduced, like myself, to the most painful privation, urges me to the task. A few words will explain the cause of the misfortunes which overwhelm me. After the death of my husband, there remained to me a fortune of three hundred thousand francs, placed by my brother with M. Jacques Ferrand, notary. I received at Angers, where I had retired with my daughter, the interest of this sum in remittances from my brother. You remember, sir, the frightful event that put an end to his existence: ruined, as it appeared, by secret and unfortunate speculations, he destroyed himself eight months since. Before this melancholy event, I received from him a few lines, written in despair, in which he said, when I read them he should have ceased to exist; he finished by informing me that he possessed no document relative to the sum placed in my name with M. Jacques Ferrand, as that individual never gave a receipt, but was honor and goodness itself, and it would only be necessary for me to call on him for the affairs to be satisfactorily arranged. As soon as I could possibly turn my attention to anything but the fearful death of my brother, I came to Paris, where I knew no one but yourself, sir, and that indirectly, by business you had had with my husband. I told you that the sum placed with M. Jacques Ferrand comprised the whole of my fortune, and that my brother sent me, every six months, the interest derived from that sum. More than a year having passed since the last payment, I consequently called on the notary, to demand that of which I stood greatly in want. Scarcely had I made myself known, than, without respecting my grief, he accused my brother of having borrowed from him two thousand francs, which he had entirely lost by his death; adding, that not only was his suicide a crime toward God and man, but that it was still further an act of dishonesty, of which he was the victim. This odious speech made me indignant. The upright conduct of my brother was well known; he had, it is true, without the knowledge of myself or his friends, lost his fortune in hazardous speculations, but he died with his reputation unsullied, regretted by every one, and leaving no debts, save that to his notary. I replied to M. Ferrand that I authorized him to take instantly, from the sum he had in his charge of mine, the two thousand francs my brother was indebted to him. At these words he looked at me in stupefied manner, and asked me of what money I spoke. 'The three hundred thousand francs that my brother placed in your hands eighteen months since, sir; the interest of which you have remitted, through him,' said I not comprehending his question. The notary shrugged his shoulders, smiled in pity, as though my assertion was not true, and answered me that, so far from having placed money with him, he had borrowed two thousand francs.
"It is impossible to explain to you my terror at this answer. 'But what, then, has become of this sum?' asked I. 'My daughter and myself have no other resource; if it be taken from us, there remains but the greatest misery. What will become of us?' 'I know nothing about it,' said the notary coolly: 'it is most likely that your brother, instead of placing this sum with me, as he told you, made use of it in those unfortunate speculations to which he gave himself up, without the knowledge of any one.' 'It is false, sir!' I exclaimed; 'my brother was honor's self. Far from despoiling myself and child, he sacrificed himself to us. He would never marry, that he might leave all he possessed to my child.' 'Dare you assume, then, madame, that I am capable of denying a trust reposed in me?' asked the notary, with an indignation so apparently honorable and sincere, that I replied, 'No, sir; without doubt your reputation for probity is well known; but, notwithstanding, I cannot accuse my brother of so cruel an abuse of confidence.' 'Upon what deeds do you found this demand on me?' asked M. Ferrand. 'None, sir; eighteen months since, my brother, who took upon himself the management of my affairs, wrote to me, saying, 'I have an excellent opportunity of realizing six per cent.; send me your warrant of attorney; I will deposit three hundred thousand francs, which I have concluded about, with M. Ferrand, the notary.' I sent the power of attorney; and, a few days after, he informed me that he had effected the deposit with you, and at the end of six months he sent me the interest of that sum. 'At least you have some letters from him on the subject, madame?' 'No, sir; as they related only to business, I did not preserve them.' 'I, unhappily, madame, know nothing of all this,' replied the notary; 'if my character was not above all suspicion, all attack, I should say to you, 'The law is open to you— proceed against me; the judges will have to choose between an honorable man, who for thirty years has enjoyed the esteem of persons of consideration, and the posthumous declaration of a man who, after ruining himself in the most hazardous speculations, found refuge only in suicide.' In short, I say to you now, attack me, madame, if you dare, and the memory of your brother will be dishonored! But I should think that you will nave the good sense to be resigned to a misfortune, doubtless very great, but to which I am a stranger.' 'But, sir, I am a mother; if my fortune is lost to me, my daughter and myself have only the resource of some little furniture; that sold, there remains but misery, sir, appalling misery!' 'You have, unfortunately, been cheated; I can do nothing,' replied the notary. 'Again I tell you, madame, your brother deceived you. If you hesitate between my word and his, proceed against me; the law is open to you—I abide by its decision.' I left the office of the notary in the deepest despair. What remained for me to do in this extremity. Without any document to prove the validity of my claim, convinced of the strict honesty of my brother, confounded by the assurance of M. Ferrand, having no one from whom I could ask advice (you were then traveling), knowing that money was necessary to have the opinion of counsel, and wishing carefully to preserve the little which was left to me, I dared not undertake the commencement of a lawsuit. It was then—"
This copy of a letter ended here, for strokes not decipherable, covered some lines which followed: at last, at the bottom, in a corner of the page, Rudolph read the following memorandum: "Write to the Duchess de Lucenay, for M. de Saint-Remy."
Rudolph remained thoughtful after the perusal of this fragment of a letter, in which he had found two names whose connection struck him. Although the additional infamy with which M. Ferrand appeared to be accused was not proved, this man had shown himself so pitiless towards the unfortunate Morel, so infamous to Louise, his daughter, that a denial of the deposit, protected as he was from certain discovery, did not appear strange, coming from such a wretch. This mother, who claimed a fortune which had so strangely disappeared, no doubt accustomed to the comforts of life, was ruined by a blow so sudden: knowing no one at Paris, as the letter said, what could now be the existence of these two females, deprived of everything, alone in the heart of this immense city?
The prince had, as we know, promised to Lady d'Harville some intrigues, which he hazarded for the purpose of occupying her mind, and a part to perform in some future work of charity, feeling certain of finding, before his again meeting the lady, some grief to assuage: he trusted that perhaps chance might throw in his path some worthy, unfortunate person, who could, agreeably to his project, interest the heart and imagination of Lady d'Harville. The wording of the letter that he held in his hands, a copy of which, without doubt, had never been sent to the person from whom assistance was implored, showed a character proud and resigned, to whom the offer of charity would be no doubt repugnant. In that case, what precautions and delicate deceptions would be necessary to hide the source of a generous succor, or to make it acceptable! And then, what address to gain introduction to this lady, so that you might judge if she really merited the interest it seemed she ought to inspire! Rudolph foresaw a crowd of emotions, new, curious, and touching, which ought singularly to amuse Lady d'Harville, as he had promised her.