There was at that time living at Bordeaux, an old Welsh lady of the name of Jones; and, like Jephtha, judge of Israel, she was blessed with one fair daughter whom she loved passing well. She had continued to live on in France, through peace and war, without minding any one; and, as she said, had never been frightened at any thing, since her poor dear husband's death, till she heard that the English and Spaniards were going to take Bordeaux by 'sault.[[8]] For the Spaniards, she understood, were voracious savages; as to the English, she did not mind them.
At the time of the French revolution, old monasteries were to be sold for an old song, and nunneries were to be had for the having. Thus it so happened, that in those days, Monsieur Emanuel Latouche (who had once been a Jew, and had become professionally a Christian, though he was strongly suspected of being of no religion at all,) had acquired, under a revolutionary sale, the property of the convent which lay on the one side of the Rue de l'Intendance, and the monastery which lay on the other. Now Monsieur Emanuel Latouche, for reasons best known to himself, espoused a certain French lady; his marriage with whom appeared to be the proximate cause of his Christianization; and having imbibed her fortune and bought the buildings aforesaid, he set up as a great dealer in marine stores. After a certain period of connubial felicity, the lady died; and left to the care and guidance of Emanuel Latouche, a certain remnant of herself, called a son, which she had had by a former marriage; and, as Monsieur Latouche was reputed to cheat all the world, he was by no means so inconsistent as not to cheat his own step-son, at least so it was generally supposed. Finding that it would be a much better speculation to let the monastery aforesaid, he prevailed upon old Mrs. Jones, whom we have heretofore mentioned, to take a great part of it, assuring her, as a further inducement, that, in case she should in future have any thing to hide, he could show her a place in that very house which would never be discovered by the keenest eyes.
It is not known whether Mrs. Jones was biassed by this information or not; but, however, she took up her abode in that part of the monastery which looks down on the Marché St. Dominique on the one hand, and on the Theâtre Français on the other; and Monsieur Emanuel Latouche, with his step-son, continued to live in the old convent on the other side of the Rue de l'Intendance. It was by these means that an intimacy first took place between pretty Lucy Jones and Edward Fontange, the step-son of Monsieur Emanuel Latouche.
There can be no doubt, since Horace says it, that the best plan is to begin in the middle of a story; but there is, notwithstanding, some trouble in working up one's lee way. Being arrived at the point we have now reached, however, all the rest is simple. Having put a handsome young man and a pretty girl together, what in the name of Heaven can they do but fall in love with each other? It is what they always do in novels, and poems, and plays, and I am afraid in real life too, for propinquity is a terrible thing; and, for my own part, I am a firm believer in animal magnetism, that is to say, as far as attraction and repulsion go. However that may be, Edward Fontange and Lucy Jones tried very hard to fall in love with each other, and, after a short time, succeeded to a miracle; so much so, indeed, that Mrs. Jones, perceiving what was going on, thought fit to speak to M. Latouche upon the subject, desiring to know if he intended to take his step-son into business with him; in which case she should not scruple, (she said,) to give him her daughter.
But M. Latouche informed her that he should do no such thing, that his step-son was no better than a beggar, whom he had educated out of affection for his dearly beloved wife deceased, and that, further, he would not give him a farthing, or do anything else for him in the world; whereupon Mrs. Jones quarrelled with Monsieur Emanuel Latouche, called him a miserly old curmudgeon; and, going home, turned young Fontange out of her house, and bade her daughter Lucy think no more of the young vagabond.
Now love being, as Mrs. Jones herself admitted, no better than a pig, the best way of making him go on is to pull him back by the hind-leg; and, consequently, Lucy Jones, who was the most obedient creature in the world, thought more than ever of Edward Fontange, saw him on every occasion that she could contrive, and, it is supposed, let him now and then take a stray kiss, without saying any thing but "Don't," which he, being a Frenchman, did not at all understand.
It was at this time that the Duke of Wellington's army crossed the Pyrenees; and fear took possession of Mrs. Jones, who was not only terrified for her daughter Lucy, but also for certain sums of money, which she had kept long under lock and key. What was to be done? She puzzled a long time; but, in a moment, the words of Monsieur Emanuel Latouche came to her remembrance. He could show her (he had said) a place in that very house which would never be discovered by the keenest eyes; and as she thought of it, her hopes became exalted; she seized a candle from the table, without saying a word, and rushed into the cellar. For where could it be, she asked herself, but in the cellar? Lucy, who beheld her mother so suddenly seized with the spirit of locomotion, naturally imagined she was mad, and followed her as fast as she could. Her first supposition appeared confirmed, when entering the cellar, she found her mother gazing fixedly upon a small iron cross in the wall. "There it is, sure enough," cried Mrs. Jones; "there it is!"
"Are you out of your senses, mama?" demanded Lucy, respectfully; "are you mad? There's what?"
"Why the terraqueous suppository, girl," answered Mrs. Jones, who had forgotten a considerable portion of her English during her residence in France. "The terraqueous suppository, which that old curmudgeon, Latouche, told me of when he attrapped me into taking this old conventicle."
"I do not see any repository at all," said Lucy; "I see nothing but the cellar wall and an iron stancheon to keep it up."