"And I," rejoined the Chevalier, "can boast of a parentage as distinguished as your own. My father was an English thief and pickpocket; he took pains to teach me the science of his profession, and I will venture to affirm that I can remove a gentleman's watch or pocket-book as gracefully as could my venerated sire himself, whose career was rather abruptly terminated one fine morning in consequence of a temporary valet having tied his neckcloth too tightly: he was hung in front of Newgate jail, for a highway robbery, in which he acquired but little glory and less profit,—for he only shot an old woman's poodle dog, and stole a leather purse full of halfpence. My mother was a very pretty waiting woman at an ordinary tavern; one night she abruptly stepped out and sailed for America, carrying with her my unfinished self, and the silver spoons. I saw you—admired you—made you my mistress, and partner in business, the profitable nature of which is proved by our being now possessed of the very pretty sum of five thousand dollars, the result of three hours' operation."
"You have yet one grand stroke of art to accomplish, which will place us both on the very pinnacle of fortune," said the Duchess. "I allude, of course, to your approaching marriage with Miss Alice Goldworthy."
The Chevalier's brow darkened, and his handsome features assumed an expression of uneasiness.
"That," said he, "is the only business in which I ever faltered. Poor young lady! she is so good, so pure, so confidingly affectionate, that my heart sinks within me when I think of the ruin which her marriage with me will bring upon her. When I gaze into her lovely countenance, and hear the tones of her gentle voice, remorse for the wrong that I contemplate towards her, strikes me to the soul, and I feel that I am a wretch indeed."
"Pooh!" exclaimed the Duchess, her lips curling with disdain—"you grow very sentimental indeed! Perhaps you really love this girl?"
"No, Duchess, no—but I pity her; a devil cannot love an angel. There was a time when my soul was unstained with guilt or crime—then might I have aspired to the bliss of loving such a divine creature as Alice; but now—villain as I am there can be no sympathy between my heart and hers. Well, well—the die is cast; I will wed her, for I covet the splendid fortune which she will inherit on the death of her father. You know that the wedding day will soon arrive; but how I dread its approach! for I fear that ere I can embrace my bride within the sacred nuptial couch, she will discover that which I can never remove or entirely conceal—that fatal mark, the brand of crime, which I carry upon my person. She loves me; but her love would be changed to hate, were she to see that horrid emblem of guilt."
"You must conceal it from her view," rejoined the Duchess, shuddering—"or it will spoil all. The marriage would be annulled by the discovery of that detestable mark."
"Let us trust to fortune," said the Chevalier.—"I must leave you now, and shut myself up for an hour or so in my workshop. Afterwards, I shall go and convert the cheque into substantial cash."
Duvall left the room, and ascended to the highest story in the building. Here he entered a small apartment, which contained many curious and remarkable things. A small printing press stood in one corner; in another was a pile of paper, and other materials; tools of almost every description lay scattered about, among which were the necessary implements for robbery and burglary. An experienced police officer would have instantly pronounced the place a secret den for the printing of counterfeit bank-notes—and so it was. The gallant Chevalier was the most expert and dangerous counterfeiter in the country.
Seating himself at a trunk, on which stood writing materials, he drew forth the cheque which Mr. Tickels had given him. Having examined it long and narrowly, he took a pen and paper, and wrote an exact copy of it; this he did so admirably, that Mr. Tickels himself would have been puzzled to point out the original and genuine cheque which he had written.