Sincerity spoke in the young man’s earnest eyes and his respectful kiss of her small hand at parting.
Was indeed this youthful cynic transformed by the flower-like influence of the girl?
He went away all eagerness to pursue the lost sister’s quest, promising that no stone––police or other––should be left unturned in the search.
And here––where the orphans’ eventful epoch becomes entwined with the lives of the great and with the darkening storm and impending passion of the Revolution––it is well to acquaint our readers further with the de Vaudreys.
Count de Linieres of Touraine had been married––many years before the date of this story––to Mlle. de Vaudrey, the heiress of a great fortune. A skeleton (’twas rumored) rattled in the Vaudrey closet. Certainly there was heritage of hates as well as gold.
A tenant Jean Setain, who came to the Paris mansion to pay his rent, made a scene. He told of the cruelties long ago inflicted on his father by the Countess’ 41 father––for some trifling trespass on seigniorage, boiling lead in the unfortunate’s veins––and the angry Count, after a stern rebuke, had him ejected. Jacques-Forget-Not (such was his queer nickname) departed, vowing vengeance.
Having ample wealth, the Count desired preferment. The post of Minister of Police was a steppingstone. He accepted it whilst visions of a grand alliance for his nephew, Chevalier de Vaudrey, pointed to dukedom or even princely rank as the family’s goal. It thus vexed Linieres exceedingly that the Chevalier should have been mixed up in a duel about an unknown girl. He believed it a clever stroke to hire Picard, the Chevalier’s own valet, to spy upon him.
“How is your master’s conduct?” asked the Count.
“Scandalous, perfectly scandalous!” replied Picard in a tone of deep dejection. “Once indeed he had a few gentleman associates and went to gay parties, but now he is quite moral, and just as studious as a lawyer’s clerk. Really I must leave the Chevalier,” continued Picard, “his principles are such as I cannot accept!”