“From that I cannot deter you,” Père Antoine replied quietly; “I am bound by my promise not to tell you where she has gone, but I can assure you that she is safe.”
“Never mind, mon père,” Péron replied; “I will find her in spite of you.”
But he found this no easy task, although he set about it with much zeal. Mademoiselle had disappeared completely; she had left no trace behind her at either house, and the servants of the late marquis had deserted their places at the first tidings of his fall, as rats leave a sinking ship. No one knew and no one seemed to care where the orphan daughter had gone; some corner of Paris had engulfed her and showed no sign. Believing that the woman Ninon would be faithful to her mistress, Péron searched for her, but in vain; she also had disappeared completely, leaving no trace behind. Not only did he search for her, but he enlisted the interest of Jacques des Horloges, whose apprentices went into nearly every house of any importance in the city. He set inquiries afoot at Archambault’s; he went from one quarter to another, but no one knew where she had gone.
Days passed into weeks, weeks into months; St. Thomas’s day had come and he had not found her. He was now overwhelmed with courtesies; he was wanted at one fête and another. The new marquis who had been a musketeer was the lion of the hour; the story of his courage and address and his romantic life was whispered in the Louvre and at the Palais Cardinal; great lords and princes greeted him as an equal, great ladies stopped their carriages to speak to him in the street. The king was gracious to him, the cardinal made a favorite of him. Gossip told with unction of the occurrence at Archambault’s cook-shop and how M. de Bièvre was thrown over a table like a sack of salt.
Péron had laid aside the uniform of a musketeer and assumed a dress befitting his rank, and Madame Michel would not permit any one else to do up his lace collar and ruffles or to keep his fine clothes in order. Her broad, brown face beamed with pride at the sight of the handsome marquis, and nothing could exceed her happiness when he came to sup with them in the room behind the shop on the Rue de la Ferronnerie. She made great preparations as for a prince, and on the table was a plate of rissoles, such as he had loved in the old days, when it was one of his privileges to go to the pastry shop.
But all these things did not bring mademoiselle any nearer, nor could he wring her secret from Père Antoine, though he was a constant visitor at the Rue de Bethisi and often accompanied the priest on his walks through Paris. But with all his persuasion and persistence he gained nothing; Père Antoine made no sign to guide him, and Péron was, at last, almost in despair. M. de Nançay had been killed at Chantilly in the spring; summer had passed and autumn; it lacked but two days of Christmas and he had not yet found Renée, nor did he seem likely to find her.
CHAPTER XXX
THE HOUSE ON THE RUE DE PARADIS
THERE was one thing that Péron noticed in his walks with Père Antoine—whom he had followed like a shadow—and that was that they passed so frequently through the Rue du Chaume, although it was not always the shortest way to their destination. It was indeed more often out of their way, yet the priest would walk slowly through that street from the Rue des Vieilles-Haudriettes to the Rue de Paradis, though he had to turn back to the church of St. François d’Assisi. This peculiarity in Père Antoine’s conduct finally aroused Péron’s suspicions; he said nothing to the priest, but he too walked through this quarter, scanning the houses. On the corner of the Rue du Chaume and the Rue de Paradis was the Hôtel de Guise, built originally for the Connétable de Clisson, a great house with gardens which reached the Rue Charlot in the rear. Across from this, on the other corner of the Rue de Paradis, was a smaller and plainer building with a turret which commanded the Rue du Chaume. On either side of the street were houses, some grim and some gracious, but all inscrutable to Péron; nor could he discover any reason for Père Antoine’s predilection. After a careful examination of the exteriors, he made some inquiries about the inmates, but none were satisfactory. He had not relaxed his efforts to find mademoiselle, but he was disheartened; he had heard a rumor at Archambault’s that she had gone to an aunt in Languedoc, and he began to believe that there was truth in this report. He tried to devour his chagrin in silence, and told himself constantly that he must be odious in her eyes, as the man who had first been almost a jailer, and had carried her against her will to Poissy, and now took possession of her name and estate.
It was the day before Christmas, and Péron had been with Père Antoine to the church of St. François d’Assisi. They were coming away when he saw a familiar figure among the crowd leaving the church; he could not be mistaken in the walk and dress of the woman; it was Ninon. Without a word, he left Père Antoine and hurried after her. His first impulse was to accost her, but remembering her uncertain temper, he determined to follow her, convinced that she would show him the way to mademoiselle. The woman had no suspicion of being followed; she was alone and walking rapidly, evidently in haste to reach her destination. Péron suited his pace to hers, keeping on the opposite side of the street and some distance in the rear. She made straight for the Rue de Quatre Fils, and Péron’s spirits rose as he saw her turn into the Rue du Chaume. She kept close to the wall of the gardens of the Hôtel de Guise and walked rapidly along to the other corner of the Rue de Paradis. Here she paused and looked sharply up and down the street but apparently without observing him, and then she entered the house with the turret.
Péron did not hesitate, but quickening his steps was at the door a few moments after she had disappeared. As luck would have it, she had left it ajar, and pushing it open he walked boldly into a narrow hall with stairs ascending directly in front of him. Here he paused to listen for a possible indication of her whereabouts, and hearing a door overhead open and close, he no longer hesitated, but ascended the stairs. At the top were two doors, one to the right and one to the left, and he stood again in doubt, but only for a moment. A slight noise as of some one moving in the room to the left decided him; he tapped smartly on the door, and a woman’s voice bade him “Come in.” He opened the door gently and saw a small, plain room lighted by one window, near which stood Renée de Nançay alone. Mademoiselle, in a plain black robe, her golden hair coiled loosely at the nape of her neck and her face as white as a lily, looked at him in intense surprise.