"Better and better! Women are always curious to know these men who have been pictured to them as so dangerous. Poor parents! When they tell them to fly from me, it makes them run after me. Here, Touquet; here's some gold. You will see this young girl, then; since she knows who I am, you cannot easily promise her that I will be faithful. No matter; promise her anyhow. In three days let me find her at my little house in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine; you know it."
"Yes, monseigneur; I remember it; it is the one that you formerly possessed."
"Yes; but I have made it a delightful retreat. You shall see it; pictures, mirrors, marble, alabaster, are there mingled with silk, velvet and the most precious stuffs. I have spent more than fifty thousand francs upon it. Oh, it is divine! I have had some charming suppers there with Montglas, Chavagnac, Villempré, Monteille, and some other profligates of the court."
"Was it not there, monsieur le marquis, that I led that young girl whose abduction made such an uproar? That was, I believe, our first affair of this kind; you were then a little more than nineteen years of age; and the little girl—"
"Why the devil do you recall that?" said the marquis, making an angry movement, and pressing in his hand the purse he was about to take from his belt, and on which the barber had already laid avaricious eyes.
"Pardon, monsieur le marquis," said Touquet; "but I did not think I should displease you in recalling the adventure which commenced your reputation. The young person was beautiful and good, and the father, one of King Henry's old archers, did not understand joking. His arquebus was aimed at you, the ball went through your hat; but your sword stopped the old man, and he fell at your feet, while I bore off in my arms his insensible daughter."
"Be silent, wretch," cried the marquis, suddenly rising, and looking angrily at the barber, who received his glances with perfect indifference.
The conversation was again interrupted; the marquis walked rapidly up and down the room, and appeared buried in his reflections; soon, however, broken words escaped him, but they were not addressed to Touquet. The marquis seemed violently agitated as he said in a low voice,—
"Poor Estrelle! what has become of you? She loved me—she believed me to be a simple student. I loved her also; yes, never since that time have I experienced a feeling which I can compare with the love with which she inspired me. I was young—ah, Heaven is my witness that I did not wish to fight with her father. Thanks to Heaven, his wound was very trifling and was soon cured; but Estrelle, when she learned my name and that event, cursed me. Yes, I believe I can hear her still. Then she escaped from that house where I had hidden her. I love her still. Since that time I have never heard of her; and you, Touquet,—have you never met her since?"
"Never, monseigneur; I have neither seen her nor heard her speak."