Beauchamp and the officers lost heart, and even the courier, whose trade being to run, could not be supposed to object to _battre la campagne_ in this manner, began to look rueful, under the apprehension that, if no farther clew could be gained, his occupation would soon be gone. After every inn had been inspected, every consul consulted, every shipping-office examined, Beauchamp determined once more to return to Paris, and thither he accordingly came by way of Rouen, followed by the posse, who found it not at all disagreeable to eat, and drink, and sleep at his expense, and be paid for the trouble thereof over and above.
New researches were immediately commenced; and never did fat-faced Gibbon bend his rotund cheeks over the pages of infidelity, ancient or modern, from Arius to Hobbes, with more eagerness to filch or find an objection or a fault in the blessed faith, whose beginning and end is glory to God in the highest, and peace and good will toward men, than did all parties pursue their object of discovering the guilty, in order, principally, it must be confessed, to exculpate the innocent. But the search seemed perfectly in vain; and the only conclusion which to any one could come was, that the murderers had really effected their escape to America. After nibbling at various surmises and reports for some time, the officer who had accompanied Beauchamp declared himself foiled, and took his leave. He who had been sent in quest of Captain Delaware had abandoned the pursuit for some time; and Beauchamp was thus left alone to proceed with such inquiries as he might still have sufficient perseverance to make.
These inquiries, it must be confessed, related principally to Sir Sidney and Miss Delaware, but here as many difficulties awaited him as he had met with in the other search; and he was just on the point of giving up the matter in despair, and returning to London to surprise his mourning friends, when a circumstance occurred, which, without throwing the slightest ray of light upon the course which Blanche and her father had taken, served, at all events, to induce Beauchamp to remain in Paris for several days longer than he had intended.
The hotel in which he lodged, at the corner of the Rue de la Paix, unlike most hotels in Paris, had but one staircase; and Beauchamp, who walked up and down this staircase as seldom as possible, had rarely the misfortune of meeting many people upon it. The last day but one, however, of his intended stay, he encountered a lady walking leisurely up; and, as each moved a little on one side, to suffer the other to pass, by a sort of semi-rotation of each upon the axis, their faces came opposite to one another, and Beauchamp recognized Mrs. Darlington, while she paid him the same compliment.
"Good gracious, Mr. Burrel!" she exclaimed, much more surprised than was at all proper--"or Mr. Beauchamp, am I to call you; for the people tell me, that the Mr. Burrel I had the pleasure of knowing, was known to others under the name of Beauchamp. But under whatever name you choose, I am most happy to see you; for all your good friends in England told me you were dead."
"They have done me too much honor, in every respect, my dear madam," replied Beauchamp. "Those the gods love, you know, die young. But though I must plead guilty to having deceived you, by calling myself names far different from my own, yet believe me, when I assure you, that I had no hand in my own death. That was entirely arranged by my friends and relations--though I doubt not, when I go back to England, the public prosecutor will think fit to arraign me for _felo-de-se_, with as much justice as the coroner's jury returned a verdict of murder against poor William Delaware."
"Ah, that was a terrible business!" replied Mrs. Darlington. A terrible business, indeed, poor young man! and I should like to talk it over with you, Mr. Beauchamp--but I dare say that was your carriage waiting, and I will not keep you now; but if you will return at half-past six, and dine with me and the Abbé de ----, who is as deaf as a pug-dog, I will tell you a curious circumstance which has occurred to me since I came here--not about the Delawares, indeed, poor people, but about something that happened just at the same time.
Now every thing that happened at that time was more or less a matter of interest to Henry Beauchamp; and therefore he willingly agreed to dine and hear, according to invitation. A few minutes after the appointed time, he was in the saloon of Madame Darlington's apartments, where he found that lady, with a worthy ex-émigré Abbé--the very sort of man who could dine with a widow lady of any age without scandal.
Beauchamp fully understood the _beinseance_ of never being curious about any thing, and therefore he listened to all Mrs. Darlington's reasons for being in Paris--how London was of course out of the question in October--how the house she had hired near Emberton had turned out as damp as a fen, and smelled of a wet dog from the garret to the kitchen--how Paris always afforded variety, &c.--without showing the slightest inclination to inquire into the occurrence she had mentioned in the morning. Dinner was announced, and was as _recherche_ in France as if it had been at Emberton; but not a word took place concerning the _occurrence_, Mrs. Darlington spending all the leisure moments in marveling that Mr. Beauchamp and herself could have remained in the same house for four days without discovering their proximity. After dinner, Beauchamp's _beinseance_ began to get tired, and probably would have broken down entirely, had he not fortunately happened to take up a very beautiful eye-glass set with emeralds, in the French fashion, which lay upon the table in the saloon.
"Oh, dear, that puts me in mind, Mr. Beauchamp!" cried Mrs. Darlington. "It is strange enough; I have twice bought that eye-glass in this very town. Once two days, and once eighteen months ago. That is the very thing I wished to tell you about. You remember when you did me the favor of dining with me at Emberton; my house was burned down--."