“Ah, you should then purchase, M. de Vilby,” said the banker, oracularly. “It is, on the whole, I assure you, cheaper—more satisfactory.” To this, however, he received a decided negative; Colonel Willoughby had as little interest in the idea presented to him by Monsieur Blaise, of a profitable re-sale at a future period, as of possessing property or forming permanent ties in France, or of leaving his son a landowner there. He was about to mount his horse amidst the attentions of the banker and his Swiss porter, when a depressed-looking clerk from the banking-office hastened out, with an air of some timidity, to offer a paper to his master. The latter frowned, while he received a hurried statement from the official. “What is this? not to be found!” he inquired. “It is a trifle, Monsieur,” added he, turning round; “the woman, it seems, to whom your communication referred, has for some time removed her residence. Inquiries shall be made, however. These poor people are of the most changeable habit—the notary of the proprietor is naturally ignorant of their new destination—the neighbours, they affect an unconsciousness which is probably feigned, on account of some sympathy with a fault, a defalcation in rent,—a crime, perhaps. But in this case, there is the police, under whom the emigrant necessarily falls, though unconsciously—and our police are now more efficient than ever. Yes, M. le Baron, this person shall be promptly discovered, believe me—if, indeed, this payment is still considered proper to be made?” The indifferent, languidly commercial tone of Monsieur Blaise, at that moment, jarred disagreeably on Sir Godfrey’s ear, in the full sunlight of the street, while its gay throng poured on either way like a twofold procession.
“Yet there is a slight mistake, pardon me, Monsieur,” added the former, “in the understanding that Monsieur your brother had continued this pension, which is alluded to, during the late years. It was indeed paid with regularity, when transmitted; but although the promise remained subsequently, yet, after a certain point, by some omission, doubtless, the effects—the sums—ceased to arrive. I believe the inadvertency was, however, more than once reported from this office to the notary of M. de Vilby at Ezzeterre, in England—eh, Maître Robert?” And the clerk, to whom he again turned sharply, gave a reverential affirmative. It was not merely the revival of this trivial matter in this way that troubled Sir Godfrey; there was some slight concern stirred at his heart by the discovery of the slight sum having failed so long to reach its object, mixed with a little compunction at his remembrance of the crowded Cité, near the religious shadows of Notre Dame, which he had passed by that very day; there was a vivid feeling once more, too, of his brother’s characteristic carelessness, which was by no means lessened on recollecting his wife’s mild remark, when he had mentioned the circumstance, that possibly, if the person were very poor, it might have been better to see into it personally. The gross mingling of M. Blaise’s inquiries in it, besides, with his hint at crimes which might render the benefit undeserved, annoyed him. Sir Godfrey took the paper from the banker’s hands, expressed his intention of managing the matter at his own leisure, and with a hasty bow rode homewards.
Willoughby was, as before said, a man with little imagination in his temperament, at least of no very lively fancy; but there was a kind of vague impatience at times in his mind, scarcely to be any better accounted for than the fits of gloom he felt creeping, as it were, over him, and which he checked only by a strong effort to think. Sir Godfrey felt, in fact, rather an indescribable satisfaction than otherwise, and a somewhat reviving interest, at the little matter of business that had returned on his hands, none the less that it took the aspect of a kind duty. Paris itself was certainly a degree nearer his attention, so soon as the concerns of any one in it, however obscure, were thus dependent on his own, stirring up an odd anxiety as to whether she were alive or dead, and really deserving; all which, the more unusual it was to his habits, bore with the greater novelty of sensation on a man whose ordinary habits had been somewhat abruptly broken up. Singular, indeed, as he rode along, grew the thought of how this vast city contrived to live from day to day? the question, yet more perplexing, how it spent its time? still less conceivable, to what end was all the constant movement, thickening and shifting far along the Rue St Honoré, in dust and sunlight? Nay, with a smiling sense of its absurdity, the baronet caught himself involuntarily pondering some such incalculable problem, and for a moment striving to put its organisation together, while the bridle lay slack on his horse’s neck, and his limbs kept time to the motion, as the noble black went stepping elastically on. Even in that fashionable street they excited notice amid its rattling cortège of equestrians and equipages, its rainbow quivering of dress, feathered, embroidered, gilded and laced and rustling, where all the artifice of French fashion was in its afternoon glory, with bell-hoop and white hair—from the queue-tag and three-cornered beaver, lace cravat, and ruffles, and pocket-flap, to the knee-buckles and the false calves, white or flesh-coloured, and high-heeled—treading on out-turned toes—while the smooth, tinted faces, with their mole-specks and black beauty-spots, seemed to have banished from about them, in the sun’s full influence, all effect of hair: though it was scarce so much the soberly-garbed rider, in dark riding-coat and boots, with military stock, as the jet gloss of Black Rupert, whose full nostril seemed half conscious of his master’s pride in him. Nor was it merely that the flickering blaze of the street disagreed with his mood, when Colonel Willoughby turned out of it through a quieter line of that gay fauxbourg, slightly using the spur: he shrank involuntarily from those of his countrymen who seemed to be in Paris, with their gregarious yet unsocial air, their loud voices, causeless laughter, and cool stare, their ill-affected ease of dress, their round morning hats at all hours, and their sudden knowing looks of interest from his horse to him, not seldom unaccompanied by distinct English questions of “Who is he?” or the drawling answer, with an eyeglass raised, of “Don’t know.” Yet in public places they were everywhere; they were looking out of corner cafés, and talking back to friends within, watching narrowly where some Parisian belle tripped carefully athwart a crossing, or leaning out of billiard-room second-floors and yawning; and it struck him the more in contrast, as two gentlemen, evidently French, turned before him into the same more secluded street, the one quietly shrugging his shoulders together, the other turning a silent look to his friend. They sauntered easily along on the sunny side of the gutter, as if delaying to cross; though side trottoirs were as yet almost unknown, while the cry of gare! from a rapid vehicle at times hurried the foot-passengers together towards the wall, or out amidst the causeway; so that a snatch of their conversation more than once reached the English baronet’s ears, or was mingled with other voices; as he looked round for the names of the streets, with some idea of at once beginning inquiries at the nearest police-office. “These, then, Jules,” said the taller and elder, who wore the gallant uniform of the Royal Body-Guard, sky-azure and gold-laced, with its white-plumed black hat, crimson-velvet breeches, stiff cavalry boots, and gilt spurs, and ruffles of rich lace—“are your allies—your Weegs, as you call them! Corbleu!” He looked back over one shoulder, as he spoke, with a supremely supercilious air, swinging the tassel of his sword-knot round his hand; the other, whose dress and manner were those of an elegant young man of fashion, seemed gently to draw him onward by the arm. “My dear Armand, what a fancy!” the latter ejaculated; “the generous sympathy of the enlightened English—of the descendants of Hampdeun and of Seednè, the Wheegs—but I forget, we agreed to——” “Yes, Comte,” said the other gloomily, “we agreed to observe silence on it, since it is impossible for us——” and by another influx from a cross street they were taken out of hearing; although the grave air of the young officer, enhanced by his long side-visage, and cavalier-like uniform, despite all the hair-powder and the smooth elaborateness of the time, had drawn Sir Godfrey’s interest from the matter he had in hand. They were walking near him again next minute.
“He is at La Morgue, then?” asked the officer, in reference to some statement of his friend; “what was it—gambling? His mistress, perhaps?”
“No, she was beautiful, and attached to him,” replied the other, carelessly; “she still slept, while he had left her, to shave in the adjacent dressing-room—the whole hotel was roused by her cries. The police can make nothing of it. Even his passport affords no clue.”
“It was probably a plot, about to be discovered,” said his friend. “Paris, in my opinion, is full of plots—which had better soon be dashed to pieces.” He made an emphatic motion with the sheathed sabre on his left arm, and glanced firmly along the street, from face to face. “My dear Armand!” ejaculated the other, stopping for an instant till their eyes met, and the cheek of the garde-du-corps seemed to redden—“this is”—but the remainder was lost to Sir Godfrey, as he held round towards the outskirts of the Faubourg St Honoré. Crossing by a shorter way, however, they still preceded him at the next corner. “On the contrary,” continued the younger, “had there been anything to discover”—“—stupidly acute as the police are”—“—but believe me, my friend,” he added with animation, “there was nothing—nothing—it was merely ennui. And what police, were it the very espionage of old De Sartines himself, his apprentice and friend Lenoir, or even my fine cousin De Breteuil, with your thrice-humble servitor here, can guard against ennui? ’Tis the only spectre I dread, for the philosophers, the Encyclopédie, have still left it us!” Sir Godfrey had passed them, indeed, hardly heeding their detached words so much as the young soldier’s chivalrous air; a little on, he checked his horse at sight of a gendarme’s blue and red livery, to inquire for the police-bureau of the quarter; at which the man turned sharply, struck no doubt by the accent or the form of the question, and surveyed him before attempting to give an answer.
“Ennui!” repeated the officer energetically, as they came on; “my faith, we shall soon have little enough of that luxury, I think! I had imagined it the disease of England!”
“But without her suspecting it,” rejoined his livelier companion; “while France alone endeavours to expel, to define the malady! What is Versailles, Fontainebleau, Marly, Luciennes, but a vast sigh, a drowsy effort, a yawn (baillement)? Those parterres of Lenotre, those fountains, those statues, which are like the crimes of Paris! But we awake—and assure yourself, my friend, it is at the root of one half—”
Colonel Willoughby had repeated his question rather impatiently, for the speaker, as he passed on, was turning a glance of attention that way: the gendarme, too, with a sudden motion of his hand to his huge cocked hat, seemed less careful to reply than to leave full room for the two gentlemen. The younger of them stopped, turned, and addressed a word of sharp reproof to the official. “Permit me, monsieur,” he added, coming forward with a slight bow, and speaking tolerably good English; “it is probably rather to the commissary of your quarter you would address yourself, and his residence is not far; at —— the number which I forget, in the Place Montaigne, Champs Elysées.” The Englishman thanked him briefly; bowing in return the more profoundly, as he felt the usual unwillingness of his race to receive a favour he had no claim to.
“It is denoted, besides,” continued his informant with increased courtesy, “by the red lantern over the portico, which since two years has been fixed over the doorway of every commissary’s residence in Paris. Day or night this will serve to distinguish them by a glance.”