"Countess, if it depends upon me, you shall love me."

"We shall see."

"You have already a friendship for me, have you not?"

"More than that."

"Oh! then we are at least half way. And you are a woman that I should adore, if——" He stopped and sighed.

"Well," said she, "if——"

"If you would permit it."

"Perhaps I shall, when I shall be independent of your assistance, and you can no longer suspect that I encourage you from interested motives."

"Then you forbid me to pay my court now?"

"Not at all; but there are other ways besides kneeling and kissing hands."

"Well, countess, let us hear; what will you permit?"

"All that is compatible with my tastes and duties."

"Oh, that is vague indeed."

"Stop! I was going to add—my caprices."

"I am lost!"

"You draw back?"

"No," said the cardinal, "I do not."

"Well, then, I want a proof."

"Speak."

"I want to go to the ball at the Opera."

"Well, countess, that only concerns yourself. Are you not free as air to go where you wish?"

"Ah, but you have not heard all. I want you to go with me."

"I to the Opera, countess!" said he, with a start of horror.

"See already how much your desire to please me is worth."

"A cardinal cannot go to a ball at the Opera, countess. It is as if I proposed to you to go into a public-house."

"Then a cardinal does not dance, I suppose?"

"Oh no!"

"But I have read that M. le Cardinal de Richelieu danced a saraband."

"Yes, before Anne of Austria."

"Before a queen," repeated Jeanne. "Perhaps you would do as much for a queen?"

The cardinal could not help blushing, dissembler as he was.

"Is it not natural," she continued, "that I should feel hurt when, after all your protestations, you will not do as much for me as you would for a queen?—especially when I only ask you to go concealed in a domino and a mask; besides, a man like you, who may do anything with impunity!"

The cardinal yielded to her flattery and her blandishments. Taking her hand, he said, "For you I will do anything, even the impossible."

"Thanks, monseigneur; you are really amiable. But now you have consented, I will let you off."

"No, no! he who does the work can alone claim the reward. Countess, I will attend you, but in a domino."

"We shall pass through the Rue St. Denis, close to the Opera," said the countess. "I will go in masked, buy a domino and a mask for you, and you can put them on in the carriage."

"That will do delightfully."

"Oh, monseigneur, you are very good! But, now I think of it, perhaps at the Hotel Rohan you might find a domino more to your taste than the one I should buy."

"Now, countess, that is unpardonable malice. Believe me if I go to the Opera, I shall be as surprised to find myself there as you were to find yourself supping tete-a-tete with a man not your husband."

Jeanne had nothing to reply to this. Soon a carriage without arms drove up; they both got in, and drove off at a rapid pace.



CHAPTER XXII.

SOME WORDS ABOUT THE OPERA.

The Opera, that temple of pleasure at Paris, was burned in the month of June, 1781. Twenty persons had perished in the ruins; and as it was the second time within eighteen years that this had happened, it created a prejudice against the place where it then stood, in the Palais Royal, and the king had ordered its removal to a less central spot. The place chosen was La Porte St. Martin.

The king, vexed to see Paris deprived for so long of its Opera, became as sorrowful as if the arrivals of grain had ceased, or bread had risen to more than seven sous the quartern loaf. It was melancholy to see the nobility, the army, and the citizens without their after-dinner amusement; and to see the promenades thronged with the unemployed divinities, from the chorus-singers to the prima donnas.

An architect was then introduced to the king, full of new plans, who promised so perfect a ventilation, that even in case of fire no one could be smothered. He would make eight doors for exit, besides five large windows placed so low that any one could jump out of them. In the place of the beautiful hall of Moreau he was to erect a building with ninety-six feet of frontage towards the boulevard, ornamented with eight caryatides on pillars forming three entrance-doors, a bas-relief above the capitals, and a gallery with three windows. The stage was to be thirty-six feet wide, the theater seventy-two feet deep and eighty across, from one wall to the other. He asked only seventy-five days and nights before he opened it to the public.

This appeared to all a mere gasconade, and was much laughed at. The king, however, concluded the agreement with him. Lenoir set to work, and kept his word. But the public feared that a building so quickly erected could not be safe, and when it opened no one would go.

Even the few courageous ones who did go to the first representation of "Adele de Ponthieu" made their wills first. The architect was in despair. He came to the king to consult him as to what was to be done.

It was just after the birth of the dauphin; all Paris was full of joy. The king advised him to announce a gratuitous performance in honor of the event, and give a ball after. Doubtless plenty would come, and if the theater stood, its safety was established.

"Thanks, sire," said the architect.

"But reflect, first," said the king, "if there be a crowd, are you sure of your building?"

"Sire, I am sure, and shall go there myself."

"I will go to the second representation," said the king.

The architect followed this advice. They played "Adele de Ponthieu" to three thousand spectators, who afterwards danced. After this there could be no more fear. It was three years afterwards that Madame de la Motte and the cardinal went to the ball.



CHAPTER XXIII.

THE BALL AT THE OPERA.

The ball was at its height when they glided in quietly, and were soon lost in the crowd. A couple had taken refuge from the pressure under the queen's box; one of them wore a white domino and the other a black one. They were talking with great animation. "I tell you, Oliva," said the black domino, "that I am sure you are expecting some one. Your head is no longer a head, but a weather cock, and turns round to look after every newcomer."

"Well, is it astonishing that I should look at the people, when that is what I came here for?"

"Oh, that is what you came for!"

"Well, sir, and for what do people generally come?"

"A thousand things."

"Men perhaps, but women only for one—to see and be seen by as many people as possible."

"Mademoiselle Oliva!"

"Oh, do not speak in that big voice, it does so frighten me; and above all, do not call me by name; it is bad taste to let every one here know who you are."

The black domino made an angry gesture; it was interrupted by a blue domino who approached them.

"Come, monsieur," said he, "let madame amuse herself; it is not every night one comes to a ball at the Opera."

"Meddle with your own affairs," replied Beausire, rudely.

"Monsieur, learn once for all that a little courtesy is never out of place."

"I do not know you," he replied, "and do not want to have anything to do with you."

"No, you do not know me; but I know you, M. Beausire."

At hearing his name thus pronounced, Beausire visibly trembled.

"Oh, do not be afraid, M. Beausire; I am not what you take me for."

"Pardieu! sir, do you guess thoughts, as well as names?"

"Why not?"

"Then tell me what I thought. I have never seen a sorcerer, and should find it amusing."

"Oh, what you ask is not difficult enough to entitle me to that name."

"Never mind—tell."

"Well, then! you took me for an agent of M. de Crosne."

"M. de Crosne!" he repeated.

"Yes; the lieutenant of police."

"Sir!"

"Softly, M. de Beausire, you really look as if you were feeling for your sword."

"And so I was, sir."

"Good heavens! what a warlike disposition; but I think, dear M. Beausire, you left your sword at home, and you did well. But to speak of something else, will you relinquish to me madame for a time?"

"Give you up madame?"

"Yes, sir; that is not uncommon, I believe, at a ball at the Opera."

"Certainly not, when it suits the gentleman."

"It suffices sometimes that it should please the lady."

"Do you ask it for a long time?"

"Really, M. Beausire, you are too curious. Perhaps for ten minutes—perhaps for an hour—perhaps for all the evening."

"You are laughing at me, sir."

"Come, reply; will you or not?"

"No, sir."

"Come, come, do not be ill-tempered, you who were so gentle just now."

"Just now?"

"Yes; at the Rue Dauphine."

Oliva laughed.

"Hold your tongue, madame," said Beausire.

"Yes," continued the blue domino, "where you were on the point of killing this poor lady, but stopped at the sight of some louis."

"Oh, I see; you and she have an understanding together."

"How can you say such a thing?" cried Oliva.

"And if it were so," said the stranger, "it is all for your benefit."

"For my benefit! that would be curious."

"I will prove to you that your presence here is as hurtful as your absence would be profitable. You are a member of a certain academy, not the Academie Francaise, but in the Rue du Pot au Fer, in the second story, is it not, my dear M. Beausire?"

"Hush!" said Beausire.

The blue domino drew out his watch, which was studded with diamonds that made Beausire's eyes water to look at them. "Well!" continued he, "in a quarter of an hour they are going to discuss there a little project, by which, they hope to secure 2,000,000 francs among the twelve members, of whom you are one, M. Beausire."

"And you must be another; if you are not——"

"Pray go on."

"A member of the police."

"Oh, M. Beausire, I thought you had more sense. If I were of the police, I should have taken you long ago, for some little affairs less honorable than this speculation."

"So, sir, you wish to send me to the Rue du Pot au Fer: but I know why—that I may be arrested there: I am not such a fool."

"Now, you are one. If I wanted to arrest you, I had only to do it, and I am rid of you at once; but gentleness and persuasion are my maxims."

"Oh, I know now," said Beausire, "you are the man that was on the sofa two hours ago."

"What sofa?"

"Never mind; you have induced me to go, and if you are sending a gallant man into harm, you will pay for it some day."

"Be tranquil," said the blue domino, laughing; "by sending you there, I give you 100,000 francs at least, for you know the rule of this society is, that whoever is absent loses his share."

"Well, then, good-by!" said Beausire, and vanished.

The blue domino took possession of Oliva's arm, left at liberty by Beausire.

"Now!" said she, "I have let you manage poor Beausire at your ease, but I warn you, you will find me not so easy to talk over; therefore, find something pretty to say to me, or——"

"I know nothing prettier than your own history, dear Mademoiselle Nicole," said he, pressing the pretty round arm of the little woman, who uttered a cry at hearing herself so addressed; but, recovering herself with marvelous quickness, said:

"Oh, mon Dieu! what a name! Is it I whom you call Nicole? If so, you are wrong, for that is not my name."

"At present I know that you call yourself Oliva, but we will talk afterwards of Oliva; at present I want to speak of Nicole. Have you forgotten the time when you bore that name? I do not believe it, my dear child, for the name that one bears as a young girl is ever the one enshrined in the heart, although one may have been forced to take another to hide the first. Poor Oliva, happy Nicole!"

"Why do you say 'Poor Oliva'? do you not think me happy?"

"It would be difficult to be happy with a man like Beausire."

Oliva sighed and said, "Indeed I am not."

"You love him, however."

"A little."

"If you do not love him much, leave him."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I should no sooner have done so than I should regret it."

"Do you think so?"

"I am afraid I should."

"What could you have to regret in a drunkard; a gambler, a man who beats you, and a black-leg, who will one day come to the gallows?"

"You would not understand me if I told you."

"Try."

"I should regret the excitement he keeps me in."

"I ought to have guessed it; that comes of passing your youth with such silent people."

"You know about my youth?"

"Perfectly."

Oliva laughed and shook her head.

"You doubt it?"

"Really I do."

"Then we will talk a little about it, Mademoiselle Nicole."

"Very well; but I warn you, I will tell nothing."

"I do not wish it. I do not mean your childhood. I begin from the time when you first perceived that you had a heart capable of love."

"Love for whom?"

"For Gilbert."

At this name Oliva trembled.

"Ah, mon Dieu!" she cried. "How do you know?" Then with, a sigh said, "Oh, sir! you have pronounced a name indeed fertile in remembrances. You knew Gilbert?"

"Yes; since I speak to you of him."

"Alas!"

"A charming lad, upon my word. You loved him?"

"He was handsome. No, perhaps not; but I thought him so; he was full of mind, my equal in birth, but Gilbert thought no woman his equal."

"Not even Mademoiselle de Ta——"

"Oh, I know whom you mean, sir. You are well instructed. Yes, Gilbert loved higher than the poor Nicole: you are possessed of terrible secrets, sir; tell me, if you can," she continued, looking earnestly at him, "what has become of him?"

"You should know best."

"Why, in heaven's name?"

"Because if he followed you from Taverney to Paris, you followed him from Paris to Trianon."

"Yes, that is true, but that is ten years ago; and I wished to know what hag passed since the time I ran away, and since he disappeared. When Gilbert loved Mademoiselle de——"

"Do not pronounce names aloud," said he.

"Well, then, when he loved her so much that each tree at Trianon was witness to his love——"

"You loved him no more."

"On the contrary, I loved him more than ever; and this love was my ruin. I am beautiful, proud, and, when I please, insolent; and would lay my head on the scaffold rather than confess myself despised."

"You have a heart, Nicole?"

"I had then," she said, sighing.

"This conversation makes you sad."

"No, it does me good to speak of my youth. But tell me why Gilbert fled from Trianon."

"Do you wish me to confirm a suspicion, or to tell you something you do not know."

"Something I do not know."

"Well, I cannot tell you this. Have you not heard that he is dead?"

"Yes, I have, but——"

"Well, he is dead."

"Dead!" said Nicole, with an air of doubt. Then, with a sudden start, "Grant me one favor!" she cried.

"As many as you like."

"I saw you two hours ago; for it was you, was it not?"

"Certainly."

"You did not, then, try to disguise yourself?"

"Not at all."

"But I was stupid; I saw you, but I did not observe you."

"I do not understand."

"Do you know what I want?"

"No."

"Take off your mask."

"Here! impossible!"

"Oh, you cannot fear other people seeing you. Here, behind this column, you will be quite hidden. You fear that I should recognize you."

"You!"

"And that I should cry, 'It is you—it is Gilbert!'"

"What folly!"

"Take off your mask."

"Yes, on one condition—that you will take off yours, if I ask it."

"Agreed." The unknown took off his immediately.

Oliva looked earnestly at him, then sighed, and said:

"Alas! no, it is not Gilbert."

"And who am I?"

"Oh, I do not care, as you are not he."

"And if it had been Gilbert?" said he, as he put on his mask again.

"Ah! if it had been," cried she passionately, "and he had said to me, 'Nicole, do you remember Taverney Maison-Rouge?' then there would have been no longer a Beausire in the world for me."

"But I have told you, my dear child, that Gilbert is dead."

"Ah! perhaps, then, it is for the best," said Oliva, with a sigh.

"Yes; he would never have loved you, beautiful as you are."

"Do you, then, think he despised me?"

"No; he rather feared you."

"That is possible."

"Then you think it better he is dead?"

"Do not repeat my words; in your mouth they wound me."

"But it is better for Mademoiselle Oliva. You observe, I abandon Nicole, and speak to Oliva. You have before you a future, happy, rich, and brilliant."

"Do you think so?"

"Yes, if you make up your mind to do anything to arrive at this end."

"I promise you."

"But you must give up sighing, as you were doing just now."

"Very well. I sighed for Gilbert, and as he is dead, and there are not two Gilberts in the world, I shall sigh no more. But enough of him."

"Yes; we will speak of yourself. Why did you run away with Beausire?"

"Because I wished to quit Trianon, and I was obliged to go with some one; I could no longer remain a 'pis aller,' rejected by Gilbert."

"You have, then, been faithful for ten years through pride? You have paid dearly for it."

Oliva laughed.

"Oh, I know what you are laughing at. To hear a man, who pretends to know everything, accuse you of having been ten years faithful, when you think you have not rendered yourself worthy of such a ridiculous reproach. However, I know all about you. I know that you went to Portugal with Beausire, where you remained two years; that you then left him, and went to the Indies with the captain of a frigate, who hid you in his cabin, and who left you at Chandernagor when he returned to Europe. I know that you had two millions of rupees to spend in the house of a nabob who kept you shut up; that you escaped through the window on the shoulders of a slave. Then, rich—for you had carried away two beautiful pearl bracelets, two diamonds, and three large rubies—you came back to France. When landing at Brest, your evil genius made you encounter Beausire on the quay, who recognized you immediately, bronzed and altered as you were, while you almost fainted at the sight of him."

"Oh, mon Dieu!" cried Oliva, "who are you, then, who know all this?"

"I know, further, that Beausire carried you off again, persuaded you that he loved you, sold your jewels, and reduced you to poverty. Still, you say you love him, and, as love is the root of all happiness, of course you ought to be happy."

Oliva hung her head, and covered her eyes with her hands, but two large tears might be seen forcing their way through her fingers—liquid pearls, more precious, though not so marketable, as those Beausire had sold.

"And this woman," at last she said, "whom you describe as so proud and so happy, you have bought to-day for fifty louis."

"I am aware it is too little, mademoiselle."

"No, sir; on the contrary, I am surprised that a woman like me should be worth so much."

"You are worth more than that, as I will show you; but just now I want all your attention."

"Then I will be silent."

"No; talk, on the contrary, of anything, it does not matter what, so that we seem occupied."

"You are very odd."

"Take hold of my arm, and let us walk."

They walked on among the various groups. In a minute or two, Oliva asked a question.

"Talk as much as you like, only do not ask questions at present," said her companion, "for I cannot answer now; only, as you speak, disguise your voice, hold your head up, and scratch your neck with your fan."

She obeyed.

In a minute, they passed a highly perfumed group, in the center of which a very elegant-looking man was talking fast to three companions, who were listening respectfully.

"Who is that young man in that beautiful gray domino?" asked Oliva.

"M. le Comte d'Artois; but pray do not speak just now!" At this moment two other dominoes passed them, and stood in a place near, which was rather free from people.

"Lean on this pillar, countess," said one of them in a low voice, but which was overheard by the blue domino, who started at its sound.

Then a yellow domino, passing through the crowd, came up to the blue one, and said, "It is he."

"Very good," replied the other, and the yellow domino vanished.

"Now, then," said Oliva's companion, turning to her, "we will begin to enjoy ourselves a little."

"I hope so, for you have twice made me sad: first by taking away Beausire, and then by speaking of Gilbert."

"I will be both Gilbert and Beausire to you," said the unknown.

"Oh!" sighed Oliva.

"I do not ask you to love me, remember; I only ask you to accept the life I offer you—that is, the accomplishment of all your desires, provided occasionally you give way to mine. Just now I have one."

"What?"

"That black domino that you see there is a German of my acquaintance, who refused to come to the ball with me, saying he was not well; and now he is here, and a lady with him."

"Who is she?"

"I do not know. We will approach them; I will pretend that you are a German, and you must not speak, for fear of being found out. Now, pretend to point him out to me with the end of your fan."

"Like that?"

"Yes; very well. Now whisper to me."

Oliva obeyed with a docility which charmed her companion.

The black domino, who had his back turned to them, did not see all this; but his companion did. "Take care, monseigneur," said she; "there are two masks watching us."

"Oh, do not be afraid, countess; they cannot recognize us. Do not mind them; but let me assure you that never form was so enchanting as yours, never eyes so brilliant, never——"

"Hush! the spies approach."

"Spies!" said the cardinal, uneasily. "Disguise your voice if they make you speak, and I will do the same."

Oliva and her blue domino indeed approached; he came up to the cardinal, and said, "Mask——"

"What do you want?" said the cardinal, in a voice as unlike his natural one as he could make it.

"The lady who accompanies me desires me to ask you some questions."

"Ask," said M. de Rohan.

"Are they very indiscreet?" said Madame de la Motte.

"So indiscreet that you shall not hear them;" and he pretended to whisper to Oliva, who made a sign in answer. Then, in irreproachable German, he said to the cardinal, "Monseigneur, are you in love with the lady who accompanies you?"

The cardinal trembled.

"Did you say monseigneur?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You deceive yourself; I am not the person you think."

"Oh, M. le Cardinal, do not deny it; it is useless. If even I did not know you, the lady who accompanies me assures me she knows you perfectly." And he again whispered to Oliva, "Make a sign for 'yes.' Do so each time I press your arm."

She did so.

"You astonish me!" said the cardinal. "Who is this lady?"

"Oh, monseigneur, I thought you would have known; she soon knew you. It is true that jealousy——"

"Madame is jealous of me!" cried the cardinal.

"We do not say that," replied the unknown, rather haughtily.

"What are you talking about?" asked Madame de la Motte, who did not like this conversation in German.

"Oh, nothing, nothing!"

"Madame," said the cardinal to Oliva, "one word from you, and I promise to recognize you instantly."

Oliva, who saw him speaking to her, but did not understand a word, whispered to her companion.

All this mystery piqued the cardinal.

"One single German word," he said, "could not much compromise madame."

The blue domino again pretended to take her orders, and then said: "M. le Cardinal, these are the words of madame, 'He whose thoughts are not ever on the alert, he whose imagination does not perpetually suggest the presence of the loved one, does not love, however much he may pretend it.'"

The cardinal appeared struck with these words; all his attitude expressed surprise, respect and devotion.

"It is impossible!" he murmured in French.

"What is impossible?" asked Madame de la Motte, who seized eagerly on these few words she could understand.

"Nothing, madame, nothing!"

"Really, cardinal, you are making me play but a sorry part," said she, withdrawing her arm angrily.

He did not even seem to notice it, so great was his preoccupation with the German lady.

"Madame," said he to her, "these words that your companion has repeated to me in your name are some German lines which I read in a house which is perhaps known to you."

The blue domino pressed Oliva's arm, who thereupon bowed an assent.

"That house," said the cardinal, hesitatingly, "is it not called Schoenbrunn?"

She again made a gesture of assent.

"They were written on a table of cherry-wood, with a gold bodkin, by an august hand."

"Yes," bowed Oliva again.

The cardinal stopped, he tottered, and leaned against a pillar for support. Madame de la Motte stood by, watching this strange scene. Then the cardinal, touching the blue domino, said: "This is the conclusion of the quotation—'But he who sees everywhere the loved object, who recognizes her by a flower, by a perfume, through the thickest veils, he can still be silent—his voice is in his heart—and if one other understands him, he is happy.'"

"Oh, they are speaking German here," said a young voice from an approaching group; "let us listen. Do you speak German, marshal?"

"No, monseigneur."

"You, Charny?"

"Yes, your highness."

"Here is M. le Comte d'Artois," said Oliva softly to her companion.

A crowd followed them, and many were passing round.

"Take care, gentlemen!" said the blue domino.

"Monsieur," replied the prince, "the people are pushing us."

At this moment some invisible hand pulled Oliva's hood from behind, and her mask fell. She replaced it as quickly as possible, with a half-terrified cry, which was echoed by one of affected disquiet from her companion.

Several others around looked no little bewildered.

The cardinal nearly fainted, and Madame de la Motte supported him. The pressure of the crowd separated the Comte d'Artois and his party from them. Then the blue domino approached the cardinal, and said:

"This is indeed an irreparable misfortune; this lady's honor is at your mercy."

"Oh, monsieur!" murmured the cardinal, who was much agitated.

"Let us go quickly," said the blue domino to Oliva; and they moved away.

"Now I know," said Madame de la Motte to herself, "what the cardinal meant was impossible: he took this woman for the queen. But what an effect it has had on him?"

"Would you like to leave the ball?" asked M. de Rohan, in a feeble voice.

"As you please, monseigneur," replied Jeanne.

"I do not find much interest here, do you?"

"None at all."

They pushed their way through the crowd. The cardinal, who was tall, looked all around him, to try and see again the vision which had disappeared; but blue, white, and gray dominoes were everywhere, and he could distinguish no one. They had been some time in the carriage, and he had not yet spoken to Jeanne.



CHAPTER XXIV.

THE EXAMINATION.

At last Jeanne said, "Where is this carriage taking me to, cardinal?"

"Back to your own house, countess."

"My house—in the faubourg?"

"Yes, countess. A very small house to contain so many charms."

They soon stopped. Jeanne alighted, and he was preparing to follow her, but she stopped him, and said, "It is very late, cardinal."

"Adieu, then," said he; and he drove away, absorbed with the scene at the ball.

Jeanne entered alone into her new house. Six lackeys waited for her in the hall, and she looked at them as calmly as though she had been used to it all her life.

"Where are my femmes de chambre?" said she.

One of the men advanced respectfully.

"Two women wait for madame in her room."

"Call them." The valet obeyed.

"Where do you usually sleep?" said Jeanne to them, when they entered.

"We have no place as yet," said one of them; "we can sleep wherever madame pleases."

"Where are the keys?"

"Here, madame."

"Well, for this night you shall sleep out of the house."

The women looked at her in surprise.

"You have some place to go to?" said Jeanne.

"Certainly, madame; but it is late. Still, if madame wishes——"

"And these men can accompany you," she continued, dismissing the valets also, who seemed rather pleased.

"When shall we return?" asked one of them.

"To-morrow at noon."

They seemed more astonished than ever, but Jeanne looked so imperious that they did not speak.

"Is there any one else here?" she asked.

"No one, madame. It is impossible for madame to remain like this; surely you must have some one here."

"I want no one."

"The house might take fire; madame might be ill."

"Go, all of you," said Jeanne; "and take this," added she, giving them money from her purse.

They all thanked her, and disappeared, saying to each other that they had found a strange mistress.

Jeanne then locked the doors and said triumphantly, "Now I am alone here, in my own house." She now commenced an examination, admiring each thing individually. The ground-floor contained a bath-room, dining-room, three drawing-rooms, and two morning-rooms. The furniture of these rooms was handsome, though not new. It pleased Jeanne better than if it had been furnished expressly for her. All the rich antiques disdained by fashionable ladies, the marvelous pieces of carved ebony, the glass lusters, the gothic clocks; chefs-d'oeuvre of carving and enamel, the screens with embroidered Chinese figures, and the immense vases, threw Jeanne into indescribable raptures. Here on a chimney-piece two gilded tritons were bearing branches of coral, upon which were hung jeweled fruits. In another place, on a gilded console table, was an enormous elephant, with sapphires hanging from his ears, supporting a tower filled with little bottles of scent. Books in gilt bindings were on rosewood shelves. One room was hung with Gobelin tapestry, and furnished in gray and gold; another, paneled in paintings by Vernet. The small rooms contained pictures. The whole was evidently the collection of years.

Jeanne examined it all with delight. Then, as her domino was inconvenient, she went into her room to put on a dressing-gown of wadded silk; and, secure of meeting no one, she wandered from room to room, continuing her examination, till at last, her light nearly exhausted, she returned to her bedroom, which was hung with embroidered blue satin.

She had seen everything, and admired everything: there only remained herself to be admired; and she thought, as she undressed before the long mirror, that she was not the object least worthy of admiration in the place. At last, wearied out with pleasurable excitement, she went to bed, and soon sank to sleep.



CHAPTER XXV.

THE ACADEMY OF M. BEAUSIRE.

Beausire had followed the advice of the blue domino, and repaired to the place of meeting in the Rue du Pot au Fer. He was frightened by the apparent exclusion which his companions had seemed to meditate, in not communicating their plans to him; and he knew none of them to be particularly scrupulous. He had acquired the reputation among them of a man to be feared; it was not wonderful, as he had been a soldier, and worn a uniform. He knew how to draw his sword, and he had a habit of looking very fierce at the slightest word that displeased him—all things which appear rather terrifying to those of doubtful courage, especially when they have reason to shun the eclat of a duel and the curiosity of the police.

Beausire counted, therefore, on revenging himself by frightening them a little. It was a long way, but Beausire had money in his pocket; so he took a coach, promised the driver an extra franc to go fast, and, to make up for the absence of his sword, he assumed as fierce a look as he could on entering the room.

It was a large hall, full of tables, at which were seated about twenty players, drinking beer or syrups, and smiling now and then on some highly rouged women who sat near them. They were playing faro at the principal table, but the stakes were low, and the excitement small in proportion.

On the entrance of the domino, all the women smiled on him, half in raillery, and half in coquetry, for M. Beausire was a favorite among them. However, he advanced in silence to the table without noticing any one.

One of the players, who was a good-humored looking fellow, said to him, "Corbleu, chevalier, you come from the ball looking out of sorts."

"Is your domino uncomfortable?" said another.

"No, it is not my domino," replied Beausire, gruffly.

"Oh!" said the banker, "he has been unfaithful to us; he has been playing somewhere else and lost."

"It is not I who am unfaithful to my friends; I am incapable of it. I leave that to others."

"What do you mean, dear chevalier?"

"I know what I mean," replied he; "I thought I had friends here."

"Certainly," replied several voices.

"Well, I was deceived."

"How?"

"You plan things without me."

Several of the members began to protest it was not true.

"I know better," said Beausire; "and these false friends shall be punished." He put his hand to his side to feel for his sword, but, as it was not there, he only shook his pocket, and the gold rattled.

"Oh, oh!" said the banker, "M. Beausire has not lost. Come, will you not play?"

"Thanks," said Beausire; "I will keep what I have got."

"Only one louis," said one of the women, caressingly.

"I do not play for miserable louis," said he. "We play for millions here to-night—yes, gentlemen, millions."

He had worked himself up into a great state of excitement, and was losing sight of all prudence, when a blow from behind made him turn, and he saw by him a great dark figure, stiff and upright, and with two shining black eyes. He met Beausire's furious glance with a ceremonious bow.

"The Portuguese!" said Beausire.

"The Portuguese!" echoed the ladies, who abandoned Beausire to crowd round the newcomer, he being their especial pet, as he was in the habit of bringing them sweetmeats, sometimes wrapped up in notes of forty or fifty francs. This man was one of the twelve associates.

He was used as a bait at their society. It was agreed that he should lose a hundred louis a week as an inducement to allure strangers to play. He was, therefore, considered a useful man. He was also an agreeable one, and was held in much consideration.

Beausire became silent on seeing him.

The Portuguese took his place at the table, and put down twenty louis, which he soon lost, thereby making some of those who had been stripped before forget their losses.

All the money received by the banker was dropped into a well under the table, and he was forbidden to wear long sleeves, lest he should conceal any within them, although the other members generally took the liberty of searching both sleeves and pockets before they left.

Several now put on their great-coats and took leave—some happy enough to escort the ladies.

A few, however, after making a feint to go, returned into another room; and here the twelve associates soon found themselves united.

"Now we will have an explanation," said Beausire.

"Do not speak so loud," said the Portuguese in good French. Then they examined the doors and windows to make certain that all was secure, drew the curtain close, and seated themselves.

"I have a communication to make," said the Portuguese; "it was lucky, however, I arrived when I did, for M. Beausire was seized this evening with a most imprudent flow of eloquence."

Beausire tried to speak.

"Silence," said the Portuguese; "let us not waste words: you know my ideas beforehand very well; you are a man of talent, and may have guessed it, but I think 'amour propre' should never overcome self-interest."

"I do not understand."

"M. Beausire hoped to be the first to make this proposition."

"What proposition?" cried the rest.

"Concerning the two million francs," said Beausire.

"Two million francs!" cried they.

"First," said the Portuguese, "you exaggerate; it is not as much as that."

"We do not know what you are talking of," said the banker.

"But are not the less all ears," said another.

The Portuguese drank off a large glass of Orgeat, and then began: "The necklace is not worth more than 1,500,000 francs."

"Oh, then it concerns a necklace?" said Beausire.

"Yes, did you not mean the same thing?"

"Perhaps."

"Now he is going to be discreet after his former folly," said the Portuguese; "but time presses, for the ambassador will arrive in eight days."

"This matter becomes complicated," said the banker; "a necklace! 1,500,000 francs! and an ambassador! Pray explain."

"In a few words," said the Portuguese; "MM. Boehmer and Bossange offered to the queen a necklace worth that sum. She refused it, and now they do not know what to do with it, for none but a royal fortune could buy it. Well, I have found the royal personage who will buy this necklace, and obtain the custody of it from MM. Boehmer and Bossange; and that is my gracious sovereign the Queen of Portugal."

"We understand it less than ever," said the associates.

"And I not at all," thought Beausire; then he said aloud, "Explain yourself clearly, dear M. Manoel; our private differences should give place to the public interests. I acknowledge you the author of the idea, and renounce all right to its paternity. Therefore speak on."

"Willingly," said Manoel, drinking a second glass of Orgeat; "the embassy is vacant just now; the new ambassador, M. de Souza, will not arrive for a week. Well, he may arrive sooner."

They all looked stupefied but Beausire, who said, "Do you not see some ambassador, whether true or false?"

"Exactly," said Manoel; "and the ambassador who arrives may desire to buy this necklace for the Queen of Portugal, and treat accordingly with MM. Boehmer and Bossange; that is all."

"But," said the banker, "they would not allow such a necklace to pass into the hands of M. de Souza himself without good security."

"Oh, I have thought of all that; the ambassador's house is vacant, with the exception of the chancellor, who is a Frenchman, and speaks bad Portuguese, and who is therefore delighted when the Portuguese speak French to him, as he does not then betray himself; but who likes to speak Portuguese to the French, as it sounds grand. Well, we will present ourselves to this chancellor with all the appearances of a new legation."

"Appearances are something," said Beausire: "but the credentials are much more."

"We will have them," replied Manoel.

"No one can deny that Don Manoel is an invaluable man," said Beausire.

"Well, our appearances, and the credentials having convinced the chancellor of our identity, we will establish ourselves at the house."

"That is pretty bold," said Beausire.

"It is necessary, and quite easy," said Manoel; "the chancellor will be convinced, and if he should afterwards become less credulous, we will dismiss him. I believe an ambassador has the right to change his chancellor."

"Certainly."

"Then, when we are masters of the hotel, our first operation will be to wait on MM. Boehmer and Bossange."

"But you forget one thing," said Beausire; "our first act should be to ask an audience of the king, and then we should break down. The famous Riza Bey, who was presented to Louis XIV. as ambassador from the Shah of Persia, spoke Persian at least, and there were no savants here capable of knowing how well; but we should be found out at once. We should be told directly that our Portuguese was remarkably French, and we should be sent to the Bastile."

"We will escape this danger by remaining quietly at home."

"Then M. Boehmer will not believe in our ambassadorship."

"M. Boehmer will be told that we are sent merely to buy the necklace. We will show him our order to do this, as we shall before have shown it to the chancellor, only we must try to avoid showing it to the ministers, for they are suspicious, and might find a host of little flaws."

"Oh yes," cried they all, "let us avoid the ministers."

"But if MM. Boehmer and Bossange require money on account?" asked Beausire.

"That would complicate the affair, certainly."

"For," continued Beausire, "it is usual for an ambassador to have letters of credit, at least, if not ready money; and here we should fail."

"You find plenty of reasons why it should fail," said Manoel, "but nothing to make it succeed."

"It is because I wish it to succeed that I speak of the difficulties. But stop—a thought strikes me: in every ambassador's house there is a strong box."

"Yes; but it may be empty."

"Well! if it be, we must ask MM. Boehmer and Bossange who are their correspondents at Lisbon, and we will sign and stamp for them letters of credit for the sum demanded."

"That will do," said Manoel, "I was engrossed with the grand idea, but had not sufficiently considered the details."

"Now, let us think of arranging the parts," said Beausire. "Don Manoel will be ambassador."

"Certainly," they all said.

"And M. Beausire my secretary and interpreter," said Manoel.

"Why so?" said Beausire, rather uneasily.

"I am M. de Souza, and must not speak a word of French; for I know that that gentleman speaks nothing but Portuguese, and very little of that. You, on the contrary, M. Beausire, who have traveled, and have acquired French habits, who speak Portuguese also——"

"Very badly," said Beausire.

"Quite enough to deceive a Parisian; and then, you know, the most useful agents will have the largest shares."

"Assuredly," said the others.

"Well! it is agreed; I am secretary and interpreter. Then as to the money?"

"It shall be divided into twelve parts; but I as ambassador and author of the scheme shall have a share and a half; M. Beausire the same, as interpreter, and because he partly shared my idea; and also a share and a half to him who sells the jewels."

"So far, then, it is settled! we will arrange the minor details to-morrow, for it is very late," said Beausire, who was thinking of Oliva, left at the ball with the blue domino, towards whom, in spite of his readiness in giving away louis d'or, he did not feel very friendly.

"No, no; we will finish at once," said the others. "What is to be prepared?"

"A traveling carriage, with the arms of M. de Souza," said Beausire.

"That would take too long to paint and to dry," said Manoel.

"Then we must say that the ambassador's carriage broke down on the way, and he was forced to use that of the secretary: I must have a carriage, and my arms will do for that. Besides, we will have plenty of bruises and injuries on the carriage, and especially round the arms, and no one will think of them."

"But the rest of the embassy?"

"We will arrive in the evening; it is the best time to make a debut, and you shall all follow next day, when we have prepared the way."

"Very well."

"But every ambassador, besides a secretary, must have a valet de chambre. You, captain," said Don Manoel, addressing one of the gang, "shall take this part."

The captain bowed.

"And the money for the purchases?" said Manoel. "I have nothing."

"I have a little," said Beausire, "but it belongs to my mistress. What have we in our fund?"

"Your keys, gentlemen," said the banker.

Each drew out a key, which opened one of twelve locks in the table; so that none of these honest associates could open it without all the others. They went to look.

"One hundred and ninety-eight louis, besides the reserve fund," said the banker.

"Give them to M. Beausire and me. It is not too much," said Manoel.

"Give us two-thirds, and leave the rest," said Beausire, with a generosity which won all their hearts.

Don Manoel and Beausire received, therefore, one hundred and thirty-two louis and sixty-six remained for the others.

They then separated, having fixed a rendezvous for the next day.

Beausire rolled up his domino under his arm, and hastened to the Rue Dauphine, where he hoped to find Oliva in possession of some new louis d'or.



CHAPTER XXVI.

THE AMBASSADOR.

On the evening of the next day a traveling-carriage passed through the Barriere d'Enfer, so covered with dust and scratches that no one could discern the arms. The four horses that drew it went at a rapid pace, until it arrived before an hotel of handsome appearance, in the Rue de la Jussienne, at the door of which two men, one of whom was in full dress, were waiting. The carriage entered the courtyard of the hotel, and one of the persons waiting approached the door, and commenced speaking in bad Portuguese.

"Who are you?" said a voice from the inside, speaking the language perfectly.

"The unworthy chancellor of the embassy, your excellency."

"Very well. Mon Dieu! how badly you speak our language, my dear chancellor! But where are we to go?"

"This way, monseigneur."

"This is a poor reception," said Don Manoel, as he got out of the carriage, leaning on the arms of his secretary and valet.

"Your excellency must pardon me," said the chancellor, "but the courier announcing your arrival only reached the hotel at two o'clock to-day. I was absent on some business, and when I returned, found your excellency's letter; I have only had time to have the rooms opened and lighted."

"Very good."

"It gives me great pleasure to see the illustrious person of our ambassador."

"We desire to keep as quiet as possible," said Don Manoel, "until we receive further orders, from Lisbon. But pray show me to my room, for I am dying with fatigue; my secretary will give you all necessary directions."

The chancellor bowed respectfully to Beausire, who returned it, and then said, "We will speak French, sir; I think it will be better for both of us."

"Yes," murmured the chancellor, "I shall be more at my ease; for I confess that my pronunciation——"

"So I hear," interrupted Beausire.

"I will take the liberty to say to you, sir, as you seem so amiable, that I trust M. de Souza will not be annoyed at my speaking such bad Portuguese."

"Oh, not at all, as you speak French."

"French!" cried the chancellor; "I was born in the Rue St. Honore."

"Oh, that will do," said Beausire. "Your name is Ducorneau, is it not?"

"Yes, monsieur; rather a lucky one, as it has a Spanish termination. It is very flattering to me that monsieur knew my name."

"Oh, you are well known; so well that we did not bring a chancellor from Lisbon with us."

"I am very grateful, monsieur; but I think M. de Souza is ringing."

"Let us go and see."

They found Manoel attired in a magnificent dressing-gown. Several boxes and dressing-cases, of rich appearance, were already unpacked and lying about.

"Enter," said he to the chancellor.

"Will his excellency be angry if I answer in French?" said Ducorneau, in a low voice, to Beausire.

"Oh, no; I am sure of it."

M. Ducorneau, therefore, paid the compliments in French.

"Oh, it is very convenient that you speak French so well, M. Ducorno," said the ambassador.

"He takes me for a Portuguese," thought the chancellor, with joy.

"Now," said Manoel, "can I have supper?"

"Certainly, your excellency. The Palais Royal is only two steps from here, and I know an excellent restaurant, from which your excellency can have a good supper in a very short time."

"Order it in your own name, if you please, M. Ducorno."

"And if your excellency will permit me, I will add to it some bottles of capital wine."

"Oh, our chancellor keeps a good cellar, then?" said Beausire, jokingly.

"It is my only luxury," replied he. And now, by the wax-lights, they could remark his rather red nose and puffed cheeks.

"Very well, M. Ducorno; bring your wine, and sup with us."

"Such an honor——"

"Oh, no etiquette to-night; I am only a traveler. I shall not begin to be ambassador till to-morrow; then we will talk of business."

"Monseigneur will permit me to arrange my toilet."

"Oh, you are superb already," said Beausire.

"Yes, but this is a reception dress, and not a gala one."

"Remain as you are, monsieur, and give the time to expediting our supper."

Ducorneau, delighted, left the room to fulfil his orders. Then the three rogues, left together, began to discuss their affairs.

"Does this chancellor sleep here?" said Manoel.

"No; the fellow has a good cellar, and, I doubt not, a snug lodging somewhere or other. He is an old bachelor."

"There is a Suisse."

"We must get rid of him; and there are a few valets, whom we must replace to-morrow with our own friends."

"Who is in the kitchen department?"

"No one. The old ambassador did not live here; he had a house in the town."

"What about the strong-box?"

"Oh, on that point we must consult the chancellor; it is a delicate matter."

"I charge myself with it," said Beausire; "we are already capital friends."

"Hush! here he comes."

Ducorneau entered, quite out of breath. He had ordered the supper, and fetched six bottles of wine from his cellar, and was looking quite radiant at the thoughts of the coming repast.

"Will your excellency descend to the dining-room?"

"No, we will sup up here."

"Here is the wine, then," said Ducorneau.

"It sparkles like rubies," said Beausire, holding it to the light.

"Sit down, M. Ducorneau; my valet will wait upon us. What day did the last despatches arrive?"

"Immediately after the departure of your excellency's predecessor."

"Are the affairs of the embassy in good order?"

"Oh yes, monseigneur."

"No money difficulties? no debts?"

"Not that I know of."

"Because, if there are, we must begin by paying them."

"Oh, your excellency will have nothing of that sort to do. All the accounts were paid up three weeks ago; and the day after the departure of the late ambassador one hundred thousand francs arrived here."

"One hundred thousand francs?" said Beausire.

"Yes, in gold."

"So," said Beausire, "the box contains——"

"100,380 francs, monsieur."

"It is not much," said Manoel, coldly; "but, happily, her majesty has placed funds at my disposal. I told you," continued he, turning to Beausire, "that I thought we should need it at Paris."

"Your excellency took wise precautions," said Beausire, respectfully.

From the time of this important communication the hilarity of the party went on increasing. A good supper, consisting of salmon, crabs, and sweets, contributed to their satisfaction. Ducorneau, quite at his ease, ate enough for ten, and did not fail, either, in demonstrating that a Parisian could do honor to port and sherry.



CHAPTER XXVII.

MESSRS. BOEHMER AND BOSSANGE.

M. Ducorneau blessed heaven repeatedly for sending an ambassador who preferred his speaking French to Portuguese, and liked Portuguese wines better than French ones. At last, Manoel expressed a wish to go to bed; Ducorneau rose and left the room, although, it must be confessed, he found some difficulty in the operation.

It was now the turn of the valet to have supper, which he did with great good-will.

The next day the hotel assumed an air of business; all the bureaux were opened, and everything indicated life in the recently deserted place.

The report soon spread in the neighborhood that some great personages had arrived from Portugal during the night. This, although what was wanted to give them credit, could not but inspire the conspirators with some alarm; for the police had quick ears and Argus eyes. Still, they thought that by audacity, combined with prudence, they might easily keep them from becoming suspicious, until they had had time to complete their business.

Two carriages containing the other nine associates arrived, as agreed upon, and they were soon installed in their different departments.

Beausire induced Ducorneau himself to dismiss the porter, on the ground that he did not speak Portuguese. They were, therefore, in a good situation to keep off all unwelcome visitors.

About noon, Don Manoel, gaily dressed, got into a carriage, which they had hired for five hundred francs a month, and set out, with his secretary, for the residence of MM. Boehmer and Bossange.

Their servant knocked at the door, which was secured with immense locks, and studded with great nails, like that of a prison. A servant opened it. "His Excellency the Ambassador of Portugal desires to speak to MM. Boehmer and Bossange."

They got out, and M. Boehmer came to them in a few moments, and received them with a profusion of polite speeches, but, seeing that the ambassador did not deign even a smile in reply, looked somewhat disconcerted.

"His excellency does not speak or understand French, sir, and you must communicate to him through me, if you do not speak Portuguese," said Beausire.

"No, monsieur, I do not."

Manoel then spoke in Portuguese to Beausire, who, turning to M. Boehmer, said:

"His excellency M. le Comte de Souza, ambassador from the Queen of Portugal, desires me to ask you if you have not in your possession a beautiful diamond necklace?"

Boehmer looked at him scrutinizingly.

"A beautiful diamond necklace!" repeated he.

"The one which you offered to the Queen of France, and which our gracious queen has heard of."

"Monsieur," said Boehmer, "is an officer of the ambassador's?"

"His secretary, monsieur."

Don Manoel was seated with the air of a great man, looking carelessly at the pictures which hung round the room.

"M. Boehmer," said Beausire abruptly, "do you not understand what I am saying to you?"

"Yes, sir," answered Boehmer, rather startled by the manner of the secretary.

"Because I see his excellency is becoming impatient."

"Excuse me, sir," said Boehmer, coloring, "but I dare not show the necklace, except in my partner's presence."

"Well, sir, call your partner."

Don Manoel approached Beausire, and began again talking to him in Portuguese.

"His excellency says," interpreted he, "that he has already waited ten minutes, and that he is not accustomed to be kept waiting."

Boehmer bowed, and rang the bell. A minute afterwards M. Bossange entered.

Boehmer explained the matter to him, who, after looking scrutinizingly at the Portuguese, left the room with a key given him by his partner, and soon returned with a case in one hand; the other was hidden under his coat, but they distinctly saw the shining barrel of a pistol.

"However well we may look," said Manoel gravely, in Portuguese, to his companion, "these gentlemen seem to take us for pickpockets rather than ambassadors."

M. Bossange advanced, and put the case into the hands of Manoel. He opened it, and then cried angrily to his secretary:

"Monsieur, tell these gentlemen that they tire my patience! I ask for a diamond necklace, and they bring me paste. Tell them I will complain to the ministers, and will have them thrown into the Bastile, impertinent people, who play tricks upon an ambassador." And he threw down the case in such a passion that they did not need an interpretation of his speech, but began explaining most humbly that in France it was usual to show only the models of diamonds, so as not to tempt people to robbery, were they so inclined.

Manoel, with an indignant gesture, walked towards the door.

"His excellency desires me to tell you," said Beausire, "that he is sorry that people like MM. Boehmer and Bossange, jewelers to the queen, should not know better how to distinguish an ambassador from a rogue, and that he will return to his hotel."

The jewelers began to utter most respectful protestations, but Manoel walked on, and Beausire followed him.

"To the ambassador's hotel, Rue de la Jussienne," said Beausire to the footman.

"A lost business," groaned the valet, as they set off.

"On the contrary, a safe one; in an hour these men will follow us."



CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE AMBASSADOR'S HOTEL.

On returning to their hotel, these gentlemen found Ducorneau dining quietly in his bureau. Beausire desired him, when he had finished, to go up and see the ambassador, and added:

"You will see, my dear chancellor, that M. de Souza is not an ordinary man."

"I see that already."

"His excellency," continued Beausire, "wishes to take a distinguished position in Paris, and this residence will be insupportable to him. He will require a private house."

"That will complicate the diplomatic business," said Ducorneau; "we shall have to go so often to obtain his signature."

"His excellency will give you a carriage, M. Ducorneau."

"A carriage for me!"

"Certainly; every chancellor of a great ambassador should have a carriage. But we will talk of that afterwards. His excellency wishes to know where the strong-box is."

"Up-stairs, close to his own room."

"So far from you?"

"For greater safety, sir. Robbers would find greater difficulty in penetrating there, than here on the ground-floor."

"Robbers!" said Beausire, disdainfully, "for such a little sum?"

"One hundred thousand francs!" said Ducorneau. "It is easy to see M. de Souza is rich, but there is not more kept in any ambassador's house in Europe."

"Shall we examine it now?" said Beausire. "I am rather in a hurry to attend to my own business."

"Immediately, monsieur."

They went up and the money was found all right.

Ducorneau gave his key to Beausire, who kept it for some time, pretending to admire its ingenious construction, while he cleverly took the impression of it in wax. Then he gave it back, saying, "Keep it, M. Ducorneau; it is better in your hands than in mine. Let us now go to the ambassador."

They found Don Manoel drinking chocolate, and apparently much occupied with a paper covered with ciphers.

"Do you understand the ciphers used in the late correspondence?" said he to the chancellor.

"No, your excellency."

"I should wish you to learn it; it will save me a great deal of trouble. What about the box?" said he to Beausire.

"Perfectly correct, like everything else with which M. Ducorneau has any connection."

"Well, sit down, M. Ducorneau; I want you to give me some information. Do you know any honest jewelers in Paris?"

"There are MM. Boehmer and Bossange, jewelers to the queen."

"But they are precisely the people I do not wish to employ. I have just quitted them, never to return."

"Have they had the misfortune to displease your excellency?"

"Seriously, M. Ducorneau."

"Oh, if I dared speak."

"You may."

"I would ask how these people, who bear so high a name——"

"They are perfect Jews, M. Ducorneau, and their bad behavior will make them lose a million or two. I was sent by her gracious majesty to make an offer to them for a diamond necklace."

"Oh! the famous necklace which had been ordered by the late king for Madame Dubarry?"

"You are a valuable man, sir—you know everything. Well, now, I shall not buy it."

"Shall I interfere?"

"M. Ducorneau!"

"Oh, only as a diplomatic affair."

"If you knew them at all."

"Bossange is a distant relation of mine."

At this moment a valet opened the door, and announced MM. Boehmer and Bossange. Don Manoel rose quickly, and said in any angry tone, "Send those people away!"

The valet made a step forward. "No; you do it," said he to his secretary.

"I beg you to allow me," said Ducorneau; and he advanced to meet them.

"There! this affair is destined to fail," said Manoel.

"No; Ducorneau will arrange it."

"I am convinced he will embroil it. You said at the jewelers that I did not understand French, and Ducorneau will let out that I do."

"I will go," said Beausire.

"Perhaps that is equally dangerous."

"Oh, no; only leave me to act."

Beausire went down. Ducorneau had found the jewelers much more disposed to politeness and confidence since entering the hotel; also, on seeing an old friend, Bossange was delighted.

"You here!" said he; and he approached to embrace him.

"Ah! you are very amiable to-day, my rich cousin," said Ducorneau.

"Oh," said Bossange, "if we have been a little separated, forgive, and render me a service."

"I came to do it."

"Thanks. You are, then, attached to the embassy?"

"Yes."

"I want advice."

"On what?"

"On this embassy."

"I am the chancellor."

"That is well; but about the ambassador?"

"I come to you, on his behalf, to tell you that he begs you to leave his hotel as quickly as possible."

The two jewelers looked at each other, disconcerted.

"Because," continued Ducorneau, "it seems you have been uncivil to him."

"But listen——"

"It is useless," said Beausire, who suddenly appeared; "his excellency told you to dismiss them—do it."

"But, monsieur——"

"I cannot listen," said Beausire.

The chancellor took his relation by the shoulder, and pushed him out, saying, "You have spoiled your fortune."

"Mon Dieu! how susceptible these foreigners are!"

"When one is called Souza, and has nine hundred thousand francs a year, one has a right to be anything," said Ducorneau.

"Ah!" sighed Bossange, "I told you, Boehmer, you were too stiff about it."

"Well," replied the obstinate German, "at least, if we do not get his money, he will not get our necklace."

Ducorneau laughed. "You do not understand either a Portuguese or an ambassador, bourgeois that you are. I will tell you what they are: one ambassador, M. de Potemkin, bought every year for his queen, on the first of January, a basket of cherries which cost one hundred thousand crowns—one thousand francs a cherry. Well, M. de Souza will buy up the mines of Brazil till he finds a diamond as big as all yours put together. If it cost him twenty years of his income, what does he care?—he has no children."

And he was going to shut the door, when Bossange said:

"Arrange this affair, and you shall have——"

"I am incorruptible," said he, and closed the door.

That evening the ambassador received this letter:

"MONSEIGNEUR,—A man who waits for your orders, and desires to present you our respectful excuses, is at the door of your hotel, and at a word from your excellency he will place in the hands of one of your people the necklace of which you did us the honor to speak. Deign to receive, monseigneur, the assurances of our most profound respect.

"BOEHMER AND BOSSANGE."

"Well," said Manoel, on reading this note, "the necklace is ours."

"Not so," said Beausire; "it will only be ours when we have bought it. We must buy it; but remember, your excellency does not know French."

"Yes, I know; but this chancellor?"

"Oh, I will send him away on some diplomatic mission."

"You are wrong; he will be our security with these men."

"But he will say that you know French."

"No, he will not; I will tell him not to do so."

"Very well, then; we will have up the man."

The man was introduced: it was Boehmer himself, who made many bows and excuses, and offered the necklace for examination.

"Sit down," said Beausire; "his excellency pardons you."

"Oh, how much trouble to sell!" sighed Boehmer.

"How much trouble to steal!" thought Beausire.



CHAPTER XXIX.

THE BARGAIN.

Then the ambassador consented to examine the necklace in detail. M. Boehmer showed each individual beauty.

"On the whole," said Beausire, interpreting for Manoel, "his excellency sees nothing to complain of in the necklace, but there are ten of the diamonds rather spotted."

"Oh!" said Boehmer.

"His excellency," interrupted Beausire, "understands diamonds perfectly. The Portuguese nobility play with the diamonds of Brazil, as children do here with glass beads."

"Whatever it may be, however," said Boehmer, "this necklace is the finest collection of diamonds in all Europe."

"That is true," said Manoel.

Then Beausire went on: "Well, M. Boehmer, her majesty the Queen of Portugal has heard of this necklace, and has given M. de Souza a commission to buy it, if he approved of the diamonds, which he does. Now, what is the price?"

"1,600,000 francs."

Beausire repeated this to the ambassador.

"It is 100,000 francs too much," replied Manoel.

"Monseigneur," replied the jeweler, "one cannot fix the exact price of the diamonds on a thing like this. It has been necessary, in making this collection, to undertake voyages, and make searches and inquiries which no one would believe but myself."

"100,000 francs too dear," repeated Manoel.

"And if his excellency says this," said Beausire, "it must be his firm conviction, for he never bargains."

Boehmer was shaken. Nothing reassures a suspicious merchant so much as a customer who beats down the price. However, he said, after a minute's thought, "I cannot consent to a deduction which will make all the difference of loss or profit to myself and my partner."

Don Manoel, after hearing this translated, rose, and Beausire returned the case to the jeweler.

"I will, however, speak to M. Bossange about it," contained Boehmer. "I am to understand that his excellency offers 1,500,000 francs for the necklace."

"Yes, he never draws back from what he has said."

"But, monsieur, you understand that I must consult with my partner."

"Certainly, M. Boehmer."

"Certainly," repeated Don Manoel, after hearing this translated; "but I must have a speedy answer."

"Well, monseigneur, if my partner will accept the price, I will."

"Good."

"It then only remains, excepting the consent of M. Bossange, to settle the mode of payment."

"There will be no difficulty about that," said Beausire. "How do you wish to be paid?"

"Oh," said Boehmer, laughing, "if ready money be possible——"

"What do you call ready money?" said Beausire coldly.

"Oh, I know no one has a million and a half of francs ready to pay down," said Boehmer, sighing.

"Certainly not."

"Still, I cannot consent to dispense with some ready money."

"That is but reasonable." Then, turning to Manoel: "How much will your excellency pay down to M. Boehmer?"

"100,000 francs." Beausire repeated this.

"And when the remainder?" asked Boehmer.

"When we shall have had time to send to Lisbon."

"Oh!" said Boehmer, "we have a correspondent there, and by writing to him——"

"Yes," said Beausire, laughing ironically, "write to him, and ask if M. de Souza is solvent, and if her majesty be good for 1,400,000 francs."

"We cannot, sir, let this necklace leave France forever without informing the queen; and our respect and loyalty demand that we should once more give her the refusal of it."

"It is just," said Manoel, with dignity. "I should wish a Portuguese merchant to act in the same way."

"I am very happy that monseigneur approves of my conduct. Then all is settled, subject only to the consent of M. Bossange, and the reiterated refusal of her majesty. I ask three days to settle these two points."

"On one side," said Beausire, "100,000 francs down, the necklace to be placed in my hands, who will accompany you to Lisbon, to the honor of your correspondents, who are also our bankers. The whole of the money to be paid in three months."

"Yes, monseigneur," said Boehmer, bowing.

Manoel returned it, and the jeweler took leave.

When they were alone, Manoel said angrily to Beausire, "Please to explain what the devil you mean by this journey to Portugal? Are you mad? Why not have the jewels here in exchange for our money?"

"You think yourself too really ambassador," replied Beausire; "you are not yet quite M. de Souza to this jeweler."

"If he had not thought so he would not have treated."

"Agreed; but every man in possession of 1,500,000 francs holds himself above all the ambassadors in the world; and every one who gives that value in exchange for pieces of paper wishes first to know what the papers are worth."

"Then you mean to go to Portugal—you, who cannot speak Portuguese properly? I tell you, you are mad."

"Not at all; you shall go yourself, if you like."

"Thank you," said Don Manoel. "There are reasons why I would rather not return to Portugal."

"Well, I tell you, M. Boehmer would never give up the diamonds for mere papers."

"Papers signed Souza?"

"I said you thought yourself a real Souza."

"Better say at once that we have failed," said Manoel.

"Not at all. Come here, captain," said Beausire to the valet; "you know what we are talking of?"

"Yes."

"You have listened to everything?"

"Certainly."

"Very well; do you think I have committed a folly?"

"I think you perfectly right."

"Explain why."

"M. Boehmer would, on the other plan, have been incessantly watching us, and all connected with us. Now, with the money and the diamonds both in his hands, he can have no suspicion, but will set out quietly for Portugal, which, however, he will never reach. Is it not so, M. Beausire?"

"Ah, you are a lad of discernment!"

"Explain your plan," said Manoel.

"About fifty leagues from here," said Beausire, "this clever fellow here will come and present two pistols at the heads of our postilions, will steal from us all we have, including the diamonds, and will leave M. Boehmer half dead with blows."

"Oh, I did not understand exactly that," said the valet. "I thought you would embark for Portugal."

"And then——"

"M. Boehmer, like all Germans, will like the sea, and walk on the deck. One day he may slip and fall over, and the necklace will be supposed to have perished with him."

"Oh, I understand," said Manoel.

"That is lucky at last."

"Only," replied Manoel, "for stealing diamonds one is simply sent to the Bastile, but for murder one is hanged."

"But for stealing diamonds one may be taken; for a little push to M. Boehmer we should never even be suspected."

"Well, we will settle all this afterwards," said Beausire.

"At present let us conduct our business in style, so that they may say, 'If he was not really ambassador, at least he seemed like one.'"



CHAPTER XXX.

THE JOURNALIST'S HOUSE.

It was the day after the agreement with M. Boehmer, and three days after the ball at the Opera. In the Rue Montorgueil, at the end of a courtyard, was a high and narrow house. The ground floor was a kind of shop, and here lived a tolerably well-known journalist. The other stories were occupied by quiet people, who lived there for cheapness. M. Reteau, the journalist, published his paper weekly. It was issued on the day of which we speak; and when M. Reteau rose at eight o'clock, his servant brought him a copy, still wet from the press. He hastened to peruse it, with the care which a tender father bestows on the virtues or failings of his offspring. When he had finished it:

"Aldegonde," said he to the old woman, "this is a capital number; have you read it?"

"Not yet; my soup is not finished."

"It is excellent," repeated the journalist.

"Yes," said she; "but do you know what they say of it in the printing-office?"

"What?"

"That you will certainly be sent to the Bastile."

"Aldegonde," replied Reteau, calmly, "make me a good soup, and do not meddle with literature."

"Always the same," said she, "rash and imprudent."

"I will buy you some buckles with what I make to-day. Have many copies been sold yet?"

"No, and I fear my buckles will be but poor. Do you remember the number against M. de Broglie? We sold one hundred before ten o'clock; therefore this cannot be as good."

"Do you know the difference, Aldegonde? Now, instead of attacking an individual, I attack a body; and instead of a soldier, I attack a queen."

"The queen! Oh, then there is no fear; the numbers will sell, and I shall have my buckles."

"Some one rings," said Reteau.

The old woman ran to the shop, and returned a minute after, triumphant.

"One thousand copies!" said she, "there is an order!"

"In whose name?" asked Reteau, quickly.

"I do not know."

"But I want to know; run and ask."

"Oh, there is plenty of time; they cannot count a thousand copies in a minute."

"Yes, but be quick; ask the servant—is it a servant?"

"It is a porter."

"Well, ask him where he is to take them to."

Aldegonde went, and the man replied that he was to take them to the Rue Neuve St. Gilles, to the house of the Count de Cagliostro.

The journalist jumped with delight, and ran to assist in counting off the numbers.

They were not long gone when there was another ring.

"Perhaps that is for another thousand copies," cried Aldegonde. "As it is against the Austrian, every one will join in the chorus."

"Hush, hush, Aldegonde! do not speak so loud, but go and see who it is."

Aldegonde opened the door to a man, who asked if he could speak to the editor of the paper.

"What do you want to say to him?" asked Aldegonde, rather suspiciously.

The man rattled some money in his pocket, and said:

"I come to pay for the thousand copies sent for by M. le Comte de Cagliostro."

"Oh, come in!"

A young and handsome man, who had advanced just behind him, stopped him as he was about to shut the door, and followed him in.

Aldegonde ran to her master. "Come," said she, "here is the money for the thousand copies."

He went directly, and the man, taking out a small bag, paid down one hundred six-franc pieces.

Reteau counted them and gave a receipt, smiling graciously on the man, and said, "Tell the Count de Cagliostro that I shall always be at his orders, and that I can keep a secret."

"There is no need," replied the man; "M. de Cagliostro is independent. He does not believe in magnetism, and wishes to make people laugh at M. Mesmer—that is all."

"Good!" replied another voice; "we will see if we cannot turn the laugh against M. de Cagliostro;" and M. Reteau, turning, saw before him the young man we mentioned.

His glance was menacing; he had his left hand on the hilt of his sword, and a stick in his right.

"What can I do for you, sir?" said Reteau, trembling.

"You are M. Reteau?" asked the young man.

"Yes, sir."

"Journalist, and author of this article?" said the visitor, drawing the new number from his pocket.

"Not exactly the author, but the publisher," said Reteau.

"Very well, that comes to the same thing; for if you had not the audacity to write it, you have had the baseness to give it publicity. I say baseness, for, as I am a gentleman, I wish to keep within bounds even with you. If I expressed all I think, I should say that he who wrote this article is infamous, and that he who published it is a villain!"

"Monsieur!" said Reteau, growing pale.

"Now listen," continued the young man; "you have received one payment in money, now you shall have another in caning."

"Oh!" cried Reteau, "we will see about that."

"Yes, we will see," said the young man, advancing towards him; but Reteau was used to these sort of affairs, and knew the conveniences of his own house. Turning quickly round, he gained a door which shut after him, and which opened into a passage leading to a gate, through which there was an exit into the Rue Vieux Augustins. Once there, he was safe; for in this gate the key was always left, and he could lock it behind him.

But this day was an unlucky one for the poor journalist, for, just as he was about to turn the key, he saw coming towards him another young man, who, in his agitation, appeared to him like a perfect Hercules. He would have retreated, but he was now between two fires, as his first opponent had by this time discovered him, and was advancing upon him.

"Monsieur, let me pass, if you please," said Reteau to the young man who guarded the gate.

"Monsieur," cried the one who followed him, "stop the fellow, I beg!"

"Do not be afraid, M. de Charny; he shall not pass."

"M. de Taverney!" cried Charny; for it was really he who was the first comer.

Both these young men, on reading the article that morning, had conceived the same idea, because they were animated with the same sentiments, and, unknown to each other, had hastened to put it in practise. Each, however, felt a kind of displeasure at seeing the other, divining a rival in the man who had the same idea as himself. Thus it was that with a rather disturbed manner Charny had called out, "You, M. de Taverney!"

"Even so," replied the other, in the same way; "but it seems I am come too late, and can only look on, unless you will be kind enough to open the gate."

"Oh!" cried Reteau, "do you want to murder me, gentlemen?"

"No," said Charny, "we do not want to murder you; but first we will ask a few questions, then we will see the end. You permit me to speak, M. de Taverney?"

"Certainly, sir; you have the precedence, having arrived first."

Charny bowed; then, turning to Reteau, said:

"You confess, then, that you have published against the queen the playful little tale, as you call it, which appeared this morning in your paper?"

"Monsieur, it is not against the queen."

"Good! it only wanted that."

"You are very patient, sir!" cried Philippe, who was boiling with rage outside the gate.

"Oh, be easy, sir," replied Charny; "he shall lose nothing by waiting."

"Yes," murmured Philippe; "but I also am waiting."

Charny turned again to Reteau. "Etteniotna is Antoinette transposed—oh, do not lie, sir, or instead of beating, or simply killing you, I shall burn you alive! But tell me if you are the sole author of this?"

"I am not an informer," said Reteau.

"Very well; that means that you have an accomplice; and, first, the man who bought a thousand copies of this infamy, the Count de Cagliostro; but he shall pay for his share, when you have paid for yours."

"Monsieur, I do not accuse him," said Reteau, who feared that he should encounter the anger of Cagliostro after he had done with these two.

Charny raised his cane.

"Oh, if I had a sword!" cried Reteau.

"M. Philippe, will you lend your sword to this man?"

"No, M. de Charny, I cannot lend my sword to a man like that; but I will lend you my cane, if yours does not suffice."

"Corbleu! a cane!" cried Reteau. "Do you know that I am a gentleman?"

"Then lend me your sword, M. de Taverney; he shall have mine, and I will never touch it again!" cried Charny.

Philippe unsheathed his sword, and passed it through the railings.

"Now," said Charny, throwing down his sword at the feet of Reteau, "you call yourself a gentleman, and you write such infamies against the Queen of France; pick up that sword, and let us see what kind of a gentleman you are."

But Reteau did not stir; he seemed as afraid of the sword at his feet as he had been of the uplifted cane.

"Morbleu!" cried Philippe, "open the gate to me!"

"Pardon, monsieur," said Charny, "but you acknowledged my right to be first."

"Then be quick, for I am in a hurry to begin."

"I wished to try other methods before resorting to this, for I am not much more fond of inflicting a caning than M. Reteau is of receiving one; but as he prefers it to fighting, he shall be satisfied;" and a cry from Reteau soon announced that Charny had begun.

The noise soon attracted old Aldegonde, who joined her voice to her master's.

Charny minded one no more than the other; at last, however, he stopped, tired with his work.

"Now have you finished, sir?" said Philippe.

"Yes."

"Then pray return me my sword, and let me in."

"Oh, no, monsieur!" implored Reteau, who hoped for a protector in the man who had finished with him.

"I cannot leave monsieur outside the door," said Charny.

"Oh, it is a murder!" cried Reteau. "Kill me right off, and have done with it!"

"Be easy," said Charny; "I do not think monsieur will touch you."

"You are right," said Philippe; "you have been beaten—let it suffice; but there are the remaining numbers, which must be destroyed."

"Oh yes!" cried Charny. "You see, two heads are better than one; I should have forgotten that. But how did you happen to come to this gate, M. de Taverney?"

"I made some inquiries in the neighborhood about this fellow, and hearing that he had this mode of escape, I thought by coming in here, and locking the gate after me, I should cut off his retreat, and make sure of him. The same idea of vengeance struck you, only more in a hurry, you came straight to his house without any inquiries, and he would have escaped you if I had not luckily been here."

"I am rejoiced that you were, M. de Taverney. Now, fellow, lead us to your press."

"It is not here," said Reteau.

"A lie!" said Charny.

"No, no," cried Philippe, "we do not want the press; the numbers are all printed and here, except those sold to M. de Cagliostro."

"Then he shall burn them before our eyes!"

And they pushed Reteau into his shop.



CHAPTER XXXI.

HOW TWO FRIENDS BECAME ENEMIES.

Aldegonde, however, had gone to fetch the guard; but before she returned they had had time to light a fire with the first numbers, and were throwing them in, one after another, as quickly as possible, when the guard appeared, followed by a crowd of ragged men, women, and boys.

Happily, Philippe and Charny knew Reteau's secret exit, so when they caught sight of the guard they made their escape through it, carrying the key with them.

Then Reteau began crying "Murder!" while Aldegonde, seeing the flames through the window, cried "Fire!"

The soldiers arrived, but finding the young men gone, and the house not on fire, went away again, leaving Reteau to bathe his bruises. But the crowd lingered about all day, hoping to see a renewal of the fun.

When Taverney and Charny found themselves in the Rue Vieux Augustins, "Monsieur," said Charny, "now we have finished that business, can I be of any use to you?"

"Thanks, sir, I was about to ask you the same question."

"Thank you, but I have private business which will probably keep me in Paris all day."

"Permit me, then, to take leave of you; I am happy to have met you."

"And I you, sir;" and the two young men bowed, but it was easy to see that all this courtesy went no further than the lips.

Philippe went towards the boulevards, while Charny turned to the river; each turned two or three times till he thought himself quite out of sight, but after walking for some time Charny entered the Rue Neuve St. Gilles, and there once more found himself face to face with Philippe.

Each had again the same idea of demanding satisfaction from the Count de Cagliostro. They could not now doubt each other's intentions, so Philippe said:

"I left you the seller, leave me the buyer; I left you the cane, leave me the sword."

"Sir," replied Charny, "you left it to me simply because I came first, and for no other reason."

"Well," replied Taverney, "here we arrive both together, and I will make no concession."

"I did not ask you for any, sir; only I will defend my right."

"And that, according to you, M. de Charny, is to make M. de Cagliostro burn his thousand copies."

"Remember, sir, that it was my idea to burn the others."

"Then I will have these torn."

"Monsieur, I am sorry to tell you that I wish to have the first turn with M. de Cagliostro."

"All that I can agree to, sir, is to take our chance. I will throw up a louis, and whoever guesses right shall be first."

"Thanks, sir, but I am not generally lucky, and should probably lose," and he stepped towards the door.

Charny stopped him.

"Stay, sir, we will soon understand each other."

"Well, sir?" answered Philippe, turning back.

"Then, before asking satisfaction of M. de Cagliostro, suppose we take a turn in the Bois de Boulogne: it will be out of our way, but perhaps we can settle our dispute there. One of us will probably be left behind, and the other be uninterrupted."

"Really, monsieur," said Philippe, "you echo my own thoughts—where shall we meet?"

"Well, if my society be not insupportable to you, we need not part. I ordered my carriage to wait for me in the Place Royale, close by here."

"Then you will give me a seat?" said Philippe.

"With the greatest pleasure;" and they walked together to the carriage, and getting in, set off for the Champs Elysees.

First, however, Charny wrote a few words on his tablets, and gave them to the footman to take to his hotel.

In less than half an hour they reached the Bois de Boulogne. The weather was lovely, and the air delightful, although the power of the sun was already felt: the fresh leaves were appearing on the trees, and the violets filled the place with their perfume.

"It is a fine day for our promenade, is it not, M. de Taverney?" said Charny.

"Beautiful, sir."

"You may go," said Charny to his coachman.

"Are you not wrong, sir, to send away your carriage?—one of us may need it."

"No, sir," replied Charny; "in this affair secrecy before everything, and once in the knowledge of a servant, we risk it being talked of all over Paris to-morrow."

"As you please, but do you think the fellow does not know what he came here for? These people know well what brings two gentlemen to the Bois de Boulogne, and even if he did not feel sure now, he will perhaps afterwards see one of us wounded, and will have no doubts left then. Is it not then better to keep him here to take back either who shall need him, than to be left, or leave me here, wounded and alone?"

"You are right, monsieur," replied Charny; and, turning to the coachman, he said, "No, stop, Dauphin; you shall wait here."

Dauphin remained accordingly, and as he perfectly guessed what was coming, he arranged his position, so as to see through the still leafless trees all that passed.

They walked on a little way, then Philippe said, "I think, M. de Charny, this is a good place."

"Excellent, monsieur," said Charny, and added: "Chevalier, if it were any one but you, I would say one word of courtesy, and we were friends again; but to you, coming from America, where they fight so well, I cannot."

"And I, sir, to you, who the other evening gained the admiration of an entire court by a glorious feat of arms, can only say, M. le Comte, do me the honor to draw your sword."

"Monsieur," said Charny, "I believe we have neither of us touched on the real cause of quarrel."

"I do not understand you, comte."

"Oh! you understand me perfectly, sir; and you blush while you deny it."

"Defend yourself," cried Philippe; their swords crossed. Philippe soon perceived that he was superior to his adversary, and therefore became as calm as though he had been only fencing, and was satisfied with defending himself without attacking.

"You spare me, sir," said Charny; "may I ask why?"

Philippe went on as before; Charny grew warm, and wished to provoke him from this sang froid, therefore he said:

"I told you, sir, that we had not touched on the real cause of the quarrel."

Philippe did not reply.

"The true cause," continued Charny, "why you sought a quarrel, for it was you who sought it, was, that you were jealous of me."

Still Philippe remained silent.

"What is your intention?" again said Charny. "Do you wish to tire my arm? that is a calculation unworthy of you. Kill me if you can, but do not dally thus."

"Yes, sir," replied Philippe at last, "your reproach is just; the quarrel did begin with me, and I was wrong."

"That is not the question now. You have your sword in your hand; use it for something more than mere defense."

"Monsieur," said Philippe, "I have the honor to tell you once more I was wrong, and that I apologize."

But Charny was by this time too excited to appreciate the generosity of his adversary. "Oh!" said he, "I understand; you wish to play the magnanimous with me; that is it, is it not, chevalier? You wish to relate to the ladies this evening how you brought me here, and then spared my life."

"Count," said Philippe, "I fear you are losing your senses."

"You wish to kill M. de Cagliostro to please the queen; and, for the same reason, you wish to turn me into ridicule."

"Ah! this is too much," cried Philippe, "and proves to me that you have not as generous a heart as I thought."

"Pierce it then," cried Charny, exposing himself as Philippe made another pass.

The sword glanced along his ribs, and the blood flowed rapidly.

"At last," cried Charny, "I am wounded. Now I may kill you if I can."

"Decidedly," said Philippe, "you are mad. You will not kill me—you will only be disabled without cause, and without profit; for no one will ever know for what you have fought;" and as Charny made another pass, he dexterously sent his sword flying from his hand; then, seizing it, he broke it across his foot. "M. de Charny," said he, "you did not require to prove to me that you were brave; you must therefore detest me very much when you fight with such fury."

Charny did not reply, but grew visibly pale, and then tottered.

Philippe advanced to support him, but he repulsed him, saying, "I can reach my carriage."

"At least take this handkerchief to stop the blood."

"Willingly."

"And my arm, sir; at the least obstacle you met you would fall, and give yourself unnecessary pain."

"The sword has only penetrated the skin. I hope soon to be well."

"So much the better, sir; but I warn you, that you will find it difficult to make me your adversary again."

Charny tried to reply, but the words died on his lips. He staggered, and Philippe had but just time to catch him in his arms, and bear him half fainting to his carriage.

Dauphin, who had seen what had passed, advanced to meet him, and they put Charny in.

"Drive slowly," said Philippe, who then took his way back to Paris, murmuring to himself, with a sigh, "She will pity him."



CHAPTER XXXII.

THE HOUSE IN THE RUE ST. GILLES.

Philippe jumped into the first coach he saw, and told the man to drive to the Rue St. Gilles, where he stopped at the house of M. de Cagliostro.

A large carriage, with two good horses, was standing in the courtyard; the coachman was asleep, wrapped in a greatcoat of fox-skins, and two footmen walked up and down before the door.

"Does the Count Cagliostro live here?" asked Philippe.

"He is just going out."

"The more reason to be quick, for I wish to speak to him first. Announce the Chevalier Philippe de Taverney;" and he followed the men up-stairs.

"Ask him to walk in," said, from within, a voice at once manly and gentle.

"Excuse me, sir," said the chevalier to a man whom we have already seen, first at the table of M. de Richelieu, then at the exhibition of M. Mesmer, in Oliva's room, and with her at the Opera ball.

"For what, sir?" replied he.

"Because I prevent you from going out."

"You would have needed an excuse had you been much later, for I was waiting for you."

"For me?"

"Yes, I was forewarned of your visit."

"Of my visit?"

"Yes; two hours ago. It is about that time, is it not, since you were coming here before, when an interruption caused you to postpone the execution of your project?"

Philippe began to experience the same strange sensation with which this man inspired every one.

"Sit down, M. de Taverney," continued he; "this armchair was placed for you."

"A truce to pleasantry, sir," said Philippe, in a voice which he vainly tried to render calm.

"I do not jest, sir."

"Then a truce to charlatanism. If you are a sorcerer, I did not come to make trial of your skill; but if you are, so much the better, for you must know what I am come to say to you."

"Oh, yes, you are come to seek a quarrel."

"You know that? perhaps you also know why?"

"On account of the queen. Now, sir, I am ready to listen;" and these last words were no longer pronounced in the courteous tones of a host, but in the hard and dry ones of an adversary.

"Sir, there exists a certain publication."

"There are many publications," said Cagliostro.

"Well, this publication to-day was written against the queen."

Cagliostro did not reply.

"You know what I refer to, count?"

"Yes, sir."

"You have bought one thousand copies of it?"

"I do not deny it."

"Luckily, they have not reached your hands."

"What makes you think so, sir?"

"Because I met the porter, paid him, and sent him with them to my house; and my servant, instructed by me, will destroy them."

"You should always finish yourself the work you commence, sir. Are you sure these thousand copies are at your house?"

"Certainly."

"You deceive yourself, sir; they are here. Ah, you thought that I, sorcerer that I am, would let myself be foiled in that way. You thought it a brilliant idea to buy off my messenger. Well, I have a steward, and you see it is natural for the steward of a sorcerer to be one also. He divined that you would go to the journalist, and that you would meet my messenger, whom he afterwards followed, and threatened to make him give back the gold you had given him, if he did not follow his original instructions, instead of taking them to you. But I see you doubt."

"I do."

"Look, then, and you will believe;" and, opening an oak cabinet, he showed the astonished chevalier the thousand copies lying there.

Philippe approached the count in a menacing attitude, but he did not stir. "Sir," said Philippe, "you appear a man of courage; I call upon you to give me immediate satisfaction."

"Satisfaction for what?"

"For the insult to the queen, of which you render yourself an accomplice while you keep one number of this vile paper."

"Monsieur," said Cagliostro, "you are in error; I like novelties, scandalous reports, and other amusing things, and collect them, that I may remember at a later day what I should otherwise forget."

"A man of honor, sir, does not collect infamies."

"But, if I do not think this an infamy?"

"You will allow at least that it is a lie."

"You deceive yourself, sir. The queen was at M. Mesmer's."

"It is false, sir."

"You mean to tell me I lie?"

"I do."

"Well, I will reply in a few words—I saw her there."

"You saw her!"

"As plainly as I now see you."

Philippe looked full at Cagliostro. "I still say, sir, that you lie."

Cagliostro shrugged his shoulders, as though he were talking to a madman.

"Do you not hear me, sir?" said Philippe.

"Every word."

"And do you not know what giving the lie deserves?"

"Yes, sir; there is a French proverb which says it merits a box on the ears."

"Well, sir, I am astonished that your hand has not been already raised to give it, as you are a French gentleman, and know the proverb."

"Although a French gentleman, I am a man, and love my brother."

"Then you refuse me satisfaction?"

"I only pay what I owe."

"Then you will compel me to take satisfaction in another manner."

"How?"

"I exact that you burn the numbers before my eyes, or I will proceed with you as with the journalist."

"Oh! a beating," said Cagliostro, laughing.

"Neither more nor less, sir. Doubtless you can call your servants."

"Oh, I shall not call my servants; it is my own business. I am stronger than you, and if you approach me with your cane, I shall take you in my arms and throw you across the room, and shall repeat this as often as you repeat your attempt."

"Well, M. Hercules, I accept the challenge," said Philippe, throwing himself furiously upon Cagliostro, who, seizing him round the neck and waist with a grasp of iron, threw him on a pile of cushions, which lay some way off, and then remained standing as coolly as ever.

Philippe rose as pale as death. "Sir," said he, in a hoarse voice, "you are in fact stronger than I am, but your logic is not as strong as your arm; and you forgot, when you treated me thus, that you gave me the right to say, 'Defend yourself, count, or I will kill you.'"

Cagliostro did not move.

"Draw your sword, I tell you, sir, or you are a dead man."

"You are not yet sufficiently near for me to treat you as before, and I will not expose myself to be killed by you, like poor Gilbert."

"Gilbert!" cried Philippe, reeling back. "Did you say Gilbert?"

"Happily you have no gun this time, only a sword."

"Monsieur," cried Philippe, "you have pronounced a name——"

"Which has awakened a terrible echo in your remembrance, has it not? A name that you never thought to hear again, for you were alone with the poor boy, in the grotto of Acores, when you assassinated him."

"Oh!" said Philippe, "will you not draw?"

"If you knew," said Cagliostro, "how easily I could make your sword fly from your hand!"

"With your sword?"

"Yes, with my sword, if I wished."

"Then try."

"No, I have a still surer method."

"For the last time, defend yourself," said Philippe, advancing towards him.

Then the count took from his pocket a little bottle, which he uncorked, and threw the contents in Philippe's face. Scarcely had it touched him, when he reeled, let his sword drop, and fell senseless.

Cagliostro picked him up, put him on a sofa, waited for his senses to return, and then said, "At your age, chevalier, we should have done with follies; cease, therefore, to act like a foolish boy, and listen to me."

Philippe made an effort to shake off the torpor which still held possession of him, and murmured, "Oh, sir, do you call these the weapons of a gentleman?"

Cagliostro shrugged his shoulders. "You repeat forever the same word," he said; "when we of the nobility have opened our mouths wide enough to utter the word gentleman, we think we have said everything. What do you call the weapons of a gentleman? Is it your sword, which served you so badly against me, or is it your gun, which served you so well against Gilbert? What makes some men superior to others? Do you think that it is that high-sounding word gentleman? No; it is first reason, then strength, most of all, science. Well, I have used all these against you. With my reason I braved your insults, with my strength I conquered yours, and with my science I extinguished at once your moral and physical powers. Now I wish to show you that you have committed two faults in coming here with menaces in your mouth. Will you listen to me?"

"You have overpowered me," replied Philippe; "I can scarcely move. You have made yourself master of my muscles and of my mind, and then you ask me if I will listen!"

Then Cagliostro took down from the chimney-piece another little gold phial. "Smell this, chevalier," said he.