Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

66

to be discovered," said his friend. "Paris, in my opinion, is full of plots -which had better soon be dashed to pieces." He made an emphatic motion with the sheathed sabre on his left arm, and glanced firmly along the street, from face to face. My dear Armand!" ejaculated the other, stopping for an instant till their eyes met, and the cheek of the garde-du-corps seemed to redden-" this is”—but the remainder was lost to Sir Godfrey, as he held round towards the outskirts of the Faubourg St Honoré. Crossing by a shorter way, however, they still preceded him at the next corner. "On the contrary," continued the younger, "had there been anything to discover"-"- stupidly acute as the police are"-"-but believe me, my friend," he added with animation, "there was nothing-nothing-it was merely ennui. And what police, were it the very espionage of old De Sartines himself, his apprentice and friend Lenoir, or even my fine cousin De Breteuil, with your thrice-humble servitor here, can guard against ennui? 'Tis the only spectre I dread, for the philosophers, the Encyclopédie, have still left it us!" Sir Godfrey had passed them, indeed, hardly heeding their detached words so much as the young soldier's chivalrous air; a little on, he checked his horse at sight of a gendarme's blue and red livery, to inquire for the police-bureau of the quarter; at which the man turned sharply, struck no doubt by the accent or the form of the question, and surveyed him before attempting to give

an answer.

"Ennui !" repeated the officer energetically, as they came on; "my faith, we shall soon have little enough of that luxury, I think! I had imagined it the disease of England!"

"But without her suspecting it," rejoined his livelier companion; "while France alone endeavours to expel, to define the malady! What is Versailles, Fontainebleau, Marly, Luciennes, but a vast sigh, a drowsy effort, a yawn (baillement)? Those parterres of Lenotre, those fountains, those statues, which are like the crimes of Paris! But we awake and assure yourself, my friend, it is at the root of one half-"

Colonel Willoughby had repeated

VOL. LXXVI.-NO. CCCCLXVI.

his question rather impatiently, for the speaker, as he passed on, was turning a glance of attention that way: the gendarme, too, with a sudden motion of his hand to his huge cocked hat, seemed less careful to reply than to leave full room for the two gentlemen. The younger of them stopped, turned, and addressed a word of sharp reproof to the official. "Permit me, monsieur," he added, coming forward with a slight bow, and speaking tolerably good English; "it is probably rather to the commissary of your quarter you would address yourself, and his residence is not far; at the number which I forget, in the Place Montaigne, Champs Elysées." The Englishman thanked him briefly; bowing in return the more profoundly, as he felt the usual unwillingness of his race to receive a favour he had no claim to.

"It is denoted, besides," continued his informant with increased courtesy, "by the red lantern over the portico, which since two years has been fixed over the doorway of every commissary's residence in Paris. Day or night this will serve to distinguish them by a glance."

There

"Indeed?" was the sole answer, in a tone of some indifference. was nothing officious in the younger gentleman's unasked interference; while his singularly handsome face, his vivacious eyes, the air of life in his expression, along with an undeniable elegance of manner, were contrasted for the first time with his elder companion, who stood apart, and almost haughtily silent, a dark shade seeming to gather on his thin and dusky cheek, as he gazed into the street, having even withdrawn his momentary notice of the spirited horse. Yet the baronet felt less annoyed thus than by the prolonged politeness of his friend; he involuntarily bit his lip; there was something disagreeable even in being so promptly addressed in his own language.

"Might it be possible for one to assist monsieur in any yet further manner ?" inquired the stranger, with the same easy grace; though a peculiar smile, at the time unintelligible to Sir Godfrey, had hovered about his lips.

P

the strangest symptoms of that strange time, that while the king had been suppressing dungeons and projecting the good of the people, while the nobles desired reform of abuses, and the whole nation seemed to breathe peace, philanthropy, and enthusiasm

"My best thanks, monsieur," was the stiff response. "I think not-it is a mere ordinary piece of business;" and, bowing deeply towards his horse's shoulder, the English baronet turned in the direction indicated. He could see them from the distance, however, overtaken by a light cabriolet, which seemed to have been slowly following them all the while; the young élégant stepped leisurely in, and with a gesture of adieu to his friend, was driven swiftly off towards the city again; the white plume of the garde-du-corps disappeared among the passengers.

When Sir Godfrey had found the commissary's office, shown the indispensable passport, and received, as he had expected, but little prospect of speedy information, he yet rode homewards in considerable ease of mind; the thing had in fact passed from his thoughts as he took the nearer way from the grand avenues of the Champs Elysées, thronging with gaiety, by the overhanging shade of garden walls and backs of stables, across the open spaces flushed green with the afternoon light, alive with strolling girls in their teens, beside their prim gouvernantes, or children scattered about the groups of their sitting, gossipping, sewing bonnes; while here and there, into a line of secluded street, full of tall, stately, old-fashioned houses in massy blocks, or separate in their high-walled court-yards, sloped lazily the white, gushing glory from far above; till the way towards a bridge, or some glimpse of the bustle about the airy quays, renewed again the sense of being in Paris. But it seemed as if some of its occurrences, otherwise as apparently fragmentary as the street-cries or confused accents, bore every now and then a more connected purport to the baronet as he came in contact with them.

He had already thrown a coin or two mechanically to some squalid cripple, or some one-eyed beggar in his route, thinking no more of it; as he turned into the thoroughfare near home, however, out of one of these sun-bright and silent streets, where a few figures crossed here and there, a singular little incident presented itself, which was but part of many such scenes throughout the quieter quarters of the French capital. It was one of

the very fashion of the salons had conceived a sudden sensibility to the miseries and wants of the lowest class. The late winters had been severe, and the last desperate, amidst dear provisions: there had been fêtes, lotteries, and performances of classic dramas in the theatre, although for these last the curés had refused to distribute their unhallowed proceeds: yet greatest of all had been the activity of the ladies in the genteel faubourgs, who, in graceful toilettes de quête, the most becoming of dresses, and with purses bearing embroideries of flowers, cupids, and touching mottoes, turned their morning calls into a quest for alms. In the less aristocratic quarters, where morning calls were scarcely made, it had taken hold chiefly on the little girls, from mere childhood up to their teens; lasting longer, doubtless, because exercised only in the open air on the street-passengers, with all the amusement of a play mingled in its touch of reality. How interesting was it, too, to the subjects of the performance, as they were chosen from the passing current with all that faculty of prompt organisation so peculiar to the race of France; for the rendezvous was made in the neighbouring archway of some portecochère, apart from the bustle of the crowd, to hold the table with its white fringed cloth, and the silver salver, where the savings of their own pocket-money had been first put for a handsel, as they gathered from the various houses near. The old gentleman, as he approached, had his skirts pulled by some lisping little one, with chubby cheeks, and curls that had vainly been flattened, while her face peered from under the grey stuff of the mimic beggar's cloak: the most simply dressed would hold the salver to the lady of quality; the most polite to the bourgeois; the plainest-featured to the widow, the spinster, or faded beauty; the tallest to the middle-aged gentleman, the prettiest to the gallant: and no rivalry, but how to get most,

disturbed the co-operation of those young quêteuses. The English baronet, indeed, knew nothing of it as he trotted forward, before the archway could be seen, with its lurking, listening, peeping group, holding their breath in expectation: he only saw a slender young form, too tall for the grey cloak to smother the whole of her white summer dress, trip from beside the wall, and hold up her rosy palm before him, like a beggar; they had chosen the eldest, for her eyes and complexion, to try the rich Englishman.

"To the curés and their vicars, Monsieur," she said gravely, "who will distribute it-they know every one so well!" Sir Godfrey mused.

"And you live near us!" he said, thinking of his own daughter, as he asked her name.

"Pour nos pauvres, s'il vous plait, Monsieur," said a clear sweet voice, plaintively. Sir Godfrey had checked his horse with a start; she was a girl little younger than his own Rose, with the very blue eyes and that palest yellow hair, which are so rare in France, though with that warmly-bright complexion which is never seen out of it, suffused as it seems through a strange shadow of brown. The folds and hood of the cloak could not disguise the girlish grace of her figure, just shooting towards womanhood; the studiously plain arrangement of the hair à la quête, virgin-like, added to her pure beauty, and did not take away from the slightly coquettish glance from her drooped head as she thus made her appeal. "My dear little one!" ejaculated Sir Godfrey hastily -"how-what-you are not a-in poverty?"

Her cheek reddened as she drew up her head proudly. "Me? Yes, we are poor, but noble-Armand and I. It is for the poor of the city, Monsieur of Paris."

Sir Godfrey reddened too, and listened calmly to her eager explanation. “Ah, you are rich-you are English!" she added anxiously, as if afraid he hesitated. His glance of surprised inquiry did not escape her. "I know you, Monsieur," she said, "for you live close to our convent in the Rue Debilly, near the Quai de Change, where I am a pensionnaire, and where my aunt is the superior. I come often with one of the sisters to arrange the quête here. There are so many poor !"

"And to whom do you give this money, belle petite?" asked the baronet, smiling at her delighted thanks for the gold he placed in her hand.

"It is Aimée-and my brother is Armand de l'Orme, an officer at Versailles. We are orphans, Armand and I, and we do not belong to Paris. We were both born in the south, in Provence-Were you ever in Provence, Monsieur-ah, how much more beautiful it is!" With an air of empressement she clasped her hands, and standing there in the quietly sunny street, while the stream of the populous chaussée passed athwart its end, the girl seemed to forget her impatient company beyond, whose whispers and exclamations at last betrayed them to the surprised glance of Sir Godfrey. "Was she allowed," he asked, however, "to make visits from her convent-for he had a daughter, little older than herself, who had no companions of her own age in Paris." And the young quêteuse responded eagerly to the hint. "Oh, yes-she was allowed-on certain days-and she would positively come. Indeedperhaps mademoiselle herself would assist at their quête."

The baronet shook his head, almost starting in his saddle at the thought. But it struck him suddenly that his oddly-made new acquaintance, through her friends the curés, might aid him in discovery of the missing Suzanne Deroux; and she was all readiness and sanguine expectation when he explained the matter. There was one young vicar in particular, so mild, so missionnaire, so apostolique, whose acquaintance with all the poorer quarters was miraculous: she would be able to bring the news, she was sure, very soon indeed. So giving her, at her request, the same paper he had recalled from his banker, Sir Godfrey saw her rejoin her archway amidst the impatient welcome of her companions, and took his way into the Rue Debilly, with a feeling half-amused, half-meditative.

At home, there were fresh letters and newspapers awaiting him, with the dinner-time, unwontedly late. There had been already the expected

tidings from Francis to his mother, though brief, that he was finally free of term-times, having reached London, which he was ready to leave next week; his father's remaining business there seemed fully settled, but he was to dine, before starting, at their friend the solicitor's, and bring over with him everything wanted. He enclosed his sister's letter, however, from her dearest school-fellow, crossed and recrossed, with all its precious gossip for common use, its inexpressible sentiments that were not to be seen by another creature, and its postscript with the sole piece of real, intelligible information. Mrs Mason's correspondence also, whose contents had at no time been breathed to any one, had been forwarded: while Sir Godfrey himself had a packet from Mr Hesketh's office in Exeter, giving on the whole satisfactory prospects, and containing a few papers from among the late Sir John's dreary mass of lumber; hitherto overlooked, but which he might care to examine. They were for the most part unimportant, but he saw, from the first glance at one of them, that had it arrived that morning, it might have simply saved him a little trouble and uncertainty; as it was a French letter of date not long before his brother's death, evidently written by some humble notary's clerk, to state the case of the Suzanne in question, who had received a pension for an injury received while in his service, probably interrupted through the change of abode by her children, whose work supported them; but her son had been ill, and the winter severe; the application had been rather made at the penman's instance, as he lived au quatrième in the house where their attic was, and had himself discovered the address by going to the banker's, where he had obtained no other prospect. It stated the place and number distinctly, and had in all likelihood led to the memorandum of Sir John, though no doubt thrown aside at the moment, and with his confused mind in those latter days, so busy amidst out-door matters or convivial meetings, its chief point had been forgotten.

Joining in the eager table-talk it had all excited, with a mind at rest, the baronet could fully share the plea

sure of home-thoughts: the very atmosphere of the room seemed English, for all its bare waxed floor and patch of carpet, its airy paper-hangings of pastoral scenes, its light curtains and tall glaring windows with flimsy frames, its stove-filled chimney-place, and the white folding-doors of its antechamber, about all which there lurked no corner of substantial_comfort, as round the wainscot and panelling, the recesses and embayments, corner-cupboards, and hearth-places, and presses of home, with its highbacked arm-chair, noiseless floors, and family pictures: the sound of the convent-bell, and Sir Godfrey's account of his pretty little quêteuse, alone brought back their recollection. It had been long since Lady Willoughby saw her husband so cheerful, even when he turned to his newspaper, and sat absorbed in its varied matter, leaning back on that hard diminutive sofa;-Mrs Mason, as her custom was, has withdrawn to the mysterious privacy of her own apartment; Mr Thorpe, to a book, apart in the wide naked antechamber; while at its further windows, looking out, sit the two young people in their unwearied charge of the street;-till, as that after-dinner repose steals through the sitting-room, with cool shade from the early May twilight, she feels instinctively that his old easy habit of middle age has returned on him, the first time since reaching France-nay, on second thought, since the day of that melancholy message from Devonshire-of sinking at that hour into a doze. It scarce needs her turning her head, to see how the affairs and concerns of the world at large have fallen from his mind; while gently netting on, without word or other motion, perhaps with no particular thought besides, she sits quiet that it may last the longer. It had seemed vague, in its connection with a trifle; but neither she nor he could have told the indescribable relief it had given him to find the only singularity in Sir John's memoranda cleared up; in this commonplace way, too, when even casual circumstances had seemed joining to give it a feverish importance. That intended but ineffectual will of his, by which he had evidently contemplated a formal bequest, with those slight

exceptions, of everything to the colonel, already his legal heir, could after all have had no rational motive; it was probably but one of those strangely groundless suspicions, those longings to exercise influence from the very tomb, which cross an unsound mind. The colonel had not been unconscious of the superior abilities of his eldest brother, nor of the still brighter parts which were attributed to his brother John in early Life; he only felt reassured by the conviction, again confirmed, that the unhappy results of his foolish match had been such as to touch his brain with insanity. There was a vulgar old story about their family, in fact a sort of absurd country superstition -that owing to some ancient ancestral impiety, even when the ghost ceased to be heard of in the long portrait-gallery at Stoke, over the great staircase-which had been invisible to the family alone-then somewhere or other a Willoughby was mad. Often had the colonel smiled at it, when merely a younger brother in the army; a wound once received in his head in America, which had cost him delirious days and nights, seemed formerly to entitle him doubly to his smile at the corroboration, when restored to full health nay, from some cause, he had found himself thinking of it once or twice in the full blaze of the streets of Paris, with their vivid reminiscences-though his smile had been but faint, now he was the younger brother no longer. For why, really, after all, had he come to Paris in particular, or lingered there, persuading himself under so many different forms about its convenience, the novelty to his children, the advantage of his brother's banker, the little legacy, the comparative privacy, the rapid post, or the many notices of places to let ? Why, in that indirect way, had he sought to make inquiries of the police, and caught himself listening to words in the street, of unknown suicides, baffled investigations, and French ennui? Why had he mechanically shrunk from the Boulevards and rushing St Honoré, yet glanced askance at windows full of faces, or looked again with an irresistible suspicion, to see if he recognised or was recognised by any one-not merely on that day,

but on previous ones also? Actually, in the hot, beating sun, it had for a moment or two resembled the preface to his fever in the colonies, after that affair with their rabble of militia, among whom he had fancied he saw a known visage disguised; and the strong effort of his understanding which recovered him had only brought more keenly the sudden question-whether his brother indeed, or he himself, had been touched with the germs of a growing madness. There had been strange horror in the thought. For, had there really been a deliberate, sober meaning in his brother's stray purposes, through the confusion of all his neglect, and though cut off by death? While the quick, clear self-suspicion had seemed to pierce his own mind with shame, how, amidst an uneasiness to associate with his countrymen, he was still traversing Paris everywhere, under cover of guidance to his family, mingling private anxieties with the grandeur of royal edifices, and continuing to expect some chance vestige of things which his brother might have chosen wisely to leave in silence. Since his succession to Stoke he must have been altering insensibly. Even selfish feelings, impatient wishes, hidden thoughts, or half-fretful expressions towards her who had been so long his solace, had then recurred to mind with a painful surprise; compared with which, his brother's eccentricity appeared innocent indeed, sadly as his earlier follies had brought it on. And had he heard before from Mr Hesketh what he learned from the letter on his return, that the manor-house and park were unlikely to be soon let, or to bring any profitable addition to the rents at present, from a fresh and growing rumour that they were haunted, it would have startled him with a superstitious feeling far more oppressive than any at Stoke. But, as it was, with a sober return to accustomed thoughts, calmed by his unwonted self-scrutiny, for him so deep-and soothed by gentle presence-Sir Godfrey slipped from his practical, matterof-fact English newspaper to repose; though with the melancholy conviction that his brother's understanding had indeed partially given way. They had not latterly seen very much of each other: John was now at peace; his

« AnteriorContinuar »