CHAPTER II.
AN INTERIOR.
If we do not calculate too much on the memory of our readers, theycertainly know the Rue St. Claude, which joins at one end the boulevard,and at the other the Rue St. Louis; this was an important street in thefirst part of our story, when it was inhabited by Joseph Balsamo, hissibyl, Lorenza, and his master, Althotas. It was still a respectablestreet, though badly lighted, and by no means clean, but little known orfrequented.
There was, however, at the corner of the boulevard a large house, withan aristocratic air; but this house, which might, from the number of itswindows, have illuminated the whole street, had it been lighted up, wasthe darkest and most somber-looking of any. The door was never seen toopen; and the windows were thick with dust, which seemed neverdisturbed. Sometimes an idler, attracted by curiosity, approached thegates and peeped through; all he could see, however, were masses ofweeds growing between the stones of the courtyard, and green mossspreading itself over everything. Occasionally an enormous rat, soleinmate of those deserted domains, ran across the yard, on his way to hisusual habitation in the cellars, which seemed, however, to be an excessof modesty, when he had the choice of so many fine sitting-rooms, wherehe need never fear the intrusion of a cat.
At times, one or two of the neighbors, passing the house, might stop totake a survey, and one would say to the other:
"Well, what do you see?"
"Why," he would reply, "I see the rat."
"Oh! let me look at him. How fat he has grown!"
"That is not to be wondered at; he is never disturbed; and there must besome good pickings in the house. M. de Balsamo disappeared so suddenly,that he must have left something behind."
"But you forget that the house was half burned down."
And they would pursue their way.
Opposite this ruin was a high narrow house inclosed within a gardenwall. From the upper windows, a light was to be seen; the rest wasshrouded in darkness. Either all the inhabitants were already asleep, orthey were very economical of wood and candles, which certainly werefrightfully dear this winter. It is, however, with the fifth story onlythat we have any business.
We must, in the first place, take a survey of the house, and, ascendingthe staircase, open the first door. This room is empty and dark,however, but it opens into another of which the furniture deserves ourattention.
The doors were gaudily painted, and it contained easy chairs covered inwhite, with yellow velvet trimming, and a sofa to match; the cushions ofwhich, however, were so full of the wrinkles of old age as scarcely tobe cushions any longer. Two portraits hanging on the walls nextattracted attention. A candle and a lamp--one placed on a stand, aboutthree feet high, and the other on the chimney-piece--threw a constantlight on them.
The first was a well-known portrait of Henry III., King of France andPoland; a cap on his head, surmounting his long pale face and heavyeyes; a pointed beard, and a ruff round his neck.
Under it was the inscription, traced in black letters, on a badly-gildedframe, "Henri de Valois."
The other portrait, of which the gilding was newer, and the paintingmore fresh and recent, represented a young lady with black eyes, astraight nose, and rather compressed lips, who appeared crushed under atower of hair and ribbons, to which the cap of Henry III. was in theproportion of a mole-hill to a pyramid.
Under this portrait was inscribed, "Jeanne de Valois."
Glance at the fireless hearth, at the faded curtains, and then turntowards a little oak table in the corner; for there, leaning on herelbow, and writing the addresses of some letters, sits the original ofthis portrait.
A few steps off, in an attitude half curious, half respectful, stands alittle old woman, apparently about sixty.
"Jeanne de Valois," says the inscription; but if this lady be indeed aValois, one wonders however the portrait of Henry III., the sybariteking, the great voluptuary, could support the sight of so much povertyin a person not only of his race, but bearing his name.
In her person, however, this lady of the fifth story did no discredit toher portrait. She had white and delicate hands, which from time to timeshe rubbed together, as if to endeavor to put some warmth into them; herfoot also, which was encased in a rather coquettish velvet slipper, wassmall and pretty.
The wind whistled through all the old doors, and penetrated the crevicesof the shaking windows; and the old servant kept glancing sadly towardsthe empty grate. Her lady continued her occupation, talking aloud as shedid so.
"Madame de Misery," she murmured; "first lady of the bedchamber to hermajesty--I cannot expect more than six louis from her, for she hasalready given to me once." And she sighed. "Madame Patrick, lady's-maidto her majesty, two louis; M. d'Ormesson, an audience; M. de Calonne,some good advice, M. de Rohan, a visit; at least, we will try to inducehim," said she, smiling at the thought. "Well, then, I think I may hopefor eight louis within a week." Then, looking up, "Dame Clotilde," shesaid, "snuff this candle."
The old woman did as she was bid, and then resumed her place. This kindof inquisition seemed to annoy the young lady, for she said, "Pray goand look if you cannot find the end of a wax candle for me; this tallowis odious."
"There is none," replied the old woman.
"But just look."
"Where?"
"In the ante-chamber."
"It is so cold there."
"There is some one ringing," said the young lady.
"Madame is mistaken," replied the obstinate old woman.
"I thought I heard it, Dame Clotilde;" then, abandoning the attempt, sheturned again to her calculations. "Eight louis! Three I owe for therent, and five I have promised to M. de la Motte, to make him supporthis stay at Bar-sur-Aube. Pauvre diable, our marriage has not enrichedhim as yet--but patience;" and she smiled again, and looked at herselfin the mirror that hung between the two portraits. "Well, then," shecontinued, "I still want one louis for going from Versailles to Parisand back again; living for a week, one louis; dress, and gifts to theporters of the houses where I go, four louis; but," said she, startingup, "some one is ringing!"
"No, madame," replied the old woman. "It is below, on the next floor."
"But I tell you it is not," said she angrily, as the bell rang yetlouder.
Even the old woman could deny it no longer; so she hobbled off to openthe door, while her mistress rapidly cleared away all the papers, andseated herself on the sofa, assuming the air of a person humble andresigned, although suffering.
It was, however, only her body that reposed; for her eyes, restless andunquiet, sought incessantly, first her mirror and then the door.
At last it opened, and she heard a young and sweet voice saying, "Is ithere that Madame la Comtesse de la Motte lives?"
"Madame la Comtesse de la Motte Valois," replied Clotilde.
"It is the same person, my good woman; is she at home?"
"Yes, madame; she is too ill to go out."
During this colloquy, the pretended invalid saw reflected in the glassthe figure of a lady talking to Clotilde, unquestionably belonging tothe higher ranks. She then saw her turn round, and say to some onebehind, "We can go in--it is here."
And the two ladies we have before seen asking the way prepared to enterthe room.
"Whom shall I announce to the countess?" said Clotilde.
"Announce a Sister of Charity," said the elder lady.
"From Paris?"
"No; from Versailles."
Clotilde entered the room, and the strangers followed her.
Jeanne de Valois seemed to rise with difficulty from her seat to receiveher visitors.
Clotilde placed chairs for them, and then unwillingly withdrew.