Louise walked down the flags and stepped into nothingness--thirty feetsheer precipice into the river Seine!
In the instant horror of falling to death off the stone pier, shefound herself saved by being clasped in a man's arms.
"Great heavens!" this individual exclaimed as he bore her to thecentre of the square. "What were you going to do?"
"Nothing--nothing--what was it?" cried Louise incoherently, realizingonly that she had been pulled back from death's door.
"Another moment," said the man in horror-stricken accents, "and youwould have been drowned in the Seine! I leaped up the steps and justmanaged to catch you. Lucky that five minutes ago I had to go down tothe river to fill my water can. You--"
The tones of the voice, which struck Louise as young-old in itstimbre, were soft and kind with a refined and even plaintive qualityalbeit not cultured. Here was a good soul and a friend, she sensed atonce. But could she suddenly have won her sight, Louise would havebeen astonished at the actual vision.
Pale narrow spirituelle features, lit by beautiful eyes and surmountedby a wealth of straight black hair; a form haggard, weazened bydeformity, yet evidencing muscular toil; delicate hands and feet thatlike the features bespoke the poesy of soul within mis-shapenshell,--the hunchback scissors-grinder Pierre Frochard presented aremarkable aspect which, once seen, no one could ever forget!
Wonder and awe were writ on the pale face as he looked at the lovelyangel he had rescued. Pierre shuddered again over the escape. Betterthat he should have suffered myriad deaths than that a hair of thatlovely head were injured. As for himself--poor object of the world'sscorn and his family's revilings--was he worthy e'en to kiss the hemof her garment?
Pierre looked yet again. The angelic little creature was blind!Wide-open yet sightless orbs whereof the cataracts blackened the viewof all Life's perils, as they had of the imminent river. A surge ofself-abnegating, celestial love, mingled with divine pity, filled thehunchback's soul.
Tenderly he inquired about her misfortune, and she told him the sadtale of the journey and Henriette's kidnapping.... Their talk wasbroken in upon by the entry of the hag Mere Frochard and her elderson.
Alas, poor Louise! In finding a friend thou hast likewise found thebitter bread of the stranger and the slavery of the Frochard clan! Thewretched hunchback is himself in thrall. Little dreams he the woe thatshall attend ye both, the while Henriette is the victim of farmightier pomps and powers.
Though Henriette shall not know thy fate for many a day, though sheshall search long and frantically and not meet the beloved untilwithin the shadow of the guillotine, it may give the reader whatcomfort it will that the blind sister still lives--a lost mite in thevast ocean of Paris!
CHAPTER IV
THE FETE OF BEL-AIR
Henrietta had swooned in the vehicle which was being rapidly driveninto open country.
Gradually color came back into wan cheeks. The blue orbs and Cupidlips fluttered and half opened; the dazed little brain tried vainly tosense what had happened.
Quickly the man La Fleur took out a small phial and poured some fewdrops of a dark liquid on the girl's tongue. Half consciouslyswallowing it, she sank back again--this time, into a deeper nirvana.
They were coming now to a large estate, the grounds of which werebrightly illuminated. Outside the iron palings a crowd of beggarsshrieked and gesticulated. Within, all was gayety. La Fleur and hisfellows dismounted with their burden. They laid the inanimate form ofthe Norman girl on a litter and covered it with a white canopy. Asthis strange pallet awaits the Master's wishes in anteroom, let ustake a peep at the celebrated Sunken Gardens.
Bel-Air had been beautified in the lovely exedra style for which PetitTrianon is noted. Art blended so cunningly with Nature one mightalmost mistake marble Venus for live goddess or flesh-and-blood naiadsof the lake for carved caryatides. The very musicians seemed childrenof Pan as they tuned their lyres and fiddles in woodland nook.
Before the splashing fountain supported by little naked Loves inmarble--flanked by balustrades and bordered by screens of myriadcrystalline glass drops--a cool white pavement invited the gay minuet.Beyond, a huge banquet table groaned with delicacies and wines thecost of which would have gone far to rationing the thirty thousandhungry of the nearby City. Indeed, enough was wasted to have fed many.With bizarre and often gross entertainment Marquis de Praille amusedhis guests who themselves presented a wanton and amorous scene thatseemed itself a part of the elaborately staged revels.
What gallantry, what passion, what low asides and snatched kisses! asthe squirming dancers intoxicated the spectators' sense or gauzilydraped coryphees plunged in the pool now converted into a fountain ofwine. The elegant gentlemen and the audacious women guests--themselvesmiracles of bold costuming and sixty-inch snow-white coiffures--knewthe play foretold the coarser revels that all would indulge in aftermidnight.
Around the banqueting tables a number of ladies and gentlemen wereseated, some still toying with the savory viands and drinking rarevintages of Champagne, whilst others idly watched the dancers ordiscussed the latest court news and high life scandal.
"Well, what do you think of my retreat from the whirl and bustle ofParis?" asked Marquis de Praille of his vis-a-vis, who was a dashingsort of beauty.
"My dear Marquis," replied that lady, "I am delighted. It is asatisfaction to find a gentleman who maintains the customs of hisrank."
"And yet there are fools who want to change them," exclaimed a youngnobleman from the opposite table.
"You are right--fools--fools," answered de Praille, as he motioned tothe servants for more wine.
I WON'T GO ANNOUNCED LOUISE FIRMLY. YOU'LL MEET SOMEBODY,GET MARRIED AND I'LL BE LEFT ALL ALONE.]
"By the way," asked the lady who had first spoken, "you have heard thenews?"
As no one had heard anything particularly new for the last two hours,she continued by saying:
"They say that the new minister of police is as hard as a stone, andcold as a fish. He is going to put a stop to all our amusements, and,Marquis, this may be the last entertainment you will give atBel-Air."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the host. "I'd like to see the minister ofpolice who would dare to interfere with the pleasures of a Frenchnobleman. Who and what is he?"
"He is from Touraine; is called the Count de Linieres, and is theuncle of the Chevalier Maurice de Vaudrey."
"Where is the Chevalier?" suddenly asked one of the ladies, as she wasthus reminded of one whom report had described as rather eccentric,and on whom she wished to exercise her charms. "You promised me Ishould see him, Marquis."
"So I did, and I expect him, as well as another guest. I warn you,ladies, that she will be the rival to you all."
"Who is the other guest?" was the question which assailed him from allquarters.
"A young lady," answered the Marquis as if enraptured at the thought."Sweet sixteen, beautiful as a rose, and innocent as an angel."
"Where did you find such a pearl?" asked one of the ladies banteringly.
"In Normandy."
This announcement was followed by a titter from the feminine membersof the group.
"Yes, I know these Normandy beauties!" scorned one of the ladies,betraying in spite of herself a tinge of jealousy.
"Rustics! Quite unpolished and de trop," chimed in another fair one,cat-like in her verbal claws.
"Laugh away, ladies," said de Praille gayly. "You shall see a realNorman beauty, and then see how jealous you will all become at sightof her."
At this moment a noise was heard from the outside, and in the midst ofsome confusion a rather singular voice was heard saying:
"I tell you I must go in, and I will. I must speak to your master."
On hearing this the Marquis went toward the entrance, and demanded ofthe servants who this was who was so importunate.
"Picard," answered the owner of the singular voice. "Picard, valet tothe Chevalier de Vaudrey."
The Marquis immediately gave orders that
he be admitted, and a sharp,wiry-looking fellow, wearing the de Vaudrey livery, stood before thegay party.
"Most excellent Marquis and most beautiful ladies," he said to thegeneral mirth as he curtsied low and executed a neat pas seul, "mymaster the Chevalier is very late, but he will surely appear."
"Late?" protested one of the young blades who knew the Prefect'snephew. "Why, he told me he expected to be here early."
"Alas, detained by business--" replied Picard in a melancholy tone.
"Business! A young nobleman has no business!"
"It is so, gentlemen. Some nights, I grant you, he devotes topleasure, as a young aristocrat should; but his days--how do yousuppose he spends his days?"
"Sleeps, of course," said the Marquis, in a positive tone.
"Gentlemen, allow me to tell you confidentially," said the valetmysteriously as the gentlemen gathered around him, fully expecting tohear of some treason. "He works! actually works! He sits down andreads and writes as though he were an advocate."
CHAPTER V
BEL-AIR--(CONTINUED)
"Bah!" exclaimed one. "You don't expect us to believe that?"
"Yes, and more, too," answered Picard, who enjoyed immensely beingable to impart some information to his superiors. "Why, how do yousuppose he acts to the common people who want to see him? Hiscreditors, for instance?"
"Why, if they are importunate, he beats them, I suppose," answered dePraille, who often "settled" bills thus.
"Yes, he beats them," sneered Picard; "he pays them! Yes, gentlemen,he pays his tradespeople." And the valet surveyed the group, enjoyingthe surprise he had given them.
"Oh, the poor fellow is lost!" exclaimed one of the party, who at theage of twenty had spent a large fortune and was now living on hiswits.
"Completely," affirmed Picard, "and all owing to the company he keeps.He won't be guided by me--"
"The Chevalier Maurice de Vaudrey!"
Picard's further revelations were cut short by the entry of his masterwho dismissed the valet and presented his apologies to the company.
In any assemblage the young Chevalier of twenty-two might have beenremarked for his Greek God features and the occasional smile that madehim look, from time to time, a veritable bright Phoebus Apollo.
He was far handsomer, far more attractive than the host, but ayoung-old cynic about these goings-on. Nephew of the police prefect ofParis, he had been specially invited to forestall--by reason of hispresence--any Governmental swooping down on Praille's wild party.Evidently he was not thinking of morals or of license, but histhoughts were far other.
"The people cry out for bread," said the Chevalier, looking at theboard and thinking of the shrieking beggars.
Marquis de Praille raised his fashionable lorgnette, contemplating avast chateau-like confection on the table, and sprung his littlejoke.
"Why don't they eat cake?" he replied airily, with a cackling laugh.
De Vaudrey smiled fleetingly, then half-serious, half-smiling, raiseda hand in polite protest. Two fair ones carried him off eagerly toretail to the distinguished visitor a morsel of gossip.
"The Marquis has made another conquest!" whispered one to him behindher fan, to which the other added: "Yes, he found a _marvelouslybeautiful_ Norman peasant journeying to Paris in a stage coach, so hehad La Fleur take her and fetch her here--a mere rustic, to outvie usall!"
"Yes, 'twill be good sport," replied the cynic. "These country girlsthat his excellency abducts are willing victims."
They were interrupted by a procession of servants bringing in thecovered pallet.
The spread was thrown off, a restorative administered to the recumbentfigure--Henriette sat up and gazed in blank stupefaction at thecrowding revelers.
She staggered to her feet, looking for a friendly face somewhere.
Of a sudden, the mental image of her lost sister shot her as with aviolent agony.
"My sister Louise--where is she?" she pleaded. "Quick! Please let mego to her--don't you understand? She is BLIND!" Sobs almost choked thelittle voice. "She cannot take a SINGLE STEP without me!"
De Vaudrey looked up to see the tiny creature running hither and yon,asking the laughing gentlemen for help, repulsing Praille's embraces,fending off the other satyr who would drown her sorrows in fizz. Ifthis were play-acting, it excelled the finest efforts of AdrienneLecouvreur! De Praille had now grasped her firmly by the waist andshoulders, his sensual breath was on her cheek, a last cry escapedher:
"Among all these noblemen, is there not ONE MAN OF HONOR?"
The despairing outcry pierced the Chevalier's shallow cynicism,touching the finer feelings that had lain dormant.
He sprang to her side, dashed de Praille's arms from her exquisiteform. Then, facing his bewildered host, he said in calm even tones tothe girl:
"Come, Mademoiselle, we will leave this place."
Suiting the word to the action, he offered his arm to Henriette andstarted to go. With a fury restrained only by conventional usages, dePraille was across their path and barred the way with his wand.
"This is my house," he said hoarsely, "and I will not permit thisinsult!" As he spoke, the chimes sounded midnight. "Do you hear? Aftertwelve o'clock, no one ever leaves Bel-Air!"
For answer de Vaudrey dashed aside the extended wand, escorted thekidnapped girl to the foot of the staircase. De Praille was upon themagain. This time he drew his sword. Fascinated, the courtiers andtheir women companions watched the outcome.
Gently shielding Henriette behind him, de Vaudrey drew. Stroke andcounterstroke and parry of rapiers and lightning-like motion glintedin the air. Henriette was the affrighted center of the fashionablegroup that, according to the custom of that time, awaited the issue ofthe duel without intervening.
Glory be! her protector was parrying the Marquis' wild thrusts whilehe himself bided an opening. It came with a suddenness as dramatic asthe duel itself. A lunge of the villain had left his own side exposed.De Vaudrey sidestepped and as he did so plunged his rapier between theribs of the owner of Bel-Air.
The mortally stricken de Praille sank back against a marble bench. DeVaudrey scarcely glanced at him. Taking Henriette by the hand, herushed with her up the staircase and out to liberty.
Before the Grand Seigneur's cronies thought to avenge their master,they had passed the astonished servants, passed the minatory beggarsat the gates, and hailing a fiacre were on their way to Paris.
CHAPTER VI
IN THE FROCHARDS' DEN
One hundred and fifty years of outlawry had made the Frochardclan a wolfish breed; battening on crime, thievery and beggary. Thehead of the house had suffered the extreme penalty meted out tohighwaymen. The precious young hopeful, Jacques, was a chip ofthe old block--possibly a shade more drunken and a shade lessenterprising.
But the real masterful figure was the Widow Frochard, his mother, ahag whose street appearance nurses used to frighten naughty children.Hard masculine features, disheveled locks and piercing black eyes gaveher a fearsome look enhanced by a very vigorous moustache, a huge wartnear the mouth, the ear-hoops and tobacco pipe that she sported, andthe miscellaneous mass of rags that constituted her costume.
In this menage of the begging Frochards, the crippled scissors-grinderPierre was the only individual worth his salt, and he was heartilydespised by his brother Jacques and his mother.
The hag's black eyes snapped as she saw Louise whom the hunchback hadsaved from the water.
"Pretty--blind--she'll beg us lots of money!" she said gleefully toJacques. But to the girl she pretended aid, and her leathern,liquor-coated voice proclaimed:
"No friends, eh, Dearie? Then I'll take care of you!"
Only poor Pierre sympathized with Louise's awful grief in being thrownadrift on Paris through the violent disappearance of her belovedsister. He trembled to think what knavery his wicked kinsfolk meant,though he himself was their helpless slave; the target of kicks,cuffs, and the robbery of all his earnings.
La Frochard led the way to
their dank and noisome den, opening from astreet trap-door and giving at the other extremity on a sort ofwater-rat exit underneath the pier. She handed Louise down the stepsand taking her things remarked in a self-satisfied tone: "Here areyour lodgings, Dearie!"
The old woman arrayed herself in Louise's shawl, and grinned as shetried on the girl's widespread garden hat. She flung the girl aboutroughly, even choking her. To heighten the rosy picture of greatwealth to accrue, she took a deep draught of cognac from her lovedblack bottle. Poor Louise sank down to deep slumber, from whichneither the noisy potations of La Frochard and Jacques, nor theircursing and abuse of the hunchback Pierre, sufficed to awaken her.
Next morning the hag pulled the blind girl out of the rough bed anddressed her in beggar's garments.
"You must go out now on the street with us and sing!" she said.
"... But you promised to help me find Henriette...." said the poorgirl, piteously.
"We'll find her for you one of these days, but in the meantime youmust earn your keep. No--I don't mean, actually beg! You do thesinging, and I'll do the begging."
"Never!" cried Louise. "You may kill me if you will, but I'll not be astreet beggar. Why, the very first person we meet, I'll ask to save meand inform the police!"
"I'll fix you, my fine lady!" screamed La Frochard, throwing her fromher. "Come, Jacques," she said to her ruffian son, "we'll trying ameans of making her mind!" Together they seized and started draggingher to the steps of a sub-cellar. Tremblingly Pierre urged them todesist, but they cast him aside.