CHAPTER LII
Half reclining upon a sofa, Mme. Blanche was listening to a new bookwhich Aunt Medea was reading aloud, and she did not even raise her headas the servant delivered his message.
"A man?" she asked, carelessly; "what man?"
She was expecting no one; it must be one of the laborers employed byMartial.
"I cannot inform Madame," replied the servant. "He is quite a young man;is dressed like a peasant, and is perhaps, seeking a place."
"It is probably the marquis whom he desires to see."
"Madame will excuse me, but he said particularly that he desired tospeak to her."
"Ask his name and his business, then. Go on, aunt," she added; "we havebeen interrupted in the most interesting portion."
But Aunt Medea had not time to finish the page when the servantreappeared.
"The man says Madame will understand his business when she hears hisname."
"And his name?"
"Chupin."
It was as if a bomb-shell had exploded in the room.
Aunt Medea, with a shriek, dropped her book, and sank back, halffainting, in her chair.
Blanche sprang up with a face as colorless as her white cashmere_peignoir_, her eyes troubled, her lips trembling.
"Chupin!" she repeated, as if she hoped the servant would tell her shehad not understood him correctly; "Chupin!"
Then angrily:
"Tell this man that I will not see him, I will not see him, do youhear?"
But before the servant had time to bow respectfully and retire, theyoung marquise changed her mind.
"One moment," said she; "on reflection I think I will see him. Bring himup."
The servant withdrew, and the two ladies looked at each other in silentconsternation.
"It must be one of Chupin's sons," faltered Blanche, at last.
"Undoubtedly; but what does he desire?"
"Money, probably." Aunt Medea lifted her eyes to heaven.
"God grant that he knows nothing of your meetings with his father!Blessed Jesus! what if he should know."
"You are not going to despair in advance! We shall know all in a fewmoments. Pray be calm. Turn your back to us; look out into the street;do not let him see your face. But why is he so long in coming?"
Blanche was not deceived. It was Chupin's eldest son; the one to whomthe dying poacher had confided his secret.
Since his arrival in Paris he had been running the streets from morninguntil evening, inquiring everywhere and of everybody the address of theMarquis de Sairmeuse. At last he discovered it; and he lost no time inpresenting himself at the Hotel Meurice.
He was now awaiting the result of his application at the entrance of thehotel, where he stood whistling, with his hands in his pockets, when theservant returned, saying:
"She consents to see you; follow me."
Chupin obeyed; but the servant, greatly astonished, and on fire withcuriosity, loitered by the way in the hope of obtaining some explanationfrom this country youth.
"I do not say it to flatter you, my boy," he remarked, "but your nameproduced a great effect upon madame."
The prudent peasant carefully concealed the joy he felt on receivingthis information.
"How does it happen that she knows you?" pursued the servant. "Are youboth from the same place?"
"I am her foster-brother."
The servant did not believe a word of this response; but they hadreached the apartment of the marquise, he opened the door and usheredChupin into the room.
The peasant had prepared a little story in advance, but he was sodazzled by the magnificence around him that he stood motionless withstaring eyes and gaping mouth. His wonder was increased by a largemirror opposite the door, in which he could survey himself from headto foot, and by the beautiful flowers on the carpet, which he feared tocrush beneath his heavy shoes.
After a moment, Mme. Blanche decided to break the silence.
"What do you wish?" she demanded.
With many circumlocutions Chupin explained that he had been obliged toleave Sairmeuse on account of the numerous enemies he had there, thathe had been unable to find his father's hidden treasure, and that he wasconsequently without resources.
"Enough!" interrupted Mme. Blanche. Then in a manner not in the leastfriendly, she continued: "I do not understand why you should apply tome. You and all the rest of your family have anything but an enviablereputation in Sairmeuse; still, as you are from that part of thecountry, I am willing to aid you a little on condition that you do notapply to me again."
Chupin listened to this homily with a half-cringing, half-impudent air;when it was finished he lifted his head, and said, proudly:
"I do not ask for alms."
"What do you ask then?"
"My dues."
The heart of Mme. Blanche sank, and yet she had courage to cast a glanceof disdain upon the speaker, and said:
"Ah! do I owe you anything?"
"You owe me nothing personally, Madame; but you owe a heavy debt to mydeceased father. In whose service did he perish? Poor old man! he lovedyou devotedly. His last words were of you. 'A terrible thing has justhappened at the Borderie, my boy,' said he. 'The young marquise hatedMarie-Anne, and she has poisoned her. Had it not been for me she wouldhave been lost. I am about to die; let the whole blame rest upon me;it will not hurt me, and it will save the young lady. And afterward shewill reward you; and as long as you keep the secret you will want fornothing.'"
Great as was his impudence, he paused, amazed by the perfectly composedface of the listener.
In the presence of such wonderful dissimulation he almost doubted thetruth of his father's story.
The courage and heroism displayed by the marquise were really wonderful.She felt if she yielded once, she would forever be at the mercy of thiswretch, as she was already at the mercy of Aunt Medea.
"In other words," said she, calmly, "you accuse me of the murder ofMademoiselle Lacheneur; and you threaten to denounce me if I do notyield to your demands."
Chupin nodded his head in acquiescence.
"Very well!" said the marquise; "since this is the case--go!"
It seemed, indeed, as if she would, by her audacity, win this dangerousgame upon which her future peace depended. Chupin, greatly abashed, wasstanding there undecided what course to pursue when Aunt Medea, who waslistening by the window, turned in affright, crying:
"Blanche! your husband--Martial! He is coming!"
The game was lost. Blanche saw her husband entering, finding Chupin,conversing with him, and discovering all!
Her brain whirled; she yielded.
She hastily thrust her purse in Chupin's hand and dragged him through aninner door and to the servants' staircase.
"Take this," she said, in a hoarse whisper. "I will see you again. Andnot a word--not a word to my husband, remember!"
She had been wise to yield in time. When she re-entered the salon, shefound Martial there.
His head was bowed upon his breast; he held an open letter in his hand.
He looked up when his wife entered the room, and she saw a tear in hiseye.
"What has happened?" she faltered.
Martial did not remark her emotion.
"My father is dead, Blanche," he replied.
"The Duc de Sairmeuse! My God! how did it happen?"
"He was thrown from his horse, in the forest, near the Sanguille rocks."
"Ah! it was there where my poor father was nearly murdered."
"Yes, it is the very place."
There was a moment's silence.
Martial's affection for his father had not been very deep, and hewas well aware that his father had but little love for him. He wasastonished at the bitter grief he felt on hearing of his death.
"From this letter which was forwarded by a messenger from Sairmeuse," hecontinued, "I judge that everybody believes it to have been an accident;but I--I----"
"Well?"
"I believe he was murdered."
An exclamation of horror escaped Aunt Medea, and Blanche turned pale.
"Murdered!" she whispered.
"Yes, Blanche; and I could name the murderer. Oh! I am not deceived. Themurderer of my father is the same man who attempted to assassinate theMarquis de Courtornieu----"
"Jean Lacheneur!"
Martial gravely bowed his head. It was his only reply.
"And you will not denounce him? You will not demand justice?"
Martial's face grew more and more gloomy.
"What good would it do?" he replied. "I have no material proofs to give,and justice demands incontestable evidence."
Then, as if communing with his own thoughts, rather than addressing hiswife, he said, despondently:
"The Duc de Sairmeuse and the Marquis de Courtornieu have reapedwhat they have sown. The blood of murdered innocence always calls forvengeance. Sooner or later, the guilty must expiate their crimes."
Blanche shuddered. Each word found an echo in her own soul. Hadhe intended his words for her, he would not have expressed himselfdifferently.
"Martial," said she, trying to arouse him from his gloomy revery,"Martial."
He did not seem to hear her, and, in the same tone, he continued:
"These Lacheneurs were happy and honored before our arrival atSairmeuse. Their conduct was above all praise; their probity amountedto heroism. We might have made them our faithful and devoted friends. Itwas our duty, as well as in our interests, to have done so. We did notunderstand this; we humiliated, ruined, exasperated them. It was a faultfor which we must atone. Who knows but, in Jean Lacheneur's place, Ishould have done what he has done?"
He was silent for a moment; then, with one of those sudden inspirationsthat sometimes enable one almost to read the future, he resumed:
"I know Jean Lacheneur. I alone can fathom his hatred, and I know thathe lives only in the hope of vengeance. It is true that we are very highand he is very low, but that matters little. We have everything to fear.Our millions form a rampart around us, but he will know how to open abreach. And no precautions will save us. At the very moment when we feelourselves secure, he will be ready to strike. What he will attempt,I know not; but his will be a terrible revenge. Remember my words,Blanche, if ruin ever threatens our house, it will be Jean Lacheneur'swork."
Aunt Medea and her niece were too horror-stricken to articulate aword, and for five minutes no sound broke the stillness save Martial'smonotonous tread, as he paced up and down the room.
At last he paused before his wife.
"I have just ordered post-horses. You will excuse me for leaving youhere alone. I must go to Sairmeuse at once. I shall not be absent morethan a week."
He departed from Paris a few hours later, and Blanche was left a prey tothe most intolerable anxiety. She suffered more now than during the daysthat immediately followed her crime. It was not against phantoms she wasobliged to protect herself now; Chupin existed, and his voice, even ifit were not as terrible as the voice of conscience, might make itselfheard at any moment.
If she had known where to find him, she would have gone to him, andendeavored, by the payment of a large sum of money, to persuade him toleave France.
But Chupin had left the hotel without giving her his address.
The gloomy apprehension expressed by Martial increased the fears of theyoung marquise. The mere sound of the name Lacheneur made her shrinkwith terror. She could not rid herself of the idea that Jean Lacheneursuspected her guilt, and that he was watching her.
Her wish to find Marie-Anne's infant was stronger than ever.
It seemed to her that the child might be a protection to her some day.But where could she find an agent in whom she could confide?
At last she remembered that she had heard her father speak of adetective by the name of Chelteux, an exceedingly shrewd fellow, capableof anything, even honesty if he were well paid.
The man was really a miserable wretch, one of Fouche's vilestinstruments, who had served and betrayed all parties, and who, atlast, had been convicted of perjury, but had somehow managed to escapepunishment.
After his dismissal from the police-force, Chelteux founded a bureau ofprivate information.
After several inquiries, Mme. Blanche discovered that he lived in thePlace Dauphine; and she determined to take advantage of her husband'sabsence to pay the detective a visit.
One morning she donned her simplest dress, and, accompanied by AuntMedea, repaired to the house of Chelteux.
He was then, about thirty-four years of age, a man of medium height, ofinoffensive mien, and who affected an unvarying good-humor.
He invited his clients into a nicely furnished drawing-room, and Mme.Blanche at once began telling him that she was married, and living inthe Rue Saint-Denis, that one of her sisters, who had lately died,had been guilty of an indiscretion, and that she was ready to make anysacrifice to find this sister's child, etc., etc. A long story, whichshe had prepared in advance, and which sounded very plausible.
Chelteux did not believe a word of it, however; for, as soon as it wasended, he tapped her familiarly on the shoulder, and said:
"In short, my dear, we have had our little escapades before ourmarriage."
She shrank back as if from some venomous reptile.
To be treated thus! she--a Courtornieu--Duchesse de Sairmeuse!
"I think you are laboring under a wrong impression," she said,haughtily.
He made haste to apologize; but while listening to further details givenhim by the young lady, he thought:
"What an eye! what a voice!--they are not suited to a denizen of theSaint-Denis!"
His suspicions were confirmed by the reward of twenty thousand francs,which Mme. Blanche imprudently promised him in case of success, and bythe five hundred francs which she paid in advance.
"And where shall I have the honor of addressing my communications toyou, Madame?" he inquired.
"Nowhere," replied the young lady. "I shall be passing here from time totime, and I will call."
When they left the house, Chelteux followed them.
"For once," he thought, "I believe that fortune smiles upon me."
To discover the name and rank of his new clients was but child's play toFouche's former pupil.
His task was all the easier since they had no suspicion whatever of hisdesigns. Mme. Blanche, who had heard his powers of discernment so highlypraised, was confident of success.
All the way back to the hotel she was congratulating herself upon thestep she had taken.
"In less than a month," she said to Aunt Medea, "we shall have thechild; and it will be a protection to us."
But the following week she realized the extent of her imprudence. Onvisiting Chelteux again, she was received with such marks of respectthat she saw at once she was known.
She made an attempt to deceive him, but the detective checked her.
"First of all," he said, with a good-humored smile, "I ascertain theidentity of the persons who honor me with their confidence. It is aproof of my ability, which I give, gratis. But Madame need have nofears. I am discreet by nature and by profession. Many ladies of thehighest ranks are in the position of Madame la Duchesse!"
So Chelteux still believed that the Duchesse de Sairmeuse was searchingfor her own child.
She did not try to convince him to the contrary. It was better that heshould believe this than suspect the truth.
The condition of Mme. Blanche was now truly pitiable. She found herselfentangled in a net, and each movement far from freeing her, tightenedthe meshes around her.
Three persons knew the secret that threatened her life and honor. Underthese circumstances, how could she hope to keep that secret inviolate?She was, moreover, at the mercy of three unscrupulous masters; andbefore a word, or a gesture, or a look from them, her haughty spirit wascompelled to bow in meek subservience.
And her time was no longer at her own disposal. Martial had returned;and they had taken up their abode at the Hotel de Sairmeuse.
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br /> The young duchess was now compelled to live under the scrutiny of fiftyservants--of fifty enemies, more or less, interested in watching her, incriticising her every act, and in discovering her inmost thoughts.
Aunt Medea, it is true, was of great assistance to her. Blanchepurchased a dress for her, whenever she purchased one for herself, tookher about with her on all occasions, and the humble relative expressedher satisfaction in the most enthusiastic terms, and declared herwillingness to do anything for her benefactress.
Nor did Chelteux give Mme. Blanche much more annoyance. Every threemonths he presented a memorandum of the expenses of investigations,which usually amounted to about ten thousand francs; and so long as shepaid him it was plain that he would be silent.
He had given her to understand, however, that he should expect anannuity of twenty-four thousand francs; and once, when Mme. Blancheremarked that he must abandon the search, if nothing had been discoveredat the end of two years:
"Never," he replied: "I shall continue the search as long as I live."But Chupin, unfortunately, remained; and he was a constant terror.
She had been compelled to give him twenty thousand francs, to beginwith.
He declared that his younger brother had come to Paris in pursuit ofhim, accusing him of having stolen their father's hoard, and demandinghis share with his dagger in his hand.
There had been a battle, and it was with a head bound up in ablood-stained linen, that Chupin made his appearance before Mme.Blanche.
"Give me the sum that the old man buried, and I will allow my brother tothink that I had stolen it. It is not very pleasant to be regarded as athief, when one is an honest man, but I will bear it for your sake. Ifyou refuse, I shall be compelled to tell him where I have obtained mymoney and how."
If he possessed all the vices, depravity, and coldblooded perversity ofhis father, this wretch had inherited neither his intelligence nor his_finesse_.
Instead of taking the precautions which his interest required, he seemedto find a brutal pleasure in compromising the duchess.
He was a constant visitor at the Hotel de Sairmeuse. He came and wentat all hours, morning, noon, and night, without troubling himself in theleast about Martial.
And the servants were amazed to see their haughty mistressunhesitatingly leave everything at the call of this suspicious-lookingcharacter, who smelled _so_ strongly of tobacco and vile brandy.
One evening, while a grand entertainment was in progress at the Hotel deSairmeuse, he made his appearance, half drunk, and imperiously orderedthe servants to go and tell Mme. Blanche that he was there, and that hewas waiting for her.
She hastened to him in her magnificent evening-dress, her face whitewith rage and shame beneath her tiara of diamonds. And when, in herexasperation, she refused to give the wretch what he demanded:
"That is to say, I am to starve while you are revelling here!" heexclaimed. "I am not such a fool. Give me money, and instantly, or Iwill tell all I know here and now!"
What could she do? She was obliged to yield, as she had always donebefore.
And yet he grew more and more insatiable every day. Money remained inhis pockets no longer than water remains in a sieve. But he did notthink of elevating his vices to the proportions of the fortune which hesquandered. He did not even provide himself with decent clothing; fromhis appearance one would have supposed him a beggar, and his companionswere the vilest and most degraded of beings.
One night he was arrested in a low den, and the police, surprised atseeing so much gold in the possession of such a beggarly looking wretch,accused him of being a thief. He mentioned the name of the Duchesse deSairmeuse.
An inspector of the police presented himself at the Hotel de Sairmeusethe following morning. Martial, fortunately, was in Vienna at the time.
And Mme. Blanche was forced to undergo the terrible humiliation ofconfessing that she had given a large sum of money to this man, whosefamily she had known, and who, she added, had once rendered her animportant service.
Sometimes her tormentor changed his tactics.
For example, he declared that he disliked to come to the Hotel deSairmeuse, that the servants treated him as if he were a mendicant, thatafter this he would write.
And in a day or two there would come a letter bidding her bring such asum, to such a place, at such an hour.
And the proud duchess was always punctual at the rendezvous.
There was constantly some new invention, as if he found an intensedelight in proving his power and in abusing it.
He had met, Heaven knows where! a certain Aspasie Clapard, to whom hetook a violent fancy, and although she was much older than himself, hewished to marry her. Mme. Blanche paid for the wedding-feast.
Again he announced his desire of establishing himself in business,having resolved, he said, to live by his own exertions. He purchased thestock of a wine merchant, which the duchess paid for, and which he drankin no time.
His wife gave birth to a child, and Mme. de Sairmeuse must pay for thebaptism as she had paid for the wedding, only too happy that Chupindid not require her to stand as godmother to little Polyte. He hadentertained this idea at first.
On two occasions Mme. Blanche accompanied her husband to Vienna and toLondon, whither he went charged with important diplomatic missions. Sheremained three years in foreign lands.
Each week during all that time she received one letter, at least, fromChupin.
Ah! many a time she envied the lot of her victim! What was Marie-Anne'sdeath compared with the life she led?
Her sufferings were measured by years, Marie-Anne's by minutes; and shesaid to herself, again and again, that the torture of poison could notbe as intolerable as her agony.