There are young peers, with sixty thousand a year, and there are gentlemen who live by their billiards. There are, for once in a way, grave persons, bankers, and counsel learned in the law; there are Jews and a sprinkling of foreigners; and there are members of Parliament and members of the swell mob.Mr. Longcluse has a good deal to think about this night. He is out of spirits. Richard Arden is no longer with him, having picked up a friend or two in the room. Longcluse, with folded arms, and his shoulders against the wall, is in a profound reverie, his dark eyes
for the time lowered to the floor, beside the point of his French boot. There unfold themselves beneath him picture after picture, the scenes of many a year ago. Looking down, there creeps over him an old horror, a supernatural disgust, and he sees in the dark a pair of wide, white eyes, staring up at him in an agony of terror, and a shrill yell, piercing a distance of many years, makes him shake his ears with a sudden chill. Is this the witches' Sabbath of our pale Mephistopheles--his night of goblins? He raised his eyes, and they met those of a person whom he had not seen for a very long time--a third part of his whole life. The two pairs of eyes, at nearly
half across the room, have met, and for a moment fixed. The stranger smiles and nods. Mr. Longcluse does neither. He affects now to be looking over the stranger's shoulder at some more distant object. There is a strange chill and commotion at his heart.
CHAPTER IV. MONSIEUR LEBAS.
R. LONGCLUSE leaned still with folded arms, and his shoulder to the wall. The stranger, smiling and fussy, was making his way to him. There is nothing in this man's appearance to associate him with tragic incident or emotion of any kind. He is plainly a foreigner. He is short, fat, middle-aged, with a round fat face, radiant with good humour and good-natured enjoyment. His dress is cut in the somewhat grotesque style of a low French tailor. It is not very new, and has some spots of grease upon it. Mr. Longcluse perceives that he is now making his way towards him. Longcluse for a moment thought of making his escape by the door, which was close to him; but he reflected, "He is about the most innocent and good-natured soul on earth, and why should I seem to avoid him? Better,
if he's looking for me, to let him find me, and say his say." So Longcluse looked another way, his arms still folded, and his shoulders
against the wall as before.
"Ah, ha! Monsieur is thinking profoundly," said a gay voice in French. "Ah, ha, ha, ha! you are surprised, Sir, to see me here. So am I, my faith! I saw you. I never forget a face."
"Nor a friend, Lebas. Who could have imagined anything to bring you to London?" answered Longcluse, in the same language, shaking him warmly by the hand, and smiling down on the little man. "I shall never forget your kindness. I think I should have died in
that illness but for you. How can I ever thank you half enough?"
"And the grand secret--the political difficulty--Monsieur found it well evaded," he said, mysteriously touching his upper lip with two fingers.
"Not all quiet yet. I suppose you thought I was in Vienna?"
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"Eh? well, yes--so I did," answered Lebas, with a shrug. "But perhaps you think this place safer."
"Hush! You'll come to me to-morrow. I'll tell you where to find me before we part, and you'll bring your portmanteau and stay with
me while you remain in London, and the longer the better."
"Monsieur is too kind, a great deal; but I am staying for my visit to London with my brother-in-law, Gabriel Laroque, the watchmaker. He lives on the Hill of Ludgate, and he would be offended if I were to reside anywhere but in his house while I stay. But if Monsieur would be so good as to permit me to call----"
"You must come and dine with me to-morrow; I have a box for the opera. You love music, or you are not the Pierre Lebas whom I remember sitting with his violin at an open window. So come early, come before six; I have ever so much to ask you. And what has brought you to London?"
"A very little business and a great deal of pleasure; but all in a week," said the little man, with a shrug and a hearty laugh. "I have come over here about some little things like that." He smiled archly as he produced from his waistcoat pocket a little flat box with a glass top, and shook something in it. "Commerce, you see. I have to see two or three more of the London people, and then my business will have terminated, and nothing remain for the rest of the week but pleasure--ha, ha!"
"You left all at home well, I hope--children?" He was going to say "Madame," but a good many years had passed.
"I have seven children. Monsieur will remember two. Three are by my first marriage, four by my second, and all enjoy the very best
health. Three are very young--three, two, one year old; and they say a fourth is not impossible very soon," he added archly. Longcluse laughed kindly, and laid his hand upon his shoulder.
"You must take charge of a little present for each from me, and one for Madame. And the old business still flourishes?"
"A thousand thanks! yes, the business is the same--the file, the chisel, and knife." And he made a corresponding movement of his
hand as he mentioned each instrument.
"Hush!" said Longcluse, smiling, so that no one who did not hear him would have supposed there was so much cautious emphasis
in the word. "My good friend, remember there are details we talk of, you and I together, that are not to be mentioned so suitably in a place like this," and he pressed his hand on his wrist, and shook it gently.
"A thousand pardons! I am, I know, too careless, and let my tongue too often run before my caution. My wife, she says, 'You can't
wash your shirt but you must tell the world.' It is my weakness truly. She is a woman of extraordinary penetration."
Mr. Longcluse glanced from the corners of his eyes about the room. Perhaps he wished to ascertain whether his talk with this man, whom you would have taken to be little above the level of a French mechanic, had excited anyone's attention. But there was nothing to make him think so.
"Now, Pierre, my friend, you must win some money upon this match--do you see? And you won't deny me the pleasure of putting down your stake for you; and, if you win, you shall buy something pretty for Madame--and, win or lose, I shall think it friendly of you after so many years, and like you the better."
"Monsieur is too good," he said with effusion.
"Now look. Do you see that fat Jew over there on the front bench--you can't mistake him--with the velvet waistcoat all in wrinkles, and the enormous lips, who talks to every second person who passes?"
"I see perfectly, Monsieur."
"He is betting three to one upon Markham. You must take his offer, and back Hood. I'm told he'll win. Here are ten pounds, you may as well make them thirty. Don't say a word. Our English custom is to tip, as we say, our friend's sons at school, and to make presents to everybody, as often as we like. Now there--not a word." He quietly slipped into his hand a little rouleau of ten pounds in gold. "If you say one word you wound me," he continued. "But, good Heaven! my dear friend, haven't you a breast-pocket?"
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"No, Monsieur; but this is quite safe. I was paid, only five minutes before I came here, fifteen pounds in gold, a cheque of forty-four
pounds, and----"
