was a ring at the outer door of the apartment, and in another minute the valet ushered in a gentleman somewhere about the age of thirty, of prepossessing countenance, and with the indefinable air of good-breeding and ‘usage du monde.’ Frederic started up to greet cordially the new-comer, and introduced him to the Marquis under the name of “Sare Grarm Varn.”
“Decidedly,” said the visitor, as he took off his paletot and seated himself beside the Marquis,—“decidedly, my dear Lemercier,” said he, in very correct French, and with the true Parisian accent and intonation, “you Frenchmen merit that praise for polished ignorance of the language of barbarians which a distinguished historian bestows on the ancient Romans. Permit me, Marquis, to submit to you the consideration whether Grarm Varn is a fair rendering of my name as truthfully printed on this card.”
The inscription on the card, thus drawn from its case and placed in Alain’s hand, was—
No. __ Rue d’Anjou.
The Marquis gazed at it as he might on a hieroglyphic, and passed it on to Lemercier in discreet silence.
That gentleman made another attempt at the barbarian appellation.
“‘Grar—ham Varne.’ ‘C’est ca!’ I triumph! all difficulties yield to French energy.”
Here the coffee and liqueurs were served; and after a short pause the Englishman, who had very quietly been observing the silent Marquis, turned to him and said, “Monsieur le Marquis, I presume it was your father whom I remember as an acquaintance of my own father at Ems. It is many years ago; I was but a child. The Count de Chambord was then at that enervating little spa for the benefit of the Countess’s health. If our friend Lemercier does not mangle your name as he does mine, I understand him to say that you are the Marquis de Rochebriant.”
“That is my name: it pleases me to hear that my father was among those who flocked to Ems to do homage to the royal personage who deigns to assume the title of Count de Chambord.”
“My own ancestors clung to the descendants of James II. till their claims were buried in the grave of the last Stuart, and I honour the gallant men who, like your father, revere in an exile the heir to their ancient kings.”
The Englishman said this with grace and feeling; the Marquis’s heart warmed to him at once.
“The first loyal ‘gentilhome’ I have met at Paris,” thought the Legitimist; “and, oh, shame! not a Frenchman!” Graham Vane, now stretching himself and accepting the cigar which Lemercier offered him, said to that gentleman “You who know your Paris by heart—everybody and everything therein worth the knowing, with many bodies and many things that are not worth it—can you inform me who and what is a certain lady who every fine day may be seen walking in a quiet spot at the outskirts of the Bois de Boulogne, not far from the Baron de Rothschild’s villa? The said lady arrives at this selected spot in a dark-blue coupe without armorial bearings, punctually at the hour of three. She wears always the same dress,—a kind of gray pearl-coloured silk, with a ‘cachemire’ shawl. In age she may be somewhat about twenty—a year or so more or less—and has a face as haunting as a Medusa’s; not, however, a face to turn a man into a stone, but rather of the two turn a stone into a man. A clear paleness, with a bloom like an alabaster lamp with the light flashing through. I borrow that illustration from Sare Scott, who applied it to Milor Bee-ren.”
“I have not seen the lady you describe,” answered Lemercier, feeling humiliated by the avowal; “in fact, I have not been in that sequestered part of the Bois for months; but I will go to-morrow: three o’clock you say,—leave it to me; to-morrow evening, if she is a Parisienne, you shall know all about her. But, mon cher, you are not of a jealous temperament to confide your discovery to another.”
“Yes, I am of a very jealous temperament,” replied the Englishman; “but jealousy comes after love, and not before it. I am not in love; I am only haunted. To-morrow evening, then, shall we dine at Philippe’s, seven o’clock?”
“With all my heart,” said Lemercier; “and you too, Alain?”
“Thank you, no,” said the Marquis, briefly; and he rose, drew on his gloves, and took up his hat.
At these signals of departure, the Englishman, who did not want tact nor delicacy, thought that he had made himself ‘de trop’ in the ‘tete-a-tete’ of two friends of the same age and nation; and, catching up his paletot, said hastily, “No, Marquis, do not go yet, and leave our host in solitude; for I have an engagement which presses, and only looked in at Lemercier’s for a moment, seeing the light at his windows. Permit me to hope that our acquaintance will not drop, and inform me where I may have the honour to call on you.”
“Nay,” said the Marquis; “I claim the right of a native to pay my respects first to the foreigner who visits our capital, and,” he added in a lower tone, “who speaks so nobly of those who revere its exiles.”
The Englishman saluted, and walked slowly towards the door; but on reaching the threshold turned back and made a sign to Lemercier, unperceived by Alain.
Frederic understood the sign, and followed Graham Vane into the adjoining room, closing the door as he passed.
“My dear Lemercier, of course I should not have intruded on you at this hour on a mere visit of ceremony. I called to say that the Mademoiselle Duval whose address you sent me is not the right one,—not the lady whom, knowing your wide range of acquaintance, I asked you to aid me in finding out.”
“Not the right Duval? Diable! she answered your description, exactly.”
“Not at all.”
“You said she was very pretty and young,—under twenty.”
“You forgot that I said she deserved that description twenty-one years ago.”
“Ah, so you did; but some ladies are always young. ‘Age,’ says a wit in the ‘Figaro,’ ‘tis a river which the women compel to reascend to its source when it has flowed onward more than twenty years.’ Never mind: ‘soyez tranquille;’ I will find your Duval yet if she is to be found. But why could not the friend who commissioned you to inquire choose a name less common? Duval! every street in Paris has a shop-door over which is inscribed the name of Duval.”
“Quite true, there is the difficulty; however, my dear Lemercier, pray continue to look out for a Louise Duval who was young and pretty twenty-one years ago: this search ought to interest me more than that which I entrusted to you tonight, respecting the pearly-robed lady; for in the last I but gratify my own whim, in the first I discharge a promise to a friend. You, so perfect a Frenchman, know the difference; honour is engaged to the first. Be sure you let me know if you find any other Madame or Mademoiselle Duval; and of course you remember your promise not to mention to any one the commission of inquiry you so kindly undertake. I congratulate you on your friendship for M. de Rochebriant. What a noble countenance and manner!”
Lemercier returned to the Marquis. “Such a pity you can’t dine with us to-morrow. I fear you made but a poor dinner to-day. But it is always better to arrange the menu beforehand. I will send to Philippe’s tomorrow. Do not be afraid.”
The Marquis paused a moment, and on his young face a proud struggle was visible. At last he said, bluntly and manfully,
“My dear Frederic, your
