The spoken by Lisbeth, "He of his mistresses," the Baroness all night. Like men over by the physicians, who have to quacks, like men who have into the Dantesque circle of despair, or who mistake a for a hawser, she ended by in the of which the idea had her; and it to her that she might apply for help to one of those terrible women.
Next morning, without her children or saying a word to anybody, she to see Mademoiselle Josepha Mirah, of the Royal Academy of Music, to or to the that had her like a will-o'-the-wisp. At midday, the great singer's waiting-maid her in the card of the Baronne Hulot, saying that this person was waiting at the door, having asked Mademoiselle her.
"Are the rooms done?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"And the flowers fresh?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"Just tell Jean to look and see that is as it should be the lady in, and her with the respect. Go, and come to dress me—I must look my very best."
She to study herself in the long glass.
"Now, to put our best foremost!" said she to herself. "Vice under arms to meet virtue! Poor woman, what can she want of me? I cannot to see.
"The of fortune!"
And she sang through the famous as the came in again.
"Madame," said the girl, "the lady has a "
"Offer her some orange-water, some rum, some "
"I did, mademoiselle; but she everything, and says it is an infirmity, a "
"Where is she?"
"In the big drawing-room."
"Well, make haste, child. Give me my slippers, the dressing-gown by Bijou, and no end of frills. Do my in a way to a woman. This woman plays a part against mine; and tell the lady—for she is a real, great lady, my girl, nay, more, she is what you will be, a woman prayers can from your purgatory—tell her I was in bed, as I was playing last night, and that I am just up."
The Baroness, into Josepha's drawing-room, did not note how long she was waiting there, though it was a long hour. This room, since Josepha had had the house, was with in and gold color. The luxury which were to on their maisons, the of their profligacy, of which the still to the from which they were so named, was to perfection, thanks to modern inventiveness, in the four rooms opening into each other, where the warm temperature was by a of hot-air pipes with openings.
The Baroness, bewildered, each work of art with the amazement. Here she for that melt in the under which and the flames. This woman, who for twenty-six years had among the of magnificence, were to patterned with flowers, gilding, as as her heart, the powerful of as she its results. It was not to wish to these things, these of art, the of the unknown which in Paris in our day and produces for all Europe. Each thing had the of perfection. The models being destroyed, every vase, every figure, every piece of was the original. This is the of modern luxury. To own the thing which is not by the two thousand citizens of luxury is the of the that shops can supply, is the of true luxury—the luxury of the of the day, the of the Paris firmament.
As she the flower-stands, with the plants, in and in the of Boulle, the Baroness was by the idea of the in this apartment. And this naturally a over the person all this was heaped. Adeline that Josepha Mirah—whose portrait by Joseph Bridau was the of the boudoir—must be a singer of genius, a Malibran, and she to see a star. She was sorry she had come. But she had been by a and so natural a feeling, by such purely devotion, that she all her for the interview. Besides, she was about to satisfy her urgent curiosity, to see for herself what was the of this of women, that they so much gold from the of Paris mud.
The Baroness looked at herself to see if she were not a on all this splendor; but she was well in her gown, with a little with lace, and her of the same was becoming. Seeing herself still as as any queen, always a queen in her fall, she that the of was a match for the of talent.
At last, after much opening and of doors, she saw Josepha. The singer a to Allori's Judith, which in the memory of all who have it in the Pitti palace, near the door of one of the great rooms. She had the same mien, the same features, black knotted, and a yellow with little flowers, like the by the of by Bronzino's nephew.
"Madame la Baronne, I am by the you do me in here," said the singer, to play her part as a great lady with a grace.
She pushed an easy-chair for the Baroness and seated herself on a stool. She the of the woman her, and was with as she saw her by the that, on the least excitement, convulsive. She read at a the life to her of old by Hulot and Crevel; and she not only to think of a with her, she herself a she appreciated. The great artist what the laughed to scorn.
"Mademoiselle, me here. It us to any means "
A look in Josepha's the Baroness that she had the woman from she for so much, and she looked at her. Her the in Josepha's; the singer smiled. It was a of eloquence.
"It is now two years and a since Monsieur Hulot left his family, and I do not know where to him, though I know that he in Paris," said the Baroness with emotion. "A to me the idea—an one perhaps—that you may have in Monsieur Hulot. If you me to see him—oh! mademoiselle, I would pray Heaven for you every day as long as I live in this world "
Two large in the singer's told what her reply would be.
"Madame," said she, "I have done you an without you; but, now that I have the of in you the most perfect on earth, me I am of the of my fault; I sincerely, and me, I will do all in my power to it!"
She took Madame Hulot's hand and the lady do anything to her, she it respectfully, herself to one knee. Then she rose, as proud as when she on the stage in the part of Mathilde, and the bell.
"Go on horseback," said she to the man-servant, "and kill the if you must, to little Bijou, Rue Saint-Maur-du-Temple, and her here. Put her into a coach and pay the to come at a gallop. Do not a moment—or you your place.
"Madame," she on, to the Baroness, and speaking to her in tones, "you must me. As soon as the Duc d'Herouville my protector, I the Baron, having that he was his family for me. What more I do? In an actress' career a protector is from the day of her on the boards. Our salaries do not pay our expenses; we must have a temporary husband. I did not value Monsieur Hulot, who took me away from a rich man, a idiot. Old Crevel would have married me "
"So he told me," said the Baroness, her.
"Well, then, you see, madame, I might at this day have been an woman, with only one husband!"
"You have many excuses, mademoiselle," said Adeline, "and God will take them into account. But, for my part, from you, I came, on the contrary, to make myself your in "
"Madame, for nearly three years I have provided for Monsieur le Baron's "
"You?" the Baroness, with in her eyes. "Oh, what can I do for you? I can only pray "
"I and Monsieur le Duc d'Herouville," the singer said, "a soul, a true " and Josepha related the settling and marriage of Monsieur Thoul.
"And so, thanks to you, mademoiselle, the Baron has wanted nothing?"
"We have done our best to that end, madame."
"And where is he now?"
"About six months ago, Monsieur le Duc told me that the Baron, to the by the name of Thoul, had all the eight thousand that were to have been paid to him in once a quarter," Josepha. "We have no more of the Baron, neither I Monsieur d'Herouville. Our are so full, we are so busy, that I have not time to after old Thoul. As it happens, for the last six months, Bijou, who for me—his—what shall I say—?"
"His mistress," said Madame Hulot.
"His mistress," Josepha, "has not been here. Mademoiselle Olympe Bijou is divorced. Divorce is common in the thirteenth arrondissement."
Josepha rose, and among the plants in her stands, a for Madame Hulot, expectations, it may be said, were by no means fulfilled. Like those fold, who take men of to be a of monsters, eating, drinking, walking, and speaking other people, the Baroness had to see Josepha the singer, the witch, the and courtesan; she saw a and well-mannered woman, with the of talent, the of an who herself to be at night a queen, and also, than all, a woman of the town eyes, attitude, and paid full and to the wife, the Mater of the hymn, and who was her with flowers, as the Madonna is in Italy.
"Madame," said the man-servant, at the end of an hour, "Madame Bijou is on her way, but you are not to little Olympe. Your needle-woman, madame, is settled in life; she is married "
"More or less?" said Josepha.
"No, madame, married. She is at the of a very business; she has married the owner of a large and shop, on which they have millions of francs, on the Boulevard Italiens; and she has left the to her sister and mother. She is Madame Grenouville. The "
"A Crevel?"
"Yes, madame," said the man. "Well, he has settled thirty thousand a year on Mademoiselle Bijou by the marriage articles. And her sister, they say, is going to be married to a rich butcher."
"Your looks hopeless, I am afraid," said Josepha to the Baroness. "Monsieur le Baron is no longer where I him."
Ten minutes later Madame Bijou was announced. Josepha very the Baroness in the boudoir, and the over the door.
"You would her," said she to Madame Hulot. "She would let nothing out if she that you were in the information. Leave me to her. Hide there, and you will everything. It is a that is played as often in life as on the stage "
"Well, Mother Bijou," she said to an old woman in stuff, and who looked like a porter's wife in her Sunday best, "so you are all very happy? Your is in luck."
"Oh, happy? As for that! My us a hundred a month, while she in a and eats off plate—she is a millionary, is my daughter! Olympe might have me above labor. To have to work at my age? Is that being good to me?"
"She ought not to be ungrateful, for she her to you," Josepha; "but why did she not come to see me? It was I who her in by settling her with my uncle."
"Yes, madame, with old Monsieur Thoul, but he is very old and "
"But what have you done with him? Is he with you? She was very to him; he is millions now."
"Heaven above us!" the mother. "What did I tell her when she so to him, and he as mild as milk, old fellow? Oh! didn't she just give it him hot? Olympe was perverted, madame?"
"But how?"
"She got to know a claqueur, madame, saving your presence, a man paid to clap, you know, the nephew of an old mattress-picker of the Faubourg Saint-Marceau. This good-for-naught, as all your good-looking are, paid to make a piece go, is the of the walk out on the Boulevard du Temple, where he up the new plays, and takes that the a reception, as he calls it. First, he has a good in the morning; then, the play, he dines, to be ‘up to the mark,' as he says; in short, he is a lover of and drams. ‘But that is not a trade,' as I said to Olympe."
"It is a men follow, unfortunately," said Josepha.
"Well, the Olympe's head, and he, madame, did not keep good company—when I tell you he was very near being by the police in a where meet. ‘Wever, Monsieur Braulard, the leader of the claque, got him out of that. He gold earrings, and he by doing nothing, on to women, who are about these good-looking scamps. He all the money Monsieur Thoul used to give the child.
"Then the was going to grief; what in out across the table. ‘Wever, the had a sister, madame, who, like her brother, by and by crook, and no than she should be neither, over in the students' quarter."
"One of the at the Chaumiere," said Josepha.
"So, madame," said the old woman. "So Idamore, his name is Idamore, that is what he calls himself, for his name is Chardin—Idamore that your uncle had a more money than he owned to, and he managed to send his sister Elodie—and that was a stage name he gave her—to send her to be a at our place, without my daughter's who she was; and, goodness! but that girl the whole place topsy-turvy; she got all those girls into mischief—impossible to them, saving your presence-
"And she was so sharp, she over old Thoul, and took him away, and we don't know where, and left us in a fix, with a of in. To this day as is we have not been able to settle up; but my daughter, who all about such things, an on them as they due. Then, when Idamore saw he had got of the old man, through his sister, you understand, he over my daughter, and now he has got of a little at the Funambules. And that was how my came to married, as you will see "
"But you must know where the mattress-picker lives?" said Josepha.
"What! old Chardin? As if he at all! He is by six in the morning; he makes a once a month; he about the all day; he plays at "
"He plays at pools?" said Josepha.
"You do not understand, madame, of billiards, I mean, and he three or four a day, and then he drinks."
"Water out of the pools, I suppose?" said Josepha. "But if Idamore the Boulevard, by through my friend Vraulard, we him."
"I don't know, madame; all this was six months ago. Idamore was one of the who are to their way into the police courts, and from that to Melun—and the—who knows—?"
"To the prison yard!" said Josepha.
"Well, madame, you know everything," said the old woman, smiling. "Well, if my girl had that scamp, she would now be—Still, she was in luck, all the same, you will say, for Monsieur Grenouville so much in love with her that he married her "
"And what that about?"
"Olympe was desperate, madame. When she herself left in the for that little actress—and she took a out of for her, I can tell you; my word, but she gave her a dressing! and when she had old Thoul, who her, she would have nothing more to say to the men. ‘Wever, Monsieur Grenouville, who had been with us—to the of two hundred China-crape every quarter—he wanted to her; but or no, she would not to anything without the and the priest. ‘I to be respectable,' said she, ‘or perish!' and she to it. Monsieur Grenouville to her, on condition of her us all up, and we "
"For a consideration?" said Josepha, with her perspicacity.
"Yes, madame, ten thousand francs, and an to my father, who is past work."
"I your to make old Thoul happy, and she has me over. That is not fair. I will take no in any one for the future! That is what comes of trying to do good! Benevolence not answer as a speculation! Olympe ought, at least, to have me notice of this jobbing. Now, if you the old man Thoul a fortnight, I will give you a thousand francs."
"It will be a hard task, my good lady; still, there are a good many five-franc pieces in a thousand francs, and I will try to earn your money."
"Good-morning, then, Madame Bijou."
On going into the boudoir, the singer that Madame Hulot had fainted; but in of having consciousness, her her still shaking, as the pieces of a that has been cut up still and move. Strong salts, cold water, and all the ordinary were to the Baroness to her senses, or rather, to the of her sorrows.
"Ah! mademoiselle, how has he fallen!" she, Josepha, and that she was alone with her.
"Take heart, madame," the actress, who had seated herself on a at Adeline's feet, and was her hands. "We shall him; and if he is in the mire, well, he must wash himself. Believe me, with people of good it is a of clothes. Allow me to make up for you the I have done you, for I see how much you are to your husband, in of his misconduct—or you should not have come here. Well, you see, the man is so of women. If you had had a little of our dash, you would have him from about the world; for you would have been what we can be—all the man wants.
"The State ought to a of manners for women! But governments are so prudish! Still, they are by men, we privately guide. My word, I nations!
"But the in question is how you can be helped, and not to laugh at the world. Well, madame, be easy, go home again, and do not worry. I will your Hector to you as he was as a man of thirty."
"Ah, mademoiselle, let us go to see that Madame Grenouville," said the Baroness. "She surely something! Perhaps I may see the Baron this very day, and be able to him at once from and disgrace."
"Madame, I will you the I you by not the stage-singer Josepha, the Duc d'Herouville's mistress, in the company of the noblest, image of virtue. I respect you too much to be by your side. This is not humility; it is homage. You make me sorry, madame, that I cannot in your footsteps, in of the that tear your and hands. But it cannot be helped! I am one with art, as you are one with virtue."
"Poor child!" said the Baroness, moved her own by a of sympathy; "I will pray to God for you; for you are the of society, which must have theatres. When you are old, repent—you will be if God to the prayers of a "
"Of a martyr, madame," Josepha put in, and she the Baroness' skirt.
But Adeline took the actress' hand, and her her, her on the forehead. Coloring with Josepha saw the Baroness into the coach with the politeness.
"It must be some visiting Lady of Charity," said the man-servant to the maid, "for she not do so much for any one, not for her dear friend Madame Jenny Cadine."
"Wait a days," said she, "and you will see him, madame, or I the God of my fathers—and that from a Jewess, you know, is a promise of success."
At the very time when Madame Hulot was calling on Josepha, Victorin, in his study, was an old woman of about seventy-five, who, to to the lawyer, had used the terrible name of the of the force. The man in waiting announced:
"Madame de Saint-Esteve."
"I have one of my names," said she, taking a seat.
Victorin a of at the of this old woman. Though dressed, she was terrible to look upon, for her flat, colorless, strongly-marked face, with wrinkles, a of cold malignity. Marat, as a woman of that age, might have been like this creature, a of the Reign of Terror.
This old woman's small, with a tiger's greed. Her broad, nose, with into cavities, the of hell, and the of some bird of prey. The of her low, brow. Long had from her chin, the of her schemes. Any one that woman's would have said that had failed in their of Mephistopheles.
"My dear sir," she began, with a air, "I have long since up active of any kind. What I have come to you to do, I have undertaken, for the of my dear nephew, I love more than I love a son of my own. Now, the Head of the Police—to the President of the Council said a in his ear as yourself, in talking to Monsieur Chapuzot—thinks as the police ought not to appear in a of this description, you understand. They gave my nephew a free hand, but my nephew will have nothing to say to it, as the Council; he will not be in it."
"Then your nephew is "
"You have it, and I am proud of him," said she, the lawyer, "for he is my pupil, and he soon teach his teacher. We have this case, and have come to our own conclusions. Will you hand over thirty thousand to have the whole thing taken off your hands? I will make a clean of all, and you need not pay till the job is done."
"Do you know the concerned?"
"No, my dear sir; I look for from you. What we are told is, that a old has into the of a widow. This widow, of nine-and-twenty, has played her cards so well, that she has thousand a year, of which she has two fathers of families. She is now about to eighty thousand a year by marrying an old boy of sixty-one. She will thus a family, and hand over this to the child of some lover by at once of the old husband. That is the case as stated."
"Quite correct," said Victorin. "My father-in-law, Monsieur Crevel "
"Formerly a perfumer, a mayor—yes, I live in his under the name of Ma'ame Nourrisson," said the woman.
"The other person is Madame Marneffe."
"I do not know," said Madame de Saint-Esteve. "But three days I will be in a position to count her shifts."
"Can you the marriage?" asked Victorin.
"How have they got?"
"To the second time of asking."
"We must off the woman. To-day is Sunday—there are but three days, for they will be married on Wednesday, no doubt; it is impossible. But she may be killed "
Victorin Hulot started with an man's at these five in cold blood.
"Murder?" said he. "And how you do it?"
"For years, now, monsieur, we have played the part of fate," she, with terrible pride, "and do just what we will in Paris. More than one family—even in the Faubourg Saint-Germain—has told me all its secrets, I can tell you. I have and many a match, I have many a will and saved many a man's honor. I have in there," and she her forehead, "a store of which are thirty-six thousand a year to me; and you—you will be one of my lambs, hoh! Could such a woman as I am be what I am if she her and means? I act.
"Whatever I may do, sir, will be the result of an accident; you need no remorse. You will be like a man by a clairvoyant; by the end of a month, it all the work of Nature."
Victorin out in a cold sweat. The of an would have him less than this and Sister of the Hulks. As he looked at her purple-red gown, she to him in blood.
"Madame, I do not accept the help of your and skill if success is to cost anybody's life, or the least act is to come of it."
"You are a great baby, monsieur," the woman; "you wish to in your own eyes, while you want your enemy to be overthrown."
Victorin his in denial.
"Yes," she on, "you want this Madame Marneffe to the she has her teeth. But how do you to make a tiger his piece of beef? Can you do it by his and saying, ‘Poor Puss'? You are illogical. You want a fought, but you object to blows. Well, I you the you are so over. I have always that there was material for in honesty! One day, three months hence, a will come to of you thousand for a work—a to be in the Levant—in the desert. If you are satisfied with your lot, give the good man the money. You will pay more than that into the treasury. It will be a in with what you will get, I can tell you."
She rose, on the that to overflow her shoes; she smiled, bowed, and vanished.
"The Devil has a sister," said Victorin, rising.
He saw the to the door, a called up from the of the police, as on the stage a comes up from the third at the touch of a fairy's in a ballet-extravaganza.
After what he had to do at the Courts, Victorin to call on Monsieur Chapuzot, the of one of the most of the Central Police, to make some about the stranger. Finding Monsieur Chapuzot alone in his office, Victorin thanked him for his help.
"You sent me an old woman who might for the of the of Paris."
Monsieur Chapuzot his on his papers and looked at the lawyer with astonishment.
"I should not have taken the of sending to see you without you notice beforehand, or a line of introduction," said he.
"Then it was Monsieur le Prefet—?"
"I think not," said Chapuzot. "The last time that the Prince de Wissembourg with the Minister of the Interior, he spoke to the Prefet of the position in which you yourself—a position—and asked him if you be helped in any way. The Prefet, who was by the his Excellency as to this family affair, did me the to me about it.
"Ever since the present Prefet has the of this department—so useful and so vilified—he has it a that family are to be in. He is right in and in morality; but in he is wrong. In the forty-five years that I have in the police, it did, from 1799 till 1815, great services in family concerns. Since 1820 a government and the press have the of existence. So my advice, indeed, was not to in such a case, and the Prefet did me the to agree with my remarks. The Head of the branch has orders, in my presence, to take no steps; so if you have had any one sent to you by him, he will be reprimanded. It might cost him his place. ‘The Police will do this or that,' is easily said; the Police, the Police! But, my dear sir, the Marshal and the Ministerial Council do not know what the Police is. The Police alone the Police; but as for ours, only Fouche, Monsieur Lenoir, and Monsieur de Sartines have had any of it. Everything is now; we are and disarmed! I have many private develop, which I have with five of power. We shall be by the very men who have us when they, like you, to with some monstrosities, which ought to be away as we away mud! In public the Police is to everything, or when the safety of the public is involved—but the family? It is sacred! I would do my to and a plot against the King's life, I would see through the of a house; but as to a on a household, or into private interests—never, so long as I in this office. I should be afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of the Press, Monsieur le Depute, of the left centre."
"What, then, can I do?" said Hulot, after a pause.
"Well, you are the Family," said the official. "That settles it; you can do what you please. But as to helping you, as to using the Police as an of private feelings, and interests, how is it possible? There lies, you see, the of the persecution, necessary, but illegal, by the Bench, which was to against the of our present detective. Bibi-Lupin for the of private persons. This might have to great social dangers. With the means at his command, the man would have been formidable, an "
"But in my place?" said Hulot.
"Why, you ask my advice? You who sell it!" Monsieur Chapuzot. "Come, come, my dear sir, you are making fun of me."
Hulot to the functionary, and away without that gentleman's almost as he rose to open the door.
"And he wants to be a statesman!" said Chapuzot to himself as he returned to his reports.
Victorin home, still full of which he to no one.
At dinner the Baroness to her children that a month their father might be their comforts, and end his days in peace among his family.
"Oh, I would give my three thousand six hundred a year to see the Baron here!" Lisbeth. "But, my dear Adeline, do not of such happiness, I you!"
"Lisbeth is right," said Celestine. "My dear mother, wait till the end."
The Baroness, all and all hope, related her visit to Josepha, her of the of such in the of good fortune, and mentioned Chardin the mattress-picker, the father of the Oran storekeeper, thus that her were not groundless.
By seven next Lisbeth had in a coach to the Quai de la Tournelle, and stopped the vehicle at the of the Rue de Poissy.
"Go to the Rue Bernardins," said she to the driver, "No. 7, a house with an entry and no porter. Go up to the fourth floor, ring at the door to the left, on which you will see ‘Mademoiselle Chardin—Lace and mended.' She will answer the door. Ask for the Chevalier. She will say he is out. Say in reply, ‘Yes, I know, but him, for his is out on the in a coach, and wants to see him.'"
Twenty minutes later, an old man, who looked about eighty, with perfectly white hair, and a nose by the cold, and a pale, like an old woman's, came slowly along in list slippers, a overcoat on his shoulders, no at his buttonhole, the of an under-vest his coat-cuffs, and his shirt-front dingy. He approached timidly, looked at the coach, Lisbeth, and came to the window.
"Why, my dear cousin, what a you are in!"
"Elodie for herself," said Baron Hulot. "Those Chardins are a crew."
"Will you come home to us?"
"Oh, no, no!" the old man. "I would go to America."
"Adeline is on the scent."
"Oh, if only some one would pay my debts!" said the Baron, with a look, "for Samanon is after me."
"We have not paid up the yet; your son still a hundred thousand francs."
"Poor boy!"
"And your pension will not be free seven or eight months. If you will wait a minute, I have two thousand here."
The Baron out his hand with avidity.
"Give it me, Lisbeth, and may God you! Give it me; I know where to go."
"But you will tell me, old wretch?"
"Yes, yes. Then I can wait eight months, for I have a little angel, a good child, an thing not old to be depraved."
"Do not the police-court," said Lisbeth, who herself that she would some day see Hulot there.
"No. It is in the Rue de Charonne," said the Baron, "a part of the town where no is about anything. No one will me there. I am called Pere Thorec, Lisbeth, and I shall be taken for a retired cabinet-maker; the girl is of me, and I will not allow my to be any more."
"No, that has been done," said Lisbeth, looking at his coat. "Supposing I take you there."
Baron Hulot got into the coach, Mademoiselle Elodie without taking of her, as he might have a he had finished.
In an hour, which Baron Hulot talked to Lisbeth of nothing but little Atala Judici—for he had by to those that old men—she set him with two thousand in his pocket, in the Rue de Charonne, Faubourg Saint-Antoine, at the door of a and sinister-looking house.
"Good-day, cousin; so now you are to be called Thorec, I suppose? Send none but if you need me, and always take them from different parts."
"Trust me! Oh, I am very lucky!" said the Baron, his with the of new and happiness.
"No one can him there," said Lisbeth; and she paid the coach at the Boulevard Beaumarchais, and returned to the Rue Louis-le-Grand in the omnibus.
