whom he dislikes and despises, but full of affection and devotion to those whom he honours – though such persons, I am forced to admit, are rare – and never making the slightest attempt to conceal from any individual the liking or aversion he or she inspires."
"It is fortunate for him that his infirmity gives him this privilege of plain speaking," remarked the commander. "But for that, your hunchback would be likely to have a hard time of it."
"His infirmity?" said Gerald, laughing. "Though a hunchback, the Marquis de Maillefort is, I assure you – "
"He is a marquis?" interrupted Olivier.
"Yes, a marquis, and an aristocrat of the old school. He is a scion of the ducal house of Haut-martel, the head of which has resided in Germany since 1830. But though he is a hunchback, M. de Maillefort, as I was about to remark before, is as alert and vigorous as any young man, in spite of his forty-five years. And, by the way, you and I consider ourselves pretty good swordsmen, do we not?"
"Well, yes."
"Very well; the marquis could touch us eight times out of twelve. He rivals the incomparable Bertrand. His movements are as light as a bird's, and as swift as lightning itself."
"This brave little hunchback interests me very much," said the veteran. "If he has fought any duels his adversaries must have cut strange figures."
"The marquis has fought several duels, in all of which he evinced the greatest coolness and courage, at least so my father, who was a personal friend of the marquis, once told me."
"And he goes into society in spite of his infirmity?" inquired Olivier.
"Sometimes he frequents it assiduously; then absents himself for months at a time. His is a very peculiar nature. My father told me that for many years the marquis seemed to be in a state of profound melancholy, but I have never seen him other than gay and amusing."
"But with his courage, his skill in the use of weapons, and his quick wit, he is certainly a man to be feared."
"Yes, and you can easily imagine how greatly his presence disquiets certain persons whom society continues to receive on account of their birth, in spite of their notorious villainies. Macreuse, for instance, as soon as he sees the marquis enter by one door, makes his escape by another."
The conversation was here interrupted by an incident which would have been unworthy even of comment in some parts of the town, but rare enough in the Batignolles.
The arbour in which the little party had dined skirted the garden wall, and at the farther end of it was a latticed gate, which afforded the occupants a view of the street beyond. A handsome carriage, drawn by two superb horses stopped exactly in front of this gate.
This carriage was empty.
The footman on the box beside the driver, and, like him, dressed in rich livery, descended from his seat, and drawing from his pocket a letter that evidently bore an address, looked from side to side as if in search of a number, then disappeared, after motioning the coachman to follow him.
"This is the first vehicle of that kind I've seen in the Batignolles in ten years," remarked the old sailor. "It is very flattering to the neighbourhood."
"I never saw finer horses," said Olivier, with the air of a connoisseur. "Do they belong to you, Gerald?"
"Do you take me for a millionaire?" responded the young duke, gaily. "I keep a saddle-horse, and I put one of my mother's horses in my cabriolet, when she is not using them. That is my stable. This does not prevent me from loving horses, or from being something of a sporting man. But, speaking of horses, do you remember that dunce, Mornand, another of our college mates?"
"And still another of our mutual antipathies, – of course I do. What has become of him?"
"He is quite a distinguished personage now."
"He! Nonsense!"
"But I tell you he is. He is a member of the Chamber of Peers. He discourses at length, there. People even listen to him. In short, he is a minister in embryo."
"De Mornand?"
"Yes, my worthy friend. He is as dull as ever, and twice as arrogant and self-complacent. He doubts everything except his own merit. He possesses an insatiable ambition, and he belongs to a coterie of jealous and spiteful individuals, – spiteful because they are mediocre, or, rather, mediocre because they are spiteful. Such men rise in the world with, marvellous rapidity, though Mornand has a broad back and supple loins, – he will succeed, one aiding the other."
Just then the footman who had disappeared with the carriage returned, and, seeing through the latticed gate the little party in the arbour, approached, and, raising his hand to his hat, said:
"Gentlemen, will you be so kind as to tell me if this garden belongs to No. 7?"
"Yes," replied the commander.
"And to the apartment on the ground floor of that house?"
"Yes."
"I rang that bell three times, but no one answered it."
"I occupy that apartment," said the commander, greatly surprised. "What do you want?"
"Here is a very important letter for a Madame Barbançon, who, I am told, lives here."
"Yes, she does live here," replied the veteran, more and more surprised.
Then, seeing the housekeeper at the other end of the garden, he called out to her:
"Mother Barbançon, the door-bell has rung three times, unanswered, while you've been trespassing upon my preserves. Come quick! Here is a letter for you."
CHAPTER IV
THE DUCHESS
Madame Barbançon promptly responded to this peremptory summons, and, after a hasty apology to her employer, said to the waiting servant:
"You have a letter for me? From whom?"
"From the Comtesse de Beaumesnil, madame," replied the man, handing Madame Barbançon the letter through the lattice.
"Madame la Comtesse de Beaumesnil?" exclaimed the astonished housekeeper; "I do not know her. I not only don't know her, but I haven't the slightest idea who she is – not the slightest," the worthy woman repeated, as she opened the letter.
"The Comtesse de Beaumesnil?" inquired Gerald, evidently much interested.
"Do you know her?" asked Olivier.
"I met her two or three years ago," replied Gerald. "She was wonderfully beautiful, then, but the poor woman has not left her bed for a year. I understand that hers is a hopeless case. Worse still, M. de Beaumesnil, who had gone to Italy with their only child, a daughter, who was ordered south by the physicians, – M. de Beaumesnil died quite recently in Naples, in consequence of having been thrown from his horse, so if Madame de Beaumesnil dies, as they apprehend, her daughter will be left an orphan at the age of fifteen or sixteen years."
"Poor child! This is really very sad," said the commander, sympathisingly.
"Nevertheless, Mlle. de Beaumesnil has a brilliant future before her," continued Gerald, "for she will be the richest heiress in France. The Beaumesnil property yields an income of over three million francs!"
"Three million francs!" exclaimed Olivier, laughing. "Can it be that there are people who really have an income of three million francs? Do such people come and go, and move about and talk, just like other people? I should certainly like to be brought face to face with one of these wonderful creatures, Gerald."
"I'll do my best to gratify you, but I warn you that as a general thing they are not pleasant to contemplate. I am not referring to Mlle. de Beaumesnil, however; she may be as beautiful as her mother."
"I should like very much to know how one can spend such an income as that," said the commander, in all sincerity, emptying the ashes from his pipe.
"Great Heavens! is it possible?" exclaimed Madame Barbançon, who, in the meantime, had read the letter handed to her. "I am to go in a carriage – in a carriage like that?"
"What is the matter, Mother