Volume 14 / Part 2 — XXI CONSPIRACY

The scene that had taken place in the card-room brought Thélénie’s fête to an end. Monsieur Droguet’s nose was crushed and three of his teeth were broken; and his wife persistently exclaimed:

“They were the last he had!”

Chamoureau, who had seen only the end of the episode, and who was excessively annoyed to be called by his true name before his guests, ran from one to another, saying:

“Why, what has happened here? How did all this come about? Has there been a quarrel?”

“Better than that! The stout gentleman yonder was struck.”

“Struck! by whom? Freluchon?”

“No, by his friend—the young man who was playing écarté with the baron.”

Chamoureau thereupon bustled up to the former wine merchant, who was feeling his ribs.

“What’s this I hear? Edmond Didier struck you?”

“Yes, monsieur! but he shall pay me dear for it; that blow will cost him his life!”

“What! you mean to fight with him?”

“Is it possible to doubt it?” cried Thélénie; “show me the man who would not fight after receiving a blow—unless he chose to be disgraced forever.”

“Oh! I will fight, madame; you may be perfectly sure that I will fight.”

“And I trust that you will kill that scoundrel who broke my husband’s teeth!—Come, Droguet, let us go. What in the world are you looking for, on the floor and under the tables?”

“I am looking for my teeth.”

“Mon Dieu! what’s the use? you don’t imagine you can glue them in again, do you?—Oh! what a scene!”

“Monsieur de Belleville, you will be one of my witnesses[E], of course.”

“A witness—what for?”

“For my duel.”

“But I can’t be a witness, for I was not here; I didn’t hear the quarrel.”

“That makes no difference; it doesn’t prevent your being a witness.”

“Rely upon him, monsieur,” said Thélénie; “he will be too happy to assist you in this affair.”

Chamoureau made a pitiful face, which indicated that he was not at all happy to serve as second in a duel.

All the guests soon took their leave.

“What a pity that such a beautiful party should end like this!” was the general sentiment. But many persons added under their breath: “For all that, it appears that their real name is Chamoureau, and not Belleville.”

Thélénie was not sorry to see the close of the festivities and the departure of all her guests. When they were going away, she whispered to Croque:

“Wait for me in the garden, in the left-hand path.”

When everybody had gone, and Chamoureau and his wife were left alone in one of the salons, she said:

“Well, monsieur, what are you doing here?”

“Why, I was waiting for you, my dear love.”

“Waiting for me; why, I should like to know?”

“Why, so that we may retire together.”

“Since when, monsieur, have you needed my company to go to your apartment?”

Chamoureau simpered and balanced himself on one leg as he replied:

“To my apartment—of course not; but to-night, it would be very pleasant to me—it seems to me that after dancing so much—the natural sequence of a party—in short, my dear and loving heart, I would like to go with you to your room—you understand——”

And the amorous husband put out his hand to take his wife’s. But she abruptly withdrew her hand and exclaimed, with an angry glance at Chamoureau:

“It’s very becoming of you, monsieur, to presume to ask to pass the night with me, after all the idiotic things you have done to-day! for you have done nothing else.”

“What! I have been doing idiotic things! What were they, pray?”

“It is useless for me to tell you, monsieur; you wouldn’t understand me.”

“Was it my fault if Monsieur Luminot and Monsieur Edmond had a quarrel? After all, madame, it was you who insisted on inviting the two friends; I wouldn’t have asked them to come here myself. I was sure that Freluchon would call me Chamoureau, and he didn’t fail to do it; you heard him, didn’t you?”

“That’s all right, monsieur; that’s not what I refer to. Go to bed.”

Chamoureau drew himself up, assumed a dignified air, and replied:

“You tell me to go to bed. But allow me, madame, to remind you, that since we have occupied this house, where you consigned me to an apartment a long way from yours, you have not once allowed me to enter your apartment at night! Sometimes it’s one excuse, sometimes another; you always have a pretext for refusing to admit me.—But it seems to me, madame, that I have some rights—some glorious rights in fact! Am I your husband, or am I not? ‘That is the question,’ as the English would say.”

“Oh! how you bore me, monsieur!”

“Madame, I didn’t bring you twenty-two thousand five hundred francs a year for the privilege of sleeping alone. Deuce take it! I married for another purpose—otherwise it wasn’t worth while for me to marry!—Why——”

“Have you finished, monsieur?”

“Madame, you made me dance seventeen times with different women. Some of them were very ugly. I do whatever you want me to; and it seems to me that you, in your turn——”

“How dare you talk to me of such matters, monsieur, when you have a duel on hand for to-morrow—a serious duel? If Monsieur Luminot should fall, it would be your duty, as his second, to avenge him.”

The memory of the duel instantly put to flight the amorous thoughts which were agitating Chamoureau. He turned pale and stammered:

“I don’t know, madame, why you mixed me up in that affair, which did not concern me at all. There was your old friend, Baron von Schtapelmerg—a man who has fought against the Turks; he would have asked nothing better than to be Monsieur Luminot’s second. However, two seconds are required; I will see the baron to-morrow, and——”

“You will not see him; the baron has gone to Paris.”

“What! Monsieur de Schtapelmerg has left Chelles like this—without shaking hands with me—without bidding me adieu?”

“You will see him later; urgent business compelled him to start at once. The other second can be found to-morrow. Now I feel the need of rest. This day has tired me terribly. Good-night, monsieur.”

Chamoureau took a candle, blew it out because he saw that day was breaking, and made up his mind at last to go to his room, saying to himself:

“I am beginning to think that I should have done as well to remain a widower. O Eléonore! you would not refuse to admit me to your bedroom! To be sure, we had only one between us.”

Thélénie hastened into the garden. Croque was awaiting her in a clump of trees. Having satisfied herself that they were quite alone, she said:

“Listen attentively to what I expect you to do. This time I trust that you will not hesitate to obey me; the commission that I am going to intrust to you is not dangerous.”

“Sacrebleu! I am no coward, but only a blasted fool puts himself in the way of being thrashed when there’s no need of it. That young Freluchon’s as strong as Hercules; I saw that at a glance. He would have thrown me down as he did Luminot. How would that have helped us?”

“Listen: you saw that nurse, that Jacqueline, who came here during dinner, with a little boy?”

“Yes; and you didn’t want to see her, for you skipped out in a hurry!—I’d like to bet something that you’re the Baronne de Mortagne, and that that little chap is your son.”

“Hush! hold your tongue!”

“Oh! after all, it’s your business! It’s all one to me, you understand!”

“What I want you to understand is that this nurse must leave this part of the country to-morrow; for if chance should bring us face to face——”

“True; she would recognize you, and that would have a bad effect, the world is so unfeeling!—And the little boy?”

“She must take him with her. In two or three hours, you will go to this woman——”

“Where does she live?”

“With her sister, the widow Tourniquoi; any peasant will show you the way.”

“Widow Tourniquoi; all right! I’ll find her.”

“You will ask for this Jacqueline.”

“Oh! I shall recognize her; I examined her closely, and the little fellow too; he’s not bad-looking—he’ll be a tough one!”

“You will take the woman aside and tell her that you come from the Baronne de Mortagne, who has the most ardent desire to see her son.”

“She has taken plenty of time about it; but never mind that.”

“You may invent whatever fable you choose to account for the baroness’s conduct.”

“Oh! as to inventing fables, that’s my particular forte; I am never at a loss; I’ll give ‘em to her of all colors.”

“You must tell her that Madame de Mortagne, being unable to come here, expects her and the child to come to Dieppe, and that she must go there instantly; that when she gets there the baroness will pay her all the arrears she owes her, and will reward her handsomely for the care she has taken of her child.”

“Very good; but why do you send her to Dieppe rather than somewhere else?”

“Because there are vessels there which sail for distant countries; and I know someone there to whom I will send this Jacqueline; and that person will find a way to ship her and the little boy to America or some other part of the globe; and when they are once there, as the woman will have no money to pay her return passage, she will be obliged to stay there.”

“Perfectly thought out; there is only one difficulty: how am I to persuade this Jacqueline to go to Dieppe? Suppose she doesn’t believe what I tell her?”

“Haven’t we the great means to which all obstacles yield? Here are three hundred francs in gold, which you will hand to the woman, and tell her that it’s to pay the cost of the journey, and that at Dieppe the baroness will pay her all that she owes her.—Do you think that Jacqueline will hesitate an instant on receiving that money?”

“Oh no! that will smooth away all difficulties; the peasant won’t doubt for an instant the truth of everything I tell her; she will be too well pleased, first, by the feeling of these fifteen yellow boys, and secondly, by the hope of receiving a still larger sum at Dieppe.”

“Tell her that the Baronne de Mortagne awaits her impatiently, and hand her this address; it is that of the person to whom I propose to commend her.”

“In order to ship her away from France?—Very good. I will say: ‘That is the place where you will find little Emile’s mother.’”

“She must start for Paris with the child to-day; there she will take the train for Dieppe.”

“Do you want me to go with them?”

“No; for I need you for something else.”

“For the duel? That suits me; I will be Luminot’s other second. I’ll load the pistols, for I know a neat little way of assuring myself the advantage.”

“No, no, that isn’t what I want of you; I have other plans. On the contrary, you must not show yourself; I have said that you have gone to Paris.”

“The deuce! then I shan’t dine with you! that’s a pity!”

“You must take off those clothes and obtain others—a boatman’s, for instance—and make yourself unrecognizable.”

“Oh! as for disguising myself, that’s easy enough. I have a pretty knack at that. You might pass me on the street and you wouldn’t know me.—What else?”

“I will tell you. In the first place, I must find out when this duel is to take place.—Oh! those women! those women! they are the ones I want to be revenged on most of all! One is adored by Edmond, the other has won the heart of that——”

“Of that what?”

“It is enough for you to know that on the day when you announce to me the ruin of those two women, I will cover you with gold, I will give you as much of it as you can carry.”

“Bigre! I’ll be strong that day, I promise you!”

“It is broad daylight; don’t stay here. By-and-by, about six o’clock this afternoon, be at the end of my park—on the lonely road that skirts the wall.”

“Agreed; I will be there.”

Croque left the villa, and Thélénie hastened to her apartment.