Front matter (continued 2)

"François," said Delapine as the servant entered the room, "will you be good enough to go into the spare bedroom, and on a chair near the window you will see a tall hat with a gold-mounted cane. Look inside the hat and bring me what you find there."

In a couple of minutes the servant returned carrying a gold watch which he handed to Delapine.

"Is this your watch?" asked Delapine, as he passed it to Payot with a bow.

"Yes," he replied, looking very astonished. "It looks like my watch."

"That is not sufficient proof. Pray observe the number and read it aloud."

"B40479," replied Payot, more mystified than ever.

"Well then, it must be your watch. Be good enough to put it in your pocket, and take care not to lose it again."

"That I shall never do," replied Payot. "I am much sharper than people give me credit for."

Delapine's eyes twinkled with amusement, which did not escape Payot's notice.

"Well, I will make a present of it to anyone who can take it away again without my being aware of it," Payot replied testily, as he felt his amour propre wounded at the professor's display of mirth.

"Be careful what you say. I have a long memory," said Delapine, laughing.

Payot examined his watch carefully, and opened the case to make sure that the works had not been spirited away.

"This is the work of Satan. I am sure no one can believe in God who does such things," said Madame Villebois.

"Do you believe in God?" asked young Duval with a sudden inspiration, hoping to depreciate him in Renée's eyes.

"No," replied Delapine, "I do not, because I cannot. My conscience will not permit me."

"But surely you believe in a Divine Being?" replied Villebois, looking very shocked.

"That too I cannot accept."

"Oh! what a dreadful man," cried Madame Villebois, absolutely horrified. "My dear," she whispered to her husband, "how could you invite an infidel to our house who does not believe in anything?"

"On the contrary, madame, I believe in many things," said Delapine, who overheard her remark, "although, unlike most people, I claim no credit for doing so. But one thing we must all admit, whatever we believe cannot alter the facts. People believe in a God because it acts as a Deus ex machina, to account for the difficulties which surround them on every side, and dispenses with their need of thinking. Besides, it flatters their vanity when they are told that God made man in His own image. Whereas, as a matter of fact, it is the other way about. Man made God in Man's own image. The idea of a God is based on that of a gigantic man, or at least on something which has dimensions, and possesses certain human attributes and passions on a vast scale, although if we were to judge by the way the average person prays, his God would not make a decent sized man. On the other hand philosophy convinces me that the Eternal can have no shape, or attributes, or passions, such as we can conceive of. A Divine Being is open to the same objection. A Being implies a material form—something which exists. Now the Eternal cannot be anything which exists, at least not in the same sense that is attached to matter as we know it, since everything which exists must have had a beginning, and therefore cannot be eternal. Take a bucketful of the ocean, you have water. Take a sample of the atmosphere and you have air. Take a handful of space and you have Mind.

"This eternal Mind is the 'Fons et Origo' of everything. It is the source of all energy and all matter. It alone is eternal. All else is evanescent and unsubstantial. Did not Virgil make that profound remark:—

"Mens agitat Molem et magna corpore miscet."[5]

"Do we not find Marian Capella at the beginning of the Christian era mentioning Mind as being the fifth or fundamental element? Consider these facts well, for they form the key to all spiritualistic phenomena. At the end of the eighteenth century we find the great Russian poet Derchavin uttering the same idea in the following words of which I give the translation:—

"O Thou Eternal Mind whose presence bright, All space doth occupy, all motion guide; Unchanged through Time's all-devastating flight— Thou only God, there is no God beside. Being above all beings Mighty One, Whom none can comprehend and none explore; Who fills existence with Thyself alone, Embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er; Being whom we call God and know no more. "Research in its Divine philosophy, May measure out the ocean deep, May count the stars, or the sun's rays; But God, for Thee there is no weight nor measure. None can search Thy counsels infinite and dark. Reason's brightest spark though multiplied by millions, And arrayed in all the glories of divinest thought; Is but an atom in the balance weighed against Thy greatness Is a cypher wrought against Infinity. "And what am I then? Nought! Nought, but the effluence of Thy light divine, Pervading worlds hath reached my spirit too; Yes! In my spirit doth Thy spirit shine, As shines the sunbeam in the drop of dew. Thy chains the unmeasured Universe surround Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath, Thou the beginning with the end hath bound, And beautifully mingled life and death. "As sparks shoot upwards from the fiery blaze So suns are born—so worlds spring forth from thee, And as the spangles from the sunny rays Shine round the glittering snow, So heaven's bright army echoes with Thy praise. What shall we call them—globes of crystal light? A glorious company of golden streams, Lamps of celestial ether burning bright. Suns lighting systems with their glorious beams But Thou to these are as the noon to night. "What are ten million worlds compared with thee? And what am I then? Nought, Nought! But I live and on hope's pinions fly Eager towards Thy presence, For in Thee I live and dwell—aspiring high Even to the threshold of Thy Divinity, I am, O God! and surely Thou must be!"

"Bravo!" cried Riche, "I for one pronounce you not guilty of the charge of atheism."

Payot felt that Delapine had decidedly the best of the argument, and being utterly unable to reply made an excuse to go.

"My dear Villebois," said he, "you cannot think how I have enjoyed this pleasant evening, but I have an important engagement with the Minister of Finance, and time presses," and so saying he proceeded to pull out his watch. A cold shiver went through him. A gold watch was clearly there, but it was an open-faced one, whereas his was a hunter.

"Mon Dieu!" he cried, "my watch has gone, and someone has left his own in its place."

Everyone immediately felt for his own watch.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Marcel, "here's a funny thing. Why, I've got Payot's watch fastened on to my chain. Here's the number right enough, B40479. Look!" he exclaimed, "my gold seal has gone too, and my toothpick as well. Oh! Oh!! Oh!!!" he cried in three different tones.

"Yes," added Payot, "and what is far more serious, my pocket-book has disappeared, and it contains 10,000 frs. in Billets de Banque."

"And now my wedding ring has gone," sobbed Madame Villebois. "Oh you wicked, wicked man," she cried to Delapine, "I shall have you put in prison for this."

"Do not alarm yourself, my dear madame. It is your husband who is the thief, not I."

"What do you mean, sir!" cried Villebois indignantly, hardly knowing what he was saying.

"I can see it from here, papa," said Céleste, laughing. "It is hanging on your watch-chain."

There it was sure enough, and Villebois, looking very foolish, was obliged to release his watch before he could slip off the ring, which he handed to Madame.

"Villebois, mon ami," said Delapine, "will you oblige me by ringing the bell once more?"

"François," said Delapine solemnly, as the butler entered the room, "I am sorry to have to say it, but it is my duty to accuse you of stealing Monsieur Payot's pocket-book containing bank-notes to the amount of ten thousand francs."

"Me, sir!" replied François in astonishment. "Oh! monsieur, that is impossible."

"It is not impossible," replied Delapine severely. "You have it secreted on your person. I know it. Pierre, please lock the door, and put the key in your pocket. François, I must request you to allow Monsieur Payot to search you. If you refuse, I shall at once send for the police."

François grew deadly pale, and falling on his knees swore by the Holy Virgin and all the Saints that he was innocent.

Delapine appeared insensible to his appeal, and merely said, "Monsieur Payot, proceed."

The financier at once commenced to search the butler's pockets, while Delapine stood behind him and held his arms. Sure enough the first article he pulled out was the pocket-book. "Now, Monsieur Payot, be good enough to let me see whether all the notes are there. I wish to convince myself," said Delapine. And taking the pocket-book out of Payot's hands, he rapidly counted the notes, and subtracting one of them said to François, "I acquit you of all blame. It was I who did it in order to convince Monsieur Payot of my powers. This gentleman offered to make a present of his watch to anyone who could take it away from him without his being aware of it. I have succeeded, but I refuse to take his watch. Still, as I have been the cause of a great deal of unpleasantness to my esteemed friend François, I feel sure Monsieur Payot will not object if I present you with this note."

Whereupon the professor handed the butler one of the hundred-franc notes, and shaking him by the hand, told him he was a thorough good fellow, and at his request Pierre unlocked the door, and bowed the bewildered and delighted man out.

"One moment, Monsieur Payot, I perceive you also are a thief. If you will be good enough to put your hand in your left-hand waistcoat pocket you will find our friend Marcel's gold toothpick and seal. Pray hand them back to him with his watch, and he will give you yours in return."

The financier having at length recovered all his personal effects, shook hands all round, and bolted as fast as his legs would carry him, fully convinced that Delapine was the Devil.

"Well," said Delapine, "are you satisfied now?"

Villebois and his guests looked at one another in mute astonishment, much too bewildered to say anything.

"Another evening, with your permission," said Delapine, "I will show you some experiments of an entirely different character."

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER IV

PAYOT AND DUVAL

"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft agley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain For promised joy." Burns.

If you turn past the church of Notre Dame de Lorette and walk towards the corner of the Rue La Bruyère, you will notice a charming detached villa on the right with a little garden all to itself shut in by ornamental railings.

It was the third evening after the events related in the last chapter, when a military man might have been seen in his cabriolet leaving the elaborately wrought iron gates of the villa, and directing his coachman to proceed to No—Boulevard Haussmann near the Arc de Triomphe.

It had been raining heavily all the afternoon, and the foot passengers could be seen picking their way between the omnibuses, and endeavouring to avoid the mud which splashed up on all sides. The cafés and restaurants were beginning to light up, and the little marble tables outside became more and more crowded with guests. A crowd had assembled in one of the small side streets, listening to a trio of musicians who were playing outside one of those curious little café-restaurants only patronised by a select fraternity of Bohemians who meet nightly year in and year out to chat and play dominoes, and take their evening meal at 1 fr. 50 c., wine inclusive, with clock-like regularity. A woman who had evidently been trained as a public singer, and who had known better days, was singing one of those exquisite airs of Charles Gounod with a voice which still bore traces of its former richness. But the scene was unheeded by the occupant of the carriage, who was mentally rehearsing the manœuvres which would give him the most favourable position in the mimic campaign which he was about to undertake.

At length the driver stopped opposite the house indicated, and his fare alighted, enquired if Monsieur Payot were at home, as he handed in a card bearing the name of General Duval. A footman in livery showed him into a large hall decorated with old carved oak furniture and a perfect armoury of mediæval weapons and shields interspersed with rows of marvellous Delft and Sèvres ware.

"Ah! mon Général, delighted to see you," said Payot, with a beaming smile as he entered the room. "I am quite alone this evening, so we can have a chat tête-a-tête."

The person addressed was a pompous little man, rather corpulent, with a double chin, and immensely impressed with his own importance. He had a bald head, and a white moustache with the ends drawn out to a great length, and so twisted and waxed that they resembled a pair of skewers. This, together with the fact that his eyes were chronically inflamed and bulging with a constant tendency to roll, gave him an aspect of terrible ferocity. He was a bon vivant, and possessed a high reputation for his judgment of wines, an opinion which was always taken as final in any dispute at the clubs. He was in his element when reviewing his troops, where he might be seen cantering up and down in a state of great excitement, spurring his horse to make it rear and plunge to the terror and amazement of the nursemaids who formed a rear guard with their perambulators. One would have imagined that his men were all stone deaf judging by the way he addressed them in tones of thunder. In fact he always gave his hearers the impression that he was in a towering passion. For admiration and glory he had an insatiable thirst, which was only equalled by his greed for gold. Indeed it was a common joke amongst his officers that in the next campaign he would be found defending himself to the last drop of his blood with his drawn salary in his hand. Notwithstanding his absurd vanity, he was, like all French officers, brave to the core, and fearless as a lion, and for this reason alone he was adored by his men, who felt that he would prove his metal and lead them on to victory no matter what odds were against them when they were all but defeated, and leading a forlorn hope.

"Well, mon ami, how has the world been treating you since I saw you last?" said Duval père.

"So, so, but I must confess I have hardly recovered yet from the shock I got at Villebois' house the other night. Didn't you hear of it? Well you must know that fellow, Delapine, was staying with them as a guest, and he got into a discussion about spiritualism and all that sort of nonsense. Amongst other things he gave out that he was a conjurer, and so I thought I would put his powers to the test. Whereupon he spirited away my watch, and it was found in my hat in the spare bedroom. When I got it back again I offered to make him a present of it, if he could take it away again without my knowledge.

"After a while all sorts of strange things happened. Rings and pencil-cases, watches and pocket-books changed hands all over the room. Everybody lost something, and found something else in its place. I lost my pocket-book containing bank notes to the tune of 10,000 frs., and in some mysterious manner it was found in the butler's breast pocket. I am certain it was not the result of pure conjuring, since the professor never came near me, and yet all the things I had in my pockets vanished, and were found in other people's pockets. I feel convinced that he is in league with the devil, and practices the black art. I really think he should be exposed. He is certainly a most undesirable man to have anything to do with. It seemed to me also that he has some sort of sinister spell over my daughter Renée, and I feel it must be put a stop to at once."

"Most certainly," replied Duval, delighted to think that the game was playing into his hands so nicely. "We must put our heads together and see how we can get Villebois to forbid him to come near his house again. It is very curious that you should mention this subject, because it is closely related with the object of my visit, my dear Payot.

"Of course you are aware what a surprising future is opening up for my son Pierre. He is rapidly rising in his profession, and is sure to make his mark wherever he goes. I think he would make an ideal husband, he is so extremely amiable, so attentive and so thoughtful. Besides, I shall leave him nearly all my property, which amounts to considerably over a million francs. Now, it seems to me that it would be mutually to our benefit if we could arrange a match between your daughter and my son. I have great influence with the minister of commerce, and I can give you private information as to the Government's policy, so that you can manipulate your shares to the greatest advantage in the Bourse, before the agents or the public know anything about it. In this way you will be able to make a grand coup without any risk of being found out."

Payot slowly raised his gold-rimmed pince-nez and adjusted them to his nose with great deliberation, fixing his eyes on the General with a cynical smile.

"Hum, hum," he muttered half aloud. "Renée is a great prize, mon cher Duval. This is only her first season, and she has already had three proposals from young wealthy men in good positions. Why she has refused them all is a mystery to me, considering what very advantageous offers they all were."

"I am not in the least surprised at that," replied Duval, "seeing that my son had known her some months, and has already permitted her to see that cupid has severely wounded him with his shaft. A chance, mon ami, to have a husband like my son can only come to her once in a lifetime, n'est-ce pas?"

The eyeglass came up again as slowly and cautiously as before. "Listen, mon ami," said Payot, "Monsieur Ribout, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, is, I understand, about to raise a loan for the new Morocco-Tunisian Railway. Do you think you can get me the concession for flotation?"

"My dear Payot, you anticipate me. I have it in my portfolio?"

"What! Do you mean to say that you actually have it here, in your portfolio?" cried Payot in a shrill tremor of delight.

"C'est vrai, mon ami. Just wait a moment and I will show it you. Here it is, now we can arrange these things beautifully."

Payot rubbed his hands together in a fever of delight, while his eyes sparkled with impatient greed, as he stretched out his hand to clasp the precious document.

"Stop, stop, mon vieux, there are a few, just a few little preliminaries to arrange before I give it up to you. In the first place I must ask you to sign this little paper, undertaking to pay me twenty-five per cent. of the net profits which you make over the concession. A mere form, of course, but between friends it is always as well to attend to these little details."

The eyeglass went up again with more deliberation than ever, and Payot calmly surveyed as much of him as was visible above the table. "What is his little game now?" he muttered to himself.

"And now," continued Duval, "you have only to sign this, and give me your solemn promise that Renée shall marry my son, and the concession is yours."

Payot sat still, playing an imaginary tune upon the table, evidently thinking intently.

"Twenty-five per cent. is rather a high price to pay, mon vieux. Let me see," said he, casting up the figures in his head. "The concession is for a capital of 45,000,000 frs., and my profit on the deal will be 2,000,000 frs. Then there are certain deductions to be made. Yes, to be sure," he muttered to himself. "750,000 frs., and 200,000 frs., and 50,000 frs., that leaves a million francs, and twenty-five per cent. on a million is 250,000 frs. Two hundred and fifty thousand francs is a lot of money to give away," said Payot, nervously playing with his wine glass.

"But you see what you are getting for it," said Duval, "Seven hundred and fifty thousand francs."

"A mere bagatelle compared with my daughter. Why, I am simply giving her away, sir—giving her away!" and he heaved a sigh as if he had been asked to sign away his birthright.

"Well then," said Duval, anxious to strike while the iron was hot, "we will call it a bargain," and without any further to-do he pushed the paper over to Payot to sign.

Payot seeing that further haggling was useless, took his pen and mechanically signed the document.

Duval rang the bell.

"What do you want?" cried Payot, wondering why Duval should take upon himself the ordering of his servants.

"Oh, it's all right, mon ami," said Duval, as the butler entered. "I merely wanted someone to witness our signatures."

While the butler was signing the document under Duval's directions it suddenly struck Payot that this was rather sharp practice on Duval's part. But it was too late to interfere now, as the General had neatly folded up the paper and put it inside his portfolio.

"My dearest friend," said Duval, "I see you were a little surprised at my summoning the butler, but it was a mere habit of mine, my dear sir, a mere habit. As an officer I become so accustomed to ringing the bell and issuing orders, that it becomes part of my nature," and he reached out his hand to Payot with the most bewitching smile that he could command on the spur of the moment. "With our two families united by marriage, my dear comrade, we shall be able to carry out some magnificent projects."

"I admit the combination will be very advantageous to our interests, considering the hostile cliques we have to contend with on every side. I am a little, just a little bit afraid that that fellow Delapine may prove an obstacle to our schemes," Duval rejoined with a broad grin which displayed a magnificent set of false teeth.

"I confess, my dear General, I share your views. His impudence, his brazen effrontery, and most of all the extraordinary power he seems to exercise over other people's minds, will not render my task an easy one."

"Oh, you leave him to me," said Duval. "My knowledge of strategy will enable me to outmanœuvre him at every turn. It will be mere child's play to me."

"I suppose that Renée will consent to marry Pierre?" added Duval after a slight pause.

"My dear General, how can you ask such a question? Why, Renée adores Pierre—she can't help it. No girl could withstand his attractions, especially when she knows how he worships her. How could any girl be insensible to his charms with his wealth and his talents? Don't you worry yourself on that score."

"But suppose that she loves Delapine?"

"Oh, oh! you are too funny, mon Général. What an absurd idea! What on earth can Renée find to admire in a mad fossil like Delapine? Besides, he is as poor as a church mouse; he has nothing in the world beyond his pittance from the Government—a mere fifteen thousand francs a year. Why, it would hardly keep me in wines and cigars. I give my little girl credit for more sense than that. Besides, supposing she did commit the folly of refusing your son, when I come to put the situation before her, her natural common-sense would soon bring her round to my way of thinking. A little well-timed severity, a few threats on my side followed by a burst of tears on hers, and then she will surrender unconditionally."

"No, no," replied Duval, "I have no fear on that score whatever. You can have no possible objection to my retaining the concession until the engagement is announced. It will act as a kind of fillip to you, and besides, it will be the most potent inducement to Renée to alter her mind, and obey you, should she have any affection for Delapine or any other man. By the way, mon ami," added Duval, seeing that Payot was about to reply, "this Tokay is really quite excellent. It has a surprisingly fine bouquet," and he emptied his glass at a draught. "Hullo! it is already eight o'clock, and I have an appointment at the Elysée with the Minister of Finance in half an hour. Au revoir, mon ami, au revoir," and so saying he shook hands, and seizing his hat and portfolio, left the house before the bewildered Payot could collect his senses and remonstrate.

"Confound that fellow," said Payot, shaking his fist at the retreating carriage of the General, "what did he mean by running away with that concession? Does he take me for a robber? I will pay you out for that, you old villain. I will be even with you yet, see if I don't! Still, it does not matter much after all, I know he is as anxious as I am that the deal should go through, as he knows that he can no more do without me than I can do without him. Yes, yes, it makes no difference. We must work together, although he is a rascal, and a damned rascal too."

Payot was a widower past middle age. Thirty years had passed since he had left his home near Belfort to enter the military college of St. Cyr. Clever, handsome, full of ambition and energy, the young man was the pride of his mother's heart, and it was with great misgiving that she allowed him to leave the paternal roof.

At college his talents soon prepared the way for promotion, whilst his open frankness and engaging manners made him popular with all his comrades.

At St. Cyr, he made the acquaintance of young Jaques Duval, an acquaintance which soon ripened into friendship, and the two comrades in arms became inseparable.

During the Franco-Prussian war Duval gained rapid promotion, and for his gallant conduct at Mars-la-Tour he was gazetted General. Payot was carried off the field in the same battle, having been struck on the head by a fragment of shell. For some weeks he hung between life and death, and had it not been for the unceasing care and attention of his nurse, he must have died. The devotion of this young girl soon awoke a response in his heart, and during his convalescence he declared his love for her, and was accepted with equal fervour.

Soon after leaving the hospital he retired from the army, married, and went into business.

Two years later his wife bore him a daughter. Nothing could surpass the affection of this child for her parents, and especially for her mother. As Renée grew up, she became the darling of the parish. Absolutely unconscious of any superiority due to her position and wealth, she would mingle in the games of the poorest children. Any day she might be seen teaching the little girls to trim their hats with woodbine, to play puss-in-the-corner, or hide-and-seek. Sometimes she would take them into the woods to hear the cuckoo, or the nightingale. It was entirely through her entreaties that her father induced the organist of the parish church to give singing lessons in the village choir, and she herself practised the violin that she might be able to give concerts to the villagers, who would assemble in an old barn and join lustily in the singing. There was one old fellow in particular named Caillot; he lived quite alone in a little cottage and was unable to work at a trade owing to a defect in his eyes which rendered him nearly blind. He picked up a scanty pittance by playing the violin, which he did with uncommon skill. Wherever she was you would invariably find the little man playing or singing, and he was of such a cheerful disposition that he got the nickname of "Le Pinson" (Chaffinch). His admiration for Renée amounted to worship, and the ne plus ultra of happiness was when Renée and her governess would consent to enter his little room and play a duet with him on the violin.

To see the little Chaffinch chirping and hustling around, placing a soft cushion on a chair for Mam'selle Renée to sit on, and looking through his well-thumbed collection of music for some piece he knew she was especially fond of, was a proof of the most intense devotion. So absorbed and wrapped up was he in attending to Mam'selle Renée that the poor governess had to find a chair for herself as best she could, and it invariably ended in Renée refusing to play a note until Caillot had found a cushion and chair for her also.

Whenever a marriage took place in the village, the Chaffinch was certain to be sent for, and Renée insisted on being allowed to deck him out with gay ribbons in the presence of the bride and bridegroom. "Viola, mon p'tit Papa Pinson," she would say with a smile, "you look the handsomest man in the village to-day, and here is a new five-franc piece which I persuaded my father to give me, because I told him I wanted you to put on your brightest smile. N'est ce pas, p'tit papa?" But one day the man fell ill, and was unable to earn his rent. Poor little man, he was all alone, and might have died of hunger and neglect if his illness had not by a pure accident reached the ears of Renée.

"What!" she exclaimed when she heard the tale, "do you mean to say that they are going to turn mon pauvre Pinson out of his house, because he is unable to pay his rent? Oh! my poor Caillot!"

In spite of her mother's remonstrances she emptied the contents of her money-box into her pocket, and ran out of the house as fast as she could to his lodgings all alone. Alas! all her little savings were not enough to meet the rent which had accumulated for some weeks. What could she do? A happy thought struck her, and she went the round of the village, begging from the doctor, the priest, and the notary, until she had collected enough, not only to pay off the arrears of rent, but to purchase a few comforts besides.

"My poor little Pinson, what would you do without your Renée?"

No wonder she was popular owing to her intense sympathy for others, her exquisite eyes beaming with love and tenderness, and yet withal sparkling with fun, her smile for all, and her light girlish step. No wonder the poor looked upon her as something "outre tombe," an incarnate angel sent to minister unto them.

Anyone daring to speak disparagingly of Mam'selle Renée would have done so at the risk of his life. A fine horse-woman, she usually accompanied her father in the chase, and many a time she would run a race across country with him and the squire's son at break-neck pace. Ah, those were halcyon days indeed.

One day when she was about eighteen years old her mother was suddenly taken ill with pneumonia, and died after a short illness. The happiest home in all France speedily became the most tragic and miserable. A change came over her father. The injury to his head received years before on the battlefield, suddenly became rekindled by the shock and grief at his wife's death, and from being an ideal husband he grew morbid, avaricious, selfish, and dead to all affection. He seemed at times to have forgotten the very existence of his daughter. Renée bore up as long as she could, but at length Dr. Villebois, who for years had been the family physician, insisted on taking her to his home as she seemed to be rapidly pining away. It was here that she met Delapine for the first time. The awe, akin to worship, which a clever, high-spirited young girl sometimes perceives for a man possessing talent of a remarkable order—a feeling by the way which is entirely independent of age—soon changed into one of deep and lasting love, and although she succeeded in concealing it from him and all the world, her womanly instinct soon told her that Delapine had the same feeling for her, and secretly worshipped the very ground she trod on.

Had they lived in the Middle Ages and had she been condemned to die at the stake, Delapine would no more have hesitated to take her place at the burning pile, than he would have thought twice about giving all the money he had in his pocket to a poor student to purchase his class-books.

Delapine possessed that extraordinary magnetic power which attracts certain people with a force that defies all reason to explain. Shakespeare expounds it in immortal language in Romeo and Juliet. Goethe observed it and gave it a name "Wahlverwandschaft," or elective affinity. We see it turning up in the most unexpected places; in the palace, the cottage, the prison, nay even on the scaffold. Myth and lore teem with it. History is ennobled by it. It is the same spirit which knit the souls of David and Jonathan, Damon and Pythias, Dante and Beatrice, Hermann and Dorothea, Catarina and Camoens. This intense affection is the exact opposite of that passion which is popularly called love. The former has nothing to do with sex, the latter is merely a sexual impulse. The former is the most unselfish thing in the world, the latter is entirely selfish. The former is purely spiritual, the latter of the earth, earthy.

True love remains when everything else has perished, the latter dies, or has wings and flies away.

"Tout ce que touche l'amour est sauvé de la mort."[6]

It was the supreme development of this spiritual power which we call love in its purest and highest sense, which led St. Paul to express himself in that exquisite ode to charity, in the First Epistle to the Corinthians. It is the fruit of this spirit which has produced the martyrs, the heroes, and the golden deeds of this and every age.

The next day after the remarkable conversation between the General and Payot, Renée was busy writing in her boudoir, when she heard a knock at the door.

A servant entered bearing a note which ran as follows:—

My dear Renée,

I should be very much obliged if you would come and see me at my house. I have some important news for you. I shall expect you at five o'clock.

Your affectionate father, Alexandre.

Renée turned the letter over to see whether it contained any news on the other side.

"I wonder what my father wants me for in such a hurry. Did he leave any message?" she enquired of the servant.

"No, madame. He merely told me to deliver this note, and to let him know if the time would be convenient."

"Tell my father I shall be with him at five o'clock this evening, and let the coachman know that he is to be here punctually at a quarter to the hour, as my father cannot bear to be kept waiting."

The maid bowed and retired, wondering in her mind what could have given rise to her icy reply.

"Mademoiselle is generally so sweet to everyone," she said to herself. "I never saw her so nervous and reserved before, I wonder what can have happened. However, it is no business of mine." And she went downstairs to discuss the affair with the cook.

Poor Renée trembled all over, and a deep sigh escaped her as soon as she was alone.

"I know my father has only sent for me to make me promise to marry some horrid man. It must be for some such reason. What else could he want me for? Oh dear, oh dear, why cannot he leave me in peace? I am so happy here."

"I wonder who he can have in his mind? I am certain it cannot be anyone really nice, all his male friends are such horrid people."

For a long time she lay down in a kind of stupor, until at length her maid knocked at the door, and informed her that the carriage was waiting. Hurriedly putting on her hat and cloak, she ran downstairs, and drove off to her father's house.

The clock had just struck five as she entered the vestibule and handed her card to the portier.

The moment she was ushered into the sitting-room her father rose to receive her.

"Well, my child," said Monsieur Payot, closing the door after she had taken off her things, "sit down and let me talk to you quietly."

Renée sat down, and her father beat a tattoo on the table with his fingers, as if he were calling up his troops before charging the enemy.

"I have observed," he said slowly, clearing his throat, "I have observed that for some time past, Pierre, the son of my old friend General Duval, has evidently expressed a passion for you, and yesterday the General called to ask me formally for your hand on his behalf."

Renée's heart thumped so violently that she felt her head beginning to swim.

"I felt exceedingly delighted, as you can well imagine, since the General is not only one of my oldest friends," continued Payot, "as well as one of my former comrades in arms, but the chance of such a distinguished alliance will greatly add to my wealth and position. Moreover Pierre is not only rich, but he will inherit at least two considerable fortunes, besides being a most charming and lovable young man with an unbounded future before him. Of his affection for you there is not a shadow of doubt."

The girl grew scarlet, and remained too bewildered to reply.

"That's a good girl, Renée, I can see by your blushes," her father went on to say, "that you return his affection, and that your silence implies your consent to his offer," and he rubbed his hands and chuckled with satisfaction.

"But, papa, you don't really mean to say that I have to marry Pierre," said Renée gasping for breath, while the tears began to flow.

"What! What!! What!!! you dare to tell me that you refuse?" said Payot, his voice rising almost to a scream. "You silly child, you don't appreciate the honour he is doing you. Why, Pierre can have the pick of half the girls in Paris. A chance like this will never occur again. Consider what it means," and he marked off the points with his fingers one by one. "A fine, handsome, devoted husband. A large fortune. A magnificent 'Dot.' Carriages and horses. A country chateau. A house in the Bois. Jewels. Think of it, Renée, any quantity of diamonds and pearls. Dresses and servants to your heart's content. Introductions to all the best houses in Paris, and a box at the opera. Why, all your girl acquaintances will grow green with envy. In God's name what more can you want? Such a lucky girl as you ought to be beside herself with joy."

"Please, father, do drop the subject. I will never, never marry Pierre—I detest him. Besides, I don't want any diamonds or a box at the opera."

"You ungrateful, wretched, hateful minx," shouted Payot, working himself up into a rage. "Is this the way you repay me for all my love and affection? Have I not toiled all these years to give you, my only child, a fortune and a position? And now you dare to refuse to marry the son of my best friend. Are you without a spark of gratitude? Are you blind to your own interests? Can't you see that I am arranging a marriage for you which will at once introduce you into all the best circles in Paris? You ought to fall on your knees and thank God that He has vouchsafed such happiness to you. You miserable thing, you vile.... I disown you," said her father, trying in vain to think of a suitable epithet. "How dare you disobey your father's wishes?" And he shook her violently with both hands until her teeth chattered.

"Don't, don't, you'll kill me," sobbed Renée, trying to escape. "Oh, father, why can't you leave me alone to be happy in my own way? Oh, what is the matter? How strange you are. You don't look a bit like the dear old father you used to be." And she looked at her father with a terrified expression.

He stood before her nearly beside himself with passion and hardly able to breathe.

Renée slowly rose and held on to the table to steady herself, her heart thumping almost audibly, while she strove to hold back her sobs which were nearly choking her. Monsieur Payot sat down in his chair, feeling keenly the rebuff that his daughter had given him, a defeat which he was not accustomed to, especially from his daughter who, as a rule, gave way to him at once. He wiped away the perspiration from his brow with his red silk handkerchief, while he revolved in his mind what move he should take next. At length an idea struck him.

"Look here, my child, be reasonable. Your old father only wishes to see you happy," and he tried in vain to smile sweetly, while he patted her head affectionately. "You love your father, don't you?"

Renée nodded between her gulps and sobs, and then burst out afresh.

"Well now, listen. Last night the General brought me a concession for the sole rights to construct the new Morocco-Algerian Railway, which is worth a couple of million francs to me immediately, and he promised to hand it over to me to deal with, the moment you became engaged to Pierre. Now, just imagine what that means to me. Not only two million francs, but indirectly I shall make three or four millions more. Besides, with the General's influence, I shall have an entrée to the Elysée, and be able to secure the Government contracts through the Minister of Finance. Of late several of my schemes have misfired, and my credit on the Bourse is nearly gone, but the moment I can secure this concession directly from the Government, I can obtain credit for as many millions as I require, and then my position is assured for ever. You do want to help your old father, don't you? Now, my child, consider this marriage carefully, and come and tell me to-morrow that you have altered your mind, and that you are sorry that your selfishness stood in the way of your father's recovering his lost credit and fortune."

Renée did not reply but merely looked at her father with a dazed expression, and became as pale as death.

"Well! Well!" said Payot, kissing her forehead, and patting her affectionately on the head, "you can leave me now and go home and think it over."

At this he got up and handed her her hat and cloak, and conducted her to his carriage which he had summoned to take her home. Left to himself he paced up and down the room, and said under his breath as he heard the carriage roll away, "Drat that girl, one can never do anything but a woman gets in the way and upsets one's best schemes—confound her!" he muttered, "what an obstinate little fool she is. This is the way she repays me for all my love. Has she no natural affection left I wonder? I believe that fool Delapine is at the bottom of it all. I must checkmate his little game whatever it is. Well, Monsieur Delapine, your conjuring tricks will not help you much when I come to deal with you."

Happily unconscious of her father's real hostility and muttered curses, Renée leaned back in the carriage and gave way to her grief. Arrived at the house of her adopted father, she threw herself on the bed in a torrent of weeping. "Oh! mother, darling mother, why did you leave me? Everyone seems to have forsaken me now. Mother, dear mother, come and help me," and she sobbed again. A couple of hours passed away, but Renée seemed oblivious of the time. The gong sounded for dinner, but she did not put in an appearance, and everyone wondered what had become of her.

At length Madame Villebois excused herself to the guests, and going upstairs entered her room.

"Renée, ma chérie," she said, "why are you lying on the bed? Mon Dieu! what is the matter—what have they been doing to you?"

"Oh! nothing, Maman, really nothing. I am only a little tired, I suppose it must be the heat," said Renée, trying to smile through her tears.

"Come downstairs at once, the soup will be quite cold, and we are all waiting for you."

Renée washed her face, and followed Madame Villebois downstairs into the dining-room, trying to smile all the time, but looking so dreadfully miserable that everyone felt distressed and sorry for her. Fortunately Pierre was not there, and as soon as she sat down next to Delapine she became calm at once.

The professor squeezed her hand under the table, and said something which evoked a happy smile.

"Courage, Renée ma chérie," he whispered. "Take courage. Some day it will all come right, but not yet—not yet. The night comes, and with it much sorrow—much sorrow first. I can see it all clearly—it must be; but the joy will be all the greater when the morning breaks. There is no rose without a thorn; no crown without a cross; no salvation without sacrifice. Remember this, my beloved, for your little bark is just entering the storm. You will be shipwrecked first, but when the masts are broken, and the sails are blown away, and all hope abandoned, then, but not till then will salvation be at hand. Remember, dear, what I have said, for I shall not be able to help you, although I shall be with you always. Patience, ma chérie, always patience and courage."

A shiver went through her as she heard this, and she could not conceive what he meant, but she was too frightened to ask him. When dinner was over she went out of doors, and sat in the little summer house, hoping that the night breezes might cool her fevered brain.

"Remember what I have said, for I shall not be able to help you, although I shall be with you always—what could Henri mean?" And she puzzled her little head trying in vain to make sense of it. She sat musing for some time looking up at the stars and the fleecy clouds which continually floated across the face of the moon, when suddenly she became aware of someone stealthily approaching. She saw no one, but felt that someone was watching her. She heard a slight cough, and looking round saw Pierre approaching behind her.

"Good evening, dear Renée," said Pierre, holding out his hand and smiling. "I hope it is not too chilly for you out here? I caught sight of you in the summer house, and came to bring you this cloak to wrap round you."

Renée suffered him to put the cloak round her shoulders, but she was too distracted with the memory of Delapine's words to listen, and too indifferent to Pierre's attentions to thank him.

She looked lovely in the moonlight. Her dark wavy hair, her exquisite eyes, sparkling like diamonds with the reflection of her tears, and the flush of her face reddened with her intense excitement heightened her beauty.

Pierre was visibly affected at her loveliness and sat down beside her. "What a splendid evening to be sure, how I do enjoy these moonlight nights, don't you?" he added, turning towards her.

"Yes," she answered mechanically without turning her head.

"Are you sure you don't feel cold?" he asked, as he began to steal his arm around her waist.

Renée never replied, but the fact that she did not remove his arm, caused him to grow bolder.

"You don't know how I have longed for this opportunity of declaring my love to you, Renée," and suiting his action to his words he bent down and implanted a kiss on her lips.

He could not have chosen a worse moment for his caresses. With her heart distracted with grief—her father's reproaches ringing in her ears, her natural modesty, and Delapine's mysterious words of foreboding evil, produced the same effect as the sting of a lash on a sleeping tiger.

Springing up with flashing eyes and quivering lips, her whole body trembling with excitement, she gave him a blow across the face with all her strength.

"How dare you? Let go, do you hear me?" and she stamped her little foot on the ground. "Let go this instant," she screamed.

"Damn you, you little beast," he cried, wiping his face which was smarting terribly, and he raised his fist as if to strike back; but his natural caution, together with the fear that if he pushed matters too far he might lose all chance of possessing her, checked him, and pausing for a moment he suppressed his anger, and rapidly changed his tactics.

"My darling pet!" he exclaimed after a short pause in the mildest of voices, "you really look more lovely than ever when you are in a temper," and he tried to encircle her waist again.

But she shook him off with a violent effort, while trembling from head to foot. "Go! go, and never let me see you again. Henri, Henri," she shrieked at the top of her voice as he still continued his attentions. "Help me! Help me!"

Renée attempted to escape, and rose up with the idea of doing so, but her limbs trembled so much that she was quite unable to walk, and dropping into her seat from sheer exhaustion, buried her face in her hands, and burst into an uncontrollable flood of tears.

Pierre was becoming really frightened at what he had done, and proceeded to apologise for his conduct, but she showed no signs of having heard him.

Fearing lest her sobs and cries would attract the household, Pierre stepped back shrugging his shoulders, and with a scarcely audible adieu, he hurried out of the garden humming an air to himself, and disappeared down the street in the direction of the Avenue Rossini, and hailing a passing fiacre, ordered the coacher to drive rapidly to his father's house.

"Who was that chap she kept calling out to help her," he kept saying to himself in the cab. "Henri, Henri—oh, of course, that is the Christian name of that humbug Delapine. Now I remember seeing him once squeeze her hand under the table when they thought no one was looking. I can see it all clearly now. She is in love with the professor. That explains why she was so cold to me, and why she was so furious when I kissed her. What a fool I was not to see it before. Otherwise she would have been only too proud for a wealthy, handsome fellow like me to pay her attention. It is Delapine who has drawn her away from me—curse him. If it had not been for that interfering fellow she would have thrown herself into my arms. Never mind, I will have her yet, in spite of all his fine tricks, and that before many days are over." Chuckling to himself at the sweet thought of revenge, he entered the house.

"Hullo, Pierre my boy, where have you been?" asked the General, as his son entered the room.

"Oh, I've just been over to Dr. Villebois' house."

"Oh fie, so you've been over there to see the pretty bird in its cage, have you? Well, I'm only too delighted to hear it. I could not wish you to marry a better girl. Payot and I have had a little chat about it, and we have come to the conclusion that it will suit our books to a 'T,' if you become her fiancé. The whole thing has been arranged between us, and all you have to do is to go and propose to her and the thing is done. Nothing could possibly be easier. I know she has a soft place in her heart for you, and if she hadn't it is not likely that she would be such a fool as to refuse a man of your position and wealth."

"But, father, I have just seen her, and she not only refused me, but she slapped my face, and told me never to speak to her again."

"What!" exclaimed Duval, "Do you mean to tell me that she actually hit you?"

"Yes, father, and what is more she shouted at the top of her voice for Delapine to come to her assistance. 'Henri, Henri,' she cried, 'help me, help me,' and then she went into hysterics and hoped she would never set eyes on me again."

The General whistled. After a moment.... "This is a fine state of things," he said. "We must put our heads together and see whether we should merely watch and wait, or make a counter attack, or fight a rearguard action. The fat is in the fire, and no mistake. But, tell me, what did you do to her to put her in such a rage?"

"I merely went into the garden with some wraps, and when I had put them round her and paid her a few lover's compliments, I kissed her. Nothing else, I swear."

"Now tell me, Pierre, as man to man, on your honour that you did nothing else."

"Absolutely nothing, on my honour, sir, I swear to you."

"Then the solution of the problem is simple ... she is in love with Delapine."

"I am of that opinion too," replied Pierre, "because I have seen them billing and cooing together more than once, and besides that, she addressed the professor by his Christian name when she called out for help. I remembered his Christian name was Henri.

"Now I know for certain that she is in love with Delapine. Well, we must outmanœuvre him, n'est-ce pas?

"But that is easier said than done," said Pierre.

"Tut, tut, my boy, that is nothing for an old soldier like me. When you have been through three campaigns as I have, you will laugh at a little skirmish like this. A mere trifle, my boy, a mere trifle believe me," and so saying he lit a cigarette and puffed away calmly, while considering the position of affairs.

"We'll go over and put the matter before old Payot. He is very keen on your marrying his daughter, and he intends to raise heaven and earth to get her for you. There is no one whatever in the way except Delapine, believe me. Get him out of the way, and the girl is yours. I know Payot will give her a magnificent dot, because I bargained for that last night, and with her income and yours there is nothing you can't accomplish."

Pierre felt more in love with her than ever. The rebuff he had encountered served to stimulate his passion to fever heat, and the very fact that she had struck him with her fist only elicited a mad desire in his mind to conquer her and bring her captive to his feet. His jealousy grew until it knew no bounds, and the mere fact that his pride had met with a severe check, made him all the more eager to have his revenge.

"Curse that fellow," he kept saying to himself. "My father is quite right. Delapine is the only obstacle, there cannot be a shadow of doubt on that score. I have lost a fearful lot lately at the club, and I must get some money somehow to pay my debts, or I shall be ruined. If I could only marry her, I could pay my debts with her dot, and put matters right.

"Look here, father," he said after a pause, "can't we get old Villebois to tell the professor he has to leave the house at once?"

"I have thought of that plan, and even suggested it to Payot, but after mature reflection I find it won't work. You see, Villebois is absolutely infatuated with Delapine, and thinks the world of him. Besides, he is so anxious to watch the antics and spirit-rappings and all that nonsense that Delapine indulges in, that no consideration would induce Villebois to part with him. No, no, that wouldn't do at all."

"Well then, can't we send Renée away somewhere? Payot could take her away to some place where I could see her from time to time."

"True, but the moment she finds out that you are keen upon seeing her, the more determined she will be to prevent you. Besides, if she is sent away, she will think of him all the more, and we shall not be able to watch her schemes, or stop their writing letters to each other every day. You must not forget Renée is no longer a child, but has arrived at that time of life when love-intrigues become part of her second nature."

"Well, isn't it possible to get Payot to forbid her speaking to the professor?"

"Why, that would be the very way to encourage her to do it all the more. They would seek every opportunity to meet each other clandestinely. Does not Almanni say 'Le cose victate fan crescere la voglia?' You know the proverb, 'You may lead a horse to the water, but you can't make him drink.' Oh, I know what women are, believe me. I haven't been an old campaigner for nothing. The story of Eve and the apple is absolutely true to life. You have only to forbid a girl to do something, and she immediately raises heaven and earth in order to do it; whereas, if you had said nothing at all she would never have dreamt of it. No, no, we must first have a talk with Payot before the Professor sees Renée again, and then we will see how we can surprise the enemy."

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER V

THE WINE CELLAR

"There smiles no Paradise on Earth so fair But guilt will raise avenging phantoms there." F. Hemans.

If there was one thing in the world that the General prided himself on it was his wine cellar. It was a long, cool cave blasted out of the solid rock, and extended the whole length of the garden. On each side were rows upon rows of shelves, on which whole regiments of bottles lay on their sides like batteries of guns ready to be discharged. Champagnes from Rheims, Tokay from Hungary, choice vintages from the Rhine and Moselle lay in dozens, ornamented with their red, blue and yellow labels. Rich wines from Portugal, Greece, Madeira, and the Cape might be seen with their noses half hidden in sawdust, while whole companies of Mumm, Perrier-Jouet, Spumante d'Asti, and sparkling Hock could be distinguished by their wire and gold and silver foil pressed round their bulging corks. On each side was a row of casks filled with the red wines of France and Italy.

The cellar was quite dark save for a gleam of reflected daylight which issued through a ventilating grating near the ceiling. On the afternoon following their previous interview, father and son again met in the General's study to discuss further their plan of campaign in their endeavour to get the hated Delapine out of their path.

"By the way," said the General, "I don't suppose you'll have any objection to joining me in a glass of wine? Thoughts and words often flow more freely, and ideas spring more quickly under the gentle influence.

"Thank you, sir, nothing would please me better."

"Charles," said the General, as the butler appeared in answer to the bell, "go down to the cellar and bring a bottle of '89 Berncastler Doktor, and please be quick."

Charles bowed and left the room. After waiting a while the General pulled out his watch and growled impatiently.

"Confound that fellow, I wonder what he is up to," he shouted, after waiting in vain for a quarter of an hour, and going to the bell he tugged the cord violently. "Does he suppose that I, a General of the French army, am to be kept waiting by a mere servant?"

At this moment his valet, a tall, military-looking man named Robert, entered the room and saluted.

"Robert," he thundered, "what the devil does this mean? Mille Tonneres! what is that fellow Charles doing? I sent him down for a bottle of wine nearly half-an-hour ago. Go and find him at once. Sac—r—re Bleu! This is mutiny," he yelled.

Robert saluted and backed out.

Presently he returned with the cook supporting Charles, who was trembling from head to foot.

"Nom de Dieu! What on earth does this mean?" said the General astonished.

"If you please, mon Général," said the valet, saluting with his disengaged hand, "we found him lying on his face in the cellar, moaning piteously, and covering his face with his hands."

"Did he fall down the steps then?"

"No, sir, oh no, sir," said the butler in a piteous tone of voice, and trembling more than ever. "I got inside the cellar all right, and was in the act of lighting a candle to choose your bottle, when I saw a tall man staring at me with the most piercing eyes I ever saw."

"A man, did you say? I suppose it was a common thief coming to steal my wines, eh? You idiot, why didn't you attack him, or at least run back and lock the door after you, and then come and call me? I would soon have settled him."

"Oh, mon Général, I was too frightened. I shouted out, but he did not move and stood staring at me with his terrible eyes all the time, and then I swooned away."

"How did he get in?" said the General, unmoved by his excited cries. "Did he pick the lock, or had you forgotten to shut the door when you went the time before?"

"Oh, no, mon Général, that would be impossible, as the door shuts by itself with a spring lock. I found the door locked as usual when I arrived there, and I opened the door myself with the key which I always carry about with me."

"Have you ever lent the key to anybody?"

"Never, mon Général, never in my life."

"Then he must have picked the lock."

"That would be no easy task, sir. The lock, as you are aware, is a very complicated one, and of the most approved pattern. If you remember, the maker guaranteed it burglar-proof."

"How was the fellow dressed?"

"He had on a black coat with the red ribbon of the Legion of Honour, a white shirt front, and a black cravat. I also noticed he had a short, black, pointed beard, an 'Empereur moustache,' and dark curly hair."

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the General. "The red ribbon of a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, eh? A common thief is not usually decorated in that way. That looks like Delapine from your description. But what the deuce did that fellow want in my cellar? By the way, did you shut the door when you left?"

"Pardon me for speaking, mon Général, but I did it for him," interposed Robert, "as Charles was incapable of doing anything."

"I suppose it is no use my going to look for him," mused the General, "if he got in, he should have no difficulty in getting out again. Still, perhaps I had better go and see what has happened. Let the butler go to the library and wait there for me, and you, Robert, go and bring my revolver."

"I think, father," interrupted Pierre, "we had better go to the cellar at once, and see whether anything has been stolen. If anything is missing we have a chance of having the thief arrested and taken to the Gendarmerie, and if it should prove to be Delapine, then hurrah for Renée, eh, mon père?"

"I shall have him arrested in any case," said the General. "But," he added as Robert returned with the revolver, "let us go down to the cellar."

He then poured out a full measure of cognac, and was in the act of swallowing it when he noticed Pierre taking the revolver from the valet.

"No, I will take charge of that," said the General.

"Oh, father, let me have it. I want so much to have a shot at him."

"What are you thinking of, my son? If you shoot the intruder it's murder, but if I, a General in the army, shoot him, why, it's nothing. Allons, allons, en avant," he shouted, looking very fierce as he led the way to the cellar with revolver cocked, followed closely by Pierre and Robert, the latter carrying a candle.

Arrived at the cellar, the General opened the door cautiously and looked about, but saw nothing.

Suddenly Pierre slipped and bumped against Robert in the semi-darkness, knocking the candle out of the valet's hand, and leaving them without a light.

Presently as their eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, the General thought he saw someone standing a few paces off, and sure enough, the form slowly assumed the features of Delapine.

"Halt!" shouted the General, "If you move I fire—" and he covered the dim figure with his revolver. "What are you doing here?" he thundered.

The spectre stretched out its hand and pointed at Pierre. A cold shudder went through Pierre's frame and his knees shook, but the General, doubly fortified by the glass of cognac and the revolver, felt courageous enough for anything.

"Down on your knees, and hold your hands up, or I fire," yelled Duval in a terrific outburst of passion. "Do you hear me? I am going to pull the trigger," he continued as Delapine showed no signs of obeying.

In their excitement both the General and his son imagined they heard Delapine speaking.

"It is for you to fall on your knees, not for me," the spectre of the professor seemed to say very calmly, and then appeared to add by signs "Fire if you like, but I warn you of the consequences."

The spectre stepped forward to within a few feet of the General. The General's blood was up, he pulled the trigger, and bang went the pistol as he fired point-blank at the professor's heart.

On hearing the shot the chef came running into the cellar, and found his master lying on the ground unconscious, with Pierre and the valet bending over him. Duval looked ghastly pale, while his arm lay helpless at his side, and a small stream of blood began to soak through his clothes.

"Lift my father, you two," ordered Pierre, as he turned to look for the professor.

Delapine's spectre was nowhere to be seen.

The two servants carried the General to his room and laid him on his bed, while Pierre drove over at full speed to Passy for Dr. Villebois. Rushing into the vestibule he enquired breathlessly:

"Is the doctor at home? Tell him I must see him at once. It's urgent."

"Hullo, Pierre," said Villebois, coming forward as he heard the agitated voice. "What is the matter?"

"Oh, doctor, please come at once. My father shot Delapine a little less than half an hour ago, and the professor rounded on him and nearly killed him. Don't lose a minute if you want to save my father's life."

"What on earth are you talking about?" enquired Villebois in surprise. "Have you lost your senses? Why, man, Delapine has been here during the whole evening."

"Do you mean to tell me that Delapine has been here during the whole of the last hour?" asked Pierre, pinching himself to make sure that he was not dreaming.

"Certainly. He went to lie down a little more than an hour ago, saying he felt tired, and I was in the room myself when he woke up. I remember the time perfectly. You must have been dreaming, my boy. Come in and have a liqueur, it will do you good."

"Thanks. I really feel the need of something to pick me up after all I have gone through. But meanwhile tell the coachman to be ready as we must lose no time. I am very far from being mad, you have only to see father to be convinced of the truth of what I have told you."

As Pierre was passing through the hall a minute later, he caught sight of Delapine, and ran up to him.

"Well," said Delapine, "what brings you here in such a state of excitement?"

"Excuse me," said Pierre, "but where were you half an hour ago?"

"Why, here of course. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing; but I thought I saw you in my father's wine-cellar."

"In your father's wine-cellar? What on earth gave you that idea?" and the professor's eyes twinkled with mischief. "And pray, what was I doing there?"

"You know well enough," said Pierre, but a glance at the calm face of the professor made him doubtful. He looked scared and began to suspect that he had been under an optical illusion, or else a hallucination of some kind.

"I trust," said Delapine, "that you will take my words of warning to heart which I gave you in the cellar, and please tell your father with my compliments not to go shooting people who have done him no harm, as the bullet sometimes has the curious habit of turning round and striking the firer instead. But you must please excuse me now as I have to prepare my lecture for to-morrow at the Sorbonne. Won't you like to come and hear it? It commences at eleven sharp. No? Well then, au revoir," he said, as he entered his room and shut the door.

"He must be the very devil himself," cried Pierre. "Did you hear what he said, doctor?"

"I did. I was standing behind you all the time, as I came here to tell you that the carriage is ready."

"Well, how in the name of heaven could he know all this? He must have been in the cellar all the time, and yet you say he was here."

"I have already told you so," said Villebois, "Do you doubt my word?"

"Well, I don't know what to think."

"No more do I—of you, sir!" replied Villebois, becoming nettled at his reply.

The doctor and Pierre drove rapidly to the General's house, and on going to his room they found him lying on his bed groaning, and in a state of semi-consciousness. Blood had been slowly trickling down his right arm, and had formed a little pool on the ground. Ripping up his shirt with a pair of scissors, Villebois noticed that a bullet had passed through the fleshy part of his arm. It had struck the bone at an angle, and ricochetted off, missing the brachial artery by a hairsbreadth, and had passed out again near the shoulder.

After first disinfecting the wound, Dr. Villebois dressed it, and fixing the arm in a splint, ordered a hospital nurse to be sent for immediately, and gave strict orders that the patient was not to be disturbed.

"Is it very serious?" said Pierre.

"Not very, fortunately, but the median nerve is completely divided."

"How do you know that?"

"For two very simple reasons. First, the probe showed me that the nerve lay right in the track of the bullet, and in the second place his arm is paralysed."

"Will he ever get the use of it again?"

"There is no reason why he should not, if we can manage to sew the ends of the nerve together. I have good hopes that I shall succeed in doing so, but sometimes the operation proves unsuccessful."

"Well, anyhow, I shall go at once to the police and have him arrested for attempting to murder my father."

"You silly boy, how can you? Delapine can bring half a dozen witnesses to prove that he was in my house when the shot was fired. Besides, he had no revolver."

Pierre put on a puzzled look, and scratched his head as if to awaken his thoughts, "I don't know what to make of it."

"No more do I. It is very mysterious," said Villebois.

CHAPTER VI

THE ANALYST

Two days after the episode related in the last chapter, a fiacre might have been seen rolling along the embankment of the Seine in the direction of Notre Dame.

It had been raining all day, and streams of water descended through the long pipes from the roofs of the houses to form miniature cascades which flowed with a gurgling noise down the gratings placed at intervals along the edge of the kerbstone. The cochers with their varnished top hats might be seen from time to time shaking off the water which poured from the brims in little streams down their overcoats. Everything seemed sodden with rain. Women leading little children by the hand, who were crying on account of the rain, which streamed from the parental umbrellas down their necks, might be observed hurrying along the street, or disappearing into narrow passages apparently leading to nowhere. The second-hand bookstalls along the river had long since been shut up, or covered with tarpaulins to keep off the wet. Here and there a few truant fowls, or a half-starved cat would scuttle out of the way of the carriage as it splashed along. The driver cracked his long whip in a temper, as if attempting to chastise the elements for their bad behaviour. On the carriage went, past groups of workmen in their blue blouses, who could be seen through the window of the fiacre standing in front of the musty smelling bars drinking their absinthe or vin ordinaire, while in the larger cafés others, better dressed, were whiling away their time playing dominoes, or indulging in a game of billiards with absurdly large balls on very small tables.

Suddenly the fiacre turned across the Pont Neuf towards the Rue de l'Ecole de Medicine. The solitary passenger poked his head out of the window.

"Cocher, drive to the third house on the right round the corner," said the fare, and the head instantly disappeared inside the vehicle, which a few minutes later drew up at the house.

It was Pierre Duval who alighted from the cab, and entering the house knocked at the door on the first floor.

"Ah, this is indeed a surprise, mon ami." The speaker, Paul Romaine, was a man nearly middle-aged with a crop of dishevelled hair and teeth discoloured from the effects of perpetual cigarette smoking, but a charming fellow notwithstanding, and thoroughly straightforward and honest.

"Diable! I have not seen you for nearly two years. What brings you in here, mon ami, on a filthy day like this of all others?"

"As a matter of fact I have a most important legal case on hand, and I really came, mon cher Paul, to ask your advice."

"Nothing could give me greater pleasure, I assure you, but I am no lawyer, and I cannot see how I can help you."

"On the contrary you can be of inestimable service to me. You are assistant medical analyst to the Government, are you not?"

"That is precisely what I am," replied Paul, "entirely at your service."

"You must know then that I am acting as prosecutor in a medico-legal case, which is very obscure, as we suspect foul play—in fact poisoning, and it is naturally of the greatest importance that I should make myself au fait with the various poisons and their means of detection. The case I have to study is a very complicated one as none of the doctors could fix on any poisons from the symptoms, and yet the autopsy revealed nothing to account for the death of the victim. Of course my visit is strictly confidential, as it would not do for anyone to know I had been consulting you. I feel sure you will appreciate my reason for this."

"Oh, you may rely on me implicitly. I shall be as silent as the grave. I think the best thing to do would be to take you over to my laboratory and show you how we make these analyses and detect the various poisons. But first you must have a glass of wine," said Paul as he brought a decanter from the cupboard. "These poisoning cases are wonderfully fascinating," he added, as he filled a couple of glasses with remarkably fine Beaune. "To feel that a man's life depends on the colour of a precipitate in a test tube, or on the appearance of a few crystals under the microscope, surrounds one's work with a halo of romance which nothing else I know of can give."

"Yes, that is quite true, but we also have our feelings of excitement and pride. I remember on one occasion I had to defend a man who had been accused of stealing a gold watch, and he confessed to me that he had done it. Well, I succeeded in intercepting the principal witness for the prosecution through an intermediary, and told him to inform the witness that he would not be wanted. I even succeeded in sending him a hundred miles into the country with instructions not to return for a few weeks. The trial came on the same afternoon, and the prosecuting counsel began to state his case. When he had concluded his speech, he informed the judge that he would now proceed to call the witness, and the usher shouted his name high and low. Oh, it was a joke I assure you to watch the counsel's face when the fellow failed to appear. Ha! Ha! Of course the case broke down through the absence of the witness's evidence. But the best of the joke was when the fellow came to see me about paying my fee. I discovered that he had no money, and so I took the gold watch which he had stolen as payment instead! I never enjoyed a fee so much. Oh, Lord! you should have been there." And Pierre laughed again until his sides ached.

Paul opened his blue eyes in undisguised astonishment at the audacity of the lawyer of treating a criminal act in such a tone of levity.

"Upon my word, if I did not think you were joking, I should refuse to speak to you any more," said Paul in utter disgust.

"Well you know it is only by doing smart things that we are able to enhance our reputation—and after all, we are paid to do it. Moreover in this case," added Pierre, anxious to repair the bad impression he was creating in Paul's mind, "I was really sorry for the fellow as it was his first offence, and his wife came and pleaded so hard to me to get him off."

"Well, I will forgive you this time," said Paul, "but for God's sake don't tell anyone else, or you may get struck off the rolls, or even find yourself in the dock one of these fine days."

"My dear Paul, if one wants to get on in one's profession one must not have too thin a skin; you must make a little allowance for us lawyers."

"Well, for my part, I think it is simply disgusting. You ought to aim at justice being done before everything," replied Paul in a voice of indignation.

"Why, my good fellow, if we advocates were to be paragons of virtue, like Thomas à Kempis, or St. Francis de Sales we should all starve to death."

Paul merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Well," he said at length, anxious to change a subject so repugnant to his feelings, "let us go over to the laboratory, and I will show you some of our work." So saying they left the flat together. They entered a large room reeking with chemical fumes. On one table were scales which could weigh a hundred kilos, and on another table a balance so delicate, that it would turn with the fifth of a millegramme.

Rows upon rows of bottles were on the shelves containing twice as many drugs as are to be found in a chemist's shop.

In another part of the room were glass jars filled with every organ of the human body, all furnished with large labels. Beakers, test-tubes, mortars, funnels, measuring-glasses, dishes, thermometers, etc., were scattered all over the room, in what might be termed orderly confusion, but actually just where they were most wanted. On the opposite side of the room stood a large spectroscope by Hilger, used for revealing the spectrum lines of metals, or examining the absorption bands of blood. Near by stood a row of microscopes by Hartnack, furnished with objectives of every power, which were screwed on a revolving attachment so that they could be brought into position by a single turn of the hand.

Pierre was lost in amazement at the prodigious display of apparatus.

"Do you mean to say that you employ all these things?" he asked.

"Oh, my dear sir, you have not seen a fourth part of our apparatus yet. Just look behind the curtain."

Pierre pushed aside a thick curtain, and opening a door found himself in a "dark room" illuminated by a large red light, and supplied with a washing trough and numerous bottles and dishes.

"That is where we make our photographs," said Paul, "and in the room next to it we make our enlargements, and reproduce by photography, finger prints and blood stains, and make copies of the object seen under the microscope."

They passed along a short corridor and entered the bacteriological laboratory. Here were bottles filled with dyes and stains of every colour. A whole row of copper incubating chambers, each surrounded by a water jacket, were ranged along the one side of the wall. Each was heated by an automatic burner, so arranged that a constant temperature of any degree required could be maintained for days or weeks at a time.

In one part of the room was a centrifugal whirler, holding a couple of test-tubes. These were filled with the fluids to be examined which contained solids in suspension, and when these tubes were whirled round at a prodigious rate the solid contents were forced to the bottom of the tubes, and could thus be readily separated. In another part of the room were test-tubes filled with serums, jellies, and meat broths of various kinds, any of which could be inoculated by touching the surface with a sterilized platinum wire which had been previously dipped in the fluid supposed to be infected by microbes. When the microbes were thus placed in their food, the test-tubes containing them would be labelled and placed in the incubator to allow the germs to multiply to their heart's content.

"Once more open the door," said Paul, smiling at his friend's amazement, and the two passed down some steps into a courtyard. All round the walls were hutches filled with guineapigs and rabbits, others contained whole families of rats and mice, some white, and some brown. Other hutches again contained cats and small dogs, while a large cage in the corner was filled with Rhesus and Bonnet monkeys. Lastly in the opposite corner was an aquarium containing a varied assortment of frogs and toads.

"What on earth do you want this menagerie for?" said Pierre.

"Why, this is the most important part of our laboratory. I will show you later what use we make of these animals. Meanwhile let us return to the first room, and we will have a chat."

"Do you always succeed in detecting the poison?" asked Duval.

"In the case of acids, alkalies, and metals or their salts, practically always, as not only are the tests easy to apply and well known, but the doses to be fatal are usually so large that one can find sufficient traces in the stomach, intestines, and liver to make a reliable test. To take an example. Here is a bottle containing what is left of the contents of the stomach of a woman who was poisoned a week ago. We have already made our report, so I can quite well use a little of what is left.

"Watch me closely. I first stir the contents well, and then filter some of it through this filter paper into this little beaker. Now I add a few drops of acid, and then allow some of the sulphuretted hydrogen gas to bubble through. Observe a bright canary yellow precipitate is forming. This shows me that arsenic is probably present. But to make quite sure I apply some further tests." Paul then poured another small quantity of the suspected fluid into a tiny porcelain dish, to which he added a few drops of pure hydrochloric acid and gently warmed it.

"Now," said Paul, "I take this slip of pure polished copper-foil and just dip it into the liquid—so, and see, it is slowly becoming covered with an iron-grey metallic film. In order to be quite sure that the coating is not due to accidental impurity, I repeat the experiment with the contents of another stomach which I know is free from any poison, and observe when I dip the foil in there is no deposit. This shows me that both the acid and the copper-foil are pure, and that in the former case the grey deposit was due to arsenic. In order to make doubly sure, I take the coated slip of copper, wash it well in water, then in ether alcohol, and gently heat it in this reduction tube. Now, let us put it under the microscope and tell me what you see."

"I see a number of shiny square crystals like little diamonds."

"Just so," replied Paul. "Those are the crystals of arsenious acid. It forms characteristic eight-sided crystals. So you see we have determined the presence of arsenic by three independent tests. It therefore must be arsenic, as nothing else will give these reactions. In the case of alkaloids the tests are much more difficult, because one may poison a person with a very small quantity indeed.

"For example, here are the remains of the contents of the stomach of a child. In this particular instance we found it extremely difficult to detect the poison. We tested for all the ordinary poisons in vain. Here our menagerie came to our aid; for on injecting a small quantity of the fluid under a guineapig's skin with this Pravaz syringe the little animal rapidly died with convulsions and syncope. Hence we knew at once that we had to do with a very poisonous alkaloid. By using nearly the whole contents of the stomach, and extracting the alkaloid,[7] we recovered about the 1/30th part of a grain of a white powder which we proved to be Aconitine—one of the most deadly poisons known.

"So you see if anyone tries to poison a person even with these alkaloids he is sure to be found out."

"But are there no poisons which are beyond your powers to detect?"

"Undoubtedly there are," replied Paul, warming up with his subject. "The ptomaines for example. These are soluble ferments which are formed when any animal tissue putrifies. But although we cannot so readily test them by chemical means, we can easily prove their presence by observing their effect on some one or other of the animals in our invaluable menagerie.

"I could give you many more examples if you wanted them. Muscarine, for instance, the alkaloids of certain fungi, many snake poisons, and countless different microbes."

"But can't you tell me of something which will defy detection even by means of your animals?"

Paul puffed away at his cigarette in deep thought, and then, slowly removing it from his lips, looked up at Pierre and gave a characteristic nod.

"Yes, now I think of it, I can give you one. There is a peculiar fluid sent to me from Japan recently," and he pointed to a bottle on the top shelf. "This has hitherto defied all detection by chemical means or otherwise. I alone have discovered how to detect its presence, but I have not had time to publish my discovery, and the poison is quite unknown in Europe. I am told it has the property of sending the person off into a gentle sleep from which he never wakes, if only a teaspoonful be injected under the skin. A friend of mine who is a professor of toxicology at Tokio wrote to me about it, and told me of several murders that had been committed through some mysterious drug which he ultimately managed to get hold of. Being unable to analyse it he sent me a sample to see what I could do with it. It arrived only about two weeks ago."

"Well," said Duval, rising to go, "thanks very much for the charming hour I have spent with you."

"Don't mention it. I see it is nearly dinner time; will you have dinner with me? I know of a select restaurant where the viands and wines are admirable."

Pierre cordially thanked him, and taking up his hat and stick proceeded to follow him out of the room. Before doing so, however, he allowed his cigarette case to fall noiselessly on a duster which lay partly hidden by the table. On leaving the room, Paul turned round and locked the door, and the two left the house together.

"Allow me to offer you one of my cigarettes," said Pierre, as they stood in the portico waiting for a fiacre.

"With pleasure, mon ami."

"Diable!" exclaimed Pierre, fumbling in vain for his cigarette case. "What have I done with it? Oh, I remember, I left it in your laboratory. Pray don't trouble to go back," he added, as Paul turned round to enter the house. "Give me the keys, I can find it much quicker than you can, as I know exactly where I left it in the laboratory. I will be back in a moment."

Suspecting nothing, Paul handed him his bunch of keys, and Pierre ran upstairs. He entered the room, shutting the door after him, and then, rapidly placing a pair of steps against the shelves he took down the bottle which Paul had pointed out. Quick as lightning he poured half the contents into an empty bottle which happened to be lying on the table, and returned the rest to its place on the shelf. Picking up his cigarette case, together with the syringe which Paul had shown him, he slipped them into his pocket, locked the door after him, and ran down to his friend.

"I must apologise for keeping you so long," said Pierre with superb effrontery, "but I could not find it at first as it had dropped on to the floor, but here it is," and so saying he offered him a cigarette.

The fiacre coming up at this moment they adjourned to the "Restaurant Joseph" for dinner.

Of all the restaurants in Paris there is none that quite comes up to "Joseph's." Monsieur Joseph was more than a great chef, he was a genius. To his way of thinking there was no art or science in the world that could compare with his. "What poetry could be mentioned in the same breath with a great dinner," he would exclaim. "And as to science, we know that Newton, Leibnitz, Fresnel, Laplace, Pasteur, and the rest of them achieved great things, but compared with the victories of Béchamel, Robert, Rechaud, Carême, and Mérillion, they are rien, monsieur, rien du tout. You boast to me of the moral courage of the Christian martyrs who faced death in the arena of the Coliseum rather than offer incense to Cæsar; but their courage cannot be mentioned in the same breath with that of Vatel, the cook of the great Condé. Did any of them bid adieu to life in the superb manner of Vatel? Ah! there was a hero for you. He actually put an end to himself because a fish he had ordered arrived too late for his master's banquet. What a magnificent example to set! How sublime his end!"

The great man wiped the perspiration off his brow and positively panted with excitement.

The enthusiasm that the famous chef threw into his work was the wonder and admiration of all the leading gourmands of the town. The moment one of his favourite customers entered for dinner, the great chef would wave away the garçon who came up to take orders of his customer, and attend to him himself.

"Now I cannot allow you to choose your own dinner, permit me to suggest for the Hors d'Oeuvres some salade d'Anchovis with Hareng Marines and just a suspicion of Kets Cavier at the side."

"Yes, that is excellent."

"Now for soup. What do you say to crême d'orge à l'allemande? Oh, you prefer 'clear.' Just a little Consommé Julienne en Tasse, as we must not spoil the appetite for the fish and entrées. A small glass of gin a l'anglaise with it is wonderfully appetising and forms a superb apéritif."

"Quite so."

"And for fish, ah, le voilà. Grey Mullets Meunière, or do you prefer Escalopes de Mostele écossaise just brought in fresh this morning, with a little dry hock? And after that what shall we suggest? Ah! I know, my superb dish, a 'Caneton à la presse.' But gently, gently, messieurs, you cannot pass over my Poussins Picadilly, and to please the palate a demi-bouteille of my special '84 Beaune, it is superb, it will clear the brain." And so the worthy man would go on.

To watch him carve a 'Caneton roti a l'anglaise' was a marvel of dexterity and skill, and was considered one of the sights of Paris. It was a masterpiece of carving. Transfixing the bird by means of a large fork, with half-a-dozen rapid strokes of the knife, never exceeding one stroke for each limb, slish slash, slish slash, and the bird would apparently fall to pieces completely dismembered. "Ah!" he would exclaim, "no chef in England or Germany can perform a feat like that. There is one God and one Joseph, and the latter is the king of chefs, n'est-ce pas?" and smiling in conscious triumph he would place the disarticulated fowl before his astonished guests. "Ah, where would Paris be without its restaurants, and where would the restaurants be without their chefs?"