THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS.
63
very sure that you are loved, you are not pliant enough ] went there to make some purchases with my neighbor
to give or receive proofs of attachment.'1   Through a I of the fourth."   "Your neighbor:'"    "Have 1 not my
R1
breath of etiquette, which rather annoyed Madame
d'Harville, a valet-de-chambre entered, bringing a let-
ter to the marquis. It was the anonymous denuncia-
tion of Sarah, which accused the prince of being ihe
lover of Madame d'Harville.
The marquis, out o deference to the prince, pushed
back with his hand the little silver plateau which the
servant handed him, and said, in an under tone, " Not
now not now." "My dear Albert," said tbe prince, in
the most affectionate tone, " do you stand on ceremony
with me?"   "Monseigneur-----"
" With the permission of Madame d'Harville, I beg
you to read this'letter."
"I assure yon, Monseigneur, that there ii nothing
tressing."   "Once  more,  Albert,   read  this letter!"
'But, Monseigneur-----"   "I entreat youI wish it."
"Since yourJRoyal Highness requires it," said the mat-
quis, taking the letter from tlie plateau.
"Certainly. I require that you treat me as a
friend."
Then turning tow-ards the marquise, while M. d'Har-
ville broke the'seal of this fatal letter, the contents of
which Rodolphe could not have imagined, he added,
smiling.   What a triumph for you, Madame, to cause
this will, so stern, always  to cede!"   M.  d'Harville
drew near to one of the candelabras on the chimney-
piece, and opened the letter of* Sarah.
Chapter II.Council.
Rodolphe and Clearance conversed together, while
tl. d'Harville twice read the letter.     His countenance
remained composed; a nervous trembling, almost im-
perceptible, agitated his hands alone;  then,  after a
moment's hesitation, he put the .note into the pocket
of his waistcoat. "At the risk of passing for a savage,"
said he to Rodolphe, smiling, "I shall ask permission,
Monseigneur,   to go  and answer this  letter  more
important than I thought at first."    " Shall I not s.-e
you again to-night?" " I do not think that I can have
. that honor, Monseigneur: I hope your Royal Highness
will excuse   me."   "What  a  man?"   said Rodolphe,
gayly.   "Will you net try to retain him, Madame?'
"I dare not attempt what your Highness has attempt-
ed in vain."   "Seriously, my dear Albert, try to return
to us as soon as your letter is written; if not, promise
to  grant me an interview some morningI have a
thousand things to say to you."    "Your Royal High-
ness overwhelms me,"  said the marquis, bowing pro-
foundly as he retired.
" Your husband is preoccupied," Raid Rodolphe to
themarquise; "his smile appeared constrained."
" Whan vour Royal Highness arrived, M. d'Harville
was profoundly affected; he had great trouble to con-
ceal it."
" I have arrived, perhaps, at an inopportune mo-
ment?" " No, Monseigneur. You have even spared
me the conclusion of a painful conversation." " How
is that?" "Ihave told M. d'Harville the new line of
conduct that I was resolved to follow, promising him
support and consolation." "How happy he should
be!"
" At first he wa3 as much so as myself; for his tears,
his joy, produced an emotion to which I had, as yet,
been a stranger. Formerly I thought I revenged my-
self by addressing him a reproach, a sarcasm. Sad re-
venge 1 my sorrow afterward has only been more bit-
ter. While just nowwhat a difference! Iaskediny
husband if he were going out ; he answered me sadly
that he should pass the evening alone, as was usually
the case. When I offered to remain witli himif you
could have seen his astonishment, Monseigneur 1 how
this expression, always sad, became at once radiant,
Obi you were rightnothing more pleasing than to
contrive these surprises of happiness!"
" But how did these proofs of goodness on your part
lead to this painful conversation of which you liave
spoken?"
"Alas'. Monsieur," said Clemenee, blushing, "to
these hopes succeeded hopes more tender, whieh I was
very guarded not to excite, because it will always be
impossible for me to realize them."
"I comprehend; ho loves you tenderly."
" As much as I was at first touched with his grati-
tude, so muoh was I alarmed at his protestations of
love I could not conceal my alarm. I caused him a
sad blow in manifesting thus rny invincible repugnance
to his love. I regret it. But, at least, M. d'Harville is
now forever convinced that he has only to expect from
me the most devoted friendship."
"I pity him, without being able to blame you; there
are susceptibilities, thus to speak, which are sacred.
Poor Albert, so good, so kind I If you knew how miu.-h
I have been afflicted, for a long time past, with his sad-
ness and dejection, although ignorant of the cause.
Let us leave all to time, to reason. By degrees he will
recognize the value of the affection you offer him, and
he will be resigned to it, as he was resigned before hav-
ing the touching consolations which you offer him.
"And which shall never be wanting, I swear to you,
Monsieur" "Now let us think of the other unfortu-
nates. I have promised you a good work, having all
the charm of a romance in action. I come to fulfil
my engagement."
"Already, Monseigneur! what happiness?" Ah! it
was a kind of happy inspiration that induced mo to
take that poor room in the house of the Rue du Tem-
ple of which I have spoken to you. You cannot lmag-
fX .ii that, x f n ri cm-ious and inten
room in the Rue du Temple?"
"I forget it, Monseigneur." "This neighbor is a
charming little grisette; she calls herself Rigolette;
she is always laughing, and never had a lover."
" What virtue for a grisette !" " It is not exactly from
virtue that she is virtuous, but because, she says, she
has no time to be in love; for she must work from
twelve to fifteen hours a day to gain twenty-five sous,
on which she lives." "She. can live on so small an
amount?" "How now] she has even articles of lux-
two birds, who eat more than she does; her little
my
room is as neat as possible, and lier dress really quite
coquettish." " Live on twenty-five sous a day! she is
a prodigy." "A real prodigy of ordei, labor, economy,
and practical philosophy, 1 assure you; thus I recom-
mend her to you. She is, she says, a very skilful semp-
stress. At all events, you will not be obliged to wear
the clothes she makes foryou." " To-morrow I will send
her some work. Poor girl! to live on so small a sum,
and thus to speak, so unknown to us, who are rich,
whose smallest caprices cost a hundred times that
amount!" "You will interest yourselfinterest your-
self, then, in my little protegee, it is agreed; let us re-
turn to our other adventure." Here Rodolphe related
to the marquise what occurred in the Temple, the
finding of the letter in the old secretary, and the story
told concerning it by the old marchande. "And you
do not know their abode, Monseigneur?"
" Unfortunately, no. But I have given orders to M.
de Graun to endeavor to discover it, even if he is
obliged to apply to the prefecture of the police. It is
probable that, stripped of everything, the mother and
daughter have sought refuge in some miserably fur-
nished lodgings. If it should be so, we have some hope,
for the landlords report every evening the strangers
who arrive in the course of the day. " " What a singu-
lar concurrence of circumstances!" said Madame
d'Harville, with astonishment. " This is not all. In a
corner of this letter, found in the old secretary, were
these words, ' Write to Madame de Lucenay.' " " What
good fortune 1 perhaps we can find out something from
i," cried Madame d'Harville, with vivacity;
the better! Oh! I ha/e already a project; you shall
see, Monseigneur, you shall see that I am noi wanting-
in address and cunning."
"I already foresee'the most Machiavelian combina-
tions," said Rodolphe, smiling. "But we must first
discover them: how I wish it was to-morrow. On leav-
ing Madame de Lucenay 1 will goto their old lodgings;
1 will question their neighbors; I will see for myself; I
will ask information from everybody. I will compro-
mise myself, if it is necessary! I shall be so proud to
obtain by myself, and by myself alone, the result I de-
sire: ohl I will succeed; this adventure is so touching.
Poor women! it seems to me I feel more interest H
them when I think of my child."
Rodolphe, touched with this charitable eagerness,,
smiled sadly in seeing this young woman of twenty, so*
1 audsome, so lovely, trying to forget in noble occupa-
tions the. domestic trouble's which afflicted her; the
eyes of Clemenee sparkled with vivacity, her cheeks
were slightly suffused; the animation of her gesture,
of her speech, gave new attraction to her ravishing
physiognomy.
fne all that I find curious and interesting! In the first
place, your proteges of the garret envy the comforts
your presence had promised them; they have, how-
ever yet to undergo some sad trials; but I do not wish
to make you sad. Some day you shall know how
many horrible calamities mry overwhelm one single
family." "What must'be their gratitude towards
you!''' "It is your name they bless." "You have suc-
coured them in my name, Monseigneur!" "To ren-
der the charity sweeter to them. Besides, I have only
realized your promises." "Oh! I will go and unde-
ceive thein; tell them it is to you they owe-----'
"Do not do that! you know I have a room in this
house: be guarded against any new cowardly acts of
your enemies, or of mine; and since the Morels are
now out of the reach of want, think of others. Let us
think of our intrigue. It concerns a poor mother and
her daughter, who, formerly in affluence, are at this
time, in consquence of aii infamous spoliation, re-
duced to the most frightful misery." "Unfortunate
women! and where do they live, Monseigneur? 1
do not know." " But how did you find out their situa-
tion?"
" Yesterday I went to the Temple. You do not know
what the Temple is. Madame la Marquise? No,.
Monseign eur. "   " It is a bazar very amuarng to see.   i
the duchess.    .
then she continued with a sigh, " But I am ignorant of
the name of this womanhow designate her to Mad-
ame de Lucenay?" - " You must ask her if she does not
know a widow."still young, of a distinguished appear-
ance,-and whose daughter, aged sixteen or seventeen
years, is named Claire." " I remember the name. The
name of my daughter! it seems to me a motive the
more to interest me in their misfortunes."
" I forgot to tell you that the brother of this widow
committed suicide some months ago." " If Madame de
Lucenay knows this family," said Madame d'Harville,
"such information will suffice to bring them'to her
mind. Mon Dieu! how desirous I am of going to see
her. I will write her a note to-night, so that I shall be
sure to find her to-morrow morning. Who can these
women be? From what you know of them, Monseig-
neur they appear to belong to the upper classes of
society. And to find themselves reduced to such dis-
tress! ah! for them, poverty must be doubly frightful."
" And that by tho robbery of a notary, a miserable
scoundrel, of whom I already know many other mis-
deedsa certain Jacques Ferrand." "My husband's
notary!" cried Clemenee; "the notary of my step-
mother! But you are deceived, Monseigneur; he is
looked upon as one of the most honorable men in the
world."
" I have proofs to the contrary. But do not, I pray
you, say a word on this subject to anyone; he is as
crafty as he is criminal, and to unmask him, I have
need that he shall not suspect, or, rather, that he shall
go on with impunity a short time longer. Yes ; it is he
who has despoiled these unfortunates, by denying a
deposite, which, from all appearances, had been placed
in hishands by the brother of this widow." "And this
sum?" " Was their sole resource! Ohl what a crime
what a crime!" cried Rodolphe; " a crime that noth-
ing can excuseneither want nor passion. Often does
hunger cause robbery, vengeance, murder. But this
notary was already rich; and, clothed by society with
a character almost holy, with a character which
imposes, forces confidence, this man is induced to
crime by a cold and implacable cupidity. The
assassin only kills you once, and quickly with his
knife; he kills you slowly, by all the horrors of
despair and misery into which he plunges you. For a
man like' this Ferrand, tlie patrimony of the orphan,
the savings of the poornothing is sacred! . You con-
fide to him gold; this gold tempts him; he makes you a
beggar, and wretched! By the force of privations and
ioil," you have assured to yourself bread and an asy-
lum for your old age; the will of this man tears from
your old age this bread and shelter. This is not all.
'See the effects, tbe fearful effects of these infamous
spoliations; this widow of whom we speak may die of
sorrow and distress; her daughter, young and hand-
some, without support, without resources, accustomed
to a competency, unfit, from her education to gam a
living soon finds herself between starvation and dis-
honor! she is lost! Bv this robbery, Jacques Ferrand
is the cause of tho death of the mother, the rum of the
child ! he has killed the body of one, he has killed the
soul of the other; and this, once more I say it, not at
once,   like  other   homicides,   but   with   cruelty   and
Clemenee had never yet heard Rodolpne speak with
so much bitterness and indignation; she listened m
silence, struck with these words of eloquence, doubt-
less very sad, but which discovered a vigorous hatred
' of evil "Pardon me, Madame," said Rodolphe, after
a moment's pause; "I annot restrain my indignation
in thinking of the cruel fate which your future pro-
tegees may have realized. Ah! believe me, the conse-
quences of ruin and poverty are very seldom exagge-
rated."                                                    ,        .           ,
" Oh! on the contrary, I thank you, Monseigneur for
having, by these; terrible words, still more augmented,
if that is possible, the sincere commiseration I feel tor
these unfortunates. Alas! it is above all for her
daughter she must suffer; oh! it is frightful. But we
will save themwe will assure them as to the future;
is not so Monseigneur? 'Dieu merci,' I am rich, but
not as much so as I could wish; now I foresee a
new use for money: but, if it is necessary, I will
sneak fo M. d'Harville: I will make him so happy
that he cannot refuse any of my new caprices. Our
protegees are proud, you say, Monsiegneur: I like them
better for it; pride in misfortune always proves an
elevated mind. I will find the means to save them,
without their knowing that they owe the succor they
receive to a benefactor.   It will be difficult; so much
Chapter III.The Snare.
Madame d'Harville perceived that Rodolphe was
contemplating her in silence.   She blushed, cast down
her eyes; then raising them in charming confusion, she1
said: "You laugh at my enthusiasm, Monseigneur?   It
is because I am impatient to taste those holy joys
which are about to reanimate my existence, until now
pad and useless.   Such, without doubt, was not the life
1 dreamed of; there is a sentiment, a happiness, more
lively still, that I can never know; although still very   .
young, I must renounce it!" added Clemenee, suppress-
ing a sigh.    "But thanks to you, my saviour, always
thanks to vou, I have created for myself other inter--
ests; charity shall replace love.   I am already indebted
to  your advice  for such  touching  emotions!   You;
words.  Monseigneur, have so much influence!    The
more I meditate, the more I reflect on your ideas, th*
morel find them just, great, and fruitful.   Oh! Mol>
seigneur,  how much goodness your mind discloses!
From what source have you, then, drawn these feel-
ings of   tender commiseration?"     "I  have  suffered
-ouch, I still suffer; this is the reason I know the causa
of many sorrows."
"You, Monseigneur, you unhappy!" "Yes; for on
would say that, to prepare me to solace all kind of sor-
rows, fate has willed I should undergo them all. A
lover, it has struck me through the first woman that 
loved with all the blind confidence of youth; a hus-
band, through my wife; a son, it has struck me
through my father; a father, through my child."
" I thought, Monseigneur, that the grand-duchess did
not leave you any child ?" " She did not ; but before my
marriage with her I had a daughter who died very
young. Well 1 strange as it may appear to you, the loss
of this child, whom I had hardly seen, is tho sorrow of
my life. The older I become, the more profound my
regrets ! Each year redoubles the bitterness. It seems:
to increase as her years would have increased. Now she
would have been seventeen!"
" And her mother, Monseigneur, does she still live?"
asked Clemenee.                                   -
"Oh! do not speak of her!" cried Rodolphe. "Her
mother is an unworthy creature, a being bronzed by
egotism and ambition. Sometimes I ask myself if if,
were not better my child should be dead than to have
remained in the, hands of her mother."
Clemenee experienced a kind of satisfaction in hear-
ing Rodolphe express himself thus. "Ohl I conceive,
then," cried she, "that you regret doubly yourdaugh.
ter " " I should have loved her so well! ard, besides,
it seems to me that among us princes there is always
in our love for a son a kind of interest of race and
name; but a daughter! a daughter! she is loved for
herself alone. And when one has seen, alas ! humanity
under the most sinister aspects, what delight to eontem.
plate a pure and lovely being! to inhale her virgin
purity, to watch over her with tender care ! A mother
the most fond, the most proud of her daughter cannot
experience this feeling; she is herself too similar to
taste these ineffable delights; she will appreciate much
more the manly qualities of a bold and noble boy. For,
in fine, do you not find that that which renders, per-
haps, still more touching the love of a mother for her
son, a father for his da.ughter, is that there is always
in these affections a feeble being who has need of pro-
tection? The son protects the mother, the father pro-
tects the daughter." " Oh, it is true, Monseigneur."
"But, alasl why understand the ineffable joys, when
one can never experience them?" said Rodolphe, de-
jectedly.
"But pardon me, Madame; my regrets and my
souvenirs have, in spite of myself, carried me away;
you will excuse me?"
"Ahl Monseigneur, believe I partake of your sor-
rows. Have I not the right? Have you not partaken
of mine? Unfortunately, the consolations that I can
offer you are in vain."
"No, no; the expression of your interest is sweet
and salutary to me. It is weakness, hut I cannot hear
a young girl spoken of without thinking of her whom
I have lost."                                      
" These thoughts are so natural ! Hold, Monseigneur;
since I have seen you, I have accompanied, in her visits
to the prisons, a lady of my acquaintance, who is a
patroness of the work of the young women who are
confined at Saint Lazare; this house contains many
very culpable beings. If I were not a mother, I should
have judged them, doubtless, with still more severity,
while I now feel for them pity much softened in
thinking that, perhaps, they had not been lost except
for the state of poverty and neglect they had been m
from their infancy. I do not know why, but after
these thoughts it seemed to me I loved my child the
more."
"Come, courage," said Rodolphe, with a melan-
choly smile; " this conversation leaves me quite reas-
sured as to you. A salutary path is open to you; in
following it, you will pass through, without stumbling,
these years 'of trial, so dangerous for women, and,
above all, for a woman gifted as you are. Your reward
shall be great; you will still have to struggle, to suffer
for you are very youngbut you will renew your
strength in thinking of the good you have doneof
that wliich you still will do."
Madame d'Harville burst into tears. "At least, said
she " your assistance, your counsels, will never fail
me- is'it not so, Monseigneur?" " Far or near, I shall
always take the most lively interest in all that concerns
you- always, as much as depends upon me, I will con-
tribute to your happinessto that of the man to whom
I have vowed the most constant friendship. "