# The Mystery of Madeline Le Blanc/Chapter 8

VIII.
The next evening, when the night had covered the town in darkness, and when each person was within his own precinct, Monsieur and Madame Le Blanc sat quietly in their abode, in the second room from the front. The side door, which was seldom closed in summer, save when all had retired, stood open as usual; and through it the lamp on the table sent its rays out into the garden.
"It is a beautiful night," said Monsieur, taking a seat in the doorway, as the moon began to brighten, darkening the shadows of the trees that oscillated in the evening breeze. It was as quiet as the country; only now and then some distant vehicle or a coach arriving at the Hôtel de Ville broke the absolute stillness. Sorrow had again joined their hearts; and now they sat quietly together and alone, as they had done when they were first married, before ​Madeline had come into the world. That was twenty years ago; and now, for the first time, they retraced the past step by step. It was like the opening and closing of a volume, each chapter having its joys and sorrow and commonplaces. In all these years their greatest happiness had been the little girl that grew up between them, giving them a common interest, and thus binding them more closely together.
"What hour does it strike?" asked Madame, as a bell began to toll.
"Nine."
At that instant, light but rapid footsteps were heard running on the sidewalk toward the house. The garden gate sprang open, and what looked like the figure of a woman rushed impetuously into the yard.
"Who is this?" said Monsieur, rising in the doorway, and looking toward the gate.
"Indeed, I know not," replied Madame, also rising.
The figure came running, and in an instant stood before them, in the light shining through the door.
"You see it is I," she said, breathless.
"Irène!" exclaimed Monsieur. ​"Yes, only I, no other."
"Why have you run so? you gasp for breath," said Madame, throwing her arms about her neck.
"You will also gasp in a moment. I will tell you. Let me sit down."
"Yes, come here, my child," said Madame, leading her into the house, and kissing her again and again.
Irène sat down. "Give mea drink of water," she said, nervously trying to fasten up her hair, which had fallen over her shoulders.
"You are not well," said Monsieur, as the water was being brought. "You look so pale, and stare so, What has befallen you?"
"No, no, I am not sick; I will tell you when I get some water and my breath."
"Here is water, my child."
Irène took a few swallows between breaths, and holding hersides, said, "Now sit down, both of you; I have something to say."
​"I have come all the way from Paris today," she began. "I ran here from the Hôtel de Ville where the coach stopped. It seemed as though I could not get here soon enough. I should have flown, if I had had wings. You know I have been living with my aunt since I went away? She is not really my aunt, but then—"
"Yes, we know," said Monsieur, eagerly, "Joseph told us where you were staying."
"Ah! Joseph, yes—where is he?" she asked, staring about, as if she thought that he was in hiding.
"At home, of course," answered Monsieur. "What were you going to tell us?"
Tossing her hat to the table, opening her dress at the throat and beginning to fan herself, she ignored Monsieur's question, and said: "Joseph—he will be glad to see me and hear what I will say. Could he be sent for?"
A pause.
"You can see him to-morrow."
"Yes, to-morrow; but he should know to-night. If he died meanwhile, he would remain in ignorance."
"What are you talking about, child?" ​said Madame Le Blanc, trying to caress her.
"No, you must not disturb me until I have finished. I hardly know how to begin. I do not want to blurt it out. You must not take it strangely."
"Well, well!" commanded Monsieur, anxiously,
"Where did I leave off?"
"About living with your aunt."
"Yes—I told you with my aunt. She was very good to me; but that is not what I have come to tell you. I thought I should stay with her; but I had to come here first; we shall all go back to Paris to-morrow—Monsieur, Joseph and I—to-morrow, by the first stage." She paused again as if trying to collect her thoughts. Monsieur arose and placed his hand on her forehead.
"No, no, I have no fever. Now listen. Take your seat, Monsieur. I will just tell as it happened; I can think of no other way. Last night as we sat down to supper, my aunt asked her husband to take us for a walk later in the evening. 'Very well,' he said; and after we had finished our meal, the three of us left the house, ​and went toward the Rue Saint Honoré. The streets were crowded with people. The pavements were still torn up from the dreadful war. I saw the barricades where men killed one another. I had never dreamed of such things in my life. My aunt said that everybody seemed happy; but I thought they seemed frightened. My uncle tried to explain things to me about the king and the government that I could not understand. I walked between them. We turned into the Rue Saint Honoré and stopped at the great market and drank from the fountain. There were so many people that I had now to walk in front. The Rue Saint Honoré was brilliantly lighted—almost like day;—for the first time, my uncle said, since the soldiers had broken all the street lamps. I saw many faces. I never dreamed there were so many people on earth—thousands! I felt bewildered. Lights, rolling carriages, brilliant windows, horses, people—it was like a dream. Now I come to the point! [She grew almost white in the face, arose, and walked to the center of the room.] As I stand here now, my aunt and uncle behind me, so we ​walked along. Presently there was a clear place on the sidewalk; and from the crowd going before us—God forbid me from saying falsely!—what do you think I saw emerge? [She stares sharply into their faces.] Monsieur, Madame! what do you think I saw?"
"Irène!" cried Monsieur, "what does all this mean? What are you talking about?"
"Child," said Madame, going toward her, frightened at her actions.
"No, no, sit down. You think I am beside myself. But listen! As sure as it is now night, and we are three, I saw emerge from the darkness of that crowd, and look into my very eyes—Madeline! Madeline!"
Madame fell to weeping bitterly; and Monsieur, leading Irène to a seat, said; "You would do better not to excite yourself further. It was some one else you saw. Your imagination deceived you. We shall not talk of these things again."
"I thought you would say something like that, Monsieur. I thought you would say that I was dreaming, and that I had lost my mind. Do you think that I do ​not know Madeline when I see her? Did not we grow up together? Was not I her first playmate and her last?. Do you think that I know not those eyes the like of which look from no other face? Will the——"
"Why didn't you stop her?" interrupted the father, hoping to bring Irène to her senses.
"I could not; I fell back into my uncle's arms; my throat was choked and I could not speak. It was too much for me thus to see the dead walk the streets again."
It was fully an hour before Monsieur succeeded in pacifying Irène; and then only after she had extracted from him a promise to return with her to Paris in the morning. At eleven o'clock all retired; but for some time only Irène, evercome by physical exhaustion, slept. Monsieur Le Blanc knew human nature well enough to understand that such certainty and persistence are not often born of illusion. "The body can be disinterred," he thought, "that would satisfy all doubt." But he could not do it himself. He did not wish to look again upon the icy face of the ​dead; he wished to remember his child only as she had been in life. And then he thought himself foolish for the ray of hope he was beginning to entertain that she might still be among the living; for had not he seen her laid away in the tomb! and with these thoughts he fell asleep.
At ten o'clock the next day Monsieur Le Blanc sat again in his garden; Madame was about her work as usual; and Irène was busying herself in Madeline's old room in the manner that one does who is expecting a guest. She had succeeded in having Joseph sent for; she had repeated her story; and now all were awaiting the return of the latter and the old sexton, who had gone to exhume the remains. When Monsieur and Joseph had protested, she said, "Then I'll go myself and dig." There was nothing to do but obey. It was to be done without attracting any attention; and now at ten o'clock, Joseph's return was awaited.
​"Yes, it is time; but in case he found her, he said he would go directly home and come this evening. Perhaps he has not restrained himself, has looked at her, and now—well, who knows what effect that might not have upon him. But he promised me that only the sexton should look."
There was an expression in his countenance, as he spoke these words, as if he were becoming wearied of Irène's hallucinations. He walked into the room facing the front of the garden and beckoned his wife to follow. When they were within he closed the door and said: "Do you know what I think? Does not all this seem strange to you?"
"It is strange, indeed," answered the wife.
"I believe that Irène has lost her reason. "
"No!"
"Yes, I believe it. Now what are we to do with her?"
"But she says that she will be satisfied if Madeline is still in her grave." There was a short pause, during which the wife walked to the window."What—who is ​this that runs so madly?" she cried, looking into the garden. "Joseph comes hastening down the path. See, we mistake !"
"In an instant he was in the house, calling, "Monsieur! Madame!"
"Here, here," they answered, coming to him, followed by Irène from the side room,
"She is gone!" cried Joseph; and for a moment the four stood like stone, staring into one another's faces. Madame sank into a chair, Monsieur and Joseph were speechless, Irène alone was self-possessed.
"En route tout le monde pour Paris," she called, with joy in her voice. "Madeline still lives!"
At nightfall while the strange news was being told under every roof in the town, Monsieur Le Blanc, Joseph and Irène were approaching Paris.
"See the lights," cried the girl, as their eyes discerned the first glimmer of the city.."What is that humming noise?"
"That is everything—wagons, voices, ​workshops,—in short, the city breathing," answered Joseph.
Monsieur had not spoken for some time, and seemed occupied with his own thoughts. Presently he said: "Listen to me a moment, What does that piece of white satin found in the cellar of the old stone house have to do with Madeline?"
"Her shroud was white," answered Joseph.
"What satin—what cellar—what stone house—what do you talk about?" inquired Irène.
Monsieur then related to her the discoveries of the police at the old stone house, which had been made while she was in Paris, of the finding of the body that had disappeared, of the heap of ashes, the piece of white satin, and of the dead dwarf.
"I saw this very small, ugly person in Doctor Satiani's office the morning of the day that we thought Madeline died," said Irène,
"In Satiani's office!" echoed Monsieur.
"Yes."
​"No, nor I," said Monsieur.
The diligence had rolled along through Fontainebleau, across the Seine at Melan, through Gros-bois (where many a noble has found refuge in stormy times at the metropolis) over the Marne by way of the ancient bridge at Charenton, and entered Paris from the southeast. The night had. already come to its fullness, and it was very dark.