Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 193 — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

~~—_ CHAPTER IX. MADAME LA MARQUISE, FANCHETTE was, as has already been hinted, a remarkably pretty girl, and her Normandy peasant costume, with its quaint cap, did not make her any uglier. She looked the picture of demure innocence, and kept her eyes on the floor with the aspect of a nun. Gabriel looked at her sharply, as he opened ‘the note; but if she had any tremors she hid them under her modest, downcast look, and he read the message: “Madame la Marquise de St. Jean desires the easure of an interview with Monsieur le Comte de iedland, on business of importance.” “Tell madame I will come,” he said, dryly; and then, as she was turning away, he added, in a tone of meaning: “Another time, when you go to Paris, be careful to come home before dark.” She made no answer, but hurried out with her head down, and he went to tell his wife that madame had asked him to pay her a visit on business. “Strange that she should ask to see me, when she knows I hate her like poison, or a snake, or anything treacheroys,” he added to Inez. She patted his arm soothingly. “Never mind the past, mon cher. I havea fancy that poor madame is in trouble, and when an enemy is in trouble, you know, we should forgive and help him.” “That is hardly the soldier’s creed,” he re- plied, laughing. ‘‘ After a victory is the time we let loose the cuirassiers and gather in the ns and prisoners. ouble? Of what kind? Debts?” “‘T think so.” ‘*Then I cannot help ber,” said he, decidedly. “At least do not rude to her, mon cher. Remember she is old enough to be your mother. Respect her age.” ‘I will try to,” he answered; “but when I think of the trouble she gave us, only three years ago, [ feel inclined to tell her to go to the But for all that he went straight to the rooms of the old marquise, at the other end of the lewtes and found her alone in her boudoir, ooking pale and haggard through her rouge. He bowed rather coldly, saying: ‘‘T have obeyed your wishes, madame.” * You were always kind and generous,” she said, in a low, husky voice. ‘* Oh, monsieur, I khow that you once had reason to hate me; but possibly you may have judged even me too harshly. But Ido not, I cannot complain. You have been kind and generous to me,” ‘*The past is past, madame. I have obeyed your wishes. ‘* You desire to ask of me—’’ “To ask of you forgiveness, mercy,” she ex- claimed, clasping her hands. ‘* You have in your power a secret that may be the means of consigning me to the dungeon or the pestilen- tial sw: mps of Cayenne. You cannot be igno- rant of it, after last night. My life is in your wer. ' **Do I look like a man who makes war on women, madame?” ‘No, no. I knew you were kind and noble; too noble for me. But it is not only mercy that I ask, but help and protection.” ‘* Protection from what, madame?” ‘From that detestable Jacobin, Fouche, with his low manners and h’s spies, who delights in nothing so much as treading us down into the a us of the old noblesse, because we despise h ’ ‘‘ And how have you incurred the hatred of the Minister of Police, madame? You may be aware that as an officer of the empire, I cannot neglect my a and try to put obstacles in the way of the police. I su , from what you say, that you have been dabbling in silly politi- cal plots. If so, you must take the con- uences,” _ She burst out into a lowcry, and he could not help a feeling of pity for this old woman, in -her abject terror. “No, no,” she moaned. ‘‘It is not that, not that. They would not hurt me, I think; for the Empress Josephine has some influence left. It is not that.” ‘‘Then what is it, madame?” ‘There is another—oh, count, count, I am about to confide in you—to confide in you a secret which places me wholly in your power—I —I—it is my—” ‘*Spare yourself the pain of the avowal, madame. Ido not wish to know your family ’ secrets, er to have you in my power. In a word, what do you require of me? “You know that Fanchette was nearly arrested last night. Iam not certain yet if the lice recognized her. Find out for me if they and let me know. If so, I must flee from: France in twelve hours.” She spoke rapidly and distinctly now that she had found him willing to listen, and he could see, from the eager look in her eyes, that she was intensely anxious. ‘lam rs sure, from what Casse Tete told me, that they did recognize her, or they would not have chased her,” he replied, ‘If you will tell me what ceused the chase, I will tell you whether they knew her.” But you think she is in |, is any truth in astrol The Man in Red. The marquise hesitated and eyed him fur- tively for some seconds, before she finally said, — ‘‘She had taken a message from me toa person in whom I[ take a deep interest—in fact, a relative—very near—” Then she stopped short. He waited patiently till she resumed: “My friend—my relative—is on the side of the king, and therefore, as you are aware, in constant danger from the police. Fanchette arrived there, and delivered my ee whea a terrible knocking came at the door. They all knew what it was, and escaped the back way, but found the house surrounded by the police, of whom two were in the rear. One of these chased her—” ° ‘* What became of the other, madame?” ‘*T do not know—yet—but I fancy—” “Fancy what, madame?” “That he was killed by my friend.” ‘“Indeed? Then in that case I can reassure you, madame. The police did not know your domestic, for the man who caught her was — by Casse Tete before he could see her ace, The marquise looked relieved. ‘You are quite sure of that? You are not deceiving nre with false hopes, to end in my ar- rest to-morrow?” si yeti not, madame, Unless your friend was arrested.” The old woman tossed ber head proudly, “Arrested! He! No, no, count. The police are not yet appointed that can catch him, if he is not betrayed by a traitor.” . ‘Then what is it you fear, madame?” “That ,Fanchette might be arrested. She is that in the evident a coward, like ail girls, and they would wring everything out of her.” “Then make your mind easy, madame, for, thanks to Casse Tete’s rough method of treat- ment, the police are not likely to have any clew to Fanchette’s identity. And now, madame, let me a youa piece of advice. Keep out of these silly Royalist plots. The French people have a man on the throne now, a warrior, the greatest man in the world. They do not want to come down to a silly old imbecile like Louis the Eighteenth. You will only burn your fin- gers ii you try itagain. Let this be a lesson to you. So saying, he bowed profoundly and left the old marquise humbled and silent, looking after him with a singular expression. When he had gone away she said to herself half aloud: ‘I hate that man. Heisafool,afterall. If I had him down, I would not have spared him. He has nota grain of curiosity. And then he clings to the Corsican, But so much the better. If Camille has read the stars right, and there triumph. And when the king comes to his own again, and we have our day, then, we shall see who stands highest before the,world, this upstart or—” She stopped for she heard some one coming in, and presently Fanchette, looking demurely timid as ever, came softly toward her mistress, and faltered: ‘“Do they know, madame?” : “No, child, they.do not. But thou art not fit to do these errands any more Fanchette. ‘‘Suppose they bad taken me, I would have let them tear my flesh from my bones with red hot Dincera: but they should never have torn a word from me,” ‘‘Nor from me either madame,” answered Fanchette more firmly. ‘‘ Indeed, no.” The marquise smiled. “Foolish child, thou has nothing to sustain thee, as I have. Thou knowest that even the timid hen in the barnyard will face a lion in de- fence of her brood,” Fanchette blushed deeply. ‘‘T know I am nota mother, madame; bu for all that, I think,though I am so afraid, that could die for monsieur, rather than betray him.” The marquise looked sharply at her and read the story of the crimson cheeks with cool calcu- lating approval, though she sajd aloud; ‘Bah! child, thou knowest nothing of it. Nothing but one feeling will ever nerve thee to the faithfulness we require in these days of life and death,” ‘‘And what,is that, madame?” asked the girl innocently. ‘‘ Love, child, the love that is willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of the lord and master of our heart.” ‘‘I think, madame,” said peor Fanchette timidly, ‘‘tbat 1 could even do that for the sake of monsieur—that is, anything that is not wicked, madame.” And she grew redder than ever as she looked down, while the hard old worldling eyed her like a hawk hovering over a chicken, watching every movement. At last she said mockingly; ‘Perhaps you would, anything that is not wicked madame. That is why I say you don’t know what love is. Go, child. I will ring when I want you.” , And as Fanchette retived, madame said to herself: , he has not long to | *‘Tt is the only way to make her faithful. She is youngand innocent. Let her think she may be his wife, if she is silent and daring. Women wil) go through fire for love. Ah, God! did not J once do it?” And the old woman’s heart was full of memo. ries, as she brooded over the days of her youth, CHAPTER X. HUNTING FOR A BURROW. MEANTIME Gabriel, Count of Friedland, went away from the Marquise de St, Jean, with a new idea in bis mind on the subject of Tbe Man in Red. The mysterious visitor had come to the palace by some secret passage, and these secret ssages were only known to the members of the old noblesse. Madame de St, Jean then must know something about them. Fanchette had been surprised by a descent of the police in some house in Paris, and he had himself heard the emperor order No. 753 Rue Cruche d’ Or, to be taken. Was Fanchette there? Probably, but not certiinly; for Fouche was always making de- scents on houses in the night. It might have been seme other. Granting it to be the house of the fortune- teller, who was the man the girl had gone to visit? Was he the mysterious Man in Red, or some other! Whoever he might be, he had some close con- nection with the marquise. What was that connection? Gabriel could only think of one. He knew that the old lady bad been separated from her husband before the Revolution, and was supposed to we childless; but there was in and anxiety of the | marquise, in her words to him about being ‘‘in his power,” that made him say to himself as he walked along: “It isa man, and she loves bim deeply. A woman of her age can hardly have a lover; but she may have a son whom she is ashamed to acknowledge, and yet loves all the more for the cloud that bangs over him. But if so, who is he, and what has he ever had to do with The Man in Red? Is he the man himself? I think I'll set Casse Tete to work on this with the lit- tle Norman maid, He is sharp.” But before be had a chance to do this, be was called to Paris by a courier from the emperor, and sent off on a mission to the court of Spain, which occupied bim several months on matters of trifling importance, and put the whole mat- ter out of his head for the time being, When he returned, late in the year, he found the court at the Tuileries, and that he had been promoted to the command of the Imperial stables, as Master of the Horse, with an in- creased salary and rooms in the Tuileries, his old chief, Duroc, being Grand Marshal of the Palace, while the whirl of festivities over the birth of the King of Rome, which happened that winter, kept all gloomy apparitions out of his head. So the winter of 1810-11 passed over, and all the world seemed at peace with France to rule over it; the English making po headway in Spain, with every prospect of a final collapse of what was now only, on the part of the Span- iards, a guerrilla warfare, the spring of 1811 opened with the emperor firmer than ever on ie throne: and the wild predictions of The Man in Red further otf than ever, to all seeming, from their fulfillment. Gabriel, in his new position around the pel ace, was necessarily brought much into contact with various great people, and among others with the Duke of Otranto, Chief of Secret Po- lice, who one day said to him: ‘ Apropos, my dear count, do you not re- member a curious adventure we once had to- gether in the crowd in front of the Tuileries, at the first day of the Wagram celebration?” ‘*T do, duke.” “‘T have never been able to find what in the were eee of his majesty and you that night. f You’d better ask his majesty, duke.” “‘Ask him? He would never tell.” ‘‘Then you can hardly expect me to do it, my dear duke.” Fouche looked at him slyly, with an evil sneer, as he answered: | “" You are very discreet, count. I can divine one place to which you went.” ‘‘Can you? You are renowned for your pen- etration, duke,” ‘‘You need not sneer. You military men think you know a great deal; but, for all your own talent, you have not found out the secret of what happened in the palace of Fontaine- blesau a year ago.” ‘‘ Have you, duke?” ‘‘ Neyer mind, Further, you made a bad job of it at 753 Rue Cruche d’Or.” ‘Did we?” “Yes. You expected to find out a mystery, and it only grew deeper. My men went to seize the house, and found no one there... Made- moiselle Lenormand, the astrologer, had dis- appeared,” | ‘*But you lost a man in the descent, I heard, duke. How came that?” Fouche looked at him curiously, JOO coim (E(©) (E