CHAPTER II.
The salons of the Trois Freres were crowded; our friends found a table
with some little difficulty. Lemercier proposed a private cabinet,
which, for some reason known to himself, the Marquis declined.
Lemercier spontaneously and unrequested ordered the dinner and the wines.
While waiting for their oysters, with which, when in season, French 'bon-
vivants' usually commence their dinner, Lemercier looked round the salon
with that air of inimitable, scrutinizing, superb impertinence which
distinguishes the Parisian dandy. Some of the ladies returned his glance
coquettishly, for Lemercier was 'beau garcon;' others turned aside
indignantly, and muttered something to the gentlemen dining with them.
The said gentlemen, when old, shook their heads, and continued to eat
unmoved; when young, turned briskly round, and looked at first fiercely
at M. Lemercier, but, encountering his eye through the glass which he had
screwed into his socket, noticing the hardihood of his countenance and
the squareness of his shoulders, even they turned back to the tables,
shook their heads, and continued to eat unmoved, just like the old ones.
"Ah!" cried Lemercier, suddenly, "here comes a man you should know, 'mon
cher.' He will tell you how to place your money,--a rising man, a coming
man, a future minister. Ah! 'bon jour,' Duplessis, 'bon jour,'" kissing
his hand to a gentleman who had just entered and was looking about him
for a seat. He was evidently well and favourably known at the Trois
Freres. The waiters had flocked round him, and were pointing to a table
by the window, which a saturnine Englishman, who had dined off a
beefsteak and potatoes, was about to vacate.
M. Duplessis, having first assured himself, like a prudent man, that his
table was secure, having ordered his oysters, his chablis, and his
'potage a la bisque,' now paced calmly and slowly across the salon, and
halted before Lemercier.
Here let me pause for a moment, and give the reader a rapid sketch of the
two Parisians.
Frederic Lemercier is dressed, somewhat too showily, in the extreme of
the prevalent fashion. He wears a superb pin in his cravat,--a pin worth
two thousand francs; he wears rings on his fingers, 'breloques' to his
watch-chain. He has a warm though dark complexion, thick black eyebrows,
full lips, a nose somewhat turned up, but not small, very fine large dark
eyes, a bold, open, somewhat impertinent expression of countenance;
withal decidedly handsome, thanks to colouring, youth, and vivacity of
regard.
Lucien Duplessis, bending over the table, glancing first with curiosity
at the Marquis de Rochebriant, who leans his cheek on his hand and seems
not to notice him, then concentrating his attention on Frederic
Lemercier, who sits square with his hands clasped,--Lucien Duplessis
is somewhere between forty and fifty, rather below the middle height,
slender, but not slight,--what in English phrase is called "wiry."
He is dressed with extreme simplicity: black frockcoat buttoned up; black
cravat worn higher than men who follow the fashions wear their neckcloths
nowadays; a hawk's eye and a hawk's beak; hair of a dull brown, very
short, and wholly without curl; his cheeks thin and smoothly shaven,
but he wears a mustache and imperial, plagiarized from those of his
sovereign, and, like all plagiarisms, carrying the borrowed beauty to
extremes, so that the points of mustache and imperial, stiffened and
sharpened by cosmetics which must have been composed of iron, looked like
three long stings guarding lip and jaw from invasion; a pale olive-brown
complexion, eyes small, deep-sunk, calm, piercing; his expression of face
at first glance not striking, except for quiet immovability. Observed
more heedfully, the expression was keenly intellectual,--determined about
the lips, calculating about the brows: altogether the face of no ordinary
man, and one not, perhaps, without fine and high qualities, concealed
from the general gaze by habitual reserve, but justifying the confidence
of those whom he admitted into his intimacy.
"Ah, mon cher," said Lemercier, "you promised to call on me yesterday at
two o'clock. I waited in for you half an hour; you never came."
"No; I went first to the Bourse. The shares in that Company we spoke of
have fallen; they will fall much lower: foolish to buy in yet; so the
object of my calling on you was over. I took it for granted you would
not wait if I failed my appointment. Do you go to the opera to-night?"
"I think not; nothing worth going for: besides, I have found an old
friend, to whom I consecrate this evening. Let me introduce you to the
Marquis de Rochebriant. Alain, M. Duplessis."
The two gentlemen bowed.
"I had the honour to be known to Monsieur your father," said Duplessis.
"Indeed," returned Rochebriant. "He had not visited Paris for many years
before he died."
"It was in London I met him, at the house of the Russian Princess C____."
The Marquis coloured high, inclined his head gravely, and made no reply.
Here the waiter brought the oysters and the chablis, and Duplessis
retired to his own table.
"That is the most extraordinary man," said Frederic, as he squeezed the
lemon over his oysters, "and very much to be admired."
"How so? I see nothing at least to admire in his face," said the
Marquis, with the bluntness of a provincial.
"His face. Ah! you are a Legitimist,--party prejudice. He dresses his
face after the Emperor; in itself a very clever face, surely."
"Perhaps, but not an amiable one. He looks like a bird of prey."
"All clever men are birds of prey. The eagles are the heroes, and the
owls the sages. Duplessis is not an eagle nor an owl. I should rather
call him a falcon, except that I would not attempt to hoodwink him."
"Call him what you will," said the Marquis, indifferently; "M. Duplessis
can be nothing to me."
"I am not so sure of that," answered Frederic, somewhat nettled by the
phlegm with which the Provincial regarded the pretensions of the
Parisian. "Duplessis, I repeat it, is an extraordinary man. Though
untitled, he descends from your old aristocracy; in fact, I believe,
as his name shows, from the same stem as the Richelieus. His father was
a great scholar, and I believe be has read much himself. Might have
distinguished himself in literature or at the bar, but his parents died
fearfully poor; and some distant relations in commerce took charge of
him, and devoted his talents to the 'Bourse.' Seven years ago he lived
in a single chamber, 'au quatrieme,' near the Luxembourg. He has now a
hotel, not large but charming, in the Champs Elysees, worth at least six
hundred thousand francs. Nor has he made his own fortune alone, but that
of many others; some of birth as high as your own. He has the genius of
riches, and knocks off a million as a poet does an ode, by the force of
inspiration. He is hand-in-glove with the Ministers, and has been
invited to Compiegne by the Emperor. You will find him very useful."
Alain made a slight movement of incredulous dissent, and changed the
conversation to reminiscences of old school-boy days.
The dinner at length came to a close. Frederic rang for the bill,--
glanced over it. "Fifty-nine francs," said he, carelessly flinging down
his napoleon and a half. The Marquis silently drew forth his purse and
extracted the same sum. When they were out of the restaurant, Frederic
proposed adjourning to his own rooms. "I can promise you an excellent
cigar, one of a box given to me by an invaluable young Spaniard attached
to the Embassy here. Such cigars are not to be had at Paris for money,
nor even for love; seeing that women, however devoted and generous, never
offer you anything better than a cigarette. Such cigars are only to be
had for friendship. Friendship is a jewel."
"I never smoke," answered the Marquis, "but I shall be charmed to come to
your rooms; only don't let me encroach on your good-nature. Doubtless
you have engagements for the evening."
"None till eleven o'clock, when I have promised to go to a soiree to
which I do not offer to take you; for it is one of those Bohemian
entertainments at which it would do you harm in the Faubourg to assist,
--at least until you have made good your position. Let me see, is not
the Duchesse de Tarascon a relation of yours?"
"Yes; my poor mother's first cousin."
"I congratulate you. 'Tres grande dame.' She will launch you in 'puro
coelo,' as Juno might have launched one of her young peacocks."
"There has been no acquaintance between our houses," returned the
Marquis, dryly, "since the mesalliance of her second nuptials."
"Mesalliance! second nuptials! Her second husband was the Duc de
Tarascon."
"A duke of the First Empire, the grandson of a butcher."
"Diable! you are a severe genealogist, Monsieur le Marquis. How can
you consent to walk arm-in-arm with me, whose great-grandfather supplied
bread to the same army to which the Due de Tarascon's grandfather
furnished the meat?"
"My dear Frederic, we two have an equal pedigree, for our friendship
dates from the same hour. I do not blame the Duchesse de Tarascon for
marrying the grandson of a butcher, but for marrying the son of a man
made duke by a usurper. She abandoned the faith of her house and the
cause of her sovereign. Therefore her marriage is a blot on our
scutcheon."
Frederic raised his eyebrows, but had the tact to pursue the subject
no further. He who interferes in the quarrels of relations must pass
through life without a friend.
The young men now arrived at Lemercier's apartment, an entresol looking
on the Boulevard des Italiens, consisting of more rooms than a bachelor
generally requires; low-pitched, indeed, but of good dimensions, and
decorated and furnished with a luxury which really astonished the
provincial, though, with the high-bred pride of an oriental, he
suppressed every sign of surprise.
Florentine cabinets, freshly retouched by the exquisite skill of Mombro;
costly specimens of old Sevres and Limoges; pictures and bronzes and
marble statuettes,--all well chosen and of great price, reflected from
mirrors in Venetian frames,--made a 'coup d'oeil' very favourable to that
respect which the human mind pays to the evidences of money. Nor was
comfort less studied than splendour. Thick carpets covered the floors,
doubled and quilted portieres excluded all draughts from chinks in the
doors. Having allowed his friend a few minutes to contemplate and admire
the 'salle a manger' and 'salon' which constituted his more state
apartments, Frederic then conducted him into a small cabinet, fitted up
with scarlet cloth and gold fringes, whereon were artistically arranged
trophies of Eastern weapons and Turkish pipes with amber mouthpieces.
There, placing the Marquis at ease on a divan and flinging himself on
another, the Parisian exquisite ordered a valet, well dressed as himself,
to bring coffee and liqueurs; and after vainly pressing one of his
matchless cigars on his friend, indulged in his own Regalia.
"They are ten years old," said Frederic, with a tone of compassion at
Alain's self-inflicted loss,--"ten years old. Born therefore about the
year in which we two parted--"
"When you were so hastily summoned from college," said the Marquis, "by
the news of your father's illness. We expected you back in vain. Have
you been at Paris ever since?"
"Ever since; my poor father died of that illness. His fortune proved
much larger than was suspected: my share amounted to an income from
investments in stocks, houses, etc., to upwards of sixty thousand francs
a-year; and as I wanted six years to my majority of course the capital on
attaining my majority would be increased by accumulation. My mother
desired to keep me near her; my uncle, who was joint guardian with her,
looked with disdain on our poor little provincial cottage; so promising
an heir should acquire his finishing education under masters at Paris.
Long before I was of age, I was initiated into politer mysteries of our
capital than those celebrated by Eugene Sue. When I took possession of
my fortune five years ago, I was considered a Croesus; and really for
that patriarchal time I was wealthy. Now, alas! my accumulations have
vanished in my outfit; and sixty thousand francs a-year is the least a
Parisian can live upon. It is not only that all prices have fabulously
increased, but that the dearer things become, the better people live.
When I first came out, the world speculated upon me; now, in order to
keep my standing, I am forced to speculate on the world. Hitherto I have
not lost; Duplessis let me into a few good things this year, worth one
hundred thousand francs or so. Croesus consulted the Delphic Oracle.
Duplessis was not alive in the time of Croesus, or Croesus would have
consulted Duplessis."
Here there was a ring at the outer door of the apartment, and in another
minute the valet ushered in a gentleman somewhere about the age of
thirty, of prepossessing countenance, and with the indefinable air of
good-breeding and 'usage du monde.' Frederic started up to greet
cordially the new-comer, and introduced him to the Marquis under the name
of "Sare Grarm Varn."
"Decidedly," said the visitor, as he took off his paletot and seated
himself beside the Marquis,--"decidedly, my dear Lemercier," said he, in
very correct French, and with the true Parisian accent and intonation,
"you Frenchmen merit that praise for polished ignorance of the language
of barbarians which a distinguished historian bestows on the ancient
Romans. Permit me, Marquis, to submit to you the consideration whether
Grarm Varn is a fair rendering of my name as truthfully printed on this
card."
The inscription on the card, thus drawn from its case and placed in
Alain's hand, was--
MR. GRAHAM VANE,
No. __ Rue d'Anjou.
The Marquis gazed at it as he might on a hieroglyphic, and passed it on
to Lemercier in discreet silence.
That gentleman made another attempt at the barbarian appellation.
"'Grar--ham Varne.' 'C'est ca!' I triumph! all difficulties yield to
French energy."
Here the coffee and liqueurs were served; and after a short pause the
Englishman, who had very quietly been observing the silent Marquis,
turned to him and said, "Monsieur le Marquis, I presume it was your
father whom I remember as an acquaintance of my own father at Ems.
It is many years ago; I was but a child. The Count de Chambord was then
at that enervating little spa for the benefit of the Countess's health.
If our friend Lemercier does not mangle your name as he does mine, I
understand him to say that you are the Marquis de Rochebriant."
"That is my name: it pleases me to hear that my father was among those
who flocked to Ems to do homage to the royal personage who deigns to
assume the title of Count de Chambord."
"My own ancestors clung to the descendants of James II. till their claims
were buried in the grave of the last Stuart, and I honour the gallant men
who, like your father, revere in an exile the heir to their ancient
kings."
The Englishman said this with grace and feeling; the Marquis's heart
warmed to him at once.
"The first loyal 'gentilhome' I have met at Paris," thought the
Legitimist; "and, oh, shame! not a Frenchman!" Graham Vane, now
stretching himself and accepting the cigar which Lemercier offered him,
said to that gentleman "You who know your Paris by heart--everybody and
everything therein worth the knowing, with many bodies and many things
that are not worth it--can you inform me who and what is a certain lady
who every fine day may be seen walking in a quiet spot at the outskirts
of the Bois de Boulogne, not far from the Baron de Rothschild's villa?
The said lady arrives at this selected spot in a dark-blue coupe without
armorial bearings, punctually at the hour of three. She wears always the
same dress,--a kind of gray pearl-coloured silk, with a 'cachemire'
shawl. In age she may be somewhat about twenty--a year or so more or
less--and has a face as haunting as a Medusa's; not, however, a face to
turn a man into a stone, but rather of the two turn a stone into a man.
A clear paleness, with a bloom like an alabaster lamp with the light
flashing through. I borrow that illustration from Sare Scott, who
applied it to Milor Bee-ren."
"I have not seen the lady you describe," answered Lemercier, feeling
humiliated by the avowal; "in fact, I have not been in that sequestered
part of the Bois for months; but I will go to-morrow: three o'clock you
say,--leave it to me; to-morrow evening, if she is a Parisienne, you
shall know all about her. But, mon cher, you are not of a jealous
temperament to confide your discovery to another."
"Yes, I am of a very jealous temperament," replied the Englishman; "but
jealousy comes after love, and not before it. I am not in love; I am
only haunted. To-morrow evening, then, shall we dine at Philippe's,
seven o'clock?"
"With all my heart," said Lemercier; "and you too, Alain?"
"Thank you, no," said the Marquis, briefly; and he rose, drew on his
gloves, and took up his hat.
At these signals of departure, the Englishman, who did not want tact nor
delicacy, thought that he had made himself 'de trop' in the 'tete-a-tete'
of two friends of the same age and nation; and, catching up his paletot,
said hastily, "No, Marquis, do not go yet, and leave our host in
solitude; for I have an engagement which presses, and only looked in at
Lemercier's for a moment, seeing the light at his windows. Permit me to
hope that our acquaintance will not drop, and inform me where I may have
the honour to call on you."
"Nay," said the Marquis; "I claim the right of a native to pay my
respects first to the foreigner who visits our capital, and," he added
in a lower tone, "who speaks so nobly of those who revere its exiles."
The Englishman saluted, and walked slowly towards the door; but on
reaching the threshold turned back and made a sign to Lemercier,
unperceived by Alain.
Frederic understood the sign, and followed Graham Vane into the adjoining
room, closing the door as he passed.
"My dear Lemercier, of course I should not have intruded on you at this
hour on a mere visit of ceremony. I called to say that the Mademoiselle
Duval whose address you sent me is not the right one,--not the lady whom,
knowing your wide range of acquaintance, I asked you to aid me in finding
out."
"Not the right Duval? Diable! she answered your description, exactly."
"Not at all."
"You said she was very pretty and young,--under twenty."
"You forgot that I said she deserved that description twenty-one years
ago."
"Ah, so you did; but some ladies are always young. 'Age,' says a wit in
the 'Figaro,' 'tis a river which the women compel to reascend to its
source when it has flowed onward more than twenty years.' Never mind:
'soyez tranquille;' I will find your Duval yet if she is to be found.
But why could not the friend who commissioned you to inquire choose a
name less common? Duval! every street in Paris has a shop-door over
which is inscribed the name of Duval."
"Quite true, there is the difficulty; however, my dear Lemercier, pray
continue to look out for a Louise Duval who was young and pretty twenty-
one years ago: this search ought to interest me more than that which I
entrusted to you tonight, respecting the pearly-robed lady; for in the
last I but gratify my own whim, in the first I discharge a promise to a
friend. You, so perfect a Frenchman, know the difference; honour is
engaged to the first. Be sure you let me know if you find any other
Madame or Mademoiselle Duval; and of course you remember your promise not
to mention to any one the commission of inquiry you so kindly undertake.
I congratulate you on your friendship for M. de Rochebriant. What a
noble countenance and manner!"
Lemercier returned to the Marquis. "Such a pity you can't dine with us
to-morrow. I fear you made but a poor dinner to-day. But it is always
better to arrange the menu beforehand. I will send to Philippe's
tomorrow. Do not be afraid."
The Marquis paused a moment, and on his young face a proud struggle was
visible. At last he said, bluntly and manfully,
"My dear Frederic, your world and mine are not and cannot be the same.
Why should I be ashamed to own to my old schoolfellow that I am poor,
--very poor; that the dinner I have shared with you to-day is to me a
criminal extravagance? I lodge in a single chamber on the fourth-story;
I dine off a single plat at a small restaurateur's; the utmost income I
can allow to myself does not exceed five thousand francs a year: my
fortunes I cannot hope much to improve. In his own country Alain de
Rochebriant has no career." Lemercier was so astonished by this
confession that he remained for some moments silent, eyes and mouth both
wide open; at length he sprang up, embraced his friend well-nigh sobbing,
and exclaimed, "'Tant mieux pour moi!' You must take your lodging with
me. I have a charming bedroom to spare. Don't say no. It will raise my
own position to say 'I and Rochebriant keep house together.' It must be
so. Come here to-morrow. As for not having a career,--bah! I and
Duplessis will settle that. You shall be a millionaire in two years.
Meanwhile we will join capitals: I my paltry notes, you your grand name.
Settled!"
"My dear, dear Frederic," said the young noble, deeply affected, "on
reflection you will see what you propose is impossible. Poor I may be
without dishonour; live at another man's cost I cannot do without
baseness. It does not require to be 'gentilhomme' to feel that: it is
enough to be a Frenchman. Come and see me when you can spare the time.
There is my address. You are the only man in Paris to whom I shall be at
home. Au revoir." And breaking away from Lemercier's clasp, the Marquis
hurried off.
