"I have forgotten to say that my G.o.dmother's condition is still the same."

The reading of this letter plunged Louis into a hopeless stupor. The ingenuity of the style, the correctness of details, the emphasis on the date, all convinced him that the lines must have been dictated by Mariette. Having vainly tried to understand the cause of this abrupt rupture, he felt his heart invaded with mingled grief, anger, resentment, and a deep sentiment of wounded pride.

"Indeed, I shall never attempt to see her again," he murmured, unconscious that he spoke aloud. "She has no need to insist on that point with so much obstinacy!"

These words were a relief to the old man, who was closely watching the effects of his stratagem, while apparently absorbed in his own reflections.

But grief soon took the ascendancy over anger in the young man's heart, and his love re-awakened more tender and more pa.s.sionate than ever; he tried to recall the most trifling details of his last interview with Mariette, questioned his memory in regard to the last few months of their friendship, but could find no trace of growing coldness in their relations. The young girl, on the contrary had never seemed more loving, more devoted, or more impatient to unite her life to his. And all these appearances had lied; Mariette was a monster of deceit--she whom he had always believed so pure and candid!

No, he could not accept this in silence! He could no longer endure such anguish, without making one effort to unveil the mystery that surrounded Mariette's conduct! The atmosphere of the room stifled him, and he resolved to seek the girl at once and force an explanation from her lips, even at the risk of prejudicing his cause with Mariette's G.o.dmother, who was also in ignorance of their love.

Alarmed at the varied emotions reflected on his son's face, old Richard thought it time to interfere.

"My dear Louis," he said, closely scrutinizing the young man's troubled face, "I believe we had better start for Dreux early tomorrow morning, thereby antic.i.p.ating Ramon's visit to us by twenty-four hours."

"Father!" began Louis, in protestation.

"It will not compromise you, in the least, my son, and if you are resolved to deny me the dearest wish of my life, all I ask, as a last satisfaction, is to spend a few days with Ramon and his daughter. You shall then be free to act as you please." Then seeing Louis take up his hat, he asked anxiously: "Where are you going?"

"My head aches, and I am going out for a whiff of fresh air," replied the young man.

"In mercy don't go out, my boy!" cried the old man, with growing alarm.

"You look gloomy and out of sorts since you read that letter. Really, you frighten me!"

"You are mistaken. The letter was absolutely insignificant, I a.s.sure you," returned Louis, closing the door behind him.

As he was rushing out, however, the concierge hailed him and invited him to enter the lodge.

"What is it?" asked Louis, struck by the man's mysterious air.

"Here is a card left for you by a decorated gentleman," explained the concierge. "He came in an elegant carriage, and said this was urgent."

Taking the card, Louis approached the light and read:

"_Commander de La Miraudiere_, "_17 Rue du Mont-Blanc_.

"_Will expect M. Louis Richard at my home, between nine and ten o'clock to-morrow morning, to communicate something of grave importance, which admits of no delay._"

"Commander de La Miraudiere? I never heard the name," said Louis, gazing curiously at the card; then, as he mechanically turned it over, his eyes caught sight of these words in pencil:

"_Mariette Moreau, with Madame Lacombe, Rue des Pretres-Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois._"

The commander had noted Mariette's address on the back of his card, and unconsciously used the same in writing to Louis to request an interview.

Much astonished and perplexed, the young man vainly asked himself what relation could exist between this stranger, whose card he held, and Mariette.

"Did the gentleman leave any other message?" he asked the concierge.

"Did he say anything?"

"Nothing, except that I was to give you the card without your father's knowledge."

"Strange," murmured the young man.

"He even gave me forty sous, to make sure I would do the errand."

"Was he young or old?"

"A very handsome man, wearing the ribbon, with a mustache and side-whiskers black as ink, and dressed like a prince, not counting his elegant cabriolet."

Louis went out more perplexed than ever. This new incident redoubled his anguish; by dint of seeking Mariette's motive for this abrupt rupture, he was beginning to feel the sharp pangs of jealousy. Once under this influence, the wildest suspicions and most chimerical fears a.s.sumed the appearance of reality to his eyes; and he finally asked himself if this stranger might not be a rival. How else was he to explain Mariette's relations with a young and handsome young man?

In her letter to him, Mariette begged him not to seek her, as it might compromise her own and her G.o.d-mother's happiness. He well knew the wretched position of the two women, and Mariette had often confided to him the trials she was forced to endure through her G.o.d-mother's gloomy and harsh character. A horrible thought now flashed through his head.

Had not Mariette, perhaps, been driven by misery and the threats of her G.o.d-mother to listen to the brilliant propositions of this man, whose card he now held in his hand? But, in that case, why should this stranger request an interview? The mystery seemed as impenetrable as ever.

Once launched in the dizzy path of jealousy, lovers invariably give full sway to their imaginations and entertain the wildest ideas. Louis was no exception to the rule. In supposing himself supplanted by a rival, he found the key to what seemed inexplicable in Mariette's letter and in her conduct. He therefore tenaciously clung to the belief of her infidelity, longing for the moment when he might demand an explanation from this audacious commander.

He now abandoned his first resolution of seeing Mariette, and retraced his steps homeward in a state of deep agitation and painful excitement.

It was midnight when he again entered their dreary room. His father was anxiously waiting for him; but one glance at his son's gloomy countenance rea.s.sured the old man. Feeling certain that the lovers had not met and that his stratagem was still undiscovered, he again proposed a visit to Dreux on the following day; but Louis threw himself dejectedly on his bed, declaring he must have time for reflection before taking such a grave step.

After a night of sleepless agony, the young man rose at dawn and quietly slipped out of the room, glad to escape his father's questioning for a few hours. With his mind tortured by anxiety and misgivings, he turned toward the boulevard to await the hour fixed for his interview with Commander de La Miraudiere.

CHAPTER VIII.

Enveloped in a magnificent dressing gown, his feet encased in embroidered slippers, and a fragrant cigar between his lips, Commander de La Miraudiere was quietly seated at his desk, with a stack of notes and papers before him, when a servant entered and announced: "M.

Richard."

"Usher M. Richard into the drawing-room, and beg him to wait a moment,"

he said, rising quickly. "You may bring him in when I ring."

The servant withdrew, while his master opened a drawer in the safe near by, took out twenty-five notes of a thousand francs each, and, placing them beside a sheet of stamped paper used in making out deeds, rang the bell.

Louis Richard entered, looking gloomy and confused. His heart throbbed violently at the thought that he was perhaps standing in the presence of a happy rival, and like all sincere and candid lovers, he greatly exaggerated the advantages possessed by the man whom he believed had supplanted him in the heart of the woman he loved. This Commander de La Miraudiere, draped in his superb damask gown, and occupying magnificent apartments, seemed a most formidable rival, indeed, to poor, modest Louis Richard.

"Have I the honor of addressing Monsieur Louis Richard?" said M. de La Miraudiere, with his most gracious smile.

"Yes, monsieur," replied Louis, simply.

"Only son of M. Richard, public scribe?"

"My father is a public scribe," returned the young man dryly, believing he detected a slight tone of sarcasm in the last words.

"Pardon me for disturbing you," continued the commander, "but it was necessary that I should see you alone. As a private interview seemed impossible in your own home, I requested you to come to me."