"Madame, I do not understand you. I do not wish to understand."

"It is very simple; how can I hope to find another like you, who will marry me so willingly? Ah, no, such men are rare!"

"How, madame, after me?" cried Croustillac, overcome by this idea. "You dream, then, of a successor to me?"

"Yes, friend," replied the widow, with the most touchingly sentimental air imaginable; "yes, for when you are no more I must renew my quest, seek, ask, and find a fifth husband. Think, then, of the difficulties and obstacles to overcome. Perhaps I shall not succeed. Think, then, a widow for the fourth time. You forget that; it is a fact, however; my friend, after you, I shall be a widow for the fourth time."

"I do not forget it at all, madame," said Croustillac, whose ardor became somewhat chilled, and began to ask himself if this affair was not madness. "I shall not forget, certainly, in case I have the honor of marrying you, that you will be for the fourth time a widow if you lose me; but it appears you place a rather short period to my love."

"Alas! yes, my friend," said the widow, in a tender voice, "one year, and a year is very short. A year! it pa.s.ses so quickly when one loves,"

continued she, casting the glance of a perfect a.s.sa.s.sin at him.

"A year, madame," cried the chevalier. But then, believing that the words of Blue Beard hid perhaps a test, that she wished possibly to judge of his courage, he added in a chivalrous tone, "Ah, well, so be it, madame; whether my happiness last but a year, a day, an hour, a minute--it matters not; I will brave all, if only I can say that I have been fortunate enough to obtain your hand."

"You are a true knight," said the widow, charmed. "I expected no less of you. That is agreed; only I must forewarn my little Rendsoul, for form's sake, understand, for married or not I shall always be to him what I have been."

"But, madame," said Croustillac, "is it permitted me, will it be indiscreet to ask you what you are to this hunter of wild beasts, and what are his relations with you? Or, rather, will you explain to me what intimacy it is that you feel obliges you to speak to him of your plans?"

"Certainly; and to whom would I make this statement if not to you, my friend? I will confess to you that Rendsoul is one of my lovers."

Here Croustillac made such a singular grimace and coughed two or three times in such a manner, that Angela broke into a peal of laughter.

Croustillac, for a moment dumfounded, came to this reflection full of wisdom: "I am a fool! Nothing is simpler. She had a kind of fancy for this stupid fellow. The sight of me has decided her to sacrifice him; unlucky buccaneer that he is! But why the devil does she tell me that at the end of a year she must find a successor to me?"

"Wait--here comes my Rendsoul," said the widow. "We will tell him our plans, and we will sup together like three friends."

"It matters not to me," said Croustillac, seeing the buccaneer enter.

"Here is a little woman who wishes to show that she is an original."

CHAPTER XIII

THE SUPPER.

When the buccaneer entered the chevalier hardly knew him. Rend-your-Soul had put off his hunter's costume; he wore a coat and nether garment of guinea cloth, thickly embroidered with alternate rays of white and deep red; his black beard fell upon a shirt of dazzling whiteness, which was close like a doublet by a row of small coral b.u.t.tons; a scarf of red silk, hose of the same color, and shoes of doeskin with large ribbon-bows, completed a costume most elegant for a buccaneer, and showing to advantage his tall and robust figure; in the brilliant light of the candles his complexion seemed less brown than in the daytime; his black hair, curling naturally, fell carelessly on his shoulders; and finally, his hands were beautiful, in spite of his rough following as a hunter.

At the sight of the buccaneer, so transformed and almost unrecognizable, in spite of the hard character which his thick beard always gave to his face, the chevalier said to himself, "I should prefer that this person had at least a civilized appearance; it would be too humiliating for Polypheme de Croustillac to triumph over a rival so plain as the one which he at first sight appeared to be. But, while I do not doubt this Nimrod, I must say that Blue Beard has a singular manner of acting.

Could she not have given him his dismissal in some other way than in my presence? I hate to so cruelly use my advantage in crushing a poor rival; for, after all, a man is a man! This poor buccaneer is going to find himself in a pitiable position. But let me hold firm; and show Blue Beard that I am not the dupe of her confidence concerning her deceased husbands, and that I am not afraid to die like them."

Croustillac ended this reflection when the pretty widow, indicating the adventurer by a triumphant nod of the head, said ingenuously to the buccaneer, "This gentleman asks for my hand in marriage. You see you were wrong in persisting to me that I would not find a fourth husband.

So you can imagine I have very quickly accepted the chevalier's proposal; it was too good an opportunity to let slip."

The buccaneer did not reply at once. Croustillac mechanically put his hand on the hilt of his sword, in order not to be without means of defense in case the hunter, exasperated by jealousy, should wish to do him an injury. What was his surprise when he heard Rend-your-Soul say, after seating himself in a large chair, "I have always said to you, my beautiful one, just what that comrade Hurricane said, 'Marry, a thousand devils marry! if you desire to, for husbands are rare, for one never knows what you will do; but one thing is certain, they never live long.'

As for me, I do not approve your little proceedings. I have more than once seen your little white hands prepare certain beverages----"

"Oh, fie! fie! bad man!" said Angela, shaking her finger at him.

"Nevertheless, it is true," said the buccaneer. "What is the secret of that gray powder of which I had only given a pinch to my servant who was devoured by my dogs. What infernal concoction was it?"

"Yes, madame, this gray powder--tell us its compounds," said Croustillac.

"Oh, you indiscreet man!" said Angela, looking at the buccaneer, with an air of annoyance. "The chevalier will take me for a child; how shall I appear in his eyes if he thinks I occupy myself with such trifles?"

"Have no fears on that score, madame," said Croustillac; "I am delighted, I a.s.sure you, to have these new evidences of your youthful candor! Well, worthy Nimrod, this gray powder?"

"Truly, I am very much ashamed!" said Angela, hanging her head and lowering her eyes, and at the same time making a charming little grimace.

"Imagine, then," said the buccaneer, "that I gave my servant just a little pinch of powder in a gla.s.s of brandy."

"Well?" said Croustillac, with interest.

"Well, for two days he was so gay that he laughed from night till morning and morning till night."

"I do not see anything bad in that," said Croustillac.

"But wait!" continued the hunter. "My servant did not do this from amus.e.m.e.nt, he suffered the torments of the d.a.m.ned; his eyes were bursting from their sockets, and he said, between his paroxysms of laughter, that such torture as he endured was beyond belief. The third day he suffered so that he fell as if in a fit, and remained thus a long time; all due to the pinch of madame's gray powder. It may not surprise you to learn that madame's second husband was as gay as a lark, and that he died very joyfully."

"Oh! heavens, as if one could not commit a little mischief without being reproached by you," said Angela, like a capricious child.

"Listen, comrade! she calls that a little mischief," said the hunter.

"Just imagine! her second husband laughed so hard that the blood burst from his nose, eyes and ears. But whatever he laughed about, he did so as if he had seen the most amusing thing in the world. But that did not prevent him from saying, like my servant, that he would rather have been burned at a slow fire than suffer such gayety; he also died, laughing to the last, and swearing like a devil."

"There! you go too fast," said Blue Beard, shrugging her shoulders.

Then, whispering to the Gascon, "Friend, do not be afraid--I have lost the secret of the gray powder!"

The chevalier, in an attempt to smile, made quite a grimace. He had left France at a time when the fearful practice in poisons was at its height, and people talked only of the heir's powder, the powder of the aged, and the widow's powder. The names, even, of certain poisons were cited with fear. Now Blue Beard's laughing powder could not but give rise to the most doleful reflections on the part of the chevalier. "So," he said to himself, glancing defiantly at Angela, "does this creature deal in chemistry and draughts--is this story true?"

"What ails you, brother?" said the buccaneer, struck by Croustillac's silence.

"You have made him afraid of me," said the widow.

"No, my beautiful lady, no," said Croustillac, "I was thinking that it must be very pleasant to die thus of laughter!"

"Faith, you are right, brother, one had better die so than as the last husband died." And the buccaneer shuddered with horror.

"It appears that the death of the latter must have been more terrible than the former," said Croustillac, with affected carelessness.

"As to that story, comrade, I will not tell you that, you would be afraid."

"I? afraid?" and the Gascon shrugged his shoulders.

Blue Beard leaned over and whispered again to the Gascon, "Let him tell it, friend; this tale, at least, is worth the trouble. I am going to trap Rendsoul."

Then, addressing herself to the buccaneer, "Well, go on; speak! Why do you not speak? Do not pause in the middle of the road. You see the chevalier is listening with all his ears--go on, speak. I do not wish him to buy, as they say, a 'a cat in a bag.'"

"You should say a tigress in a bag," replied, laughingly, the buccaneer.