"In truth, madame, I fear that I do; but I dare not say as yet."

"Well, monsieur, the young attache of the Dutch legation had been lured on by Monsieur Sordeville to talk foolishly about certain plans of his government.--You did the same, baron, unwittingly perhaps; that man was so clever at making people talk about what he wanted to find out! As for the young clerk, he had tattled about certain peculiarities of his superiors, and Monsieur Sordeville took care that they were informed. In a word, Monsieur Sordeville was connected with the secret police. That is what I dared not believe at first, what I was determined to have the proof of, if it were true. I never hesitate when the honor of a friend, the safety and the future of people I love, are at stake. I had once rendered a slight service to a person who is employed in the police bureau to-day, but in a position which he can afford to avow; that person had begged me to give him an opportunity to show his grat.i.tude, and I said to him: 'The opportunity has come; find out for me what Monsieur Sordeville's position is.' I speedily received a reply containing these words only: 'Connected with the secret police.'"

"_Sapremann!_" cried the baron; "I am sorry tat I haf talk mit him! Vat!

tat so bolite monsir--he vas ein shpy! Ach! I am shtubefied!"

I shared the baron's stupefaction; Frederique's revelation appalled me; and yet, I knew that in society the most disgusting vices lie hidden beneath the most brilliant exteriors.

"And--his wife," I said at last; "does she know now what her husband does?"

"She knows all, and I was spared the melancholy duty of telling her.

There were some scandalous scenes at Monsieur Sordeville's not long ago.

It seems that a certain man--one of the victims of that wretch's denunciations--had succeeded, by unwearying perseverance, in learning the source of the report that ruined him. He also learned the truth with respect to Monsieur Sordeville. Then what did he do? Accompanied by several friends, to whom he had told the facts, he went to the house on a certain evening at home--for they continued to receive, notwithstanding what was told you to the contrary."

This was said to me, and proved that Frederique knew all.

"He went to Monsieur Sordeville's," she continued, "and there, in the middle of the salon, before all the guests, he called him a spy and struck him! Imagine the uproar, the amazement, the confusion, of all those people, who were thoroughly ashamed to be there; for Monsieur Sordeville turned pale, and did not say a word or return the blow. Poor Armantine fainted, and they carried her to her room. Thereupon the guests all took their hats and fled, a.s.suring the master of the house that they didn't believe a word of what had been said, but fully determined never to go there again. On the next day, Armantine took refuge with me. I dictated the following plainly worded letter, which she sent to her husband:

"'You have deceived me shamefully, monsieur. I leave you, and I lay aside your name. You will never hear of me again, and I trust that I may never hear of you.'

"That is what Armantine wrote to him. You must agree, Rochebrune, that we are not very fortunate in our husbands, either of us!"

Poor Frederique! She did not know how truly she spoke.

"Now, messieurs, it's all over. The Sordeville family has ceased to exist. n.o.body knows what has become of the man, and n.o.body cares very much. Probably he is still carrying on his profession, on his own account. As to Armantine, luckily she has about eighteen hundred francs a year which her husband cannot touch. She will live on that, in the retreat she has chosen; she will cut less of a figure and not change her gown so often; but perhaps she will be happier."

As she said that, Frederique fixed her eyes on me for a moment, then continued:

"I hope, messieurs, that you will forgive me now for advising you both to stay away from Monsieur Sordeville's?"

"That is to say, madame, that we owe you our warmest thanks."

"Ach! ja! and I haf te note in your hand; id is alvays here--on my heart."

"You do me too much honor, baron," said Madame Dauberny, with a smile; "and I am quite sure that everybody doesn't do as you have done."

I would have been glad to be rid of the baron, for I had many questions to ask Frederique. I do not know whether she divined my thought, but she ordered her coachman to drive back to Paris.

"I will not abuse your good nature any longer, messieurs," she said. "I carried you both away rather unceremoniously; and perhaps somebody is impatiently awaiting you."

"No; I am not avaited at all," said the baron; "I am te master of my time."

"Where were you going, baron?" Frederique asked, as if she had not heard what he said.

"Montame--I vas going--I know not--I vas going novere."

"But as I am going somewhere, I will set you down at your hotel, then I will take Monsieur Rochebrune home."

I was well pleased that she proposed to set down the baron first. To no purpose did he say again and again that no one was expecting him, that he was not sure that he wanted to go home; Madame Dauberny replied simply:

"I am very sorry; but I can't drive you about all day."

Before long, she ordered the coachman to stop; the carriage door was opened and she offered the baron her hand, saying:

"Adieu! until I have the pleasure of seeing you again."

Herr von Brunzbrack decided at last, although with great reluctance, to alight; but when he was on the ground, he looked at me and beckoned:

"Vell! vhy haf not you come, too?"

"Because Monsieur Rochebrune is going in another direction, and I am going to drive him part of the way."

As she spoke, Frederique motioned to the coachman to drive on, paying no heed to the baron, who declared that he wanted to stay with me. The poor Prussian stood on the same spot, and glared at me in a far from friendly fashion.

"I am not sorry to be rid of the baron," said Frederique, "for I want to talk with you; if you are really in no hurry, suppose we take a turn in the Bois?"

"That will give me great pleasure, madame, for I too long to talk with you."

"Take us to the Bois de Boulogne, _cocher_.--Ah! if the poor baron knew this, he would be frantic!"

"Yes, for he's terribly jealous; he sees a rival in every man who has the privilege of knowing you."

"The man believes that everybody's in love with me! he is too stupid!

But let us say no more of the baron and his love, which disturbs me very little. Let us come to what interests you. You want to know, of course, what has become of Armantine? Before a stranger, I would not betray her incognito; but to you, it seems to me that I may safely tell where she is, so that you can go there and condole with her. Armantine is living at Pa.s.sy, on the Grande Rue, near the forest; she has taken the name of Madame Montfort. That is what I had to tell you."

"Is that all, madame?"

"Why, I should suppose that it was a great deal to you, to know what has become of the lady of your thoughts."

"Frederique, are you willing that we should be friends again?"

As I spoke, I held out my hand. She turned her head away, and for some seconds seemed to hesitate; then she gave me her hand, and replied in a voice that was not quite steady:

"Well, yes, I am willing; sincere friends; all except the _tutoiement_; for I realize that that is impossible; anyone who heard us would form wrong conclusions."

"Very good. But no more mystery between us; absolute and mutual confidence. If you knew how deeply I have regretted having angered you!

You were so severe with me! You spoke to me so frigidly, and sometimes with a touch of irony even."

"Let's forget all that. I am a little whimsical! But it's all over now.

We are reconciled. As for--as for what made me angry, I am sure that you won't be guilty of the same offence again. You were a little bewildered that night--otherwise, it never would have occurred to you to kiss me."

I was at a loss what to reply; for there are offences for which it is a blunder to apologize. But Frederique gave me no time, for she continued:

"Once more, let's say no more about it! The poet is right when he sings:

"'The past is but a dream!'