"That is what I expected, and I exacted from my nephew, not only that he would not see Dolores again until all was arranged, but that he would keep himself concealed in order to escape the pursuit which I hoped to quiet. Now I do not know if I can succeed; the situation is grave. I have told Horace so, but the deed was done, and I confess I revolted against the thought of placing this poor Dolores myself in the hands of the canon, a kind of gluttonous, superst.i.tious brute, from whom there is nothing to hope."

"Ah, doctor, I am now well enough acquainted with Mlle. Dolores to be sure that she will die of grief if she is left in that convent, and believe me, sir, in the scene of this morning, that which most distresses me is not the scandal of which my poor house has been the theatre, but the thought of the sad future which is perhaps reserved for that unhappy child. And now that I know all, doctor, I am all the more troubled in thinking of the grave consequences that this abduction may entail upon your nephew."

"I share your fears most keenly, my dear Madame Dupont. After a discovery that I have this morning made, I am afraid that a complaint has already been inst.i.tuted against Horace; if it has not been it will be, to-day perhaps, for now that Dolores is again in the power of her uncle, if he can have my nephew arrested he will have nothing to fear from his love for Dolores. Ah, this arrest would be dreadful! Law is inflexible. My nephew went by night to a convent and abducted a minor.

It is liable to infamous punishment, and for him that would be worse than death!"

"Great G.o.d!"

"And his brothers and sisters who love him so much! What sorrow for me,--for our family!" added the old man, with sadness.

"But, sir, there ought to be something we can do to put a stop to this pursuit."

"Ah, madame, dear Madame Dupont," replied the doctor, overcome with emotion, "I lose my head when I think of the terrible consequences which may result from this foolish adventure of a young man."

"But what shall we do, doctor, what shall we do?"

"Ah, do I know myself what to do, my poor Madame Dupont? I am going to reflect on the best course to pursue, but I am dealing with such a powerful adversary that I dare not hope for success." And Doctor Gasterini left the Faubourg Poissonniere in a state of inexpressible anxiety.

CHAPTER VI.

The day after Dolores Salcedo had been taken back to the convent, the following scene took place in the home of the canon, Dom Diego, who lodged in a comfortable apartment engaged for him before his arrival by Abbe Ledoux.

It was eleven o'clock in the morning.

Dom Diego, reclining in a large armchair, seemed to be a.s.sailed by gloomy thoughts. He was a large man of fifty years, and of enormous obesity; his fat, bloated cheeks mingled with his quadruple chin, his dingy skin was rough and flabby, and revealed the weakness of the inert ma.s.s. His features were not wanting in a kind of good-humour, when they were not under the domination of some disagreeable idea. His large mouth and thick, hanging under-lip denoted sensuality. With half-closed eyes under his heavy gray eyebrows, and hands crossed upon his Falstaff stomach, whose vast rotundity was outlined beneath a violet-coloured morning-gown, the canon sighed from time to time in a mournful and despondent tone.

"More appet.i.te, alas! more appet.i.te!" murmured he. "Too many tossings of the sea have upset me. My stomach, so stout, so regular in its habits, is distracted like a watch out of order. This morning, at breakfast, ordinarily my most enjoyable meal, I have hardly eaten at all.

Everything seemed insipid or bitter. What will it be at dinner, oh, what will it be at dinner, a repast which I make almost always without hunger in order to take and taste the delicate flower of the best things? Ah, may that infernal Captain Horace be cursed and d.a.m.ned! The horrible regimen to which I was subjected during that long voyage cost me my appet.i.te; my stomach was irritated and revolted against those execrable salt meats and abominable dry vegetables. So, since this injury done to the delicacy of its habits, my stomach pouts and treats me badly, as if it were my fault, alas! It has a grudge against me, it punishes me, it looks big before the best dishes!

"But who knows if the hand of Providence is not there? Now that I do not feel the least hunger I realise that I have abandoned myself to a sin as detestable as--delectable. Alas! gluttony! Perhaps Providence meant to punish me by sending this miserable Captain Horace on my route. Ah, the scoundrel, what evil has he done! And this was not enough; he abducted my niece, he plunged me in new tribulations; he upset my life, my repose. I, who only asked to eat with meditation and tranquillity! Oh, this brigand captain! I will have my revenge. But whatever may be my revenge, double traitor, I cannot return to you the twentieth part of the evil that I owe you. Because here are two months that I have lost my appet.i.te, and if I should live one hundred years, I should never catch up with those two months of enforced abstinence!"

This dolorous monologue was interrupted by the entrance of the canon's majordomo, an old servant with gray hair.

"Well, Pablo," said Dom Diego to him, "you come from the convent?"

"Yes, sir."

"And my unworthy niece?"

"Sir, she is in a sort of delirium, she has a hot fever; sometimes she calls for Captain Horace with heartrending cries, sometimes she invokes death, weeping and sobbing. I a.s.sure you, sir, it is enough to break your heart."

Dom Diego, in spite of his selfish sensuality, seemed at first touched by the majordomo's words, but soon he cried:

"So much the better! Dolores only has what she deserves. This will teach her to fall in love with the most detestable of men. She will remain in the convent, she shall take the veil there. My excellent friend and companion, Abbe Ledoux, is perfectly right; by this sample of my niece's tricks I shall know what to expect, if I keep her near me,--perpetual alarms and insults until I had her married, well or ill. Now to cut short all this the Senora Dolores will take the veil, and accomplish her salvation; my wealth will some day enrich the house, where they will pray for the repose of my soul, and I will be relieved of this she-devil of a niece,--three benefits for one."

"But, my lord, if the condition of the senora requires--"

"Not a word more, Pablo!" cried the canon, fearing he might be moved to pity in spite of himself. "Not a word more. Have I not, alas! enough personal troubles without your coming to torture me, to irritate me, with contradictions?"

"Pardon, sir, then, I wish to speak to you of another thing."

"Of what?"

"There is a man in the antechamber who desires to speak with you."

"Who is this man?"

"An old man, well dressed."

"And what does this man want?"

"To talk with you, sir, upon a very important affair. He has brought with him a large box that a porter has just delivered. It seems very heavy."

"And what is this box, Pablo?"

"I do not know, sir."

"And the name of this man?"

"Oh, a very strange name."

"What?"

"Appet.i.te, sir."

"What! this man's name is Appet.i.te?"

"Yes, sir."

"You must have misunderstood him."

"No, sir, I made him repeat his name twice. It is certainly Appet.i.te."

"Alas, alas! what a cruelly ironical name!" murmured the canon, with bitterness. "But no matter, for the rarity of the name, send this man in to me."

An instant after the man announced by the majordomo entered, respectfully saluted Dom Diego, and said to him:

"It is Lord Dom Diego whom I have the honour of addressing?"

"Yes, what do you wish of me?"

"First, sir, to pay you the tribute of my profound admiration; then, to offer you my services."

"But, monsieur, what is your name?"