"And who was no other than the man who was killed?"

"Wait. Having obtained this information, I get some one to take me to the wine-shop; and I ask for the coachman and the footman from Brion's. They were there still; and they are shown to me in a private room, lying on the floor, fast asleep. I try to wake them up, but in vain. I order to water them freely; but a pitcher of water thrown on their faces has no effect, save to make them utter an inarticulate groan. I guess at once what they have taken. I send for a physician, and I call on the wine-merchant for explanations. It is his wife and his barkeeper who answer me. They tell me, that, at about two o'clock, a man came in the shop, who stated that he was employed at Brion's, and who ordered three gla.s.ses for himself and two comrades, whom he was expecting.

"A few moments later, a carriage stops at the door; and the driver and the footman leave it to come in. They were in a great hurry, they said, and only wished to take one gla.s.s. They do take three, one after another; then they order a bottle. They were evidently forgetting their horses, which they had given to hold to a commissionaire. Soon the man proposes a game. The others accept; and here they are, settled in the back-room, knocking on the table for sealed wine. The game must have lasted at least twenty minutes. At the end of that time, the man who had come in first appeared, looking very much annoyed, saying that it was very unpleasant, that his comrades were dead drunk, that they will miss their work, and that the boss, who is anxious to please his customers, will certainly dismiss them. Although he had taken as much, and more than the rest, he was perfectly steady; and, after reflecting for a moment,-'I have an idea,' he says. 'Friends should help each other, shouldn't they? I am going to take the coachman's livery, and drive in his stead. I happen to know the customer they were going after. She is a very kind old lady, and I'll tell her a story to explain the absence of the footman.'

"Convinced that the man is in Brion's employment, they have no objection to offer to this fine project.

"The brigand puts on the livery of the sleeping coachman, gets up on the box, and starts off, after stating that he will return for his comrades as soon as he has got through the job, and that doubtless they will be sober by that time."

M. de Tregars knew well enough the savoir-faire of the commissary not to be surprised at his promptness in obtaining precise information.

Already he was going on, "Just as I was closing my examination, the doctor arrived. I show him my drunkards; and at once he recognizes that I have guessed correctly, and that these men have been put asleep by means of one of those narcotics of which certain thieves make use to rob their victims. A potion, which he administers to them by forcing their teeth open with a knife, draws them from this lethargy. They open their eyes, and soon are in condition to reply to my questions. They are furious at the trick that has been played upon them; but they do not know the man. They saw him, they swear to me, for the first time that very morning; and they are ignorant even of his name."

There was no doubt possible after such complete explanations. The commissary had seen correctly, and he proved it.

It was not of a vulgar accident that Mlle. Lucienne had just been the victim, but of a crime laboriously conceived, and executed with unheard-of audacity,-of one of those crimes such as too many are committed, whose combinations, nine times out of ten, set aside even a suspicion, and foil all the efforts of human justice.

M. de Tregars knew now what had taken place, as clearly as if he had himself received the confession of the guilty parties.

A man had been found to execute that perilous programme,-to make the horses run away, and then to run into some heavy wagon. The wretch was staking his life on that game; it being evident that the light carriage must be smashed in a thousand pieces. But he must have relied upon his skill and his presence of mind, to avoid the shock, to jump off safe and sound; whilst Mlle. Lucienne, thrown upon the pavement, would probably be killed on the spot. The event had deceived his expectations, and he had been the victim of his rascality; but his death was a misfortune.

"Because now," resumed the commissary, "the thread is broken in our hands which would infallibly have led us to the truth. Who is it that ordered the crime, and paid for it? We know it, since we know who benefits by the crime. But that is not sufficient. Justice requires something more than moral proofs. Living, this bandit would have spoken. His death insures the impunity of the wretches of whom he was but the instrument."

"Perhaps," said M. Tregars.

And at the same time he took out of his pocket, and showed the note found in Vincent Favoral's pocket-book,-that note, so obscure the day before, now so terribly clear.

"I cannot understand your negligence. You should get through with that Van Klopen affair: there is the danger."

The commissary of police cast but a glance upon it, and, replying to the objections of his old experience rather more than addressing himself to M. de Tregars, "There can be no doubt about it," he murmured. "It is to the crime committed to-day that these pressing recommendations relate; and, directed as they are to Vincent Favoral, they attest his complicity. It was he who had charge of finishing the Van Klopen affair; in other words, to get rid of Lucienne. It was he, I'd wager my head, who had treated with the false coachman."

He remained for over a minute absorbed in his own thoughts, then, "But who is the author of these recommendations to Vincent Favoral? Do you know that, M. le Marquis?" he said.

They looked at each other; and the same name rose to their lips, "The Baroness de Thaller!"

This name, however, they did not utter.

The commissary had placed himself under the gasburner which gave light to the Fortin's office; and, adjusting his gla.s.ses, he was scrutinizing the note with the most minute attention, studying the grain and the transparency of the paper, the ink, and the handwriting. And at last, "This note," he declared, "cannot const.i.tute a proof against its author: I mean an evident, material proof, such as we require to obtain from a judge an order of arrest."

And, as Marius was protesting, "This note," he insisted, "is written with the left hand, with common ink, on ordinary foolscap paper, such as is found everywhere. Now all left-hand writings look alike. Draw your own conclusions."

But M. de Tregars did not give it up yet.

"Wait a moment," he interrupted.

And briefly, though with the utmost exactness, he began telling his visit to the Thaller mansion, his conversation with Mlle. Cesarine, then with the baroness, and finally with the baron himself.

He described in the most graphic manner the scene which had taken place in the grand parlor between Mme. de Thaller and a worse than suspicious-looking man,-that scene, the secret of which had been revealed to him in its minutest details by the looking-gla.s.s. Its meaning was now as clear as day.

This suspicious-looking man had been one of the agents in arranging the intended murder: hence the agitation of the baroness when she had received his card, and her haste to join him. If she had started when he first spoke to her, it was because he was telling her of the successful execution of the crime. If she had afterwards made a gesture of joy, it was because he had just informed her that the coachman had been killed at the same time, and that she found herself thus rid of a dangerous accomplice.

The commissary of police shook his head.

"All this is quite probable," he murmured; "but that's all."

Again M. de Tregars stopped him.

"I have not done yet," he said.

And he went on saying how he had been suddenly and brutally a.s.saulted by an unknown man in a restaurant; how he had collared this abject scoundrel, and taken out of his pocket a crushing letter, which left no doubt as to the nature of his mission.

The commissary's eyes were sparkling, "That letter!" he exclaimed, "that letter!" And, as soon as he had looked over it, "Ah! This time," he resumed, "I think that we have something tangible. 'A troublesome gentleman to keep quiet,'-the Marquis de Tregars, of course, who is on the right track. 'It will be for you the matter of a sword-thrust.' Naturally, dead men tell no tales. 'It will be for us the occasion of dividing a round amount.' An honest trade, indeed!"

The good man was rubbing his hand with all his might.

"At last we have a positive fact," he went on,-"a foundation upon which to base our accusations. Don't be uneasy. That letter is going to place into our hands the scoundrel who a.s.saulted you,-who will make known the go-between, who himself will not fail to surrender the Baroness de Thaller. Lucienne shall be avenged. If we could only now lay our hands on Vincent Favoral! But we'll find him yet. I set two fellows after him this afternoon, who have a superior scent, and understand their business."

He was here interrupted by Maxence, who was returning all out of breath, holding in his hand the medicines which he had gone after.

"I thought that druggist would never get through," he said.

And regretting to have remained away so long, feeling uneasy, and anxious to return up stairs, "Don't you wish to see Lucienne?" he added, addressing himself to M. de Tregars rather more than to the commissary.

For all answer, they followed him at once.

A cheerless-looking place was Mlle. Lucienne's room, without any furniture but a narrow iron bedstead, a dilapidated bureau, four straw-bottomed chairs, and a small table. Over the bed, and at the windows, were white muslin curtains, with an edging that had once been blue, but had become yellow from repeated washings.

Often Maxence had begged his friend to take a more comfortable lodging, and always she had refused.

"We must economize," she would say. "This room does well enough for me; and, besides, I am accustomed to it."

When M. de Tregars and the commissary walked in, the estimable hostess of the Hotel des Folies was kneeling in front of the fire, preparing some medicine.

Hearing the footsteps, she got up, and, with a finger upon her lips, "Hush!" she said. "Take care not to wake her up!" The precaution was useless.

"I am not asleep," said Mlle. Lucienne in a feeble voice. "Who is there?"

"I," replied Maxence, advancing towards the bed.

It was only necessary to see the poor girl in order to understand Maxence's frightful anxiety. She was whiter than the sheet; and fever, that horrible fever which follows severe wounds, gave to her eyes a sinister l.u.s.tre.

"But you are not alone," she said again.

"I am with him, my child," replied the commissary. "I come to beg your pardon for having so badly protected you."

She shook her head with a sad and gentle motion.

"It was myself who lacked prudence," she said; "for to-day, while out, I thought I noticed something wrong; but it looked so foolish to be afraid! If it had not happened to-day, it would have happened some other day. The villains who have been pursuing me for years must be satisfied now. They will soon be rid of me."

"Lucienne," said Maxence in a sorrowful tone.

M. de Tregars now stepped forward.

"You shall live, mademoiselle," he uttered in a grave voice. "You shall live to learn to love life."

And, as she was looking at him in surprise, "You do not know me," he added.

Timidly, and as if doubting the reality, "You," she said, "the Marquis de Tregars!"

"Yes, mademoiselle, your brother."

Had he had the control of events, Marius de Tregars would probably not have been in such haste to reveal this fact.

But how could he control himself in presence of that bed where a poor girl was, perhaps, about to die, sacrificed to the terrors and to the cravings of the miserable woman who was her mother,-to die at twenty, victim of the basest and most odious of crimes? How could he help feeling an intense pity at the sight of this unfortunate young woman who had endured every thing that a human being can suffer, whose life had been but a long and painful struggle, whose courage had risen above all the woes of adversity, and who had been able to pa.s.s without a stain through the mud and mire of Paris.

Besides, Marius was not one of those men who mistrust their first impulse, who manifest their emotion only for a purpose, who reflect and calculate before giving themselves up to the inspirations of their heart.

Lucienne was the daughter of the Marquis de Tregars: of that he was absolutely certain. He knew that the same blood flowed in his veins and in hers; and he told her so.

He told her so, above all, because he believed her in danger; and he wished, were she to die, that she should have, at least, that supreme joy. Poor Lucienne! Never had she dared to dream of such happiness. All her blood rushed to her cheeks; and, in a voice vibrating with the most intense emotion, "Ah, now, yes," she uttered, "I would like to live."

The commissary of police, also, felt moved.

"Do not be alarmed, my child," he said in his kindest tone. "Before two weeks you will be up. M. de Tregars is a great physician."

In the mean time, she had attempted to raise herself on her pillow; and that simple effort had wrung from her a cry of anguish.

"Dear me! How I do suffer!"

"That's because you won't keep quiet, my darling," said Mme. Fortin in a tone of gentle scolding. "Have you forgotten that the doctor has expressly forbidden you to stir?"

Then taking aside the commissary, Maxence, and M. de Tregars, she explained to them how imprudent it was to disturb Mlle. Lucienne's rest. She was very ill, affirmed the worthy hostess; and her advice was, that they should send for a sick-nurse as soon as possible.

She would have been extremely happy, of course, to spend the night by the side of her dear lodger; but, unfortunately, she could not think of it, the hotel requiring all her time and attention. Fortunately, however, she knew in the neighborhood a widow, a very honest woman, and without her equal in taking care of the sick.

With an anxious and beseeching look, Maxence was consulting M. de Tregars. In his eyes could be read the proposition that was burning upon his lips, "Shall I not go for Gilberte?"

But that proposition he had no time to express. Though they had been speaking very low, Mlle. Lucienne had heard.

"I have a friend," she said, "who would certainly be willing to sit up with me."

They all went up to her.

"What friend," inquired the commissary of police.

"You know her very well, sir. It is that poor girl who had taken me home with her at Batignolles when I left the hospital, who came to my a.s.sistance during the Commune, and whom you helped to get out of the Versailles prisons."

"Do you know what has become of her?"

"Only since yesterday, when I received a letter from her, a very friendly letter. She writes that she has found money to set up a dressmaking establishment, and that she is relying upon me to be her forewoman. She is going to open in the Rue St. Lazare; but, in the mean time, she is stopping in the Rue du Cirque."

M. de Tregars and Maxence had started slightly.

"What is your friend's name?" they inquired at once.

Not being aware of the particulars of the two young men's visit to the Rue du Cirque, the commissary of police could not understand the cause of their agitation.

"I think," he said, "that it would hardly be proper now to send for that girl."

"It is to her alone, on the contrary, that we must resort," interrupted M. de Tregars.

And, as he had good reasons to mistrust Mme. Fortin, he took the commissary outside the room, on the landing; and there, in a few words, he explained to him that this Zelie was precisely the same woman whom they had found in the Rue du Cirque, in that sumptuous mansion where Vincent Favoral, under the simple name of Vincent, had been living, according to the neighbors, in such a princely style.

The commissary of police was astounded. Why had he not known all this sooner? Better late than never, however.

"Ah! you are right, M. le Marquis, a hundred times right!" he declared. "This girl must evidently know Vincent Favoral's secret, the key of the enigma that we are vainly trying to solve. What she would not tell to you, a stranger, she will tell to Lucienne, her friend."

Maxence offered to go himself for Zelie Cadelle.

"No," answered Marius. "If she should happen to know you, she would mistrust you, and would refuse to come."

It was, therefore, M. Fortin who was despatched to the Rue du Cirque, and who went off muttering, though he had received five francs to take a carriage, and five francs for his trouble.

"And now," said the commissary of police to Maxence, "we must both of us get out of the way. I, because the fact of my being a commissary would frighten Mme. Cadelle; you because, being Vincent Favoral's son, your presence would certainly prove embarra.s.sing to her."

And so they went out; but M. de Tregars did not remain long alone with Mlle. Lucienne. M. Fortin had had the delicacy not to tarry on the way.

Eleven o'clock struck as Zelie Cadelle rushed like a whirlwind into her friend's room.

Such had been his haste, that she had given no thought whatever to her dress. She had stuck upon her uncombed hair the first bonnet she had laid her hand upon, and thrown an old shawl over the wrapper in which she had received Marius in the afternoon.

"What, my poor Lucienne!" she exclaimed. "Are you so sick as all that?"

But she stopped short as she recognized M. de Tregars; and, in a suspicious tone, "What a singular meeting!" she said.

Marius bowed.

"You know Lucienne?"

What she meant by that he understood perfectly. "Lucienne is my sister, madame," he said coldly.

She shrugged her shoulders. "What humbug!"

"It's the truth," affirmed Mlle. Lucienne; "and you know that I never lie."

Mme. Zelie was dumbfounded.

"If you say so," she muttered. "But no matter: that's queer."