"And those grateful men and women, who gathered about me with tearful eyes and sympathetic words--"

"Were members of Cythera's Brigade," supplemented the marquis.

"And the mistress of the house--the beautiful woman who fainted at sight of her child?"

"Is the fair Cythera's subst.i.tute! She taught her little daughter the part she played so successfully."

With sudden fury M. Cambray tore from his breast the ivory locket containing the little Amelie's portrait, and was about to fling it on the floor and trample upon it. On second thought, he restrained himself, returned the locket to his breast, and muttered:

"The child is not to blame. Those who have made her such a monster are at fault. I will keep the miniature as a talisman for the future."

"And now, M. Cambray," pursued the marquis, "we want to learn what has become of your young friend. In fact, we _must_ know what has become of him and his charge."

"I don't know where he is."

"You do know. According to the report from our witness, he has fled to a 'country where order prevails, and where there are no police.' Where is this country, M. Cambray?"

"In the moon, perhaps!" was the laconic response.

"Our witness heard these words from your own lips, and you pointed out the spot on the map to your friend."

"Your witness dreamed all this!"

"M. Cambray, let us talk sensibly. You are a banker--at least, that is what you are registered in the police records. It is to the interest of the state to discover your secret. If you will reveal the hiding-place of your friend you may demand your own reward. Do you wish to be intrusted with the management of the state's finances? Or--"

"I regret, monsieur le marquis," interrupted Cambray, "that I must refuse so handsome an opportunity to enrich myself. Although I am a banker, I am no swindler."

"Very good! Then you require no money. You are _not_ a banker, M.

Cambray; that is merely a fable. What is your ambition? Should you prefer to be a governor? Name any office; let it be what it may, you shall receive the appointment to-morrow."

"Thank you again, monsieur. I must repeat what I said before: I know nothing about the future residence of the fugitive gentleman."

"And if I tell you, M. Cambray, that your refusal may cost you your head?"

"I should reply," returned Cambray, smiling calmly, as he took up the piece of bread lying on the table, "that it is a matter of perfect indifference to me if this daily portion of bread is enjoyed by some one else to-morrow. That which I do not know I cannot tell you."

"Very well, then," in a harsh tone rejoined De Fervlans. "I will tell you that Cambray the banker may say what is not true; but the n.o.bleman cannot lie. _Marquis d'Avoncourt_, do you know to what country your friend has flown?"

At this question the old gentleman rose from his chair, drew himself up proudly, and gazing defiantly into the eyes of his questioner, replied:

"I do."

Instantly De Fervlans's manner changed. He became the embodiment of courtesy. He bowed with extreme politeness, then, slipping his arm familiarly through that of the prisoner, whispered insinuatingly:

"And what can we do to win this information from you?"

The gray-haired man released himself from De Fervlans's arm, and answered with quiet irony:

"I will tell you what you can do: have my head cut off, and send it to M. Bichet, the celebrated professor of anatomy; perhaps he may be able to discover the information in my skull--if it is there! And now I beg you to leave me; I wish to be alone."

De Fervlans took up his hat, but turned at the door to say, in a meaning tone:

"Marquis d'Avoncourt, we shall forget that you are a prisoner so long as it shall please you to remain obstinate. As for the fugitives, Cythera's Brigade will capture them, sooner or later. _Au revoir_!"

That same night the old n.o.bleman was removed to the prison at Ham.

CHAPTER IV

While the ensnared conspirators against the state were receiving sentence in one district of Paris, in another district the inhabitants were entertaining themselves.

Paris does not mourn very long. Paris is like the earth: one half of it is always illumined by the sun. On this fateful evening the incroyables and the merveilleuses were amusing themselves within the walls of the Palace of Narcissus.

The members of Cythera's Brigade took great pains to make outsiders believe that they never troubled themselves about that half of the world which was in shadow--that half called politics.

In the salon of the fascinating Countess Themire Dealba not a word was heard relating to affairs of state. The beautiful women who were banded together to learn the secrets which threatened the present order of government worked in an imperceptible manner. They did not belong to the ordinary cla.s.s of spies--those who collect every ill-natured word, every trifling occurrence of the street. No, indeed! _They_ did nothing but amuse themselves. They were merry society women, trusty friends and confidantes. They moved in the best circles; no one ever saw them exchange a word with a police commissioner. If any one in the company happened to speak of anything even remotely connected with politics, some one quickly changed the subject to a more innocent theme; and if a stranger chanced to mention so delicate a matter as, say, the dinner which had been given by the emperor's nephew at Very's, which cost seventy-five thousand francs, while forty thousand laborers were starving, then the witty Countess Themire herself turned the conversation to the "toilet rivalry" between the Mesdames Tallien and Recamier.

On this particular evening the Countess Dealba was discussing the beauties of the latest opera with a few of her most intimate friends, when the Marquis de Fervlans approached, and, bending over her, whispered: "I must see you alone; find an opportunity to leave the room, and join me in the conservatory."

At that time it was the fashion to clothe children in garments similar to those worn by their elders. A company of little ones, therefore, looked like an a.s.semblage of Lilliputian merveilleuses and incroyables.

The little men and women also accompanied their mamas to receptions and the theatre, where they joined in the conversation, danced vis-a-vis with their elders, made witty remarks, criticized the toilets and the play, gave an opinion as to whether Hardy's confections or those of Riches were the better, and if it were safe to depend on the friendship of the Czar Alexander.

In this company of little ones the Countess Amelie was, beyond a doubt, the most conspicuous.

One could not have imagined anything more interesting or entertaining than the manner of this miniature dame when left by her mama to do the honors of the house. The dignity with which the child performed her duties was enchanting. She understood perfectly how to entertain her mother's guests, how to spice her conversation with piquant anecdotes, how to mimic the manner of affected personages. She was, in a word, a prodigy!

Countess Themire, knowing she might safely trust her little daughter to perform the duties of hostess, followed De Fervlans to the conservatory.

"We have been outwitted," he began at once. "They vanished twelve hours before we learned that they had flown."

The countess shrugged her shoulders and tossed her head.

"Why do you think it necessary to tell me this?" she inquired, with a touch of asperity. "Have you not got enough police to arrest the fugitives, who must pa.s.s through the entire country in their flight?"

"Yes, we have quite enough spies, and they are very skilful; but the fugitives are a trifle more skilful. They have disguised themselves so effectually that it is impossible to trace them. They seized a public coach by force, changed the number on it, and sent it back from the boundary by an accomplice, who left it in the Rue m.u.f.fetard. Even should we succeed in tracing their flight, by the time we discovered them they would have crossed the boundary of Switzerland, or would be sailing over the ocean. No; we must begin all over again. There is but one expedient: _you_ must travel in search of the fugitives, and bring them back."

"I go in search of them and bring them back?" repeated the countess, in a startled tone.

"The first part of your task will not be so difficult," continued De Fervlans. "The imprisoned marquis will not reveal the destination of the fugitives; but we have learned, through your clever little daughter, that they have gone to a country where there is order, but where there are no police. That, methinks, is not a very difficult riddle to solve.

You need only journey from place to place until you find such a country.

The fugitives will be certain to betray themselves by their secrecy, and I have not the least doubt but your search will be rewarded before the year is out. For one year you shall have the command of three hundred thousand francs. When you discover the fugitives you will know very well what to do. The man is young and an enthusiast--an easy conquest, I should fancy; and when you have ensnared him the maid's fate is decided. We want the man, the maid, and the steel casket; any one of the three, however, will be of great value to us. You will keep us advised as to your progress, and we, of course, will a.s.sist you all we can. You know that we have secret agents all over Europe. And now, you will do well to prepare for an immediate departure; there is not a moment to be lost."

"But good, heavens! how can I take Amelie on such a journey?"

"You are not to take her with you--of what are you thinking? That man has already seen the child, and would recognize her at once."