'Yes—but also to put an end, by a decisive step, to the calumnies which my aunt will be sure to spread with regard to me, and which she has already, you know, had inserted in the report of the commissary of police. I have preferred to address myself at once, frankly and openly, to a man placed in a high social position. I will explain all to him, who will believe me, because truth has an accent of its own.'
'All this, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne, is wisely planned. You will, as the saw says, kill two birds with one stone —or rather, you will obtain by one act of kindness two acts of justice; you will destroy a dangerous calumny, and restore a worthy youth to liberty.'
'Come,' said Adrienne, laughing, 'thanks to this pleasing prospect, my light heart has returned.'
'How true that in life,' said the doctor, philosophically, 'everything depends on the point of view.'
Adrienne was so completely ignorant of the forms of a constitutional government, and had so blind a confidence in the doctor, that she did not doubt for an instant what he told her. She therefore resumed with joy: 'What happiness it will be! when I go to fetch the daughters of Marshal Simon, to be able to console this workman's mother, who is now perhaps in a state of cruel anxiety, at not seeing her son return home!'
'Yes, you will have this pleasure,' said M. Baleinier, with a smile; 'for we will solicit and intrigue to such purpose, that the good, mother may learn from you the release of her son before she even knows that he has been arrested.'
'How kind, how obliging you are!' said Adrienne. 'Really, if the motive were not so serious, I should be ashamed of making you lose so much precious time, my dear M. Baleinier. But I know your heart.'
'I have no other wish, than to prove to you my profound devotion, my sincere attachment,' said the doctor inhaling a pinch of snuff. But at the same time, he cast an uneasy glance through the window, for the carriage was just crossing the Place de l'Odeon, and in spite of the snow, he could see the front of the Odeon theatre brilliantly illuminated. Now Adrienne, who had just turned her head towards that side, might perhaps be astonished at the singular road they were taking.
In order to draw off her attention by a skillful diversion, the doctor exclaimed suddenly: 'Bless me! I had almost forgotten.'
'What is the matter, M. Baleinier?' said Adrienne, turning hastily towards him.
'I had forgotten a thing of the highest importance, in regard to the success of our petition.'
'What is it, please?' asked the young girl, anxiously.
M. Baleinier gave a cunning smile. 'Every man,' said he, 'has his weakness—ministers even more than others. The one we are going to visit has the folly to attach the utmost importance to his title, and the first impression would be unfavorable, if you did not lay great stress on the Minister.'
'Is that all, my dear M. Baleinier?' said Adrienne, smiling in her turn. 'I will even go so far as Your Excellency, which is, I believe, one of his adopted titles.'
'Not now—but that is no matter; if you could even slide in a My Lord or two, our business would be done at once.'
'Be satisfied! since there are upstart ministers as well as City-turned gentlemen, I will remember Moliere's M. Jourdain, and feed full the gluttonous vanity of your friend.'
'I give him up to you, for I know he will be in good hands,' replied the physician, who rejoiced to see that the carriage had now entered those dark streets which lead from the Place de l'Odeon to the Pantheon district; 'I do not wish to find fault with the minister for being proud, since his pride may be of service to us on this occasion.'
'These petty devices are innocent enough,' said Mdlle. de Cardoville, 'and I confess that I do not scruple to have recourse to them.' Then, leaning towards the door-sash, she added: 'Gracious! how sad and dark are these streets. What wind! what snow! In which quarter are we?'
'What! are you so ungrateful, that you do not recognize by the absence of shops, your dear quarter of the Faubourg Saint Germain?'
'I imagine we had quitted it long ago.'
'I thought so too,' said the physician, leaning forward as if to ascertain where they were, 'but we are still there. My poor coachman, blinded by the snow, which is beating against his face, must have gone wrong just now —but we are all right again. Yes, I perceive we are in the Rue Saint Guillaume—not the gayest of streets by the way—but, in ten minutes, we shall arrive at the minister's private entrance, for intimate friends like myself enjoy the privilege of escaping the honors of a grand reception.'
Mdlle. de Cardoville, like most carriage-people, was so little acquainted with certain streets of Paris, as well as with the customs of men in office, that she did not doubt for a moment the statements of Baleinier, in whom she reposed the utmost confidence.
When they left the Saint-Dizier House, the doctor had upon his lips a question which he hesitated to put, for fear of endangering himself in the eyes of Adrienne. The latter had spoken of important interests, the existence of which had been concealed from her. The doctor, who was an acute and skillful observer, had quite clearly remarked the embarrassment and anxiety of the princess and D'Aigrigny. He no longer doubted, that the plot directed against Adrienne—one in which he was the blind agent, in submission to the will of the Order—related to interests which had been concealed from him, and which, for that very reason, he burned to discover; for every member of the dark conspiracy to which he belonged had necessarily acquired the odious vices inherent to spies and informers—envy, suspicion, and jealous curiosity.
It is easy to understand, therefore, that Dr. Baleinier, though quite determined to serve the projects of D'Aigrigny, was yet very anxious to learn what had been kept from him. Conquering his irresolution, and finding the opportunity favorable, and no time to be lost, he said to Adrienne, after a moment's silence: 'I am going perhaps to ask you a very indiscreet question. If you think it such, pray do not answer.'
'Nay—go on, I entreat you.'
'Just now—a few minutes before the arrival of the commissary of police was announced to your aunt—you spoke, I think, of some great interests, which had hitherto been concealed from you.'
'Yes, I did so.'
'These words,' continued M. Baleinier, speaking slowly and emphatically, 'appeared to make a deep impression on the princess.'
'An impression so deep,' said Adrienne, 'that sundry suspicions of mine were changed to certainty.'
'I need not tell you, my charming friend,' resumed M. Baleinier, in a bland tone, 'that if I remind you of this circumstance, it is only to offer you my services, in case they should be required. If not—and there is the shadow of impropriety in letting me know more—forget that I have said a word.'
Adrienne became serious and pensive, and, after a silence of some moments, she thus answered Dr. Baleinier: 'On this subject, there are some things that I do not know—others that I may tell you—others again that I must keep from you: but you are so kind to-day, that I am happy to be able to give you a new mark of confidence.'
'Then I wish to know nothing,' said the doctor, with an air of humble deprecation, 'for I should have the appearance of accepting a kind of reward; whilst I am paid a thousand times over, by the pleasure I feel in serving you.'
'Listen,' said Adrienne, without attending to the delicate scruples of Dr. Baleinier; 'I have powerful reasons for believing that an immense inheritance must, at no very distant period, be divided between the members of my family, all of whom I do not know—for, after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, those from whom we are descended were dispersed in foreign countries, and experienced a great variety of fortunes.'
'Really!' cried the doctor, becoming extremely interested. 'Where is this inheritance, in whose hands?'
'I do not know.'
'Now how will you assert your rights?'
'That I shall learn soon.'
'Who will inform you of it?'
'That I may not tell you.'
'But how did you find out the existence of this inheritance?'
'That also I may not tell you,' returned Adrienne, in a soft and melancholy tone, which remarkably contrasted with the habitual vivacity of her conversation. 'It is a secret—a strange secret—and in those moments of excitement, in which you have sometimes surprised me, I have been thinking of extraordinary circumstances connected with this secret, which awakened within me lofty and magnificent ideas.'
Adrienne paused and was silent, absorbed in her own reflections. Baleinier did not seek to disturb her. In the
