"Eh!" cried Charles, stupefied. "Oh! now don"t think, at least, that I--"
"I think nothing."
"But--"
"This receipt!"
"Dear sir."
"Write; and tell the people who speak to you of my embarra.s.sments how I answer such suspicions."
"The fact is, as soon as this is known, your credit will only be the more solid. But, really, take the money; I cannot use it now; I said in three months."
"M. Charles Robert, no one shall suspect me twice."
"You are angry?"
"The receipt."
"Oh, obstinacy!" said Charles Robert; then he added, writing the receipt, "There is a lady closely veiled, who wishes to speak to you on some very pressing business. I shall take a good look at her when I pa.s.s. Here is your receipt; is it right?"
"Very well; now go away by the little staircase."
"But the lady?"
"It is just to prevent your seeing her."
The notary rang for the clerk, saying to him, "Show the lady in.
Adieu, M. Robert."
"Well, I must renounce seeing her. No ill-feeling, eh! scrivener?"
"Believe as much."
"Well, well! adieu."
The notary shut the door on Charles Robert.
After a few moments the clerk introduced the d.u.c.h.ess de Lucenay, very modestly dressed, wrapped in a large shawl, her face completely concealed by a thick veil of black lace, which covered her moire hat of the same color.
CHAPTER IX.
THE d.u.c.h.eSS DE LUCENAY.
Madame de Lucenay slowly approached the desk, in an agitated manner; he advanced to meet her.
"Who are you, madame, and what do you want with me?" said the notary, roughly, whose temper, already fretted by the threat of Sarah, was exasperated at the suspicions of Robert. Besides, the d.u.c.h.ess was so modestly dressed, that the notary saw no reason why he should be civil to her. As she hesitated to speak, he said, even more harshly, "Will you explain yourself, madame?"
"Sir," said she, in a trembling voice, trying to conceal her face under the folds of her veil, "Sir, can one confide a secret to you of the highest importance?"
"Anything can be confided to me, madame, but I must see and know to whom I speak."
"That, perhaps, is not necessary. I know that you are honor and loyalty itself."
"Just so, madame, just so; there is some one there waiting. Who are you?"
"My name is of no importance, sir. One of my friends--of my relations-- has just left you."
"His name?"
"M. Floreston de Saint Remy."
"Ah!" said the notary, casting on the d.u.c.h.ess an inquisitive and searching glance; then he resumed: "Well, madame!"
"M. de Saint Remy has told me everything, sir."
"What did he tell you?"
"All!"
"But what did he say?"
"You know well."
"I know many things about M. de Saint Remy."
"Alas! sir, a terrible thing."
"I know a great many terrible things about M. de Saint Remy."
"Ah! sir, he told me truly--you are without pity."
"For cheats and forgers like him, yes, I am without pity. Is Saint Remy your relation? Instead of confessing it, you ought to blush. Do you come here to weep, to soften me? It is useless; without saying that you are performing a wretched part for an honest woman, if you are one."
This brutal insolence was revolting to the pride and patrician blood of the d.u.c.h.ess. She drew herself up, threw her veil back, and with a proud look, and a firm, imperious voice, she said, "Sir, I am the d.u.c.h.ess of Lucenay."
This woman a.s.sumed so haughty an air, her appearance became so imposing, that the notary, overcome, charmed, fell back astonished; took off, mechanically, his black silk cap, and saluted her profoundly.
Nothing could be, indeed, more graceful and more majestic than the face and bearing of Madame de Lucenay; yet she was then over thirty years of age, with a pale face, appearing slightly fatigued; but she had large sparkling brown eyes, splendid black hair, a fine arched nose, a proud and ruby lip, dazzling complexion, very white teeth, tall and slender figure, a form like a "G.o.ddess on the clouds," as the immortal St. Simon says.
She had entered the notary"s as a timid woman; all at once she showed herself a grand, proud, and irritated lady. Never had Jacques Ferrand in his life met with a woman of so much insolent beauty, at once so bold and so n.o.ble. Although old, ugly, mean, and sordid, Jacques Ferrand was as capable as any one else of appreciating the style of beauty of Madame de Lucenay. His hatred and his rage against Saint Remy augmented with his admiration of the charming d.u.c.h.ess. He thought to himself that this gentleman forger, who had almost kneeled before him, inspired such love in this grand lady, that she risked a step which might ruin her. At these thoughts the notary felt his audacity, which for a moment was paralyzed, restored. Hatred, envy, a kind of burning, savage resentment kindled in his looks, on his forehead, and his cheeks--the most shameful and wicked pa.s.sions. Seeing Madame de Lucenay on the point of commencing a conversation so delicate, he expected on her part some turnings, expedients. What was his surprise!
She spoke to him with as much a.s.surance and pride as if it was concerning the most natural thing in the world, and as if before a man of his species, she had no thought of the reserve and fitness which she had certainly shown to her equals. In fact, the gross insolence of the notary, in wounding her to the quick, had forced Madame de Lucenay, to quit the humble and imploring part that she had at first a.s.sumed with much trouble; returned to her own dignity, she believed it to be beneath her to descend to the least concealment with this scribbler of deeds.
"Sir notary," said the d.u.c.h.ess, resolutely, to Jacques Ferrand, "M. de Saint Remy is one of my friends; he has confided to me the embarra.s.sing situation in which he finds himself, from the inconvenience of a double piece of villainy of which he is the victim.