"And horses!"
"And good cheer! G.o.defroi, his cook, leaves here a hundred times better than when he came. My lord has given him excellent counsels-- has enormously refined him."
"Besides, they say my lord is such a good player."
"Admirable! Gaining large sums with even more indifference than he loses; and yet I have never seen any one lose more gallantly."
"What is he going to do now?"
"Set out for Germany, in a good traveling carriage, with seven or eight thousand francs, which he knows how to get. Oh! I feel no embarra.s.sment about my lord: he is one who always falls on his feet, as they say."
"And he has no more money to inherit?"
"None; for his father has only a small competency."
"His father?"
"Certainly."
"My lord"s father is not dead?"
"He was not about five or six months since. We wrote to him for some family papers."
"But he never comes here?"
"For a good reason. These fifteen years he has lived in the country, at Angers."
"But my lord never goes to see him?"
"His father?"
"Yes."
"Never, never--not he!"
"Have they quarreled?"
"What I am going to tell you is no secret, for I had it from the confidential agent of the Prince de Noirmont."
"The father of Madame de Lucenay?" said Edward, with a cunning and significant look, of which Boyer, faithful to his habits of reserve and discretion, took no notice, but resumed, coldly:
"The d.u.c.h.ess de Lucenay is the daughter of the Prince de Noirmont; the father of my lord was intimately connected with the prince. The d.u.c.h.ess was then very young, and Saint Remy the elder treated her as familiarly as if she had been his own child. Notwithstanding his sixty years, he is a man of iron character, courageous as a lion, and of a probity that I shall permit myself to designate as marvelous. He possessed almost nothing, and had married, from love, the mother of the viscount, a young person rather rich, who brought a million, at the christening of which we have just had the honor to a.s.sist," and Boyer made a low bow. Edward did the same.
"The marriage was very happy until the moment when my lord"s father found, as was said, by chance, some devilish letters, which proved evidently that, during an absence, some three or four years after his marriage, his wife had had a tender weakness for a certain Polish count."
"That often happens to the Poles. When I lived with the Marquis de Senneval, Madame the Marchioness--_une enragee_--"
Boyer interrupted his companion. "You should know, my dear Edward, the alliances of our great families before you speak, otherwise you reserve for yourself cruel mistakes."
"How?"
"The Marchioness of Senneval is the sister of the Duke of Montbrison, where you desire to engage."
"Oh!--the devil!"
"Judge of the effect if you had spoken of her in this manner before the envious or detractors: you would not have remained twenty-four hours in the house."
"It is true, Boyer. I will try to know the alliances."
"I resume. The father of my lord discovered, then, after twelve or fifteen years of a marriage until then happy, that he had reason to complain of a Polish count. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the viscount was born nine months after his father, or rather, Saint Remy had returned from this fatal journey, so that he could not be certain whether it was his child or not. Nevertheless, the count separated at once from his wife, not wishing to touch a sou of the fortune she had brought him, and retired to the country, with about eighty thousand francs which he possessed; but you shall see the rancor of this diabolical character. Although the outrage was dated back fifteen years when he discovered it, yet he set off, accompanied by M. de Fermont, one of his relations, in pursuit of the Pole, and found him at Venice, after having sought for him in almost all the cities of Europe."
"What an obstinate!"
"A devilish rancor, I tell you, my dear Edward! At Venice, a terrible duel was fought, in which the Pole was killed. All was done fairly; but, my lord"s father showed, they say, such ferocious joy at seeing the Pole mortally wounded, that his relation, M. de Fermont, was obliged to drag him away; the count wishing to see, as he said, his enemy expire under his eyes."
"What a man! what a man!"
"The count returned to Paris, went to the house of his wife, announced to her that he had just returned from killing the Pole, and left her.
Since then, he has never seen her nor his son, but has lived at Angers, like a real "wehr-wolf" as they say, with what remains of his eighty thousand francs, well curtailed, as you may suppose, by his race after this Pole. At Angers he sees no one, except the wife and daughter of his relation, M. de Fermont, who has been dead for some years. And, besides, it would seem as if this was an unfortunate family, for the brother of Madame de Fermont blew his brains out a few weeks since, it is said."
"And the viscount"s mother?"
"He lost her a long time since. It is on that account that my lord, on his coming of age, has enjoyed the fortune of his mother. So you plainly see, my dear Edward, that as regards inheritance, my lord has nothing, or almost nothing, to expect from his father."
"Who besides must detest him?"
"He would never see him after the fatal discovery, persuaded that he is the son of the Pole."
The conversation of the two personages was interrupted by a footman of gigantic size, carefully powdered, although it was hardly eleven o"clock.
"His lordship has rung twice," said the giant.
Boyer appeared distressed at this neglect; he arose precipitately, and followed the servant with as much eagerness and respect as if he had not been the proprietor of the mansion of his master.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE OLD COUNT DE SAINT REMY.
Two hours had pa.s.sed since Boyer had gone to attend the viscount, when the father of the last mentioned knocked at the gate of the house in the Rue de Chaillot.
The Count de Saint Remy was a man of tall stature, still active and vigorous, notwithstanding his age; the almost copper color of his skin contrasted strangely with the silvery whiteness of his beard and hair; his heavy, still black eyebrows overshadowed piercing but sunken eyes.
Although, from a kind of misanthropy, he wore clothes quite rusty, there was in his whole appearance that which commanded respect. The door of his son"s house flew open, and he entered. A porter in a grand livery of brown and silver, profusely powdered, and wearing silk stockings, appeared on the threshold of an elegant lodge, which had as much resemblance to the smoky den of the Pipelets as a cobbler"s stall could have to the sumptuous shop of a fashionable "emporium."
"M. de Saint Remy?" demanded the viscount, in a low tone.