"He gave me a single kiss on the forehead, which I received on my knees."
"Helene!" he cried, "my fears were not groundless; you are betrayed--you are the victim of a snare. Helene, this man who conceals himself, who fears the light, who calls you his child, is not your father."
"Gaston, you distress me."
"Helene, angels might envy your innocence; but on earth all is abused, even angels are insulted, profaned, by men. This man, whom I will know, whom I will seize and force to have confidence in your love and honor, shall tell me--if he be not the vilest of beings--whether I am to call him father, or kill him as a wretch!"
"Gaston, your brain is wandering; what can lead you to suspect such treachery? And, since you arouse my suspicions, since you hold a light over those ign.o.ble labyrinths of the human heart which I refused to contemplate, I will speak to you with the same freedom. Was I not in this man"s power? Is not this house his? Are not the people by whom I am surrounded devoted to his orders? Gaston, if you love me, you will ask my pardon for what you have thought and said of my father."
Gaston was in despair.
"Do not destroy one of the purest and holiest joys I have ever tasted.
Do not poison the happiness of a life which I have often wept to think was solitary and abandoned, without other affection than that of which Heaven forbids us to be lavish. Let my filial ties compensate for the remorse which I sometimes feel for loving you almost to idolatry."
"Helene, forgive me," cried Gaston. "Yes, you are right; I sully your pure joys by my contact, and it may be the n.o.ble affection of your father, but in Heaven"s name, Helene, give some heed to the fears of my experience and my love. Criminal pa.s.sions often speculate on innocent credulity. The argument you use is weak. To show at once a guilty love would be unlike a skillful corrupter; but to win you by a novel luxury pleasing to your age, to accustom you gradually to new impressions, to win you at last by persuasion, is a sweeter victory than that of violence. Helene, listen to my prudence of five-and-twenty years--I say my prudence, for it is my love that speaks, that love which you should see so humble, so devoted, so ready to accept a father whom I knew to be really your parent."
Helene made no answer.
"I implore you," continued Gaston, "not to take any determination now, but to watch everything around you. Suspect the perfumes which are given you, the wine which you are offered--everything, Helene. Watch over yourself, you are my happiness, my honor, my life."
"My friend, I will obey you; this will not keep me from loving my father."
"Adore him, Helene, if I am wrong."
"You are a n.o.ble friend, Gaston. We are agreed then?"
"At the slightest suspicion write to me."
"Write! You leave me then?"
"I must go to Paris on business. I shall be at the hotel Muids d"Amour, Rue des Bourdonnais. Write down this address, and do not show it to any one."
"Why so many precautions?"
Gaston hesitated.
"Because, if your devoted protector were known, his plans for aiding you might be frustrated in case of bad intentions."
"You are somewhat mysterious, Gaston. I have a father who conceals himself, and a lover--this word I can hardly speak--who is going to do the same."
"But my intentions, you know," said Gaston, attempting to force a laugh.
"Ah, Madame Desroches is coming back. She thinks our interview too long.
I am as much under tutelage as at the convent."
Gaston imprinted a kiss on the hand Helene held out to him. As Madame Desroches approached, Helene made a formal curtsey, which Gaston returned by an equally formal bow.
Gaston left for Paris. Owen awaited him with impatience, and this time could not reproach his master with being slow, for in three hours they were in Paris.
CHAPTER XII.
CAPTAIN LA JONQUIERE.
There was, as the reader has learned, in the Rue des Bourdonnais, a hotel where one could lodge, eat, and drink.
In his nocturnal interview with Dubois, Tapin had received the famous name of La Jonquiere, and had transmitted it to L"Eveille, who had pa.s.sed it to all the chiefs of police, who had begun to search for the suspected officer in all the equivocal houses in Paris. The conspiracy of Cellamare, which we have related in a history of the Chevalier d"Harmental, had taught them that everywhere conspirators were to be found.
It was, however, by luck or by cleverness, Maitre Tapin himself who, in the Rue des Bourdonnais and in the hotel Muids d"Amour, found La Jonquiere, who was then a nightmare to Dubois.
The landlord took Tapin to be an old attorney"s clerk, and replied to his questions politely, that "the Captain la Jonquiere was in the hotel, but was asleep."
Tapin asked no more. La Jonquiere was asleep, therefore he was in bed, for it was only six in the morning; if he were in bed, then he must be stopping at the inn.
Tapin went back to the Palais Royal, and found Dubois, who had just left the regent. A number of false La Jonquieres had already been discovered by his emissaries. One was a smuggler, called Captain la Jonciere, whom L"Eveille had found and arrested. A second was La Jonquille, sergeant in the French guards, and many others.
"Well," said Dubois, when Tapin had made his report, "you have found the real Captain la Jonquiere, then?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"Is he called La Jonquiere?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"L-a, la; J-o-n, jon; q-u-i-e-r-e, quiere?" continued he, spelling the word.
"La Jonquiere," repeated Tapin.
"A captain."
"Yes, monseigneur."
"What is he doing?"
"Waiting and drinking."
"That must be he," said Dubois; "and does he pay?"
He evidently attached great importance to the question.
"Very well, monsieur."
"A la bonne heure, Tapin. You have some sense."
"Monseigneur," said Tapin, modestly, "you flatter me; it is quite clear, if he had not paid he could not have been a dangerous man."