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J
THE
BEAUTIFUL COUNTESS:
Or,
A Horrible Mystery
A Startling and Exciting Story
BY SHERIDAN LE FANUE.
CHAPTER XL
“With all my heart,” said the General, with
effort; and after a short pause in which to ar
range his subject, be commenced one of the
strangest narratives I had ever heard.
“Aly child was looking forward with great
pleasure to the visit you had been so good as to
arrange for her to your charming daughter.”
Here he made me a gallant but melancholy bow.
“In the meantime we had an invitation to my
old friend the Co ntCarlsfeld, whose schloss is
about six leagues to the other side of Karnstein.
It was to attend the series offetes which, you re
member, were given by him in honor of his il
lustrious visitor, the Grand Duke Charles.
“Yes; and very splendid, 1 believe, they were,”
said my father.
“Princely! But then his hospitalities are
ouite regal. He has Aladdin s lamp. -The night
irom which my sorrow 7 dates was devoted to a
magnificent masquerade. The grounds were
thrown open, the trees hung with colored lamps.
There was snch a display of fireworks as Paris
itself has never witnessed. And such music
music, you know is my weakness—such ravish
ing music ! The finest instrumental band, per
haps, in the world, and the finest singers who
could be collected from all the great operas in
Europe. As you wandered through these fan-
tastically illuminated grounds, the moon-lighted
chateau throwing a rosy light Irom its long rows
of windows, you would suddenly hear these rav
ishing voices stealing from the silence of some
grove, or rising from boats upon the lake. I felt
myself, as I looked and listened, carried back I
into the romance and poetry of my early youth.
• She laughed, and she would, no doubt, have
met me with another evasion—if, indeed, I can
treat any occurrence in an interview every cir
cumstance of which was pre-arranged, as I now
believe, with the profoundest cunning, as liable
to foe modified by accident
4 “As to that,” she began; but she was inter
rupted, almost as she opened her lips, by a gen
tleman, dressed in black, who looked particular
ly elegant and distinguished, with this draw
back, that his face was the most deadly pale I
ever saw, except in death. He was in no mas
querade—in the plain evening dress of a gentle
man; and he said, without a smile, but with a
courtly and unusually low bow:
‘ “Will Madame the Countess permit me to
say a very few words which may interest her ?”
* “The lady turned quickly to him, and touch
ed her lip in token of silence; she then said to
me, “Keep my place for me, General; I shall
return when I have said a few words.”
‘And with this injunction, playfully given,
she walked a little aside with the gentleman in
black, and talked for some minutes, apparently
very earnestly. They then walked away slowly
together in the crowd, and I lost them for some
minutes.
“ ‘ She did not look up,’ said the young lady,
plaintively.
“ * The 'Countess had taken off her mask, per
haps, and did not care to show her face,’ I said;
‘and she could not know that you were in the
window.’ ”
“ She sighed, and looked in my face. She
was so beautiful that I relented. I was sorry
I had for a moment repented of uiy hospitality,
and I determined to make her amends for the
unavowed churlishness of my reception.
“The young lady, replacing her mask, joined
my ward in persuading me to return to the
grounds, where the concert was soon to be re
newed. We did so, and walked up and down
the terrace that lies under the castle windows.
Millarca became very intimate with us, and
amused us with lively descriptions and stories
of most of the great people whom we saw upon
the terrace. I liked her more and more every
minute. Her gossip, without being ill-natured,
was extremely diverting to me, who had been
so long out of the world. I thought what life
she would give to our sometimes lonely even
ings at home.
“This ball was not over until the morning
sun had almost reached the horizon. It pleased
I spent the interval in cudgelling my brains j the Grand Duke to dance till then, so loyal peo-
for a conjecture as to the identity of the lady j could not go away, or think of bed
i i _ i _• i r *‘\Vn Lari in at rrnf tVimnrvVi n prnwnp
who seemed to remember me so kindly, and I
was thinking of turning about and joining in
the conyersation between my pretty ward and
the Countess’ daughter, and trying whether, by
the time she returned, I might not have a sur
prise in store for her, by having her name, title,
chateau, and estates at my fingers’ end. But
at this moment she returned, accompanied by
the pale man in black, who said:
‘ “I shall return and inform Madame la Com-
tesse when her carriage is at the door.”
‘ He withdrew with a bow.
CHAPTER XII.
A PETITION,
‘ “Then we are to lose Madame the Countess,
but I hope only for a few hours,” I said, with a
low bow.
‘ “It may be that only, or it may be a few
weeks. It was very unlucky his speaking to me
just now as he did. Do you now know me?”
‘ I assured her I did not.
‘ “You shall know me," she said, “but not at
__ present. We are older and better friends than.
When the fireworks were ended, and the ball i perhaps, you suspect. I cannot yet declare my
self. I shall in three weeks pass your beautiful
schloss, about which I have been making en
quiries. i shall then look in upon you for an
hour or two, and renew a friendship which I
never think of without a thousand pleasant rec-
olllectfons. This moment a piece of news has
reached me like a thunderbolt. I must set out,
and travel by a devious route, nearly a hundred
miles, with all the dispatch I can possibly make.
My perplexities multiply. I am only deferred
by the compulsory reserve 1 practice as to my
name from making a very singular request of
you. My poor child has not quite recovered
her strength. Her horse fell with her, at a hunt
which she had ridden out to witness; her nerves
beginning, we returned to the noble suite ot
rooms that were thrown open to the dancers. A
masked ball, you know is a beautiful sight: but
so brilliant a spectacle of the kind I never saw
before.
“It was a very aristocratic assembly. I my
self almost the only ‘nobody’ present.
“My dear child was looking quite beautiful.
She wore no mask. Her excitement and delight
added an unspeakable charm to her features, al
ways lovely. I remarked a young lady, dressed
magnificently, but wearing a mask, who appear
ed to me to be observing my ward with extraor
dinary inter* st. I had seen her; earlier in the
evening, in the great ball, and again, for a few
minutes walking near us, on the terrace under Lave not yet recovered the shock, and our phy-
the castle windows, similarly employed. A la- | sician says that she must on no account exert
dy, also masked, richly and gravely dressed, and j herself for some time to come. We came here,
with a stately air, like a person of rank, accom
panied her as a chaperon. Had the young lady
not worn a mask, 1 could, ot course been much
more c rtain upon the question whether she was
really watching my poor darling. 1 am now well
assured that she was.
“We were now in one of the salons. My poor
dear child had been dancing, anil was resting at
fawhuiugucaif ‘iiiidviriciiMteff, 7 lie, d osir/**
had approached, and the younger took the chair
next my ward; while her companion stood be
side me, and for a little time addrtssed herself,
in a low tone to her charge.
Availing herself of the privilege of her mask,
she turned to me, and in the tone of an old friend
and calling me by name, opened a conversation
with me, which piqued my curiosity a good deal.
She referred to many scenes where she haa met
me—at Court, and at distinguished houses. She
alluded to little incidonts which I bad long since
aeased to think of, but which 1 found, had only
lain in abeyence in my memory,for they instant
ly started into life at her touch.
“1 became more and more cuiious to ascertain
who she was, every moment. She parried my
attempts to discover very adroitly and pleasant
ly. The knowledge she showed of many passa
ges in my life seemed to me all but accountable;
and she appeared to take a not unnatural pleas
ure in foiling my curiosity, and in seeing me
floander, in my eager perplexity, from one con
jecture to another.
“In the meantime the young lady, whom her
mother called by the odd name of Millarca, when
she once or twice addressed her, had, with the
same ease and grace, got into conversation w'ith
my ward.
“She introducd herself by saying that her
mother was a very old acquaintance of mine.
She spoke of the agreeable audacity which a
mask renders practicable; she talked like a
friend; she admired her dress, and insinuated
very prettily her admiration of her beauty. She
amused her with laughing criticisms upon the
people who crowded the ball-room, and laughed
at my poor child’s fun. She was very witty and
lively when she pleased, and alter a time they
had grown very good friends, and the young
stranger lowered her mask, displaying a remark
ably beautiful face. I had never seen it before,
neither had my dear child. But though it was
new to us, the features were so engaging, as well
as lovely, that it was impossible not to feel the
attraction powerfully. My poor girl did so. I
never saw anyone more taken with another at
first sight, unless, indeed, it was the stranger
herself, who seemed auite to have lost her heart
to her.
‘In the meantime, availing myself of the
license of a masquerade, I put not a few ques
tions to the elder lady.
* “You have puzzled me utterly,” I said,
laughing. ‘Is that not enough? won’t you,
now, consent to stand on equal terms, and do
me the kindness to remove your mask?”
‘ “Can any request be more unreasonable?”
she replied. “Ask a lady to yield an advantage !
Beside, how do you know you should recognize
me? Years make changes."
‘ “As you see,” I said with a bow, and, I sup
pose, with a rather melancholy little laugh.
* “As philosophers tell us,” she Baid; “and
how do you know that a sight of my face would
help you?”
* “1 should take chance for that,” I answered.
“It is vain trying to make yourself out an old
woman. Your figure betrays you."
‘ “Yeare, nevertheless, have passed since I
■aw you, or rather since yon saw me, for that is
what I am considering. Millarca, there, is my
daughter; I cannot then be young, even in the
opinion of people whom time has taught to be
indulgent, and I may not like to be compared
with what you remember me. You have no
mask to remove. You can offer me nothing in
exchange.” B
* “My petition is to your pity, to remove it.”
4 “And mine to yours, to let it remain where it
is,” she replied.
4 “Well, then, at least you will tell me whether
you are French or German; you speak both lan
guages so perfectly.”
4 “I don’t think I shall tell you that, General;
you intend a surprise, and are meditating the’
particular point of attack.”
4 “At all events, you won’t deny this,” I said,
“that being honored by your permission to con-
rse, I ought to know how to address you.
1 Shall I say Madame la Comtesse ?”
in consequence, by very easy stages—hardly six
leagues a day. I must now travel day and night,
on a mission of life and death—a mission the
critical and momentous nature of which I shall
be able to explain to you when we meet, as I
hope we shall, in a few weeks, without the neces
sity of any concealmant.”
•She went on to make her petition, and it was
(fufekt alflOttu^'iF dl'«ij*Add
ing a favor. This was only in manner, and, as
it seemed, quite unconsciously. Than the
terms in which it was expressed, nothing could
be more deprecatory. It was simply that I
would consent to take charge of her daughter
during her absence.
“ This was, all things considered, a strange,
not to say, an audacious request. She in some
sort disarmed me, by stating and admitting ev
erything that could be urged against it, and
throwing herself entirely upon my chivalry. At
the same moment, by a fatality that seems to
have predetermined all that happened, my poor
child came to my side, and, in an undertone,
besought me to invite her new friend, Millarca,
to pay us a visit. She had just been sounding
her, and thought, if her mamma would allow
her, she would like it extremely.
“At another time I should have told her to
wait a little, until, at least, we knew who they
were. But I had not a moment to think in.
The two ladies assailed me together, and I must
confess the refined and beautiful face of the
young lady, about which there was something
extremety engaging, as well as the elegance and
fire of high birth, determined me, and, quite
overpowered, I submitted, and undertook, too
easily, the care of the young lady, whom her
mother called Millarca.
“The Countess beckoned to her daughter,
who listened with grave attention while she told
her, in general terms, how suddenly and per
emptorily she had been summoned, and also of
the arrangement she had made for her under my
care, adding that I was one of her earliest and
most valued friends.
“ I made, of course, such speeches as the case
seemed to call for, and found myself, on reflec
tion, in a position which I did not half like.
“ The gentleman in black returned, and very
ceremoniously conducted the lady from the
room.
“ The demeanor of this gentleman was such
as to impress me with the conviction that the
Countess was a lady of very much more impor
tance than her modest title alone might have led
me to assume.
“ Her last charge to me was that no attempt
was to be made to learn more about her than I
might have already guessed, until her return.
Our distinguished host, whose guest she was,
knew her reason. “But here,” she said,
“neither I nor my daughter could safely remain
more than a day. I removed my mask impru
dently for a moment, about an hour ago, and,
too, late I fanciedjyou saw me. So I resolved to
seek an opportunity of talking a little to you.
Had I found that yon had seen me, I should
have thrown myself on your high sense of honor
to keep my secret for some weeks. As it is, I
am satisfied that you did not see me; but if you
now suspect, or, on reflection, should suspect,
who I am, I commit myself, in like manner, en
tirely to your honor. My daughter will observe
the same secresy, and I well know that you will,
from time to time, remind her, lest she should
thoughtlessly disclose it.”
“She whispered a few words to her daughter,
kissed her hurriedly twice, and went away, ac
companied by the pale gentleman in black, and
disappeared in the crowd.
“ ‘In the next room,’ said Millarca, “there is
a window that looks upon the hall-door. I
should like to see the last of mamma, and to kiss
my hand to her.”
“We assented, of course, and accompanied her
to the window. We looked out, and saw a hand
some old-fashioned carrixge, with a troop of
couriers and footmen. We saw the slim figure
of the pale gentleman in black, as he held a
thick velvet cloak, and placed it about her
shoulders and throw the hood over her head.
She nodded to him, and just touched his hand
with hers. He bowed low repeatedly as the door
closed, and the carriage began to move.
“ • She is gone,’ said Millarca, with a sigh.
“ ’ She is gone,’ I repeated to myself for the
first time—in the hurried moments that had
elapsed since my consent—reflecting upon the
folly of my act.
We had just got through a crowded saloon,
when my ward asked me what bad become of
Millarca. I thought she had been by her side,
and she fancied she was by mine. The fact
was, we had lost her.
“All my efforts to find her were vain. I
feared that she had mistaken, in the confusion
of a momentary separation from us, other peo
ple for her new friends, and had, possibly, pur
sued and lost tbekn in the extensive grounds
which were thrown open to us.
“Now, in its full force, I renognized a new
folly in my h iving undertaken the charge of a
young lady without so much as knowing her
name; and fettered as I was by promises, of the
reasons for imposing which I knew nothing, I
could not even point my inquiries by saying
that the missing young lady was the daughter
of the Countess who had taken her departure a
few hours before.
“Morning broke. It was clear daylight be
fore I gave up my search. It was not till neai
two o’clock next day that we heard anything of
my missing charge.
“At about that time a servant knocked at my
niece’s door, to say that he had been earnestly
requested by a young lady, who appeared to be
in great distress, to make out where she could
find the General Baron Spielsdorf and the young
lady his daughter, in whose charge she hail
been left by her mother.
“There could be no doubt, notwithstanding
the slight inaccuracy, that our young friend had
turned up; and so she did. Would to heaven
we had lost her !
“She told my poor child a story to account
for her having failed to recover us for so long.
Very late, i he said, she had got to the house
keeper’s bedroom in despair of finding ns, and
had then fallen into a deep sleep which, long as
it was, had htfrdly sufficed to recruit her
strength after the fatigues of the ball.
“That day Millarca came home with us. I
was only too happy, after all, to have secured
so charming a companion for my dear girl.
CHAPTER XIII.
“There soon, however, appeared some draw
backs. In the first place, Millarca complained
of extreme langno^—the weakness that remained
after her late illness —and she never emerged
from her room lA 1 the afternoon was pretty far
advanced. In tlw-' aixt place, it, was accidentally
its place till.'she It flitted the maid to assist at
her toilet, that sly! p as undoubtedly sometimes
absent from her iyom in the very early morn
ing, and at variouL times later in the day, be
fore she wished it^fc) be understood that she was
stirring. She was repeatedly seen from the
windows of the schloss, in the first faint grey
of the morning, walking through the trees, in
an easterly direction, and looking like a person
in a trance. This convinced me that she walk
ed in her sleep. But this hypothesis did not
solve the puzzle. How did she pass out from
her room, leaving the door locked on the inside?
How did she escape from the house without un
barring door or window ?
“In the midst of my perplexities, an anxiety
of a far more urgent kind presented itself.
“My dear child began to lose her looks and
health, and that in a manner so mysterious,
and even horrible, that I became thoroughly
frightened.
“She was at first visited by appalling dreams;
then, as she fancied, by a spectre, sometimes
resembling Millarca, sometimes in the shape of
a beast, indistinctly seen, walking round the
foot of her bed, from side to side. Lastly came
sensations. One, not unpleasant, but very
peculiar, she said, resembled the flow of an icy
stream against her breast. At a later time, she
felt something like a pair of large needles pierce
her, a little below the throat, with a very sharp
pain* A few nights after, followed a gradual
and convulsive sense of strangulation ; then
came unconsciousness.”
I could hear distinctly every word the kind
old General was saying, because by this time
we were driving upon the short grass that
spreads on either side of the road as you ap
proach the roofless village which had not shown
the smoke ol a chimney for more than half a
century.
You may guess how strangely I felt as I heard
my own symptoms so exactly described in those
which had been experienced by the poor girl
who, but for the catastrophe which followed,
would have been at that moment a visitor at my
father’s chateau. You may suppose, also, how
I felt as I heard him detail habits and myste
rious peculiarities which were, in fact, those of
onr beautiful guest, Camilla !
A vista opened in the forest; we were on a
sudden under the chimneys and gables of the
ruined village, and the towers and battlements
of the dismantled castle, round which gigantic
trees are grouped, overhung us from a slight em
inence.
In a frightened dream I got down from the
carriage, and in silence, for we had each abun
dant matter for thinking; we soon mounted the
ascent, aud were among the spacious chambers,
winding stairs, and dark corridors of the castle.
“And this was once the palatial residence of
the Kanrsteins !” said the old general at length,
as from a great window he looked out across the
village, and saw the wide undulating expanse of
forest. “It was a bad family, and here its blood
stained annals were written,” he continued. “It
is hard that they should, after death, continue to
plague the human race with their atrocious
lusts. That is the chapel of the Karnstein, down
there.”
He pointed down the grey walls of the goihio
building, partly visible through the foliage, a
little way down the steep.
“And I hear the axe of a woodman,” he added,
“busy among the trees that surround it; he pos
sibly may give us the information of which I
am in search, and point out the grave of Mircal-
la, Countess of Karnstein. These rustics preserve
the local traditions of great families, whose sto
ries die out among the rich and titled so soon as
the families themselves become extinct.”
“We have a portrait, at home, of Mircalla, the
Countess Karnstein; should you like to see it?”
asked my father.
“Time enough, dear friend,” replied the Gen
eral. “I believe that I have seen the original;
and one motive which has led me to you earlier
than I first intended, was to explore the chapel
which we are now approaching.”
What! see the Countess Mircalla,” exclaimed
my father; “why she has been dead more than a
century.”
“Not so dead as you fancy, I am told,” an
swered the General.
“I confess, General, yon puzzle me utterly,”
replied my father, looking at him, I fancied, for
a moment with a return of the suspicion I de
tected before. But although there was anger and
] il'-testation, at times, in the old General’s man
ner, there was nothing flighty.
“There remains to me,” he said as we passed
under the heavy arch of the gothic church—for
its dimensions would have justified its being so
styled—“but one object which can interest me
during the few years that remain tome on earth,
and that is to wreak on her the vengeance which,
I thank God, may still be accomplished by a
mortal arm.”
“What vengeance can you mean?" asked my
father, in increasing amazement.
“ I mean, to decapitate the monster, ” he an
swered, with a fierce flush, and a stamp that
echoed mournfully through the hollow ruin,
and his clenched hand was at the same moment
raised, as if it grasped the handle of an axe,
while he shook it ferociously in the air.
“What?” exclaimed my father, more than ever 1
bewildered.
“To strike her head off. ”
“Cut her head off!” !
“Aye, with a hatchet, with a spade, or with j
anything that can cleave through her rnurde- |
rous throat. You shall hear, ” he answered, ;
trembling with rage. And hurrying forward he i
said: j
“That beam will answer for a s>at; your dear |
child is fatigued; let her be seated, and I will, |
in a few sentences close my dreadful story.” j
The squared block of wood, which lay on the
grass-grown pavement of the chapel, formed a
bench on which I was very glad to seat myself,
and in the meantime the General called to the
woodman, who had been removing some boughs
which leaned upon the old walls; and, axe in
hand, the hardy old gentleman stood before us. i
He could not tell us anything of these monu-
meuts; but there was an old man, he said, a ran- j
ger of the forest, at present sojourning in the
house of the priest, about two miles away, wha
could point out every monument of the old Karn-
•tein family. And for a trifle, he undertook to
bring him back with him, if we would lend him
one of our horses, in little more than half an
hour.
“Have you been long employed about this
forest ?” asked my father of the old man.
“I have been a woodman here,” he answered
in hiRpatois, ‘ under the forester.all my days; so
has my father before me, and so on, as many
generations as I can count up. I could show
you the very house, in the village here, in which
my ancestors lived.”
“How came the village to be deserted ?” asked
the General.
“It was troubled by revenanis, sir; several
were tracked to their graves, there detected by
the usual tests, and extinguished in the usual
way, by decapitation, by the stake, and by burn
ing; but not until many of the villagers were
killed.
“But after all these proceedings according to
law,” he continued—“so many graves opened,
and so many vampires deprived of their horri-
| ble animation—the village was not relieved. But
a Moravian nobleman, who happened to be trav
eling this way, heard how matters were, and be
ing skilled, as many people are in his country,
in such affairs, he offered to deliver the village
of its tormentor. He did so thu.-; There being
‘he measures yon have taken are not sufficient,
or your agents are idiots, since they have not
^^Monseigneor, I have a suspicion that he
never goes out but in a carriage ?
“ What makes you think that (
“ A report I received yesterday from a coucou
driver, the same who betrayed to us the ambush
on the road to Malmaison. This man-who
professed to be a sans-cidotte under Robespierre
—is willing now to serve us for money. He
came to me yesterday and told me that h ® , had
been drinking in a bar-room with a cab driver
who seems to be anything but a driver. He
followed him and saw him take a passenger in
the street. That passenger answers exactly the
description given of Cadoudal.”
“And he did not run after him ? He did not
call the police to arrest him ?"
“Oh! Monseigneur, he is too much of a
coward for that, but he took the number of the
cab and reported it to me; it is number A
immediately went to the general office of public
conveyances and found that this cab had been
sold lately to a young man recently arrived
from the provinces.”
“That is the thing. This cab must be found
to-day.” , .
“ It shall be, Monseigneur. But it the driver
is alone, I would let him go and follow him
until he gets his passenger. ”
“ You are right. Give your orders according
ly.”
“ I have already done it, and I will certainly
catch Cadoudal before three days.”
“In the cab?”
“ Maybe, but more probably in one of the two
traps I have set up for him; one at rue Mont
ague Sainte-Genevieve, the other rue des Prou-
vaires. lie is bound to come to these places
some day.”
“ Rue des Prouvaires! Is it not at Sour-
dat’s ?”
“Yes, Monseigneur. I always thought that he
was fooling us;now I know it. Y'ou remember
that I have seen Major Robert's sister talking
with the woman chouan who lives at Sourdats;
| that woman gave her Saint-Victor’s address. ’
i “ This proves only that she always kept some
i intercourse with the chouans, but it is not an
evidence that Sourdat should be her accomplice.
But we will attend to them when we get Cadou-
dal. Your other trap is at Saint-Viotor’s, I
suppose;
a bright moon that night, he ascended, shortly
after sunset, the towers of the ch;*^fchere, from
sunset, the towers of the ch?
ter su
.. t^L-- i—. u J--*•: n
befieath him; you can see from Mint window.
From this point he watched untiif he saw the
vampire come out from his grave, and place near
it the linen clothes in which he hail been folded,
and then glide away towards the village to
plague the inhabitants.
“The stranger, having seen all this, came down
from the steeple, took the linen wrappings of
the vampire, and carried them up to the top of
the tower, which he again mounted. When the
vampire returned from his prowlings and miss
ed his clothes, he cried furiously to the Mora
vian, whom he saw at the summit of the tower,
and who, in reply, beckoned him to ascend and
take them. Whereupon the vampire accepting
bis invitation, began to climb the steeple, and
so soon as he had reached the battlements, the
Moravian, with a stroke of his sword, clove his
skull in twain, hurling him down to the church
yard, whither, descending by the winding stairs,
the strangers followed and cut his head off, amd
next day delivered it and the body to the villa
gers, who duly impaled and burnt them.
“This Moravian nobleman had authority from
the then head of the family to remove the tomb
of Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, which he did
effectually, so that in a little while its site was
quite forgotten.”
“Can you point out where it stood ?” asked the
General eagerly.
The forester shook his head and smiled.
“Not a living soul could tell yon that now,"
he said; “besides they say her body was remov
ed; but no one is sure of that either.”
Having thus spoken, as time pressed, he drop
ped his axe and departed, leaving us to hear the
remainder of the General’s strange story.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Yes, Monseigneur, and I shall go there
myself, for I believe it is the right place; and
anyhow I could not show my face at rue des
Prouvaires, Sourdat knows me too well. I have
posted there four men whom lit never has
seen.”
“All right! Go to rueMontagne-Sainte-Gene-
vieve, then.”
“ If Monseigneur has no objection to it, 1 will
arrest immediately the friend of Saint-\ ictor,
that chouan who keeps the lottery office. He
seems to ignore what has become of his friend,
and comes regularly to his office every day. 111
put one of my men in his place at the office.”
“ Well! I give you carte blanche. By the way
have you heard of the inn-keeper, the maD w r ith
his dog, the man w 7 e suppose to be the husband
of Sourilat’s boarder?”
“No, Monseigneur. He disappeared with his
dog after the attack on the road, and they must
have left Paris, for they have not been seen here
since.”
“ It is likely that he has returned to Norman
dy or Bretagne.”
“It may be; still I hope to get him some day 7 .
Before I ieav e, Monseigneur, may I ask you if
Saint-Victor has made any confession ?”
j “ By no means. This fellow seems to be a
i hard case as we,ll as a strong character. As for
the other one who Killed three or four gendarmes,
we don’t know yet if he has a tongue or not.”
“ I would suggest a way to make Saint-Victor
speak. Major Robert’s sister is crazy about
that handsome chouan. By telling her that she
could obtain the pardon for her lover if she
could make him tell something about the cons
piracy—”
“ There might be something in that,” said
Fouche, licking out his tongue as a tiger ready
to devour his prey. Then in an aside; “That
Major has been insolent with me the other day,
and I would be glad to implicate his sister in a
bad affair.”
Speaking aloud Fouche added:
“ I shall attend to that. Go now to your bus
iness.”
THE GHOST
—OF THE—
MALMAISON.
AN EPISODE OF FRENCH HISTORY
Translated from the French for the Sunni South
BI CHABLES OAXLMABD.
[Most of the characters in this story are not fictitious,
but real personages who took conspicuous parts in
some of the most important events which occurred during
the rebellion of the West of France—called Chouannerie.]
CHAPTER CVI.
One week after Gabrielle had learned of the
arrest of the man she loved, Caillotte, the detec
tive who had caught Saint-Victor, was in Fou-
che’s office, taking orders from his chief. His
eyes were reflecting hope and audacity. As to
Fouche he was jubilant.
It was four o’clock, and for the second time
that day Fouche was giving audience to his
agent and making him pass through a series of
insidious questions interspersed with some
orders.
“Let us recapitulate,” he said at once, “where
do you suppose that Georges Cadoudal went
when he left his honse at qnai Chaillot? ’
“To the residence of some of his chouans;
the next day to that of some other, changing so
every day, I guess.”
“ Then you think he has no regular place of
concealment.”
“I am sure he has none; otherwise we should
have found him. I am positive he has not slept
twice in the same place.”
“ Cadoudal left his house on the first of March;
to-day is the ninth, he should have been then in
eight different places, which is impossible, for
there are not eight chouans at large in Paris.”
44 No, but he has friends, who being too timid
to conspire openly, are too timid also to refuse
him a shelter. I am almost certain that he
slept once at Mr. Caron, a perfumery merchant,
rueduBac.” ’
“Very well; but then, going from one place to
another, he must pass the streets, and either
CHAPTER CVII.
Caillotte went out and met a man waiting for
him on thequai. This man was not very well
dressed and held in his hand a stick of respect
able siie.
“I was almost giving you up,” said the man;
“it is half past four.”
“ Yes,” answered Caillotte, “let us go. You
know the way: rue Mazarine, then rue de
l’Ancienne-Comedie.”
The man started, Caillotte following him at a
distance. Fouche’s agent used to employ Buffet
—the man with the stick was called Buffet-
only on special occasions, when a strong arm
was needed, and he knew that Cadoudal was not
a man to surrender himself.
The lottery office was about thirty yards from
Saint-Etienne-du-Mont. When Caillotte and
Buffet neared the church, four men seated on
the steps came forward, and being recognized
by their chief, Caillotte, they all went to a re
tired place behind the church.
“ What news?’’ said Caillotte to one of them.
“Nothing. The man came to his office at
nine o’clock as usual. At about twelve the
grocery boy brought him some apples, cheese
and bread with a cup of coffee. As for the cus
tomers of the office, only one fish woman, three
cooks and a musician with his violin under his
arm went in there to-day.”
“No suspicious- looking face?”
“ Not one. I am sure those who came to-day
had no other business than to ascertain what
numbers had been drawn, or take numbers for
the next drawing.”
“ Then let us capture that chouan. Here is
my order; listen to me. You four will stand
along the office. Buffet will stand in the middle
of the street watching both sides. I will enter
the office and speak a little while with the man.
Keep still until you hear me knock against the
glass of the window; then you four come at once
in the office and seize the chouan. Have you
your strings in your pockets ?”
“Yes. and gag, and handcuffs too.”
“Well! you gag him first, so that he cannot
make any noise that would bring a crowd
around here. Then you will tie him up and
stretch him on the floor under his desk I
know him; he is a very tall and slim fellow
You, Courtaud, who are about the same size
you will take his coat and cap, and seat yourl
self in his place. We will leave you alone with
him while we stay outside to help you if you
need us. Try to imitate him as you see him
standing now through the window. If any
chouans come, they must take you for him. Do
you all understand ?’’
“We do,” answered the poliaemen.
Courtaud only asked a question:
‘‘Suppose he shoot at us when we enter the
onice t
“Dodge the ballet if you can, but don’t shoot
at him. He must be taken alive. Now go to
your post, 1 have to speak to Buffet.”
„ WeDt t ° tfae P 08t assigned to them.
aske^CaillotteBuffe? °‘ “ rran 8 ementa
“They are tolerably good, I believe. Bat I
don t see ot what use I will be to you here.
, °“ t y°» see I give you the best
the post ot honor ?”