reports, of the end of the month, of the rise and fall of Spanish funds,
of Haitian bonds. Instead of that, Louise--do you understand?--air,
liberty, melody of birds, plains of Lombardy, Venetian canals, Roman
palaces, the Bay of Naples. How much have we, Louise?" The young girl to
whom this question was addressed drew from an inlaid secretary a small
portfolio with a lock, in which she counted twenty-three bank-notes.
"Twenty-three thousand francs," said she.
"And as much, at least, in pearls, diamonds, and jewels," said
Eugenie. "We are rich. With forty-five thousand francs we can live
like princesses for two years, and comfortably for four; but before six
months--you with your music, and I with my voice--we shall double our
capital. Come, you shall take charge of the money, I of the jewel-box;
so that if one of us had the misfortune to lose her treasure, the other
would still have hers left. Now, the portmanteau--let us make haste--the
portmanteau!"
"Stop!" said Louise, going to listen at Madame Danglars' door.
"What do you fear?"
"That we may be discovered."
"The door is locked."
"They may tell us to open it."
"They may if they like, but we will not."
"You are a perfect Amazon, Eugenie!" And the two young girls began
to heap into a trunk all the things they thought they should require.
"There now," said Eugenie, "while I change my costume do you lock the
portmanteau." Louise pressed with all the strength of her little hands
on the top of the portmanteau. "But I cannot," said she; "I am not
strong enough; do you shut it."
"Ah, you do well to ask," said Eugenie, laughing; "I forgot that I was
Hercules, and you only the pale Omphale!" And the young girl, kneeling
on the top, pressed the two parts of the portmanteau together, and
Mademoiselle d'Armilly passed the bolt of the padlock through. When this
was done, Eugenie opened a drawer, of which she kept the key, and took
from it a wadded violet silk travelling cloak. "Here," said she, "you
see I have thought of everything; with this cloak you will not be cold."
"But you?"
"Oh, I am never cold, you know! Besides, with these men's clothes"--
"Will you dress here?"
"Certainly."
"Shall you have time?"
"Do not be uneasy, you little coward! All our servants are busy,
discussing the grand affair. Besides, what is there astonishing, when
you think of the grief I ought to be in, that I shut myself up?--tell
me!"
"No, truly--you comfort me."
"Come and help me."
From the same drawer she took a man's complete costume, from the
boots to the coat, and a provision of linen, where there was nothing
superfluous, but every requisite. Then, with a promptitude which
indicated that this was not the first time she had amused herself by
adopting the garb of the opposite sex, Eugenie drew on the boots and
pantaloons, tied her cravat, buttoned her waistcoat up to the throat,
and put on a coat which admirably fitted her beautiful figure. "Oh, that
is very good--indeed, it is very good!" said Louise, looking at her with
admiration; "but that beautiful black hair, those magnificent braids,
which made all the ladies sigh with envy,--will they go under a man's
hat like the one I see down there?"
"You shall see," said Eugenie. And with her left hand seizing the thick
mass, which her long fingers could scarcely grasp, she took in her right
hand a pair of long scissors, and soon the steel met through the rich
and splendid hair, which fell in a cluster at her feet as she leaned
back to keep it from her coat. Then she grasped the front hair, which
she also cut off, without expressing the least regret; on the contrary,
her eyes sparkled with greater pleasure than usual under her ebony
eyebrows. "Oh, the magnificent hair!" said Louise, with regret.
"And am I not a hundred times better thus?" cried Eugenie, smoothing the
scattered curls of her hair, which had now quite a masculine appearance;
"and do you not think me handsomer so?"
"Oh, you are beautiful--always beautiful!" cried Louise. "Now, where are
you going?"
"To Brussels, if you like; it is the nearest frontier. We can go to
Brussels, Liege, Aix-la-Chapelle; then up the Rhine to Strasburg. We
will cross Switzerland, and go down into Italy by the Saint-Gothard.
Will that do?"
"Yes."
"What are you looking at?"
"I am looking at you; indeed you are adorable like that! One would say
you were carrying me off."
"And they would be right, pardieu!"
"Oh, I think you swore, Eugenie." And the two young girls, whom every
one might have thought plunged in grief, the one on her own account, the
other from interest in her friend, burst out laughing, as they cleared
away every visible trace of the disorder which had naturally accompanied
the preparations for their escape. Then, having blown out the lights,
the two fugitives, looking and listening eagerly, with outstretched
necks, opened the door of a dressing-room which led by a side staircase
down to the yard,--Eugenie going first, and holding with one arm
the portmanteau, which by the opposite handle Mademoiselle d'Armilly
scarcely raised with both hands. The yard was empty; the clock was
striking twelve. The porter was not yet gone to bed. Eugenie approached
softly, and saw the old man sleeping soundly in an arm-chair in his
lodge. She returned to Louise, took up the portmanteau, which she had
placed for a moment on the ground, and they reached the archway under
the shadow of the wall.
Eugenie concealed Louise in an angle of the gateway, so that if the
porter chanced to awake he might see but one person. Then placing
herself in the full light of the lamp which lit the yard,--"Gate!" cried
she, with her finest contralto voice, and rapping at the window.
The porter got up as Eugenie expected, and even advanced some steps to
recognize the person who was going out, but seeing a young man striking
his boot impatiently with his riding-whip, he opened it immediately.
Louise slid through the half-open gate like a snake, and bounded lightly
forward. Eugenie, apparently calm, although in all probability her heart
beat somewhat faster than usual, went out in her turn. A porter was
passing and they gave him the portmanteau; then the two young girls,
having told him to take it to No. 36, Rue de la Victoire, walked behind
this man, whose presence comforted Louise. As for Eugenie, she was as
strong as a Judith or a Delilah. They arrived at the appointed spot.
Eugenie ordered the porter to put down the portmanteau, gave him some
pieces of money, and having rapped at the shutter sent him away. The
shutter where Eugenie had rapped was that of a little laundress, who
had been previously warned, and was not yet gone to bed. She opened the
door.
"Mademoiselle," said Eugenie, "let the porter get the post-chaise from
the coach-house, and fetch some post-horses from the hotel. Here are
five francs for his trouble."
"Indeed," said Louise, "I admire you, and I could almost say respect
you." The laundress looked on in astonishment, but as she had been
promised twenty louis, she made no remark.
In a quarter of an hour the porter returned with a post-boy and horses,
which were harnessed, and put in the post-chaise in a minute, while the
porter fastened the portmanteau on with the assistance of a cord and
strap. "Here is the passport," said the postilion, "which way are we
going, young gentleman?"
"To Fontainebleau," replied Eugenie with an almost masculine voice.
"What do you say?" said Louise.
"I am giving them the slip," said Eugenie; "this woman to whom we have
given twenty louis may betray us for forty; we will soon alter our
direction." And the young girl jumped into the britzska, which was
admirably arranged for sleeping in, without scarcely touching the step.
"You are always right," said the music teacher, seating herself by the
side of her friend.
A quarter of an hour afterwards the postilion, having been put in the
right road, passed with a crack of his whip through the gateway of the
Barriere Saint-Martin. "Ah," said Louise, breathing freely, "here we are
out of Paris."
"Yes, my dear, the abduction is an accomplished fact," replied Eugenie.
"Yes, and without violence," said Louise.
"I shall bring that forward as an extenuating circumstance," replied
Eugenie. These words were lost in the noise which the carriage made in
rolling over the pavement of La Villette. M. Danglars no longer had a
daughter.
Chapter 98. The Bell and Bottle Tavern.
And now let us leave Mademoiselle Danglars and her friend pursuing their
way to Brussels, and return to poor Andrea Cavalcanti, so inopportunely
interrupted in his rise to fortune. Notwithstanding his youth, Master
Andrea was a very skilful and intelligent boy. We have seen that on
the first rumor which reached the salon he had gradually approached the
door, and crossing two or three rooms at last disappeared. But we have
forgotten to mention one circumstance, which nevertheless ought not
to be omitted; in one of the rooms he crossed, the trousseau of the
bride-elect was on exhibition. There were caskets of diamonds, cashmere
shawls, Valenciennes lace, English veilings, and in fact all the
tempting things, the bare mention of which makes the hearts of young
girls bound with joy, and which is called the "corbeille." [*] Now, in
passing through this room, Andrea proved himself not only to be clever
and intelligent, but also provident, for he helped himself to the most
valuable of the ornaments before him.
* Literally, "the basket," because wedding gifts were
originally brought in such a receptacle.
Furnished with this plunder, Andrea leaped with a lighter heart from the
window, intending to slip through the hands of the gendarmes. Tall and
well proportioned as an ancient gladiator, and muscular as a Spartan,
he walked for a quarter of an hour without knowing where to direct his
steps, actuated by the sole idea of getting away from the spot where if
he lingered he knew that he would surely be taken. Having passed through
the Rue Mont Blanc, guided by the instinct which leads thieves always to
take the safest path, he found himself at the end of the Rue Lafayette.
There he stopped, breathless and panting. He was quite alone; on one
side was the vast wilderness of the Saint-Lazare, on the other, Paris
enshrouded in darkness. "Am I to be captured?" he cried; "no, not if I
can use more activity than my enemies. My safety is now a mere question
of speed." At this moment he saw a cab at the top of the Faubourg
Poissonniere. The dull driver, smoking his pipe, was plodding along
toward the limits of the Faubourg Saint-Denis, where no doubt he
ordinarily had his station. "Ho, friend!" said Benedetto.
"What do you want, sir?" asked the driver.
"Is your horse tired?"
"Tired? oh, yes, tired enough--he has done nothing the whole of this
blessed day! Four wretched fares, and twenty sous over, making in all
seven francs, are all that I have earned, and I ought to take ten to the
owner."
"Will you add these twenty francs to the seven you have?"
"With pleasure, sir; twenty francs are not to be despised. Tell me what
I am to do for this."
"A very easy thing, if your horse isn't tired."
"I tell you he'll go like the wind,--only tell me which way to drive."
"Towards the Louvres."
"Ah, I know the way--you get good sweetened rum over there."
"Exactly so; I merely wish to overtake one of my friends, with whom I am
going to hunt to-morrow at Chapelle-en-Serval. He should have waited for
me here with a cabriolet till half-past eleven; it is twelve, and, tired
of waiting, he must have gone on."
"It is likely."
"Well, will you try and overtake him?"
"Nothing I should like better."
"If you do not overtake him before we reach Bourget you shall have
twenty francs; if not before Louvres, thirty."
"And if we do overtake him?"
"Forty," said Andrea, after a moment's hesitation, at the end of which
he remembered that he might safely promise. "That's all right," said the
man; "hop in, and we're off! Who-o-o-p, la!"
Andrea got into the cab, which passed rapidly through the Faubourg
Saint-Denis, along the Faubourg Saint-Martin, crossed the barrier, and
threaded its way through the interminable Villette. They never overtook
the chimerical friend, yet Andrea frequently inquired of people on foot
whom he passed and at the inns which were not yet closed, for a green
cabriolet and bay horse; and as there are a great many cabriolets to be
seen on the road to the Low Countries, and as nine-tenths of them are
green, the inquiries increased at every step. Every one had just seen
it pass; it was only five hundred, two hundred, one hundred steps in
advance; at length they reached it, but it was not the friend. Once
the cab was also passed by a calash rapidly whirled along by two
post-horses. "Ah," said Cavalcanti to himself, "if I only had that
britzska, those two good post-horses, and above all the passport
that carries them on!" And he sighed deeply. The calash contained
Mademoiselle Danglars and Mademoiselle d'Armilly. "Hurry, hurry!" said
Andrea, "we must overtake him soon." And the poor horse resumed the
desperate gallop it had kept up since leaving the barrier, and arrived
steaming at Louvres.
"Certainly," said Andrea, "I shall not overtake my friend, but I shall
