Worthy Monsieur Gerval went up to his apartment, where he found his old servant Dupre impatiently awaiting his master's return.

"Ah! here you are, monsieur; I was anxious because you stayed away so long. Have you had a pleasant journey? Have you learned anything?"

"No, my friend; the house where the Murville family used to live is now for sale. I was told that one Edouard Murville lived there for some time with his wife, but no one knows what has become of them. And you, Dupre?"

"I have found out nothing more, monsieur. Your old friends are dead; and their children are n.o.body knows where. Several people did mention a Murville, who was a business agent, then a swindler, and all-in-all a thoroughly bad fellow. But no one was able or willing to tell me what has become of him. Perhaps he may have been the younger of the two sons, the one who ran away from his father's house at fifteen; such an escapade as that promises nothing good for the future."

"I should be very sorry if it were so; I would have liked--but I see that I have returned too late. My travels kept me away from Paris ten years, and it was only within a year that, on retiring from business, I was able to return to this city. But what changes ten years have produced! My friends--to be sure they were quite old when I went away--my friends are dead or else they have disappeared. That depresses me, Dupre; there is nothing left for me in this city but memories. I think we will leave it, and go back to my little place in the Vosges to live; I propose to end my life there.--But let us drop this subject; I have something to tell you, for my journey has not been altogether without fruit; it has made me acquainted with a very interesting young woman, who seems most unfortunate too."

"Indeed! Where did monsieur meet her?"

"We returned to Paris in the same carriage; for notwithstanding your advice, I made the trip in one of those miserable cabriolets."

"Oh! the idea of subjecting yourself to such a jolting! That is unreasonable!"

"Nonsense! nonsense! I'm perfectly well, and I congratulate myself that I did not take your advice, as I travelled with a poor woman, whom I found afterward by chance in a most melancholy plight."

Monsieur Gerval told the servant what had happened to him, and the chance which had led to his finding the traveller again in a cafe, just as those present were talking of taking her to a refuge. Dupre, whose heart was as soft as his master's, was very impatient to see the young woman and her pretty little girl; he followed his master, who asked to be taken to the room which had been given to Adeline.

Edouard's wife was pacing the floor excitedly, while little Ermance was lying in an armchair. The entrance of Monsieur Gerval and Dupre caused Adeline a moment's terror; she ran to her daughter and seemed to be afraid that it was their intention to take her away from her.

"Don't be alarmed, madame," said the old man gently, as he approached her; "it is a friend who has come to comfort you. Tell me your troubles; I shall be able to lighten them, I hope."

"What a crowd there is about me!" said Adeline, glancing wildly about; "what a mult.i.tude of people! Why this gathering? Ah! I will not, no, I will not stop on this square. They have come here to gaze on those poor wretches. Let me go! But I cannot; the cruel crowd forces me back. Ah! I must close my eyes, and not look! He is there, close to me!"

She fell upon a chair and put her hands before her face.

"Poor woman!" said Dupre; "some horrible thing must have happened to her. Do you know, monsieur, that it seems to me that this unfortunate creature belongs to a good family? Her clothes are very simple, almost like a peasant's; but for all that, I will bet that this woman is no peasant."

"Why, of course not; I can see that as well as you. But how are we to find out who she is? If this child could talk better----"

"The little girl is waking up, monsieur; give her some bonbons and try to make out the name she mentions."

Gerval went to Ermance and kissed her; the child recognized him and went to him of her own accord. He gave her bonbons, danced her on his knees, and she lisped the name of Jacques; for it was Jacques who played with her and danced with her every evening.

"One would say that she knows you, monsieur," said Dupre to his master; "I believe it is Jacques she says; just listen."

"Poor child; it is true. Perhaps that is her father's name. Let us try to find out if that is really the name she is lisping; if it is, her mother knows it without any question."

The old man walked toward Adeline, uttering the name of Jacques in a loud voice. The young woman instantly arose and repeated the name.

"Good! she understood us," whispered Dupre.

"You are looking for Jacques," said Adeline to Monsieur Gerval; "oh! in pity's name, do not tell him this horrible secret; let him always remain ignorant of his shame! Poor Jacques! he would die of grief. Oh! promise me that you will say nothing to him."

Honest Gerval promised, and Dupre sadly shook his head.

"It is of no use," he said to his master, "there is no hope.--But what is your plan?"

"We must make all possible investigations. You, Dupre, will go to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, and inquire about all the Jacqueses there are in the village; in short, you will try to find out something. If we cannot discover anything then, I will see what----"

"Ah! I am very sure, my dear master, that you won't abandon this young woman and this poor child."

"No, Dupre, no, I shall not abandon them. But it is late and I am tired.

I am going to bed, and to-morrow we will begin our search."

Having once more commended Adeline and her daughter to the people of the house, honest Gerval retired.

During the night as during the day, Adeline was intensely excited at times, talking incoherently, and sometimes in a state of the most complete prostration, seeming to see nothing of what took place about her. They observed, however, that any noise, the sound of a loud voice, or the faintest cry, made her jump, and threw her into the wildest delirium.

The next day a doctor summoned by Monsieur Gerval came to see the unhappy young woman, but all his skill could accomplish nothing more than to calm her a little; he thought that a tranquil existence would make the alarming outbursts of her mania less frequent. But he gave little hope of the restoration of her reason, as he knew nothing of the cause which had led to its being unseated.

Dupre went to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges and inquired concerning all the Jacqueses in the neighborhood. Only two peasants bore that name, and they had no idea what he meant by his questions about the young woman and her daughter. Dupre was unable to learn anything, and he returned to his master.

Monsieur Gerval had made no further progress in his investigations in Paris; the newspapers did not mention the disappearance of a young woman and her daughter from their home, and he could obtain no information concerning the name and family of his protegees.

Ten days pa.s.sed, and Adeline was still in the same condition. Her prostration was less frequently disturbed by violent outbreaks; but when by chance a cry reached her ear, her delirium became terrible to see, and her condition was horrifying. Only her daughter's voice never acted unfavorably upon her; that voice always went to the heart of the poor mother, who never mistook her child's accents.

"My dear Dupre," said Monsieur Gerval to his servant, at the end of those ten days, "I see that we must abandon the hope of ever finding out who this interesting young woman is. I have made up my mind what to do, my friend: I have determined to take these unfortunate creatures with me. As you know, I am going to retire to my estate in the Vosges. That solitary place, surrounded by woods, is best suited to our poor invalid.

That is the doctor's opinion, and we must be guided by it; and at all events nothing will disturb the tranquillity which the poor creature requires. We will look to it that she hears no cries there. We will bring up her daughter; Catherine, who is so fond of children, will look after the poor child, and the innocent darling's caresses will pay me for what I do for her mother.--Well, what do you think of my plan, Dupre?"

"It delights me, monsieur, and I recognize yourself in it. Always kind and always doing good! You give all you have to the unfortunate."

"That is my pleasure; I have no family, the unfortunate are my children.

As you know, I came to Paris with the hope of learning something of a certain little boy whom I loved in his infancy, and who besides is ent.i.tled to my protection. But faith, as I can't find him, this little girl shall take his place. From this moment I adopt her; I take charge of her mother, and I thank Providence for selecting me to be their protector."

The next day honest Gerval put his plan into execution: he bought a large and commodious berlin, placed in it everything that the young woman and her daughter would need on the journey; and then, having left his address with the landlady, so that she might write to him in case she should learn anything concerning the strangers, the protector of Adeline and Ermance left Paris with them and his old servant, for the country residence where he proposed to end his days in peace.

x.x.xI

JACQUES AND SANS-SOUCI

While honest Gerval's carriage bore Adeline and her daughter toward the north of France, what were Jacques's thoughts concerning the sudden disappearance of the two persons whom he loved best? In order to ascertain, let us return to the farm.

On his return from the fields, surprised to find that Adeline and her daughter, who were always the first to reward his labors with a caress, did not come to meet him, Jacques looked about for his sister. Disturbed to find that she was not in the living room, he asked Louise if she were not well.

"I hope nothing's the matter with her," said the farmer's wife, "but I haven't seen her all day; you know sometimes she likes to stay by herself in her room, and I don't dare to disturb her. But she ought to be with us before this."

"I will go and look for her," said Jacques; and he hurried up to Adeline's room.

The peasants also began to fear that Adeline was ill. Sans-Souci said nothing, but he was more anxious than the rest, for he remembered what he had told Adeline that morning, and he suspected that she had done something on impulse. They all impatiently awaited Jacques's return. He came down at last, but grief and melancholy were expressed on his features, his eyes were moist and his brow was dark.

"What has happened?" cried the peasants.