The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 1 of 6

"Oh, Chourineur, do not get yourself into any quarrel on my account. If you beat the Chouette, then the Schoolmaster – "

"Say no more, my lass. The Chouette shall not go scot free for me. Confound it! why, for the very reason that the Schoolmaster will defend her, I will double her dose."

"Listen, my man, to me; I have a better plan for avenging the Chouette's brutalities to Goualeuse, which I will tell you hereafter. Now," said Rodolph, moving a few paces from Goualeuse, and speaking low, "Now, will you render me a real service?"

"Name it, Master Rodolph."

"The Chouette does not know you?"

"I saw her yesterday for the first time at the tapis-franc."

"This is what you must do. Hide yourself first; but, when you see her come close to you, get out of this hole – "

"And twist her neck?"

"No, defer that for a time. To-day, only prevent her from speaking to the tall man. He, seeing some one with her, will not approach; and if he does, do not leave her alone for a moment. He cannot make his proposal before you."

"If the man thinks me curious, I know what to do; he is neither the Schoolmaster nor Master Rodolph. I will follow the Chouette like her shadow, and the man shall not say a word that I do not overhear. He will then be off, and after that I will have one little turn with the Chouette. I must have it; it will be such a sweet drop for me."

"Not yet; the one-eyed hag does not know whether you are a thief or not?"

"No, not unless the Schoolmaster has talked of me to her, and told her that I did not do business in that line."

"If he have, you must appear to have altered your ideas on that subject."

"I?"

"Yes."

"Ten thousand thunders! M. Rodolph, what do you mean? Indeed – truly – I don't like it; it does not suit me to play such a farce as that."

"You shall only do what you please; but you will not find that I shall suggest any infamous plan to you. The tall man once driven away, you must try and talk over the Chouette. As she will be very savage at having missed the good haul she expected, you must try and smooth her down by telling her that you know of a capital bit of business which may be done, and that you are then waiting for your comrade, and that, if the Schoolmaster will join you, there is a lump of money to be made."

"Well, well."

"After waiting with her for an hour, you may say, 'My mate does not come, and so the job must be put off;' and then you may make an appointment with the Chouette and the Schoolmaster for to-morrow, at an early hour. Do you understand me?"

"Quite."

"And this evening, at ten o'clock, meet me at the corner of the Champs Elysées and the Allée des Veuves, and I will tell you more."

"If it is a trap, look out! The Schoolmaster is a scoundrel. You have beaten him, and, no doubt, he will kill you if he can."

"Have no fear."

"By Jove! it is a 'rum start;' but do as you like with me. I do not hesitate, for something tells me that there is a rod in pickle for the Schoolmaster and the Chouette. One word, though, if you please, M. Rodolph."

"Say it."

"I do not think you are the man to lay a trap, and set the police on the Schoolmaster. He is an arrant blackguard, who deserves a hundred deaths; but to have them arrested, that I will not have a hand in."

"Nor I, my boy; but I have a score to wipe off with him and the Chouette, because they are in a plot with others against me; but we two will baffle them completely, if you will lend me your assistance."

"Of course I will; and, if that is to be the game, I am your man. But quick, quick," cried the Chourineur, "down there I see the head of the Chouette. I know it is her bonnet. Go, go, and I will drop into my hole."

"To-night, then, at ten o'clock."

"At the corner of the Champs Elysées and the Allée des Veuves; all right."

Fleur-de-Marie had not heard a word of the latter part of the conversation between the Chourineur and Rodolph, and now entered again into the coach with her travelling companion.

CHAPTER X

CASTLES IN THE AIR

For some time after this conversation with the Chourineur, Rodolph remained preoccupied and pensive, while Fleur-de-Marie, too timid to break the silence, continued to gaze on him with saddened earnestness. At length Rodolph looked up, and, meeting her mournful look, smiled kindly on her, and said, "What are you thinking of, my child? I fear our rencontre with the Chourineur has made you uncomfortable, and we were so merry, too."

"Oh, no, M. Rodolph, indeed, I do not mind it at all; nay, I even believe the meeting with the Chourineur may be useful to you."

"Did not this man pass amongst the inhabitants of the tapis-franc as possessing some good points among his many bad ones?"

"Indeed, I know not, M. Rodolph; for although, previously to the scene of yesterday, I had frequently seen him, I had scarcely ever spoken to him. I always looked upon him as bad as all the rest."

"Well, well, do not let us talk any more about him, my pretty Fleur-de-Marie. I should be sorry, indeed, to make you sad, – I, who brought you out purposely that you might spend a happy day."

"Oh, I am happy. It is so very long since I have been out of Paris."

"Not since your grand doings with Rigolette."

"Yes, indeed, M. Rodolph; but that was in the spring. Yet, though it is now autumn, I enjoy it quite as much. How beautifully the sun shines! Only look at the gold-coloured clouds out there – there, I mean; and then that hill, with its pretty white houses half hid among the trees, and the leaves still so green, though we are in the middle of the month of October. Do not you think it is wonderful, M. Rodolph, they should so well preserve their verdure? In Paris, all the leaves wither so soon. Look! look at those pigeons! how many there are! and how high they fly! Now they are settling on that old mill. One is never tired in the open fields of looking at all these amusing sights."

"It, is, indeed, a pleasure to behold the delight you seem to take in all these trifling matters, Fleur-de-Marie; though they, in reality, constitute the charm of a landscape."

And Rodolph was right; for the countenance of his companion, while gazing upon the fair, calm scene before her, was lit up with an expression of the purest joy.

"See!" she exclaimed, after intently watching the different objects that unfolded themselves to her eager look, "see how beautifully the clear white smoke rises from those cottages, and ascends to the very clouds themselves; and there are some men ploughing the land. What a capital plough they have got, drawn by those two fine gray horses. Oh, if I were a man, how I should like to be a husbandman, to go out in the fields, and drive one's own plough; and then when you look to see the blue skies, and the green shiny leaves of the neighbouring forests, – such a day as to-day, for instance, when you feel half inclined to weep, without knowing why, and begin singing old and melancholy songs, like 'Geneviève de Brabant.' Do you know 'Geneviève de Brabant,' M. Rodolph?"

"No, my child; but I hope you will have the kindness to sing it to me before the day is over. You know our time is all our own."

At these words, which reminded the poor Goualeuse that her newly tasted happiness was fast fleeting away, and that, at the close of this, the brightest day that had ever shone on her existence, she must return to all the horrors of a corrupt city, her feelings broke through all restraint, she hid her face in her hands and burst into tears. Much surprised at her emotion, Rodolph kindly inquired its cause.

"What ails you, Fleur-de-Marie? What fresh grief have you found?"

"Nothing, – nothing indeed, M. Rodolph," replied the girl, drying her eyes and trying to smile. "Pray forgive me for being so sad, and please not to notice it. I assure you I have nothing at all to grieve about, – it is only a fancy; and now I am going to be quite gay, you will see."

"And you were as gay as could be a few minutes ago."

"Yes, I know I was; and it was my thinking how soon – " answered Fleur-de-Marie, naïvely, and raising her large, tearful blue eyes, with touching candour, to his face.