LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

object that she invests him with false honors and dignity, and introduces him to the chief mandarins of the capital of the Celestial Empire; then, since so handsome a youth must cut a fine figure in society, and as a fine figure cannot be cut without money, the lady must needs to sacrifice all of her possessions for his sake. Necklaces, rings, bracelets, diamonds, and pearls, all are surrendered. The monster carries all these jewels to the pawnbrokers on Tien-Tsi Street, and then has the cruelty to refuse her the tickets, so that she may have a chance of redeeming her treasures.”

      The clown thought that at last he had hit the mark. Mme. Fauvel began to betray signs of agitation.

      Once she made an attempt to rise from her chair; but it seemed as if her strength failed her, and she sank back, forced to listen to the end.

      “Finally, ladies and gentlemen,” continued the clown, “the richly stored jewel-cases became empty. The day came when the mandarine had nothing more to give. It was then that the young scoundrel conceived the project of carrying off the jasper button belonging to the Mandarin Li-Fo—a splendid jewel of incalculable value, which, being the badge of his dignity, was kept in a granite chest, and guarded by three soldiers night and day. Ah! the mandarine resisted a long time! She knew the innocent soldiers would be accused and crucified, as is the custom in Pekin; and this thought restrained her. But her lover besought her so tenderly, that she finally yielded to his entreaties; and—the jasper button was stolen. The fourth picture represents the guilty couple stealthily creeping down the private stairway: see their frightened look—see—”

      He abruptly stopped. Three or four of his auditors rushed to the assistance of Mme. Fauvel, who seemed about to faint; and at the same time he felt his arm roughly seized by someone behind him.

      He turned around and faced De Clameran and Lagors, both of whom were pale with anger.

      “What do you want, gentlemen?” he inquired politely.

      “To speak to you,” they both answered.

      “I am at your service.”

      And he followed them to the end of the picture-gallery, near a window opening on a balcony.

      Here they were unobserved except by the man in the Venetian cloak, whom the clown had so respectfully addressed as “M. the Count.”

      The minuet having ended, the orchestras were resting, and the crowd began to rapidly fill the gallery.

      The sudden faintness of Mme. Fauvel had passed off unnoticed save by a few, who attributed it to the heat of the room. M. Fauvel had been sent for; but when he came hurrying in, and found his wife composedly talking to Madeleine, his alarm was dissipated, and he returned to the card-tables.

      Not having as much control over his temper as Raoul, M. de Clameran angrily said:

      “In the first place, monsieur, I would like to know who you are.”

      The clown determined to answer as if he thought the question were a jest, replied in the bantering tone of a buffoon:

      “You want my passport, do you, my lord doge? I left it in the hands of the city authorities; it contains my name, age, profession, domicile, and every detail—”

      With an angry gesture, M. de Clameran interrupted him.

      “You have just committed a gross insult!”

      “I, my lord doge?”

      “Yes, you! What do you mean by telling this abominable story in this house?”

      “Abominable! You may call it abominable; but I, who composed it, have a different opinion of it.”

      “Enough, monsieur; you will at least have the courage to acknowledge that your performance was a vile insinuation against Mme. Fauvel?”

      The clown stood with his head thrown back, and mouth wide open, as if astounded at what he heard.

      But anyone who knew him would have seen his bright black eyes sparkling with malicious satisfaction.

      “Bless my heart!” he cried, as if speaking to himself. “This is the strangest thing I ever heard of! How can my drama of the Mandarine Li-Fo have any reference to Mme. Fauvel, whom I don’t know from Adam or Eve? I can’t think how the resemblance——unless——but no, that is impossible.”

      “Do you pretend,” said M. de Clameran, “to be ignorant of M. Fauvel’s misfortune?”

      The clown looked very innocent, and asked:

      “What misfortune?”

      “The robbery of which M. Fauvel was the victim. It has been in everyone’s mouth, and you must have heard of it.”

      “Ah, yes, yes; I remember. His cashier ran off with three hundred and fifty thousand francs. Pardieu! It is a thing that almost daily happens. But, as to discovering any connection between this robbery and my play, that is another matter.”

      M. de Clameran made no reply. A nudge from Lagors had calmed him as if by enchantment.

      He looked quietly at the clown, and seemed to regret having uttered the significant words forced from him by angry excitement.

      “Very well,” he finally said in his usual haughty tone; “I must have been mistaken. I accept your explanation.”

      But the clown, hitherto so humble and silly-looking, seemed to take offence at the word, and, assuming a defiant attitude, said:

      “I have not made, nor do I intend making, any explanation.”

      “Monsieur,” began De Clameran.

      “Allow me to finish, if you please. If, unintentionally, I have offended the wife of a man whom I highly esteem, it is his business to seek redress, and not yours. Perhaps you will tell me he is too old to demand satisfaction: if so, let him send one of his sons. I saw one of them in the ball-room to-night; let him come. You asked me who I am; in return I ask you who are you—you who undertake to act as Mme. Fauvel’s champion? Are you her relative, friend, or ally? What right have you to insult her by pretending to discover an allusion to her in a play invented for amusement?”

      There was nothing to be said in reply to this. M. de Clameran sought a means of escape.

      “I am a friend of M. Fauvel,” he said, “and this title gives me the right to be as jealous of his reputation as if it were my own. If this is not a sufficient reason for my interference, I must inform you that his family will shortly be mine: I regard myself as his nephew.”

      “Ah!”

      “Next week, monsieur, my marriage with Madeleine will be publicly announced.”

      This news was so unexpected, so startling that for a moment the clown was dumb; and now his surprise was genuine.

      But he soon recovered himself, and, bowing with deference, said, with covert irony:

      “Permit me to offer my congratulations, monsieur. Besides being the belle to-night, Mlle. Madeleine is worth, I hear, half a million.”

      Raoul de Lagors had anxiously been watching the people near them, to see if they overheard this conversation.

      “We have had enough of this gossip,” he said, in a disdainful tone; “I will only say one thing more, master clown, and that is, that your tongue is too long.”

      “Perhaps it is, my pretty youth, perhaps it is; but my arm is still longer.”

      De Clameran here interrupted them by saying:

      “It is impossible for one to seek an explanation from a man who conceals his identity under the guise of a fool.”

      “You are at liberty, my lord doge, to ask the master of the house who I am—if you dare.”

      “You are,” cried Clameran, “you are—”

      A warning look from Raoul checked the forge-master from using an epithet which would have led to an affray, or at least

Скачать книгу