This etext was transcribed by Les Bowler

THE
WOMAN OF MYSTERY

BY

GEORGES OHNET

AUTHOR OF “THE IRONMASTER,” “DOCTOR RAMEAU,” ETC.

TRANSLATED BY FRED. ROTHWELL, B.A.

A NEW EDITION

LONDON
CHATTO & WINDUS

1904

PRINTED BY
WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BECCLES.

CONTENTS

PART I

CHAPTER I

In his study, situated in the Rue Saint-Dominique, the Minister of War was walking to and fro. In furious fashion he twisted his moustache, which seemed even redder than usual, as he nervously fingered his eyeglass, in a manner which promised anything but a cordial welcome to any who entered his presence. Doubtless, his officers were well acquainted with the reasons of his ill-humour, for a profound silence reigned all around, and the great man’s solitude was undisturbed save by the querulous twitterings of the birds in the garden. A minute later, he seemed to lose all patience, and, marching to the mantelpiece, he pressed an electric bell. An usher, with anxious mien, at once approached.

“Has Colonel Vallenot returned?” exclaimed the Minister, in fierce tones.

The servant shrunk away, as though he would have liked the earth to open and swallow him; then he stammered, faintly—

“I do not think so, sir—I will ask—”

The General became purple with rage. An oath burstforth from his lips like a bombshell, then a second, the third was useless. The door was again closed, the servant had vanished.

“What can Vallenot be doing all the time he has been gone?” muttered the Minister, as he resumed his pacing about the room. “Ah! This is the way I am served!”

Before he could finish, the usher had opened the door, and announced—

“Colonel Vallenot.”

A man of fifty years of age, tall and thin, with blue eyes and light moustache, marched briskly into the room, and, after saluting his superior in friendly wise, said—

“You seem to have lost all patience, General. I found an officer waiting for me at the very door of the War Office. The fact is, this has been anything but a small matter. After all, I have done everything possible—”

“Indeed!” interrupted the Minister, impatiently. “You have just come from Vanves?”

“Yes, General.”

“Alone?”

“No; I took with me one of our cleverest detectives. You had not given me this authorization, but I took upon myself the responsibility.”

“You have done quite right. But are you sure he is trustworthy?”

“Absolutely. He is a former sub-officer. Besides, I did not reveal to him the real object of my researches; he knows nothing important, and imagines he has simply been my auxiliary in an inquiry into the causes of a catastrophe hitherto ill-explained. We have nothing to fear in this direction.”

“Well, what has been the result of your researches?”

“If you will allow me, General, we will divide the inquiry into two parts, one consisting of moral circumstances, the other of material facts. The affair is more complicated than you at first thought, and when I have finished, your embarrassment, instead of having lessened, will probably have increased.”

“Impossible!”

He sat down before the desk, leaned over on his elbows, and, motioning to the Colonel to take a seat in an armchair by his side, said—

“Now, tell me everything.”

“The house tenanted by General de Trémont is situated above the village of Vanves, near the fort. It was the night-watch which gave the alarm, and the garrison which organized first aid when the fire broke out. Nothing worth mentioning remains of the building. The explosion of the combustible matter contained in the laboratory has disorganized the very foundations, and the effect has been formidable. Stones hurled into the air have been found more than a mile distant, and the surrounding gardens belonging to the peasants are covered with débris. Had there been houses in the neighbourhood, the loss to property would have been enormous—”

The Minister interrupted.

“The effects of melinite, probably?”

“No, General, something quite different! Increase a hundred-fold the effects of the powder actually employed in charging our bombshells, and then perhaps you will have the equivalent of the destructive power revealed by the explosion of General de Trémont’s laboratory.”

The Minister shook his head.

“Yes; that is what he told me the last time I saw him at the Artillery meeting. He was on the trace of a discovery destined to give to our cannons so crushing a superiority that we were to become for long the arbiters of victory. The struggle against us would have been marked by such massacres, accomplished with such absolute precision, that our military supremacy would have been certain once more. Has this had anything to do with the discovery?”

“Then you admit, General, that malevolence may not have been entirely foreign to this mishap!”

“I admit nothing, Vallenot. I suspect everything. When you have told me all you know, we will talk it over. Continue.”

“On reaching the spot, we found a body of troops, who had been ordered by the Ministry to proceed there, guarding the approaches of the property. There was already collected a crowd of three or four hundred people, discussing the matter, without counting a score of journalists, who made more noise than all the others together. They were complaining that they were not allowed to visit the spot where the explosion had taken place among the still smoking ruins of the villa. But there was in command a stern little lieutenant, who, in quite military fashion, had maintained order. Probably the press will be against us, but in the mean time we shall not have been interrupted; and that is something to be thankful for. Inside, there was only the secretary of the Prefecture of Police and the head of the detective force. My agent and I had come at the right moment. The researches were just beginning—”

“Where? In the house?”

“On the site of what had been the house, and which now offered to the gaze nothing but a gaping hole, at the bottom of which appeared a cellar, the vaults of which had been burst open. A staved-in barrel of wine formed a red pool on the floor. Not a trace of the staircase remained. The very steps had disappeared, and the stones were broken up into fragments as large as pigeons’ eggs. Never should I have thought such a crumbling possible. Wonderful to relate, one side of a wall which must have belonged to a wash-house remained standing, along with a narrow window, in the iron bars of which a cloth-rag was waving. We were all staring at this solitary vestige of the disaster, when the chief of the detective force cautiously approached the spot. Raising his stick, he touched the shapeless rag hanging there, picked it up from the ground with an exclamation of surprise, and exposed it to our gaze. It was a human arm, still covered with both coat and shirt sleeves, cut off at the elbow, and covered with blood, the hand quite black.”

“Most extraordinary!” exclaimed the Minister.

“Rather sinister, General,” continued Colonel Vallenot. “I have seen hundreds of men killed on the field of battle, and thousands of wounded carried off in ambulances. At Gravelotte, I saw the head of the captain of my squadron roll at my feet, and the eyes wink repeatedly in the dust. It had been carried off by the bursting of a shell. In Tonkin I have found soldiers cut in four, their faces still grinning in spite of their torture. But never have I been so impressed as I was by this human arm, the sole remaining vestige of the drama we were trying to understand. The Government agent was the first to regain his sang froid, and he said, ‘Gentlemen, this is an important piece of evidence. This arm has evidently been hurled across these bars by the explosion. But to whom did it belong? Is it one of the ill-fated General de Trémont’s arms?’ ‘The General did not live alone in the villa,’ observed the detective. ‘There was a cook and a man-servant. Let us at once eliminate the supposition of the cook. This is a man’s arm; accordingly, it belonged either to the General or to his valet. Unless—’ There was a silence. The Government agent turned towards him and said, ‘Well, finish. Unless it belongs to the author of the catastrophe himself.’”

“Ah!” said the Minister; “then he, too, thought the affair might be the result of a crime.”

“Yes, General; and, as he spoke, he examined with the most minute attention the smutty, blackened hand. Carefully separating the fingers, he drew from the fourth finger a ring, which none of us had noticed; and, holding it aloft in triumph, said, ‘The question is decided, if this ring belongs to the General. If not, we still doubtless possess a valuable piece of circumstantial evidence, which will permit us to unravel the mystery.’”

“A ring! The deuce! I never remember seeing Trémont wearing a ring! No! I would take my oath on it. He never wore an ornament of any kind in his life, much less a ring. It would have been absurd in a man who was in the habit of handling acids from morning to night! No metal would have resisted the oxidising action of the substances he used in his experiments. But what kind of a ring was it?”

“An engagement ring, General. When rubbed with a glove-skin, the gold circle shone out, freed from the soot which tarnished it. Our agent fingered it a moment, then pressed it with his nail, and the ring separated in two. ‘Look here, gentlemen!’ he exclaimed. ‘There are letters engraved in the interior. Whatever happens, we now hold a clue.’”

“This fellow has, indeed, proved himself very clever, Vallenot,” said the Minister. “Up to the present, I find that he is the only one who has shown any initiative. I must remember it.”

“Wait a little, General. I have not yet reached the end. The Government agent had taken up the engagement ring, and was examining it. He finally placed it coolly in his pocket, with the words, ‘We will look into this later on.’ And there we all stood, rather discountenanced by the strange intervention of the magistrate in leaving our curiosity thus disappointed. On due reflection, perhaps he was right in postponing for a more thorough examination the information destined to result from this discovery, in not publishing proofs which might be of supreme importance. Still, if he wished to keep the secret of his investigations, he was disappointed, for at that very moment our agent, pursuing his inquiries, had removed the double sleeve, and laid bare the naked arm. This time it was no longer possible to conceal what he had found. On the forearm, between the wrist and the bleeding end, a blue tattooing appeared, representing a heart surrounded with flames, around which could be read the words ‘Hans and Minna,’ and beneath the German word ‘Immer,’ signifying ‘Always.’ ‘Gentlemen,’ said the Government agent, fixing his eyeglass, ‘I demand of you the utmost discretion. A single word on what we have just discovered might have the most serious consequences. We may be in presence of an anarchist plot, or be obliged to suspect foreign interference. The affair is assuming quite unexpected proportions. In all probability a crime has been committed.’”

“The deuce!” exclaimed the Minister. “I say, Vallenot, this is becoming serious! Perhaps we ought at once to inform the President of the Board of—”

“The secretary of the Prefect of Police must have done so already. As soon as he saw how matters were turning, he did not wait for the end of the inquiry, but immediately rode off to the Place Beauvau.”

“The first thing to do is to prevent the press from saying anything silly. If we have a crow to pick with foreign agents, for Trémont’s investigations were suspected in Europe, it is of the highest importance that no suspicions be aroused, so that we may try to seize the authors of this guilty attempt.”

“That is what we thought, General, and, consequently, all arrangements have at once been taken. It was absolutely necessary to throw public opinion on a false scent. Accordingly, the theory of a chance accident was inevitable. It was at once decided that all communications made to the press should have this object in view. General de Trémont was rather eccentric, we must say, engaged in commercial chemical investigations, and it was his imprudence which had brought about the accident which has now cost him his life.”

“Poor Trémont! So fine a savant as he was! Well! well! State reasons must predominate. But it is hard to contribute in heaping calumnies on an old comrade!”

“Do not have such thoughts, General,” interrupted Colonel Vallenot, with a smile. “There are surprises in store for us which will, doubtless, lessen your regret.”

“What do you mean?” said the rough soldier, frowning. “You do not intend to utter calumnies against my friend from childhood, my comrade in war?”

“God forbid, General! I shall simply give you the facts on which you desired information. If I have the misfortune to displease you, you will not be angry with me; you are too just for that.”

“What is the meaning of this silence? Continue right to the end, Colonel; speak freely.”

“So I intend to do, General. Well, then, the secretary of the Prefect of Police had just undertaken to supply the version arranged by us to the numerous reporters waiting there, held in check by the line of troops, and to inform the Minister of the Interior, in case the police might have to be called in, when a great uproar arose from the direction of the village. A tumult of cries and shouts was heard. The lieutenant was preparing to go and see what was happening, when a man, breaking through the sentinels, ran up to us, bare-headed, with troubled countenance, and exclaiming, in tones of despair, ‘My master! O God! What has happened to the house? Not one stone left on another!’ Thereupon he halted, sank down on the ruins, and began to weep bitterly. We looked at him in silence, moved by his grief, and foreseeing some speedy enlightenment on the dark situation we were in. ‘Who are you, my friend?’ asked the Government agent. The man raised his head, passed his hand over his eyes to brush away his tears, and, raising up to us a countenance at once intelligent and determined, said, ‘The General’s head servant, sir, for the last twenty years. Ah! If I had been there, this disaster might perhaps have been avoided! At any rate, I would have died with him!’”

“It was Baudoin!” exclaimed the General. “The brave fellow had escaped! Ah! That is fortunate. We shall learn something from him!”

“Yes, General, but not the enlightenment we expected. Rather the contrary.”

“In what way the contrary?”

“I will explain. The night before, about six o’clock, the General was in his garden, strolling about, after working all day in the laboratory, when a telegram reached him from Vanves. He read it, continued his walk for a few minutes, with bowed head, as though in profound meditation, then he called Baudoin. ‘You must set out for Paris,’ he said to him. ‘I have an important order to give to my chemist, who lives in the Place de la Sorbonne. Give him this letter, then go to M. Baradier and pay him my respects. Then dine, and, if you like to spend the evening at the theatre, you may do so; here is a five franc piece. Return to-morrow morning with the chemicals.’

“Baudoin, who knew what it all meant, understood that the General wished him to leave the house for the whole night. He was anything but pleased at this, because, he said, it was not the first time that it had happened, and always under the same circumstances: the arrival of a telegram, and the dismissal immediately following.

“Still, the General did not give a holiday to the cook, with whom he was less cautious, as she was in the habit of going bed very early, which fact rendered any surveillance she might have exercised almost null. So the General needed to be alone from time to time. And he took care to send away the faithful servant, on whom he might have relied for the most complete discretion. What reason had he? This was what troubled Baudoin, and displeased him. So little was he accustomed to conceal his thoughts from his master that the latter noticed his sulky mood, and said to him: ‘What is the matter? Don’t you want me to send you to Paris? Are you to be pitied for the opportunity of going and enjoying yourself?’ ‘I don’t care about going to the theatre,’ Baudoin had said, ‘but I do about performing my duty.’ ‘Very well, you are doing your duty; you are obeying the order I have given you, to fetch for me some chemical products, dangerous to handle, but which I must have; besides, you are to call on my friend Baradier. Now go. I do not want you before to-morrow morning.’ ‘Very well, sir.’

“But Baudoin was anything but pleased, a secret anxiety troubled him. Proceeding to the kitchen, he said to the cook, ‘Last time the General sent me to Paris, what happened during the night? Did the General dine as usual? Did he shut himself up in his study, or did he go into the garden? At what time did he retire for the night? Did nothing happen out of the ordinary?’

“The woman said she knew nothing, she had noticed nothing unusual, and was very much astonished at his questions. He saw she was a thousand leagues from suspecting anything, so he did not press his questions. Still, although deeply respecting his master’s wishes, his interest in his welfare made him less strictly obedient, and he resolved to feign a departure, then take up a post outside, so that he might see what took place once the General was sure there was no inconvenient observer to be dreaded. The weather was exceedingly mild. Not a breath of air, and the gardens, filled with roses, shed forth exquisite odours as night approached.

“Baudoin, after dressing himself, went to take leave of his master, received from him a list of the chemical products to be purchased, a few lines for his friend Baradier, and then took his departure. He went straight to the station, dined in a small restaurant close by, and, after nightfall, returned towards the house of his master. He dared not enter the garden, as he was afraid he would be noticed by the General, so he slipped into a cottage garden, the owner of which was his friend, and concealed himself in a small hut used for storing tools.

“From this spot he could keep an eye on the approaches of the villa, and, along a thick hedge, come right up to the wall adjoining the General’s property. He sat down, lit his pipe, and waited. A few minutes before eight, the roll of a carriage was heard on the road. Baudoin, in ambush behind the hedge, was keeping a sharp look-out. By the light of the lantern he saw a brougham, drawn by two horses, pass by. Something told him that this carriage contained the persons the General was expecting. He ran along, right to the wall of the villa, and reached it the very moment the brougham came to a stop before the door. But he was not the only one on the look-out, for scarcely had the horses, still panting from the steep ascent, come to a halt, than the lofty form of the General showed itself through the darkness. At the same time, an impatient hand opened the door, and a man’s voice said, in foreign accents, ‘Ah! General, so you have come to meet us?’ M. de Trémont simply replied, ‘Is the Baroness there?’ ‘Certainly,’ replied the voice of a woman. ‘Could you imagine otherwise?’ The man was the first to descend. But the General gave him no time to help his companion to descend; he sprang forward with the eagerness of a lover, and, almost carrying off the lady in his arms, exclaimed, with extraordinary ardour, ‘Come, madame, you have nothing to fear—no one can see you.’ The man uttered a brutal laugh, and said, in guttural tones, ‘Do not trouble about me, I will follow you,’ and all three disappeared into the garden. Baudoin, astonished, had only time to place on the wall a ladder which happened to be there. As soon as he could look into his master’s garden, the alleys were empty, but the large window of the laboratory was shining through the darkness. The faithful fellow said to himself, ‘What is to be done? Enter the house? Play the spy on the General? Disobey his orders? For what reason? Has he not the right to receive any one he pleases? What am I thinking about? Is it likely that the people he receives are objects of suspicion? Their carriage is waiting at the door, a sign that they will not remain long, but will return to Paris immediately. Here I am, troubling my head for nothing in all probability! All I can do now is to obey my master.’ He descended the ladder, proceeded along the hedge, left the garden, and reached the railway. His master’s orders were now literally followed, except that the drug store was closed when he arrived there, and he was obliged to return the following morning. When he reached Vanves, he found the approaches to the General’s property occupied by a guard, the villa in ruins, and his master vanished from the scene of the catastrophe.”

Colonel Vallenot had finished. Profound silence, interrupted only by the twittering of the birds in the neighbouring trees, reigned in the Minister’s study. The old soldier, leaning forward on his desk, his head resting on his hand, was buried in reflection. After a short pause, he said, with a sigh—

“How surprising all this is! Doubtless here is the key of the whole matter. These two unknown characters, one with a foreign accent, coming mysteriously by night to see Trémont, and their visit followed by such a frightful cataclysm; what does it all mean? Is it an accident or a crime? And, if a crime, what motive inspired it?”

Rising, he crossed to the window, with anxious mien, then returned mechanically to his desk, resumed his seat, and, again fixing his eyes on the Colonel, said—

“Well! Vallenot, what happened after this honest fellow had finished his tale? What measures were taken?”

“A squad of soldiers from the fort had been sent for, and the ruins were carefully searched, under the supervision of the police. Nothing, however, was found. The destruction was too complete. With the exception of the side of the wall still standing, not a single piece of anything was left whole. Still, after a couple of hours’ examination of the débris, from which arose a very strong odour of fulminate of mercury, the diggers brought to light an iron chest, with broken hinges, the bottom of which was curiously pierced with thousands of holes as though with an auger.”

“That is one result of the explosion,” interrupted the Minister. “You are aware that we have in our shrapnels similar cases of rupture. It is quite possible the initial explosion took place in this chest. Has it been kept?”

“It was handed over to the Government agent.”

“We may need it again when we undertake an analysis of the substances which occasioned the deflagration. Finish your explanations. What became of the carriage stationed in front of the door?”

“The carriage must have left before the accident. There was not a trace of it on the road near the villa. The customs officers, on being interrogated, declared that a brougham, driven by two horses, returned to Paris about eleven o’clock. To the question, ‘Have you anything to declare?’ a female voice had replied, ‘Nothing.’ As for the explosion, the guard at the fort reports that it took place about three o’clock in the morning.”

“Then the man with the foreign accent had remained, after the departure of the carriage?”

“Most probably.”

“You are not certain?”

“I did not wait for the end of the investigations; I came away to inform you of what I had learnt, leaving behind me our agent, with orders to return here at once, after the final statement had been made.”

“Perhaps he is here now?”

Colonel Vallenot pressed the electric knob, and the usher appeared.

“Has Laforêt returned?”

“Yes, Colonel, a minute ago.”

“Send him here.”

Closing the door with considerable precaution, the agent, with firm step, a sonorous cough, and head raised in military fashion, as he stood at attention, appeared before his principals.

The Minister examined for a moment the man’s frank, martial face; then he asked briefly—

“Colonel Vallenot has reported all that had taken place up to the time of his departure from Vanves. Complete his version by telling us what you have learnt since. Take a seat, Vallenot.”

“Monsieur le Ministre,” said the agent, “I will come at once to the most important point: the body of General de Trémont has been found.”

“In the ruins?”

“In the garden. At first no one thought of searching beyond the house and the débris. It was whilst exploring the bushes that the body of the General was discovered, close to the entrance gate.”

“What! Had the explosion projected him so far?”

The agent replied—

“The body had not been projected by the explosion. It had remained on the very spot where it had been struck by a knife under the left shoulder-blade. The General was dead when the explosion took place, and certainly the explosion was caused by the assassin.”

“The man with the foreign accent? The companion of the lady the General called ‘Baroness’?”

The agent kept his countenance before these bold questions. For a moment he appeared to be reflecting; then he said—

“Yes, the one who has left his arm in the ruins of the villa, and who in forcing open the chest escaped death only by a miracle. The man named Hans, in short.”

“But what makes you say that he escaped death?” asked the Minister.

“Because I found tracks in the garden continued outside on the road he followed, leaving his blood behind at every step. The man must be endowed with indomitable energy to have had the strength to escape, mutilated as he was, to reach the fields, and there, doubtless, find some market cart or other to pick him up and carry him to Paris; but this is an additional inquiry to be made, and a track to be followed up.”

“In your opinion, then, it is the man who came with the woman who killed the General?”

“Yes, Monsieur le Ministre; most likely when the General was conducting them back to the carriage. The murder took place close to the gate. The sand is trodden down as though a struggle had taken place, and the body had been carried off behind the bushes. The traces of the trailing legs are quite visible. The woman probably helped. At any rate, once the murder accomplished, she must have left, whilst the man stayed behind. He robbed the General of his keys, which never left him, and which have not been found; in addition, he took his watch and portfolio, so that it might be believed that a murder, the motive of which was robbery, had been committed; then he entered the villa, and worked in the laboratory. It was with the laboratory that he had to do.”

“How do you know this?”

“From what Baudoin, his valet, said. It appears that, one day, whilst placing things in order, in the cabinet of the General, the latter entered on his way from the laboratory. He took a few paces in the room, rubbing his hands together; then he said almost to himself, ‘This time our fortune is made! What will Hans say?’ For a week the General had been working hard at an experiment, which had hitherto failed, and from which he expected great results. On different occasions, formerly, he had temporarily dismissed his valet, certainly with the object of receiving his mysterious guests at night.”

“Good; we will admit what you say regarding the man,” said the Minister, captivated by the explanations of his agent. “But, in your opinion, what shall we think of the rôle played by the woman?”

“That is much more evident, Monsieur le Ministre; both indications and proofs abound. The General de Trémont has been the victim of a too tender disposition. I know nothing of the General’s secrets or researches, though the journals have on different occasions spoken of his investigations. He was a member of the Academy of Science, and his reputation as a savant was fully established. Suppose for a moment that M. de Trémont had made a discovery of interest to the future of European armies, and that some one Power wished to obtain information as to the value of his invention—obtain possession of it, perhaps. Do we not know that women have been, only too often, the best political agents employed in our country? In spite of his age, the General remained very susceptible. A young woman, beautiful and intelligent, is placed in his path. He meets her by chance, falls in love with her. But the fair one is guarded; she is obliged to take great precautions. A complaisant friend, relation, perhaps, under the cover of science, facilitates the interviews by accompanying the lady, so as to throw some imaginary rival off the track. Whilst the old lover is paying his court, the benevolent companion, observes, takes his measures, skilfully questions, and obtains the confidence of the one to whom he is rendering a service. Passion lulls all fear, and a sweet smile and caressing eyes drive one to acts of folly. Then, one fine night, the General de Trémont, who has, doubtless, finished his discovery, is visited by the unknown couple. The woman tries to obtain the secret. She does not succeed. Then the man, as a last extremity, decides to strike. The General falls under the dagger; his accomplice takes to flight. The assassin returns with the keys, searches the laboratory, and tries to open the chest containing the precious products. But the dreaded powder, unskilfully handled, avenges its maker, and, in a terrible explosion, annihilates at the same time both formula and the one trying to steal it. This is how it is possible, Monsieur le Ministre, to make a guess at the events now occupying our attention. But—I do not wish to deceive myself—this is only conjecture. There may be other versions, more certain, if not more likely. What is an absolute fact is that General de Trémont has been assassinated, that the murderer was one of the two persons received that night at the villa, and that the explosion following on the crime has been caused by the imprudence of the man we may name Hans, who has been grievously wounded.”

The Minister and Colonel Vallenot looked at one another for a moment in silence. Then the Minister said to the agent—

“I thank you for your report, but do not trouble any further in the matter, which is in the hands of the police. If we have any additional investigations to make, I will send for you. Now go, and do not say a word to any one on the matter.”

Laforêt bowed, gave a military salute, and, with the same tranquil precision, left the room. The two principals sat there absorbed by what they had heard, going over once more all the details of this drama, which was becoming materially so clear, but remained morally so obscure. The precautions taken by the two accomplices appeared so perfect, that it was doubtful whether the truth could be learned concerning them. One hope remained—the wounded man, with his arm cut off, might be found, half-dead with exhaustion on the road. By questioning the inhabitants of the neighbourhood, the man might be discovered; doubtless the police were already on the track, and the most adroit detectives as well.

“You know, Vallenot, Trémont was my senior. He retired before the age limit, the more easily to devote his time to scientific research; as he had serious money difficulties.”

“And now,” said Colonel Vallenot, “we have reached the point I wished to come to, when I said, at the beginning of my report, that, after examining the material facts, we should deal with the moral considerations of this affair. The examination of facts is over. There has been the death of a man, probably an attempt at robbery, and finally, the complete destruction of an inhabited house. But under what conditions have all these criminal acts been accomplished?”

“I understand what you mean. You see in this affair something other than a criminal attempt. You suspect a plot of a special order, something very delicate, fastidious, dangerous even.”

“Yes, General, because in this case, we have not our hands quite free in the search of the causes, hindered as we are by diplomacy, by politics, and often even by such unexpected complicities that we are first obliged to beat about the bush, then to withdraw, and finally, give up all idea of proceeding with rigour. Shall I enumerate the affairs in which we have come to no certain issue for several years?”

“It is unnecessary, I am sufficiently well informed on the situation, and have a tolerably good idea of what you possess in the archives. How long have you been in the Ministry, Vallenot?”

“Ten years, occupying different positions, with intervals of service in the regiments. We have never ceased being exploited by other nations, with a skill, an audacity, and a perseverance, against which all our efforts have been in vain. The most important captures have always been effected by women. Accordingly, when the servant of General de Trémont spoke of this nocturnal lady-visitor, my suspicions were immediately aroused.”

“Explain yourself.”

“It is not the first time, General, that we have had to deal with this mysterious woman, who comes and passes away, leaving ruin and bloodshed in her train. Her manner of procedure is always the same: she fixes her mind on some one whom she knows to be in a position to give up to her some important secret or other, then she seduces him, until, in the end, he betrays it. Then, she casts him off, like useless débris. A creature to be dreaded, if I may judge by the results she has already obtained, and a powerful corruptress. No heart is proof against her alluring temptations. She artfully graduates the doses of her love-philtre; and the noblest minds, the most upright consciences, and the staunchest courage bend and capitulate at a sign from her. Do you remember the ill-fated Commandant Cominges, who blew out his brains, without anything being publicly known as to the reason? The woman had come along. Cominges had become her slave. A part of our mobilization had become known. Before killing himself, Cominges swore that the documents had been stolen from his dwelling, whilst he was absent with this woman. He had made the grave mistake of taking them from the office to work on them, and the still graver one of saying that they were in his possession. But the poor fellow had confidence in her. He was a man of honour, a gallant soldier. A pistol-shot settled the whole matter.”

“What was the woman’s name?”

“Madame Ferranti. She took most careful precautions in seeing Cominges, presumably on account of her family. One of our agents, however, was acquainted with her. Within six months he died by an accident. He was, one evening, travelling by rail from Auteuil. They found him dead under a tunnel. Doubtless he had leaned out too far from the carriage.”

“The deuce!”

“The following year the young Captain Fontenailles, a fine young fellow we were all fond of, was induced by a woman, whom his comrades called the ‘Ténébreuse,’ because no one of them ever saw her, to disclose certain confidences. Understanding the gravity of his conduct, he went to his superior and confessed everything. The latter succeeded in repairing the damage done by changing the key to the secret writings. Captain Fontenailles left for Tonkin, where he fell, fighting bravely, at the attack of Bae-Ninh. His fault was atoned for.”

“And the woman is always the same?”

“According to all these gentlemen. The Ferranti of Cominges was the Ténébreuse of Fontenailles. Then there was the Madame Gibson of the Aerostat affair, without speaking of several other cases only partially revealed. Always the same Ténébreuse, with the same method of procedure, corruption. In her train, ruin, tears, and blood.”

“How long has she been engaged in this work of intrigue?”

“Ten years, certainly, General; and under all these impersonations we have not been able to lay our hands on her. She is only known by her professional names.”

“What a deep-dyed scoundrel! We must try to cut short her career.”

“Nothing more difficult. Once the coup accomplished, she disappears, as does an eel, gliding about in the mud, in which it remains hidden until the water again becomes clear. She arranges in such a way as to cut off all communications behind her; that is her method. For instance, in this new affair, we shall have to struggle in the dark. Search will be made for some time, but no clue will be found. The accomplices, as well as the principal instigator of the crime, will now have got to earth. By degrees the search will calm down, and something else will be on the tapis. At any rate, it is in this way that the majority of these cases end, unless—”

“Unless? Ah! You still hope something may happen?”

“Unless this time the wounded accomplice affords us a trace. Let us merely hold one end of the conducting wire, and I promise you, General, we will arrive at some result or other, if only to avenge our poor comrades.”

“And to prevent the repetition of similar accidents. For, after all, Vallenot, you will agree with me that it is rather too much for foreign Powers to become acquainted with our most secret affairs, as though they were matter of discussion on the public thoroughfares.”

“We are as well acquainted with foreign affairs, General, as they are with ours,” said the Colonel with less sullen mien. “To sum up, there are always two at the game; it has ever been so. Ay, the very time, in 1812, when Russia was procuring information as to the efficiency of the Emperor’s troops, Caulaincourt sent to Napoleon the engraved copper plates of the map of Russia. I quote this fact of days gone by without alluding to contemporary events. But, taking everything into consideration, General, our secrets are scarcely secrets at all. If, in war, reliance were placed on nothing beyond mysterious preparations—”

“Then we should have to start by abolishing the press,” muttered the Minister.

“And that is impossible!” said Vallenot. “Still, in this special case before us, we must undertake the task of clearing the moral atmosphere, and employ every means possible, if we would succeed.”

“That concerns the legal authorities now.”

“Officially, General; but we also, on our side, may investigate, in a quiet way, and I have no doubt—”

“The lesson to be learned is that our officers are becoming too gallant!”

“If you know any means, General,” said Vallenot, with a laugh, “of suppressing that, please tell me.”

“To think of this old General! Sixty years old, too! True, he did not appear more than fifty! In what position does he leave his daughter?”

“General de Trémont was a widower?”

“Yes, that is his excuse! But he has a daughter, still at school. She is eighteen years old, and without dowry. Luckily, Baradier is there.”

“You mean Baradier and Graff, the bankers?”

“Certainly. Baradier fought in the war of 1870; he is a true patriot, and his son, Marcel, a fine young fellow, just out of the Central School, has been working with General de Trémont. Marcel Baradier was principally occupied in investigating vegetable dyes, connected with the woollen weaving manufactures his father owns in the Aube. But the General opened his laboratory to him, and probably informed him of his own investigations. We may learn a great deal from this young man, I think.”

“Is the Baradier family in good circumstances?”

“Very wealthy; their fortune daily increases from industrial and from banking operations. It is Graff, Baradier’s step-brother, who deals more specially with finance, whilst Baradier manages the works. Both, however, are busily employed all day long, and the millions roll in, notwithstanding the rivalry of the firm of Lichtenbach, who is a mortal enemy of Baradier and Graff.”

“Business rivalry?”

“More than that. Personal hatred, dating from long back, and madly fomented. They say that Lichtenbach formerly wished to marry Mademoiselle Graff, and that he has never been able to swallow the insult Graff inflicted on him by refusing the proposal and bestowing his sister’s hand on his friend Baradier. Between these two families there is a whole series of differences and grievances, which makes them implacable enemies.”

“Still, General, you see no relation between this hostility and the death of General de Trémont?”

“Not at all. Lichtenbach is a fervent Catholic, in close touch with the Orleanist party, and, in my opinion, incapable of a dishonourable action. Besides, what could it matter to him whether Trémont lived or died?”

“Might not the General’s investigations have a serious interest for the Lichtenbach firm?”

“Doubtless! But we are well aware that Trémont has been specially occupied within the last few weeks with the manufacture of a war powder, the formidable effects of which we have seen in the Vanves explosion. True, the powder in question might become a source of great profit by its possible application to industry in modified proportions. In mines, for instance, or the blasting of quarries, it would certainly have replaced dynamite. There would have been a fortune in such an application of the powder, and this Trémont was well aware of. Now it is all vanished in smoke, and the General has taken his secret with him.”

“Unless he had communicated it to the son of M. Baradier.”

“Ah! that would indeed be strange!”

Three o’clock struck; the Minister arose, and took up his hat, gloves, and stick.

“You are going, General?”

“Yes, I am going to speak to Baradier on the whole matter. Madame Baradier was particularly interested in Mademoiselle de Trémont. I intend to pay a visit of condolence, in person, to this young lady. Her father and myself were great friends, we made campaigns in Mexico and on the Loire together, whilst, on the retreat from Mans, Trémont saved all our lives, by an admirable battery arrangement in the rear of the army, which cut short the pursuit of the Prussians. A fine soldier! One who deserved to fall on the field of battle! But Fate decides such things. Everybody does not die the death he wishes! Well, I will see you to-morrow, Vallenot. And if you hear of anything fresh, ring me up on the telephone.”

The Colonel accompanied his principal right to the large staircase, saluted, and returned to the office.

CHAPTER II

In an old hotel situated at the end of a large courtyard, in the Rue de Provènce, has been established, for more than fifty years, the banking firm of Baradier and Graff. Following on the war of 1870, it was usual in business to designate this establishment under the company name of Alsace-Lorraine. They are ardent patriots, and never since the annexation have they returned to Metz. Still, they have never been willing to sell any of their land property in the lost provinces. They have kept a foot on the soil torn from France, as though they had no doubt they would return to it some day, like masters after a long and sorrowful absence. Baradier is a man of fifty-five years of age, stout and short, with ruddy, pleasant face lit up by light blue eyes. Graff is tall and thin, dark-complexioned, and of stern forbidding mien and glabrous countenance, the complete opposite of his ally, both physically and morally. For Baradier, with his engaging exterior, is an influential and practical man; whilst Graff, with his cold and reserved aspect, possesses the fancy and sensitiveness of a poet.

In other respects, admirably equipped, the imagination of the one moderated by the prudence of the other, and all rough points in the determination of the former being mitigated by the benevolent gentleness of the latter. In financial circles this fortunate want of similarity of disposition was well known. Never did a customer, after failing with Baradier, leave the house without calling at Graff’s office to appeal for his intervention, and obtaining a “just leave the matter to me, I will arrange it all” preliminary balm on the sore of displeasure, followed, in the majority of instances, by an arrangement profitable to both parties. For, in the long run, the two partners had reached such a point that they profited by the differences in their dispositions, and Baradier pretended to be altogether irreconcilable, well knowing that Graff would come in afterwards, and have the pleasure of arranging everything to suit all concerned.

Baradier, hearty and happy-looking, had two children, a son aged twenty-six and a daughter of eighteen, both admirably brought up by their mother. Graff, solemn and sentimental, had remained a bachelor. As Marcel Baradier said jokingly, he would be the best uncle in France in point of inheritance. In fact, Madame Baradier’s brother loves the two children as though they were his own, and every time Marcel commits some grave act of folly he always appeals to Uncle Graff to settle things, as his father is rather strict with him. Father and son, unfortunately, have often been on anything but good terms, for Marcel, reared in the lap of luxury, and early discovering the mercantile value of his name, has not always given his family all the satisfaction that might have been desired. “Nothing important,” said Uncle Graff; “merely money difficulties!”

It was so that the taciturn and modest banker, who would not have spent a farthing outside of his daily expenses on anything else than charity, called the debts which young Marcel periodically gave him the opportunity of paying. When his nephew comes for him at night, after dinner, before leaving for the club, where he goes to indulge in a game of cards, Uncle Graff knows at once his errand. He assumes his most gloomy aspect, sinks into his armchair, casts a veiled glance at his rather embarrassed heir, and, in sepulchral tones, demands—

“Well, what is it this time?”

Then, as Marcel develops his usual request—terribly bad luck at the races, or at baccarat, or some love difficulty—Graff looks at his sister’s son, and, without listening to a word, says to himself, What a handsome fellow! How could one with such a figure help getting into a scrape? He is popular everywhere by reason of his graciousness and amiability. He is only twenty-six, and is it not quite natural that he should enjoy himself while he is young? Why do Baradier and Graff engage in banking operations all day long, anxious as to what is happening at the London and Berlin Exchanges, as well as keeping an eye on the Bourse of Paris, if not for this charming and agreeable young fellow to enjoy himself whilst they are working? Well! Marcel, take your pleasure, and take my share as well, for am I not your steward? Off to the races in a fine turn-out, drawn by prancing horses, and take your place in the most exclusive society; your means, those of the firm of Baradier, will permit of all this. All the same, do not squander too much in gambling; do not wager in too extravagant a fashion, for this is an evil passion, and very harmful to those who recklessly give themselves up to it. In all things else do as you wish, and then come back and give your old uncle the pleasure of asking a service of him.

All these reflections, however, crowding into his mind, and giving him the most perfect satisfaction, Uncle Graff kept wisely to himself. Aloud, he said, in that Lorraine accent he had never succeeded in abandoning—

“How stupid you are, Marcel, to be swindled by a crowd of adventurers! A member of the firm of Baradier and Graff ought not to behave in this way. If your father knew he would be furious. What reply can I give him when he accuses me of encouraging your bad conduct? He is quite right, and I am wrong to give you money when you make such bad use of it. I shall finish by cutting off your allowance. Do you know how much you have received from me since the beginning of the year?”

And as the old bachelor pretended to turn the leaves of his cash-book, Marcel, terrified, exclaimed—

“Oh, Uncle Graff, it shall be the last time!”

“It is always the last time!” replied the old uncle. “Well, tell me all about it.”

And Marcel would enflame the old bachelor’s tender soul with his enthusiasm, and end by obtaining all he wanted.

Still, Uncle Graff had some excuse. Marcel did not neglect his work. Admirably endowed by nature, the young man, as though they were a mere pastime, had advanced considerably in his studies. He had opposed the General de Trémont, who wished him to enter the Polytechnic School, and afterwards the Artillery. He had preferred the Central and the General’s chemical laboratory. Under the supervision of his father’s friend, he had made interesting researches into mineral colouring matters, and given Baradier the pleasure of saying: “We employ in our works dyeing processes, invented by my son, and which are absolutely unique.”

It was one of Uncle Graff’s grand arguments when defending Marcel—

“You know very well that your son is a remarkable man, and that our manufactures owe much to him!” Whereupon Baradier would reply, furiously—

“Ah! If only he would be serious! He has every quality necessary, but he will not make use of his gifts. Our fine young fellow will work a month a year, and spend the other eleven in reckless folly!”

For all that, for some time past, Marcel seemed to have sobered down, or, rather, his mind was occupied in investigations of more than usual interest. He no longer appeared at the club, scarcely ever went out at nights, and, but for the fact that he still went to the races on Sundays, one might have imagined he had entirely changed his life. Both Baradier and Graff were equally surprised at this transformation; the father was pleased, the uncle uneasy at it. They had spoken on the matter to the General, who had said to them—

“He is an extraordinary young man; you will continually have surprises with him, but do not be anxious, he will turn out a fine man in the end. He has great gifts. Just now he is trying to discover some process of colour photography. Surprising results have already been obtained. Let him alone, do not hinder him, and you will see!”

Graff’s triumph was a brilliant, Baradier’s a quiet one. Marcel had not even noticed the effect caused on his family. He had almost completely quitted Paris. For three weeks he had been living at Troyes, at the Ars manufactory, shut up in his laboratory, only returning to embrace his mother, and give the General an account of the progress of his work. The old chemist and the young inventor then spent delightful days in verifying prescriptions and practising experiments. The one communicated his calculations in the dosings of powders, the other explained his superpositions of plates to obtain the perfect stereotypes he sought. Then they would lunch together, and the General, as warmhearted as the young man, would relate his former escapades, and envy the youth, whilst admiring the strength and intelligence of this fine young fellow before him, who combined so perfectly the capacity for study and pleasure at the same time.

In spite of the storms caused by Marcel’s caprices, life for Baradier and Graff would have flown along pleasantly enough had not destiny brought them in touch with Lichtenbach. Moses, the chief of the firm, son of a Jew marine-store dealer of Passy-sur-Moselle, had in past times been at school with Graff at Metz. Old Graff, who was a brewer, had dealings with Lichtenbach, “the rabbit-skin dealer,” as he called him jokingly, and sold him all his broken glasses and used-up barrels. He imagined him to be poor, and liked to give him the chance of earning a little money. Moses Lichtenbach might have been seen in the streets of Metz driving an old grey horse, harnessed to a waggon, in which the marine-store dealer piled up all kinds of goods and rubbish. He was a kind of wholesale rag-picker, who helped house-wives to get rid of utensils which were no longer of any use, and were becoming an encumbrance. He bought them cheap, but not for nothing. Sometimes, almost ashamed of loading him with corroded stove-pipes, broken shovels, worn-out carpets, and even old straw, or shavings, they would say to him, “Take it, Moses, for the trouble of carting it away.” He would reply, “No! no! Everything has some value or other; I pay little, but I pay.”

It was a point of honour with him to pay. Several people shrugged their shoulders, with a smile, as they said to themselves, “The old madman that he is! What use will he make of all that rubbish?” They were in the wrong. Everything had a value, as Moses affirmed, and this was proved when, after the war, the old man left Metz, and settled in Paris, in the rue de la Chaussee d’Antin, in a small shop, above the door of which he had painted the sign: “Lichtenbach, money-changer.” It was in this modest counter that the Passy dealer, leaving Lorraine, which had become part of the Empire, had commenced his new business, ceasing to buy and sell old iron in order to buy and sell money. But one grave event had happened, which had in no slight degree contributed to the exodus of the Lichtenbach family from Passy to Paris, and to the change of business.

The first cannon-shots of the war, fired at Forbach, had been, for the majority of the inhabitants of Metz and its environs, the signal for departure. The farmers and peasants strictly bound down to the land were the only ones to remain in the villages. All who were free of action had loaded the waggons with their trunks, and reached the towns, to shelter themselves from the enemy, whose approach was announced by defeats and disasters. The highways in the direction of Thionville, Metz, and Verdun were covered with carts and flocks. The majority of the fugitives made their way towards the interior, making forced marches, to escape the invasion, which, according to them, must, of necessity, halt, crushed before the strongholds of the East. Contrary to the general impulse, Moses, decided on leaving Passy, had not bent his steps towards the centre of France. Instead of moving away from the invader he had marched towards him, and leaving behind in the shop everything cumbersome and worthless, had reached Metz with six baggage waggons, carefully covered, and had settled in a small street near the cathedral, with his wife and son, Elias.

Moses had been well received. Through seeing him, along with his waggon and old horse, all over the town, everybody knew him. Some, more cunning than others, said, “Old Moses is a sly fellow. If Metz is besieged he will buy the broken fragments of German shells as old iron, and continue his business.” But they were wrong. Old iron was not now the end of Lichtenbach’s ambition. He had guessed that a stout siege and an energetic defence would take place, that victuals would soon become scarce for the town population, and that whoever had the disposal, at a given time, of special food products, might, by selling them at a high price, make a considerable profit.

Accordingly he had entered the town with his six waggons, whilst in his cellar were carefully stored quantities of brandy, coffee, sugar, ham, and a dozen barrels of salt. He had spent a portion of the ready money he possessed in procuring these stores, and had awaited results. Meanwhile, all the Lorraine youth left. The male population which had not become enrolled in the army, as being under age, undertook to resist the invaders. The old martial blood boiled in French hearts, and the young Graff, returned from the town hall, a cockade in his hat, when he met on the square Elias Lichtenbach, walking about smoking a pipe.

Scores of times, extending over long years, whilst old Moses was stationed at Graff’s door loading old iron, or buying the skins of goats or hares killed by the brewer the previous Sunday, had the two boys played together. Antoine carried off young Elias into the garden, and, between them, to the great wrath of Madame Graff, they would climb the wall and steal the fruit, still unripe. They often played at marbles, but in spite of Elias’s utmost efforts, he could never succeed in transferring his glass ones for Antoine’s agate ones. He was the only boy in the town he had not succeeded in exploiting. One day even Antoine proved himself the more cunning, and succeeded in getting Elias to take an old broken sword in exchange for six enormous marbles quite new. Moses was obliged to confess, with a feeling of humiliation, that the young Graff had proved himself more shrewd than the young Lichtenbach.

It must be stated that, on that occasion, Catherine Graff was present, and, with the object of dazzling his friend’s sister, Elias had shown unwonted generosity. This young girl had even then the power of troubling the young boy.

As he saw his former companion pass by, proud of his patriotic determination, Elias had taken the pipe from his mouth, and said—

“Where are you going, Antoine?”

“To join the 27th line regiment at Chalons.”

“What! Have you enlisted?”

“Yes, like every one else of my age. Are not you going to do the same?”

“I don’t know; my father has said nothing to me about it.”

“Are you to wait for your father’s orders before doing your duty?”

Elias scratched his head, whilst his whole face expressed uncertainty and embarrassment.

“But he needs me for the business.”

“France also needs you, and more urgently than your father.”

“I am only nineteen years old.”

“And I, not yet twenty.”

“Yes, you are right, I will go and speak to my father about it.”

“If I do not see you again, good-bye.”

“Good-bye, and good luck.”

Elias, in greater trouble than he had ever been before, made his way to his father’s shop, and found old Moses in the cellar in the act of bottling brandy. The son was warmly received by his father, and Lichtenbach, filling a goblet, held it out to his son and heir.

“Taste this cognac, it is very palatable! In a short time it will fetch twenty francs a litre; there will be only ourselves who will drink it for nothing, my son!”

“You will drink of it, perhaps, father,” said Elias, troubled. “But I—”

“What! You? What is the meaning of this?”

“Shall I be by your side when the cost of this good liquor has mounted to that price?”

“Well! Where will you be?”

“Where all the youths of the village are—in the army.”

“You in the army, Elias; what will you do there?”

“Fight, like the others.”

Old Moses, by the light of the candle, which lit the cellar, looked at his son in utter bewilderment. He could not believe his own ears. Still he said—

“Fight? Why fight?”

“To defend the country.”

“What country?”

“France, where I have lived and been brought up, whose language I speak, and where all our clients and friends are.”

Old Lichtenbach shook his head, and remained a moment without speaking. Then, in trenchant tones, he said—

“My son, we do business in this country, but we have not been born here. I was in Switzerland, with your mother, in Geneva, when you came into the world. My birthplace is Hanover, your mother’s Baden. Your name appears on no official register, and you are free to do what you like. We are German by birth, French by habit and everyday relations; we belong no more to one side than to the other. The best thing we can do is to keep out of the quarrel. What could we gain by fighting? Blows for you, pain and suffering for both of us. And how would it benefit any one, if Elias Lichtenbach were killed in battle, and old Moses were left to finish his life all alone? Does any one even know why all these people are fighting? Do they even know themselves? They have quarrelled, like tipplers on leaving the grog-shop after having absorbed more than is good for them. And now they fly at one another’s throats. What have the Germans done to you to make you want to fight them? What advantage will you gain from having defended the French?”

“But all the young men are off, father. Antoine Graff, whom I have just met, has received his papers.”

“He is a fool!”

“But the son of Rabbi Zacharias is also going.”

“Great good may he get from it!”

“To-morrow there will only be left in the town the aged and infirm. I shall be the only one remaining, and everybody will laugh me to scorn.”

Old Moses sighed as he said, “Yes, you have your full share of self-respect; you have been brought up in the schools of France, in which a great deal is related on the subject of honour. Listen, Elias, and remember all your life long, all this teaching is sheer nonsense. Honour consists in paying what one owes, and in meeting one’s bills when they fall due. Outside of that, believe me, everything is false. Patriotic legends have been invented to lead men to butchery and slaughter to the strains of the ‘Marseillaise.’ They consist merely of sounding words, with which mankind is deceived in the interests of rulers and states. One ought not to let one’s self be the dupe of such tricks and artifices. When it is all over, none of the sly rascals who have persuaded the rest to fight, and carefully kept out of the way themselves, will give you even a single word of pity for your misfortunes. I have seen the world, and I know life. Beware of enthusiasm, it is the most false and dangerous thing on earth.”

There was a moment’s silence in the dark cellar, where the countenances of the two men showed red in the flickering flames of the candle. The dripping of the brandy, as it fell into the tub beneath the barrel tap, was the only sound audible. The dark, cold air which enveloped Elias began to calm the ardour, with which he was burning a few minutes before. The old man continued after a moment’s silence—

“Besides, I well understand that you do not care to remain alone here when all your acquaintances are leaving the town. You shall leave, too. But there are other things for you to do than risk your skin, or try to endanger the lives of others. Great profits may now be made in food supplies. In a short time the whole of Alsace and Lorraine will be invaded. The armies will have to live—the French armies, I mean, for the Germans, who are the conquerors, will lack nothing. We must make it our duty to collect provisions on the side of Chalons, towards Paris. You are not yet of age, you owe nothing to any one; besides, the services you may render are a thousand times more important than those of these simpletons, who are intending to shoulder muskets. I will prove my confidence in you by giving you the means to show what you are worth. Come here; bring me the light.”

Moses went to one corner of the cellar. Removing a couple of barrels, he took up a spade, and, digging a hole in the ground, laid bare an iron-bound box. Raising it with considerable difficulty, he took from his pocket a bunch of keys, opened the lock, and showed his son the interior full of carefully arranged rolls. Tearing away the paper envelope of one of these rolls, he poured the contents into his son’s hands. They were twenty-franc gold pieces.

“Here,” said Moses, “are forty thousand francs in gold. You are strong enough to carry off the box. Early to-morrow morning you will take the train for Troyes. Deposit this money with Baradier, the banker, but do not accept either bank-notes or drafts. Before long gold will be at a premium, and you will benefit by the exchange. With the capital I now place at your disposal buy sheep and cattle, and offer to supply the management with beef and mutton. Owing to the disorder in which the invasion will throw agriculture, cattle will be sold at a loss of seventy-five per cent. In the embarrassment in which the army will find itself for victuals, the contractors will sell again at a profit of cent. per cent. Do you understand the affair? Then act according to these data. If you do, by contributing to feed the troops you will be of far more service than marching in red trousers, under the orders of a stupid corporal. You, too, will be defending your country. And do not forget to betake yourself to the drug-store to-night to proclaim it aloud.”

“But suppose some one asks me in what corps I am to serve, what reply shall I give?”

“You will say, ‘I am going to Rhetel. It will be settled there.’”

“Very well, father.”

“Take hold of one of the handles of the box, and help me to mount it to the shop.”

“Leave it to me, father.”

Whereupon, seizing in both his arms the heavy box, filled with gold, he raised it on his stout shoulder, and, preceded by Moses, who held aloft his candle to light the staircase, he bore away without flinching all his father’s fortune.

The double combination conceived by Lichtenbach succeeded, as all simple ideas do. Within Metz, besieged and filled with troops, stored provisions were not long in coming to a premium. The salt Moses thought of selling at a moderate price gave him a great surprise. It proved more valuable than sugar. The want of salt caused keen suffering to the soldiers, who had become disgusted with horseflesh. The brandy, largely adulterated, also sold well. Still the old man’s profits did not recompense him for lack of news of his heir. Elias’s last letter, delivered on the evening of the Battle of Borny, announced the young man’s arrival in Paris. He had left thirty thousand francs in gold with the firm of Baradier, at Troyes, and was preparing to make for Orleans, as he did not consider himself in safety in Paris, which would infallibly soon be blockaded.

He had introduced five thousand sheep into the town. But he did not consider it necessary to continue business with the Government, which was too economical and avaricious. After the 14th of August not a word did the old man receive. During those long, sleepless nights, whilst listening to the cannon of Saint Julien or of Plappeville thundering away at long intervals, the old man reflected bitterly that his son was very young and inexperienced, that he might be robbed, and that the sum he had entrusted to him represented twenty years’ wanderings along the roads of Lorraine, buying up all the old iron in the province. Still, he had the consolation of thinking that Elias was not taking part in the terrible and bloody battles, doleful and desperate tidings of which came across the outposts right to the besieged town. He saw his neighbours and clients pass along with bowed heads, wondering uneasily, and asking one another—

“What news? Have you heard anything of your son? Where is he? If only all our boys are not dead!”

He at least could reply, “I do not know,” with comparative assurance. But the others? Old Graff especially was an object of pity. He seemed as though he would go mad. One evening he had gone out bareheaded into the streets, when the weather was icy cold, saying to all he met, “If Antoine does not come back, I shall have been his murderer. Why did I send him to the war; he was not even of age? He ought to be here by my side. All this time they have been fighting around Paris. A presentiment comes to me that my son is dead!” and he wept bitterly. They were obliged to take him back home by force, whilst little Catherine hid herself behind her mother’s skirts. Moses congratulated himself for the prudent resolution he had imposed on Elias, though he did his best to lament with the rest on the dangers run by this brave and valiant band of youth gone out in defence of their country.

One evening, on returning home_y the inhabitants of the district around the cathedral found ambulance carriages in the streets and assistants carrying wounded men into private houses. No more beds were to be had at the hospitals. All the untenanted houses had been requisitioned, and now the military authorities appealed to the patriotism of the inhabitants of Metz for lodging the victims of the last sortie. A captain of light infantry belonging to the Guards had just been carried to the house of Moses, and Graff had taken in a captain of artillery, named M. de Trémont. As he was bringing back his battery from the hills of Servigny, the young officer had received a ball in the thigh.

Anxiety for the health of his patient, the remedies he needed, and other little attentions, caused a happy diversion to the ever-present anxiety of Antoine’s father. As he saw this handsome young officer, who had fought so heroically, and who under such solicitous care, was about to recover his health under his roof, Graff began to hope once more. He said to himself, “If my own son is wounded, why should not he also be so fortunate as Captain de Trémont? He has been brought a long distance, with his wounded thigh, but he will be quite well again in less than a couple of months. They do not all die who are wounded in war. I feel sure Antoine will come back now.” And his spirits returned with renewed hope. The captain, well cared for by Graff and his wife, was soon able to leave his bed, and after dinner, at night, he would relate to them his campaigns in Algeria and Mexico. He explained to his hosts the reasons why France was coming off the worst in this disastrous campaign, attributing all the advantages of the Germans to their remarkable organizing capacity, and the perfection of their artillery.

“You see, the whole future of war consists in war material. We have to give way before breech-loading cannons, which have, from the very first, given proof of a marked superiority over our grooved arms. The moral effect on our troops has been decisive. The first thing to be done after the war, will be to investigate a new kind of cannon and explosives of a terribly destructive power. The question of explosives will be of capital importance. This ought to be the main end of our efforts in the artillery.”

With remarkable clearness he explained all that modern chemistry offered in cunning combinations, such as would guarantee victory to that adversary which could most scientifically assure massacre and death. So, in the evening silence in that large town, besieged by the conquering enemy, the conquered were already engaged in thinking of preparations for revenge.

The siege came to an end, and all the brave soldiers who would have defended Metz to the death were surrendered alive to the enemy. The flags, a prey to famine, were carried off to form trophies of victory in Germany. Paris fell in her turn, then the final armies of France, driven back across the snow, stained with blood, not so tired of death as exhausted with the fight, stopped at the country’s call. And on that immense battlefield, two hundred leagues square, the victors’ shout of triumph mingled with the despairing cry of the vanquished. By degrees news arrived, bringing sorrow to some and joy to others. Among the brave young fellows who had gone forth to fight, so ardent and proud, many never returned, whilst the numbers of prisoners and wounded will never be known.

One morning, Graff, in the dining-room, was taking breakfast with his family and Captain de Trémont, who was still a convalescent in Metz, when the outside door was opened, a rapid step was heard on the staircase, and father, mother, and little Catherine, looked at one another with pale faces. Not a word was uttered as they listened tremblingly to this quick, seemingly joyful ascent. They had all been struck by the same thought; he who comes hastening to us in this way, without asking any questions, who enters as though he were master of the house, and mounts the well-known steps four at a time, must be Antoine! Before they had time to give expression to their thoughts the door opened, and a tall, bearded young man, so thin and terrible that they did not recognize him, but whose eyes were instantly flooded with tears, appeared before them.

“Father! Catherine! Mother!”

They all rose to their feet, mad with joy, for they could not mistake the voice, and the long-expected child for whom so many tears had been shed, was taken in their arms and covered with kisses, amid the cries and sobs, questions and exclamations, of parents and servants, whilst the Captain looked on with a smile at this family scene. Finally, Antoine escaped from their arms, and his first words were the following—

“Good heavens! How hungry I am!”

As he spoke he cast hungry looks on the coffee and cake with which the table was spread. In a trice he was seated there, and served and fed so well, that he was obliged to beg them to desist. Then explanations began, and long accounts of events, interspersed with questions as to the fate of such and such a one. He himself, after fighting at Sedan, had escaped by Mézières, reached the North, where, with Faidherbe, he had passed the whole campaign. He had not slept in a bed for three months. But he had fought at Pont-Noyelles, Bapaume, and Saint Quentin, and had been lucky enough to come out without a scratch, with the grade of sergeant-major; disgusted all the same, with the soldier’s profession for the rest of his life. His father said to him—

“Well, it is all over now! You shall never begin again. Our unhappy country is crushed. It will take a score of years to bring things to their former condition. Ah, my poor Antoine, how ill I have slept the last six months! I may say, with truth, I have not had a single hour’s peace of mind since you left. But here you are back again once more, and all is forgotten.”

Then the incidents of the campaign would begin again. Captain de Trémont questioned the young soldier on the details of the campaign in the North, and Antoine could not dwell too long on the valour of the calm and indefatigable Faidherbe, the bravery of his companions, and the services rendered by François Baradier, a volunteer like himself, the son of a banker of Troyes, who had saved his life, snatching him away from the hands of the Prussians of Manteufel on the evening of the battle of Bapaume, within a farm which the shells had set on fire, and where he was surrounded by a dozen of the enemy.

“He will come and see you—he promised me so—and you will appreciate such a fine brave fellow as he is.”

“Your rescuer? Certainly, he shall be welcome. But let me look at you, my poor child. Who would have recognized you? You look like a brigand! Had I met you in the street, I should have been afraid!”

All day long the Graffs were visited by whole lines of relations and friends, who had called to congratulate them, to admire the returned soldier, and to listen to the hundredth account of the episode of the Battle of Bapaume, whilst tumblers of beer and glasses of kirsch-wasser were served, bringing to their height the overwrought feelings of Graff, who was usually sober enough, though, on this occasion, he had completely lost his bearings.

The following morning fresh stirrings in the quarter. Elias Lichtenbach made his appearance in a cab. He looked well and hearty, and, after greeting his family, immediately entered into conference with the German authorities. The rumour soon spread that young Lichtenbach had been sent by the authorities of Bordeaux, and had become a person of importance during the war. In reality, his mission concerned the re-victualling of the army on the frontiers of the East. The delegate to the war, who appreciated the services rendered by Elias, his skill as an intermediary, and his facility in avoiding difficulties, had sent his agent to the enemy’s headquarters. He was now full of self-importance, and proudly looked down upon his compatriots, worn out by privation and hunger, though furious at defeat.

After the first few hours of astonishment full fling was given to curiosity. Where had Elias come from, looking so strong and well? Of all who had left at the same time as himself, he was the only one who had returned looking better than when he left. All the rest were pale and savage-looking. Inquiries were set afoot. At the very first question the representatives of the authorities replied, with circumspection, that M. Lichtenbach had rendered eminent service to the country, and that the delegate for the war considered him with the most benevolent esteem. What kind of service? It was young Baradier who, on reaching Metz, on a visit to Antoine and his family, began to throw light on the obscure conduct of the boasting Elias.

Sergeant Baradier, ruddy of complexion, full of life and vigour, was as firm in disposition as Antoine was gentle. His open frankness pleased everybody, and amongst all these good people he was immediately at his ease. Twenty-four hours had not passed before he was on very good terms with Captain de Trémont, and had grouped together all the volunteers of Metz to a banquet to celebrate their return. Elias had had the calm audacity to give in his name, like the rest, and had put in an appearance at the Hotel de l’Ours, to take part in the banquet. But his reception had been a cold one. All who were present, though in civil dress, as the German authorities had forbidden the uniform, knew in what regiments they had served, in what battles they had been wounded. Elias alone lost himself in vague explanations. He pretended to have been everywhere—with the armies at Chanzy and Bourbaki, at the camp of Conlie, and near Garibaldi. This gift of ubiquity astonished everybody. Sergeant Baradier undertook to give an explanation clearer than all those behind which Elias had sheltered himself.

“Are you not the Lichtenbach who did business with the firm of Baradier at Troyes?” he asked old Moses’ son, point-blank. “Is it not you who bought sheep in the Ardennes, and drove them through Belgium into France?”

“Yes, it is myself,” replied Elias, cautiously.

“Well! No wonder you have been everywhere during the war, since you were buying meat from every available spot, on behalf of the management.”

As Elias became agitated and turned pale, Baradier continued—

“Oh, I am not reproaching you, I am simply stating a fact. These gentlemen just now did not appear to understand the part you played. I am explaining it to them. M. Lichtenbach is a patriot in a fashion. Instead of fighting he undertook to feed the fighters. If not a glorious employment, it is, at least a useful one.”

“But I risked my life like the rest,” exclaimed Elias, red with anger. “Had the Germans caught me they would have shot me!”

“It is most extraordinary that they allowed you to move in and out so freely through their lines, for they did not generally show themselves over confident. The good reception, too, they gave you must have appeared very strange.”

“What do you mean!” exclaimed Elias.

“Simply what I say; nothing more,” replied Baradier, coldly. “But if you wish me to explain, I merely remark that remaining out of the reach of sabre cuts and musket shots, whilst others are fighting, being warm and comfortable, and deprived of nothing, whilst your companions are dying of cold and hunger, seeing in the misfortunes of one’s country only an opportunity of making a fortune, is not what one would call the height of heroism.”

“You insult me!”

“I am ready to give you satisfaction.”

“Good! you shall hear from me.”

“Do not cry out so loud; I can easily be found. I am staying with M. Graff, and am the son of M. Baradier, your banker at Troyes. Now we will change the subject.”

Immediately Elias found himself alone. Everybody turned their backs on him. Flinging on his adversary a look of hatred he left the room. As he closed the door he heard Graff exclaim—

“Now that there are none but good patriots left let us drink to the health of France!”

The following morning Baradier, accompanied by Captain de Trémont and his friend Graff, waited for Lichtenbach to put in an appearance. They waited in vain. The prudent Elias, having avoided wounds during the war, seemed quite determined not to run the risk of receiving any in times of peace. Still, as though by chance, M. Baradier at Troyes, received in his house a supplement of twenty Hessian hussars, to board and lodge, and old Graff was summoned thrice in a single week to reply to denunciations representing him as having spoken in insulting terms concerning the German army. Finally, Baradier received notice to leave Metz within twelve hours.

It was quite possible that chance alone might have caused the increase of the burden laid on the banker of Troyes, and the expulsion of Baradier might have been the consequence of the banquet, at which more was said than the circumstances warranted. But old Graff was convinced that his neighbour Lichtenbach’s son was an agent of the enemy, and that the rogue had simply turned informer against him. All the same, Elias bowed to him in the street with the greatest deference, and he always showed himself very polite to Antoine.

The quiet and taciturn heir to the firm of Graff avoided, as far as possible, his former companion. He did not openly break with him, his nature being opposed to violence of every kind. But very few words were spoken on either side, and he avoided transacting business with him. The firm Graff stored up large quantities of wool, which were sold to the manufacturers of Champagne and the Ardennes. The Baradiers, who had just bought a large factory at Ars, were great customers of theirs. Elias, who continued his father’s wholesale business, bought and sold everything in the nature of a business transaction, and had often made offers to the Graff for the wool of Germany. The latter had always declined his offers. Still, in spite of such evident ill-will, Elias was not discouraged, and, with that tenacity which is one of the virtues of his race, he periodically visited Graff and his son, in the hope of bringing off a bargain.

Thus, after two years spent by Mademoiselle Graff in one of the best boarding schools in Nancy, Elias, one fine morning, found himself in front of her in the garden, whilst waiting for Antoine. He was stupefied and completely dazzled. The child had become a young lady, tall and graceful, with dark eyes, light hair, and brilliant complexion. He dared not speak to her, and could only bow as she passed. On returning home he mentioned the incident to his father, and, with a wealth of biblical comparison, he depicted the maiden, like Rebecca appearing to Jacob. He left his father in no doubt that he was passionately in love, and that if, as the shepherd had served Laban, he should have to serve Graff, he would submit to it for love of the fair Elise.

Old Moses remarked that, being a Jew, and the Graffs being Christians, there was no chance of being accepted by them, without prejudice to the grievances they had manifested against him ever since the war. Elias replied that he could abjure his religion, and by his conversion give great prestige to the Catholic faith, that he had earned sufficient money, and that a young fellow of twenty-two years of age, who would place four hundred thousand francs on the table when the contract was signed was not a suitor to be thrown over so easily.

Moses warned his son that he was entering upon a perilous negotiation. He did not dissuade him from changing his religion, if he found any advantage in such a course, but he warned him that, whether as Christian or Jew, he would not obtain the hand of Mademoiselle Graff, and that he would gain nothing but the shame of his apostacy. Elias, however, had a will of iron; he astonished the archbishop by his determination, conciliated him by his piety and generosity, and, with remarkable skill, brought over to his interests all the high Catholic powers. At a time when German pietism was struggling in the conquered provinces, with a clergy of purely Protestant tendencies, the conversion of Elias was a political event.

Had Elias not been so well known he might have become popular. All the same, he met a thorough refusal at the hands of the Graff family, and, as though to intensify the insult offered to him, before six months the beautiful Elise married the former sergeant, Baradier. At the same time, a rumour spread abroad that the Graffs were leaving the town. Antoine followed his step-brother to Paris, and entered with him into the banking establishment of Baradier senior.

It was too much for Elias. He lost his sleep, and one day, after meeting the Graffs, who were being escorted to the station by all their friends, he returned home, and was taken suddenly ill. Old Moses, terrified, put his son to bed, summoned the doctor, and learnt that the new convert was at the point of death. A furious delirium had taken possession of him; during its course he negotiated fabulous bargains with imaginary buyers and sellers. A semblance of reason returned only when he poured forth floods of insults and threats against the Baradiers and the Graffs, whilst his father calmed him by saying—

“Yes, Elias, you shall have your revenge on these rascals! You shall ruin them! You shall crush them under your heel!”

Then a happy smile came over the patient’s lips; he slept a few hours, and awoke feeling much better. One may affirm that it was the intensity of his hatred that kept him from dying. Plans of revenge haunted his fevered brain, and when the doctor, in astonishment, declared that the young man was convalescent, the first words Elias uttered were, “All the better! Had I died, the Baradiers and Graff’s would have been too glad!”

To tell the truth, the latter paid not the slightest heed to the feelings of rancour they had so violently aroused. They had assumed the direction of the firm, had extended the business, and founded additional woollen factories. Marcel Baradier and his sister Amélie were born. Complete harmony seemed to exist in this happy family, when Elias Lichtenbach, his father having died, came to establish himself in Paris.

A singular metamorphosis had been wrought in him. The first time Baradier and his rival met at the Bourse the banker did not recognize Lichtenbach. He saw before him a thin, stooping man, almost bald, with cold, passionless eyes, hidden behind gold spectacles. His very voice had changed. M. Lichtenbach spoke little, said only what was absolutely essential, and remained impassive before the most important news. A contraction of the jaws alone betrayed his emotion, giving to his countenance a character of singular ferocity.

Lichtenbach’s connection with the firm of Baradier and Graff was full of meaning. He caused them to lose three hundred thousand francs in a single morning on a contract for wool, concluded at the Bourse of Troyes. Elias sold wool from Hungary at so low a rate that Baradier and Graff, who had speculated on a rise, were obliged to sell out rapidly to limit their risks. It was the first clear flash from the cloud. Henceforward an enemy, always on the watch, was ever ready to strike the Baradier firm in its most vulnerable part. Lichtenbach’s evil intentions, though concealed, were none the less certain.

When attacked they ingeniously defended themselves, took needful precautions, and trusted nothing to hazard. Lichtenbach was very powerful and dangerous. Left a widower, with one daughter, whom he had sent to the Sacre-Coeur, there to be brought up according to the principles of the most rigid devotion, Elias was a type of the renegade who had become more Christian than the Pope himself.

Still, if Lichtenbach was dreaded, he was received everywhere, and his influence in society was as secret as it was sure. He rendered priceless help to ruined families. Instead of aiming his financial batteries against the established Government, he divided his attempts, placed his hands on all the syndicates of Europe, and by means of the capital he collected caused diverse speculations not only to benefit himself, but all his friends in addition.

The simplicity of his life was extreme. He lived in a gloomy mansion in the Rue Barbet-de-Jouy, attended by servants from Lorraine, who spoke German better than French. He never received visitors, whilst a game of whist seemed to form his only distraction. It was at his office, right in front of the Bourse, that he received his clients. Although only forty-five years of age, he seemed to have lost all interest in the fair sex, as though all women were an object of terror for him. The little Duchess de Bernay, who, thanks to speculations conducted by Elias, had been able to pay her debts, one day said to her friend, the Marchioness de Premeur—

“I must find out what Lichtenbach really thinks. After all, the manner in which he treats us is almost humiliating.”

For some evenings, in the presence of all her friends, she flirted with Elias, without succeeding in thawing him. Then suddenly she ceased paying attention to him. To her companions’ ironical questions she replied, evasively—

“I have lost my time. It is no use.”

But it was noticed that her style of living changed; that she spent large sums of money, and that, according as she ceased joking with the financier, she became more and more settled in money matters. Elias, distant and silent as ever, continued to speculate in the four corners of the globe, to advise the Prince, manage his journal, and prove to the-firm of Baradier and Graff, as well as to those in any way connected with him, that the enmity he was nourishing would be with him as long as he lived.

CHAPTER III

On reaching the Rue de Provènce, the Minister of War descended from his brougham with the eagerness of a young man, crossed the court-yard, entered the offices, and, in loud tones, asked the office boy—

“Is M. Baradier in?”

The office-boy instinctively stood at attention, and replied—“Yes, General; I will announce you at once.”

The Minister, with nervous steps, strode to and fro in the ante-chamber, behind whose windows the Havas despatches gave the current rates of all the Exchanges of Europe. Suddenly a door opened, and a stout man with ruddy complexion entered the room with outstretched arms.

“Ah, it is you, General! What trouble you have taken! Just step into this room.”