The Slaves of Paris by Émile Gaboriau (good book recommendations .txt) 📕

I am lying to you. Hide yourself this evening, so that you may command a view of the side-door in the wall of your garden, and between half-past ten and eleven you will see your wife’s lover enter. It is a long time since he has been furnished with a key. The hour for the meeting has been judiciously fixed, for all the servants will be out; but I implore you not to be violent, for I would not do your wife any harm, but I feel that you ought to be warned.

“From one

“Who Knows.”

Norbert ran through the contents of this infamous anonymous letter in an instant. The blood surged madly through his brain, and he uttered a howl of fury. His servants ran in to see what was the matter.

“Where is the fellow who brought this letter?” said he. “Run after him and bring him back to me.”

In a few minutes the sturdy grooms made their appearance, pushing in the messenger, who seemed overpowered with tears.

“I am not a thief,” exclaimed he. “It was given to me, but I will give it back.”

He was alluding to the louis given to him by Norbert, for the largeness of the sum made him think that the donor had made a mistake.

“Keep the money,” said the Duke; “I meant it for you; but tell me who gave this letter to you.”

“I can’t tell you,” answered the man. “If I ever saw him before, may my next glass of wine choke me. He got out of a cab just as I was passing near the bridge, and calling to me, said, ‘Look at this letter; at half-past seven take it to the Duke de Champdoce, who lives by his stables in the road to the Forest. Do you know the place?’ ‘Yes,’ I says, and then he slips the letter and a five-franc piece into my hand, got back into the cab, and off he went.”

“What was the man like?” asked he.

“Well, I can hardly say. He wasn’t young or old, or short or tall. I recollect he had a gold watch-chain on, but that was about all I noticed.”

“Very well; you can be off.”

At this moment Norbert’s anger was turned against the writer of the letter only, for he did not place the smallest credence in the accusations against his wife. If he did not love her, he at any rate respected her. “My wife,” said he to himself, “is an honorable and virtuous woman, and it is some discharged menial who has taken this cowardly mode of revenge.” A closer inspection of the letter seemed to show him that the faults in caligraphy were intentional. The concluding portion of the letter excited his attention, and, calling Jean, he asked him if it was true that all the servants would be absent from the house today.

“There will be none there this evening; not until late at night,” answered the old man.

“And why, pray?”

“Have you forgotten, your Grace, that the first coachman is going to be married, and the Duchess was good enough to say that all might go to the wedding dinner and ball, as long as someone remained at the porter’s lodge?”

After the first outburst, Norbert affected an air of calmness, and laughed at the idea of having permitted himself to be disturbed for so trivial a cause. But this was mere pretence, for doubt and suspicion had entered his soul, and no power on earth could expel them. “Why should not my wife be unfaithful to me?” thought Norbert. “I give her credit for being honorable and right-minded, but then all deceived husbands have the same idea. Why should I not take advantage of this information, and judge for myself? But no. I will not stoop to such an act of baseness. I should be as infamous as the writer of this letter if I was to play the spy, as she recommends me to do.” He glanced round, and perceived that his servants were looking at him with undisguised curiosity.

“Go to your work,” said he. “Extinguish the lights, and see that all the doors and windows are carefully closed.”

He had made up his mind now, and taking out his watch, saw that it was just eight o’clock. “I have time to reach Paris,” muttered he, “by the appointed time.” Then he called Jean to him again. There was no need to conceal anything from this trusty adherent of the house of Champdoce. “I must start for Paris,” said the Duke, “without an instant’s delay.”

“On account of that letter?” asked the old man with an expression of the deepest sorrow upon his features.

“Yes, for that reason only.”

“Someone has been making false charges against the Duchess.”

“How do you know that?”

“It was easy enough to guess.”

“Have the carriage got ready, and tell the coachman to wait for me in front of the club. I myself will go on foot.”

“You must not do that,” answered Jean gravely. “The servants may have conceived the same suspicions as I have. You ought to creep away without anyone being a bit the wiser. The other domestics need not even suppose that you have left the house. I can get you a horse out of the little stables without anyone being the wiser. I will wait for you on the other side of the bridge.”

“Good; but remember that I have not a moment to lose.”

Jean left the room, and as he reached the passage Norbert heard him say to one of the servants, “Put some cold supper on the table; the Duke says that he is starving.”

Norbert went into his bedroom, put on a great coat and a pair of high boots, and slipped into his pocket a revolver, the charges of which he had examined with the greatest care. The night was exceedingly dark, a fine, icy rain was falling, and the roads were very heavy. Norbert found Jean with the horse at the appointed spot, and as he leaped into the saddle the