List Of Contents | Contents of The Wandering Jew v3, by Eugene Sue
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his adopted titles."

"Not now--but that is no matter; if you could even slide in a My Lord or
two, our business would be done at once."

"Be satisfied! since there are upstart ministers as well as City-turned
gentlemen, I will remember Moliere's M. Jourdain, and feed full the
gluttonous vanity of your friend."

"I give him up to you, for I know he will be in good hands," replied the
physician, who rejoiced to see that the carriage had now entered those
dark streets which lead from the Place de l'Odeon to the Pantheon
district; "I do not wish to find fault with the minister for being proud,
since his pride may be of service to us on this occasion."

"These petty devices are innocent enough," said Mdlle. de Cardoville,
"and I confess that I do not scruple to have recourse to them."  Then,
leaning towards the door-sash, she added: "Gracious! how sad and dark are
these streets.  What wind! what snow!  In which quarter are we?"

"What! are you so ungrateful, that you do not recognize by the absence of
shops, your dear quarter of the Faubourg Saint Germain?"

"I imagine we had quitted it long ago."

"I thought so too," said the physician, leaning forward as if to
ascertain where they were, "but we are still there.  My poor coachman,
blinded by the snow, which is beating against his face, must have gone
wrong just now--but we are all right again.  Yes, I perceive we are in
the Rue Saint Guillaume--not the gayest of streets by the way--but, in
ten minutes, we shall arrive at the minister's private entrance, for
intimate friends like myself enjoy the privilege of escaping the honors
of a grand reception."

Mdlle. de Cardoville, like most carriage-people, was so little acquainted
with certain streets of Paris, as well as with the customs of men in
office, that she did not doubt for a moment the statements of Baleinier,
in whom she reposed the utmost confidence.

When they left the Saint-Dizier House, the doctor had upon his lips a
question which he hesitated to put, for fear of endangering himself in
the eyes of Adrienne.  The latter had spoken of important interests, the
existence of which had been concealed from her.  The doctor, who was an
acute and skillful observer, had quite clearly remarked the embarrassment
and anxiety of the princess and D'Aigrigny.  He no longer doubted, that
the plot directed against Adrienne--one in which he was the blind agent,
in submission to the will of the Order--related to interests which had
been concealed from him, and which, for that very reason, he burned to
discover; for every member of the dark conspiracy to which he belonged
had necessarily acquired the odious vices inherent to spies and
informers--envy, suspicion, and jealous curiosity.

It is easy to understand, therefore, that Dr. Baleinier, though quite
determined to serve the projects of D'Aigrigny, was yet very anxious to
learn what had been kept from him.  Conquering his irresolution, and
finding the opportunity favorable, and no time to be lost, he said to
Adrienne, after a moment's silence: "I am going perhaps to ask you a very
indiscreet question.  If you think it such, pray do not answer."

"Nay--go on, I entreat you."

"Just now--a few minutes before the arrival of the commissary of police
was announced to your aunt--you spoke, I think, of some great interests,
which had hitherto been concealed from you."

"Yes, I did so."

"These words," continued M. Baleinier, speaking slowly and emphatically,
"appeared to make a deep impression on the princess."

"An impression so deep," said Adrienne, "that sundry suspicions of mine
were changed to certainty."

"I need not tell you, my charming friend," resumed M. Baleinier, in a
bland tone, "that if I remind you of this circumstance, it is only to
offer you my services, in case they should be required.  If not--and
there is the shadow of impropriety in letting me know more--forget that I
have said a word."

Adrienne became serious and pensive, and, after a silence of some
moments, she thus answered Dr. Baleinier: "On this subject, there are
some things that I do not know--others that I may tell you--others again
that I must keep from you: but you are so kind to-day, that I am happy to
be able to give you a new mark of confidence."

"Then I wish to know nothing," said the doctor, with an air of humble
deprecation, "for I should have the appearance of accepting a kind of
reward; whilst I am paid a thousand times over, by the pleasure I feel in
serving you."

"Listen," said Adrienne, without attending to the delicate scruples of
Dr. Baleinier; "I have powerful reasons for believing that an immense
inheritance must, at no very distant period, be divided between the
members of my family, all of whom I do not know--for, after the
Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, those from whom we are descended were
dispersed in foreign countries, and experienced a great variety of

"Really!" cried the doctor, becoming extremely interested.  "Where is
this inheritance, in whose hands?"

"I do not know."

"Now how will you assert your rights?"

"That I shall learn soon."

"Who will inform you of it?"

"That I may not tell you."

"But how did you find out the existence of this inheritance?"

"That also I may not tell you," returned Adrienne, in a soft and
melancholy tone, which remarkably contrasted with the habitual vivacity
of her conversation.  "It is a secret--a strange secret--and in those
moments of excitement, in which you have sometimes surprised me, I have
been thinking of extraordinary circumstances connected with this secret,
which awakened within me lofty and magnificent ideas."

Adrienne paused and was silent, absorbed in her own reflections.
Baleinier did not seek to disturb her.  In the first place, Mdlle. de
Cardoville did not perceive the direction the coach was taking; secondly,
the doctor was not sorry to ponder over what he had just heard.  With his
usual perspicuity, he saw that the Abbe d'Aigrigny was concerned in this
inheritance, and he resolved instantly to make a secret report on the
subject; either M. d'Aigrigny was acting under the instructions of the
Order, or by his own impulse; in the one event, the report of the doctor
would confirm a fact; in the other, it would reveal one.

For some time, therefore, the lady and Dr. Baleinier remained perfectly
silent, no longer even disturbed by the noise of the wheels, for the
carriage now rolled over a thick carpet of snow, and the streets had
become more and more deserted.  Notwithstanding his crafty treachery,
notwithstanding his audacity and the blindness of his dupe, the doctor
was not quite tranquil as to the result of his machinations.  The
critical moment approached, and the least suspicion roused in the mind of
Adrienne by any inadvertence on his part, might ruin all his projects.

Adrienne, already fatigued by the painful emotions of the day, shuddered
from time to time, as the cold became more and more piercing; in her
haste to accompany Dr. Baleinier, she had neglected to take either shawl
or mantle.

For some minutes the coach had followed the line of a very high wall,
which, seen through the snow, looked white against a black sky.  The
silence was deep and mournful.  Suddenly the carriage stopped, and the
footman went to knock at a large gateway; he first gave two rapid knocks,
and then one other at a long interval.  Adrienne did not notice the
circumstance, for the noise was not loud, and the doctor had immediately
begun to speak, to drown with his voice this species of signal.

"Here we are at last," said he gayly to Adrienne; "you must be very
winning--that is, you must be yourself."

"Be sure I will do my best," replied Adrienne, with a smile; then she
added, shivering in spite of herself: "How dreadfully cold it is!  I must
confess, my dear Dr. Baleinier, that when I have been to fetch my poor
little relations from the house of our workman's mother, I shall be truly
glad to find myself once more in the warmth and light of my own
cheerful rooms, for you know my aversion to cold and darkness."

"It is quite natural," said the doctor, gallantly; "the most charming
flowers require the most light and heat."

Whilst the doctor and Mdlle. de Cardoville exchanged these few words, a
heavy gate had turned creaking upon its hinges, and the carriage had
entered a court-yard.  The physician got down first, to offer his arm to



The carriage had stopped before some steps covered with snow, which led
to a vestibule lighted by a lamp.  The better to ascend the steps, which
were somewhat slippery, Adrienne leaned upon the doctor's arm.

"Dear me! how you tremble," said he.

"Yes," replied she, shuddering, "I feel deadly cold.  In my haste, I came
out without a shawl.  But how gloomy this house appears," she added,
pointing to the entrance.

"It is what you call the minister's private house, the sanctum sanctorum,
whither our statesman retires far from the sound of the profane," said
Dr. Baleinier, with a smile.  "Pray come in!" and he pushed open the door
of a large hall, completely empty.

"They are right in saying," resumed Dr. Baleinier, who covered his secret
agitation with an appearance of gayety, "that a minister's house is like
nobody else's.  Not a footman--not a page, I should say--to be found in
the antechamber.  Luckily," added he, opening the door of a room which
communicated with the vestibule,

"'In this seraglio reared, I know the secret ways.'"

Mdlle. de Cardoville was now introduced into an apartment hung with green
embossed paper, and very simply furnished with mahogany chairs, covered
with yellow velvet; the floor was carefully polished, and a globe lamp,
which gave at most a third of its proper light, was suspended (at a much
greater height than usual) from the ceiling.  Finding the appearance of
this habitation singularly plain for the dwelling of a minister,
Adrienne, though she had no suspicion, could not suppress a movement of
surprise and paused a moment on the threshold of the door.  M. Baleinier,
by whose arm she held, guessed the cause of her astonishment, and said to
her with a smile:

"This place appears to you very paltry for 'his excellency,' does it not?
If you knew what a thing constitutional economy is!--Moreover, you will
see a 'my lord,' who has almost as little pretension as his furniture.
But please to wait for me an instant.  I will go and inform the minister
you are here, and return immediately."

Gently disengaging himself from the grasp of Adrienne, who had
involuntarily pressed close to him, the physician opened a small side-
door, by which he instantly disappeared.  Adrienne de Cardoville was left

Though she could not have explained the cause of her impression, there
was something awe-inspiring to the young lady in this large, cold, naked,
curtainless room; and as, by degrees, she noticed certain peculiarities
in the furniture, which she had not at first perceived, she was seized
with an indefinable feeling of uneasiness.

Approaching the cheerless hearth, she perceived with surprise that an
iron grating completely enclosed the opening of the chimney, and that the
tongs and shovel were fastened with iron chains.  Already astonished by
this singularity, she was about mechanically to draw towards her an
armchair placed against the wall, when she found that it remained
motionless.  She then discovered that the back of this piece of
furniture, as well as that of all the other chairs, was fastened to the
wainscoting by iron clamps.  Unable to repress a smile, she exclaimed:
"Have they so little confidence in the statesman in whose house I am,
that they are obliged to fasten the furniture to the walls?"

Adrienne had recourse to this somewhat forced pleasantry as a kind of
effort to resist the painful feeling of apprehension that was gradually
creeping over her; for the most profound and mournful silence reigned in
this habitation, where nothing indicated the life, the movement and the
activity, which usually surround a great centre of business.  Only, from
time to time, the young lady heard the violent gusts of wind from

More than a quarter of an hour had elapsed, and M. Baleinier did not
return.  In her impatient anxiety, Adrienne wished to call some one to
inquire about the doctor and the minister.  She raised her eyes to look
for a bell-rope by the side of the chimney-glass; she found none, but she
perceived, that what she had hitherto taken for a glass, thanks to the
half obscurity of the room, was in reality a large sheet of shining tin.
Drawing nearer to it, she accidentally touched a bronzed candlestick; and
this, as well as a clock, was fixed to the marble of the chimney-piece.

In certain dispositions of mind, the most insignificant circumstances
often assume terrific proportions.  This immovable candlestick, this
furniture fastened to the wainscot, this glass replaced by a tin sheet,
this profound silence, and the prolonged absence of M. Baleinier, had
such an effect upon Adrienne, that she was struck with a vague terror.
Yet such was her implicit confidence in the doctor, that she reproached
herself with her own fears, persuading herself that the causes of them
were after all of no real importance, and that it was unreasonable to
feel uneasy at such trifles.

Still, though she thus strove to regain courage, her anxiety induced her
to do what otherwise she would never have attempted.  She approached the
little door by which the doctor had disappeared, and applied her ear to
it.  She held her breath, and listened, but heard nothing.

Suddenly, a dull, heavy sound, like that of a falling body, was audible
just above her head; she thought she could even distinguish a stifled
moaning.  Raising her eyes, hastily, she saw some particles of the
plaster fall from the ceiling, loosened, no doubt, by the shaking of the
floor above.

No longer able to resist the feeling of terror, Adrienne ran to the door
by which she had entered with the doctor, in order to call some one.  To
her great surprise, she found it was fastened on the outside.  Yet, since
her arrival, she had heard no sound of a key turning in the lock.

More and more alarmed, the young girl flew to the little door by which
the physician had disappeared, and at which she had just been listening.
This door also was fastened on the outside.

Still, wishing to struggle with the terror which was gaining invincibly
upon her, Adrienne called to her aid all the firmness of her character,
and tried to argue away her fears.

"I must have been deceived." she said; "it was only a fall that I heard.
The moaning had no existence, except in my imagination.  There are a
thousand reasons for believing that it was not a person who fell down.
But, then, these locked doors?  They, perhaps, do not know that I am
here; they may have thought that there was nobody in this room."

As she uttered these words, Adrienne looked round with anxiety; then she
added, in a firm voice: "No weakness! it is useless to try to blind
myself to my real situation.  On the contrary, I must look it well in the

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