suspect the most noble attachments, the most tender affections, for these
monsters sometimes succeed in corrupting your best friends, and making a
terrible use of them, in proportion to the blindness of your confidence."

"Oh! it is impossible," cried Adrienne, in horror.  "You must exaggerate.
No! hell itself never dreamed of more frightful treachery!"

"Alas, my dear young lady!  one of your relations, M. Hardy--the most
loyal and generous-hearted man that could be--has been the victim of some
such infamous treachery.  Do you know what we learned from the reading of
your ancestor's will?  Why, that he died the victim of the malevolence of
these people; and now, at the lapse of a hundred and fifty years, his
descendants are still exposed to the hate of that indestructible
society."

"Oh, sir! it terrifies me," said Adrienne, feeling her heart sink within
her.  "But are there no weapons against such attacks?"

"Prudence, my dear young lady--the most watchful caution--the most
incessant study and suspicion of all that approach you."

"But such a life would be frightful!  It is a torture to be the victim of
continual suspicions, doubts, and fears."

"Without doubt!  They know it well, the wretches!  That constitutes their
strength.  They often triumph by the very excess of the precautions taken
against them.  Thus, my dear young lady, and you, brave and worthy
soldier, in the name of all that is dear to you, be on your guard, and do
not lightly impart your confidence.  Be on your guard, for you have
nearly fallen the victims of those people.  They will always be your
implacable enemies.  And you, also, poor, interesting girl!" added the
Jesuit, speaking to Mother Bunch, "follow my advice--fear these people.
Sleep, as the proverb says, with one eye open."

"I, sir!" said the work-girl.  "What have I done? what have I to fear?"

"What have you done?  Dear me!  Do not you tenderly love this young lady,
your protectress? have you not attempted to assist her?  Are you not the
adopted sister of the son of this intrepid soldier, the brave Agricola!
Alas, poor, girl! are not these sufficient claims to their hatred, in
spite of your obscurity?  Nay, my dear young lady! do not think that I
exaggerate.  Reflect! only reflect!  Think what I have just said to the
faithful companion-in-arms of Marshal Simon, with regard to his
imprisonment at Leipsic.  Think what happened to yourself, when, against
all law and reason, you were brought hither.  Then you will see, that
there is nothing exaggerated in the picture I have drawn of the secret
power of this Company.  Be always on your guard, and, in doubtful cases,
do not fear to apply to me.  In three days, I have learned enough by my
own experience, with regard to their manner of acting, to be able to
point out to you many a snare, device, and danger, and to protect you
from them."

"In any such case, sir," replied Mdlle. de Cardoville, "my interests, as
well as gratitude, would point to you as my best counsellor."

According to the skillful tactics of the sons of Loyola, who sometimes
deny their own existence, in order to escape from an adversary--and
sometimes proclaim with audacity the living power of their organization,
in order to intimidate the feeble-R-odin had laughed in the face of the
bailiff of Cardoville, when the latter had spoken of the existence of the
Jesuits; while now, at this moment, picturing their means of action, he
endeavored, and he succeeded in the endeavor, to impregnate the mind of
Mdlle. de Cardoville with some germs of doubt, which were gradually to
develop themselves by reflection, and serve hereafter the dark projects
that he meditated.  Mother Bunch still felt considerable alarm with
regard to Rodin.  Yet, since she had heard the fatal powers of the
formidable Order revealed to Adrienne, the young sempstress, far from
suspecting the Jesuit of having the audacity to speak thus of a society
of which he was himself a member, felt grateful to him, in spite of
herself, for the important advice that he had just given her patroness.
The side-glance which she now cast upon him (which Rodin also detected,
for he watched the young girl with sustained attention), was full of
gratitude, mingled with surprise.  Guessing the nature of this
impression, and wishing entirely to remove her unfavorable opinion, and
also to anticipate a revelation which would be made sooner or later, the
Jesuit appeared to have forgotten something of great importance, and
exclaimed, striking his forehead: "What was I thinking of?"  Then,
speaking to Mother Bunch, he added: "Do you know where your sister is, my
dear girl?"  Disconcerted and saddened by this unexpected question, the
workwoman answered with a blush, for she remembered her last interview
with the brilliant Bacchanal Queen: "I have not seen my sister for some
days, sir."

"Well, my dear girl, she is not very comfortable," said Rodin; "I
promised one of her friends to send her some little assistance.  I have
applied to a charitable person, and that is what I received for her."  So
saying, he drew from his pocket a sealed roll of coin, which he delivered
to Mother Bunch, who was now both surprised and affected.

"You have a sister in trouble, and I know nothing of it?" said Adrienne,
hastily.  "This is not right of you, my child!"

"Do not blame her," said Rodin.  "First of a11, she did not know that her
sister was in distress, and, secondly, she could not ask you, my dear
young lady, to interest yourself about her."

As Mdlle. de Cardoville looked at Rodin with astonishment, he added,
again speaking to the hunchback: "Is not that true, my dear girl!"

"Yes, sir," said the sempstress, casting down her eyes and blushing.
Then she added, hastily and anxiously: "But when did you see my sister,
sir? where is she? how did she fall into distress?"

"All that would take too long to tell you, my dear girl; but go as soon
as possible to the greengrocer's in the Rue Clovis, and ask to speak to
your sister as from M. Charlemagne or M.  Rodin, which you please, for I
am equally well known in that house by my Christian name as by my
surname, and then you will learn all about it.  Only tell your sister,
that, if she behaves well, and keeps to her good resolutions, there are
some who will continue to look after her."

More and more surprised, Mother Bunch was about to answer Rodin, when the
door opened, and M. de Gernande entered.  The countenance of the
magistrate was grave and sad.

"Marshal Simon's daughters!" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville.

"Unfortunately, they are not with me," answered the judge.

"Then, where are they, sir?  What have they done with them?  The day
before yesterday, they were in the convent!" cried Dagobert, overwhelmed
by this complete destruction of his hopes.

Hardly had the soldier pronounced these words, when, profiting by the
impulse which gathered all the actors in this scene about the magistrate,
Rodin withdrew discreetly towards the door, and disappeared without any
one perceiving his absence.  Whilst the soldier, thus suddenly thrown
back to the depths of his despair, looked at M. de Gernande, waiting with
anxiety for the answer, Adrienne said to the magistrate: "But, sir, when
you applied at the convent, what explanation did the superior give on the
subject of these young girls?"

"The lady superior refused to give any explanation, madame.  `You
pretend,' said she, `that the young persons of whom you speak are
detained here against their will.  Since the law gives you the right of
entering this house, make your search.' `But, madame, please to answer me
positively,' said I to the superior; `do you declare, that you know
nothing of the young girls, whom I have come to claim?' `I have nothing
to say on this subject, sir.  You assert, that you are authorized to make
a search: make it.' Not being able to get any other explanation,"
continued the magistrate, "I searched all parts of the convent, and had
every door opened--but, unfortunately, I could find no trace of these
young ladies."

"They must have sent them elsewhere," cried Dagobert; "who knows?--
perhaps, ill.  They will kill them--O God! they will kill them!" cried
he, in a heart-rending tone.

"After such a refusal, what is to be done?  Pray, sir, give us your
advice; you are our providence," said Adrienne, turning to speak to
Rodin, who she fancied was behind her.  "What is your--"

Then, perceiving that the Jesuit had suddenly disappeared, she said to
Mother Bunch, with uneasiness: "Where is M. Rodin?"

"I do not know, madame," answered the girl, looking round her; "he is no
longer here."

"It is strange," said Adrienne, "to disappear so abruptly!"

"I told you he was a traitor!" cried Dagobert, stamping with rage; "they
are all in a plot together."

"No, no," said Mdlle. de Cardoville; "do not think that.  But the absence
is not the less to be regretted, for, under these difficult
circumstances, he might have given us very useful information, thanks to
the position he occupied at M. d'Aigrigny's."

"I confess, madame, that I rather reckoned upon it," said M. de Gernande;
"and I returned hither, not only to inform you of the fruitless result of
my search, but also to seek from the upright and honorable roan, who so
courageously unveiled these odious machinations, the aid of his counsels
in this contingency."

Strangely enough, for the last few moments Dagobert was so completely
absorbed in thought, that he paid no attention to the words of the
magistrate, however important to him.  He did not even perceive the
departure of M. de Gernande, who retired after promising Adrienne that he
would neglect no means to arrive at the truth, in regard to the
disappearance of the orphans.  Uneasy at this silence, wishing to quit
the house immediately, and induce Dagobert to accompany her, Adrienne,
after exchanging a rapid glance with Mother Bunch, was advancing towards
the soldier, when hasty steps were heard from without the chamber, and a
manly sonorous voice, exclaiming with impatience, "Where is he--where is
he?"

At the sound of this voice, Dagobert seemed to rouse himself with a
start, made a sudden bound, and with a loud cry, rushed towards the door.
It opened.  Marshal Simon appeared on the threshold!




CHAPTER XXXIX.

PIERRE SIMON.

Marshal Pierre Simon, Duke de Ligny, was a man of tall stature, plainly
dressed in a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to the throat, with a red
ribbon tied to the top buttonhole.  You could not have wished to see a
more frank, honest, and chivalrous cast of countenance than the
marshal's.  He had a broad forehead, an aquiline nose, a well formed
chin, and a complexion bronzed by exposure to the Indian sun.  His hair,
cut very short, was inclined to gray about the temples; but his eyebrows
were still as black as his large, hanging moustache.  His walk was free
and bold, and his decided movements showed his military impetuosity.  A
man of the people, a man of war and action, the frank cordiality of his
address invited friendliness and sympathy.  As enlightened as he was
intrepid as generous as he was sincere, his manly, plebeian pride was the
most remarkable part of his character.  As others are proud of their high
birth, so was he of his obscure origin, because it was ennobled by the
fine qualities of his father, the rigid republican, the intelligent and
laborious artisan, who, for the space of forty years, had been the
example and the glory of his fellow-workmen.  In accepting with gratitude
the aristocratic title which the Emperor had bestowed upon him, Pierre
Simon acted with that delicacy which receives from a friendly hand a
perfectly useless gift, and estimates it according to the intention of
the giver.  The religious veneration of Pierre Simon for the Emperor had
never been blind; in proportion as his devotion and love for his idol
were instructive and necessary, his admiration was serious, and founded
upon reason.  Far from resembling those swashbucklers who love fighting
for its own sake, Marshal Simon not only admired his hero as the greatest
captain in the world, but he admired him, above all, because he knew that
the Emperor had only accepted war in the hope of one day being able to
dictate universal peace; for if peace obtained by glory and strength is
great, fruitful, and magnificent, peace yielded by weakness and cowardice
is sterile, disastrous, and dishonoring.  The son of a workman, Pierre
Simon still further admired the Emperor, because that imperial parvenu
had always known how to make that popular heart beat nobly, and,
remembering the people, from the masses of whom he first arose, had
invited them fraternally to share in regal and aristocratic pomp.

When Marshal Simon entered the room, his countenance was much agitated.
At sight of Dagobert, a flash of joy illumined his features; he rushed
towards the soldier, extending his arms, and exclaimed, "My friend! my
old friend!"

Dagobert answered this affectionate salute with silent emotion.  Then the
marshal, disengaging himself from his arms, and fixing his moist eyes
upon him, said to him in so agitated a voice that his lips trembled,
"Well, didst arrive in time for the 13th of February?"

"Yes, general; but everything is postponed for four months."

"And--my wife?--my child?"  At this question Dagobert shuddered, hung down
his head, and was silent.

"They are not, then, here?" asked Simon, with more surprise than
uneasiness.  "They told me they were not at your house, but that I should
find you here--and I came immediately.  Are they not with you?"

"General," said Dagobert, becoming deadly pale; "general--"  Drying the
drops of cold sweat that stood upon his forehead, he was unable to
articulate a word, for his voice was checked in his parched throat.

"You frighten me!" exclaimed Pierre Simon, becoming pale as the soldier,
and seizing him by the arm.

At this, Adrienne advanced, with a countenance full of grief and
sympathy; seeing the cruel embarrassment of Dagobert, she wished to come
to his assistance, and she said to Pierre Simon, in a mild but agitated
voice, "Marshal, I am Mdlle. de Cardoville--a relation of your dear
children."

Pierre Simon turned around suddenly, as much struck with the dazzling
beauty of Adrienne as with the words she had just pronounced.  He
stammered out in his surprise, "You, madame--a relation--of my children!"

He laid a stress on the last words, and looked at Dagobert in a kind of
stupor.

"Yes, marshal your children," hastily replied Adrienne; "and the love of
those charming twin sisters--"

"Twin sisters!" cried Pierre Simon, interrupting Mdlle. de Cardoville,
with an outburst of joy impossible to describe.  "Two daughters instead
of one!  Oh! what happiness for their mother!  Pardon me, madame, for
being so impolite," he continued; "and so little grateful for what you
tell me.  But you will understand it; I have been seventeen years without
seeing my wife; I come, and I find three loved beings, instead of two.
Thanks, madame: would I could express all the gratitude I owe you!  You
are our relation; this is no doubt your house; my wife and children are

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