Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 450 | Page 6

fellow we want;' and taking André by the arm, he drew him under
the shade of a porte cochère, and continued, as he placed a small
morocco case in his hand: 'Take care of this for me, André, till I return:
I shall be at your lodgings in an hour. Giraud and I are going to the Cité,
and as this pocket-book contains valuables, we are afraid of losing it.
Au revoir!'
André made no reply. He placed the pocket-book carelessly in his
bosom, and his two friends continued hastily their way. He was himself
preparing to depart, when the footman touched him gently on the
shoulder, and told him of Mademoiselle de Varenne's wish to speak to
him. André approached the carriage, surprised and half abashed at the
unlooked-for honour; then taking off his cap, waited respectfully for
one of the ladies to address him. At the same instant, a police-officer
seized him roughly by the arm, and exclaimed: 'Here is one of them! I
saw them all three together not two hours ago!' And calling to a
comrade who stood near, he was about to lead André away. At first, the
young man made no resistance; but his face grew deadly pale, and his
lip trembled violently.
'What do you want? What have I done?' he demanded at length, turning
suddenly round to face his accuser; but the latter only replied by a

laugh, and an assurance that he would know all about it presently. A
slight struggle ensued, in the midst of which the pocket-book fell to the
ground, and a considerable number of bank-notes bestrewed the
pavement. At this sight, André seemed suddenly to understand the
cause of his arrest; he stood for an instant gazing at the notes with a
countenance of horror; then, with an almost gigantic effort, he broke
from the grasp which held him, and darted away in the direction which
had before been taken by the young girl. He was immediately followed
by the police; but although Adelaide and her friend remained for some
time watching eagerly the pursuit, they were unable to ascertain
whether he had succeeded in effecting his escape.
'I am sure I hope so, poor fellow!' murmured Adelaide as they drove
homewards--'for Lucille's sake, as well as for his.'
'You have quite made up your mind, then, as to its being Lucille that
we saw?' said Madame d'Héranville with a smile. 'If it was,' she added,
more gravely, 'I think she can scarcely merit all the trouble you are
giving yourself on her account. Her friendship for André does not
speak much in her favour.'
'Why not? Surely you do not think he stole the pocket-book?' asked
Adelaide, in undisguised dismay.
'Perhaps not; but his intimacy with those who did, leads one to suppose
that he is not unaccustomed to such scenes. You remember the old
proverb: "Dis moi qui tu hantes, je te dirai qui tu es."'
'Do you not think we should give information respecting what we saw?
He was certainly unconscious of its contents?' asked Adelaide again,
after a short silence.
'He appeared so,' returned Madame d'Héranville; 'and I shall write
to-morrow to the police-office. Perhaps our evidence may be useful to
him.'
'To-morrow!' thought Adelaide; but she did not speak her thoughts
aloud. 'And to-night he must endure all the agonies of suspense!' And

then she looked earnestly at her companion's face, and wondered if,
when hers, like it, was pale and faded, her heart should also be as cold.
A strange, sad feeling crept over her, and she continued quite silent
during the remainder of the drive. Her thoughts were still busy in the
formation of another plan for the discovery of Lucille, when, upon her
arrival at home, she was informed that M. Lagnier desired anxiously to
see her, having something to communicate.
'Mademoiselle, I have not been idle,' he exclaimed, immediately upon
entering the apartment. 'Here is Lucille's address, and I have seen her
mother. Poor things!' he added, 'they are indeed in want. Their room is
on the sixth floor, and one miserable bed and a broken chair are all the
furniture. For ornament, there was a rose-tree, in a flower-pot, upon the
window-seat: it was withered, like its young mistress!'
'They are not Parisians?' inquired Adelaide.
'No, no, mademoiselle. From what the mother said, I picked up quite a
little romance concerning them. The husband died two years ago,
leaving them a pretty farm, and a comfortable home in Normandie.
Lucille was very beautiful. All the neighbours said so, and Mrs
Delmont was proud of her child. She could not bear her to become a
peasant's wife, and brought her here, hoping that her beauty might
secure to her a better fate. The young girl had learned a trade, and