The Parisians | Page 8

I took
possession of my fortune five years ago, I was considered a Croesus;
and really for that patriarchal time I was wealthy. Now, alas! my
accumulations have vanished in my outfit; and sixty thousand francs
a-year is the least a Parisian can live upon. It is not only that all prices
have fabulously increased, but that the dearer things become, the better
people live. When I first came out, the world speculated upon me; now,
in order to keep my standing, I am forced to speculate on the world.
Hitherto I have not lost; Duplessis let me into a few good things this
year, worth one hundred thousand francs or so. Croesus consulted the
Delphic Oracle. Duplessis was not alive in the time of Croesus, or
Croesus would have consulted Duplessis."
Here there was a ring at the outer door of the apartment, and in another
minute the valet ushered in a gentleman somewhere about the age of
thirty, of prepossessing countenance, and with the indefinable air of

good-breeding and 'usage du monde.' Frederic started up to greet
cordially the new-comer, and introduced him to the Marquis under the
name of "Sare Grarm Varn."
"Decidedly," said the visitor, as he took off his paletot and seated
himself beside the Marquis,--"decidedly, my dear Lemercier," said he,
in very correct French, and with the true Parisian accent and intonation,
"you Frenchmen merit that praise for polished ignorance of the
language of barbarians which a distinguished historian bestows on the
ancient Romans. Permit me, Marquis, to submit to you the
consideration whether Grarm Varn is a fair rendering of my name as
truthfully printed on this card."
The inscription on the card, thus drawn from its case and placed in
Alain's hand, was--
MR. GRAHAM VANE,
No. __ Rue d'Anjou.
The Marquis gazed at it as he might on a hieroglyphic, and passed it on
to Lemercier in discreet silence.
That gentleman made another attempt at the barbarian appellation.
"'Grar--ham Varne.' 'C'est ca!' I triumph! all difficulties yield to French
energy."
Here the coffee and liqueurs were served; and after a short pause the
Englishman, who had very quietly been observing the silent Marquis,
turned to him and said, "Monsieur le Marquis, I presume it was your
father whom I remember as an acquaintance of my own father at Ems.
It is many years ago; I was but a child. The Count de Chambord was
then at that enervating little spa for the benefit of the Countess's health.
If our friend Lemercier does not mangle your name as he does mine, I
understand him to say that you are the Marquis de Rochebriant."
"That is my name: it pleases me to hear that my father was among those

who flocked to Ems to do homage to the royal personage who deigns to
assume the title of Count de Chambord."
"My own ancestors clung to the descendants of James II. till their
claims were buried in the grave of the last Stuart, and I honour the
gallant men who, like your father, revere in an exile the heir to their
ancient kings."
The Englishman said this with grace and feeling; the Marquis's heart
warmed to him at once.
"The first loyal 'gentilhome' I have met at Paris," thought the Legitimist;
"and, oh, shame! not a Frenchman!" Graham Vane, now stretching
himself and accepting the cigar which Lemercier offered him, said to
that gentleman "You who know your Paris by heart--everybody and
everything therein worth the knowing, with many bodies and many
things that are not worth it--can you inform me who and what is a
certain lady who every fine day may be seen walking in a quiet spot at
the outskirts of the Bois de Boulogne, not far from the Baron de
Rothschild's villa? The said lady arrives at this selected spot in a
dark-blue coupe without armorial bearings, punctually at the hour of
three. She wears always the same dress,--a kind of gray pearl-coloured
silk, with a 'cachemire' shawl. In age she may be somewhat about
twenty--a year or so more or less--and has a face as haunting as a
Medusa's; not, however, a face to turn a man into a stone, but rather of
the two turn a stone into a man. A clear paleness, with a bloom like an
alabaster lamp with the light flashing through. I borrow that illustration
from Sare Scott, who applied it to Milor Bee-ren."
"I have not seen the lady you describe," answered Lemercier, feeling
humiliated by the avowal; "in fact, I have not been in that sequestered
part of the Bois for months; but I will go to-morrow: three o'clock you
say,--leave it to me; to-morrow evening, if she is a Parisienne, you shall
know all about her. But, mon cher, you are not of