LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VI, Issue 657, 28 July 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

w ■ ‘MADAME LA FONTAINE—TROISIEME ETAGE. Paris, Not the Avenue de Champs Elysees (once known in the days of the luxurious Caesar as the Avenue de Tlmperatrice) ; not the Faubourg St Germain, the rallying ground of the supporters of the White Flag; but in a street at the back of the Boulevards, within pistol shot of the Theatre St Martin, A large house, white, richly gilded inside, with much red velvet on the chairs and couches. A house divided into many suites of apartments, each suite occupying an entire etage. Our story has to do with the troisieme etage. During the siege it had been empty. Before, it had been occupied by adherents of the Empire—the Empire which fell at Sedan. The owners of the ormolu tables and goldlegged chair* yere exiles from their native land, living now possibly at Brussels, probably in Leicester square. During the Commune dust had collected on the tables, and cobwebs had spread over the painted ceilings and the richly-papered walls. With the return of order a tenant had been found for the house. She was a lady, a widow ; that was all that was known about her, except that she was willing, nay eager, to pay the exorbitant terms demanded by the landlord. Monsieur the landlord was living away from Paris, and was only too glad to receive money for what had been for the last three years a very unprofitable investment; and so Monsieur the landlord took a veiy charitable view of his new tenant’s past, and refused to examine her antecedents. Madame La Fontaine had been three months in residence when this story commences. ‘ She must have been very beautiful years ago,’ thought the world who saw her, as they looked upon her regular features and her large black eyes. Her complexion was deadly pale, save when art lent its assistance to nature, when rouge andblanc-de-perle met in not altogether friendly rivalry on her deeply-furrowed brow and her thin, pale cheeks; her hair was as white as snow; . her expression was one of deep melancholy. . People felt that this woman had a painful ‘ past; that for her there was no future. ' It was about ten o’clock in the morning. ] Paris had long been awake. The English ■ tourists of the small hotels, having finished , their breakfasts at the cheap restaurants in j the Palais Royal, were bargaining with the ] drivers of remises to take them to see all the sights in the gay city and its environs ; , the gardens of the Tuileries were merry with the sound of children’s voices, and the ; court-yard of the Grand Hotel resounded ] with the accents of the inhabitants of the United States, Paris was quite awake, , with only an exception here and there, j One of those exceptions was the troisieme etage in the street at the back of the boulevards. 1 The shutters were closed; that was all i that could be said about the house from the exterior. The sergent-de-ville, as he passed the door, looked up at the troisieme etage ■ with an uneasy glance. He had seen Madame La Fontaine, and, in spite of her many years, had judged her to be beautiful. He had white hair himself, and was gallant. He glanced uneasily at the suite of apartments i occupied by Madame La Fontaine, because i he felt that, sooner or later, he would some ■ day have to enter those apartments in an official capacity. The sergent-de-ville would have glanced even more uneasily had he known everything—the everything hidden from the public view by the white-painted shutters. A large room, nearly dark. Although it was ten o’clock, it would have been quite dark in this room had it not been for a wax candle burning in a silver candelabra placed in the centre of a greeu-baize-covered table. Near the table a number of chairs, some overthrown. On the chairs and table, cards ; on the sideboard, cards again, and a dicebox ; on the ormolu table supporting the lookine’-glass, cards, and a half-emptied champagne bottle. There was no doubt about it; the suite of apartments in the street at the back of the boulevards was used by Madame La Fontaine as a gamblinghouse. A red-headed man servant was putting the place to rights. He yawned, and stumbing over the chairs, walked up to the window, and threw open the shutters. Then the sunlight streamed in, and the solitary wax candle ceased to illuminate the apartment. ‘ A pretty mess they have made ! Cards and dice, and the ends of cigars. Ugh! I have no patience with themand he stooped down and began to collect the debris of the evening’s dissipation. So occupied was he with his own thoughts that he did not hear a knock on the outer door. The knock was repeated, and then the handle was turned, and a gentleman entered the room. He was an old man. He was thin and sallow, and wore a white neckcloth. He carried a gold headed stick, and spoke sharply. He was blunt, and evidently prided himself upon his nationality. After this description, need it be said that he was an Englishman ? ‘ H’m ! a very nice place indeed !’ he exclaimed, looking through a pair of double eye-glasses at the room and its contents; ‘ a very nice place indeed. Cards and dice ! A gambling house, and for its custodian a ruffian. ’ * Who’s that calling me a ruffian ?’ cried the man-servant, ‘An Englishman ! Ah ! I thought you were too respectable for a Frenchman. ’

* Respectable or not, what do you do here, and what’s your name ?’ ‘My name is Doctor Abernethy Blunt, and I have come here to give you five napo: Icons, if you earn them.’ ‘ That alters the case, sir. As you say, I am an Englishman, and know that business is business. But I ain’t a ruffian. A gentleman left me here to starve (he brought me over as a valet), and Madame here took pity upon me. She gave me this place, and I never met a kinder woman. ‘ The keeper of a gambling-house kind ?’ ‘lt seems strange, don’t it? and yet it’s gospel true. She’s not at alia bad sort, take my word for it. But about them five napoleons, sir.’ ‘ Look here, my good friend,’ said the Doctor. ‘I will tell you what I want as briefly hs I can. I have a ward a young fellow who was left to my care by his father, a very de r friend of mine. This boy fell in love with a young lady. Her father would not let him marry her, and he ran away to Paris. The young lady fell ill, her father relented, and I have come here bearing his blessing to young Hopeful; but young Hopeful has disappeared.’ ‘ Well, sir ?’ ‘ I have been to the French detectives ; they are every whit as stupid as their English brethren. At the last moment I came across a French doctor, who gave me a clue—that clue led me here. Now do you see how you can earn your five napoleons ?’ ‘ Not quite, sir.’ ‘ I want you to tell me if, within the last week, a young Englishman has been to this house ? Whether he has been ?een by Dr Naudin (my informant) ? Whether he is here now ?’ ‘ Well, sir, I will trust to your honour about the naps., and tell you all I know about it. Y es, sir, a young Englishman has been here during the last seven days. He came about a week ago. He was happy when he came; he grew happier and happier, tossing off bottle after bottle of champagne, until he fell under that there table. ’ ‘ Well ?’ ‘ Well, sir, as a general rule, it’s my duty to turn out the drunk and incapables, for we must keep the house select; but on this occasion Madame stepped in. She seemed struck by his face. She started as if she had been shot through the heart. She ordered me to carry him to the small room next her own. On the following day he was in a fever, crying about “Kate,” and his “lost love,” and all sorts of foolishness.’ ‘ Delirium,’ said the Doctor. ‘ And what did Madame do ?’ ‘ Why, sir, she watched over him like a mother over a child. When the doctor said he might die, she cried as if her heart would break. You would have never believed she could feel so deeply, had you not seen her. She’s as cool as a cucumber when she keeps the bank. ’ ‘Very strange,’ murmured the Doctor. Then louder, ‘ But you have not told me his name. ’ * Well, sir, until to-day he has scarcely been sensible. Last night the fever seemed to leave him, and Madame would not let him talk. Just before I came here to do up the room I saw the French doctor, and he told me the crisis was over ; that he only wanted strength to be quite well. He is getting up. But if Ido not know his name, sir, I have something that will do as well. I found this photograph in his coat pocket.’ ‘Five napoleons for your story, and an extra one for the photograph, and some further assistance,’ said the Doctor, paying out the gold. ‘ Thank you, sir; here’s the photograph.’ ‘My ward !’ murmured the Doctor. * And now tell this young gentleman that I am waiting for him. You know my name ; mention it, and he will come to me. ’ ‘ Certainly, sir, said the servant, and he’ approached the door. ‘ Stop !’ The Doctor and the servant turned sharply round. The door was open. Madame La Fontaine had entered the room. ‘ you can leave us, John,’ she said, ‘ Whatever this gentleman has to say he will say it to me. No, do not go by that door ; wait below.’ John, who had crossed over, and was on the eve of entering the passage leading to the other apartments of the etage, was obliged to comply with his mistress’s orders. He gave a look at the Doctor which, if looks signify anything, meant, ‘ You see it is not my fault,’ and disappeared. Madame La Fontaine seated herself calmly in a fauteuil, and motioning the Doctor to a chair, asked the question : ‘ And, now, monsieur, what do you want here ? ’ The question received no reply. The Doctor’s face had become a study. His jaw had fallen, his eyes were fixed; he waa evidently startled and surprised. ‘You do not answer me,’said Madame. ‘ However, I think I know the cause of your visit. You believe that at my receptions cards and dice are permitted. You are right, they arc. But my receptions are held at eight in the evening, mt at ten in the morning. Monsieur, shall I say au-revoirV There was a pause, and then the Doctor exclaimed, ‘We have met before !’ ‘Very likely,’ replied Madame calmly, ‘lama great traveller, and you may have seen me in Vienna, Wiesbaden, Spa.’ ‘ This is the first time I have been away from England, and I left London for Paris last night.’ * Indeed!’ said Madame, not quite so calmly. ‘ Well, monsieur, what do you want with me V {To he continued.)