1. CHAPTER I.
THE TWO FRIENDS.
It was late at night. The good bourgeoisie
of the city of Paris had retired to
rest, and the strets were deserted and silent,
save that at intervals a fiacre or a carrosse
rattled over the pavements, and the
quick footsteps of an occasional passenger
fell upon the ear. The theatres and other
places of amusement were closed for the
night, and the swarms of pleasure-seekers
which they poured forth had time to reach
their homes.
The soirce of the beautiful Mademoiselle
Marie Duval had passed pleasantly away,
and the select few, who had been admitted
to her society, were now taking leave of her,
one by one, and sauntering into the streets.
Two alone lingered after the rest were gone,
and these were among the most favored of
the guests of M. Duval and his daughter.
Maurice Lambert had long been intimate
with the family, to which he had some time
before introduced Ernest Clairet, his bosom
friend; and as Maurice was held in high esteem
by both Marie and her father, Ernest
was, for his friend's sake, regarded rather as
an acquaintance, than one whom the family
Duval scarcely knew.
The two friends, we said, lingered after
the other guests were gone, but they, too, at
last, took their leave, and, arm in arm, sauntered
along the street. To have seen them,
one would scarcely have recognized in their
thoughtful features the two gay young men
who, an hour before, attracted the attention
of the entire party by their elegant address
and ready wit. Their gayety had passed
away, and a sort of pleasing seriousness had
taken possession of their hearts. For some
time neither spoke, but they walked on in
silence, absorbed in their own reflections.
`What ails you, Ernest?' cried Maurice
Lambert, breaking in upon his friend's meditations.
`I was thinking,' said Clairet, with a
smile.
`Very probable,' returned his friend; `for
I believe that every rational being thinks.
But may I ask what weighs upon your mind,
giving to your every look and action a tinge
of melancholy?'
`Diable! I do not know, myself, Maurice.
But somehow the look which our good friend
Duval gave me, as I took my leave, calls up
early associations, and it seems to me that I
have seen his face before.'
`Indeed?'
`Yes, Maurice, it is even so; although
where or when I cannot tell. It must have
been many years ago, however—perhaps
when I was a poor, forsaken orphan.'
`Dame, Ernest! tell me about that—when
you were the orphan you have so often mentioned
in my presence.'
`Not to-night, Maurice,' said Ernest,
shaking his head sadly, `for the recollections
Duval's strange look called up, are sad
enough without recurring to the details of
my early history. You know that I am an
orphan, that I was adopted at an early age
by the excellent M. Clairet, whose name I
have borne ever since, and that I have every
reason to consider myself a fortunate man.
But the wrongs I endured—the wrongs
which killed my mother, which I have since
sworn to revenge, if Heaven has not saved
me the task,—you know nothing of them,
my dear Maurice, and I hope you never
will!'
`Pardon me, Ernest, for questioning you:
I was not aware of the deep wounds in your
bosom, and am sorry to make you sadder
than before.'
`Parbleu!' exclaimed Ernest Clairet, vehemently.
`I am sad, and unless I seek
some stirring scene—some powerful excitement,
the melancholy of this night will stay
with me for days. It is what I cannot shake
off without assistance.'
`Then I will remain with you, Ernest;
we will seek some diversion together, and I
will help you to get rid of your melancholy
thoughts.'
`Thanks, thanks, dear Maurice; but
what do you propose?' asked Clairet.
`You are fond of play?'
`It is an amusement although I never play
for money, except through courtesy.'
`I know it is, Ernest. But the game
alone excites you. If you would forget your
own thoughts, you could do no better than
spend the remainder of the night—or at least
a part of it—at Jean Louis' saloons. The
company there is always of the first class,
the players generous, and the wine superb.
What do you say?'
`Sacrebleu! I accept your proposition,'
replied Ernest Clairet, quickening his pace.
