Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 15, August, 1851. VariousЧитать онлайн книгу.
before, I can hardly wonder Julienne took my frequent absences and my secrecy concerning them amiss. I never dreamed that misery would happen from a husband concealing so small a matter from his wife; but I now see how very possible it is, and in future am resolved never to refuse to answer when she inquires where I have been."
He then explained to his wife that he had been a member of one of those secret clubs which sprang up in such numbers all over France, but especially in the neighborhood of Paris, immediately after the Revolution of 1848. M. Colonne was the president of that club, and at his house its meetings were held. All society was one great vortex of antagonistic parties; and this club, consisting of several of the substantial inhabitants of St. Cloud, owed its birth to the anxiety so very commonly felt by the lovers of order and quiet to lay down for themselves some unanimous and practical course of conduct in the event of another outbreak. The continuance of tranquillity had for the present, however, caused its dissolution, until, mayhap, another season of disorder and violence should occur; "so in future," said Andrè, "I shall spend my evenings at home!"
Julienne heard this explanation with mingled feelings of pleasure and regret. She humbly asked Marie to forgive her, and was quickly in the embrace of the sympathizing young girl.
M. Colonne, exceedingly wounded by the imputations which had been cast upon the character of his daughter, of whom he was at once fond and proud, paid Madame Margot a visit on his way home, and talked to the old lady in a manner which caused her considerable trepidation, and no doubt went far to check the propensity so strongly developed in the composition of her character for picking holes in her neighbors' jackets. He also resolved to prosecute Mademoiselle Trompere and her confederate. This Andrè was hardly ready to do, being perfectly satisfied, now the misunderstanding was cleared up; but M. Colonne declared that no member of his family should be aspersed with impunity; and even if it were solely on public grounds, to protect the unguarded and the credulous from imposition and misery, he would spend a thousand francs to make an example of the pair. Andrè was very reluctant, however, to carry the affair before the public, and persuaded M. Colonne, in the first place, to visit Mademoiselle Trompere with Marie, and force her to contradict her tale; "Indeed," said he, "they had better all go together, and then the woman would have no possible room for subterfuge or persistence in her calumnies."
They were off to Paris the next day. As it happened, M. Colonne and his daughter preceded Andrè and Julienne at the house of the somnambule. M. Colonne was a man of warm and quick temperament.
"My name is Colonne," said he abruptly, the moment he stood before the somnambule and her father; "this is my daughter Marie. We have made a journey from St. Cloud purposely to inform you that your clairvoyance is defective, and to warn you that, not being overskilled in the profession you now follow, you had better choose another – a more honest and safe one; for when people deal in slanders and lies, they risk intimate acquaintance with police-officers and jails."
"Ah, my father, did I not say so?" exclaimed Mademoiselle Trompere, turning tranquilly to the old man. "I told you we should shortly have a little sequel to the romance of the poor Folittons."
"There will be another little sequel, mademoiselle, unless you quickly apologize to my daughter!" said M. Colonne, warmly.
"M. Colonne," returned the somnambule, coolly, and even dictatorially, "you have no doubt been induced to come here by a parental and honorable feeling; but perhaps you are not aware that you yourself have been duped."
"No, indeed!" said M. Colonne, with a smile; "I am not so easily duped."
"You think so, no doubt," continued Mademoiselle Trompere, smiling in her turn. "Still, it is true: you are a dupe all the time. Your daughter and M. Folitton know it well. They seek to escape suspicion of intrigue – the one from her father, the other from his wife – by boldly facing it out, and seeking to compel me, who happen to know all concerning it, to declare that their virtue and honor are unimpeachable. That I do not choose to do. They might content themselves, if they were wise, with the satisfaction of knowing that such matters as I am engaged to discover, do not go forth to the world, but remain solely betwixt myself and them."
"Admirable!" cried M. Colonne, amazed at this immense impudence.
"Yes," said Mademoiselle Trompere, smiling ironically, "the case is so. Poor M. Folitton the other day was going to turn the world upside down because I would not contradict what I revealed to his wife. He threatened me with the police, and I know not what more. Let him do it: the result will be, that I shall be obliged to prove to the world the truth of all I have said, and in doing that I should not have much difficulty."
"Well, well!" cried M. Colonne, fairly overcome. "Talking is of no use here, I perceive!" and as he and his daughter hurried down the stairs, the triumphant and derisive laughter of the somnambule tended by no means to the restoration of their good temper.
Andrè and his wife were just about to ascend as they arrived at the bottom of the staircase, and to them they related the result of their visit.
Proceedings were now immediately commenced against Mademoiselle Trompere and her alleged father, and the latter shortly found themselves before the tribunal of correctional police. The case was made out so very clearly – Julienne, Marie, and Andrè, the sole parties whom the revelations of the sibyl concerned, being arrayed against her – that she was immediately convicted of imposture, and the old man as a confederate. In the course of the trial the wig of silver hair was unceremoniously lifted from the head of the male prisoner by an officer of police. The change effected in his appearance by this simple operation was remarkable, and greatly to his disadvantage. The officer then read from his police record a list of no fewer than nine convictions for imposition and misconduct against the aged sinner. The female was truly, it appeared, his daughter. They had visited many parts of France and Belgium under different names, and the diligent inquiries of the police had been successful in establishing against them a long course of guilt – one scheme of imposture having been tried after another, and each terminated by disgrace and punishment. They were now sentenced to two years' imprisonment and a thousand francs' fine.
All has gone brightly and pleasantly at Andrè's house since this unpleasant affair, and so will continue, it is my belief. Husband and wife seem on better terms with each other than ever. Madame Margot sedulously keeps herself out of the way of the Folittons and the Colonnes, nor do I suppose she will ever take coffee with Julienne any more.
THE HOUSEHOLD OF SIR THOS. MORE. 7
Soe my fate is settled. Who knoweth at sunrise what will chance before sunsett? No; the Greeks and Romans mighte speake of chance and of fate, but we must not. Ruth's hap was to light on ye field of Boaz: but what she thought casual, ye Lord had contrived.
Firste, he gives me ye marmot. Then, the marmot dies. Then, I, having kept ye creature soe long, and being naturallie tender, must cry a little over it. Then Will must come in and find me drying mine eyes. Then he must, most unreasonablie, suppose that I cd not have loved the poor animal for its owne sake soe much as for his; and thereupon, falle a love-making in such downrighte earneste, that I, being alreadie somewhat upset, and knowing 'twoulde please father … and hating to be perverse … and thinking much better of Will since he hath studdied soe hard, and given soe largelie to ye poor, and left off broaching his heteroclite opinions… I say, I supposed it must be soe, some time or another, soe 'twas noe use hanging back for ever and ever, soe now there's an end, and I pray God give us a quiet life.
Noe one wd suppose me reckoning on a quiet life if they knew how I've cried alle this forenoon, ever since I got quit of Will, by father's carrying him off to Westminster. He'll tell father, I know, as they goe along in the barge, or else coming back, which will be soone now, though I've ta'en no heed of the hour. I wish 'twere cold weather, and that I had a sore throat or stiff neck, or somewhat that might reasonablie send me a-bed, and keep me there till to-morrow morning. But I'm quite well, and 'tis the dog-days, and cook is thumping the rolling-pin on the dresser, and dinner is being served, and here comes father.
Father
Continued from the July Number.