"I did very wrong, I admit," replied George, "and I will atone for my fault to-morrow; but you will excuse me for leaving you now, as I must join a friend who is waiting for me."
"He will have to wait then, for you can't go any further as another trial is about to take place. Don't you hear the bell?" Blanche spoke the truth. The promenaders, warned by the signal, had paused, and any further progress was impossible. "I have you," she continued, "and I sha'n't let you go, for I want to have a long talk with you about Dargental's death."
George resolved to make the best of the situation, so he replied: "Well, as you insist upon broaching that sad subject, it is said that Dargental did not commit suicide as was at first supposed."
"No doubt," replied Blanche. "Suicide was far from his thoughts. He was murdered, my dear fellow, and I believe I know the culprit."
George had not expected to hear the person whom Puymirol suspected of the crime make such a statement as this. "You know the culprit and yet you have not denounced him," said he.
"Oh! I make it a principle never to meddle with matters that don't concern me."
"But this does concern you. You knew Dargental so well."
"No doubt; and he has died for having deserted me."
"I don't understand you."
"Oh! that doesn't matter. Had I cared to tell what I know, I should have done so to the magistrate who questioned me; and I deserve some credit for holding my tongue, for he insinuated that suspicion might fall upon me. But I have nothing to fear, and I am going to stand my ground. Have you seen the Countess de Lescombat?" added Blanche, abruptly, "I suppose you know she is here."
"Here, a fortnight after Dargental's death? It's impossible!"
"She is enthroned up there in the stewards' stand, and Dargental's death has not affected her in the least."
"It is certainly scandalous," replied George.
"Oh! she imagines that by showing herself here, she will make people believe that Dargental was indifferent to her."
"But all Paris knew of the connection, and she was about to legalise it by marriage."
"We knew it, but the banns had not been published, and Madame de Lescombat will now declare that Pierre was a friend, and nothing more. And people will end by believing that such was really the case, unless some of her letters should be found among the poor fellow's papers. But she is too shrewd to write. It is all very well for me who have nothing to lose to be prodigal with my signature. If Dargental has not burned my letters, an interesting collection will be found."
"Dargental probably destroyed them; still, it isn't likely that they contained anything that would compromise you," said George, scrutinizing Blanche's countenance.
"Well," replied Blanche, quite composed, "I never concealed my fondness for Pierre, and I did for him what I would never have done for any other living being. But when I learned to know him well, I deeply regretted writing him a certain note, which might cause me a deal of trouble, should it fall into the hands of the authorities. Dargental was quite capable of keeping this note. I begged of him to return it to me before his marriage, and if I accepted his invitation at the Lion d'Or, it was because I hoped he would return it to me at dessert."
"But in what way could this note compromise you?" inquired George, trying to smile. "I presume that it didn't contain a confession of any crime on your part."
"You know nothing about women," replied Blanche. "The very best of them are fools when their affections are involved, and I was madly in love with Dargental. To save him from any danger, I would have stolen or committed murder, but I did not go to such lengths as that; still I did him a service that might have cost me dear. I tell you this, because I know I can trust you; but, pray, say nothing to your friend Puymirol about the matter, for I have no confidence in him. He sides with the countess, and I am almost certain that he just left you to go and pay his respects to her. But what do you think of the show this year?"
"It is about the same as usual, I fancy."
"You wonder why I came, probably. Well, I came here to see the officers. Like all the rest of my sex, I am fond of uniforms. There is one officer here whom I have taken a special fancy to. Shall I point him out to you?"
"Certainly," replied George, although he was not at all interested in the matter.
"Step here a moment, then," said Blanche. A hurdle trial was now taking place, and as the different competitors passed by, she indulged in lively criticism. "There he is, at last," she continued, pointing to a young sub-lieutenant and then clapping her hands like a child, she added: "Isn't he handsome?"
George looked at the rider, who had excited her admiration, and beheld a tall, well-built young man, with a handsome and genial face, mounted upon a half-bred horse, which he managed with wonderful skill and ease. "Do you know who he is?" Caumont asked of Blanche.
"No; but I should very much like to know. If he does not receive the first prize, the judges will be guilty of the grossest injustice. Did you notice him bow to these ladies over there, that young girl in a lace bonnet, with an older lady, who must have been very handsome, and who still has some good looks left her?" George glanced in the direction indicated, and, on recognising the ladies, blushed so deeply that Blanche resumed: "So they are friends of yours? You need not blush like a schoolboy, for they are both charming, the girl especially, and I am delighted that you know them; for now you can introduce the lieutenant to me."
"You had better not count upon that," retorted George, drily.
"Oh! you need not take offence, I meant no harm. You seem to be deeply interested in one of the two ladies; and I should never forgive myself if I prevented you from following the dictates of your heart any longer. So go, and good luck to you!"
George now thought of reaching the tribune to join the ladies who interested him far more than Blanche Pornic's revelations. The trial was over, the judges had retired for deliberation, and Caumont was about to climb the stairs when he perceived the people he wished to join coming down towards him. The daughter was in front, and she smiled as he stood, with uncovered head, eagerly awaiting her approach. He had been introduced to herself and her mother by an old schoolmate of his, now a civil engineer, who had informed him that Madame Verdon was the widow of an iron manufacturer who had left a fortune of twelve hundred thousand francs, which would revert, partly to his son and partly to his daughter, Gabrielle, the young girl who was now descending the stairs. George had often met her and her mother in the Luxembourg gardens and had visited them at their residence on the Boulevard St. Michel, very near his own abode. He had gradually fallen in love with Mademoiselle Verdon, but being well aware of the objections that might be made to him as a suitor for the hand of a young lady blessed with an income of twenty thousand francs, he had carefully abstained from playing the part of a lover. Still, he had eyes, and he saw very plainly that the daughter liked him, and that the mother did not seem to discourage his pretensions. He even fancied that Madame Verdon had been unusually cordial of late, and he wondered if the time had not come for him to make some advances. He wished, however, first to have an explanation with the young girl, and then if he met with any encouragement from her, to ask her hand of her mother. But a favourable opportunity had not yet presented itself. Indeed, Dargental's death, and the judicial proceedings following upon that tragical event, had, for some days, engrossed George's attention to such an extent that he had scarcely seen the Verdons. "Good-morning," exclaimed the mother, as she now approached. "We haven't seen you for a long time past. What have you been doing with yourself? Gabrielle has lost all fondness for the Luxembourg garden since you have ceased visiting