It required all Villefort’s sang-froid not to betray the terror with which this declaration of the king inspired him.
“How strange!” continued the king, with some asperity, “the police thinks all is said when it says, ‘A murder has been committed,’ and particularly when it adds, ‘And we are on the trace of the guilty persons.’”
“Sire, your majesty will, I trust, be amply satisfied on this point, at least.”
“We shall see; I will no longer detain you, baron. M. de Villefort, you must be fatigued after so long a journey, go and repose yourself. Of course you stopped at your father’s?”
A faintness came over Villefort.
“No, sire,” he replied, “I alighted at the Hôtel de Madrid, in the Rue de Tournon.”
“But you have seen him?”
“Sire, I went straight to the Duc de Blacas.”
“But you will see him, then?”
“I think not, sire.”
“Ah, I forgot,” said Louis, smiling in a manner which proved that all these questions were not made without a motive,—“I forgot you and M. Noirtier are not on the best terms possible, and that this is another sacrifice made to the royal cause, and for which you should be recompensed.”
“Sire, the kindness your majesty deigns to evince towards me is a recompense which so far surpasses my utmost ambition that I have nothing more to request.”
“Never mind, sir, we will not forget you, make your mind easy. In the meanwhile” (the king here detached the cross of the Legion of Honour he usually wore over his blue coat, near the cross of Saint Louis, above the order of Notre-Dame-du-Mont-Carmel and Saint Lazare, and gave it to Villefort)—” in the meanwhile take this cross.”
“Sire,” said Villefort, “your majesty mistakes, this cross is that of an officer.”
“Ma foi!” said Louis XVIII, “take it, such as it is, for I have not the time to procure you another. Blacas, let it be your care to see that the brevet is made out and sent to M. de Villefort.”
Villefort’s eyes were filled with tears of joy and pride; he took the cross and kissed it.
“And now,” he said, “may I inquire what are the orders with which your majesty deigns to honour me?”
“Take what rest you require, and remember that, unable to serve me here in Paris, you may be of the greatest service to me at Marseilles.”
“Sire,” replied Villefort, bowing, “in an hour I shall have quitted Paris.”
“Go, sir,” said the king; “and should I forget you (kings’ memories are short), do not be afraid to bring yourself to my recollection. M. le Baron, send for the minister of war. Blacas, remain.”
“Ah, sir,” said the minister of police to Villefort, as they left the Tuileries, “you enter by the right door, and your fortune is made.”
“Will it be long first?” muttered Villefort, saluting the minister, whose career was ended, and looking about him for a hackney-coach. One passed at the moment, which he hailed: he gave his address to the driver, and springing in, threw himself on the seat, and gave loose to dreams of ambition.
Ten minutes afterwards Villefort reached his hotel, ordered his horses in two hours, and desired to have his breakfast brought to him. He was about to commence his repast when the sound of the bell, rung by a free and firm hand, was heard. The valet opened the door, and Villefort heard his name pronounced.
“Who could know that I was here already?” said the young man.
The valet entered.
“Well,” said Villefort, “what is it?—Who rang?—Who asked for me?”
“A stranger, who will not send in his name.”
“A stranger who will not send in his name! What can he want with me?”
“He wishes to speak to you.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
“Did he mention my name?”
“Yes.”
“What sort of person is he?”
“Why, sir, a man of about fifty.”
“Short or tall?”
“About your own height, sir.”
“Dark or fair?”
“Dark—very dark: with black eyes, black hair, black eyebrows.”
“And how dressed?” asked Villefort quickly.
“In a blue frock-coat, buttoned up close, decorated with the Legion of Honour.”
“It is he!” said Villefort, turning pale.
“Eh, pardieu!” said the individual whose description we have twice given, entering the door, “what a great deal of ceremony! Is it the custom in Marseilles for sons to keep their fathers waiting in their anterooms?”
“Father!” cried Villefort, “then I was not deceived; I felt sure it must be you.”
“Well, then, if you felt so sure,” replied the newcomer, putting his cane in a corner and his hat on a chair, “allow me to say, my dear Gérard, that it was not very filial of you to keep me waiting at the door.”
“Leave us, Germain,” said Villefort.
The servant quitted the apartment with evident signs of astonishment.
M. NOIRTIER—FOR it was, indeed, he who entered—followed with his eyes the servant until he had closed the door, and then, fearing, no doubt, that he might be overheard in the antechamber, he opened the door again; nor was the precaution useless, as appeared from the rapid retreat of Germain, who proved that he was not exempt from the sin which ruined our first parents.
M. Noirtier then took the trouble to close carefully the door of the antechamber, then that of the bedchamber, and then extended his hand to Villefort, who had followed all his motions with surprise which he could not conceal.
“Well, now, my dear Gérard,” said he to the young man, with a very significant look, “do you know you seem as if you were not very glad to see me?”
“My dear father,” said Villefort, “I am, on the contrary, delighted, but I so little expected your visit, that it has somewhat overcome me.”
“But, my dear fellow,” replied M. Noirtier, seating himself, “I might say the same thing to you when you announce to me your wedding for the 28th of February, and on the 4th of March here you are in Paris.”
“And if I have come, my dear father,” said Gérard, drawing closer, to M. Noirtier, “do not complain, for it is for you that I came, and my journey will save you.”
“Ah, indeed!” said M. Noirtier, stretching himself out at his ease in the chair. “Really, pray, tell me all about it, M. le Magistrat, for it must be interesting.”
“Father, you have heard tell of a certain club of Bonapartists held in the Rue Saint-Jacques?”
“No. 53: yes, I am vice-president.”
“Father, your coolness