The intrigues of a poisoner, and Captain Coutanceau

Front matter

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The Favourite Reading of Prince Bismarck.

II. Father And Husband

While the scene we have described was taking place at La Vienne's establishment, a plain coach, draped according to the fashion then in vogue, drew up in front of the richly carved door of the Hotel de Brinvilliers, one of the most magnificent houses of the Rue des Lions-Saint- Paul, in the district of the Marais, which was the aristocratic quarter during the seventeenth century.

Almost immediately, and before the footman had time to lower the heavy step, three people alighted from the vehicle — two young men and an old one.

The old man, dressed in the costume of the previous century, was M. Dreux d Aubray, a lieutenant of police, who had been one of the councillors of Anne of Austria during the Fronde. He was the father of the Marquise de Brinvilliers, and the two young fellows who accompanied him were his sons.

The trio paused and held council under the archway, and after a few minutes had elapsed one of them made a sign to the coachman, who, whipping up his horses, went off at a brisk trot in the direction of the Place Royale. The young men then turned up the collars of their cloaks, lowered the brims of their large felt hats, and posted themselves at some distance in a recess formed by a wall.

As for M. d'Aubray, he raised the heavy knocker which fell back noisily, arousing the echoes of the deserted street. The door swung on its hinges with a loud clanking of chains and bolts ; the porter bowed respectfully on recognising the marquise's father, and at his order a valet, carrying two candles and walking backwards, preceded the lieutenant of police up the stairs leading to Monsieur de Brinvilliers' room.

He was a very worthy man, the Marquis de Brinvilliers, colonel of the regiment of Normandy. War left him but little leisure, but he put it out at interest, and was considered a good player and generous lover in the pleasure-seeking society of officers and yielding women. He had all but exhausted his fortune in trying to gain this reputation ; but he cared very little about that, and his mind was at ease since he had placed his wife's dowry out of the reach of his creditors. He had settled her property upon her, not that he might have it to fall back upon, he was too much of a nobleman to entertain such middle-class ideas, but so as to prevent her from suffering on account of his extragavance.

M. de Brinvilliers had at first been deeply in love with his wife, but time had greatly cooled his passion. There now remained but a sweet and confiding intimacy between them, and according to the custom of the age, the marquis troubled himself very little about his wife's conduct, gallantly leaving her as much liberty as he claimed for himself.

That evening the marquis was reclining in a large arm-chair by the fireside in his study. He was half asleep, having sat up late at supper the night before, and having gambled with persistent ill-luck throughout the day. So he was disagreeably surprised when a footman timidly opened the door and announced M. Dreux d'Aubray.

However, the marquis was too well bred to show his annoyance at being awakened in this manner. He rose with apparent eagerness, and went to meet his father-in-law. After the usual embraces and compliments, he ventured to inquire, " Dear me, monsieur, has anything vexatious happened to you, to bring a person of your quiet habits to my house at this hour ? I should be almost pleased if such were the case, in order to place myself and all belonging to me at your disposal."

The lieutenant of police did not immediately answer. He slowly seated himself opposite the marquis, and after a pause of a few seconds, during which he appeared to be reflecting, he said :

" Believe me, monsieur, when I tell you that it is extremely painful to me to have to speak to you on a subject which I consider a disgrace to my family. I have come to speak to you about mv daughter."

" About my wife ? "

"Unfortunately, yes ! And also about the Chevalier de Sainte-Croix."

The marquis assumed the doleful air of a man threatened with a tedious sermon, and who regretfully realises that he cannot escape it. He heaved a deep sigh. " Well, what has the poor chevalier done now ? " he asked.

" What has he done ? " replied M. d'Aubray. " Look here, marquis, there are none so blind as those who won't see, and I believe you belong to the class. The Chevalier de Sainte-Croix abuses your confidence shamefully, and my daughter, your wife, is his accomplice."

" You are mistaken, monsieur."

"I am positive of it."

"Well, what can I do in the matter? " asked the marquis, impatiently. "The Chevalier de Sainte-Croix is my friend, the most upright man that ever breathed. After knowing him for a long time in the army, I brought him to my house and introduced him to my wife. At first she seemed to feel an unaccountable aversion for him, but by degrees she appeared interested in his conversation, which is always very witty ; and upon my word, between my wife and my friend, I considered myself the happiest man living."

" That is to say they were plotting to deceive you."

" You told me so, or rather you told me that this friendship caused scandal, and so I reluctantly closed my door to the chevalier, whom I miss more than you can imagine. Does not that suffice ? "

" No, you must still watch your wife ! "

" For shame, monsieur ! would you wrong me to the extent of believing me jealous of the marquise ? Understand that I trust her implicitly."

" She deceives you."

" Allow me to doubt it ; I only believe what I see."

The lieutenant of police angrily struck the arm of his chair. " And supposing I proved it to you," he said, rising. " If I showed you — "

12 THE INTRIGUES OF A POISONEE.

" You would certainly cause me great grief and it would be but a sorry service you would render me. But I am at rest on that score," concluded the marquis, laughing.

"And you are wrong," sternly replied M. d'Aubray, "you are wrong; for in this instance I, the father, have fulfilled the duty appertaining to you, the husband, and I am able to give you proofs."

"Come," objected the marquis, "let lis admit for a moment that your suppositions are correct, in what way can the matter affect me ? Did not the marquise bare me heirs to my name during the early years of our marriage ? "

"What!" cried the indignant lieutenant of police, "is this the value you set on the honour of families and the virtue of women ? Yes, I know what you are about to say — you are going to mention the example of some of the noblest families in the kingdom, so as to show me that it is in good taste to act as an indulgent husband and close one's eyes to the errors of an unworthy wife. But I do not belong to the court, monsieur, and I do not consider my name above dishonour. You are free to abdicate the sacred rights with which God and men have fortified you, but I shall know how to uphold the privileges of my forefathers. It is now for you to decide whether you will follow me and join my sons who await us outside."

"At this time of night and in this weather ? "

" Honour requires it, monsieur, the honour of two noble houses whose escutcheons have been stainless until now This scandal must be put a stop to."

" Very well, I am at your service," answered the marquis. " I will follow you, though I really don't see what will be gained by all this."

Taking his hat and cloak from a valet, the Marquis de Brinvilliers thereupon followed M. d'Aubray.

When the heavy door had closed behind them, the lieutenant of police uttered a peculiar cry which had doubtless been agreed upon with his sons, for the two young men left their post of observation and approached immediately.

" Well? " asked M. d'Aubray.

" Nothing as yet," replied the young men.

"Let us wait, then ; she cannot be much longer.

"Now, monsieur," impatiently exclaimed the marquis, "will you kindly tell me what we are doing here ? "

"Certainly, since you refuse to understand anything," replied M. d'Aubray in a husky voice. " We are waiting for your wife, who leaves your house every evening in order to keep an appointment with her lover."

"Ah!" said the marquis. "So she leaves the house every evening? Really, I did not suspect it."

"We are going to follow her," added the lieutenant of police, "and when you have surprised the culprits you will be convinced."

" Let us wait, then," answered the marquis.

"Not here," observed one of the young men, "we should not see her; Bhe uses the garden gate when she goes out at night."

"So she knows of the little gate," said the marquis. " I was under the impression that I alone had its key. Really, it is very considerate of her to take such precautions, for she could easily leave by the front door."

" Rest assured, it is not from us that your wife conceals herself," rejoined M. d'Aubray. " She knows us too well to do that."

The four crossed the street and concealed themselves in the recess where the two young men had awaited their father during his conversation with the marquis. M. de la Reynie had not yet introduced street lamps into Paris, and the moon, to which the lighting of the capital was exclusively intrusted, fulfilled its duty very badly on this occasion. The night was extremely dark, and one of those fine and penetrating rains, peculiar to the capital of beautiful Prance, was steadily falling.

Still, from where they stood the four watchers could see the gateway of the mansion distinctly enough, for it was dimly lighted by a small lamp glimmering dismally in a niche below a little statue of the Virgin. For about half an hour none of the watchers spoke, save that from time to time the marquis interrupted the stillness of the night with a muttered oath. At length, unable to restrain himself any longer, he observed to his father-in-law : " Don't you consider, monsieur, that we are plying a nasty calling here and fruitlessly besides ? "

"Hush ! " replied M. d'Aubray.

" It is abominable weather," continued the marquis, " and all I can foresee from this is an attack of rheumatism."

Neither M. d'Aubray nor his sons answered him.

"By the fiend's horns," continued the marquis, whose ill temper was momentarily increasing, " we should be infinitely better off in our beds. As regards myself, I am beginning to be inconvenienced by several wounds I received in Flanders. "

" For heaven's sake, marquis, a truce to recriminations," whispered the elder of the two young men.

By way of reply the marquis stifled an oath, and then silence reigned once more.

At last the clock in the belfry of the chapel of the Celestine monastery mournfully struck ten, and the dismal sounds died away in the fog.

"She won't come to-night," said M. d'Aubray, impatiently.

But, almost at the same moment, the little garden gate was partly opened, and a woman stealthily popped out her head ; she seemed to be peering into the darkness, and trying to penetrate its depths as though she suspected that some danger lurked there.

" Here she is, father," whispered the youngest M. d'Aubray.

" Upon my word, it is really she," said the marquis.

The marquise, for she it was, reassured, no doubt, by the quiet of the street, decided to sally forth ; she glided gently through the gateway, and closed the gate after her, making visible efforts to deaden the grating of the key in the lock. For a moment she seemed to hesitate as to which road she should take ; but soon making up her mind, she went off rapidly through the by-streets leading to the Place de Greve.

When she had almost disappeared from view, the lieutenant of police turned to his sons and said : " Follow her ; two men will alarm her less than one ; the marquis and I will remain behind. "

The two brothers hastened to follow in the steps of their sister.

" Well ! " sadly remarked M. d'Aubray.

" In truth," replied the marquis, " you see me as astonished as one can well be. What strength of purpose ! Who would have believed that the marquise, who seems so timid and nervous, would dare to venture out alone at such a time of night in the streets which are, now-a-days, far from safe. It is really too imprudent."

"You would, doubtless, have advised her to take a footman," mockingly remarked the lieutenant of police.

"Certainly," replied the marquis in perfect good faith, "and it would have been more worthy of her position and mine if she had taken a coach."

The lieutenant was unable to stifle an expression of anger ; but not considering it an opportune moment for a discussion, he did not give vent to the scornful words that were on the tip of his tongue. The father and the husband continued on their course in silence, without losing sight of the young men who preceded them in the wake of the marquise.

She was walking along with a quick and determined step, keeping close to the houses as if to conceal herself in the shadows they threw, and invart ably turning from her path, and crossing the street whenever she espied one of the few lamps which devout citizens lighted in front of some holy image ; she feared, no doubt, that its feeble flickering light might betray her. On she went, regardlessof the puddles and open drains which in those days transformed Paris into a perfect quagmire, so that in rainy weather only those who were willing to sacrifice their clothing, ventured forth on foot for any distance.

On reaching the Place de Greve, she waited for a minute in order to let a patrol pass by. At that time folks hardly knew which they ought to fear the most — night-guards or thieves. Gliding round the Place, still keeping close to the houses, the marquise now walked towards the Louvre, along narrow and almost impassable alleys which crossed and intertwined one with another in a maze-like manner round about the palace of the burgesses.*

She walked thus as far as the church of St. Germain L'Auxerrois, which doubtless served her as a beacon ; for once there, she appeared to collect herself for a moment, secured her velvet mask, drew forward her hood, which the wind had raised, and rapidly retraced her steps.

M. d'Aubray and his sons were, no doubt, prepared for this change of tactics, for they had joined one another, and dragging the marquis with them, had concealed themselves between two buttresses of the old church. The marquise passed close to them without perceiving their presence. She then turned into the Rue de lArbre-Sec, and the four men emerging from their hiding place overtook her in time to see her enter a hostelry of equivocal appearance, over the door of which there swung, creaking in a most lugubrious fashion, a sign which represented a swarthy white turbaned Moor, who was blowing with all his lungs in a huge trumpet. It was the well-known sign of the More-qui-trompe.

With one accord M. d'Aubray, his sons, and the marquis peered through the grimy windows of the hostelry, and were able to see the marquise take a key from the landlord, who bowed respectfully, and then spring up the stairs like a woman familiar with the people and the ways of the house.

" What a disgrace ! " sadly exclaimed the lieutenant of police ; and he added in a lower key, " To think that my daughter dares to frequent such a hole."

"At least it shows discretion," said one of the brothers. " Look, father, at the men who are drinking in this room ; not one of them would suspect that the woman who had just gone upstairs is our sister, the Marquise de Brinvilliers." •

At this moment two drunkards came out of the hostelry singing boisterously, and the four watchers were compelled to draw aside.

"What a hole ! " reiterated M. dAubray.

* The H6tel de VUle of now-a-days.— Trans.

" Oh ! stop a minute," answered the marquis. " Don't judge the place by Its appearance ; it is a thoroughly respectable house, I assure you."

" You know it? " asked M. d'Aubray.

" Certainly, I have often supped there with my friend Penautier, the reasurer of the States of Languedoc — a very gallant fellow, I assure you."

" Then you know something about the arrangements of the apartments, narquis ? "

" No one better, by the fiend's horns ! The first floor is very different to this ; there are some rooms there as richly furnished as those in my house, and the cooking of Master Hugonnet, the landlord of the More-qui-trompe it not to be despised by any means."

The marquis, led away by his recollections would, no doubt, have continued in this strain if the lieutenant of police had not cut him short.

" Well, are you convinced ? " the latter asked.

" Of what ? "

" Why — of your wife's infidelity ? "

" Not at all. My wife is very pious. How do you know she is not here on some errand of charity ? Moreover, she is passing credulous and may have come to consult a sorceress. Sorceresses are all the fashion just now. They have taken the place of the flounced dresses a la Montespan. Besides, it doesn't follow that the Chevalier de Sainte-Croix is in the house."

"That is what we shall now ascertain, "said the youngest of the Messieurs d'Aubray, and thereupon he whistled in a peculiar manner.

Immediately afterwards a man, who had hitherto been crouching so closely against the wall on the opposite side of the way that he could not be perceived, stepped forward and reached the party.

" Desgrais," asked the lieutenant of police in a whisper, " has M. de Sainte-Croix arrived ? "

"Not yet, monsieur," answered the new-comer, "but he will not be much longer, for his valet, La Chauss6e, has gone to fetch him from La Vienne's where he was supping. But listen, I fancy — "

One could indeed hear the step of a cavalier at the farther end of the street.

" It is he," continued Desgrais with that quick scent which the police agents of those days have bequeathed to the detectives of the present time. " We mustn't stir ; the chevalier cannot see us where we are."

The group remained motionless, and thanks to the fog it was so difficult to distinguish it amid the surrounding objects that the Chevalier de Sainte- Croix, for he it really was, did not even suspect the presence of his foes.

He entered the hostelry, followed by his lackey, spoke a few words to the landlord, and disappeared up the same stairs that the marquise had previously ascended, whilst La Chaussee sat down in front of a flagon of sufficient capacity to beget patience.

For the third time that evening the lieutenant of police addressed the marquis with the manner of a judge.

"Well, monsieur," he asked, " are you at length convinced?"

" I own," replied the marquis, " that a jealous husband might entertain some doubts."

"Well, what do you contemplate doing, Monsieur le Marquis de Brinvilliers ? "

"I am very embarrassed. Between noblemen these differences are generally settled on the field of honour."

" You cannot think of it, marquis ? A man does not fight with a fellow who has robbed him of his honour. "

"Well, monsieur, see to the matter yourself. I know many husbands would not scruple to use a lettre-de-cachet in such a case ; but apart from the means being distasteful to me, I must admit that I have none with me."

" I have one, monsieur, and the man you see there has been placed at my disposal to execute the order which I personally solicited of his Majesty."

" What ! you wish—"

For sole answer the lieutenant of police turned towards Desgrais. " Art all your precautions taken ? " he asked.

"Be easy, monsieur, "answered the agent, "the Chevalier de Sainte-Croii won't play us false ; for though only a beginner in the business, I havs prepared everything and provided for all emergences, and it is such aa honour for me to work for your family, that I shall feel disgraced if withia two hours from now the man you have named to me is not between four walls behind the bolts of the Bastille."

" What are we waiting for then ? "

"A coach which one of my sergeants has gone for."

"The poor chevalier will be grateful to you for this attention, "exclaimed the marquis ; "but is my presence here really necessary ? "

"What! do you wish to leave us, monsieur ?" asked the lieutenant of police.

" Between ourselves, an arrest has always been a painful sight to me. The fate of the chevalier distresses me more than you imagine, and although he has wronged me, according to your showing at least, still if he were to appeal to our former friendship I believe, God forgive me, that I would draw my sword on these rascals in order to set him free."

" Then farewell, monsieur ; it is I who will avenge your honour."

M. de Brinvilliers took a couple of steps forward, and then turning to his father-in-law he said, "Above all, mind you tell the chevalier that I have taken no part in this absurd affair."

III. The Hostelry Of The More-qt7i-tbompe

The Marquis de Brinvilliers had spoken truly when he mentioned the sumptuous character of the apartments on the first floor of the More-quitrompe.

Host Hugonnet, like a man acquainted with the requirements of the times, had accumulated in this part of his house all the superfluities of refined luxury ; and if he continued keeping a common drinking den downstairs, frequented by the worst characters, it was because he knew that the more disreputable his establishment appeared the greater would be the security of the noblemen or titled dames who sought out his house as a safe shelter for their intrigues.

And we may here remark that host Hugonnet did not lack customers, and good ones too, so that his neighbours, although they censured his trade, could not help envying him the comfortable fortune they imagined he possessed.

Certainly, on entering the common room the most attentive observer would never have suspected the mysteries of the upper floors. The beama of the ceiling were black and damp, the walls were stained, the tables rickety and dirty, and the floor almost as sodden as the street outside. The rude staircase, the first steps of which were to be seen at the rear, could, to all appearance, only conduct to some wretched garret.

But at the tenth step the aspect of this staircase suddenly changed. A treble door carefully padded, and covered with rags on the side facing the pot-room, shut it off ; but once this door was opened the wonders began. The bannisters were of precious wood, thick carpets covered the steps, and high tapestry hangings draped the walls.

The marquise, as we have already said, rapidly ascended this staircase, and opening a small door at the end of a narrow passage, entered a sumptuous apartment where host Hugonnet, with commendable foresight, had prepared everything for her reception. Perfumed tapers burned in the candelabra, a large fire blazed cheerily in the hearth, and in a corner of the room a dainty collation was spread out on a small rosewood table.

Having carefully closed the door, the marquise took off her cloak, removed her mask, and rapidly exchanged her wet and mud-stained clothes for a coquettish neglige^ laid out for her in an adjoining dressing-room.

She then breathed more freely ; plainly enough she felt at home after her transformation. She wheeled a spacious arm-chair to the fireside, languidly stretched herself out in it, and presented her tiny feet, encased in dainty velvet slippers, to the gentle warmth of the fire.

Madame la Marquise Marie Madeleine de Brinvilliers was then in the full pride of her beauty : she was short, but admirably formed and harmoniously proportioned ; her oval face had all the childlike grace and enchanting delicacy with which Largilliere has endowed several of the feminine portraits he painted. Her calm, deep blue eyes were at timea softly caressing, while at others their beams were tempered by an expression of gentle melancholy. Betwixt the purple of her slightly disdainful lips there gleamed a double row of pearls.

No expression of fear or emotion ever disturbed the calm of her open ingenuous countenance. Such was the command that the marquise possessed over herself, that her features never betrayed the horrible agonies and piercing emotions that tortured her soul. Although subsequently implicated in the darkest tragedies and the most frightful crimes, she maintained, even before her judges and in the torture room, the same cold and smiling impassiveness. No one ever saw her blush or look disturbed. You might have taken her for a lovely statue — a chef-d'oeuvre — chiselled out of a block of ice from the Polar seas. She was, as it were, Galatea ere Pygmalion, anxious to endow his creation with life, purloined for her the vital spark.

For about a quarter of an hour or so Madame de Brinvilliers had been dosing by the fireside, when the sonorous sound of a large clock placed between two windows startled her,

"He doesn't come," she murmured, "and I was afraid I should keep him waiting ! "

She rose as she spoke and took several steps across the room with evident impatience. " Has anything happened to him ? " she continued.

But at the same moment the door opened, and Sainte-Croix stood smiling on the threshold.

" At last ! " exclaimed the marquise, pointing to the hands of the clock which now marked half past eleven.

" Yes, I know," said the chevalier. " I have to beg your forgiveness." And sinking on to his knees at the marquise's feet, he covered the lovely hands she extended to him with kisses.

" However, I can assure you," he said, as he rose again, " that these few moments cost me dear. To come here more quickly, I have allowed a handsome pile of pistoles to pass into Maitre Hanyvel's pockets."

" So you always gamble, chevalier ? "

" Well ! " said Sainte-Croix lovingly, " what would you have me do when I am far from your lovely eyes ? Yes, I gamble for lack of anything better to do ; but, dear heart, don't let us talk of such trifles, our time is too short and too precious for us to think of anything save our love."

"Alas!" sighed the marquise, "the hours we spend together each evening, and which constitute my only happiness, will perhaps be taken from us."

" What do you mean, Madeleine ? "

"I do not know, dear, but I feel vaguely anxious as though some great danger threatened us. M. Dreux d'Aubray — "

' ' What, your father again ! " exclaimed Sainte-Croix. ' ' Let him beware ! I have not forgotten that he was the cause of the greatest misfortune that ever befell me ; that, thanks to him, I was ignominiously forbidden your house. "

" He is my father, chevalier ! "

" Yes, Madeleine ; but I love you and you love me. I would gladly shed the last drop of my blood for you, and my claims upon you are more sacred than his. I repeat it, let him beware."

Sainte-Croix had risen whilst uttering these words ; his lips quivered with anger, his eyes sparkled, and his hands were clenched as though the enemy on whom he wished to revenge himself were present.

The marquise, still calm and smiling, looked at him lovingly. This temper, shown at the thought of losing her, was it not a proof of love ?

" Calm yourself, chevalier," she said at last, "no serious danger threatens us yet awhile."

" Then why did you speak like that, my dear beloved Madeleine ? Can I be calm when I think of the possibility of losing you ? Never to see you more ! why, at the very thought of it I feel beside myself, for nothing more terrible could befall me, no nothing, not even death itself."

" Come, drive away these disagreeable thoughts," rejoined the marquise, " and tell me if you have any news of our little one."

Sainte-Croix remained silent.

"What ! " continued the marquise, " nothing yet ? "

"Nothing."

"And you tell me that away from me the hours seem intolerably long, and that you pass your time wearily and aimlessly ! And yet somewhere in the world we have a child, a son, and you cannot tell his mother what has become of him. I don't know whether I ought to bewail his death or his existence. Oh ! if I were only a man ! "