The Double Life

It was a beautiful day, and they walked together in the forest, in the magnificent walk which led to the battlements of the Loge, which were constructed in front of the Castle Germain, by Queen Anne of Austria.

As they reached the south angle of the ramparts, it seemed that Théophraste recognized again, gliding in a thicket, the repulsive form of Signor Petito.

Adolphe insisted that he was mistaken.

CHAPTER XII
Théophraste’s Memory Is Refreshed

THEY wandered down to the lawns at the foot of the ramparts, and walking across the green grass, they stopped at the foot of a forked tree. They were seated chatting for some time, when suddenly Théophraste’s face seemed to light up as if he recalled something. It seemed as if his memory had suddenly become awakened to events of years ago. His whole soul was filled with sweet memories, like the tenderest recollections of youthful days returning, after having been forgotten for a long time. In his mind he saw perfectly the spirit of Cartouche, as if he had never been separated from him by two hundred years. It seemed to come suddenly to him, and as the events came back to him, he related them to Adolphe, in the following words:

“Adolphe, my friend, I must tell you that at that time my fortune was complete. I was dreaded and yet liked by all. I was even liked by my victims. I despoiled them so gallantly that they went their way along through the city singing my praises. I had not yet been attacked by that wonderful sanguinary instinct which some months later made me commit the most atrocious crimes. Everything prospered with me; everybody feared me and loved me. I was happy, merry, of a magnificent audacity, gallant in love, and the ruler of Paris. They said that I was the greatest of all robbers; that was only half true, because it was imperative that I should partake of the sovereignty with M. Law, the Controller-General of Finance. My glory was at its zenith; for often he and his people paid me tribute. But he imagined he might excite the Regent against me. One evening when I had stolen into his room in his hotel, disguised as a lackey to Lord Dermott, the Regent sent for Monsieur d’Argenson, keeper of the seals, and told him that he had eight hours in which to arrest me. M. d’Argenson promised everything he wanted, provided they let him go by the way of the Convent of the Madeline du Frainel, where his mistress, Mlle. Husson, had taken refuge. Eight hours later, M. d’Argenson was still at the Convent with Mlle. Husson. As for me, my dear Adolphe, during that time, I attended to my small affairs, and I commanded without any trouble three thousand men. It was the month of September, the nights were beautiful and clear, and we profited by this to get into the house of the Spanish Ambassador, who lived in the old hotel of the Marshal d’Aucre, in the Rue de Fournon, the same house even which has since been occupied by the Guard de Paris. We entered his wife’s bedroom and took possession of all her dresses, of a buckle ornament with twenty-seven large diamonds, a necklace of very fine pearls, six plates, six table sets, six knives and ten coral goblets. We rolled it all up in a table cloth, and went to supper at the house of the Belle Helene, who kept what you called the Inn of the Harp in the Rue de la Harp.

“Oh, Adolphe, what a wonderful thing memory is! Truly I do not know why I said that you called it the Inn of the Harp, unless in my mind you are representing a friend whom I had, who was as good as you, and whom I loved as well as you, whose name was Va-de-Bon Cour. By the Thunder of the Breast, but he was a handsome young fellow! He was a sergeant of the French Guards, and he was my lieutenant. I must tell you, my dear Adolphe, that I commanded a considerable number of French Guardsmen. At the time of my arrest, one hundred and fifty non-commissioned officers, soldiers of the French Guard, hid themselves, and disappeared over to the colonies. They dreaded lest I should compromise them. They were wrong, however, for torture could not make me speak. However, let me leave those melancholy moments, and come back to the beautiful September nights. We will proceed to the time when it was customary for the Parisians to take up their new abodes. The Regent showed still more anger against me and M. d’Argenson, when he learned about the escapade against the Spanish Ambassador. Imagine his fury as I turned my attentions to him. Va-de-Bon Cour, being on guard at the Palais Royal, carried off two vermilion flambeaux, which the Duke of Orleans prized very highly. The Regent was so afraid of being robbed that instead of wearing silver-faced buckles and sword handles, he resolved to substitute carved steel. On the first day that he carried one of that kind, I, Cartouche, stole it from him as he was leaving the opera house. The next day I sent it back to him in pieces, and I taunted him about his apparent avarice, and upbraided him, that he, the greatest man in France, should wish to deprive his unfortunate confrères, the silversmiths, of a livelihood.

“He answered me publicly by proclaiming that he was very anxious to know me, and that he would give from his own pocket 20,000 pounds to whoever would bring Cartouche to him. The next day, as he walked to Saint Germain and was breakfasting in the castle, he found under his napkin a message of which you will readily see the sense: ‘My lord, you can see me for nothing. It may be to-night, at midnight, behind the Anne of Austria Wall in the forest, where Cartouche will expect you. You are brave. Come alone. If you come accompanied, you run the danger of death.’

“At midnight, I awaited the Regent; twelve o’clock was still sounding in the Loges, when the Regent appeared. The moonlight made the forest seem like fairyland-enchanted, such as one sees at the theater. The forest, a marvelous, transparent blue, seemed bereft of all its branches, of all its foliage, of all its thickets.

“‘Behold me, Cartouche,’ said the prince; ‘I come to you armed with my sword alone, as you have wished. I run perhaps the greatest danger,’ he said in a clear, derisive voice, ‘but who would not risk everything to see at close range at midnight, in the heart of the forest, the form of Cartouche, when it costs nothing?’ Oh, Adolphe, my friend, that thou couldst have been there to hear me respond to the Regent of France! To be sure, I am only the son of a poor cooper of the Rue du Pontaux-Choux, but what Condé, what Montmorency could have bowed with more grace, sweeping the wet grass with the plume of his hat? The Duke de Richelieu himself could not kneel more elegantly than I did, nor present in a more gracious manner to my lord the purse that I had taken from his pocket. ‘I am,’ said I, ‘the most humble servant of my lord, and I beg him to take back from Cartouche this purse that I had the audacity to steal with so much coolness, only to prove to my lord that his highness finds himself face to face with Cartouche.’ The Regent begged me to preserve that purse for a remembrance of him. He was wrong to relate, in the course of time, this anecdote; for the report was spread that he was one of my band. I believe that he had started to go away, when he put his arm in mine and dragged me as far to the right as we are sitting to-day.

“Then the regent did me the honor to put his arm in mine, and I saw that he had something of a secret nature to confide to me. He did not wait to acknowledge that he counted upon my ingenuity to avenge him for an offense that Monsieur the Controller-General had committed against him. He told me that he was quite in love with the courtesan, Emily; that she was his mistress, and had been for fifteen days, and that he had learned from La Fillon that M. Law had the promise of her favors the next night against the present that he would make her of a ten-thousand-louis necklace. He was sure of it, for La Fillon was never mistaken. Was it not from her that he had had a hint of the Cellamore conspiracy? All the rogues of Paris knew La Fillon.

“La Fillon is a woman of five feet ten inches, who was admirably formed, a ravishingly beautiful face. From the age of fifteen years, that model beauty thought that Nature had not provided such rare treasures to be hidden, so she lavished them. The Duke d’Orleans, a long time before the regency, loved her. He remained smitten with her for more than a year. It was for her that he had constructed, in a retired part of the gardens of Saint Germain, a sort of grotto, lighted mysteriously by several rays directed upon a bed of mats, upon which his mistress stretched herself, clothed in her blonde hair only. He showed them to all who passed that way, and in that way he made numerous friends. But the fifteen years of La Fillon flew away in happy days. Now she had no longer the enjoyment of intrigue, of which she has made two parts-gallantry and observation. So she furnished some important information to the police and to M. d’Argenson, guard of the seals, and some remarkable subjects for the amours of the Regent. It was she who procured Emily for him, who is by far the prettiest girl in Paris. Everybody wanted to steal her from him. Law, who was the richest, swore to succeed there. The bargain was concluded for the next night.

“‘Cartouche,’ the Regent said to me, after having explained his small affairs to me, ‘thou art a brave man. I give thee the necklace.’

“And he went away in the moonlight, giving me a slight wave of the hand. This kind of mission that I received-to thwart the loves of the Superintendent, and avenge those of the Duke of Orleans, filled me with pride.

“Being back in Paris, I learned near the morning, through my police (which was the best information of the epoch), that the courtesan Emily lived at a small hotel in the Mardis, at the corner of the Rue Barbette and of the Trois-Pavillons, and that the Regent showed more attachment for her than he had ever for the Duchess of Berry, with whom he was disgusted long since for La Baratere, who shut herself up in the Convent of Chelles, less on account of her love for God than for her liking for the beautiful nuns (what morals, my dear Adolphe, what morals!), and it consoled her that she had recently been mistaken for Mlle, de Valois, uniquely occupied with the Duke de Richelieu. This courtesan, Emily, was no more than an opera girl, but her beauty, as I have told you, surpassed all that one can imagine-I was not long in judging for myself.

“Twenty-four hours after the interview of Saint Germain, that is to say the midnight following, I went out with a placard describing exactly the angle of the Rue des Trois-Pavillons and the Rue Barbette. I had, as if by chance, a pistol in each hand, which made it impossible for me to decently bow to Mlle. Emily, who appeared, considering the hour, in the most polite dishabille, with the Superintendent, who presented a casket to her in which there shone the gems of a necklace, which was valued at the least at ten thousand louis. I excused myself for the necessity of keeping my hat on my head, and begged Monsieur, the Superintendent, seeing the encumbrance of my hands, to close the casket on the necklace, and to put the whole thing in the pocket of my cinnamon coat, promising my gratitude or recognition for this slight service.

“As he hesitated, I proceeded with my presentation, and when he knew that my name was Cartouche, he obeyed with alacrity.

“I begged Mlle. Emily to reassure herself, declaring that she was in no danger, of which she was convinced, for she began to laugh heartily at the discomfiture of M. Law. I laughed also. I said to M. Law that his necklace was worth 10,000 louis, but if he wished to send the next day, towards five o’clock in the afternoon, a confidence man to the corner of the Rue Vaugirard and of the Rue des Fosses-Monsieur le Prince, with five thousand louis, they would return the collar, on the word of honor of Cartouche. He replied to me that the bargain was concluded and we took leave of each other.

“Two days later some one related the adventure to the Regent, who was at first overjoyed, but whose face changed when he learned the culmination of the event. The man, Law, had given the five thousand louis as was arranged, to the man, Cartouche, and he expected the jewel box, when the other told him that Cartouche had already gone to carry it himself to Mlle. Emily. Law ran to the house of the courtesan, saw the necklace and demanded the price.

“‘It is already received,’ replied Emily, turning her back on him.

“‘And by whom?’ exclaimed M” le Superintendent.

“‘Evidently by the one who brought me the necklace-by Cartouche, who has just left here. Should I not pay upon receipt of the necklace? And immediately? I have no credit, myself,’ added she, shouting over the discomfited face of the man of the Rue Quincamprix.

“At the Palais Royal, my dear Adolphe, the jest had the success that you can imagine. It did not matter, the Regent had found out that I had surpassed his instructions, and in his anger he again sent M. d’Argenson to hunt for me. He, however, was again diverted by the attractions of Mlle. Husson. It was a fact, my dear Adolphe, that women were a source of great help to me, and I leaned towards them considerably. But they contributed much to my ruin, also. Knowing of the propriety of my manners, and of my exclusive love for Marceline, you must think how two hundred years changes a man.”

Elated at his narrative, Adolphe laughed at the pleasantry which terminated it. “How two hundred years changes a man!” M. Longuet laughed at it. The supernatural and terrifying antithesis between Cartouche and Longuet, which had plunged him at first into the most melancholy fright, now incited him to make jests. His excuse was that he did not see anything to fear. He only found his case a little odd. He joked about it with Adolphe, and even resolved to no longer keep his true personality from Marceline. She was intelligent and would understand. He imagined that this personality would present dangers to himself and to society, but, behold! it existed no longer in the real condition, but only in his memory, as a vivid picture. He would not have to control Cartouche as he had dreaded; he would only have to ask him from time to time, some anecdote, which would help M. Longuet in conversation. The history of the Regent, M. Law, and of the courtesan, were sure proofs of that condition of the soul. How it had glided from his memory without effort! What evil, then, was there in that? After all, if he had been Cartouche, it was not his fault, and it would be very foolish in him to be angry about it. He even joked about the fortune.

At midnight they made their way back to Paris. As they arrived at the station St. Lazare, M. Lecamus asked him the following question:

“My friend, when you are Cartouche, and you take your walks in Paris, and you see the life of Paris, what astonishes you most? Is it the telephone, or the railway, or the Metro, or the Eiffel Tower?”

Théophraste replied, “No, no. That which astonishes me most when I am Cartouche is the police force.”

CHAPTER XIII
The Cat

IT seems that the destiny which controls the lives of men, takes a diabolical pleasure in preceding the worst catastrophe by the serenest of joys. Thus is it often that we are warned of the tempest by the calm.

Thus in the beginning of the misfortunes of Théophraste, Marceline and Adolphe, there was something which was not of very great importance in itself-the strange behavior of a small black cat.

I have not yet described in detail the apartment occupied by the household of Longuet in the Rue Geronde. It is now necessary to do so. It was a small apartment, rented for twelve hundred francs a year, on passing through the folding-doors of which one entered a vestibule of restricted dimensions, all the furniture of which consisted of a polished oak trunk, which seemed to fill the whole vestibule. Besides the front door, four doors opened into the vestibule: the kitchen door, the dining-room door, to the left; the parlor door, and that of the bedroom, on the right. The parlor and bedroom windows looked out into the street, and those of the kitchen and dining-room looked out into the court. The window of the little room in which M. Longuet had made his office, opened on the street also. This room was between the bedroom and the dining-room, and could be entered by doors from either of these. As to the furniture in this apartment, that in the office is all that need be described. There was a small desk against the wall.

These great misfortunes of Théophraste, Marceline and Adolphe centered around something which was not of great importance in itself: it was only an ornament in the form of a small black cat, which was placed over the patent lock with which the small desk was fastened, thus hiding it.

This little black cat was nothing more than an ingenious silken cushion, which served the double purpose of pin-cushion and pen-wiper. There was also a tea-table in this room.

Upon returning from their trip, Adolphe accompanied Théophraste up the stairway, and as it was late he announced his intention of leaving at once. He ordered his friend to go to bed so that he might get up early the next day to make further researches. He shook his hand with a show of sincerity, and as he went downstairs, looked up to Théophraste, who was holding the lamp for him, and murmured, “Good-bye, till to-morrow.”

Théophraste closed the door of the apartment with the greatest care, and as he made the second turn to the latch, he said to Marceline, “Now that we are very often in the country, we ought to have extra bolts for safety.”

Théophraste and Marceline searched the apartment before going to bed. They went into the kitchen, into the dining-room, into the parlor, and into the office. Nothing unusual had happened during their absence. Everything was in its usual place.

Having gone to bed, Théophraste lay awake for some time. He amused himself by thinking of Cartouche and all the wonderful things he had done. While he tried to fall asleep, his mind kept continually going back to the same theme. Suddenly he opened his frightened eyes in the darkness, and laid his hand on his wife’s arm, waking her. Then, in a voice so low that he alone knew he had spoken, he said, “Do you hear anything?” Marceline woke with a start, and they both strained their ears. They heard something in the apartment. It was a peculiar sound like the purring of a cat. It seemed as if it came from the office, and they listened intently for some minutes, too frightened to move.

Théophraste, as we have said before, was not a brave man, and he would have given a hundred thousand francs for it to have been daylight. Marceline whispered in his ear, “Go and see what is the matter. You must, Théophraste. Take the revolver from the table drawer.” Théophraste just had the strength to answer, “You know very well it is not loaded.”

They listened again, but the noise had stopped. Marceline hoped that they had been mistaken. Théophraste, quaking with fear, then got out of the bed, and taking the revolver, softly opened the door which led into the office.

The night was clear, and the moon shone across the large blue table-cloth which was spread on the table. Théophraste recoiled. He pushed the door to by pressing his back against it, as if he would hinder whatever he had seen from entering the room. “What is it?” demanded Marceline, raising herself from the pillows. Théophraste, with chattering teeth, answered, “It does not purr any more, but it has moved. It is on the tea-table.”

“What is on the tea-table?”

“The cat!”

“Are you sure it was in its right place last night?” asked Marceline.

“Perfectly sure. I put my scarf-pin on it when I was going to bed.”

“Oh, you only think that you did it,” said Marceline. “Shall I light the lamp?”

“No, no. We can escape in the darkness. If I open the door on the landing we can call the conciergerie.”

“You are not afraid, then?” asked Marceline, who, now that she heard it was the cat, was recovering her senses. “It was an illusion that we had. You must have changed his place last night.”

“After all it is very possible,” said Théophraste. He only wanted to get back to bed.

“Put it in its place,” insisted Marceline. Théophraste decided to do so. He went into the office, and with a hasty, trembling hand took the cat from the tea-table and put it on the desk, and soon found himself back in bed. By this time they had recovered their composure.

They even smiled in the darkness to think that they had been afraid. However, a quarter of an hour elapsed, and they were frightened to hear again the rattle of the ornament. “Oh, it is not possible,” cried Marceline; “we are the victims of hallucination. There is nothing to astonish us after what has happened at the Conciergerie.”

It was Marceline who got up this time. She pulled open the door of the office, and came back at once towards Théophraste, and said with a voice so weak that it seemed far away, “You did not, then, put the cat back on the desk?”

“But I did,” growled Théophraste.

“Well, but it is back on the tea-table.”

“My God!” said the man hiding his head under the coverings.

Marceline was convinced that, in the disordered condition of his mind, he had left the cat on the tea-table. She took it, holding her breath, and put it on the table. The cat rattled audibly again as she did it, but neither Marceline nor Théophraste saw anything in this. Marceline went back to bed again.

Another quarter of an hour passed, at the end of which they again heard the same noise. Then an incredible thing happened. Théophraste turned like a tiger and cried out, “What is it? It is only too true, something unusual is happening.”