San-Cravate; or, The Messengers; Little Streams Part 130

As he glanced about, Adhemar saw a handkerchief at his feet; he picked it up, examined it, and recognized Nathalie's monogram, which he had seen her embroidering with her own hands.

"She was so engrossed that she forgot it!" he muttered, twisting the handkerchief in his clenched hands. "A moment ago, she was here, on this seat, and she was thinking of another man!"

He could no longer control his grief; he sobbed bitterly, and the tears rushed from his eyes; but he felt a sort of pleasure in wiping them away with the handkerchief which belonged to her.

The cab stopped and the driver opened the door, saying:

"This is the very place where the little lady got out, bourgeois, and where I waited for her. There's the Jardin des Plantes."

Adhemar, absorbed by his reflections and memories, had no idea where he was or whither he was going. The cabman's words recalled him to himself.

He jumped out of the cab and said to the man:

"You must come with me."

"Where to, bourgeois?"

"Into the Jardin des Plantes."

"Carriages ain't admitted; it's against the rules."

"I didn't say anything about your cab; I want only you. We will walk through the garden, and I want you to look closely at every man you see; and if you recognize the young man who escorted that lady back to your cab, you must point him out to me instantly."

The cabman began to laugh.

"My word! that's a good one, that is! You want me to go with you afoot, eh? And what will become of my cab and my horses in the meantime?"

"Mon Dieu! they won't fly away. Go and stand your cab over yonder where those others are."

"I can't do that, bourgeois; our orders is not to lose sight of our horses; I should be punished--discharged, perhaps."

Adhemar took ten more francs from his pocket and put them in the cabman's hand.

"Just a few times round the garden; while you're away, one of your comrades will look after your horses."

Money always produces its due effect; the cabman wavered, and at last replied:

"I'll go and ask Jerome, who's over there, I believe, if he'll have an eye on my horses, and I'll share the ten francs with him--eh, bourgeois?"

"Yes, yes,--here, give him this five-franc piece; off with you!"

"Oh! Jerome's a good fellow! he'll do it for me."

The driver ran to the cab stand, told his comrade what was wanted, and showed him the last five-franc piece he had received.

"We two will drink it up directly," he added.

Jerome agreed; the cabman pocketed the hundred sous, and returned to Adhemar.

"It's all fixed," he said; "Jerome will have an eye on my beasts."

"Come with me, then."

They entered the garden, the cab driver walking beside Adhemar, who said to him:

"Look carefully at all the men--the young men, I mean--and as soon as you see the one who was with that lady, say: 'There he is!'"

"All right, bourgeois; or, say I cough to warn you?"

"Very well."

There were few people in the garden. Adhemar walked rapidly, and his companion could hardly keep up with him.

"Sapristi!" he cried; "you travel faster than my horses!"

A young man pa.s.sed them, and the cabman began to cough.

"Well!" exclaimed Adhemar, stopping abruptly.

"That's not the man, bourgeois."

"What in the devil did you cough for, then?"

"To let you know that he wasn't the one."

"You are not to cough unless you recognize him."

"Oh! all right! I understand!"

They went on again. They met a number of men, but the cabman made no sign; he simply said from time to time:

"If Jerome should get a fare, who'd look after my cab?--By the way, monsieur," he said at last; "there's one thing perhaps I ought to tell you."

"What's that?"

"If the man you're looking for should pa.s.s us, I wouldn't know him. You see, I hardly looked at him, only just caught a glimpse of him, and I don't even know whether he was dark or light!"

Adhemar stamped impatiently, and, realizing that his search would necessarily be fruitless, decided to leave the garden. The cabman was overjoyed to find Jerome still on the square.

"Where shall I take monsieur now?" he asked.

"Nowhere--thanks! I don't need you any longer."

In his then frame of mind, Adhemar preferred walking to riding; he craved air and exercise. He walked very rapidly, often without looking to see where he was going. However, he reached home in time, and had no sooner entered his study than he ran to his desk and seized his pen.

"I will write to her," he said to himself; "I cannot wait to tell her that I know of her treachery--and then everything will be at an end between us. I will try to forget her."

With a hand that trembled with excitement, although his thoughts caused it to move swiftly across the paper, he wrote Nathalie the following letter:

"MADAME: