The Baron's Sons Part 10

Antoinette looked into the girl's eyes with searching scrutiny, but failed to find there what she sought. She saw, on the contrary, a proud self-consciousness that was new to the girl.

"Have any callers come while we were out?" inquired the baroness.

"Yes; Captain Baradlay."

The two ladies' eyes directed a cross-fire upon Edith, but with no effect. She no longer blushed at the mention of that name. It was now enshrined in her heart and would not again drive the tell-tale blood to her cheeks.

"Did the captain wait for us?" asked Antoinette.

"Only long enough to write this letter," was the girl's calm reply, as she delivered Richard's note to her aunt.

Now it was the latter's turn to feel the hot blood mounting to her face as she read the missive.

"Do you know what is in this letter?" she asked, giving the girl a penetrating look.

"Yes," answered Edith, with modest dignity.

"You may return to your room and go to bed," said the baroness.

Edith withdrew. Antoinette tossed the letter wrathfully to her daughter.

"There!" she exclaimed, "that's what comes of your fine scheme."

Alfonsine turned pale and trembled with pa.s.sion as she read the letter. Her voice failed her. Her mother's face was distorted with anger.

"You evidently thought," said the baroness, biting her words off one by one, "that every man was an Otto Palvicz! Your stupid game is lost, and now we will try my plan."

CHAPTER VII.

THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP.

As Richard made his way homeward, he seemed to himself to be riding on a winged steed. He was entirely satisfied with the issue of that day's adventure. Reviewing in imagination the temptation to which he had been exposed, he exulted in the victory he had won over himself.

Consequently, when he reentered his bachelor quarters, he could not but feel an unwelcome sensation as his eye fell on certain objects that he would gladly have banished from sight. They were sundry souvenirs of certain love affairs, and no longer possessed the value in his eyes that they had once had.

Summoning Paul, he bade him make a fire.

"But the wood is so confoundedly wet that it won't burn," returned the old hussar.

At this Richard rummaged in the drawer of his writing-desk and produced a bundle of letters, whose delicate tint and perfume betrayed their probable nature. "There," said he, "take these; they will start the fire."

This order gave old Paul much pleasure, and soon the billets-doux were blazing merrily on the hearth.

"Paul," began Richard after a pause, "to-morrow we break up and go away for the annual manuvres."

The old soldier showed his satisfaction at this announcement.

"But we can't take all this trumpery with us," added the young officer. "You'll have to sell the furniture, but the souvenirs, pictures, and embroideries may be thrown into the fire."

Paul bowed dutifully.

Opposite the young man's bed hung a large oil painting in a great gilt frame; it was the portrait of a famous beauty who had caused herself to be painted as Danae, and had presented the picture to Richard. The latter now bade his servant get rid of it with the rest of the rubbish. After thoroughly ransacking his drawers for old love-letters, faded flowers, bits of ribbon, and other miscellaneous articles, he left the entire collection for old Paul to destroy, while he himself went out with a lightened conscience to his supper.

The next morning, when Paul brought his master's boots, Richard made some remark on the thoroughness with which his faithful servant had executed his orders. "But surely," he added, "you can't have burnt up the frame of the large painting. What has become of it?"

"Do you suppose I burnt up the picture, either?" asked Paul in his turn. "I am not so crazy as to throw a fine work of art like that into the fire."

"What then have you done with it?" demanded the other, kicking off his bedclothes. "You haven't p.a.w.ned it, I hope?"

Paul shrugged his shoulders. "Captain Baradlay said I was to get rid of it," he replied.

"Yes, and that meant that it was to be burnt up," declared Richard.

"Well," returned the servant, "I understood you to mean that it was to be carried to old Solomon and sold for what it would bring."

"And is that what you did with it?"

"There's where it is now."

Richard was very near being downright angry with his old servant. "Go at once and bring the painting back!" he commanded, as sternly as he could.

But old Paul was not one to be easily disconcerted. Laying his master's stockings within their owner's reach, he replied, with unruffled composure: "Solomon will not give it back to me."

"Not if I demand it?"

"He sends his compliments to Captain Baradlay, and begs him to have the goodness to go and speak with him in person about the picture,"

returned the old hussar, handing Richard his trousers.

The young officer fairly lost his temper. "Paul, you are a donkey!" he exclaimed.

Quickly, and with no little vexation, the hussar officer completed his toilet and hastened to old Solomon's shop in Porcelain Street, before the Jew should hang the picture where it could be seen and, perhaps, recognised.

Solomon's establishment was a little bas.e.m.e.nt shop, lying lower than the sidewalk and lighted only from the door, which was consequently always kept open. On both sides of the entrance old furniture was placed on exhibition, while within was gathered such a heterogeneous collection of all sorts of second-hand wares as fairly baffles description. But the most ancient and curious object in the whole shop was its owner, who sat in a big leather armchair, wrapped in a long caftan, fur shoes on his feet and a fur cap tilted over his eyes.

There he was wont to sit all day long, rising only to wait on a customer. The leather covering of his chair-cushion was worn through with long service and had been replaced by a sheet of blotting-paper.

Solomon was in the habit of opening his shop early and taking his seat in the doorway; for no one could tell when good luck might bring him a customer. It was hardly eight o'clock when Richard strode down the narrow street and paused at the old Jew's door.

"Is this Solomon's shop?" he asked.

The old man in the caftan drew his feet from under his chair, rose from his seat, and, pushing back his fur cap so that his caller might have a good view of his smiling face, made answer:

"Your humble servant, sir. This is the place, and I shall be most happy to serve Captain Baradlay."

"Oh, do you know me?" asked the young officer, in surprise.

"Why should I not know Captain Baradlay?" returned the old man, with an ingratiating smile. "I know him very well, and he is a man I am proud to know."