Part 30 (1/2)

We entered the _cremerie_, sat down and ordered our coffee and crisp horse-shoe loaves. I think the _pet.i.t dejeuner_ at a _cremerie_ is one of the most daintily served meals in France. The morning dew glistens so freshly on the b.u.t.ter, the fringed napkin is so spotless, the wide-mouthed cups offer themselves so delicately generous. If everyone breakfasted there crime would cease. No man could hatch a day's iniquity amid such influences.

When we were half-way through, Paragot unb.u.t.toned his frock coat and took from his pocket a black-edged letter which he flourished before my eyes. It was then that I noticed, to my great surprise, that he had cut his finger-nails. I thought of Madame Boin.

”It is from the Comtesse de Verneuil, and it gives you the word of the enigma.”

”Yes, Master,” said I, eyeing the letter.

”Confess, my little Asticot,” he laughed, ”that you are dying of curiosity.”

”You would tell me,” said I, ”that it was no death for a gentleman.”

”You have a way of repeating my unsaid epigrams which delights me,” said he, throwing the letter on the table. ”Read it.”

I read as follows:

”CHaTEAU MARLIER pres de Nevers.

13th Aug. 18--

”MY DEAR GASTON:

”The newspapers may have told you the news of my husband's death on the 1st August. Since then I have been longing to write to you but I have not found the strength. Yet I must.

”Forgive me for the cruel things I said on the last unhappy night we met. I did not know what I do now. Before my husband died he told me the true circ.u.mstances of the money transaction. My husband bought me, it is true, Gaston, but you did not sell me. You sacrificed all to save my father from prison and me from disgrace. You have lived through everything a brave, loyal gentleman, and even on that hateful night you kept silent. But oh, my friend, what misery it has been to all of us!

”I shall be in Paris on the 28th--Hotel Meurice.

If you care to see me will you make an appointment? I would meet you at any place you might suggest. The flat in the Avenue de Messine is dismantled and, besides, I shrink from going back there. Yours sincerely, ”JOANNA DE VERNEUIL.”

”You see, my son, what she calls me--a brave, loyal gentleman,” he cried, with his pathetic boastfulness. ”Thank Heaven she knows it. I have kept the secret deep in my heart all these years. One must be a man to do that, eh?” He thumped his heart and drank a draught of coffee.

Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He eyed the brown stain disgustedly.

”That,” said he, ”is Paragot peeping out through Gaston de Nerac. You will have observed that in the polite world they use table-napkins.”

”The Comtesse de Verneuil,” said I, bringing back the conversation to more interesting matters, ”writes that she will be in Paris on the 28th.

It was the 28th yesterday.”

”I am aware of it. I have been aware of it for a fortnight. Yesterday I had a long interview with Madame la Comtesse. It was very satisfactory.

To-day I pay her a ceremonious visit at eleven o'clock. At twelve I hope you will also pay your respects and offer your condolences to Madame.

You ought to have a silk hat.”

”But, Master,” I laughed, ”If I went down the Boul' Mich' in a silk hat, I should be taken up for improper behaviour.”

”You at least have gloves?”

”Yes, Master.”

”Remember that in this country you wear both gloves while paying a call.