7-   ¦:
38*-
THE NABOB.
and as those young people expressed it in their
free and easy way : ' ' Uncle, you are talking
twaddle." It was lucky that the last Effendi
had just arrived, and that there were no new-
comers to announce; for, in spite of all my ef-
forts to the contrary, whenever I went between
the hangings to fling a name at the company, I
saw the chandeliers whirl round with hundreds
of thousands of flickering lights, and the floor,
from appearing to be a slippery slope, rose up
perpendicular before my eyes like montagnes
russes. I could not help talking twaddle, that's
certain.
The sharp 'night air, a good wash under the
pump in the yard, soon rid me of that small dis-
comfort, and when I came back to the vestibule
I felt as fresh as a rose. Here I found a nu-
merous and merry company round a champagne
marquise, of which all my nieces, trimmed in
their best, with puffed-out hair and pink neck-
ribbons, took their shares, in spite of their ex-
clamations and delightful little grimaces which
deceived nobody. Naturally they spoke of the
famous newspaper article, Moëssard's article,
full of frightful revelations, it appears, on all
sorts of disgraceful trades which the Nabob had
carried on, some fifteen or twenty years ago,
when he first came to Paris.
This was the third attack of the same kind
which the Messager had published within a
week, and that rogue of a Moëssard had the
cunning to send the paper by post to the Place
Vendôme.
Monsieur Jansoulet received that in the morn-
ing with his chocolate; and, at the same hour,
his friends and enemies — for a man like the
Nabob has none indifferent among his acquaint-
ances— read, commented, and chalked out a
line of conduct for themselves which would not
commit them. To-day's article must have been
splendidly written, really; for Jansoulet, the
coachman, told us that this afternoon, at the
Bois, his master had not exchanged ten bows
with the people he met, though he drove him
ten times round the lake; whereas usually he
can no more keep his hat upon his head than a
sovereign taking his constitutional. On com-
ing home, something else awaited him. The
three boys had just come home, crying and in
great trouble, brought back from the Bourda-
loue College by one of the good fathers. For
their own sake the poor little ones had been
granted a few days' holiday, so that they might
not hear, in the parlor or playground, anything
wounding to their feelings. On hearing this,
the Nabob became wild with rage, and smashed
a porcelain service; and it appears that, had it
not been for Monsieur de Gery, he would have
gone straight up to Moëssard and shot him dead.
"And it would have served him right," said
Monsieur Noel, coming in as these last words
were spoken, very much excited also; "there is
not one word of truth in the article of that
scoundrel. My master never came to Paris be-
fore last year. From Tunis to Marseilles, from
Marseilles to Tunis, that's all the journeys he
ever made ; but that swindling scribbler is tak-
ing his revenge on us because we refused to give
him twenty thousand francs. "
"Well! then, you were quite wrong," said
Monsieur Francis—Monpavon's Francis, that
old dandy, whose only tooth shakes in the mid-
dle of his mouth at every word he says, but
whom our young ladies are nevertheless sweet
upon because of his fine manners. " Yes, you
were wrong. You must be careful how you
treat people as long as they may serve or injure
you. Your Nabob turned too soon his back
upon his old friends, after he had got what he
wanted; and between us, dear boy, he is not
strong enough to do that sort of thing."
Here I thought I might be allowed a few
words:
"It is a fact, Monsieur Noel, that your
master is no longer the same man since his elec-
tion in Corsica. He adopts a tone and man-
ners. The other day, at the Territoriale, he
made us such a row as you never heard. We
heard him bawling in full board: "You
told me a lie; you robbed me and made a thief
of me. Show me your books, you fellows."
... If he treated Moëssard in this way I
am not surprised the other should take his re-
venge in this paper."
"Well! but what does that article sav-?
Who read it?"                                             J '
Nobody answered. Several had tried to buy
it, but in Paris scandal sells like bread. At ten
o'clock in the morning there was not a single
copy of the Messager to be had. Then a
brilliant idea struck one of  my "nieces," a
wide-awake girl if ever there was one: she
searched the pockets of one of the numerous
overcoats nicely arranged on shelves in the
cloak-room.    The first she took down:
" Here it is," said the amiable child, drawing
out a Messager, all creased, as if it had just been
read.
"And here is another," cried out Tom Bois-
Landry, who was making a private search on his
side. Third overcoat taken down, third Mes-
sager. And in every one of them the same
thing. Whether it had been stuck to the bottom
of the pocket, or whether it peeped out and
showed its title, the newspaper was in every
coat, as the article was in every memory. Only
fancy, the Nabob up-stairs exchanging compli-
ments with his guests, who might have recited
to him by heart a"ll the horrors printed about
him. We roared when that idea struck us; but
we longed to read in our turn that curious
page.
" Come, old Passajon, read us that aloud."
It was the general wish, and I complied.
I don't know whether you are like me; but
when I read aloud, I gargle my voice, I raise
and lower it, until at last I cease to understand
what I say ; like certain singers, who don't care
for the words, provided they get the tune.
Well! it was called "The Boat of Flowers."
A rather muddled story with Chinese names,
in which it was question of a Mandarin lately
raised to the first class, and who had formerly
kept a " Boat of Flowers " moored at the other
end of the town, near a barrière much frequent-
ed by warriors. When we came to the last word
of the article we knew no more than at the be-
ginning. We kept winking at each other, and
tried to look very clever; but really we knew
nothing at all. A riddle without any meaning.
We should still be there, planted on our legs
and gaping, had it not been for old Francis, who
is really a clever fellow, full of knowledge of
all kinds, and who explained to us that the barri-
ère^, where warriors were, was probably the Ecole
Militaire, and that the " Boat of Flowers" had
not such a pretty name as that in plain French.
He gave out that name aloud, though there were
ladies present. What an explosion of cries, of
"All's!" of " Oh's!" Some said, " I always sus-
pected as much;" others, " It really cannot be."
"Allow me," added Francis, formerly trum-
peter in the Sixth Lancers—Mora and Monpa-
von's regiment—" allow me: About twenty
years ago, during my last six months' service,
I was quartered at the Ecole Militaire, and I re-
member very well that there was, not very far
from the barrière, a low public-house and ball,
called " Bal Jansoulet," with disreputable apart-
ments in the upper stories."
" You are an infamous liar, like your master,"
interrupted Monsieur Noel, quite beside himself
with rage. "Jansoulet never came to Paris
before this time."
Francis sat a little outside the circle which
we were forming round the marquise, sipping
a glass of liqueur, because champagne affected
his nerves and was not sufficiently " swell" for
him. He rose gravely, still holding his glass in
his hand, approached Monsieur Noel, and said
to him quietly:
"You are an unmannerly fellow, my dear.
Already, the other evening, when we were in
your rooms, I found your tone coarse and vul-
gar. It is of no use insulting people; all the
more as I have taught fencing in my regiment
and if we carried this ;matter farther, I could
stick two inches of steel into your body, at the
very spot I chose. But I am a good fellow, and,
instead of a sword-cut, I'll give you a piece of
advice which your master would do well to fol-
low. This is what I should do, if I were you:
I would go to Moëssard and buy his silence, at
any price. Hemerlingue gives him twenty
thousand francs to speak ; I would give him
thirty thousand to hold his tongue."
" Never, never!" roared Monsieur Noel. " I
would rather go and wrench the head off that
swindling blackguard's body."
" You will wrench nothing at all. Whether
the slander is true or false, you saw this even-
ing what mischief it can work. It is only the
prelude of theipys in store for you. Facts are
stubborn things, my dear fellow. ' You have
too soon thrown aside your crutches, and tried
to walk by yourselves. That requires steadi-
ness and firmness of legs; but when your feet
are weak, and you have the misfortune to have
a Hemerlingue at your heels, it is a bad job
altogether. Besides, your master's money is
becoming scarce. He paid old Schwalbach in
bills.   Don't speak to me of a Nabob who makes
bills ! I know very well you have heaps of mill-
ions over yonder at Tunis ; but your election
must be confirmed before you touch them, aud
if a few more such articles as this one are writ,
ten against you, I answer for it, it never will be.
You have the pretension to fight against Paris
my good fellow, but you are not equal to it
You understand nothing about it. Here we are
not in the Levant; but if we don't strangle those
who displease us, if we don't tie them up in
leather bags and throw them into the sea, we
have other ways of getting rid of them. Noel,
let your master look to it—some fine morning,
Paris will swallow him up as I swallow this
plum, stone, skin, and all!"
He looked terrible as he said that, that old
man, and in spite of his paint I felt respect for
him. Whilst he spoke, we heard music and
singing up-stairs, and on the square, the horses
of the police shaking their curbs. From the
outside our party must have looked brilliant,
flaring as it did with thousands of wax candles!
and its immense porch illuminated.
And perhaps ruin was lurking under all that!
Think of that. We all stood in the vestibule,
like rats holding council when the ship begins
to leak and the crew do not yet suspect it. I
could see very well that footmen and maids, the
whole rabble in fact, would scamper away at
the first note of alarm. Was such a catastrophe
impending? and if so, what will become of me,
and the Territoriale, and my arrears? I felt cold
in my back at the thought.
CHAPTER   VII.
A PUBLIC MAN.
The luminous heat of a clear May afternoon
was warming the high windows of Mora's man-
sion like the glass roof of a hot-house. From
outside, could be seen, between the branches,
the transparent blue silk curtains and the ex-
tensive terraces, where the exotic flowers, just
fresh from glass-houses, ran like a border along
the quay. Big rakes, drawn between the trees
of the garden, marked, in the sandy avenues,
the light steps of summer. The dripping sound
of the garden-hose on the verdant lawns seemed
to sing summer's refreshing song. All the com-
fort of the princely residence seemed to bask in
the mild temperature, and borrowed its glorious
beauty from the silence and repose of that mid-
day hour—the only one in which was not heard
the rumbling of carriages under the arches, the
shutting of antechamber doors, and that per-
petual vibration produced in the ivy on the
walls by the resounding of the hand-bells,
heralding the arrival or the departure of visitors,
like the feverish excitement of a worldly house.
It was well known that up to three o'clock in the
afternoon the Duke gave his audiences at his
official residence, and that the Duchess, a Swede
still benumbed by the snows of Stockholm, had
not yet left her downy bed; therefore, until
that hour, no visitors or petitioners made their
appearance; and the footmen, perched like
flamingoes on the steps of the lonely porch,
alone animated it with the spare shadow of their
long legs and their lazy yawns of ennui.
Exceptionally, on that day, the chestnut
brougham of Jenkins was stationed in a corner
of the court The Duke, unwell since the pre-
ceding day, had felt worse on leaving the
breakfast-table, and had sent for the inventor
of the pearls, in order to consult him on his
strange state. He felt no particular pain any-
where, and ate with his usual appetite; but he
had a sensation of unutterable exhaustion and
tho impression of a terrible cold, which nothing
could relieve. Thus, at this verv time, in spite
of the beautiful spring sunshine, which filled
his room, and eclipsed the flame rising in the
hearth, as if it had been winter, the Duke
shivered in his blue firs, behind his little
screens; and whilst signing papers, brought by
his official secretary, on a little gilt lacquer table,
which cracked and peeled off, so near was it to
the fire, he warmed his frigid fingers at the
flame, which might have burnt them on the
surface without restoring the circulation of life
to their livid rigidity.
Whether or not Jenkins felt uneasy with
respect to the indisposition of his illustrious
patient, certain it is that he appeared anxious.
tie gave sudden starts, made long strides up
and down the carpets, ferreted about, poked his
head right and left, seemingly scenting some-
thing he knew was there, something subtle and
shadowy like the trace of a perfume or the
track left in the air by a passing bird.    In the