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The reputation for capacity gained by the young Count then simply called Monsieur Ferraud made him the object of the Emperor's advances, for he was often as well pleased at his conquests among the aristocracy as at gaining a battle.
We leave Marseilles in your care; the rest of us will carry the word on to Lyons, Dijon and Paris. With this unrest in the government, the army scandals, the dissatisfied employees, and the idle, we shall raise a whirlwind greater than '50 or '71. We shall reach Paris with half a million men." Again Breitmann said something lowly. M. Ferraud would have liked to see his face.
Surely, Breitmann did not intend that the admiral should do the work and then be held up later. The old American sailor wasn't afraid of any one, and he would shoot to kill. No, no; Breitmann meant to secure the gold alone. But the drivers worried M. Ferraud. He might be forced to change his plans on their account. He wanted full details, not puzzling components. Quiet prevailed once more.
Ferraud had already been massacred in endeavouring to repel the croud, and the Convention was abandoned to outrage and insult; yet no effectual attempt had been made in their defence, until the Deputies of the Mountain prematurely avowed their designs, and moved for a repeal of all the doctrines since the death of Robespierre for the reincarceration of suspected persons and, in fine, for an absolute revival of the whole revolutionary system.
Suppose," continued M. Ferraud, "that we spend two days here?" "What? Give him all the leeway?" The admiral was amazed that M. Ferraud could suggest such a stupidity. "No. In the morning we make the search. If there's nothing there we'll return at once." M. Ferraud spoke to the young woman who waited on the table. "Please find Carlo, the driver, and bring him here."
I will wake you when I see it." "I've been a scoundrel, Hildegarde;" and he closed his eyes. Where would she go when he left this room? For the future was always rising up with this question. What would she do, how would she live? She too shut her eyes. The door opened. The visitor was M. Ferraud. He touched his lips with a finger and stole toward the bed. "Better?" She nodded.
The profligates were still at the table, and there were fresh bottles of wine. They were laughing and talking. In all, not more than fifteen minutes had elapsed since Breitmann's departure. M. Ferraud stationed him by the window and kept a hand lightly upon his arm, as one might place a finger on a pulse. Of what were they talking? Ostend. The ballet-dancers. The races in May.
"Ah, ha!" cried the little clerk, "who will bet an evening at the play that Colonel Chabert is a General, and wears a red ribbon?" "The chief is a great magician," said Godeschal. "Then there is no trick to play on him this time?" asked Desroches. "His wife has taken that in hand, the Comtesse Ferraud," said Boucard. "What next?" said Godeschal. "Is Comtesse Ferraud required to belong to two men?"
They took nothing but rugs and hand-bags, for there would be no preening of fine feathers on hotel verandas. With the exception of Hildegarde all were eager and excited. Her breast was heavy with forebodings. Who and what was this man Ferraud? One thing she knew; he was a menace to the man she loved, aye, with every throb of her heart and every thought of her mind.
He bade the savant to be seated while he read the letter of introduction which had been written by the secretary of the navy. "MY DEAR KILLIGREW: "This will introduce to you Monsieur Ferraud, of the butterfly fame. He has learned of the success of your efforts in the West Indies and South America and is eager to see your collection. Do what you can for him.
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