Some days after the murder of Mrs. Seraphin, the death of La Chouette, and the arrest of the band of malefactors surprised at Bras-Rouge's, Rudolph repaired to the house in the Rue du Temple.

We have said that—intending to overcome cunning by cunning, and to expose the concealed crimes of Jacques Ferrand to the punishment they merited, notwithstanding the address and hypocrisy with which he disguised them—Rudolph had caused to be brought from her prison in Germany a girl named Cecily.

She was a very beautiful quadroon, whose story ran briefly thus: Owned by a Louisiana planter, he had refused permission for her to marry another of his slaves, known as David, because he had, sultan-like, set his own choice upon her. David, by intelligence, and a long stay in France, had attained the position of surgeon on the plantation, and resisted his master with all the strength of his love for the girl. He was flogged, and Cecily locked up. At this juncture, Rudolph's yacht was off the plantation. He heard the story, and, landing in the night with a boat's crew, carried off David and Cecily in the planter's teeth, leaving him a large sum in indemnification. The slaves were wedded in France, but David won no happiness. He became Rudolph's physician-in-chief, worthily filling the post; but Cecily's three-part-white blood revolted at her union with a negro, and she flung herself into the first arms open to her. Her life was a series of scandals, so that David would have killed her; but Rudolph induced him to prefer her life imprisonment in Germany. Thence she is now brought.

Having arrived the evening previous, this creature, as handsome as she was perverted, as enchanting as she was dangerous, had received detailed instructions from Baron de Graun.

It will be remembered that after the last interview between Rudolph and Mrs. Pipelet, the latter having adroitly proposed Cecily to Mrs. Seraphin to replace Louise Morel as servant to the notary, the housekeeper had willingly received her overtures, and promised to speak on the subject to Jacques Ferrand, which she had done in terms the most favorable to Cecily, the very same morning of the day on which she (Mrs. Seraphin) had been drowned at Ravageurs' Island.

Rudolph went to learn the result of Cecily's offer. To his great astonishment, on entering the lodge, he found, although it was eleven o'clock in the morning, Pipelet in bed, and Anastasia standing beside him, offering him drink.

Alfred, whose forehead and eyes disappeared under a formidable cotton cap, not answering Anastasia, she concluded he was asleep, and closed the curtains of his bed. On turning she saw Rudolph. Immediately she carried, according to custom, the back of her open left hand against her wig.

"Your servant, my prince of lodgers. You find me overturned, amazed, grown thin! There are famous doings in the house, without counting that Alfred has been in bed since yesterday."

"And what is the matter?"

"Why ask?"

"Why not?"

"Always the same. The monster yearns more and more after Alfred; he alarms me so that I do not know what more to do."

"Cabrion again?"

"Again."

"He is the devil, then!"

"I shall begin to think so, M. Rudolph; for the blackguard always guesses when I am out. Hardly do I turn on my heels than he is here on the back of my darling, who does not know how to defend himself any more than a child. Yesterday again, while I was gone to M. Ferrand's, the notary's—there is the place to hear news—"

"And Cecily?" said Rudolph hastily. "I came to know—"

"Stop, my prince of lodgers; do not fluster me. I have so many things to tell you that I shall lose myself if you break my thread."

"Well, I listen."

"In the first place, as concerns this house; just imagine that yesterday they came and arrested Mother Burette."

"The pawnbroker on the second floor?"

"Yes. It appears that she had many droll trades besides that of a pawnbroker! She was a fencess, melter-downess, shoplifteress, smasheress, forgeress, coineress, everything that rhymes with dishonestness. The worst of all is, that her old beau, Bras-Rouge, is also arrested. I told you there was a real earthquake in the house."

"What! Bras-Rouge also arrested?"

"Yes; in his tavern on the Champs-Elysees. All are boxed, even to his son Tortillard, the wicked little cripple. They say there has been a whole heap of murderers there; that they were a band of assassins; that La Chouette, one of the friends of old Burette, has been strangled; and that if help had not arrived in time, Mathieu the diamond broker would have been murdered. Ain't this news?"

"Bras-Rouge arrested! La Chouette dead!" said Rudolph to himself, with astonishment. "Poor Fleur-de-Marie is avenged."

"So much for this. Without excepting the new infamy of Cabrion, I am going at once to finish with that brigand. You will see what impudence! When old Burette was arrested, and we knew that Bras-Rouge, our landlord, was trapped, I said to my old darling, 'You must trot right off to the proprietor, and tell him that Bras-Rouge is locked up.' Alfred set out. At the end of two hours he came back to me, in such a state—white as a sheet, and blowing like an ox!"

"What was the matter?"

"You shall see, M. Rudolph. Only fancy, that six steps from here is a large white wall; my darling, on leaving the house, looked by chance on this wall; what does he see written there with charcoal, in large letters? 'Pipelet & Cabrion!'—the two names joined by a short and. This mark of union with this scoundrel sticks in his stomach the most. That began to upset him; ten steps further, what does he see on the great door of the Temple? 'Pipelet & Cabrion!' always with the sign of union. On he goes; at each step, M. Rudolph, he saw written these cursed names on the walls of the houses, on the doors, everywhere, 'Pipelet & Cabrion.' He began to see stars; he thought every one was looking at him; he pulled his hat down to his nose, he was so much ashamed. He went on the boulevard, thinking that Cabrion had confined his indecencies to the Rue du Temple. All along the boulevard, on each place where there was room to write, always 'Pipelet & Cabrion,' to the death! Finally, the poor dear man arrived at the proprietor's so bewildered, that, after having stuttered and stammered for a quarter of an hour, he could not understand one word of all that Alfred said; so he sent him back, calling him an old imbecile, and told him to send me to explain the thing. Alfred retired, coming back by another route, in order to avoid the names he had seen written on the walls. But—"

"Pipelet and Cabrion that road too?"

"As you say, my prince of lodgers. In this way the poor dear man arrived, stupefied, amazed, wishing to exile himself. He told me his story; I calmed him as well as I could. I left him, and went with Cecily to the notary's. You think this is all? Oh, no! Hardly was my back turned than Cabrion, who had watched my departure, had the impudence to send here two great hussies who attacked Alfred. My hair stands on an end. I will tell you all this directly. Let us finish with the notary. I set out, then, in a coach with Cecily, as you are advised. She wore her pretty German peasant's costume, 'as she had just arrived, and had not time to change it,' as I was to tell M. Ferrand. You will believe me, if you please, my prince of lodgers, I have seen many pretty girls; I have seen myself in my springtime; but never have I seen (myself included) a young person who could hold a candle to Cecily. She has, above all, in the look of her large, wicked, black eyes, something—I don't know what; but, for sure, there is something striking. What eyes!

"Alfred is not tender, but the first time that she looked at him be became as red as a carrot; for nothing in the world would he have looked a second time—he wriggled on his chair for an hour afterward as if he had been seated on a thorn; he told me afterward that the look had recalled to his mind all the histories of that impudent Bradamanti about the savagesses, which made him blush so much, my old prude of an Alfred."

"But the notary? the notary?"

"Yes, M. Rudolph. It was about seven in the evening when we reached M. Ferrand's; I told the porter to tell his master that Mrs. Pipelet was there with the servant whom old Seraphin had spoken about, and told me to bring. Hereupon the porter uttered a sigh, and asked me if I knew what had happened to Mrs. Seraphin. I said no. Oh, M. Rudolph, here is another earthquake!"

"What now?"

"Old Seraphin was drowned in an excursion to the country which she had made with one of her relations."

"Drowned! A party to the country in winter?" said Rudolph, surprised.

"Yes, M. Rudolph, drowned. It astonishes me more than it grieves me; for since the misfortune of poor Louise, whom she denounced, I hated Seraphin. I said to myself, 'She is drowned, is she; after all, it won't kill me.' That's my character."

"And M. Ferrand?"

"The porter at first said he thought I could not see his master, and begged me to wait in the lodge, but at the end of a moment he returned for me; we crossed the court, and entered a chamber. There was only a single candle burning. The notary was seated at the chimney-corner, where smoked the remains of a firebrand. What a hovel! I have never seen M. Ferrand. Isn't he horrid? Here is another one who might in vain have offered me the throne of Araby to prove false to Alfred."

"And did he appear struck with the beauty of Cecily?"

"Can any one know, with his green spectacles? such an old sacristan ought to be no judge of women. Yet when we both entered, he made a kind of start from his chair; it was, doubtless, astonishment at seeing the Alsatian costume of Cecily; for she had (only ten million times better) the air of one of those little broom girls, with her short petticoats, and her pretty legs in blue stockings with red clocks! my eye, what calves! and such slender ankles! and the little foot! the notary was bewildered at seeing her."

"It was doubtless the strange costume which astonished him."

"Must think so; but the funny moment drew near. Happily I remembered the maxim you taught me, M. Rudolph; it was my salvation."

"What maxim?"

"You know: 'Hide your desire if you want it granted.' Then I said to myself, I must rid my prince of lodgers of his German, by placing her with the master of Louise; and I said to the notary, without giving him time to draw breath: 'Pardon me, sir, if my niece comes dressed in the costume of her country; but she has just arrived: she has no other clothes than these, and I have no means of getting her others, as it would hardly be worth while; for we came only to thank you for having said to Mrs. Seraphin that you would consent to see Cecily, from the good recommendations I had given her: yet I do not think she can suit, sir.'"

"Very well, Mrs. Pipelet."

"'Why will your niece not suit me?' said the notary, who, seated in the chimney-corner, seemed to look at us from under his spectacles. 'Because Cecily begins to be home-sick, sir. She has only been here three days, yet she wishes to return, even if she has to beg her way back, and sell brooms like her countrywomen.' 'But you, her relation, will not suffer this?' 'I am her relation, it is true; but she is an orphan; she is twenty years old, and she is mistress of her own actions.' 'Bah! bah! mistress of her own actions; at her age she should obey her relation,' answered he, roughly.

"Hereupon Cecily began to cry and tremble, pressing against me; the notary made her afraid, very likely."

"And Ferrand?"

"He grumbled and muttered: 'To abandon a girl at her age is to ruin her. To return to Germany as a beggar, it is fine! Do you, her aunt, allow such conduct?' 'Well, well,' said I to myself, 'you're right. I'll place Cecily with you, or I'll lose my name.' 'I am her aunt, it is true,' answered I, 'but it is a very unfortunate relationship for me; I have enough on my hands; I would be just as well pleased to have my niece go away as to have her on my hands. May Old Nick run away with such relations who send you such great girls as this without paying the postage.' To crown all, there was Cecily, who seemed to be up to trap, bursting into tears. Thereupon the notary assumed a sniveling tone, like a preacher, and said to me: 'You will have to account above for the trust that Providence has placed in your hands; it would be a crime to expose this young girl to perdition. I consent to aid you in your charitable work, if your niece promises me to be industrious, honest, and pious; and above all, never to go out. I will have pity on her, and take her in my service.' 'No, no, I would rather go back to my country,' said Cecily, still weeping."

"Her dangerous duplicity did not fail her," thought Rudolph; "the diabolical creature has, I see, perfectly comprised the orders of Baron de Graun."

Then the prince said aloud, "Did Ferrand appear vexed at the perverseness of Cecily?"

"Yes, M. Rudolph; he muttered between his teeth, and said to her hastily, 'It is not a question, mademoiselle, of what you prefer, but of what is suitable and decent Heaven will not abandon you, if you lead an honest life and fulfill your religious duties. You will be here in a house as strict as holy; if your aunt really loves you, she will profit by my offer; at first you will have but small wages, but if by your conduct and zeal you deserve more, perhaps I will increase them."

"Good! thought I to myself; the notary is caught! here is Cecily fixed at your house, you heartless old miser. Seraphin was in your service for many years, and you have not even the appearance of remembering that she was drowned the day before yesterday. And I said aloud: 'Doubtless, sir, the place is advantageous, but if the young woman is homesick?' 'That will pass away,' answered the notary; 'come, do you decide—yes or no? If you consent, bring your niece to-morrow night at this hour, and she can enter at once into my service—my porter will instruct her. As to wages, I commence by giving her twenty francs a month and board and lodging.' 'Oh, sir, you'll add five francs more?' 'No, by and by—if I am content—we shall see. But I must inform you, that your niece must never go out, and must have no one to come and see her.' 'Oh, sir, who would come to see her? She knows no one but me in Paris, and I have my own door to take care of; it has incommoded me enough to come with her to-day-you will never see me again-she will be as much of a stranger as if she had never come out of her own country. As to her not going out, there is a very simple way—let her wear her own costume; she would never dare go out in the street dressed in that outdacious manner.' 'You are right,' said the notary; 'it is, besides, respectable to dress in the costume of one's country. She may, then, remain in her Alsatian dress. 'Come,' said I to Cecily, who, with her head down, wept continually; 'you must decide, my child; a good place, in an honest house, is not to be found every day; besides, if you refuse, you must make your own arrangements; I'll have no more to do with them.' Then Cecily answered sighing, 'that she consented to remain; but on condition that if in a fortnight her homesickness troubled her too much, she might go away.' 'I do not wish to keep you by force,' said the notary; 'and I am not embarrassed to find servants. Here is your handsel; your aunt will only have to bring you to-morrow night.' Cecily had not ceased to weep. I accepted for her the advance of forty sous from the old screw, and we returned here."

"Very well, Mrs. Pipelet; I do not forget my promise. Here is what I promised if you should succeed in getting a situation for this girl, who embarrassed me."

"Wait until to-morrow, my prince of lodgers," said Mrs. Pipelet, refusing the money; "for, perhaps, he will change his mind when I take Cecily to him this evening."

"I do not think he will change his mind; but where is she?"

"In the cabinet belonging to M. Robert's apartments; in obedience to your orders she does not stir from them; she seems as resigned as a lamb, although she has eyes—oh! what eyes! But, apropos of M. Robert, isn't he an intriguer? When he came himself to superintend the packing of his furniture, did he not tell me that if there came any letters here addressed to Madame Vincent, they were for him, and to send them to No. 5 Rue Mondovi. He to be addressed under the name of a woman, the beautiful bird! how cunning it is! But this is not all; did he not have the impudence to ask me what had become of his wood? 'Your wood! why not your forest at once?' I answered. Now it is true, for two mean cart-loads of nothing at all—one of drift and the other new wood, for he did not buy all new wood—the save-penny made a fuss! His wood? 'I burned all your wood,' said I, 'to save your furniture from the damp; otherwise mushrooms would have sprung up on your embroidered cap, and on your glowworm robe de chambre that you wore so often while you were waiting for the little lady who quizzed you."

A heavy plaintive groan from Alfred interrupted. "There is my beauty dreaming, he is going to wake up; you will allow me, my prince of lodgers?"

"Certainly; I have, besides, some more questions to ask."

"Well! my sweet, how do you feel?" said Mrs. Pipelet to her husband, opening the curtains; "here is M. Rudolph! he knows the new infamy of Cabrion: he pities you with all his heart."

"Oh, sir!" said Alfred, turning his head in a languishing manner toward Rudolph; "this time I shall not get over it; the monster has stabbed me to the heart. I am the subject of the placards of the capital; my name can be read on all the walls side by side with this scoundrel's. 'Pipelet & Cabrion,' with an enormous and! I! united to this infernal blackguard in the eyes of the capital of Europe!"

"M. Rudolph knows it; but what he does not know is your adventure of last night with those two strapping women."

"Oh! sir, he kept his most monstrous infamy for the last; this passed all bounds," said Alfred, in a mournful tone.

"Come, my dear M. Pipelet, relate to me this new misfortune."

"All he had done previously was nothing to this, sir. He succeeded in his object—thanks to proceedings the most shameful. I do not know if I have the strength to relate it! confusion and shame will impede me at each step."

Pipelet being painfully raised in the bed, modestly buttoned up his flannel waistcoat, and commenced in these terms: "My wide had just gone out; absorbed in the bitterness caused by the prostitution of my name written on all the walls of the capital, I sought to distract myself by endeavoring to sole a boot, twenty times taken up and twenty times abandoned, thanks to the obstinate persecutions of my tormentor. I was seated before a table when I saw the door of my lodge open, and a woman enter. This woman was wrapped in a cloak, with a hood; I arose politely from my seat, and touched my hat. At this moment, a second woman, also enveloped in a cloak with a hood, entered my lodge, and locked the door inside.

"Although astonished at the familiarity of this procedure, and the silence which the two women preserved, I again rose from my chair, and again carried my hand to my hat. Then, sir; no, no, I never can—my modesty revolts."

"Come, Old Modesty, you are among men; go on then!"

"Then," resumed Alfred, becoming crimson, "the mantles fell, and what did I see? Two species of sirens or nymphs, with no other clothing than a tunic of leaves, the head also crowned with foliage; I was petrified. Then they both advanced toward me, extending their arms, if to invite me to precipitate myself into them."

"The hussies!" said Anastasia.

"The advances of these barefaced individuals revolted me," resumed Alfred, animated by chaste indignation; "and, following habit, which never abandons me in the most critical circumstances of my life, I remained completely immovable on my chair; when, profiting by my stupor, the two sirens approached me by a kind of slow whirl, spinning round on their legs, and moving their arms. I became more and more immovable. They reached me, they twisted their arms around me."

"Twisted their arms around an aged married man! Oh, if I had been there with my broomstick," cried Anastasia, "I'd have given a cadence, and spinning of legs to some purpose."

"When I felt myself embraced," continued Alfred, "my blood made one rush—I was half dead. Then one of the sirens—the boldest, a large, tall blonde—leaned on my shoulder, raised my hat, and uncovered my head, all to music, spinning on her legs and moving her arms; then her accomplice drew a pair of scissors from among the leaves, collected together an enormous lock of all the hair that remained behind my head, and cut it off. All, sir, all; always with the spinning around on her legs; then she said to me, singing, 'It is for Cabrion!' and the other impudence repeated in chorus, 'It is for Cabrion! It is for Cabrion!'"

After a pause, accompanied by a grievous sigh, Alfred went on with his story:

"During this scandalous spoliation, I raised my eyes, and saw looking through the window of the lodge the infernal face of Cabrion, with his beard and pointed hat. He laughed, he was hideous! To escape this odious vision, I shut my eyes. When I opened them again, all had disappeared. I found myself on my chair, my head uncovered, and completely devastated! You see, sir, Cabrion has gained his end by force of cunning, audacity, and obstinacy; and by what means! He wished to make me pass for his friend; he began by putting up a notice here that we would carry on a friendly trade together. Not content with that, at this very moment my name is connected with his on all the walls of the capital. There is not, at this moment, an inhabitant of Paris who can have any doubt of my intimacy with this wretch; he wished some of my hair, he has it; all thanks to the impudent exactions of these brazen sirens. Now, sir, you must see, there only remains for me a flight from France—ma belle France! where I thought to live and die."

Alfred threw himself backward on his bed, and clasped his hands.

"But just the contrary, old darling; now that he has your hair, he will leave you quiet."

"Leave me quiet!" cried Pipelet, with a convulsive start; "but you do not know him; he is insatiable. Now who knows what he will next want from me?"

Rigolette, appearing at the entrance of the lodge, put an end to the lamentations.

"Do not enter, mademoiselle!" cried Pipelet, faithful to his habits of chaste susceptibility. "I am in bed." So saying, he drew one of the sheets to his chin. Rigolette stopped discreetly at the threshold.

"I was just going to see you, neighbor," said Rudolph to her. "Will you wait one moment?" Then, addressing Anastasia, "Do not forget to conduct Cecily to-night to M. Ferrand's."

"Be tranquil, my prince of lodgers; at seven o'clock she shall be installed there. Now that Madame Morel can walk, I will ask her to stay in the lodge, for Alfred would not, for an empire, remain alone."

The rosy cheeks of Rigolette had become paler and paler; her charming face, until now so fresh, so round, had lengthened a little; her piquant countenance, ordinarily so animated and lively, was become serious and still more sad since the last interview between the grisette and Fleur-de-Marie at the gate of the prison of Saint Lazare.

"How happy I am to see you, neighbor," said she to Rudolph, when he came out of the lodge. "I have many things to tell you."

"In the first place, how do you do? Let me look at your pretty face. Is it still gay and rosy? Alas! no; I find you pale. I am sure you work too much."

"Oh! no, M. Rudolph; I assure you I am now used to this little increase of work. What changes me is grief. Every time I see poor Germain I become still more sad."

"He is then very much depressed?"

"More than ever, M. Rudolph; and what is annoying is, that everything that I do to console him increases his despondency; it is like a spell." A tear obscured her large black eyes.

"Explain this to me."

"For instance, yesterday I went to see him to take a book he wished to have, because it was a romance that we used to read together in our happy days. At the sight of this book, he burst into tears, which did not surprise me, it was very natural. Dear memento of our evenings, so quiet, so pleasant, seated by my stove, in my snug little room, to compare with this frightful life in prison. Poor Germain! it is very cruel!"

"Be comforted," said Rudolph to the young girl. "When Germain gets out of prison, and his innocence is acknowledged, be will find his mother and friends, and he will soon forget, in their society and yours, the terrible moments of trial."

"Yes, but until then, M. Rudolph, he is going to be still more tormented. And besides, this is not all."

"What is there besides?"

"As he is the only honest man among all these bandits, they are prejudiced against him, because he cannot agree with them. A turnkey, a very good man, told me to advise Germain, for his own sake, to be less proud, to try to be a little more familiar with the men; but he cannot. They are stronger than he is, and I fear that some day they will injure him." Then, suddenly, interrupting herself, she said, drying her tears, "But see now, I only think of myself, and forget to speak to you about La Goualeuse."

"La Goualeuse?" said Rudolph, with surprise.

"The day before yesterday, on going to see Louise at Saint Lazare, I met her."

"The Goualeuse?"

"Yes, M. Rudolph."

"In Saint Lazare?"

"She came out with an old lady."

"It is impossible!" cried Rudolph, astonished.

"I assure you it was she, neighbor."

"You must be mistaken."

"No, no; although she was dressed as a peasant girl, I knew her at once. She is still very handsome, although pale; and she has the same soft, melancholy manner as formerly."

"Come to Paris without my knowledge! I cannot believe it. What was she doing at Saint Lazare?"

"The same as I was; visiting a prisoner, doubtless. I had no time to ask more questions; the old woman who accompanied her had such a cross look, and was in such a hurry. So you know La Goualeuse also, M. Rudolph?"

"Certainly."

"Then, there is no more doubt that it is you of whom she spoke."

"Of me?"

"Yes. I related to her the misfortunes of Louise and Germain, both so good, so virtuous, and so persecuted by that villain Jacques Ferrand, taking care not to tell what you forbid, that you interested yourself in them; then La Goualeuse told me that if a generous person whom she knew was informed of the unhappy and undeserved fate of my poor prisoners, he would certainly come to their assistance. I asked the name of this person, and she named you, M. Rudolph."

"It is she, it is she!"

"You may suppose that we were both much astonished at this discovery, or resemblance of names. We promised to write if our Rudolph was the same person. And it appears that you are the same, M. Rudolph."

"Yes. I have also interested myself for this poor child. But what you have told me of her presence in Paris surprises me so much that if you had not given me so many details of your interview with her, I should have persisted in believing that you were mistaken. But, adieu, neighbor; what you have just told me about La Goualeuse obliges me to leave you. Remain still reserved toward Louise and Germain as regards the protection of unknown friends. This secrecy is more necessary than ever. Apropos, how are the Morel family?"

"Better and better, M. Rudolph. The mother is on her feet again; the children improve daily. All owe their life to you—their happiness. You are so generous to them!"

"And how is poor Morel?"

"Better. I had news from him yesterday. He seems occasionally to have some lucid moments; there is great hope of restoring him to reason."

"Come, courage: I shall soon see you again. Have you need of anything?
Do you still earn enough to support yourself?"

"Oh, yes, M. Rudolph; I take a little from my hours of rest, and it is not much damage for I hardly sleep now."

"Alas! my poor little neighbor, I much fear that Papa Cretu and
Ramonette will not sing much more if they wait for you to begin."

"You are not mistaken, M. Rudolph; my birds and I sing no more, for— now you are going to laugh! well, it seems to me that they comprehend that I am sad; yes, instead of warbling gayly when I arrive, they utter such low, plaintive notes, that they appear to wish to console me. I am foolish to believe this, am I not, M. Rudolph?"

"Not at all: I am sure that your good friends, the birds, love you too much not to perceive your sorrow."

"Really, the poor little things are so intelligent!" said Rigolette, naively, much satisfied at being assured of the sagacity of the companions of her solitude.

"Without doubt, nothing is more intelligent than gratitude. Come, once more, adieu. Soon, neighbor, I hope your pretty eyes will become sparkling, your cheeks very rosy, and your songs so gay—so gay—that Papa Cretu and Ramonette will hardly be able to follow you."

"May what you have said be true, M. Rudolph," answered Rigolette, with a heavy sigh. "Good-bye!"

"Good-bye, for the present!"

Rudolph could not comprehend how Madame George had, without advising him, sent or brought Fleur-de-Marie to Paris; he returned home, to send an express to the farm at Bouqueval. The moment he entered the Rue de Plumet, he saw a postchaise stop before the door of the hotel; it was Murphy, who had just returned from Normandy. The squire had gone there, as we have stated, to unmask the sinister projects of the step-mother of Madame d'Harville, and Bradamanti, her accomplice.