“I was forbidden the house; I begged and prayed
in vain, nothing could move the fair devotee, and
I grew ill from grief. Well, last week, her cousin,
Madame d’Arville, who is yours also, sent word
to me that she should like to see me, and when I called,
she told me on what conditions I might obtain my pardon,
and here they are. I must bring her a relic, a
real, authentic relic, certified to be such by Our
Holy Father, the Pope, of some virgin and martyr,
and I am going mad from embarrassment and anxiety.
“I will go to Rome, if needful, but I cannot
call on the Pope unexpectedly, and tell him my stupid
adventure; and, besides, I doubt whether they let
private individuals have relics. Could not you
give me an introduction to some cardinal, or only
to some French prelate, who possesses some remains
of a female saint? Or perhaps you may have the
precious object she wants in your collection?
“Help me out of my difficulty, my dear Abbe,
and I promise you that I will be converted ten years
sooner than I otherwise should be!
“Madame d’Arville, who takes the matter
seriously, said to me the other day:
“‘Poor Gilberte will never marry.’
“My dear old schoolfellow, will you allow your
cousin to die the victim of a stupid piece of business
on my part? Pray prevent her from being the eleventh
thousand and one virgin.
“Pardon me, I am unworthy, but I embrace you,
and love you with all my heart.
“Your old friend,
“Henri Fontal.”
Monsieur Pierre Agenor de Vargnes, the Examining Magistrate,
was the exact opposite of a practical joker.
He was dignity, staidness, correctness personified.
As a sedate man, he was quite incapable of being guilty,
even in his dreams, of anything resembling a practical
joke, however remotely. I know nobody to whom
he could be compared, unless it be the present president
of the French Republic. I think it is useless
to carry the analogy any further, and having said
thus much, it will be easily understood that a cold
shiver passed through me when Monsieur Pierre Agenor
de Vargnes did me the honor of sending a lady to wait
on me.
At about eight o’clock, one morning last winter,
as he was leaving the house to go to the Palais
de Justice, his footman handed him a card, on
which was printed:
DOCTOR JAMES FERDINAND, Member of
the Academy of Medicine, Port-au-Prince, Chevalier
of the Legion of Honor.
At the bottom of the card, there was written in pencil:
From Lady Frogere
Monsieur de Vargnes knew the lady very well, who was
a very agreeable Creole from Haiti, and whom he had
met in many drawing-rooms, and, on the other hand,
though the doctor’s name did not awaken any recollections
in him, his quality and titles alone required that
he should grant him an interview, however short it
might be. Therefore, although he was in a hurry
to get out, Monsieur de Vargnes told the footman to
show in his early visitor, but to tell him beforehand
that his master was much pressed for time, as he had
to go to the Law Courts.
