The Clique of Gold, Emile Gaboriau [if you liked this book .txt] 📗

running parallel with the right bank of the Dong-Nai, a primitive, unpaved street cut up into ruts, broken in upon by large empty spaces, and lined with wooden houses covered with rice-straw or palm-leaves.

Thousands of boats crowd against the banks of the river along this street, and form a kind of floating suburb, overflowing with a strange medley of Annamites, Hindoos, and Chinamen. At a little distance from the river, there appear a few massive buildings with roofs of red tiles, pleasing to the eye, and here and there an Annamite farm, which seems to hide behind groups of areca-palms. Finally, on an eminence, rise the citadel, the arsenal, the house of the French commander, and the former dwelling of the Spanish colonel.

But every town is beautiful, where we land after a voyage of several months. Hence, as soon as “The Conquest” was safely at anchor, all the officers, except the midshipman on duty, went on shore, and hastened to the government house to ask if letters from France had arrived there before them. Their hopes were not deceived. Two three-masters, one French, the other English, which had sailed a month later than “The Conquest,” had arrived there at the beginning of the week, bringing despatches.

There were two letters for Daniel, and with feverish hands and beating heart he took them from the hand of the old clerk. But at the first glance at the addresses he turned pale. He did not see Henrietta’s handwriting. Still he tore open the envelopes, and glanced at the signatures. One of the letters was signed, “Maxime de Brevan;” the other, “Countess Ville-Handry,” nee Sarah Brandon.

Daniel commenced with the latter. After informing him of her marriage, Sarah described at great length Henrietta’s conduct on the wedding-day.

“Any other but myself,” she said, “would have been incensed at this atrocious insult, and would abuse her position to be avenged. But I, who never yet forgave anybody, I will forgive her, Daniel, for your sake, and because I cannot see any one suffer who has loved you.”

A postscript she had added ran thus,—

“Ah! why did you not prevent my marriage, when you could do so by a word? They think I have reached the summit of my wishes. I have never been more wretched.”

This letter made Daniel utter an exclamation of rage. He saw nothing in it but bitter irony.

“This miserable woman,” he thought, “laughs at me; and, when she says she does not blame Henrietta, that means that she hates her, and will persecute her.”

Maxime’s letter fortunately reassured him a little. Maxime confirmed Sarah’s account, adding, moreover, that Miss Henrietta was very sad, but calm and resigned; and that her step-mother treated her with the greatest kindness. The surprising part was, that Brevan did not say a word of the large amounts that had been intrusted to his care, nor of his method of selling the lands, nor of the price which he had obtained.

But Daniel did not notice this; all his thoughts were with Henrietta.

“Why should she not have written,” he thought, “when all the others found means to write?”

Overwhelmed with disappointment, he had sat down on a wooden bench in the embrasure of one of the windows in the hall where the letters were distributed. Travelling across the vast distance which separated him from France, his thoughts were under the trees in the garden of the count’s palace. He felt as if a powerful effort of his will would enable him to transport himself thither. By the pale light of the moon he thought he could discern the dress of his beloved as she stole towards him between the old trees.

A friendly touch on the shoulder recalled him rudely to the real world. Four or five officers from “The Conquest” were standing around him, gay, and free from cares, a hearty laugh on their lips.

“Well, my dear Champcey,” they said, “are you coming?”

“Where?”

“Why, to dinner!”

And as he looked at them with the air of a man who had just been roused, and has not had time to collect his thoughts, they went on,—

“Well, to dinner. It appears Saigon possesses an admirable French restaurant, where the cook, a Parisian, is simply a great artist. Come, get up, and let us go.”

But Daniel was in a humor which made solitude irresistibly attractive. He trembled at the idea of being torn from his melancholy reveries, of being compelled to take his part in conversation, to talk, to listen, to reply.

“I cannot dine with you to-day, my friends,” he said to his comrades.

“You are joking.”

“No, I am not. I must return on board.” Then only, the others were struck by the sad expression of his face; and, changing their tone, they asked him in the most affectionate manner,—

“What is the matter, Champcey? Have you heard of any misfortune, any death?”

“No.”

“You have had letters from France, I see.”

“They bring me nothing sad. I was expecting news, and they have not come; that is all.”

“Oh! then you must come with us.”

“Do not force me; I would be a sorry companion.”

Still they insisted, as friends will insist who will not understand that others may not be equally tempted by what charms them; but nothing could induce Daniel to change his mind. At the door of the government house he parted with his comrades, and went back, sad and solitary, towards the harbor.

He reached without difficulty the banks of the Dong-Nai; but here obstacles presented themselves of which he had not thought. The night was so dark, that he could hardly see to find his way along a wharf in process of construction, and covered with enormous stones and timber. Not a light in all the native huts around. In spite of his efforts to pierce this darkness, he could discern nothing but the dark outline of the vessels lying at anchor in the river, and the light of the lighthouse as it trembled in the current.

He called. No voice replied. The silence, which was as deep as the darkness, was broken only by the low wash of the river as it flowed down rapidly.

“I am quite capable,” thought Daniel, “of not finding the boat of ‘The Conquest.’”

Still he did find it, after long search, drawn up, and half lost, in a crowd of native boats. But the boat seemed to be empty. It was only when he got into it, that he discovered a little midshipman fast asleep in the bottom, wrapped up in a carpet which was used to cover the seats for the officers. Daniel shook him. He rose slowly, and grumbling, as if overcome by sleep.

“Well, what is the matter?” he growled.

“Where are the men?” asked Daniel.