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Title: The Weird Adventures of Professor Delapine of the Sorbonne Author: George Lindsay Johnson Release Date: March 10, 2018 [EBook #56713] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WEIRD ADVENTURES--PROFESSOR DELAPINE *** Produced by Suzanne Shell, Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) THE WEIRD ADVENTURES OF PROFESSOR DELAPINE OF THE SORBONNE.... BY GEORGE LINDSAY JOHNSON, M.A., M.D. B.S. F.R.C.S. LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, Limited CENTRAL NEWS AGENCY, Limited, SOUTH AFRICA NEW YORK: E.P. DUTTON AND CO. 1916 To My Dear Master Edmund Landolt, M.D. HOMMAGE D'AMITIÉ PREFACE When travelling in France a few years ago during the summer vacation, I made the acquaintance of a professor of world-wide fame, which acquaintance soon ripened into a lasting friendship. Among the various subjects which we dealt with in our conversation, I happened to mention spiritualism. I told him how bitterly disappointed I had been at the various séances I had attended. Either the séance had passed off without any phenomena at all, or if anything did occur, it had turned out invariably to be a palpable fraud, and had left me more sceptical than ever—besides, I added, the oracular utterances delivered by the medium when in an hysterical condition, which is palmed off to the audience as a trance, were so nonsensical and meaningless as to leave me in doubt whether to be amused at the gullibility of the public, or disgusted at the time I had thrown away in listening to such nonsense. "Yes," replied the Professor thoughtfully, "that always used to be my view of spiritualism, but since I have seriously examined the subject for myself I have entirely changed my views on the subject. So far from scoffing at it, as I confess I used to, I am now convinced that the real phenomena are far and away more astonishing than are these which these charlatans profess to exhibit or actually produce by conjuring and fraud. Now, if you wish to be convinced that there are genuine phenomena, come with me to Paris and we will investigate the subject together at the great S.... Hospital. Here we found indeed a rich field for our studies. We witnessed there all the phenomena of suggestion, second-sight, clair-audience, hypnotism, dual-consciousness, telepathy, the movement of objects without contact, and many other occurrences of such a surprising nature that in our present state of ignorance they appeared to be altogether outside the laws of Nature as we understand them; and I went away entirely convinced that certain people possess powers such as we ordinary mortals have never even dreamt of." While I was staying at his hotel, the Professor narrated to me the extraordinary history of Professor Delapine, which he assured me was true, and which with his permission I committed to writing, and worked up into a novel. Observing the intense interest which I exhibited in his narrative, he was kind enough to introduce me to the Professor himself as well as to several of the other characters, and thereby enabled me to fill up the gaps. What I heard certainly bore out the adage that "truth is stranger than fiction." For obvious reasons I have not given the real names to the characters referred to in the novel, since Delapine, Madame Delapine, (Renée), Marcel, and Dr. Riche are still hale and hearty, and very distinguished and popular members of society. It is needless to say that the coup at the tables related as taking place at Monte Carlo, as well as other events mentioned in these chapters, have been disguised so as to prevent identification of the parties concerned by the general public, although the actors themselves will doubtless recognise and appreciate the details of the narrative. Should any of our readers be sceptical as to the ability of a person to move objects without contact, and to stop a ball at will on a roulette table, I can only refer them to the experiments of Dr. Ochorowicz[1] which will be found in the June Number of the Annals of Psychical Research for the year 1905, wherein will be found an exhausted series of experiments made with a Polish medium named "Julie." In this paper the doctor demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that "Julie" could cause the ball to fall into any of the compartments of the roulette table which the doctor selected in a large percentage of the trials, and, when it failed to tumble into the right compartment, it usually fell into one or other on either side of it. As regards the trance, I have purposely prolonged its duration to fit in with the plot of the novel, and I have also introduced certain alterations and additions in order to make the story more complete. I may remark further that the phantom scene of Renée's mother may possibly have been an hallucination on the girl's part, as I have no direct proof of its occurrence, and have only the testimony of a highly emotional girl wearied out with vigils to rely upon. Of course there is the evidence of the lock of hair, which may be seen even to-day, but to my mind that is not sufficiently convincing, and would certainly not be allowed as evidence in a court of law. Still others who were present assured me that they saw the same phantom (or materialized form) at the séance, and the evidence of such materialization has the great support of one of our most eminent scientists who has a well-deserved reputation for extreme accuracy of statement and cautiousness, and who has assured me personally that he has both seen, handled, and conversed with such an apparition, which was just as real and clothed with the same flesh and blood as any other human being, and he is as certain of its genuineness as he is of his own existence. Moreover, he has repeatedly photographed both the medium and the spirit-form singly and together, which photographs I have seen. Personally I have never witnessed a materialized form, and can only reserve my judgment as to the reality of the phenomenon. But I feel sure all interpolations and additions will be pardoned by the reader; since the object aimed at was to clothe the real facts with a halo of romance, and thus, without detracting too much from the truth, to render the story much more interesting to the reader. GEO. LINDSAY JOHNSON, Castle Mansions, Johannesburg. It is a vulgar mistake, for which science certainly gives no warrant, to assert that things are impossible because they contradict our experience. P. Chalmers Mitchell, M.A., DSc., F.R.S. Thomas Henry Huxley: A Sketch of his Life and Work, p. 245. Whatever is intelligible and can be distinctly conceived implies no contradiction, and can never be proved false by any demonstration, argument, or reasoning, a priori. Hume, On Miracles. The boundary between the two states—the known and the unknown—is still substantial, but it is wearing thin in places; and like excavators engaged in boring a tunnel from opposite ends, amid the roar of water and other noises we are beginning to hear now and again the strokes of the pick-axes of our comrades on the other side. Sir Oliver Lodge, The Survival of Man, p. 337. FOOTNOTES: Dr. Ochorowicz is professor of Psychology at the University of Lemberg (Lvoff). I am a little uncertain as to the year, as I cannot get access to the Annals, but I believe it is the correct date. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. The Café at the corner of the "Boule Mich" 1 II. The Dinner at the Villebois' House 19 III. The Story of The Widow's Mite 29 IV. Payot and Duval 47 V. The Wine Cellar 69 VI. The Analyst 76 VII. Renée's Experience in Storm and Sunshine 88 VIII. Delapine makes an Experiment in Botany 96 IX. Céleste tries to fathom Renée's Secret 104 X. Delapine Interrupts a Fight 115 XI. A Remarkable Conversation 124 XII. The Séance 138 XIII. The Debacle 148 XIV. Coming Events cast their Shadow Before 164 XV. Dr. Riche makes a Remarkable Discovery 176 XVI. The Shadow of Death 189 XVII. Emile Visits his Friend Pierre with most Unpleasant Consequences 202 XVIII. Facilis Descensus Averni 214 XIX. The Vigil 223 [1] XX. The New Jerusalem Gold Mine 239 XXI. Marcel makes an Unexpected Acquaintance 256 XXII. Violette Nursers her Father with Alarming Results 270 XXIII. At Beaulieu 281 XXIV. The Professor Discourses on Gambling 297 XXV. Delapine tries his hand at the Tables 310 XXVI. Nemesis 324 XXVII. In which Delapine finds himself Famous, and the Party Breaks up with the Happiest Results 338 The Weird Adventures of Professor Delapine CHAPTER I THE CAFE AT THE CORNER OF THE "BOULE MICHE" The man who cannot wonder, who does not habitually wonder ... is but a pair of spectacles, behind which there is no eye. Carlyle (Sartor Resartus, Bk. I. ch. x.) Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence. Longfellow—The Dinner at the Villebois' House, pt. iv. "Comment ça va, monsieur le docteur? Pardon that I interrupt your reverie." The greeting was addressed to a gentleman below middle age who was seated before one of the little round tables at the corner of one of the side streets leading into the Boulevard Michel. He was idly toying with a small glass of eau sucrée between four and five o'clock on a glorious afternoon in the autumn of 19—. Somewhat short in stature, and slightly built, he was favoured by nature with a pleasing expression, and bright auburn curly locks which matched his bronzed and weather-beaten face. Although his features bore traces of hardship and toil, there was nothing in his appearance to attract any very special remarks from the passers-by. And yet many of them would have turned and looked again at that gentlemanly little figure, had they but known who it was who sat there practically unnoticed by, and unnoticing, the endless stream of afternoon strollers. He had ordered an eau sucrée, and it certainly was that simple beverage which stood in that glass before him, but it might as well have been tincture of myrrh, or weak tea, or even vinegar, for all the great Dr. Riche knew or cared. About five feet four inches of his slim neatly-dressed body was sitting there without a doubt, but his mind was far away debating the intricacies of a very delicate operation on the base of the brain, at which he had assisted that morning at the Hotel Dieu. An opening had been made through the nose into the skull of a patient, and the offending tumour had been removed—to all appearances successfully. All the same, the doctor was pondering deeply over the probabilities of the patient's ultimate recovery, and was mentally arguing the pros and cons of this very interesting case, when a gentle tapping of a gold-mounted cane on the marble surface of the little round table in front of him, accompanied by a jovial laugh and a hearty greeting, brought him suddenly down from the regions of the Sella Turcica. "Well, monsieur le docteur, you have not forgotten me then?" "Villebois! mon cher, I am delighted to see you. You seem surprised to see me here, eh! Well, as a matter of fact, I may tell you I have only quite recently returned to Paris for a holiday after five years practising in Algiers, and have not yet had time to renew my old acquaintances." "All the more reason why you should begin at once not only to renew the old, but to make some new ones," said Villebois. "That reminds me, do you remember our discussions in the little room on the third floor at the corner of the Rue Saint André des Arts?" [Pg 1] [Pg 2] "What, when we nearly came to blows over our differences of opinion about what you were pleased to call mysterious psychic forces? Yes, I remember, but surely you have outgrown all that?" "Certainly not. I have had reason lately to be more convinced than ever that I was right. You, my dear Riche, have missed some wonderful phenomena which have recently startled our circle. Levitations, apparitions—" "Oh, my dear Villebois, remember we are in the twentieth century; and it is rather out of date to commence believing too implicitly in that sort of thing." "Out of date? Why, I have seen it with my own eyes. Hardly has the séance begun, when the table begins to rise slowly inch by inch, until it reaches a height of half a metre from the floor, and then more wonderful still——" "Yes, I know all about it, Palladino, Slade, Home, the Daniels, and the rest, with their cabinets and masks, and rubber hands daubed all over with luminous paint. Besides they perform all their tricks in the dark, lest people should see through their frauds. What I want to know is why they cannot do their supernatural performances in a private house which is unprovided with trap doors, and other nicknacks and apparatus." "Still the same unbeliever I see: your five years stay abroad has not altered you much in that respect. But if you will allow me to introduce you to my friend the professor I think you will alter your opinion." "But where is this prodigy to be found?" "When you cease that mocking tone, I'll tell you." "Proceed, mon cher Villebois: I will be as serious as a clown at the pantomime." "Well, you remember Delapine?" "What, that youthful professor who gave such a wonderful course of lectures on physics in the laboratory at the Sorbonne?" "The same," answered Villebois. "He is staying for some time with us at Passy, and is giving us the most wonderful exhibitions of his powers. Talk about a genius, the recitals of his experiences, his inventions, and his discoveries fairly dazzles one; and, in addition, he declares that he possesses such extraordinary mediumistic powers that he can call up spirits at will." "But I thought that you did not believe in these extraordinary psychic forces, that you were too well grounded in natural science to believe in any phenomena which are incapable of being treated mathematically, or which could not be subjected to the rigid tests of the laboratory." "That is so," answered Villebois. "If I had not witnessed these phenomena with my own eyes, and subjected them to my own tests I should have felt disposed to put them down to charlatanism. At first, I was inclined to think that he was 'off his head,' but when you hear him talk with such brilliancy and logic, and when you see him with your own eyes perform the things which I have seen him do, you will agree that there is not a saner man to-day in the whole of our beloved Paris. At times again, his brain appears to be too big for him, and he is apt to go off into fainting fits—or trances, as he calls them—and on occasions he remains for hours in that state: you could almost swear that he was dead, and yet he wakes up as fresh as the proverbial daisy, to amaze us all with the recital of experiences during the trance." "How extraordinary; forgive my previous mockery, my dear Villebois. I assure you I am as anxious now as I was indifferent before about meeting your friend. Perhaps he may have some recollection of me." "Ah, I thought you would want to meet him, and I can assure you that you will not regret it. Pack up and come and stay with us at Passy. There are several charming people staying with us including Renée, the daughter of old Payot. You know whom I mean. Then there is Monsieur Marcel, a philosopher and poet, a cynic in a way, but a first-rate fellow notwithstanding, and lastly a most inquisitive and argumentative young lawyer—Monsieur Duval. With you, my dear colleague, the party will be complete, especially as you are an exponent and past master of agnosticism combined with a mind open to conviction, and possess an aptitude for strictly scientific investigation. I have no doubt that between us we ought to be capable of sifting these mysteries to the bottom. If there is any trickery about it, I can rely on your finding it out and exposing it, but I am fully convinced beforehand that you will not find any." "Que diable, but I have seen enough of Delapine to know that he is incapable of humbug or trickery. All the same, my dear confrère, you have infected me with your enthusiasm, and the programme that you offer me is as tempting as a première at the opera." "Including the renewal of your acquaintance with the charming Mademoiselle Payot," added Villebois with a smile. "Just so. Is there not some poet who says, 'Beauty lends enchantment to the view'?" Villebois rose slowly and surveyed himself in one of the massive mirrors near the window, and smiled complacently at his old friend's levity, while carefully smoothing down the large "wings" of his professional black cravat. "Say rather with Goethe 'Das Ewig Weibliche zieht uns hinan,'" said Villebois, who knew his German remarkably well for a Frenchman. "However," he continued, "I must leave you now. Let me assure you once more what a pleasure it has been to meet you again after such a long absence. We will expect you, then, in two days' time at Passy." "Very good, I will come with pleasure," replied Dr. Riche, "and please pay my respects to Madame Villebois and the [Pg 3] [Pg 4] [Pg 5] others." "Thanks, thanks, au revoir until the day after to-morrow," called out Villebois as he hailed a fiacre, and vanished down the boulevard towards the Louvre. Left to himself, and now fully awakened from the deep reverie which had overshadowed him previous to the arrival of his old friend, Dr. Riche gently drew from his pocket a large and most un-Gallic looking pipe and pouch well supplied with a famous mixture of his own composition, and proceeded to enjoy in open daylight that most delightful but, under the circumstances, most unprofessional luxury, a good smoke. "Delapine? Delapine?" he said musingly to himself. "Of course I remember Delapine at the Sorbonne. What a genius that fellow was. A perfect marvel in making experiments in physics! Developed into an exponent of psychic forces has he? Well, well, I must say though, that I am not surprised. He certainly gave promise of a great future in the world of science. Has he become a Medium I wonder? Perhaps he goes off into trances like Swedenborg was said to do. Some one, I cannot just remember who it was, told me that Delapine could foretell the future, and know what is happening in other parts of the world, or even in the Beyond. Well, well, there must be something in it, if Delapine says so. He is genuine, there can be no doubt about that. It is certainly remarkably interesting, and it would be worth going there if only to see him and be present at his séance. Besides, there is Mademoiselle Villebois, who is growing up into such a charming girl. I really must have a look at her as well. Ah! yes, I well remember how Villebois used to twit me about being too susceptible to the charms of the fair sex. It will be quite refreshing to find Villebois, Delapine and Payot under the same roof again after that long separation. Well, who knows? It is quite on the cards——" At this stage in his meditations something caused Dr. Riche to gaze slowly round the adjoining tables, and to take a casual glance for the first time that afternoon, at some of those of his fellow-mortals who were in his immediate neighbourhood. For a moment, no one in particular appeared to cause him any special interest. Then, turning slightly, he became aware that two ladies had seated themselves close to him at one of the small tables in a little recess. "Mother and daughter, evidently," he muttered to himself. That the doctor's surmise was correct was evinced a few seconds later when he heard a clear and penetrating voice— "Mais non, petite mère, ne vous en fâchez-vous. Although it is true that I have obtained some very startling results, you must remember that there are times when my 'power,' as you call it, seems to vanish, and I do not appear to be able to read anything of either the past or the future." "But why do you do it at all, Violette? Why have you not given it up as I have so often implored you? You know that it is altogether against my wishes, and really I often feel quite afraid that some day some misfortune—quelque chose d'un grand malheur—will come of it all." "Not a bit, you are much too anxious, petite mère." "Ah, if I could be sure, but I cannot help my anxiety when I see you so abstracted, so—what do you say?—so distraite and so enfeebled, after you have had one of those long séances; and I notice lately that you appear to be suffering from nervous exhaustion especially after you have foretold something more than usually startling. Please be guided by me, dear, and let me take away that mysterious ring, and lock it away from you for a month—for six months. Perhaps if you did not have it so much en évidence, you might gradually forget its fascination." "You dear anxious petite mère, to hear you talk one would imagine I was under some evil influence just because I am fond of my lovely antique ring, and like to have it always with me. As for being distraite, ma mie, it has nothing to do with my ring. I often have little times of reverie. Even when I was at the convent the sisters have often rebuked me because I was able to tell them such mysterious things that came to me in my long day-dreams in the dear old convent grounds." "But you are no longer a child at the convent," interrupted the elder lady, "and you should not encourage these ideas of clairvoyance." "Don't let us talk about it please, ma mère chérie," replied the younger of the two ladies, with a most impressive shrug of the shoulders, "let us talk of something else instead. Read this letter which I received this morning at the Poste Restante." Opening her reticule she took out a small and delicately scented envelope which she placed at the edge of the table, after having handed its contents to her mother. "Read this and tell me what you think of it." Doctor Riche, who had been a silent listener to this conversation, after consulting his watch, drained his glass of eau sucrée, and rose with the intention of departing. At this moment a garçon, carrying a tray filled with glasses high above his head, opened the door, and a sudden gust of wind lifted the little envelope off the table where Violette was sitting, and wafted it almost to the doctor's feet. Picking up the scented envelope with a dainty touch, he handed it to the elder lady with a ceremonious bow: "Pardon, madame, allow me," said Riche as he glanced in a cursory manner at the address written upon it. If the doctor expected to learn the fair unknown's private, or even perhaps her professional address, he was doomed to disappointment. The envelope which had unexpectedly fluttered to his feet merely bore the inscription, in a woman's [Pg 6] [Pg 7] [Pg 8] handwriting: A Mademoiselle Violette Beaupaire, Poste Restante, Paris. "Merci, monsieur: que vous êtes bien gentil." The doctor bowed again, and in so doing his eyes rested on the middle finger of the younger of the two ladies who had been addressed as Violette. "What a lovely ring, and what a wonderful appearance it has," said the doctor, gaining courage as the ladies smiled at him. "Mademoiselle will permit that I may regard it, n'est ce pas? That is if mademoiselle will pardon a stranger?" "With all my heart, monsieur, it is quite often that someone asks to be allowed to examine my ring, and they nearly all say how peculiar and unusual it looks. Then, when they have examined it, they invariably remark, 'But is it not too large a ring for mademoiselle to wear,' ah, but you see, monsieur, they do not know." "But I forget something, mademoiselle; permit me to present myself, Doctor Riche, just returned from Algiers, entirely at the service of madame and mademoiselle." "We are charmed to make the acquaintance of monsieur le docteur," said the other lady "as we know Algiers well and have often heard of his skill. Will not monsieur le docteur be seated while my daughter allows him to regard the ring?" Seating himself beside the fair Mademoiselle Violette, the doctor took advantage of the kind offer of the two ladies, and began to examine carefully the object of their conversation. It was a splendid specimen of the scarabæus beetle carved out of a pale-greenish Beryl,[2] and fitted into a curiously wrought gold setting. "What a valuable piece of jewellery, no modern bijoutier fashioned this," said the doctor, after a long and interested examination of the beautiful object before him. "It has quite a little history attached to it I expect," said Mademoiselle Violette, "if we only knew. It was given to me a few years ago by Suleiman Bey who found it in a tomb belonging to one of the Pharaohs. Look, when I place it in front of me, so, and gaze at it steadily, there are times when I see in its depths the most wonderful things and the likenesses of people, some of whom I have never seen, and some again whom I seem to recognise." "But it is quite extraordinary!" replied the doctor. "Would you like me to look into it for you? Just to see if it will tell us something of your past, or what has happened to you, or some of your friends perhaps?" asked Violette. "Ah, mademoiselle, I can see you are a sorceress, but I know my past already, alas! too well; would it not be a thousand times more interesting if you were to test its wonderful powers by letting me see a little way into the future?" "I do not know whether I can do that, but if you will please to sit opposite to me, and be very very still without speaking, and be sure and keep your mind quite passive, and believe all the time that I really do hold the power, I will try." Placing the ring on the table in front of her in the centre of a black silk handkerchief to avoid reflections, and bidding her companions to keep absolutely still and silent, Violette muttered some words in a very low tone, as if repeating some weird incantation, and then proceeded to concentrate her entire thoughts, and gaze fixedly on the ring. Unconsciously disobeying the instruction to keep his mind quite passive, Doctor Riche could not help studying the face of the young girl before him, and noticing, as the seconds went by, the gradual change that was beginning to come over her. From a half careless insouciance when she first placed the ring on the table in front of her and began to look into its depths, her whole manner and bearing seemed now to have changed to one of most absorbing interest, which gradually altered, until her face bore traces of great mental anguish. So strong was the appearance of severe distress that the whole reserve of his well-known professional tenderness of heart surged to the doctor's brain, and was on the point of giving itself vent in speech, when a soft, almost entranced voice apparently some distance off was heard, as in a whisper:— "Mon Dieu, it is terrible. Listen. It is a house in one of the suburbs of Paris. There is a large room. It opens into a smaller chamber by a large door. The door is locked. I see eight people sitting down in a half circle. They hold each other's hands. There are, let me see, one, two, three, four, five men, and three ladies. One of the ladies is young and very pretty, with dark wavy hair, and wonderfully brilliant eyes. The other is of middle age, and is wearing a wedding ring. I see one of the men, he looks to be about thirty-five years old, he is separated from the others. He has long black hair and a pointed moustache. His face is very white, and his eyes are slowly closing. They are putting him to sleep. He sleeps, oh, mon Dieu, how still he is, he looks like the dead. Attendez, attendez, encore une minute. It is not so clear now to see him. There is a vapeur, like a big white cloud slowly over-wrapping him. Now it is getting smaller—what you say, 'condensing'—and is taking a human form, but it is much more handsome than the sleeper. Now the form is moving its lips as if it were speaking, now it is fading away from the room, and the company seems to be afraid, they are all very quiet. There is one of the men—he looks like a doctor—he seems very anxious, he is uneasy, he is bien faché as he looks at the sleeper. He regards closely, he touches him, he takes his wrist and feels the pulse. He calls out, he cries, 'My God! He is dead!' Everyone rushes up to him and—ah, the picture fades." "Mon Dieu," cried out Riche, "Try again, mademoiselle, can you see anything else?" [Pg 9] [Pg 10] "Wait. Yes. The picture is forming itself again. Ah, but it is not the same room. I see an open drawer in a writing table, there is a large envelope in the drawer. There are five large seals, and there is something written on the envelope. It is fading—I cannot make it out. There is a name, Henri—Henri D—No, I cannot see more. It has faded. I see nothing." Pale as marble, and with a look of strained enquiry in her eyes, the young girl leaned back in her chair and appeared quite oblivious to all around her. Then slowly closing her eyes, she sighed deeply, and turning to her mother said:— "Oh, but it is too terrible, it is too much." Thinking that she was about to collapse in a fainting fit, the doctor hastened to procure assistance. Quietly making his way through the open door, so as not to attract too much attention to his companions, he called two of the garçons; and telling one to carry some eau-de-vie to the ladies, he gave instructions for the other to have a fiacre ready. When he returned to the little table in the recess, the two ladies were nowhere to be seen. He enquired of the waiters, but they could give him no information as to where they had gone. The bill had been paid, but beyond that they knew nothing. Dr. Riche waited for some minutes, and at length prepared to leave the café. "Diable, mille diables!" he exclaimed. "If it was genuine then it was extraordinary, but if it was not genuine, it was a clever and a very interesting imposture. But the imposture sans motif? That would not be the 'sens commun.' The whole thing is very mysterious. I would give anything to find out where they live, but it is quite useless to hunt for them now. Just my cursed luck again." Picking up his gloves and cane in an abstracted and almost dazed manner, the worthy doctor, after glancing up and down the street, moved quietly away and joined the throng of promenaders. Doctor Riche was one of those bons viveurs who believe in comfort, and was always to be found on his visits to Paris at one of those snug and at the same time fashionable little hotels, much frequented by married couples, which abound in the neighbourhood of the Louvre or the Tuileries along the Rue de Rivoli. In the evening of the second day after his meeting with his old friend Villebois, he might have been seen settling his bill at the bureau of the Hotel Chatham, while a couple of porters were transferring his luggage to the fiacre. It was a lovely autumn evening when he left the hotel. A vapour had crept up the valley of the Seine, and hid its banks. A warm mist was rolling over the city, while here and there were gaps revealing the intense turquoise blue of the sky as the fiacre sped past the palace and gardens of the Tuileries and the avenue of the Champs Elysées, lined by rows of trees all decked in their multi-coloured foliage. The sun setting behind Meudon illuminated the Bois with its beams which strove to struggle through, while as it journeyed west, the windows of the Louvre and the Tuileries reflected the golden splendour of its rays. The Seine, curving like a huge snake, scintillated with all the colours of the rainbow, while through the mist the dark square towers of Notre Dame stood up like two silent sentinels mounting guard. Far away towards the Bois in sharp relief against the sky, the mighty steel scaffolding of the Tower Eiffel rose majestically above the Trocadero, looking down from its dizzy height on to the vast city at its feet. The great dome of the Pantheon on the other side of the river resembled a ball of burnished copper. Slowly the colours changed as the vista darkened, and the shadows vanished into the gloom, while the clouds above the horizon changed into a fiery red bordered by an expanse of orange, yellow and purple. The Heights of Montmartre were still bathed in rosy sunshine. As the setting sun vanished a deep grey seemed to settle over the city, which throbbed with its passing traffic like the cadence of the tide on a pebbly beach, as he sped along the Avenue du Trocadero and past the Maison Lamartine. Leaving the Bois, he could just get a glimpse of the lakes of La Muette nestled behind it, while a little to the south, resembling a casket of jewels, lay the charming suburb of Auteuil. "Auteuil, lieu favori; lieu fait pour les poètes Que des rivaux de Gloire unis sous tes berceaus."[3] The cocher drove past the church and the red marble pyramid which marks the tomb of the noble chancellor d' Aguesseau, and then turning down the Boulevard Rossini, he pulled up at a little detached villa near to the one at which Rossini died, and the doctor at length found himself at the house of his friend Villebois. Doctor Riche recognised it as one of those delightful little detached villas for which Passy and Auteuil are so famous. A wall surmounted by ornamental railings, half-screened the garden from the footway, while behind the house was a small grass-plot surrounded by a double row of damask rose trees. In one corner of the back garden lay a pretty rustic summer-house, shut in by creepers among which lovely cyclamen flowers, clematis blossoms, and lilac shed their perfume and added their brilliant colours to the dense green of the ivy. As he entered the hall, adorned with the trophies of the chase, Madame Villebois came forward to welcome him. "At last, mon cher docteur, we are all impatient to meet you. My husband and I are anxious to hear the stories of your adventures with the Arabs in Algeria, and all my friends are here to welcome you. I suppose that you have led a bachelor life so long that you will hardly feel at home in our family circle." "Oh, madame, how can you be so cruel? You should rather ask, 'Is it not like returning to rest in paradise after having been driven out into the wilderness.' I really feel as if I were the prodigal son returning home to partake of the fatted calf. You can't imagine what a relief it is for me to return to our beautiful Paris after my voluntary exile." So saying the doctor was ushered into a large saloon with folding doors, which, when opened, converted the two rooms into one. [Pg 11] [Pg 12] [Pg 13] The walls were covered with a Japanese paper ornamented with patterns in old gold on a red background; but so wonderfully were the designs made, that they heightened rather than lessened the effect of the charming old oil paintings by Hobbema, Jan Van der Heyden, Boucher, Claude and Meisonnier. The furniture was of stained oak, rather heavy but beautifully carved, and almost as black as ebony with age. In one corner was a large "grandfather's" clock, by Vulliamy, and ornamented with Louis Quinze panels, whilst on the marble mantle-piece was a Louis XVI. timepiece mounted on a wonderful creation of Sèvres porcelain, and placed between two exquisite china groups with medallions painted by Watteau. Passing through the folding doors one entered a smaller but much brighter room, with a white ceiling ornamented with groups of mythological figures. At the further end a door opened into a conservatory filled with curious insectivorous plants, choice orchids and other rare exotics, many of which exhaled a deliciously sensuous perfume. Passing through the hothouse, one stepped immediately on to the lawn of the back garden. As Doctor Riche entered the smaller room, Madame Villebois proceeded to introduce him to the company. The moment he glanced round the assembled guests, his eyes were riveted on a particularly sweet, dark-haired girl, and a tall remarkable looking man, who were chatting together on one of the settees in the corner of the room. "This is Mademoiselle Payot, and Monsieur le Professor Delapine whom you have doubtless heard of," said the hostess, smiling. Although Riche had heard so much of the professor, he had never had the opportunity of seeing him in private life before. What attracted him was the piercing brilliancy of his eyes. They were of a steel blue colour, and seemed to bore one through like an intense auger, making the doctor feel conscious that Delapine was peering into his very soul, and was reading his most secret thoughts. They turned perpetually here and there so that nothing could escape his penetrating glance. The professor had a habit of nervously playing with his fingers which spread over every object they touched like the tentacles of a medusa, as if they were eager to come into contact with the ultimate particles of matter. Delapine stood nearly six feet high, with very dark glossy hair falling almost to his shoulders, and wearing a moustache with twisted ends and a short pointed beard. The professor was invariably attired in a black frock coat and cravat, the sombreness being relieved by the red ribbon of the Legion of Honour. He was a man who would command attention anywhere. Active, alert, with an imposing presence, he stood out from the crowd as one born to command. The pale, almost wax-like face, the lofty brow, the firm compressed lips ever and anon breaking out into a smile, all contributed to form a personality which would be both respected and loved. Delapine was slow and measured in speech, and possessed a rich voice of peculiar charm and flexibility which impressed and delighted his audience. He had that power of modulating it to suit the nature of the theme, by which the members of his class were enabled to select without effort the essentials from the non-essentials of his discourse. At times he would pause, and turning his head half round would scan the listeners with his piercing eyes, as if to judge the effect of his words. But ever and anon his overpowering personality would convey the effect of one inspired, and he could elevate the simplest subjects to heights undreamt of, and stamp an indelible impression of it on their imagination. A subject, which in the hands of most men would sound tame and uninteresting, would, when dealt with by him, become illuminated and clothed by the most apt illustrations and exalted thought. No wonder that his students became permeated with the enthusiasm of the master. He seemed to Riche to be the ideal of an experimental philosopher and physicist. But here the doctor was roused from his reflections by the cheery voice of Villebois. "Hullo, Riche, mon vieux, vous voilà enfin! Come along and let me introduce you to Monsieur Marcel, our poet, philosopher and friend; and also to Maitre Duval, our youngest member of the bar of whom I told you before." Marcel was a curiosity in his way. A bit of a dandy, and a great favourite with the fair sex, he seemed to be always in evidence when any function of importance was going on. He rather prided himself on the originality of his dress, and invariably appeared at dinner in knee breeches, black silk stockings, a white waistcoat, embroidered with many coloured flowers, and a velvet coat, while his neck was adorned with a blue silk bow of vast and convincing proportions. The back of his neck was entirely hidden by the length of his hair, which fell on his shoulders in lustrous locks after the manner of the poet Milton. Was it not then natural that such a beautiful prize should be competed for by the ladies to grace their receptions? But although a fop as regards his dress, Marcel showed traces of real genius, and had already begun to be talked about for his wit and power of repartee. In fact no lady considered her house completely furnished unless a copy of his sonnets, or his epigrams bound in the most delightful of plush covers was to be found in her boudoir. Duval was quite another character. Young, clever, pushing, and extremely self-opinionated, he was nevertheless very narrow-minded, and obstinate and jealous to a degree. When he had made up his mind to any course of action he stopped at nothing to carry it out, and threw caution to the winds. His clean shaven face save for a slight moustache revealed a hard mouth with thin, closely set lips, and a square, firm jaw. Truly such a man was more likely to be feared than loved, and few would venture to make an enemy of him. "What did you say that gentleman's name was who is arguing with our friend the poet?" "Pierre Duval, a new advocate just admitted to the bar. Quite a rising man, I assure you. A man who is anxious to attain to fame by every road, and as cheaply as possible. Oh, by the way, here is my daughter, Céleste," exclaimed Villebois, as she came into the room all blushes and confusion for being so late. [Pg 14] [Pg 15] [Pg 16] "What has kept you so long, Céleste?" "Oh, papa, it's all the fault of those wretched dresses of mine." "What on earth do you mean, my child?" "Well, papa, it's this way. I did want to look very nice, and I found that I had nothing to wear." "Nothing to wear? What do you mean, Céleste? Why, I wager you have ten times as many dresses as Renée." "Yes, that may be, but you wanted me to sit next to Marcel, and I had nothing that would harmonise with his lovely waistcoat. The moment I saw it, I knew at once that it would kill all my dresses. I found I could not match it, do what I would. At last I had to put on something, and now look at me," and a tear rolled down her cheek. "My dear Céleste, you look lovely, I assure you. You always seem to me to be trying to attempt the impossible. A woman who cannot make herself charming loses half the battle in the beauty competition. It is far better to appreciate the dresses you cannot have than to have the dresses you cannot appreciate. Don't forget that a woman who makes herself charming by her manner can afford to wear anything she pleases without offending the company." "Yes, I know you are right, papa, although if you were to ask me I could not tell you why." "I am afraid my daughter imagines that she is out of harmony with everyone in the room." "Not in the least, papa, but you know the greatest pleasure I can have is to please our guests, and how can I do that better than by having nothing on that can offend the eye." "Yes," replied the doctor smiling, "half her punishment was already removed when Eve was permitted to decorate herself with fig-leaves." "Oh, papa! How can you say such dreadful things? But I think I understand what you meant when you spoke to me about being charming as well. You meant that a cheerful, bright, smiling face and nice courteous manners count more than a pretty frock." "Quite right, my little rosebud," said Villebois, tenderly kissing her on the forehead, "live up to those ideas, and you will never go far wrong. The world, they say, is ever growing old, but youth asserts itself on every side, and gives the world the lie. Happy, joyous youth," he added with a sigh, "what would we give to feel once more the young blood coursing through our veins. Make the most of it, Céleste dear, while you possess it. Youth, hope and love are the only things that count. We old folks can only enjoy the memory of those sweet days. When you know English better I must lend you my volume of Coleridge's poems, which I know you will like. If I remember rightly there is a charming poem about youth which begins:— Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying, Where Hope clung feeding like a bee, Both were mine, Life went a-maying, With Nature, Hope and Poesy, When I was young. Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like, Friendship is a sheltering tree; O! the joys that came down shower-like Of Friendship, Love and Liberty, When I was young." "How very pretty," said Céleste. "I must hurry on with my English, as I should dearly love to read beautiful poetry like that." "Yes," said Villebois with a little sigh, "youth is life, but youth without faith and hope is worse than death. To grow old and never know it, or to have your friends suspect it, that is happiness indeed." "What are you two people talking about?" said Riche joining them. "Father is giving me a sermon on youth and happiness," said Céleste, smiling. "What is your recipe for happiness, doctor?" she added enquiringly after a pause. "Happiness, my dear mademoiselle, is a habit. You must learn to cultivate it. In time, by constant practice, it will become automatic and part of yourself." "A very good answer, my dear Riche, a very good answer," said Villebois approvingly. "I must give that prescription to some of my patients—they sadly need it." FOOTNOTES: The Beryl, and especially this particular shade of Beryl was greatly prized by the ancient magicians for its supposed virtues in assisting the crystal gazer. Chénier 'Promenade.' [Pg 17] [Pg 18] [2] [3] CHAPTER II THE DINNER AT THE VILLEBOIS' HOUSE Ce qu'il y a de plus beau dans la vie c'est les illusions de la vie. Balzac, Physiologie du Marriage, Med. iv. Since Eve ate apples much depends on dinner. Byron, Don Juan, Cant. viii. Wine whets the wit, improves its native force, And gives a pleasant flavour to discourse. Pomfret (The Choice.) "Allons, allons," said Madame Villebois, "we can discuss all about dress while we are having our dinner, although I really think that people in these days give too much attention to both dress and eating." "Ah, no, madame, permit me to disagree," said Marcel, smiling. "It seems to me that this is becoming the age of small things. The modern man can now without discomfort carry his dinner in a sandwich-case, and the modern woman considers her luggage complete if she is carrying her latest dress creation in her handbag." "Dinner is the greatest peacemaker of civilisation yet invented," said Villebois; "together with a good glass of red wine it makes us, for the time being, friends with all the world. The busy man may consider it a trifle, but to my mind it is only the trifles after all which count. Nations, for instance, never go to war about important matters. What was the cause of the Franco-German war? Merely an absurd argument about the candidates for the Spanish throne, a matter that few cared two sous about. Is not the entire human race (according to the authority of the Holy Church) doomed to everlasting perdition simply because a woman ate an apple, or something which she was told not to—goodness only knows how many centuries ago? Did not England become a Protestant country simply because the Pope refused to allow Henry the Eighth to divorce his wife Katherine?" "But I can give you a better instance," said Riche. "If we are to believe Dr. Ross, the decline and fall of the glorious Greek nation was due to the merest trifle in the world—a tiny insect—the Anopheles, a malaria-carrying mosquito." "Really, is that a fact?" interposed Marcel, "but talking of trifles, what do you think of Napoleon having to abdicate simply because his cook roasted a fowl in too great a hurry, and so caused him to have an attack of indigestion, whereby he lost the great battle of the Nations at Leipzig." "This sounds like trifling with our common-sense," said Pierre to Renée in the hope of attracting her attention away from Marcel. "Yes," said Delapine who had just caught the word 'trifles,' "I owe everything to trifles. They control the essentials of life. The man who can see further than other men is doubtless a genius, but he who can do that and at the same time attend to trifles and details goes much further; he not only rises to the top, but he stays there." "Details are always vulgar," whispered Pierre to Renée, as he helped himself to a slice of pheasant stuffed with truffles. "Did you say vulgar?" asked Marcel, who had just managed to catch the last word of the whispered conversation, "I agree with our friend Villebois that our happiness is largely made up of trifles: perhaps that accounts for the fact that lovely woman has devoted her life to trifling. The divine creatures trifle with our hearts, and then when they have stolen them, they make tire-lires of them." "I have studied the fair sex all my life," said Riche, "and I assure you I understand them less now than ever. When a man flatters himself that he understands a woman, he——" "Merely flatters himself?" interposed Marcel laughing. "Woman generally tries to attract a man's eye, by means of her feminine magnetism and then blames him for being caught by prettiness and superficial charms. But she rarely tries to appeal to his better self," said Delapine. "Life, after all," interposed Riche, "is a tragedy to those who feel, but to those who think, it is only a huge comedy. My rule is never to appear in earnest, except, of course, when seeing my patients. If a man is serious, everyone votes him a bore, and the ladies only laugh at him. An over-sensitive conscience is simply the evidence of spiritual dyspepsia. The man who has it is no better than his fellows." "A man considers his little weaknesses mere amiable traits," said Pierre, "whereas a woman——" "Will not admit that she has any," said Marcel. "A woman is invariably right," said Dr. Rich...