The Mesmerist's Victim

“But seeing the family lawyer is your province, Master Rafté.”

“Nay, that was all very well when Flageot was a simple ‘paper-stainer,’ but henceforth Flageot is an Attila, a scourge of kings, and only a duke and peer of France can talk to the likes of him.”

“Are you serious or having a jest?”

“To-morrow it will be serious, my lord.”

CHAPTER XVI

THE ENDLESS LAW SUIT

IT is not hard to guess what the dainty duke suffered in passing through the dirty and nauseating Paris of his era to reach the foul hole among ill-kempt houses which was called a street.

Before Flageot’s door the way for the ducal coach was stopped by another vehicle. He perceived a female’s headdress coming out of it, and as his seventy-five years had not rebuffed him in his reputation as a lover of the ladies, he hastened to wade through the mud to offer his arm to the lady who was stepping out unassisted.

He was not in luck: for the foot was the bony one of an old dame. Wrinkled face, the tan showing under a thick layer of rouge, proved that she was not merely old but decrepit.

But the marshal could not draw back: besides he was no chicken himself. The client – she must have been a client to be at this door – did not hesitate like he did: she put her paw with a horrible grin in the duke’s hand.

“I have seen this Gorgon’s head somewhere before,” he thought.

“Going to call on Flageot?” he inquired.

“Yes, your grace.”

“Oh, have I the honor of being known to you?” he exclaimed, disagreeably surprised as he stopped at the opening of the park passage.

“There is no woman who does not know the Duke of Richelieu,” was the reply.

“This baboon flatters herself that she is a woman,” muttered the Victor at Mahon: but he saluted with the utmost grace, saying aloud: “May I venture to ask to whom I have the honor of speaking?”

“I am your servant, the Countess of Bearn,” replied the old lady, making a court reverence on the miry planks of the alley, three paces from a sort of open trapdoor in which the marshal expected to see her tumble when she got to the third courtsey.

“Enchanted to hear it, my lady,” he responded. “So your ladyship has some law business on hand?”

“Law business, indeed! it is only one suit, but you must have heard about it as it is so long in the courts – my defense against the claim of the Saluce Brothers.”

“Of course! there is a popular song about it – it is sung to the tune of ‘the Bourbon Lass;’ and runs some way thus —

“‘My lady countess, how I want
Your help, which I should ever vaunt,
For I am in a stew’

“You understand that is Lady Dubarry who sings. It is saucy to her, but these ballad-mongers respect nobody. Lord, how greasy this rope for a handrail is! Then you reply as follows:

“‘A lady old and obstinate,
Unsettled lawsuits are my fate,
To win I must rely on you.’”

“How shocking, my lord,” said the countess, who was a descendant of the house of Bearn and Navarre which gave Henry IV as King to France: “how dare they thus insult a woman of quality?”

“Excuse my singing out of tune, but this staircase puts me in a heat. Ah, we have reached his door. Let me pull the bell.”

The old dame let the duke pass her, but grumbled. He rang and Madame Flageot, the lawyer’s daughter as well as lawyer’s wife, did not think it beneath her to open the door. Introduced into the office a furious man was seen with a pen in his hand which he flourished, dictating to his principal clerk.

“Good heavens, what are you doing, Master Flageot?” asked the old countess whose voice made the proctor turn round.

“Oh, your ladyship’s most faithful! A chair for the Countess of Bearn. And the Duke of Richelieu, if my eyes do not deceive me. Another seat, Bernardet, for my Lord of Richelieu.”

“How is my suit going on,” inquired the lady.

“Fine, my lady, I was just busy on your behalf, and it will make a noise now, I can tell you.”

“If you have my action in motion, then you can attend to my lord duke.”

“If you please.”

“Well, you must know what brought me – ”

“The papers M. Rafté brought from your lordship? It is put off indefinitely, at least it may be a year before the case comes up in the courts.”

“Eh, I should like to know the reasons?”

“Circumstances, my lord. The King having cancelled the Parliamentary decree about Duke Aiguillon, we reply by ‘burning our ships.’”

“I did not know you Parliament gentlemen had any ships.”

“Both Houses have refused to proceed with any cases before the courts until the King withdraws Lord Aiguillon.”

“You don’t say so?” exclaimed Richelieu.

“What, they won’t try my case?” said Lady Bearn with a terror she did not try to dissimulate. “This is iniquitous – rebellion to our Lord the King!”

“My lady, the King forgets himself – and we forget our duty too,” rejoined the lawyer loftily.

“You will be lugged into the Bastile.”

“I shall go, singing, and my colleagues will escort me, bearing palms.”

“The man is mad,” said the lady to the nobleman.

“We are all of a feather,” continued the proctor.

“This is curious,” observed the marshal.

“But you said you were attending to my suit,” protested the lady.

“And so I was. Yours is the first example I cite among the cases which will be suspended by our action – or, rather, inaction – he he! Here is the very paragraph concerning your ladyship.”