A beautiful Devil.
Angelique Tiquet is the heroine of an old and prolix chronicle, from which is compiled the following true romance:Her father, Jean Auguste Carlier, having some capital, entered into partnership with a rich old bookseller and jeweler of Metz, whose only child he subsequently married. The old man died soon after the marriage, bequeathing his whole property to his daughter and son-in-law, whose careful habits daily added to its bulk. Madame Carlier died eight years after marriage, leaving a daughter of seven (this Angelique,) and a two-year old son, named Auguste. Carlier did not marry again but lived for his children. He was a man of some learning, and when the shop was closed in the evening employed himself in teaching his boy and girl, who both had quick abilities. Madame de Remonet, an aunt of the deceased Madame Carlier, had been one of the loveliest women of her time, and, although belonging to the bourgeoisie, had captivated the fancy of a youth of rank, who, in spite of the opposition of his friends, made her his wife, and obtained a post at court, where Madame's beauty, with and talents for intrigue forced her into favor. In those days, when Anne of Austria, in the pomp of her regency, was outraging decorum, the standard of public opinion in France demanded no high principle of conduct. Madame lived, therefore, a brilliant and needless life, until the sudden death of her husband left her with a pension far too small to supply the luxuries to which she was accustomed. Yet she made no visible change, except to become more reckless in her mode of life, till after a few more years, when the death or estrangement of some of her patrons, and a severe illness, which seemed all at once to anticipate the work of age, caused her to think of some certainty of a home for her declining years. Her relations in Metz had, of course, been neglected; but as she knew her brother and niece to be dead, and her nephew to be wealthy, she determined to proceed to Metz, and make herself, if possible, a fixture there. At Metz she was so amiable to her nephew-in-law, so motherly with the children, and seemed to be so happy in their company, that Carlier, whose comforts were the greater for her care of his household, offered her a home with them. She accepted this offer with tears of gratitude; but as the quiet economy of the household by no means suited her taste, she soon endeavored to introduce a radical change in all matters of expenditure. In this attempt, however, she did not succeed; for Carlier, though kind and gentle, was, in money matters, his own master. Yet, he was blind to the real character of the woman whom he gave to his children as guide and companion; a woman selfish, rapacious, avaricious, utterly unprincipled and heartless. Over the young mind of her niece she gained a complete ascendancy. Auguste was armed against her with simplicity of character, and him she hated, though she lavished upon him the tenderest endearments. After three years, finding her health restored, she resolved on a return to Paris. Imposing, therefore, upon Carlier with a specious tale that it was necessary for her to go to the capital to save her pension, she quitted Metz, but kept her hold upon the mind of Angelique. She induced him to give his daughter the advantages of Paris training; and she selected a convent of which the nuns were celebrated for proficiency in teaching. Thither Angelique was sent, and she spent all her holidays with aunt. Carlier went often to Paris after his daughter's removal thither, and was grateful for the attention his aunt paid the girl. On one of these occasions he allowed the acute lady to discover that his will was made, and that he had left his property, worth more than a million of lives, equally divided between a son and a daughter, with Madame for their sole guardian. He dined with his aunt that evening, and half an hour afterward left in the diligence for Metz. In three days he was dead.
He had never been a strong man; the time was mid-winter, the weather terribly severe. His death was ascribed to cold and fatigue, acting on an enfeebled constitution.
Madame de Remonet would seem to have had a presentiment of the impending catastrophe, for she had everything ready for a journey when the news arrived, and she set off to Metz, with Angelique, without an hour's delay. On their arrival they found Carlier buried, and the passionate grief of Madame de Remonet attracted universal sympathy.
Angelique was now nearly sixteen, exquisitely beautiful, with hair marvelously long and abundant, so that, when let loose, it covered her almost to her feet; its color was dark brown, with gleams of light on it, as if sprinkled with gold dust. So lovely a beauty Madame de Remonet was impatient to produce to the world. She hurried the sale of Carlier's effects as much as possible, selecting what she thought at to retain, and, in five months after her nephew's death, returned to Paris with her two young wards. The best rooms of a handsome hotel were at once furnished with all the numerous luxury of the period, a complete staff of domestics were engaged, and a career of dissipation began. Wooers thronged about the young heiress; and among the rest came a young man named Henri S. Chanbert, whose father, the principal notary in Metz, had been Carder's close friend. Henri was clever and energetic, and already distinguished in the law. His pretensions were soon set at rest by Madame de Remonet, who, acting upon Angelique's vanity and ambition, persuaded her to dismiss (probably) the only lover she ever had who cared for herself alone. Among the crowd were two, especially distinguished; the one by Madame de Remonet; the other by her niece. The first was Monsieur Tiquet, President of the Parliament of Paris, whose relations with Madame had formerly been very intimate. He was old, ugly, and disagreeable. He had by extravagance impaired a large fortune, but his position upheld him. The aunt favored his pretensions, for the President had bound himself to pay her a large sum on the day when he should marry Angelique. The girl herself inclined to a young Chevalier de Mongeorge, who was an officer in the Kings Guards: handsome, witty, accomplished, and really in love, according to the fashion of the age and country. Mongeorge's family required high birth in his bride, and endeavored to detach him from his mistress. They procured from the King his appointment to a colonelcy in a regiment ordered to a remote part of the kingdom; and while he was gone Monsieur Tiquet made good use of his absence. Madame de Remonet assisted efficiently. Angelique was assailed by fetes and costly gifts. She could not withstand so gallant and princely an adorer, and in a few weeks became Madame Tiquet.
Passionately adoring his young wife, the president was jealous of her lightest look. As Angelique had been prepared for her married life, by an intimation from her aunt that marriage by no means excluded lovers, she insisted on dressing like a princess, and on entertaining a throng of flatterers. Her husband wished for domesticity, as spendthrifts sometimes do become miserly, now that he had again a fortune. Constant and violent contention was the consequence, and, to make matters worse, Mongeorge, whose friends had been made happy by Angelique's marriage, was recalled to Paris, and became her satellite. Monsieur Tiquet at last refused to supply his wife with money beyond a very small allowance. She applied then to her aunt, who, by supplying her with funds, still further established empire over her, white she repeatedly urged on her how fortunate it would be were Auguste to die; for Monsieur Carlier's will had decreed that if either of his heirs died without issue, the fortune of the deceased should go to the survivor. It both died childless, all was to be applied to the use of various charities, except a small sum left to Madame Remonet. Angelique ran into debt; her husband refused positively to advance or increase her allowance. Her aunt, professing to be unable to supply further demands, advised an application to Mongeorge, upon which Angelique was compelled to acknowledge that she was already his debtor for large sums, which he had heavily involved himself to procure for her. "If Auguste would only die!" was the next terrible suggestion. "He is puny and frail, does not enjoy life, and cannot live to maturity. Yet he keeps you, who so much need of his money, from a vast deal of enjoyment!"
No more was said on that occasion, but at subsequent interviews the subject was revived. Auguste was a boy of thirteen, delicate and quiet, often and seriously ailing, much neglected by his aunt and sister, but loved and incredulously cared for by an old abbe, who was his tutor. His health grew worse and worse. Violent sickness, internal cramps, and racking pains, soon brought him to the brink of the grave. In about three months from the time of the first serious attack he died. No one suspected foul play. The boy had been almost unknown to any our except the servants and his tutor. His fortune went to Angelique; and she, some time afterward, presented her aunt with two thousand lives and a magnificent cashmere shawl.
Monsieur Tiquet, somewhat mollified by his wife's increase of fortune, conceded to her many of her demands, and relaxed somewhat of his vigilance. Gradually Angelique sank so low in her morality that at last Monsieur Tiquet gave his porter, who was a Gascon named Cattelain, strict orders not to permit the egress of his mistress, unless in company with himself, or on showing a writer order from him. Angelique adding this man to her list of lovers, still was free to attend revels and masquerades, until her husband, discovering the connivance, dismissed him, and himself kept the keys
Of course Madame de Remonet was again taken into council by her pupil, and, in accordance with her advice, Angelique ceased opposition to her husband, and endeavored to regain his confidence. As if to crown his happiness, a little girl was now born, and the consequent seclusion of the young mother gave the President reason to hope that for the future all was well. But with Angelique's returning health returned her taste for pleasure. She was very affectionate in her manner to her husband, but she now and then insisted on attending places of amusement at which he knew she must meet Mongeorge. Cattelain, although dismissed from the President's service, was still in that of the lady, who gave him money, with which he set up a sort of cabaret in a remote part of the town. To that house, as was afterward discovered. Madame Tiquet frequently went in disguise to meet Mongeorge and others. About the same time a famous female fortune-teller was turning the heads of Paris, and drew — as the spirit- conjurer now draws — crowds of all ranks to her seances. One day Angelique entered the drawing-room of an acquaintance, where there was assembled a large party of both sexes, and displayed so much animation that the hostess asked if anything particularly pleasant had occurred. Per answer was afterward brought in evidence against her.
"Yes," said she, "I have been to the fortune-teller, and she solemnly assured me that I shall be soon perfectly happy, and freed from the great plague of my life. Of course I knew that must be Monsieur Tiquet; so I besought her to say if I should be soon a widow, as only then could I be perfectly happy; but she would do no more than repeat what she had said. However, the thought that he may soon die is something to live for."
At this time Monsieur Tiquet was recovering from an attack of asthma, which had for many weeks confined him to his room, where he was attended by a valet, named Servin, as old as himself, who had lived with him thirty years, and who, looking with disfavor upon his young mistress, understood more of her ways than she supposed. A certain regimen had been prescribed for the invalid, of which a strong broth, to be taken at noon, formed a portion. Suddenly Angelique, once more becoming a domestic wife, insisted on preparing this broth herself. Servin had his own views on the subject, and resolved to oppose stratagem by stratagem. On the first day of Angelique's acting as cook, the valet took a pet dog of the President's, a pretty white spaniel, and shut it into his own chamber. Taking care to be in the way at the right moment, he took the broth from her hands to carry to his master; but on his way to the sick room visited his own, and pouring at least half the contents of the bowl on a plate, set it before the dog, and again shut him up. When he reached his master's room he found Angelique there.
"Where have you delayed?" she asked.
"I spilt some of the soup, Madame, and could not appear before my master till I had changed my coat, which was splashed."
"Ah!" The cry was from Angelique, and was caused by Servin, whose foot slipped on the waxed and slippery margin beyond the carpet, so that he fell and broke the bowl.--Angelique was enraged, but her anger only convinced the old man that he was right in his suspicion. Yet to his astonishment the dog did not suffer, but continued perfectly well, although he had eaten the whole portion allotted to him. The valet was therefore obliged to conclude that no poison had yet been mixed in the soup. Angelique continued to prepare it, and Servin persevered in always taking out a portion for the dog before he gave it to his master. It was excellent, and both the dog and his master appeared the better for it. So things went on for about three weeks, and then Servin, on taking the bowl from his mistress one day, fancied that he discovered a certain nervous agitation in her manner; in his hearing, too, she ordered her footman to accompany der directly, on a visit to Madame de Remonet. Servin hastened to feed the dog, having first made sure that his mistress was gone out. He was in the act of pouring out the broth when an angry exclamation startled him, and he saw his master standing by.
"Do you dare to give my luncheon to the dog!" he said; and made Servin precede him to his chamber, where he seated himself before the tray. As he raised the first spoonful to his lips the faithful valet arrested his hand.
"Do not taste it, my dear master," he said; "it is poisoned."
"What do you say?"
"Your soup is poisoned."
Servin brought in the dog and gave him all the broth Not a word was spoken either by master or servant for more than a quarter of an hour, during which the dog heavy with a full meal, had gone to sleep before the fire. At last it seemed disturbed, rose, whined, rolled itself on the floor writhing in convulsions, and was violently sick. In ten minutes more the dog was dead.
There was no doubt of Angelique's intention, but the old President implored Servin with tears not to betray her to justice. The man solemnly promised, on condition that his master neither ate nor drank anything but what he himself prepared and bought.--It was resolved between them to conceal their knowledge of the attempt as much as possible, and to allow Angelique to believe that the broth had been taken by her husband, who would feign illness. He therefore retired to bed, and was scarcely there when Angelique entered.
[to be Concluded in our next]
