THE SECRET DRAWER

Fair Play, Volume I, Issue 24, 1 August 1894, Page 26

THE SECRET DRAWER

Haying nothing more to do while waiting for the clock to strike 8, he arranged his papers, laid his pens away in the drawer, and after casting a glance at his clerks drowsing in the neighboring room closed his desk.

i He felt so gay, so light hearted, that he could have slid down the baluster of the somber ministerial staircase, but he contained himself, and saluting the concierge, who was surprised to see him leave so early, entered the Rue Royale, now bathed in sunshine. Certainly it was unusual for such a model employee to be abroad so early. Well, what was the use of remaining two hours longer in the office when there was nothing left [to do but snip papers, kill flies or try [to write plays for the theater, occupations that were equally uninteresting and unprofitable?

I He was not long in reaching his home, for since his marriage he had lived in the Rue Royale itself. How surprised and pleased his wife would be to see him home so early 1 He entered stealthily on the tips of his toes, crossed the antechamber and stood in the parlor.

t It was empty 1 j No one in the dining room, no one in the bedchamber nor the boudoir. Evidently she was in the garden, hiding to surprise him, or possibly swinging in a hammock, enjoying the fragrant warmth of the beautiful day.. He ran there quick as' a thought. He did not find his wife. This was getting serious. ,

i Why should she have gone out?*. He ( knew of nothing pressing that could have called her away! It wag understood

that she was always to wait for him; if the beauty of the day had tempted her, she should have stopped at the minister’s and told him as usual. In the room everything reminded him of her. A vague perfume—her perfume—floated over all. A handkerchief thrown down on the edge of the toilet table, a pair of gloves, too soiled perhaps for use, left on the bedroom mantel, showed that she had gone out in a hurry, because she was so orderly generally, and everything had its place. There was another reason for believing that something unusual had called her away, or why were these trifles tossed, about, so carelessly?

Tormented with doubt, his mind filled with vague suspicion, he sat down in the parlor and resigned himself to wait for her return. But he could not remain quiet. After some moments he went toward the secretary and opened the bookcase above it. As the classics were in the back, he took out the volume in front, which he placed on a table at his side, and began reading a volume of Moliere. The secretary was of ebony of the time of Louis XVI, ornamented with bronze open work. The desk leaf within was covered with stamped leather, and above it, hidden in the fretwork, was a false drawer. His wife was very fond of this piece of furniture, which he had given her one fete day about a month after their marriage. He had hunted a long time before he discovered it at an old antiquarian’s, wlio assured him that it had remained in the possession of one family ever since it was made. It was an elegant and graceful piece of furniture, and in spile of the high price Louis had hot hesitated to buy it. Then it was installed in the apartment during his wife’s absence, and when she came in and saw it how she had flung her arms about her husband’s neck and thanked him as only a true wife can! It was indeed a little marvel. She had opened all the little drawers and poured into them the thousand and one little trifles that constitute a womatfs treasure, and of which she is more prdhd than of her jewels, and she said, “This is my secretary,” with all the jealous pride of a proprietor. Louis soon found the passage he was seeking in Moliere, and it had diverted his mind.. He was less worried than before. As he was replacing the books, one slipped from his hand, and in at : tempting to.catch it he struck the molding on the top of the secretary. There Was the sound, of a click, and the front of. the false drawer swung out, displaying a hiding place whose existence he had never suspected. His wife had never j spoken to‘him about this, nor hadtheu merchant who sold it, or he would prob-» ably have made it an excuse for raising the price.

Suddenly he saw a package of letters in the depths of this tiny closet. Here Was a romance! No doubt these papers were precious documents and had been placed there during the Revolution. He undid the package and then started back. Instead of antique manuscript the the paper was quite new and the handwriting perfectly modern, so modern that the ink was still black. He was tempted to throw this package, which burned his hands, back in the drawer and put everything in' order again, but curiosity was stronger than reason, and with a trembling hand he opened the first letter. At the first word which he read a mist came before his eyes; he fell outstretched on the sofa. These letters without doubt had been placed there by his wife, who had said nothing to him about the secret drawer that he had discovered. -What he believed to be the correspondence of a friend, written, in response to those confidences which a young woman would be apt. to make after marriage, was in a man’s hand. And what other man but himself had a right to address her as “My darling?” He opened the letters one after, another. There was little variation in-the way they began—it was either “My adored one” or “My well beloved.” Well, he would get at the heart of the matter, so he began to read one of the letters, the one first under his hand. This is what it contained: My Dearest Well Beloved— When you informed me yesterday that they were forcing you to marry in order to forget me; that your parents obliged you to prefer my rival, I could not refrain from tear's and reproaches. You know my love for you—that is my only excuse. Today I am coming to beg you to postpone this iinpossible union. Tell this man that you do not love him; that you can never love him. He will understand and retire. If he persists, then so much the worse for hi ml Fear nothing—l am not threatening you—today I am calm. My whole happiness is in your hands. I await your answer with impatience, but confidence. With deepest love, jfuxjEN. He passed his hand tremblingly over his forehead, looked around him stupidly, asking himself if this was not some frightful dream. No, he was at home in his own parlor near his wife’s secretary, and in his hand was a letter—a love letter. Then Fabienne—his Fabienne? No, no! It was impossible! He threw the letter from him angrily. Then curiosity again seized him, and he took up one of the other notes —a short one containing only a few lines: • My Adored— When you receivethese lines, 1 shall have left France. 1 shall not come back until you recall me. 1 cannot be the accomplice in a lie, or live near you and the husband they have forced upon you any longer. God grant that you may never, have to repent. Farewell, farewell I A last kiss on the. lips 1 adore. ' Julien. This was too much. He rose with/a bound,. scattering the liters . on ; . the floor, where they fluttered like a flock.pf

frightened birds. lie slaggered to the window to cool his burning forehead. He stood there for a moment slnpt tied, his eyes on the clouds, then began to walk up and down the room with nervous strides, like a caged animal. After a while he sat down and reflected. It was true—Fabienne, whom he loved so much and in whom he had so much confidence, was like all other women! She had lied to him from the first. She had lied to him since, every day. All those little caresses and evidences of affection had only served as .a mask for the basest treachery. He had been too happy. It could not last.

How could she have deceived him so? How could a woman with a character so sweet yet so decided, who spoke so frankly, whose look was so pure and loyal—how could she stoop to such duplicity? How had she begun to play such a part when nothing in her way of living, in her language, her manner, betrayed secret preoccupation? By what power of will had she been able to conceal a mystery so deep and penetrating? Well, it was all over—this fatal discovery was the supreme blow. His life was broken forever!

As he sat there the panorama of his life passed before him. The days of his childhood came back one by one. He saw himself again running like a colt through the woods of his country home, startling his mother by the audacity of his exploits. Then one day his father’s sudden death and the departure in tears. Years of battle followed. The little rooms in the Rue Truffant, with Lise, the old servant, who would not abandon them. Then college, with its long and tedious lessons, and finally the crowning step to success, his admission to the government office, where he made his way rapidly. He recalled his meeting with her. It was in the house of an old friend of the family at a soiree. He was standing awkwardly in a comer of the room rubbing "his white-gloved hands nervously together when she came in followed by a murmur of admiration. She raised her eyes, they met his, and the romance of his life had begun. Delicious memories followed—he loved to linger over them now as over a beautiful dream that cannot, must not be forgotten. Seated here in his own parlor that had been the scene of so much happiness, a terrible sadness oppressed him. The romance was over; the book must be closed. He felt that awful sensation of the irreparable, that impression'of emptiness which seizes one after a great misfortune—one on which our entire life depends. His anger fell, and he regretted that he had found these letters. Better to have lived out his .days in peace and ignorance. How many husbands quite as unfortunate as himself \n other ways

were living in tranquillity, free from doubt. Cursed letters!

But what reason had he for thinking that they were written to her? They were not in envelopes. There was no address. Perhaps they belonged to a friend. It would, be just like Fabienne to have taken charge of a secret correspondence to help one she cared for. But was he not a part of her? She need not have confided everything to him, but she might have spoken about it. Perhaps she had forgotten to or feared to anger him. Some day, no doubt, she would tell him all. He was ready to seize at any idea to dispel his stifpicions, and as he reflected he recovered in a measure his spirits. He made the resolution to return the letters to their hiding place, put everything in order and say nothing for the present about the matter. Then some day he would suddenly unmask his batteries, and his wife would be forced to avow her guilt or explain the mystery. . He gathered up the letters carefully and placed them in the secret drawer, fearing every moment that his wife might enter and surprise him. He looked at the clock. It Was only an hour since he had come in, and yet it seemed as if he had lived.years during that time. He

hastened to arrange everything and closed the secret drawer. At that moment the doorbell rang. Just in time! It was probably his wife, who had forgotten her key. He felt a sharp twinge in his heart at the thought of meeting her face to fat*, but he hurried to let her in. Instead of his wife, whom he expected, a strange man confronted him, who addressed him by his own name. “Sir,” said the visitor, “I wish to speak to you particularly, and I shall be obliged if you will give me an interview of five minutes—if Ido not disturb you.” This speech puzzled Louis, but he made a motion for the stranger to enter. He closed the door, and they sat down in the parlor. The visitor was tall and sturdily built. His face, sunburned and weather beaten, showed that he was accustomed to a life in the open air. A red ribbon in his button hole indicated that he was an officer in the navy. He cast a sweeping look about the room, then his face lighted up, and he said:

“I hope you will excuse this intrusion, sir, but the matter was of so much importance to me that I Bought out your address and hastened here. I will come straight to the point. I beg that you will sell me, at any price, your ebony secretary.” Louis started in surprise and stammered out:

“Sir, what do you mean?” “Oh, I know that my proposition is a strange one, but when you understand

Oft iay motive you will pardon mo. That ffn piece of furniture which you bought .'III from the dealer, who gave me your name, was sold at a time of need by a person”—* Here the voice of the stranger trembled, “By a person who through my fault was passing through a painful crisis, She had just lost her husband, who had squandered her fortune to the last penny, and she was forced to sell everything, 1 even to the smallest trifle. This secretary, which lias been in the family for a number of years, went with the rest. But she would only consent to part with it on condition that it ooultl bo bought back at tho end of a year. As eho did not appear at that time it was purchased' by you. * I was out of France at the pe* riod. Well, I came back and found, my unhappy friend, Our flint thought was to find the dealer and recover thesebre* tary. I learned through him where It was, and here I am. I trust you will accede to my request, strange as it may appear.” “Sir,” said Louis, “unfortunately that piece of furniture belongs to my wife, and she has filled it with her own things. I could not possibly disarrange it without consulting her.” The stranger grew pale. Then ho said to Louis in a choking voice: “Sir, do you know if your wife discovered a secret hiding place in the secretary?” “What hiding place are you talking about?” exclaimed Louis, with feigned astonishment. The Btranger sprang toward tho secretary and in a moment had openod the secret drawer, pointing at the same time to the package of letters. “You will understand by this why I cherish this piece of the furniture. Those letters were written by me to the woman who today bocame my wife.” The words had hardly left his lips before Louis was feverishly tossing out pellmell the many trifles that filled the drawers and compartments, “Take it,” he cried. “Take it away, sir. lam only too happy to give it to

you!" When his wife entered a few minutes afterward and saw tho parlor in such disorder and her secretary gone, she uttered a cry of dismay. “Consolo yourself, my darling,” said Louis, drawing her close to his heart. “That piece of f urniture revived unpleasant memories. I promise you another—another more beautiful.” And he smiled through his tears so tenderly that she grew calm, not understanding his grief, but feeling that what had been done must be, after all, for the best. ‘ ' w