A letter came to the lieutenant of police, to state that Cartouche had travelled to Lille, in company with the Abbe de Potter, of that town; that, on the reverend gentleman's return towards Paris, Cartouche had waylaid him, murdered him, taken his papers, and would come to Paris himself, bearing the name and clothes of the unfortunate Abbe, by the Lille coach, on such a day.The Lille coach arrived, was surrounded by police agents; the monster Cartouche was there, sure enough, in the Abbe's guise.He was seized, bound, flung into prison, brought out to be examined, and, on examination, found to be no other than the Abbe Potter himself!
It is pleasant to read thus of the relaxations of great men, and find them condescending to joke like the meanest of us.
Another diligence adventure is recounted of the famous Cartouche.
It happened that he met, in the coach, a young and lovely lady, clad in widow's weeds, and bound to Paris, with a couple of servants.The poor thing was the widow of a rich old gentleman of Marseilles, and was going to the capital to arrange with her lawyers, and to settle her husband's will.The Count de Grinche (for so her fellow-passenger was called) was quite as candid as the pretty widow had been, and stated that he was a captain in the regiment of Nivernois; that he was going to Paris to buy a colonelcy, which his relatives, the Duke de Bouillon, the Prince de Montmorency, the Commandeur de la Tremoille, with all their interest at court, could not fail to procure for him.To be short, in the course of the four days' journey, the Count Louis Dominic de Grinche played his cards so well, that the poor little widow half forgot her late husband; and her eyes glistened with tears as the Count kissed her hand at parting--at parting, he hoped, only for a few hours.
Day and night the insinuating Count followed her; and when, at the end of a fortnight, and in the midst of a tete-a-tete, he plunged, one morning, suddenly on his knees, and said, Leonora, do you love me?" the poor thing heaved the gentlest, tenderest, sweetest sigh in the world; and sinking her blushing head on his shoulder, whispered, "Oh, Dominic, je t'aime! Ah!" said she, "how noble is it of my Dominic to take me with the little I have, and he so rich a nobleman!" The fact is, the old Baron's titles and estates had passed away to his nephews; his dowager was only left with three hundred thousand livres, in rentes sur l'etat--a handsome sum, but nothing to compare to the rent-roll of Count Dominic, Count de la Grinche, Seigneur de la Haute Pigre, Baron de la Bigorne; he had estates and wealth which might authorize him to aspire to the hand of a duchess, at least.
The unfortunate widow never for a moment suspected the cruel trick that was about to be played on her; and, at the request of her affianced husband, sold out her money, and realized it in gold, to be made over to him on the day when the contract was to be signed.
The day arrived; and, according to the custom in France, the relations of both parties attended.The widow's relatives, though respectable, were not of the first nobility, being chiefly persons of the finance or the robe: there was the president of the court of Arras, and his lady; a farmer-general; a judge of a court of Paris;and other such grave and respectable people.As for Monsieur le Comte de la Grinche, he was not bound for names; and, having the whole peerage to choose from, brought a host of Montmorencies, Crequis, De la Tours, and Guises at his back.His homme d'affaires brought his papers in a sack, and displayed the plans of his estates, and the titles of his glorious ancestry.The widow's lawyers had her money in sacks; and between the gold on the one side, and the parchments on the other, lay the contract which was to make the widow's three hundred thousand francs the property of the Count de Grinche.The Count de la Grinche was just about to sign; when the Marshal de Villars, stepping up to him, said, "Captain, do you know who the president of the court of Arras, yonder, is? It is old Manasseh, the fence, of Brussels.I pawned a gold watch to him, which I stole from Cadogan, when I was with Malbrook's army in Flanders."Here the Duc de la Roche Guyon came forward, very much alarmed.
"Run me through the body!" said his Grace, "but the comptroller-general's lady, there, is no other than that old hag of a Margoton who keeps the ----" Here the Duc de la Roche Guyon's voice fell.
Cartouche smiled graciously, and walked up to the table.He took up one of the widow's fifteen thousand gold pieces;--it was as pretty a bit of copper as you could wish to see."My dear," said he politely, "there is some mistake here, and this business had better stop.""Count!" gasped the poor widow.
"Count be hanged!" answered the bridegroom, sternly "my name is CARTOUCHE!"