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 BOLT

CAGED AND DANGEROUS

MILLY TAIDEN
 CONTENTS

About the Book

Bolt

1. Bolt
2. Kara
3. Bolt
4. Kara
5. Bolt
6. Kara
7. Bolt
8. Kara
9. Bolt
10. Kara
11. Bolt
12. Kara
13. Bolt
14. Kara
15. Bolt
16. Kara
17. Bolt
18. Kara
19. Kara
20. Bolt
21. Kara
22. Bolt
23. Kara
24. Bolt
25. Kara
26. Bolt
27. Kara
28. Bolt
29. Kara
30. Bolt
31. Kara
32. Bolt
33. Kara

Cannon
About the Author
Also by Milly Taiden
 This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are
fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any
way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or
organizations is entirely coincidental.

Published By
Latin Goddess Press
Winter Springs, FL 32708
http://millytaiden.com
Bolt
Copyright © 2022 by Milly Taiden
Cover: Jacqueline Sweet
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Property of Milly Taiden
February 2022

Created with Vellum

 ABOUT THE BOOK

Kara Lailer is the one.

The one woman who can melt the stripes on my tiger.
She’s got a body that makes me bolt upright.
Kara’s very competitive. Always wanting to do things herself.
My beauty wants to make the world a better place.
And she’ll put herself in danger to do it.
She’s the kind that needs protection from people like me.
I’m not a good person.

Sure, I have a moral code.

I never hurt women, children, or innocents.
But I love hurting bad guys.
And when they’re after Kara, I love killing them.
Why? She’s my mate.

The government sent me to find and protect her.

She’s on a treasure hunt and it’s my job to see she succeeds.
But when she shows me the power she’s uncovered,
I don’t know if I can make her give it up.
If I don’t take it from her, I’m going back to prison.
If I do, she’ll hate me forever.
So…who am I going to betray?
BOLT
 CAGED AND DANGEROUS

NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

MILLY TAIDEN
— For the man who started it all

Mr. Tito Cannon Fire

You’re one of a kind.

ONE
 BOLT

T he sandy floor was cool against Bolt’s bare feet. As he walked

around his tiny ten by ten cell, he noticed every small rock and
imperfection that touched his skin. The floor was mostly cold
stone, gritty with gravel in some places and rough with sand in
others.
Pacing and focusing on the sensations in the cell kept him from
going entirely mad. However, he was aware that his captivity had
certainly driven him away from sanity. As he turned at the corner to
pace back along the wall, he could almost feel the powerful limbs
and swinging tail of his shifter form. The pensive pacing wasn’t
uncommon for creatures of his ilk.
The prison echoed with the voices of other prisoners. Farther
down the corridor, he could hear shouting, even begging and
pleading. His muscles tensed, and he growled just a little. The
comfort and power of his other shape was so close, but he could not
shift. They would not let him shift.
He was weaker than he had ever been in his life. Recently he had
begun to lose most of his muscle. His daily work was utterly
backbreaking — smashing massive boulders into sand. He paced
most of his time in captivity, the restless movement a reaction from
his inner beast to being caged. The issue was the food. It was barely
enough to keep a man alive, let alone maintain his fitness.
He paused by the corner and put his hands on the bars of the
cell. Across the way, he could see a thin man sitting, staring at the
wall. He couldn’t tell much by looking at his back, but his stance
made it clear that the other prisoner had given up. He had wasted
away, in his mind, body, and soul.
I will not let that happen to me! He thought in a fury. He could
not conceive of giving up. His pride and strength would not allow it.
With a pensive growl, he resumed his pacing, so intent on his inner
turmoil that he could almost feel his tail twitching behind him.
His fists clenched, and his shoulders tightened. In response to
the adrenaline, he started walking on the tips of his toes, ready to
spring or pounce. He had been beaten, starved, and tortured with
sleep deprivation and hunger, yet his pride would not die. He had
thought that taking his power, his ability to shift, was the worst
possible insult they could do to him. In the days after that, he
learned about true brutality. With his shifter self out of reach, he had
to endure all of this torture as nothing but a human.
Being beaten because he couldn’t pound rocks fast enough.
Being jeered at and degraded. Forced to wear ragged, dirty clothes.
The horrific state of the cell that did not even have a proper bed or
blanket. The horrible thin gruel that was their only food.
Anger burned inside him. He could tear them all apart in seconds
with the strength of his tiger. It lurked within him, a bright, burning
presence that looked upon the world with utter disdain. It fed his
anger, his spirit. He knew even if they broke him with beatings and
torture, or even killed him, his heart would still beat with the fire of
a tiger.
I will not go easily! He thought when he heard the footsteps of
multiple people approaching. No one ever came down this way
unless it was for mealtime. There was only one reason more than a
single person would be visiting. They had to be coming to execute
him. He felt a brief moment of despair. All the things he had done —
he admitted that not all of it was good — and all the things he would
never do crowded his mind. It didn’t matter now. The only thing that
mattered was to hold his head high and maybe take out as many of
the bastards as he could.
Two guards entered the cell. He rushed them, but one of them
neatly cracked him in the knees with a short baton. He went down,
and then the weapon struck his ribs. He cried out in pain. The
moment he was immobilized, they snapped heavy chains on his
arms and dragged him to his feet.
His breath came hard, and he glared at his jailers, all the fury of
his tiger emanating from his eyes. The chip implant in his neck that
prevented him from shifting tingled as he thought about how
wonderful it would be to tear them apart.
As they dragged him down the corridor, Bolt thought of Cannon,
his best friend, and the rest of their unit. He knew all of them were
ultimately guilty. They had fought hard and well in this war. They did
not harm women or children and tried to engage in battles for the
fair and just. Though he felt a terrible regret that he had been a
mercenary at all. Fighting for money wasn’t as pure as fighting for a
cause.
He'd had a family once, mother and father and a little sister. They
believed he was dead. After one of his early missions went awry, and
he and Cannon and a small group of others found themselves on the
run, it was better to break all ties with his past to protect them from
anyone wanting revenge.
“I never disobeyed my own honor!” he hissed at the guards as
they dragged him down the corridor. He was weak and stumbled,
but they just kept dragging him, making his toes slide on the stone.
He shook his head violently and felt a trembling in his arms. His
strength was failing. It was over.
They’ll kill me, and finally, I will have peace. I’ve tried so hard to
do the right thing, to put my brutal skills to good use. If I’m still
seen as an enemy, there is no reason left to fight.
They dumped him in a straight-backed, metal chair and locked
the cuffs to the armrests. He sat with his head hanging down, breath
heaving. Where would the blow come from? Would they cut off his
head? He braced for it.
“Bolt Stryper,” a harsh female voice announced. He looked up to
see a hard-faced woman staring at him with cold eyes. She looked
like she could spit razor blades with a straight face. He looked her up
and down uncertainly. She didn’t have a weapon. All she had was a
clipboard with a few sheets of paper on it.
 “That is my name,” he replied.
“I wasn’t asking,” she snapped. “I know it’s your name. I’m here
to make you an offer, but if you’re going to be insolent, you can go
straight back to your cell. My name is General Nydia Anderson.”
“Offer?” he asked, ignoring who she was. It mattered not. Only
that she was on the outside. She took a few steps toward him.
“I have a need for strong shifters,” she said. “There are times
when your skills are of great value. I am here to propose a mission
to you, and, by this, you may earn your freedom. How does that
sound?”
“It sounds too good to be true,” he snarled. “What is this? Are
you torturing me with hope?”
She smiled as if that was something she really liked to do. “Not
this time,” she answered. “The mission in question is to travel into
Afghanistan to retrieve something the government wants. A woman
named Kara Lailer has been on the trail of a very valuable gem, and
she and the artifact must be secured. We need you to retrieve the
gem.”
Bolt sat silently for a moment. He didn’t believe they would just
let him go. It had to be a trap.
“If you succeed, you will win your freedom. Well, a certain type
of freedom.” She smiled. He frowned. Here it was, the catch.
“You’ll belong to me. You’ll be part of an elite shifter squad that
only works for me, and you’ll join Cannon in this same work.”
“Cannon’s alive?” he shouted. She nodded.
“Indeed. Very much alive. He completed a mission for me, and
now he is free of this place.”
“Cannon … Alive,” he muttered. Could she be lying? Maybe. He
was tempted, though. Too tempted. He knew he couldn’t resist.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll take on your mission. I can’t be going out as
just a human, though. Surely you want me to be able to shift?”
“Of course,” she said, smiling. She gestured to a nearby guard,
and he came to hold Bolt down. He felt something on his neck and
roared, fighting the chains. Sharp pain cut into him, and there was a
pinching as the chip was pulled out. Immediately, a new one was
inserted. The resulting headache felt like his skull was being sawed
open.
“What did you just do to me?” he gasped. She nodded, marking
something on her paperwork.
“We have replaced your inhibitor chip with a GPS tracker. Now we
will always know exactly where you are, and if you decide to go
rogue, we will find you. Be sure of that.”
“You can be sure I don’t want back in this hellhole,” Bolt
grumbled.
“Then you’d better not fail. If you don’t return the artifact to me,
then your fate will be worse than this prison.”
He nodded, panting. “When do I get out of here?” His voice
trembled, but he would not beg.
“Soon,” she said, turning to walk away. “You’ll have food, clothes,
and intel brought to you, then you will leave for your mission.”
She turned to give him one last smile. He hated the look. There
was no joy in it.
“Good luck, Bolt.”
TWO
 KARA

A s night fell, the looming shadow of the mountain set the camp
in the shade. Kara sat by the fire, watching the flames of their
campfire flickering toward the sky. The stars glinted as they
came out, the entire heavens clearly in sight in the thin desert air.
Even though Kara looked calm, possibly even relaxed, after the
long days of travel, she was actually brimming over with excitement.
Her heart was pounding hard enough to make her cheeks red, and
every few minutes, her face would break into a joyful smile.
I found it. I really found it!
After years of researching, she had finally found the final clue to
put her on the trail of the gem she sought. It was a one-of-a-kind
item, something that could not be replicated.
Kara settled herself a bit more comfortably on the hard earth,
cradling the object in her hands. She didn’t have the stone yet — far
from it — but she had found the key.
Stories of the Tiger’s Eye gem had wound through generations,
the kinds of stories that were more legend than truth. She had
known from the beginning there was something real behind the
fantasy. The native people had hidden it so well that now no one
knew where to find it, told her that it existed, and it was everything
she hoped it would be.
One of her companions asked her if she wanted a cup of tea. She
took it gratefully, even though it was harsh and bitter. It still had the
antioxidant qualities of any ordinary black tea and a mild dose of
caffeine. She wasn’t paying much attention to the rest of her team
right now. She was too focused on the stone in her hands.
She and the local people helping her had traveled for days in
order to find this clue. It was only a small stone, but it had been
painstakingly etched with complex hieroglyphs. She hadn’t needed
very long to decipher that it was a map, and it was showing her
exactly where to find the tiger’s eye gem.
All those who had come before her had failed to find it because
they had looked for the gem itself. She had taken a different route
and searched for the key. It had been far easier to find — sitting in a
hollowed-out tree that stood alone on a rocky plain. The native
people had believed the gem would protect them, but in the end,
they went to extreme lengths to protect it.
Kara knew why. Based on the stories she’d gathered, she
theorized the stone contained a unique energy signature. It was full
of light, constantly replenishing itself. It could provide large amounts
of self-regenerative power without any pollution or environmental
effects.
A discovery like this would change the world. There would be no
further need to burn coal and trees or use gasoline that produced
contaminants. No need to produce deadly chemicals that made
batteries function. If the gem could be studied and the effects
replicated, then the planet would have a free energy source that
would never run out.
I have to find it first. She thought. She was frantic at the idea
that someone with bad intentions might find it and turn it against
the very people she was trying to help. Her hands clenched around
the small, smooth stone. She had the key now. Even if someone
could find the gem’s location before her, she doubted they could get
in.
Kara took her eyes from the fire and gazed up into the sky. She
felt so accomplished and proud of herself, and she knew, in the
coming days, she will have achieved even more. All her dreams were
coming true.
Maybe now, you’ll see me … She blinked, bringing the crystal
stars into even greater focus. Thoughts of her family came to her
bittersweetly. She loved them, and they loved her … But Kara felt
unworthy, and she always had.
As she was growing up, her parents were incredibly driven and
forceful. There were not many quiet family moments because
everyone was always too busy. Her mother worked her way up to
being a judge in the supreme court before Kara was twelve. Her
father was a doctor specializing in cancer. Over time, her siblings
had followed similar paths.
Her brother was a neurosurgeon, and her sister a pediatric
surgeon. Both of them had worked their way into their chosen fields
by the time they were twenty-five. To top it off, each of them had
found time to get married and have children. They were all
successful, rich, and extremely proud of their achievements.
And then there was Kara.
Kara’s fingers tightened on the stone. She was just as passionate
and driven as they were. She just took a different path. Kara had
always believed that studying the past could help build a better
future. She was fascinated by the dawn of man and the early
cultures. Archaeology wasn’t an easy field, and yet she showed a
talent and enthusiasm few others could match.
In her family’s eyes, none of this was enough. Kara felt herself
constantly falling behind, a disappointment instead of an asset. She
felt like her work didn’t matter to them because she wasn’t saving
lives or working to make the world better through law and politics.
Her chest ached, and her eyes burned as she thought about what it
would be like to get her hands on the tiger’s eye and finally show
them her true worth.
This discovery would impress even them, she was sure. It was a
black twist in her heart, this fear that her family did not see her
passion as a purposeful future. For years in her younger life, her
parents had set her up on a few dates. They made casual comments
about how she could at least marry and have children if she didn’t
want a decent career. She hadn’t liked any of the guys, and she felt
like they hadn’t liked her. The last one had clearly been more
interested in working for her father than in getting to know her.
 This had led to her swearing off men, at least for now. She didn’t
feel like she could be girlfriend or wife material if no decent guy
wanted to date her.
She took a deep breath, held it, and let it go, slowly. She had
never been enough. This had driven her to set out to conquer every
challenge in her path. It meant a lot to her to do it alone, to be
utterly self-reliant. Through this, she would show her family the
value of archeology and the thrill of digging up the past to change
the future.
A few of her compatriots walked past, asking her if she was okay.
She nodded and waved them on. Everyone was heading to their
bedrolls to get plenty of rest for the trek up the mountain the next
day. Her crew was just as excited as she was, but she knew this
discovery actually meant far more to her than it did to any of them.
That was why she hadn’t let the key out of her hand since she had
found it.
After a few more minutes of contemplating, she stood and
stretched, dousing the flames with a scatter of soil, so they banked
low into glowing coals. She went to her bedroll and curled up in her
sleeping bag, holding the stone against her chest.
She was so close, finally. Her satisfaction at getting this far was
clouded by the fact that she wasn’t quite there yet. Could the goal
be ripped from her grasp? She pressed the stone even harder
against her chest as if she could absorb it for safekeeping. She
would not, could not, fail now.
Kara told herself that she wanted her parents and siblings to
recognize the worth of her passion, archaeology itself. She wanted
them to be impressed by the gem and to understand that it was only
through careful study and lots of hard work in her chosen field that
she was able to find it at all.
She knew, though, deep inside, that it was all a flimsy charade.
What she truly desired was to be loved and valued. She couldn’t
stand the looks on their faces, the barely disguised pity, the secret
glances they threw at each other when they thought she wasn’t
looking that plainly said, “She’s always been weak.”
 Kara closed her eyes, listening to the soft sounds of the night
falling around her. She thought she would be too excited to sleep,
but it came quickly. Long days of travel, as well as the excitement,
had gotten to her and sapped her of strength. Kara slipped into
sleep with thoughts of the gem and glory in her mind. Not the great
glory that would set her above others. She didn’t believe in that. But
the self-made satisfaction that made her worthy and equal in the
eyes of her family.
THREE
 BOLT

T racking the team wasn’t difficult. Bolt reveled in the feeling of

his tiger shape as he prowled through the darkness night after
night. He was careful about traveling throughout the day, either
as a human or tiger, but the nights were made for cats to stalk.
The combined scents of the party drew him forward. He could tell
there were several people in the group, and one scent in particular
haunted him. Sweet and intoxicating, it pulled him toward it like a
planet to a star. He did not know how he knew, but that scent
belonged to Kara.
He finally caught up with the group early one evening. This was
when he confirmed his suspicions that they were being followed, not
only by him but by another band of humans.
He’d only had rough details to begin his search with, and based
on intel from the General, he had been able to discern that this was
the caravan he was looking for. Later, he had detected different
scents, footprints, and evidence of another group while he tracked
as his tiger. Initially, he assumed it was local tribesmen on a similar
path.
It wasn’t until he finally caught up with the group that he realized
the movements of the second group were not random. They were
directly following Kara and her crew. The question was, what were
their intentions. Good, bad, or both?
He didn’t want to charge straight in and try to warn Kara or
introduce himself. He knew full well that if he did, they might react
badly to him, and his mission would be compromised, as well as
putting the group in more danger.
So, he watched.
The group members put up tents, started a fire, and ate simple
rations. His eyes followed their movements around the camp while
his body stayed completely still in a rough copse of bushes. He could
smell that intoxicating perfume on the wind, but he could not see
her … Not yet.
When she came into view, his heart stopped in his chest. He
heard a roaring sound in his ears and felt lightheaded as the breath
was stolen from his lungs. She was more beautiful than any woman
he had ever seen.
He watched her leave a tent, straightening her shirt as if she had
just put on fresh clothes. He let out a low, involuntary growl as he
thought about what he might have seen a few minutes earlier had
he been able to see into the tent.
Her hair was long and golden, spun into fine strands like spider
silk. Her body was fit and strong, her skin tanned a light honey
brown from her long days under the sun. She smiled at everyone
she spoke to. A bright and gentle energy emanated from her. He was
entranced by the bounce of her breasts, the curve of her hips, and
her long, toned legs.
For a few moments, he was so caught up watching her that he
didn’t notice the second group of people had come close to the
camp. Even though he had already realized they were following Kara
and her party, he didn’t immediately notice how close they had
gotten.
He tore his eyes from her and focused his senses in the other
direction. The other guys had weapons — he could smell the grease
and metal, hear the clicks of the guns and the ammunition shifting in
their belts. His question on their intent had been answered.
He admonished himself for his stupidity. He could have blown his
mission and gotten Kara’s people hurt with his momentary
distraction.
He kept his eyes on the others as the camp settled to sleep. The
bad guys had almost surrounded the camp, but they did not yet
attack. Bolt was tempted to sneak into the camp and warn them but
decided that it would be too dangerous. He kept an eye on all
members of Kara’s group, feeling unsettled as he saw her talking
with her young assistant. The younger girl seemed familiar
somehow. He could not get a clear look at her face, and he decided
it was a protective urge involving Kara and the people she loved.
He figured the bad guys were after the tiger’s eye gem. He
thought their plan would be to tail her and steal it once she found it,
so he didn’t understand why they now surrounded the camp. He
knew he had to protect Kara and the gem. It was his mission.
He tried to put aside his admiration of Kara, telling himself he
was just appreciating a good-looking female, and her only
importance was his mission. He had been in prison a long time. Of
course, a beautiful woman with an enticing scent was going to affect
him.
He watched the camp till dawn, waiting for someone, anyone, to
make a move. Just as the camp began to stir, the tribesmen
attacked.
They stormed the camp with their weapons high, screaming at
the tops of their lungs. Bolt was charging in before he could think. It
was obvious that these men were going for Kara. Other members of
her party scattered and ran screaming into the desert, but the men
did not follow. They converged on the tent where Kara slept.
He tore around the back of the camp, claws digging into the
hardened sand, much faster than the bad guys. He ripped through
the back of the tent and then shifted fluidly. Kara was standing in
front of him, watching the bad guys approaching through the tent
flap, her back to him. He pounced, clamped a hand over her mouth,
and dragged her out of the back of the tent.
She kicked and struggled, but she couldn’t scream. Her body
twisting against his, and her scent rising from her hot skin, almost
undid him, but his most primal urge was to keep her safe. He was
able to subdue her enough to drag her behind a nearby pile of rocks
sheltered by scrub.
He whispered into her ear, “I’m here to help you,” he whispered
in her ear. “My name is Bolt. I’m an American, not one of them. We
need to get higher. Now.”
Her large eyes stared into his. What was going through her
beautiful head? She had seconds to decide whether she was going
to trust him. His being completely naked didn’t help, he was sure.
But if she didn’t, they would be caught. He held his breath.
She gave him a nod.
He snagged his backpack and her hand, then practically dragged
her up the mountainside to a point where he was fairly certain the
bad guys wouldn’t check. He quickly took his clothes from the pack
and dressed.
As they watched from their elevated position, the unwelcomed
visitors tore through the tents, screaming at each other.
From Kara’s tent, everything inside was tossed out. They were
looking for something. He wondered what exactly.
Not finding anything, the bad guys moved off into the trees, still
yelling at each other. He was sure he had saved them for now, but
that would all change in an instant if she screamed. He glanced at
her, seeing if she was freaked out enough to cause a scene.
She whirled to face him, her eyes bright and her face twisted
with fury. “Who are you?” she whispered-yelled. “You showed up
exactly when we were attacked. You could be one of them.”
He gave a slight nod. “I agree, it could look that way. I’ve been
tracking you for some days, though. I’ve seen the other men tailing
you. They want the gem. They’ll most certainly kill you and all your
friends once they have it.”
Her eyes widened a little. Her breath came a touch faster, and he
tried not to watch the rise and fall of her breasts.
“Why are you here?” she whispered. “Who sent you?”
“An agent of your government,” he said softly. “I am here to
protect you and the gem, to make sure it gets back to the U.S.
safely and… into the right hands.” An image of the General flashed in
his head. Her insistence that he hand the artifact to her echoed in
his mind.
She cocked her head, listening to the voices around the bend as
they grew softer. The bad guys were definitely going in the wrong
direction.
 “I don’t have the gem yet. Why did they attack us?”
He shrugged. “They may have decided it was safer to take you
prisoner now and force you to find it rather than risk you getting
away. They are tenacious. They’ll be back.”
“Will they keep following us?”
He nodded. “Assuredly.”
“But then we’ll lead them right to it!”
He smiled. “That doesn’t matter anymore. Now, you have me.”
Her face twisted into a frown. Clearly, she didn’t like his answer.
Her eyes swept up and down his body as if appraising him. He
folded his arms and grinned. He had nothing to hide. He might have
been wasting away in prison for some time, but he still had an
incredibly strong and well-built body.
Her eyes finally came to rest on his. He could see the hesitation
there. She did not trust him. He knew that it didn’t matter, though.
She needed him whether she knew it or not.
FOUR
 KARA

K ara was utterly furious with herself. Only now did she realize
the danger she had put herself in — as well as the other
members of her team.
Standing in front of Bolt with her hands on her hips, she felt like
she wanted to yell at him, but she couldn’t. She certainly didn’t trust
him, but her feelings were tied into a complicated knot in her chest.
I could have gotten everyone killed. Putting herself in danger was
one thing. Failing her friends was something else entirely. She should
have had guards watch over them while they slept and to help them
keep away from anyone who tried to steal the gem. It seemed so
obvious that she couldn’t help but kick herself for the oversight.
If her stubborn nature and need for self-reliance were going to
get her comrades in mortal danger, she definitely needed to
reassess. She knew the gem was valuable. That’s why she kept her
mission as secret as possible. Her assistant, Elle, and the other two
archaeologists, Razia and Hashmat, were the only ones who knew,
and she had let them down.
She realized she had been staring at Bolt for a few minutes
without saying anything. He had his arms crossed over his chest
with his eyebrows slightly raised as if he were waiting for an answer
to a question nobody had asked.
She frowned, keeping her hands on her hips as she stared him
down. Only a moment ago, he’d hauled her up the side of the
mountain, as naked as the day he was born. That sight was far
better than the trees around them.
“You can’t just barge in here and tell me that you’re my
bodyguard,” she fumed. “I can make my own way. And why were
you naked?”
The edges of his mouth curved in a smile. “What would you have
done if I hadn’t been here?”
Did he just not answer her question? The smile made her want to
slap it right off his face. She was fuming, but she had no good
answer to his comeback question.
Choke and die, most likely. End up a prisoner. Never prove
myself.
“That’s beside the point,” she snapped. “I don’t have to accept
you as a member of my team. I’m not sure I can trust you. How do I
know you aren’t working for the enemy?”
He shrugged, just a slight rise of his shoulders.
“This would be an odd way of kidnapping you if that was my
intention.”
“Maybe it’s all about the deception, getting me to find the gem
for you. If you win my trust, then you can easily take it from me.”
Kara could feel herself heating up in every possible way. Her
anger was growing out of her stubbornness and the knowledge that
she had royally fucked up. He had saved her ass, and there were no
two ways about it. The trouble was Kara had to keep getting angry.
Otherwise, she’d have to think about how attractive he was.
His hair fell in dark auburn waves that caught the sun and glinted
ruby red. His eyes were a deep emerald green that sparkled with
lights of golden flame. His regal bearing and noble stance were
having a profound effect on her.
“Kara, calm down,” he said. She exhaled sharply, her cheeks
going red.
“I will not calm down!” she cried. “How do you know my name?”
He looked puzzled. “I was told to track you and your party. I had
descriptions to go on. Of course, I recognized you.”
Kara thought quietly for a minute. An enemy agent probably
wouldn’t have had this information.
 That didn’t matter, though. She had very little trust for her own
government, as well. The wrong hands could easily end up being in
her own country. She’d have to keep Bolt at a distance, and, if she
had to, she’d find a way to pass off a fake to him. She glared,
narrowing her eyes.
“Okay. I accept that. What do you know about the gem?”
“That it is powerful and coveted by many,” he said, shrugging.
“My mission is to protect you so you can do your job, not to retrieve
the gem myself.”
She nodded slowly. Bolt cocked his head to the side, listening.
“The enemy party has moved away now. Your people are
returning to the camp. We should tell them I am here and that they
do not have to worry about another attack.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she snapped. “All the easier for
you to take it. Are you going to attack us in our sleep?”
Bolt looked at her, shaking his head in confusion. “Kara,” he said.
“That is not why I’m here, and you know it.”
She blushed furiously. Something about the way he said her
name hit her like a punch in the gut, or maybe even lower. She felt
an urge to rub her thighs together and lick her lips, but she resisted.
It cost her.
“Okay,” she said, turning back toward the camp. “Let’s go.”
She walked ahead of him, absolutely sure that she could feel his
eyes on her ass. She told herself not to be so ridiculous and kept
walking with her head held high.
Why do I even care if he’s looking at my ass?
She arrived back at the camp to find Elle, Hashmat, and Razia
slowly putting the camp back together. The two local tribesmen who
had been their guides seemed to have disappeared.
“Kara,” Elle cried, running to her. “Thank goodness you’re all
right. What happened?”
“They came for me, but this special agent sent by the
government came through at just the right time to help me hide
from them,” she said. She wasn’t going to give him too much credit.
“Who is this guy?” Elle asked, looking up at Bolt suspiciously.
 “He’s Bolt … Uh, what’s your last name?” Kara kicked herself for
not asking earlier. If she had to kick herself many more times today,
she’d definitely end up bruising something.
“Stryper,” he said, holding out his hand to shake. “Bolt Stryper.”
Kara and Elle looked at him in shock.
“What a coincidence,” Kara said, at the exact same time Elle
shouted, “Bolt?”
His face fell into confusion as he looked between the two women.
Kara could relate as she flicked her gaze back and forth between Elle
and Bolt.
“Why does he have your last name?” Kara blurted, but neither of
them was listening to her.
Bolt’s face went from confusion to full-on shock. Elle slowly
clenched her fists, her face turning white.
“Oh my god!” she yelled. “Y-you’re dead. You disappeared when I
was very young.” She took a deep breath and stared at his face.
“Your scent, your eyes …”
Now that it had been pointed out, Kara could see the
resemblance. They did have the same eyes.
“Wait,” Bolt said, putting his hands up. “Just ... wait.”
“Wait for what?” Elle cried. “Oh my god! What possible excuse
can you have? We thought you were dead!”
Kara was so shocked she backed up a step. This was some deep
family shit she had been thrown into.
At least my family problems don’t involve long-lost dead relatives
coming back to life.
“Elle, I can explain ...”
“No, you can’t,” she snapped. “There is no way you can explain. I
was the one left at home with Mama and Papa. I’m the one who had
to watch Papa die a little more every day from a broken heart. I
know he was your stepfather, Bolt, but he loved you.”
Bolt blinked hard, shaking his head. Kara saw his chest tremble,
just slightly.
“Papa died?” he asked, his voice very soft. Elle shook her head,
tears pouring down her cheeks.
 “He might as well have. He has barely moved for years. He
watches the horizon as if you’re going to come back to him. He
knew you were dead, he knew it, but part of him never accepted it.”
Elle shook her head, stepping back. She raised her hands as if to
deny the entire situation, especially Bolt’s existence.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t!” She cried. She turned and ran back
into the camp, ignoring Razia and Hashmat, who tried to ask her
what was wrong. They turned to Bolt and Kara, staring at them with
puzzled expressions on their faces. Kara sighed.
“That’s really not how I expected first introductions to go,” Kara
muttered.
“Me neither,” Bolt said, his shoulders sagging. “I never dreamed
that I’d run into my family again. If Papa ...”
He glanced at Kara, his eyes flashing cold green. It was as if he
had just realized he was about to open up and caught himself just in
time. He shook his head.
“I’m here to complete a mission,” he said. His voice was firm.
“Introduce me to the rest of your team, and we will plan our next
steps.”
“Okay,” Kara said, starting to walk with him back to the campsite.
She didn’t see how anyone would be able to focus on the mission
after this, but she was still committed. Bolt might have just saved
their asses … but was he worth it? She couldn’t help thinking it
would be better if he had never come.
Her eyes slid to the side to take another glimpse at him. Her
tongue crept to the corner of her mouth as she admired his long
powerful stride and lovely, strong hands.
No matter what turmoil he had brought, for better or worse, she
was glad he was here. He stirred something in her she had never felt
before, and she knew any danger, any heartbreak he brought with
him was more than worth it, just to be near him and discover this
new yearning that had bloomed inside her.
FIVE
 BOLT

B olt sat at their campsite on his own, ruminating over his

interaction with Elle. He had no idea she was going to be there,
or he would have had something planned to say — something
better than what had come out.
It was a riveting situation to be put in, finding your long-lost
sister who was convinced of your death. All on a fucking mission that
had his entire freedom at stake.
Everyone in the camp was getting ready to move forward,
gathering up tents and materials. Bolt saw Elle walking by, carrying a
few sleeping bags that she struggled with. Bolt jumped up and
joined her.
“Need a hand?” he asked softly.
Elle turned to him, her eyes shining with rage.
“When would I ever need help from you?” she snarled.
She hastily stepped away from him, and Bolt followed.
“Elle, I think we should talk,” he said.
Elle continued stomping forward, and although she was
struggling, she did not miss a step.
“I don’t want to talk to a liar, Bolt,” she replied. “Especially not
one who made me think he was dead.”
Bolt stopped walking, then watched as Elle dragged the sleeping
bags through the mud. He was at a loss of how to reach her. He
turned away and went to a tent, taking it down while brooding on
ways they could re-connect.
 Once he, Elle, Kara, and the rest of the group had gathered up
their materials, Bolt stood beside Kara, who was looking up the
mountain they stood at the base of.
“We going up?” he asked.
“Yup. All the way up and over.”
“What happened to the two locals guiding you?” he asked,
looking around the camp area.
She shrugged. “Guess they never came back after the attack.”
She started up the trail. “We don’t need them. I know where we’re
going.”
Yeah, Bolt wasn’t sure he believed that fully, but he followed with
the rest of the group behind him. Elle completely avoided him,
intentionally hiking at the back of the line. Kara slowed to climb next
to him, observing his every move.
“Can I help you with something?” Bolt asked.
Kara held her backpack with two hands and tried to keep up with
Bolt’s long stride. She was small, but he figured that never held her
back.
“I need you to keep me updated on your plan. It better not
interfere with mine,” she said.
Bolt could feel her eyes on him, like a sniper in the distance. He
looked down and watched as her watery orbs assessed him.
“I’m here to save you. What else do you need to know?” Bolt
snapped.
But Kara did not budge.
“That would be fine if I was Ann Darrow in King Kong, but alas,”
Kara growled back.
Bolt breathed in deeply. He kept his eyes on their trail ahead,
with the increase in the roughness and incline with every step they
took. He needed to focus on whether or not all of their team
members could make the journey with minimal breaks.
He realized that Kara was still at his side, and he replied with
reverence.
“That’s all the information I can give you right now. I’m sorry if
that doesn’t fit with your narrative,” Bolt said, trying to be firm but
gentle.
 Just as Kara opened her mouth to say something, a deafening
screech halted their steps. Bolt slid a hand to the small of Kara’s
back.
“What …” Kara tried to speak.
“Shh, hold on,” Bolt replied.
He held up a hand to get the rest of the team to remain quiet.
They were frozen in their spots, eyes widened with fear.
Bolt knew where the sound was coming from and what exactly
was producing it. He bent over to Kara and whispered into her ear.
“Stay here. Give me fifteen minutes. Don’t move until I return,” he
ordered.
Kara nodded but was not happy being ordered to do anything.
Bolt tried to ignore this and went around the corner to conceal
himself.
Once he thought he was out of eyesight, he undressed and
placed his clothes and backpack in a bush nearby. He shifted into his
tiger form, feeling relief similar to an orgasm. He padded along the
pathway where the sound had echoed, and lo and behold, he saw
the tracks of a snow leopard.
Bolt tapped his claws against the ground. Snow leopards were
endangered, so killing them wasn’t an option. He decided that the
best idea would be to divert it away from their path. He had been
prepared for this as the briefing from the General mentioned the
group was in the mountains of Afghanistan. There was a variety of
wild animals they could run into, including large cats.
Bolt moved through the snowy mountainside, sure that his
orange and black stripes stood out like a fire in the moonlight. He
killed a rabbit, then dragged it along the ground, leaving a trail going
away from the caravan. He spread the blood out to be sure that the
leopard would detect it, then seek out the meal.
Bolt shifted into his human form, then put his clothes on. He
walked back to the group, who were gathering around the corner
with anticipatory looks.
“Good to go,” Bolt said, shouldering his pack.
Elle shuffled forward from the back of the group then stood next
to Kara. She had her arms crossed and watched as Bolt tried to re-
direct everyone forward.
“Whoa, Whoa,” Elle said. “What the hell is that on your cheek?”
Bolt touched his face, feeling dampness. He looked at his fingers,
not realizing that he had spots of blood remaining from when he
killed the rabbit.
“It’s nothing,” he asserted. “I found a way to prevent further
interference. That’s all you need to know.” He studied Elle, and she
glared back at him. Did everyone know what Elle was? Was the
secret out?
Kara sighed sharply.
“That is getting old, you know that, right?” Kara said.
Bolt shrugged. He couldn’t risk telling them he was a shifter —
not until he found out if Elle had shared her identity. Many people
had a prejudice against shifters, or at least, some kind of
misconception. He needed to determine where their values lay
before he told them anything about himself in that way.
“I’m here to protect you and get you home,” Bolt reiterated.
“That’s all that matters right now. Let’s get moving.”
Bolt started walking, and the rest of the team followed. Elle
returned to the back of the line, and Kara lingered next to him. He
could feel the fire of her frustration, the lack of control scratching at
her like an evasive itch.
Bolt allowed them to stop about an hour later to take a break. He
moved over to a corner of the mountain to get some serene time to
himself, but Kara followed, not entirely unpredictably.
“We have to talk,” she said.
She stood in front of him, her backpack removed. She crossed
her arms and glanced up at him with a firm look.
Bolt thought she would be cute if she wasn’t so fucking
annoying.
Bolt nodded, opening up his hand to indicate she had the floor to
air her grievances.
“You need to give me some information. Any kind,” she said.
“You could easily just be tagging along for a chance at the jewel
yourself, for all I know.”
 Bolt shrugged again, knowing that it irked Kara to no end. A bit
of guilt had set in at the thought that he was going to take the gem
to give it to the General to ensure his freedom. But that would all
come much later. First, they had to recover the artifact.
“I have a mission to complete,” he replied. “And a part of that
mission is the fact that I cannot share certain information with you.”
Kara scolded him by raising her voice slightly. “This is my fucking
team. I’m responsible for them, not you. There’s no way I’m going to
be able to trust you if you keep giving me this militaristic routine,”
Kara said firmly.
Bolt turned from her, then reached into his pack. He took out a
protein bar and began munching on it. When he didn’t say anything
more, Kara placed her hands on her hips.
“Seriously?” she said. “You’re not going to give me anything?”
“I’m not going to repeat myself,” Bolt said. “You’re just going to
have to take a chance on trusting me.”
Kara’s eyes filled with rage, making their blue hue dance. She
sighed then turned away, making her way back to Elle and the
group.
Bolt turned to face the side of the mountain, watching the open
azure sky glisten with the light of the sun. The snow sparkled like
little diamonds were scattered across it.
He didn’t like keeping information from Kara. She was a good
leader, so it made sense that she was so tenacious about getting
something from him. In another context, he felt like he could get to
know her.
But he had to keep it together. That wasn’t why he was there. He
was there to protect her and help her get the jewel. Then take it
from her.
Bolt finished his bar, then returned to the group. Everyone stood
when they saw him coming — well, everyone but Kara.
“We’ll walk for a bit longer, then find somewhere to stay for the
night,” Bolt said.
He slipped his backpack on and began walking ahead. He
listened for footsteps behind him, which began quickly. He tried to
focus on the path ahead and not be distracted by the guilt of not
informing Kara about his true nature.
For all he knew, Kara could hate shifters. Even though she was
intelligent, and mostly reasonable, you truly never knew when
someone was going to show their dark side. Some people’s bad
sides come out as intense discrimination, and Bolt desperately did
not want to deal with that.
They walked on for some time with only the sound of crunching
snow acting as their score.
SIX
 KARA

K ara continued to walk next to Bolt but tried to contain her rage
as they moved along the path. It was driving her mad that he
refused to give her any information. She was doing her best to
remain reasonable, but he wasn’t being reasonable in response,
which didn’t help things.
It was her fucking expedition, so it would be her fault if anything
happened to any of her team members. She had worked too hard to
let some man come in and think he could take over.
Kara moved to the back of the line to give herself a break. She
stood next to Elle, whose face was red and irritable.
“Are you doing okay?” Kara asked.
Elle shook her head.
“Honestly, I’m pretty pissed. This is a fucked-up way to figure out
that your brother isn’t dead,” Elle replied.
Kara nodded. She could only imagine. “I’m sorry, Elle,” Kara said.
She reached her arm out and wrapped it around her friend’s
shoulders. Elle leaned into her briefly as they walked.
When she lifted her head, Kara took the opportunity to ask a few
questions.
“So what was all that blood about?” Kara inquired.
Elle frowned, recalling the event, then turned her face toward the
ground.
“Oh, the blood on his face, you mean?” Elle said.
 Kara nodded but sensed there was something her friend was
keeping from her. Elle had always said that Kara was her mentor, so
it was odd that she would hold off on any helpful information she
had on her brother.
“Yeah, I don’t know what that was about,” Elle replied. “More
crap for him not to tell us about, eh?”
Kara rolled her eyes, and the two women chuckled together. Kara
decided to leave the topic for now — perhaps there was something
between the siblings she had yet to discover.
Half an hour later, Bolt stopped the group entirely. He pointed to
something on the side of the mountain, then cupped his hand to
bellow.
“I think there’s a cave up ahead,” he said. “I’m going to check it
out first. Stay here, everyone!”
Kara felt some relief as her feet had been killing her. But she
wasn’t going to show any of that gratitude to Bolt. She stood with
her team and reassured them as they waited for Bolt to survey the
scene.
He returned a few minutes later, giving them all a thumbs up.
Kara moved to the front of the line, attempting to reassert her
dominance within the group.
“What’s going on?” Kara asked.
Bolt looked down at her in a far too condescending way for Kara
to accept.
“I found a cave,” Bolt said. “I think it’ll be good for us to stay
there for the night. Get some rest.”
Kara nodded. He wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t going to let him
know how tired she felt. She turned back to the team and reiterated
what he had just told her.
“We’re going to camp out for the night,” Kara said, projecting her
voice. “We will get going again in the morning.”
Elle and her team nodded then followed her toward the cave.
Bolt was already making his way to the mountain entrance.
Kara didn’t care how he was feeling. If he was going to be
stubborn and not give her any info, she was going to be stubborn
back.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 Or, bien que les créanciers de mon maître ne pussent le faire
arrêter en France, aucune loi ne leur défendait de vendre leurs
lettres de change à un Français, qui acquérait ainsi le droit de
poursuivre le débiteur fugitif. Cinqpoints, malgré ses études et ses
connaissances légales, ignorait ce détail. Il croyait, comme
beaucoup de ses compatriotes, qu’en disant adieu à sa patrie il
pouvait également dire un long adieu aux dettes qu’il y avait
contractées. C’est là une impression qui, pour être fort répandue,
n’en est pas moins erronée.
Lady Griffin envoya à Londres un agent d’affaires qui ne tarda
pas à s’entendre avec les propriétaires de la précieuse collection
d’autographes que Cinqpoints avait laissée derrière lui, et qui revint
bientôt les armes à la main.
Un beau matin, comme je causais dans la cour avec deux des
femmes de chambre de l’hôtel (excellente habitude que j’avais
contractée afin de me perfectionner dans la langue française), l’une
d’elles me dit à l’oreille :
— Voyez donc, monsieur John, il y a dans le bureau un garde du
commerce et deux recors qui demandent des nouvelles de votre
maître… Aurait-il des dettes par hasard ?
— Eh ! non, ma chère ; nous ne devons pas un sou en France,
répondis-je.
Tout à coup, je me rappelai nos dettes d’outre-Manche, et je
devinai ce dont il s’agissait.
— Toinette, m’écriai-je, si tu tiens à mon amour, occupe-les une
minute ou deux ! et lui donnant un baiser, je montai quatre à quatre
chez Cinqpoints. Sa blessure était presque guérie et on lui
permettait déjà les promenades en voiture.
— Monsieur, les recors sont à vos trousses ! Il faut que vous
trouviez un moyen de leur échapper, lui dis-je d’une voix essoufflée.
— Les recors ? Allons donc ! Dieu merci, je ne dois rien à
personne, répliqua-t-il avec un aplomb superbe.
 — As-tu fini !… Et les dettes que vous avez laissées à Londres ?
m’écriai-je, oubliant le respect que je lui devais. Les recors sont en
bas ; ils me suivent, vous dis-je !
A peine eus-je prononcé ces paroles qu’on entendit dans
l’antichambre un formidable drelin drelin din din ! Il était facile de
reconnaître dans ce carillon la voix d’un huissier.
Que faire ? Plus rapide que l’éclair, j’ôte mon habit et mon grand
gilet rouge ; je pose mon chapeau galonné sur la tête de monsieur et
je lui fais endosser ma livrée. M’enveloppant alors dans sa robe de
chambre et m’allongeant sur le canapé, je lui ordonne d’aller ouvrir.
Ce changement à vue n’avait été que l’affaire d’un instant. Mon
maître trouva à la porte le garde du commerce, les deux recors,
Toinette et un vieux garçon d’hôtel. Toinette sourit en voyant
Cinqpoints ainsi affublé et lui demanda :
— Dis donc, John, voilà des messieurs qui veulent parler à ton
maître ; il est chez lui, n’est-ce pas ?
— Mais ce n’est pas… commença le garçon.
— Allons, tais-toi, vieille bête, et laisse passer le monde,
interrompit ma complice.
Le garde du commerce entra dans le salon, laissant les deux
recors dans l’antichambre. L’Honorable Percy Cinqpoints, qui le
suivait, s’avança vers moi, et me demanda gravement en touchant
mon chapeau :
— Monsieur a-t-il des ordres à me donner ? Désire-t-il toujours le
cabriolet pour deux heures ?
— Non, John, répondis-je, j’ai changé d’idée ; je ne sortirai pas
aujourd’hui… Mais que veut ce brave homme ?
Mon maître, laissant le brave homme se tirer d’affaire comme
bon lui semblerait, s’éloigna de ce pas traînard qui distingue les
grooms. Le vieux garde du commerce qui comprenait assez bien
notre langue, ayant eu à coffrer beaucoup de nos compatriotes,
répliqua d’un ton goguenard :
 — Je crois, monsieur Cinqpoints, que vous ferez bien de rappeler
votre domestique et de lui dire de faire avancer une voiture, car je
me trouve dans la triste nécessité de vous arrêter au nom de la loi, à
la requête du sieur Jacques-François Lebrun, de Paris, auquel ont
été endossées diverses lettres de change signées par vous.
Et mon homme tira de sa poche une grosse liasse de lettres de
change portant la signature de mon maître.
— Veuillez vous asseoir, lui dis-je avec une politesse extrême ; je
ne m’attendais guère à ce nouveau coup qui vient me frapper ! Et
tout en lui racontant comment je venais de perdre ma main gauche
(qui était fourrée sous ma robe de chambre), je lui fis déployer un à
un ces nombreux documents, sous prétexte d’en vérifier
l’authenticité.
Enfin, au milieu de cette besogne, jugeant que mon maître avait
eu le temps de monter en voiture, et ne pouvant d’ailleurs conserver
mon sérieux, je partis d’un grand éclat de rire. Le garde du
commerce se leva d’un bond, se doutant qu’on lui avait joué un tour.
— Holà ! à moi ! s’écria-t-il en ouvrant la porte.
Les deux recors se précipitèrent dans le salon, suivis de Toinette
et du garçon.
Je me levai avec un geste plein de dignité ; puis, après avoir
montré mes deux mains aux hommes de loi étonnés, j’écartai ma
robe de chambre, je posai sur un fauteuil une des plus jolies jambes
qu’il soit possible de voir, et je désignai à leur attention une paire de
culottes jaunes, insigne de mes honorables fonctions.
Toinette et son camarade, qui savaient apprécier une bonne
plaisanterie, joignirent leurs rires aux miens dans un long et bruyant
concert. Quant au vieux Grippart, le garde du commerce, je crus qu’il
allait se trouver mal. On sait que les huissiers, les gardes du
commerce et les recors, viennent rarement au monde avec une
physionomie réjouissante ; mais jamais aucun de ces aimables
fonctionnaires n’a eu une mine aussi piteuse que le représentant du
sieur Jacques-François Lebrun, de Paris.
 J’entendis le bruit d’un cabriolet qui passait sous la porte
cochère. Je ne m’étais pas dévoué en vain : j’avais sauvé mon
maître !
 X
GRIPPART PREND SA REVANCHE

Le récit de mes relations avec Cinqpoints touche à sa fin. Je ne

devais pas rester longtemps chez lui après le signalé service qu’on
m’a vu lui rendre dans le dernier chapitre.
Outre la satisfaction d’un devoir rempli, mon dévouement me
valut la robe de chambre que j’avais portée, plus deux ou trois louis
trouvés dans une des poches de ce vêtement. Par malheur, je suis
forcé de convenir que ma bonne action ne profita pas beaucoup à
mon maître. Il avait conservé sa liberté, c’est vrai ; mais il n’osait
guère se montrer en public, sachant qu’un manchot est plus
reconnaissable qu’un autre homme, et que les recors parisiens sont
de fins limiers.
Mon maître, du reste, ne pouvait guère songer à quitter Paris : lui
absent, que fût devenue sa fiancée, son héritière bossue ? Il la
connaissait trop bien pour vouloir la perdre longtemps de vue. Le
cœur de la demoiselle avait déjà brûlé une douzaine de fois, rien ne
garantissait qu’il ne prendrait pas feu une treizième. L’Honorable
Percy Cinqpoints avait trop vécu pour ne pas savoir combien il faut
de soins pour entretenir la constance dans une âme aussi
impressionnable que celle de Mlle Mathilde Griffin.
Quel parti prendre ? Il ne tenait nullement à se ruiner en payant
ses dettes ; il ne voulait pas non plus abandonner l’objet de ses
affections. Force lui fut donc de se tenir caché tout le jour, de se
déguiser, de ne sortir que le soir, comme font les hiboux et les
chauves-souris. Le code français… (je voudrais que la même
coutume existât chez nous)… ne permet pas d’arrêter un créancier
après le coucher du soleil. On ne peut pas non plus l’appréhender
dans un jardin royal. Les Tuileries, le Palais-Royal, le Luxembourg,
par exemple, sont des lieux sacrés interdits aux chiens et aux
recors. Des sentinelles vigilantes, posées à chaque grille, ont pour
consigne de repousser à la pointe de la baïonnette tous les animaux
de cette espèce qui se présentent. Mon maître donnait donc ses
rendez-vous sur la grande terrasse des Tuileries.
Il faut avouer que Cinqpoints se trouvait dans une position peu
confortable, obligé de se cacher et d’inventer mille mensonges en
réponse aux mille questions de sa belle étonnée. Il lui fallait parler
de ses cinquante mille francs de rente, et se montrer aussi gai qu’un
homme qui n’est pas sous le coup d’une contrainte par corps.
L’heure des hésitations était passée, et il fallait se résigner à
épouser Mathilde dans le plus bref délai.
Il écrivait à sa belle presque autant de billets que celle-ci lui en
adressait autrefois ; il s’impatientait de toutes ces lenteurs, de toutes
ces cérémonies, de tous ces retards ; il parlait des joies de
l’hyménée, des misères de l’absence, de la folie qu’il y avait à
attendre le consentement d’une belle-mère, pour ne pas dire d’une
marâtre. Mathilde, ajoutait-il, était majeure, et, par conséquent, libre
de ses actions ; elle avait donc fait tout ce que les convenances
exigeaient en daignant solliciter l’aveu de lady Griffin.
Les choses en restèrent là pendant quelque temps sans avancer
ni reculer d’un pas. Ce qu’il y avait de plus curieux dans tout cela,
c’est que si Cinqpoints demeurait impénétrable au sujet de ses
déguisements et de son antipathie pour les promenades au grand
jour, Mlle Griffin n’était pas moins mystérieuse lorsqu’on lui
demandait pourquoi elle s’obstinait à attendre le consentement de sa
belle-mère. Nos amoureux avaient beau s’interroger, les questions
ne provoquaient jamais que des réponses évasives.
Enfin, en réponse à une épître désespérée, Cinqpoints enchanté
reçut le billet suivant :

« Mon bien-aimé, vous dites que vous êtes prêt à habiter

une chaumière pourvu que j’y sois à vos côtés ; nous n’en
 serons pas réduits là, heureusement ! La tristesse vous
accable, notre union sans cesse différée vous met au
désespoir. Croyez-vous donc, mon bien-aimé, que j’en souffre
moins que vous ? Mon Percy me supplie encore de ne plus
tenir aucun compte du refus de lady Griffin. Eh bien, je ne
résiste plus à ses prières ! J’ai voulu tout tenter pour me
concilier une belle-mère dénaturée. Mon respect pour la
mémoire de mon père me le commandait, et il me semble que
la prudence nous conseillait aussi de ne pas agir sans son
aveu.
» Cependant la patience humaine a des bornes, et,
d’ailleurs, nous n’avons pas besoin de compter sur lady
Griffin. Nous serons assez riches sans avoir recours à elle,
dites-vous. Je reconnais bien là le noble cœur de mon Percy !
» Qu’il soit donc fait comme vous le voulez. Il y a si
longtemps que la pauvre Mathilde vous a donné son cœur,
qu’elle ne peut guère aujourd’hui vous refuser sa main. Fixez
le jour et l’heure, et je n’hésiterai plus ; j’irai chercher dans
vos bras un refuge contre les tracasseries, les ennuis
auxquels je suis en butte sous le toit de ma belle-mère.

» Mathilde.

» P.-S. Si vous saviez, mon Percy, quel noble rôle votre

bon père a joué dans toute cette affaire ! Il a fait tous ses
efforts pour vaincre l’obstination de lady Griffin. S’il n’a pas
réussi, c’est que personne ne réussira. Je vous envoie un
billet qu’elle lui a adressé. Nous en rirons bientôt, n’est-ce
pas ? »

Ce billet contenait la lettre suivante, adressée au Très-Honorable

comte de Crabs :

« Milord,
 » En réponse à la demande que vous m’avez faite de la
main de miss Griffin pour votre fils, je ne puis que vous
répéter ce que j’ai déjà eu l’honneur de vous dire de vive voix.
Je crois qu’une union avec une personne du caractère de
l’Honorable Percy Cinqpoints serait loin de contribuer au
bonheur de Mathilde. Je refuse donc mon consentement. Je
vous prie de communiquer à M. Cinqpoints la résolution que
j’ai prise, et de vouloir bien vous abstenir désormais d’un
sujet de conversation qui, vous ne l’ignorez pas, ne saurait
m’être agréable.
» Agréez, je vous prie, etc.

» L. E. Griffin. »

— Bah ! je me moque bien de ses refus ! s’écria mon maître. Je

ne comprends pas que cette sotte de Mathilde s’en soit préoccupée.
Cependant il comprenait assez bien, ou croyait comprendre le
motif intéressé qui faisait agir lord Crabs. Ces démarches aussi
obligeantes qu’officieuses lui semblaient fort naturelles de la part
d’un père qui, voyant son fils sur le point d’épouser une riche
héritière, espérait lever une prime sur les bénéfices de l’affaire. Dans
sa reconnaissance, il adressa à l’auteur de ses jours les lignes
suivantes, auxquelles il joignit une lettre passionnée pour Mathilde :

« Merci, mon cher père, de ne m’avoir pas abandonné au

milieu de mes embarras. Je n’en attendais pas moins de
votre tendresse. Vous connaissez ma position et vous
devinerez facilement la double cause de mes inquiétudes.
Mon mariage avec ma douce Mathilde va me rendre le plus
heureux des hommes. La chère fille y consent et se décide
enfin à résister aux ordres de lady Griffin. A vrai dire, je
m’étonne qu’elle ait jamais tenu aucun compte des volontés
d’une marâtre tyrannique. Mettez le comble à votre
obligeance en vous chargeant de faire tous les préparatifs
nécessaires pour hâter cette union tant désirée. Trouvez-nous
 un ministre, etc., etc. Les deux époux sont majeurs, vous le
savez, de façon que le consentement d’un tuteur est inutile.
» Votre affectionné,

» Percy Cinqpoints.

» P.-S. Combien je regrette mon refus d’il y a quelques

semaines ! Les choses ont bien changé depuis, et changeront
davantage sous peu. »

Je savais ce que cela voulait dire. Cinqpoints annonçait à son

père qu’il lui donnerait de l’argent après le mariage ; mais comme la
lettre pouvait tomber entre les mains de la future, il était inutile de
s’exprimer d’une façon trop explicite.
Je portai donc ces deux lettres et j’eus la précaution de les lire en
route afin de m’assurer qu’on ne s’était pas trompé d’adresse. Lord
Crabs se trouvait avec miss Griffin dans le salon de la place
Vendôme, de façon que je fis d’une pierre deux coups en remettant
simultanément les deux épîtres. La demoiselle dévora la sienne
avec un roulement d’yeux impossible à décrire ; puis elle baisa le
papier et le pressa contre son cœur. Milord reçut les remercîments
de son fils avec beaucoup plus de sang-froid. Il me pria d’aller
attendre la réponse dans l’antichambre, et se mit à causer avec
Mathilde.
Après une consultation qui dura assez longtemps, lord Crabs vint
me rejoindre et me remit une carte sur laquelle il n’y avait que ces
mots :

Demain, midi, à l’ambassade.

— Remettez cela à mon fils, me dit-il, et recommandez-lui d’être

exact.
Le temps d’embrasser les femmes de chambre et de raconter à
mes camarades les affaires de mon maître en buvant un verre de
xérès, et je me remis en route. Cinqpoints eut l’air fort satisfait en
recevant la carte et le message paternels. Cependant il ne parut pas
heureux ; mais un jeune homme est rarement gai la veille de son
mariage, surtout lorsqu’il épouse une bossue.
Au moment de dire adieu à la vie de garçon, Cinqpoints fit ce que
l’on devrait toujours faire en pareille circonstance : il rédigea son
testament. Ensuite il écrivit à ses créanciers pour leur annoncer qu’il
comptait leur payer jusqu’au dernier sou après son mariage. Avant
ce mariage, ils devaient bien le savoir, la chose était impossible ; il
les priait donc poliment de le laisser tranquille pendant un mois ou
six semaines.
Pour être juste, je dois avouer qu’il paraissait disposé à se
conduire en honnête homme, dès que cela ne le gênerait en rien. Il y
a de par le monde une foule de gens très-respectables, dont la vertu
négative ne tient qu’à l’absence de toute espèce de tentation.
— John, me dit ton maître, en me remettant une dizaine de louis,
acceptez ce faible témoignage de ma reconnaissance, et merci
d’avoir donné le change aux recors. Désormais, vous ne porterez
plus la livrée ; je triple vos gages, et vous nomme mon valet de
chambre.
Son valet de chambre ! Peut-être son intendant ! Enfin, pensai-je,
me voilà en bon chemin. Valet de chambre de deux cent mille francs
de rente ! Rien à faire du matin au soir, si ce n’est de coiffer ou raser
Monsieur, lire ses lettres, laisser pousser mes favoris et m’habiller
comme un ministre qui serait toujours prêt à aller dîner en ville. Une
chemise blanche par jour et un laquais pour cirer mes bottes ! Je
sais mieux que personne ce que c’est qu’un valet de chambre de
bonne maison, et je puis affirmer qu’en général il est plus heureux,
plus paresseux, aussi élégant que son maître. Il a presque autant
d’argent à dépenser, car il a affaire à des gens qui s’obstinent à
oublier leur monnaie dans les poches de leur gilet. Il a autant de
succès auprès des dames, mange d’aussi bons dîners et boit d’aussi
bons vins, pour peu qu’il ait l’esprit de se mettre bien avec le maître
d’hôtel. Mais, hélas ! oublions ces châteaux en Espagne ; il était écrit
que mon rêve ne devait pas se réaliser.
 Le jour où l’on doit être pendu et celui où l’on est condamné à se
marier arrivent toujours trop vite au gré de nos désirs. L’aurore ne
tarda pas à éclairer l’heureuse matinée qui devait couronner la
flamme de l’Honorable H. P. Cinqpoints. Il avait demandé l’hospitalité
à son ami le capitaine Bullseye, et comme il n’osait envoyer
chercher les effets restés à l’hôtel Mirabeau, crainte de mettre les
recors sur la piste, sa garde-robe n’était pas des mieux montées.
Ses jolis nécessaires, ses chemises de fine batiste, ses toilettes du
matin, son admirable collection d’habits dus au ciseau de Staub ou
de Stulz, son beau musée de chaussures vernies, tout cela
manquait à l’appel. En attendant qu’il pût les réclamer, il s’était
contenté de commander deux costumes complets à un tailleur sans
renom du voisinage, et de faire acheter une quantité de linge
suffisante.
Le jour de la noce, il revêtit l’habit bleu, confectionné par ledit
artiste, et je lui demandai, par pure curiosité, s’il aurait encore besoin
de la redingote sortie des mêmes ateliers. Comme il était d’assez
bonne humeur, malgré l’approche de l’heure fatale, il me répondit :
— Eh ! non ; tu peux la garder et t’en aller au diable avec !
A onze heures et demie, je sortis pour examiner s’il ne rôdait pas
aux alentours quelque visage suspect. J’ai un talent merveilleux pour
flairer les recors ; je les sens avant qu’ils aient tourné le coin de la
rue où ils vont se montrer. Je ne vis rien qui dût m’inspirer la moindre
crainte. Enfin un remise aux dehors modestes s’arrêta devant notre
porte ; mon maître s’y installa, et le voilà parti pour le lieu du
supplice. Je n’avais pas voulu monter sur le siége, car j’étais connu,
et ma présence à l’extérieur du véhicule eût révélé celle de
Cinqpoints à l’intérieur. Prenant des rues de traverse, je me dirigeai
en courant vers le bas du faubourg Saint-Honoré, où habite Son
Excellence l’ambassadeur d’Angleterre, chez qui tout bon sujet
anglais prenant femme à Paris est tenu de se marier.
Il existait à cette époque, à côté de l’ambassade, un autre hôtel
dont le rez-de-chaussée était occupé par un marchand de vin. Le
remise s’arrêta un instant en face de cet établissement, afin de
laisser passer un équipage qui entra dans la cour de lord Bobtail, où
il déposa deux dames de notre connaissance ; la première paraissait
bossue et la seconde n’était autre que la fidèle Kicksey, qui de
confidente passait demoiselle d’honneur.
Or, lorsque le remise s’était arrêté, je ne me trouvais plus qu’à
quelques mètres de l’ambassade. Notre imbécile de cocher, qui
n’avait pas compris qu’il devait entrer dans la cour, descendait pour
ouvrir ; je m’avançais pour le faire remonter, lorsque tout à coup
deux gaillards, s’élançant du cabaret en question, se placent entre la
voiture et l’ambassade, tandis que deux autres individus, non moins
laids que leurs camarades et sortis de je ne sais où, se présentent à
l’autre portière.
— Monsieur Cinqpoints, dit l’un de ces derniers, je vous arrête au
nom de la loi !
Mon maître s’élança vers l’autre portière, comme s’il eût été
mordu par une vipère. Au moment de sauter dehors, il s’aperçut
qu’on lui avait également coupé la retraite de ce côté. Il abaissa
alors la glace de devant et cria d’une voix désespérée :
— Au galop, cocher ! au galop !
Mais le cocher n’était plus sur son siége, et d’ailleurs il se serait
bien gardé d’obéir à cet ordre. Bref, au moment où j’atteignais le
remise, deux recors y prenaient place à côté de Cinqpoints. Je vis
que la partie était perdue, et, n’écoutant que mon devoir, je montai
tristement derrière la voiture.
— Tiens, dit un des gardes du commerce, c’est le drôle qui nous
a si bien joués l’autre matin. Rira bien qui rira le dernier.
Je l’avais reconnu aussi, mais j’étais trop abattu pour sourire ou
pour lui répondre d’une façon convenable.
— Où allons-nous, mon bourgeois ? demanda le cocher.
Une voix sinistre, partie du fond de la voiture, cria :
— Rue de Clichy, à la prison pour dettes !
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
 Peut-être devrais-je entrer ici dans quelques détails sur les us et
coutumes des habitants de cette célèbre prison ; mais j’hésite devant
une pareille tâche, d’abord, parce que l’admirable Boz [9] , dans son
amusante biographie du sieur Pickwick, nous a donné une si
excellente description d’une prison pour dettes, que je crains d’entrer
en lice avec lui ; ensuite, parce que je restai fort peu de temps dans
l’hôtel de la rue de Clichy, ne voulant pas gaspiller les belles années
de ma jeunesse dans un pareil séjour.
[9] Pseudonyme sous lequel Charles Dickens a
commencé à se faire connaître.

(Note du traducteur.)

On devine que la première commission dont me chargea mon

maître fut de porter quelques mots de consolation à sa future
éplorée. La pauvre fille était dans un état de désolation facile à
comprendre : elle avait attendu à l’ambassade jusqu’à deux heures
et demie, espérant voir arriver son fiancé d’une minute à l’autre.
Enfin, après avoir patienté et patienté, se trouvant encore dans la
triste position d’Anne, ma sœur Anne, qui ne voit rien venir, elle avait
fini par s’en retourner chez elle.
Cinqpoints, ne pouvant cacher le fait de son arrestation, avoua
sans hésiter le malheur qui venait de lui arriver. Il inventa quelque
gros mensonge à propos de la trahison d’un ami, ou d’un faux
pendable dont il était victime. Du reste, il pouvait raconter ce qu’il
voulait à miss Griffin ; s’il lui avait écrit que l’homme dans la lune
l’avait trahi, elle n’aurait pas manqué de le croire.
Lady Griffin ne se montrait plus lors de mes visites. Elle se tenait
dans son salon, tandis que Mathilde recevait dans le sien. Elles ne
dînaient pas même ensemble, ayant reconnu que cette façon de
vivre était le seul moyen d’empêcher les querelles. Mais lord Crabs
voyait les deux dames, remplissant, avec sa grâce et sa bonté
habituelles, un rôle de conciliateur d’autant plus ingrat qu’il était loin
d’obtenir le résultat désiré. Il arriva chez miss Griffin, au moment où
celle-ci pleurait à chaudes larmes au récit des infortunes de
Cinqpoints. Elle venait de me demander si on n’avait pas plongé son
futur dans un cachot noir, infect et humide, meublé d’une simple
botte de paille ; s’il n’était pas exposé aux brutalités d’un geôlier
barbare, armé d’un trousseau de grosses clefs et coiffé d’un bonnet
de fourrure ; si on lui donnait à manger autre chose que du pain noir ;
s’il ne risquait pas d’être dévoré par les rats, et cent autres questions
non moins ridicules. Les prisons qu’elle avait vues dans les romans
étant toutes montées sur ce pied-là, elle ne se figurait guère un
établissement de ce genre où l’on pût recevoir ses amis, boire du vin
de Champagne et jouer aux quilles avec ses compagnons de
captivité.
— Milord, milord ! s’écria-t-elle, vous avez appris la fatale
nouvelle ?
— Ma chère Mathilde, votre trouble m’effraye !… De quoi s’agit-
il ?… Parlez au nom du ciel !… Se pourrait-il que ?… Oui… Non…
C’est impossible !… Un autre duel… Ah ! les pressentiments d’un
père ne sauraient le tromper : il est arrivé un nouveau malheur à
mon fils !… Parlez, John, je suis préparé à tout !
Ce gaillard-là était né pour jouer les pères nobles ; il avait des
larmes dans les yeux et dans la voix. Moi qui le connaissais, j’avais
presque envie de le consoler.
— Milord, répondis-je, le mal n’est pas si grand que vous
paraissez le croire. Votre fils est à Clichy. On l’a arrêté ce matin,
voilà tout.
— En prison ! Percy arrêté ? Le pauvre garçon ! Et pour quelle
somme ? Nommez-la, que je coure le délivrer.
— Milord sera heureux d’apprendre qu’il ne s’agit que d’une
bagatelle d’une centaine de mille francs environ.
— Cent mille francs !… Malédiction ! s’écria lord Crabs en
joignant les mains et en levant les yeux au ciel… En ce moment, je
n’ai pas même le dixième de cette somme à ma disposition !…
Chère Mathilde, comment le tirer d’embarras ?
— Hélas ! milord, je n’ai ici que trois guinées ; vous savez que
lady Griffin…
 — Oui, oui, ma chère enfant, je sais tout cela, interrompit le
comte ; mais ne vous désespérez pas. Percy doit être en état de
payer cette misère, et s’il vous aime véritablement, il n’hésitera pas à
sortir de prison pour vous épouser.
Croyant qu’il faisait allusion à l’argent du jeune Dakins, que nous
avions à peine entamé, je ne fis aucune observation ; néanmoins je
m’étonnais que miss Griffin, avec sa fortune, n’eût que trois guinées
à sa disposition. A cette époque, j’étais assez naïf pour me figurer
que les gens riches avaient toujours une centaine de mille francs
dans leur poche.
Je rapportai au prisonnier une lettre pleine de tendresse et de
dévouement. Je lui racontai tout ce qui s’était passé. Il parut fort peu
touché des intentions généreuses de lord Crabs. Je n’oubliai pas
non plus de lui dire combien il me semblait étrange que Mathilde
n’eût que trois guinées sur elle.
— Bast ! fit mon maître en m’interrompant au milieu de cette
judicieuse remarque. Les paroles et la conduite de son père
semblaient le préoccuper bien davantage. Après avoir fait en silence
quelques tours dans le parloir, il s’arrêta brusquement et me
demanda :
— John, avez-vous observé ?… Est-ce que Mathilde… je veux
dire : est-ce que mon père vous a paru très-empressé auprès de Mlle
Griffin ?
— Comment l’entendez-vous, monsieur ?
(J’aime assez à forcer les gens à mettre les points sur les i.)
— Lord Crabs avait-il l’air de faire la cour à miss Mathilde ? reprit
Cinqpoints.
— Mais oui… Il la cajolait et faisait de son mieux pour la consoler.
— Répondez franchement : miss Griffin, de son côté, paraissait-
elle flattée des attentions de milord ?
— Très-flattée, monsieur.
— Comment milord la nommait-il ? Disait-il mademoiselle ou ma
chère demoiselle ?
 — Il ne disait ni l’un ni l’autre ; il l’appelait sa chère fille, sa bonne
petite, sa chère Mathilde.
— Lui a-t-il pris la main ?
— Oui, et même…
— Eh bien ! achève donc !
— Il l’a embrassée en lui disant de ne pas se désoler de ce qui
venait de vous arriver. Il a répété que vous aviez certainement de
quoi payer vos dettes, et que si vous restiez en prison, c’est que
vous ne teniez guère à vous marier.
— J’y vois clair maintenant ! s’écria Percy en fermant le poing… Il
cherche à m’enlever ma dernière espérance ! Il voudrait l’épouser
lui-même !
Après avoir lâché une douzaine de jurons que je n’aurai pas la
hardiesse de répéter ici, il se calma un peu et parut réfléchir.
Quant aux intentions présumées de lord Crabs, je partageais
l’avis du prisonnier. En voyant ce digne vieillard établir des relations
si tendres et si suivies avec Mmes Griffin, je m’étais bien douté qu’il
nourrissait quelque projet matrimonial. D’ailleurs, si j’avais été assez
myope pour ne pas m’en apercevoir, les confidences de mes
camarades auraient suffi pour m’ouvrir les yeux.
Cinqpoints était trop intelligent pour ne pas deviner qu’à moins
d’épouser miss Griffin dans le plus bref délai, il courait risque de se
voir remplacer. Tout s’expliquait ; son père voulait l’écarter afin de se
mettre sur les rangs. L’achat des lettres de change, la visite de
maître Grippart, le rendez-vous fixé pour midi, les recors qui se
trouvent là à point nommé, tout cela était l’œuvre de lord Crabs.
Peut-être même ce maudit duel avec de l’Orge… Mais non, un père
ne frappe pas de pareils coups. Une femme, une faible femme, peut
seule songer à assassiner les gens par derrière ; comme il ne lui est
pas permis d’attaquer ses ennemis en face, on aurait mauvaise
grâce à lui reprocher les armes déloyales dont elle apprend à se
servir dès son enfance.
 Dans tous les cas, le vieux Crabs cherchait encore à nous jouer
quelque vilain tour, cela sautait aux yeux. Grâce à mon admirable
présence d’esprit, Cinqpoints avait échappé à un premier piége ;
mais il était tombé dans le second. Or, il savait son père trop bon
enfant pour faire du mal à qui que ce fût pour le simple plaisir de
commettre une mauvaise action. Milord était arrivé à ce degré de
perfection qu’il méprisait souverainement les injures, et ne songeait
à se venger que lorsque la vengeance devait lui rapporter quelque
chose. Ergo, s’il tenait à empêcher le mariage de son fils, c’est qu’il
voulait épouser l’héritière pour son propre compte.
Mon maître n’eut pas besoin de me communiquer les
raisonnements au moyen desquels il arriva à cette dernière
conclusion, car je le connaissais trop bien pour ne pas lire dans sa
pensée. Je vis qu’il regrettait plus que jamais d’avoir refusé de
négocier un emprunt avec l’auteur de ses jours.
Pauvre diable ! il croyait avoir deviné juste, il se figurait que son
père laissait voir comme cela les cartes qu’il allait jouer ! Moi aussi,
je tombai dans cette grossière méprise ; mais nous nous trompions
tous les deux, ainsi qu’on le verra bientôt.
Raisonnant comme nous le faisions, la logique nous commandait
d’épouser au plus vite, coûte que coûte, la charmante Mathilde. Je
dis coûte que coûte, car pour sortir de prison, il fallait payer nos
dettes, et nos dettes payées, il ne nous resterait que fort peu de
chose.
Mais qu’est-ce qu’un pareil enjeu pour un joueur de profession,
lorsqu’il s’agit de pourrir en prison ou de gagner deux cent cinquante
mille francs de rente ? Voyant qu’il n’y avait pas d’autre parti à
prendre, Cinqpoints se décida à risquer son va-tout, et écrivit à miss
Griffin la lettre que voici :

« Ma Mathilde adorée,

» Votre lettre a été une bien grande consolation pour le

pauvre prisonnier, qui avait espéré que cette nuit serait le plus
 beau jour de sa vie et qui se voit condamné à la passer dans
un cachot ! Vous savez de quelle infâme trahison je suis
victime. Perdre un peu d’argent n’est rien, mais se voir
tromper par un ami ! Qu’importent quelques écus, après tout ;
qu’importe même l’amitié trahie, si votre amour me reste !
Comme vous le dites, nous serons assez riches malgré ce
contre-temps. Et qu’est-ce que cinq mille livres à côté des
tourments de l’absence ? Je serais un monstre, si j’hésitais à
faire un si léger sacrifice pour me rapprocher de celle qui m’a
donné son cœur ; car je ne l’ai pas perdu, n’est-ce pas, ce
cœur dont la possession me rend plus fier que toutes les
richesses du monde ? Je suis trop heureux de pouvoir vous
donner une si faible preuve de désintéressement et d’amour.
Dites-moi que vous acceptez ce sacrifice, et demain vous
verrez tomber ces odieuses chaînes qui me retiennent loin de
vous ; demain je serai libre, ou du moins je ne porterai
d’autres liens que ceux qui m’enchaîneront à jamais à vos
pieds. Mon adorable Mathilde, ma fiancée, écris-moi avant la
fin du jour ; je ne saurais goûter un seul instant de repos
avant d’avoir reçu ta réponse et je languis en l’attendant.

» H. P. C. »

Ayant donné une dernière couche de vernis à cette tendre

élucubration, dont il fit plusieurs brouillons, Cinqpoints me la confia
en me disant de la remettre à miss Mathilde en personne. Je me
rendis place Vendôme. Mlle Griffin était seule dans son appartement.
Je me fis annoncer et je lui donnai la lettre de son adorateur. Elle la
parcourut avec une émotion bien naturelle. Je n’ai compté ni ses
larmes ni ses soupirs ; mais il y en avait certainement assez pour
remplir le petit bassin des Tuileries et gonfler un ballon d’une
dimension raisonnable. Après avoir achevé cette lecture, elle me prit
la main et me demanda :
— Oh ! John, il est donc bien misérable ?
 — Oh ! oui, miss ! répondis-je, aussi misérable qu’il est possible
de l’être.
Mathilde courut à son buvard et rédigea tout d’une haleine la
réponse suivante :

« Que mon pauvre rossignol cesse de se désoler.

J’accepte son sacrifice. Il peut déployer les ailes, briser les
barreaux de sa cage, regagner son nid et chanter dans les
bras de sa fidèle compagne ! Mon bien-aimé me trouvera
demain au même endroit, à la même heure. Alors, alors ! la
mort seule pourra nous désunir !

» M. G. »

Ce style-là est le résultat inévitable d’une étude trop assidue des

romans de cabinets de lecture. Combien j’aime mieux la naïve
originalité du mien ! Je suis les inspirations de mon cœur, je dis
simplement ce que je pense ou ce que j’ai vu, et je sais intéresser
sans phrases ampoulées. J’abhorre tout ce qui sent l’artifice ou
l’affectation… Mais revenons à nos moutons, c’est-à-dire à ce
vénérable bélier de lord Crabs, et à ce tendre agneau, miss
Mathilde.
Cette dernière venait de cacheter sa lettre, et j’allais, d’après les
ordres de mon maître, lui dire :
— Mademoiselle, l’Honorable Percy Cinqpoints vous prie
instamment de ne parler à personne de la cérémonie qui doit avoir
lieu demain, lorsque le père du futur se présenta. Miss Griffin
s’empressa de lui sauter au cou, tandis que je me retirais
discrètement au fond de la chambre.
— Lisez, mon cher lord, lisez et ne doutez plus des nobles
sentiments qui animent votre… je devrais dire notre Percy.
Lord Crabs prit la lettre, la parcourut (cette lecture semblait
l’amuser infiniment) et la rendit en disant, à ma grande stupéfaction :
 — En effet, mon fils vous donne là une preuve très-sérieuse de
son attachement ; et ma foi, si vous voulez absolument vous marier
sans le consentement de votre belle-mère et subir les conséquences
de cet acte d’insubordination, personne n’a le droit de vous en
empêcher.
— Les conséquences ! Fi donc, milord ! Qu’importe à deux cœurs
comme les nôtres un peu d’argent de plus ou de moins ?
— L’amour est une très-jolie chose, ma chère enfant ; mais c’est
une valeur qui n’est pas cotée à la Bourse… Le trois pour cent vaut
mieux.
— N’aurons-nous pas une fortune suffisante sans recourir à lady
Griffin ?
Milord haussa les épaules en disant :
— Soit, ma chère petite ; puisque vous êtes décidée à vous
contenter de si peu, je n’ai, pour ma part, aucun motif pour
m’opposer à l’union de deux êtres aussi désintéressés.
Ainsi se termina cette conversation. Miss Griffin se retira en
levant les mains et les yeux vers le plafond, c’est-à-dire vers le ciel.
Elle n’eut pas plutôt disparu que milord se mit à trotter de long en
large dans la chambre, les mains dans les poches, le visage éclairé
par une joie diabolique et chantant sur un air connu ces paroles
incohérentes :

Monsieur Malbrouck est mort

Tradéri déra ! tradéri, déri, déra !

J’étais abasourdi, comme vous devez bien le penser. Lord Crabs

ne voulait donc pas épouser miss Griffin ? Il laissait à son fils cette
intéressante bossue ? Elle n’avait donc pas la for…!
Je me livrais à ces réflexions, le corps droit et immobile, la
bouche grande ouverte et les yeux écarquillés. Milord fredonnait son
dernier déri déra au moment où j’arrivais à la syllabe for de mon
monologue. Nous en étions là, dis-je, lorsqu’une rencontre
inattendue interrompit nos méditations respectives. Lord Crabs, au