THE COUNT'S MILLIONS

By Emile Gaboriau

Translated from the French

A novel in two parts. Part Two of this novel is found in the volume:Baron Trigault's Vengeance

PASCAL AND MARGUERITE. 

I. 

It was a Thursday evening, the fifteenth of October; and although onlyhalf-past six o'clock, it had been dark for some time already. Theweather was cold, and the sky was as black as ink, while the wind blewtempestuously, and the rain fell in torrents. 

The servants at the Hotel de Chalusse, one of the most magnificentmansions in the Rue de Courcelles in Paris, were assembled in theporter's lodge, a little building comprising a couple of rooms standingon the right hand side of the great gateway. Here, as in all largemansions, the "concierge" or porter, M. Bourigeau, was a person ofimmense importance, always able and disposed to make any one who wasinclined to doubt his authority, feel it in cruel fashion. As could beeasily seen, he held all the other servants in his power. He couldlet them absent themselves without leave, if he chose, and conceal allreturns late at night after the closing of public balls and wine-shops. Thus, it is needless to say that M. Bourigeau and his wife were treatedby their fellow-servants with the most servile adulation. 

The owner of the house was not at home that evening, so that M. Casimir, the count's head valet, was serving coffee for the benefit of all theretainers. And while the company sipped the fragrant beverage which hadbeen generously tinctured with cognac, provided by the butler, they allunited in abusing their common enemy, the master of the house. For thetime being, a pert little waiting-maid, with an odious turn-up nose, hadthe floor. She was addressing her remarks to a big, burly, and ratherinsolent-looking fellow, who had been added only the evening before tothe corps of footmen. "The place is really intolerable, " she was saying. "The wages are high, the food of the very best, the livery just suchas would show off a good-looking man to the best advantage, and MadameLeon, the housekeeper, who has entire charge of everything, is not toolynx-eyed. "

"And the work?"

"A mere nothing. Think, there are eighteen of us to serve only twopersons, the count and Mademoiselle Marguerite. But then there is neverany pleasure, never any amusement here. "

"What! is one bored then?"

"Bored to death. This grand house is worse than a tomb. No receptions, no dinners--nothing. Would you believe it, I have never seen thereception-rooms! They are always closed; and the furniture is droppingto pieces under its coverings. There are not three visitors in thecourse of a month. "

She was evidently incensed, and the new footman seemed to share herindignation. "Why, how is it?" he exclaimed. "Is the count an owl? Aman who's not yet fifty years old, and who's said to be worth severalmillions. "

"Yes, millions; you may safely say it--and perhaps ten, perhaps twentymillions too. "

"Then all the more reason why there should be something going on here. What does he do with himself alone, all the blessed day?"

"Nothing. He reads in the library, or wanders about the garden. Sometimes, in the evening, he drives with Mademoiselle Marguerite to theBois de Boulogne in a closed carriage; but that seldom happens. Besides, there is no such thing as teasing the poor man. I've been in the housefor six months, and I've never heard him say anything but: 'yes'; 'no';'do this'; 'very well'; 'retire. ' You would think these are the onlywords he knows. Ask M. Casimir if I'm not right. "

"Our guv'nor isn't very gay, that's a fact, " responded the valet. 

The footman was listening with a serious air, as if greatly interestedin the character of the people whom he was to serve. "And mademoiselle, "he asked, "what does she say to such an existence?"

"Bless me! during the six months she has been here, she has never oncecomplained. "

"If she is bored, " added M. Casimir, "she conceals it bravely. "

"Naturally enough, " sneered the waiting-maid, with an ironical gesture;"each month that mademoiselle remains here, brings her too much moneyfor her to complain. "

By the laugh that greeted this reply, and by the looks the olderservants exchanged, the new-comer must have realized that he haddiscovered the secret skeleton hidden in every house. "What! what!" heexclaimed, on fire with curiosity; "is there really anything in that? Totell the truth, I was inclined to doubt it. "

His companions were evidently about to tell him all they knew, or ratherall they thought they knew, when the front-door bell rang vigorously. 

"There he comes!" exclaimed the concierge; "but he's in too much of ahurry; hell have to wait awhile. "

He sullenly pulled the cord, however; the heavy door swayed on itshinges, and a cab-driver, breathless and hatless, burst into the room, crying, "Help! help!"

The servants sprang to their feet. 

"Make haste!" continued the driver. "I was bringing a gentlemanhere--you must know him. He's outside, in my vehicle----"

Without pausing to listen any longer, the servants rushed out, and thedriver's incoherent explanation at once became intelligible. At thebottom of the cab, a roomy four-wheeler, a man was lying all of a heap, speechless and motionless. He must have fallen forward, face downward, and owing to the jolting of the vehicle his head had slipped under thefront seat. 

"Poor devil!" muttered M. Casimir, "he must have had a stroke ofapoplexy. " The valet was peering into the vehicle as he spoke, and hiscomrades were approaching, when suddenly he drew back, uttering a cry ofhorror. "Ah, my God! it is the count!"

Whenever there is an accident in Paris, a throng of inquisitivespectators seems to spring up from the very pavement, and indeed morethan fifty persons had already congregated round about the vehicle. Thiscircumstance restored M. Casimir's composure; or, at least, some portionof it. "You must drive into the courtyard, " he said, addressing thecabman. "M. Bourigeau, open the gate, if you please. " And then, turningto another servant, he added:

"And you must make haste and fetch a physician--no matter who. Run tothe nearest doctor, and don't return until you bring one with you. "

The concierge had opened the gate, but the driver had disappeared; theycalled him, and on receiving no reply the valet seized the reins andskilfully guided the cab through the gateway. 

Having escaped the scrutiny of the crowd, it now remained to remove thecount from the vehicle, and this was a difficult task, on account of thesingular position of his body; still, they succeeded at last, by openingboth doors of the cab, the three strongest men uniting in their efforts. Then they placed him in a large arm-chair, carried him to his own room, and speedily had him undressed and in bed. 

He had so far given no sign of life; and as he lay there with his headweighing heavily on the pillow, you might have thought that all wasover. His most intimate friend would scarcely have recognized him. Hisfeatures were swollen and discolored; his eyes were closed, and a darkpurple circle, looking almost like a terrible bruise, extended roundthem. A spasm had twisted his lips, and his distorted mouth, which wasdrawn on one side and hung half open imparted a most sinister expressionto his face. In spite of every precaution, he had been wounded as he wasremoved from the cab. His forehead had been grazed by a piece of iron, and a tiny stream of blood was trickling down upon his face. However, he still breathed; and by listening attentively, one could distinguish afaint rattling in his throat. 

The servants, who had been so garrulous a few moments before, weresilent now. They lingered in the room, exchanging glances of muteconsternation. Their faces were pale and sad, and there were tears inthe eyes of some of them. What was passing in their minds? Perhaps theywere overcome by that unconquerable fear which sudden and unexpecteddeath always provokes. Perhaps they unconsciously loved this master, whose bread they ate. Perhaps their grief was only selfishness, and theywere merely wondering what would become of them, where they should findanother situation, and if it would prove a good one. Not knowing what todo, they talked together in subdued voices, each suggesting some remedyhe had heard spoken of for such cases. The more sensible among them wereproposing to go and inform mademoiselle or Madame Leon, whose roomswere on the floor above, when the rustling of a skirt against the doorsuddenly made them turn. The person whom they called "mademoiselle" wasstanding on the threshold. 

Mademoiselle Marguerite was a beautiful young girl, about twenty yearsof age. She was a brunette of medium height, with big gloomy eyes shadedby thick eyebrows. Heavy masses of jet-black hair wreathed her lofty butrather sad and thoughtful forehead. There was something peculiar inher face--an expression of concentrated suffering, and a sort of proudresignation, mingled with timidity. 

"What has happened?" she asked, gently. "What is the cause of allthe noise I have heard? I have rung three times and the bell was notanswered. "

No one ventured to reply, and in her surprise she cast a hasty glancearound. From where she stood, she could not see the bed stationed in analcove; but she instantly noted the dejected attitude of the servants, the clothing scattered about the floor, and the disorder that pervadedthis magnificent but severely furnished chamber, which was only lightedby the lamp which M. Bourigeau, the concierge, carried. A sudden dreadseized her; she shuddered, and in a faltering voice she added: "Why areyou all here? Speak, tell me what has happened. "

M. Casimir stepped forward. "A great misfortune, mademoiselle, aterrible misfortune. The count----"

And he paused, frightened by what he was about to say. 

But Mademoiselle Marguerite had understood him. She clasped both handsto her heart, as if she had received a fatal wound, and uttered thesingle word: "Lost!"

The next moment she turned as pale as death, her head drooped, her eyesclosed, and she staggered as if about to fall. Two maids sprang forwardto support her, but she gently repulsed them, murmuring, "Thanks!thanks! I am strong now. "

She was, in fact, sufficiently strong to conquer her weakness. Shesummoned all her resolution, and, paler than a statue, with set teethand dry, glittering eyes, she approached the alcove. She stood there fora moment perfectly motionless, murmuring a few unintelligible words; butat last, crushed by her sorrow, she sank upon her knees beside the bed, buried her face in the counterpane and wept. 

Deeply moved by the sight of this despair, the servants held theirbreath, wondering how it would all end. It ended suddenly. The girlsprang from her knees, as if a gleam of hope had darted through herheart. "A physician!" she said, eagerly. 

"I have sent for one, mademoiselle, " replied M. Casimir. And hearinga voice and a sound of footsteps on the staircase, he added: "Andfortunately, here he comes. "

The doctor entered. He was a young man, although his head was almostquite bald. He was short, very thin, clean-shaven, and clad in blackfrom head to foot. Without a word, without a bow, he walked straight tothe bedside, lifted the unconscious man's eyelids, felt his pulse, anduncovered his chest, applying his ear to it. "This is a serious case, "he said at the close of his examination. 

Mademoiselle Marguerite, who had followed his movements with the mostpoignant anxiety, could not repress a sob. "But all hope is not lost, is it, monsieur?" she asked in a beseeching voice, with hands claspedin passionate entreaty. "You will save him, will you not--you will savehim?"

"One may always hope for the best. "

This was the doctor's only answer. He had drawn his case of instrumentsfrom his pocket, and was testing the points of his lancets on the tipof his finger. When he had found one to his liking: "I must ask you, mademoiselle, " said he, "to order these women to retire, and to retireyourself. The men will remain to assist me, if I require help. "

She obeyed submissively, but instead of returning to her own room, she remained in the hall, seating herself upon the lower step of thestaircase near the door, counting the seconds, and drawing a thousandconjectures from the slightest sound. 

Meanwhile, inside the room, the physician was proceeding slowly, notfrom temperament however, but from principle. Dr. Jodon--for such washis name--was an ambitious man who played a part. Educated by a "princeof science, " more celebrated for the money he gained than for the cureshe effected, he copied his master's method, his gestures, and even theinflections of his voice. By casting in people's eyes the same powder ashis teacher had employed, he hoped to obtain the same results: a largepractice and an immense fortune. In his secret heart he was by no meansdisconcerted by his patient's condition; on the contrary, he did notconsider the count's state nearly as precarious as it really was. 

But bleeding and cupping alike failed to bring the sick man toconsciousness. He remained speechless and motionless; the only resultobtained, was that his breathing became a trifle easier. Finding hisendeavors fruitless, the doctor at last declared that all immediateremedies were exhausted, that "the women" might be allowed to return, and that nothing now remained but to wait for the effect of the remedieshe was about to prescribe, and which they must procure from the nearestchemist. 

Any other man would have been touched by the agony of entreaty containedin the glance that Mademoiselle Marguerite cast upon the physician asshe returned into the room; but it did not affect him in the least. Hecalmly said, "I cannot give my decision as yet. "

"My God!" murmured the unhappy girl; "oh, my God, have mercy upon me!"

But the doctor, copying his model, had stationed himself near thefireplace, with his elbow leaning on the mantel-shelf, in a graceful, though rather pompous attitude. "Now, " he said, addressing his remarksto M. Casimir, "I desire to make a few inquiries. Is this the first timethe Count de Chalusse has had such an attack?"

"Yes, sir--at least since I have been in attendance upon him. "

"Very good. That is a chance in our favor. Tell me--have you ever heardhim complain of vertigo, or of a buzzing in his ears?"

"Never. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite seemed inclined to volunteer some remark, butthe doctor imposed silence upon her by a gesture, and continued hisexamination. "Is the count a great eater?" he inquired. "Does he drinkheavily?"

"The count is moderation itself, monsieur, and he always takes a greatdeal of water with his wine. "

The doctor listened with an air of intent thoughtfulness, his headslightly inclined forward, his brow contracted, and his under lip puffedout, while from time to time he stroked his beardless chin. He wascopying his master. "The devil!" he said, sotto voce. "There mustbe some cause for such an attack, however. Nothing in the count'sconstitution predisposes him to such an accident----" Then, suddenlyturning toward Mademoiselle Marguerite: "Do you know, mademoiselle, whether the count has experienced any very violent emotion during thepast few days?"

"Something occurred this very morning, which seemed to annoy him verymuch. "

"Ah! now we have it, " said the doctor, with the air of an oracle. "Whydid you not tell me all this at first? It will be necessary for you togive me the particulars, mademoiselle. "

The young girl hesitated. The servants were dazed by the doctor'smanner; but Mademoiselle Marguerite was far from sharing their aweand admiration. She would have given anything to have had the regularphysician of the household there instead of him! As for this coarseexamination in the presence of all these servants, and by the bedside ofa man who, in spite of his apparent unconsciousness, was, perhaps, ableto hear and to comprehend, she looked upon it as a breach of delicacy, even of propriety. 

"It is of the most urgent importance that I should be fully informed ofthese particulars, " repeated the physician peremptorily. 

After such an assertion, further hesitation was out of the question. Mademoiselle Marguerite seemed to collect her thoughts, and then shesadly said: "Just as we sat down to breakfast this morning, a letterwas handed to the count. No sooner had his eyes fallen upon it, than heturned as white as his napkin. He rose from his seat and began to walkhastily up and down the dining-room, uttering exclamations of anger andsorrow. I spoke to him, but he did not seem to hear me. However, after afew moments, he resumed his seat at the table, and began to eat----"

"As usual?"

"He ate more than usual, monsieur. Only I must tell you that it seemedto me he was scarcely conscious of what he was doing. Four or five timeshe left the table, and then came back again. At last, after quite astruggle, he seemed to come to some decision. He tore the letter topieces, and threw the pieces out of the window that opens upon thegarden. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite expressed herself with the utmost simplicity, and there was certainly nothing particularly extraordinary in her story. Still, those around her listened with breathless curiosity, as thoughthey were expecting some startling revelation, so much does thehuman mind abhor that which is natural and incline to that which ismysterious. 

Without seeming to notice the effect she had produced, and addressingherself to the physician alone, the girl continued: "After the letterwas destroyed, M. De Chalusse seemed himself again. Coffee was served, and he afterward lighted a cigar as usual. However, he soon let it goout. I dared not disturb him by any remarks; but suddenly he said to me:'It's strange, but I feel very uncomfortable. ' A moment passed, withouteither of us speaking, and then he added: 'I am certainly not well. Will you do me the favor to go to my room for me? Here is the key of myescritoire; open it, and on the upper shelf you will find a small bottlewhich please bring to me. ' I noticed with some surprise that M. DeChalusse, who usually speaks very distinctly, stammered and hesitatedconsiderably in making this request, but, unfortunately, I did not thinkmuch about it at the time. I did as he requested, and he poured eightor ten drops of the contents of the vial into a glass of water, andswallowed it. "

So intense was Dr. Jodon's interest that he became himself again. Heforgot to attitudinize. "And after that?" he asked, eagerly. 

"After that, M. De Chalusse seemed to feel much better, and retired tohis study as usual. I fancied that any annoyance the letter had causedhim was forgotten; but I was wrong, for in the afternoon he sent amessage, through Madame Leon, requesting me to join him in the garden. I hastened there, very much surprised, for the weather was extremelydisagreeable. 'Dear Marguerite, ' he said, on seeing me, 'help me to findthe fragments of that letter which I flung from the window this morning. I would give half my fortune for an address which it must certainly havecontained, but which I quite overlooked in my anger. ' I helped him ashe asked. He might have reasonably hoped to succeed, for it was rainingwhen the scraps of paper were thrown out, and instead of flying throughthe air, they fell directly on to the ground. We succeeded in findinga large number of the scraps, but what M. De Chalusse so particularlywanted was not to be read on any one of them. Several times he spoke ofhis regret, and cursed his precipitation. "

M. Bourigeau, the concierge, and M. Casimir exchanged a significantsmile. They had seen the count searching for the remnants of thisletter, and had thought him little better than an idiot. But noweverything was explained. 

"I was much grieved at the count's disappointment, " continuedMademoiselle Marguerite, "but suddenly he exclaimed, joyfully: 'Thataddress--why, such a person will give it to me--what a fool I am!'"

The physician evinced such absorbing interest in this narrative that heforgot to retain his usual impassive attitude. "Such a person! Who--whowas this person?" he inquired eagerly, without apparently realizing theimpropriety of his question. 

But the girl felt indignant. She silenced her indiscreet questionerwith a haughty glance, and in the driest possible tone, replied: "I haveforgotten the name. "

Cut to the quick, the doctor suddenly resumed his master's pose; but allthe same his imperturbable sang-froid was sensibly impaired. "Believeme, mademoiselle, that interest alone--a most respectful interest--"

She did not even seem to hear his excuse, but resumed: "I know, however, monsieur, that M. De Chalusse intended applying to the police if hefailed to obtain this address from the person in question. After this heappeared to be entirely at ease. At three o'clock he rang for his valet, and ordered dinner two hours earlier than usual. We sat down to tableat about half-past four. At five he rose, kissed me gayly, and left thehouse on foot, telling me that he was confident of success, and that hedid not expect to return before midnight. " The poor child's firmness nowgave way; her eyes filled with tears, and it was in a voice choked withsobs that she added, pointing to M. De Chalusse: "But at half-past sixthey brought him back as you see him now----"

An interval of silence ensued, so deep that one could hear the faintbreathing of the unconscious man still lying motionless on his bed. However, the particulars of the attack were yet to be learned; and itwas M. Casimir whom the physician next addressed. "What did the driverwho brought your master home say to you?"

"Oh! almost nothing, sir; not ten words. "

"You must find this man and bring him to me. "

Two servants rushed out in search of him. He could not be far away, forhis vehicle was still standing in the courtyard. They found him ina wine-shop near by. Some of the inquisitive spectators who had beendisappointed in their curiosity by Casimir's thoughtfulness had treatedhim to some liquor, and in exchange he had told them all he knew aboutthe affair. He had quite recovered from his fright, and was cheerful, even gay. 

"Come make haste, you are wanted, " said the servants. 

He emptied his glass and followed them with very bad grace, mutteringand swearing between his set teeth. The doctor, strange to say, wasconsiderate enough to go out into the hall to question him; but noinformation of value was gained by the man's answers. He declared thatthe gentleman had hired him at twelve o'clock, hoping by this meansto extort pay for five hours' driving, which, joined to the liberalgratuity he could not fail to obtain, would remunerate him handsomelyfor his day's work. Living is dear, it should be remembered, and afellow makes as much as he can. 

When the cabby had gone off, still growling, although a couple of louishad been placed in his hand, the doctor returned to his patient. Heinvoluntarily assumed his accustomed attitude, with crossed arms, agloomy expression of countenance, and his forehead furrowed as if withthought and anxiety. But this time he was not acting a part. In spite, or rather by reason of, the full explanation that had been given him, he found something suspicious and mysterious in the whole affair. Athousand vague and undefinable suspicions crossed his mind. Was he inpresence of a crime? Certainly, evidently not. But what was the causethen of the mystery and reticence he detected? Was he upon the track ofsome lamentable family secret--one of those terrible scandals, concealedfor a long time, but which at last burst forth with startling effect?The prospect of being mixed up in such an affair caused him infinitepleasure. It would bring him into notice; he would be mentioned in thepapers; and his increased practice would fill his hands with gold. 

But what could he do to ingratiate himself with these people, imposehimself upon them if needs be? He reflected for some time, and finallywhat he thought an excellent plan occurred to him. He approachedMademoiselle Marguerite, who was weeping in an arm-chair, and touchedher gently on the shoulder. She sprang to her feet at once. "One morequestion, mademoiselle, " said he, imparting as much solemnity to histone as he could. "Do you know what liquid it was that M. De Chalussetook this morning?"

"Alas! no, monsieur. "

"It is very important that I should know. The accuracy of my diagnosisis dependent upon it. What has become of the vial?"

"I think M. De Chalusse replaced it in his escritoire. "

The physician pointed to an article of furniture to the left of thefireplace: "There?" he asked. 

"Yes, monsieur. "

He deliberated, but at last conquering his hesitation, he said: "Couldwe not obtain this vial?"

Mademoiselle Marguerite blushed. "I haven't the key, " she faltered, inevident embarrassment. 

M. Casimir approached: "It must be in the count's pocket, and ifmademoiselle will allow me----"

But she stepped back with outstretched arms as if to protect theescritoire. "No, " she exclaimed, "no--the escritoire shall not betouched. I will not permit it----"

"But, mademoiselle, " insisted the doctor, "your father----"

"The Count de Chalusse is not my father!"

Dr. Jodon was greatly disconcerted by Mademoiselle Marguerite'svehemence. "Ah!" said he, in three different tones, "ah! ah!"

In less than a second, a thousand strange and contradictory suppositionsdarted through his brain. Who, then, could this girl be, if she were notMademoiselle de Chalusse? What right had she in that house? How wasit that she reigned as a sovereign there? Above all, why this angryoutburst for no other apparent cause than a very natural and exceedinglyinsignificant request on his part?

However, she had regained her self-possession, and it was easy to seeby her manner that she was seeking some means of escape from threateneddanger. At last she found it. "Casimir, " she said, authoritatively, "search M. De Chalusse's pocket for the key of his escritoire. "

Astonished by what he regarded as a new caprice, the valet obeyed. Hegathered up the garments strewn over the floor, and eventually drew akey from one of the waistcoat pockets. Mademoiselle Marguerite took itfrom him, and then in a determined tone, exclaimed: "A hammer. "

It was brought; whereupon, to the profound amazement of the physician, she knelt down beside the fireplace, laid the key upon one of theandirons, and with a heavy blow of the hammer, broke it into fragments. "Now, " said she, quietly, "my mind will be at rest. I am certain, " sheadded, turning toward the servants, "that M. De Chalusse would approvewhat I have done. When he recovers, he will have another key made. "

The explanation was superfluous. All the servants understood the motivethat had influenced her, and were saying to themselves, "Mademoiselle isright. It would not do to touch the escritoire of a dying man. Who knowsbut what there are millions in it? If anything were missed, why any ofus might be accused. But if the key is destroyed, it will be impossibleto suspect any one. "

However, the physician's conjectures were of an entirely differentnature. "What can there be in that escritoire which she desires toconceal?" he thought. 

But there was no excuse for prolonging his visit. Once more he examinedthe sick man, whose condition remained unchanged; and then, afterexplaining what was to be done in his absence, he declared that he mustleave at once, as he had a number of important visits to make; he added, however, that he would return about midnight. 

"Madame Leon and I will watch over M. De Chalusse, " replied MademoiselleMarguerite; "that is sufficient assurance, monsieur, that your orderswill be obeyed to the letter. Only--you will not take offence, I trust, if I ask the count's regular physician to meet you in consultation. "

Such a proposal was anything but pleasing to M. Jodon, who had met withthe same misfortune in this aristocratic neighborhood several timesbefore. When an accident happened, he was summoned because he chancedto be close at hand, but just as he was flattering himself that hehad gained a desirable patient, he found himself in presence of somecelebrated physician, who had come from a distance in his carriage. Accustomed to such disappointments, he knew how to conceal hisdissatisfaction. 

"Were I in your place, mademoiselle, I should do precisely what yousuggest, " he answered, "and should you think it unnecessary for me tocall, I----"

"Oh! monsieur, on the contrary, I shall certainly expect you. "

"In that case, very well. " Thereupon he bowed and left the room. 

But Mademoiselle Marguerite followed him on to the landing. "You know, monsieur, " she said, speaking rapidly in an undertone, "that I am notM. De Chalusse's daughter. You may, therefore, tell me the truth. Is hiscondition hopeless?"

"Alarming--yes; hopeless--no. "

"But, monsieur, this terrible unconsciousness----"

"It usually follows such an attack as he has been the victim of. Stillwe may hope that the paralysis will gradually disappear, and the powerof motion return after a time. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite was listening, pale, agitated, and embarrassed. It was evident that she had a question on her lips which she scarcelydared to ask. At last, however, summoning all her courage, sheexclaimed: "And if M. De Chalusse should not recover, will he diewithout regaining consciousness--without being able to speak?"

"I am unable to say, mademoiselle--the count's malady is one of thosewhich set at naught all the hypotheses of science. "

She thanked him sadly, sent a servant to summon Madame Leon, andreturned to the count's room. 

As for the doctor, he said to himself as he went downstairs, "What astrange girl! Is she afraid that the count will regain consciousness?or, on the contrary, does she wish him to speak? Is there any questionof a will under all this? What else can it be? What is at stake?" Hispreoccupation was so intense that he almost forgot where he was going, and he paused on every step. It was not until the fresh air of thecourtyard blew upon his face, reminding him of the realities of life, that the charlatanesque element in his nature regained the ascendency. "My friend, " he said, addressing M. Casimir, who was lighting him out, "you must at once have some straw spread over the street so as to deadenthe sound of the vehicles. And to-morrow, you must inform the commissaryof police. "

Ten minutes later a thick bed of straw had been strewed across thethoroughfare, and the drivers of passing vehicles involuntarilyslackened their speed, for every one in Paris knows what this signifies. M. Casimir personally superintended the work which was intrusted to thegrooms, and he was about to return indoors again, when a young man, whohad been walking up and down in front of the mansion for more than anhour, hastily approached him. He was a beardless fellow with a strangelywrinkled face, as leaden-tinted as that of a confirmed absinthe-drinker. His general expression was shrewd, and at the same time impudent, andsurprising audacity gleamed in his eyes. "What do you want?" asked M. Casimir. 

The young fellow bowed humbly, and replied, "Ah, don't you recognizeme, monsieur? I'm Toto--excuse me--Victor Chupin, employed by M. IsidoreFortunat. "

"Oh, yes. I recollect. "

"I came, in obedience to my employer's orders, to inquire if you hadobtained the information you promised him; but seeing that something hadhappened at your house, I didn't dare go in, but decided to watch foryou----"

"And you did quite right, my lad. I have no information to give you--ah, yes! stop! The Marquis de Valorsay was closeted with the count for twohours yesterday. But what good will that do? The count has been takensuddenly ill, and he will scarcely live through the night. "

Victor Chupin was thunderstruck. "Impossible!" he cried. "Is it for himthat the straw has been strewed in the street?"

"It's for him. "

"What a lucky fellow! No one would go to such expense for me! But I havean idea that my guv'nor will hardly laugh when I tell him this. Still, thank you all the same, m'sieur, and au revoir. " He was darting off whena sudden thought detained him. "Excuse me, " said he, with conjurorlike volubility; "I was so horrified that I forgot business. Tellme, m'sieur, if the count dies, you'll take charge of the funeralarrangements, won't you? Very well; a word of advice then. Don't go tothe regular undertakers, but come to me: here's my address"--profferinga card--"I will treat with the undertakers for you, and take charge ofeverything. It will be much better and far cheaper for you, on accountof certain arrangements I've made with these parties. Everything, to thevery last plume, is warranted to give perfect satisfaction. Each itemwill be specified in the bill, and can be verified during the ceremony, no payment exacted until after delivery. Well, is it understood?"

The valet shrugged his shoulders. "Nonsense!" said he, carelessly; "whatis all that to me?"

"Ah! I forgot to mention that there would be a commission of two hundredfrancs to divide between us. "

"That's consideration. Give me your card, and rely on me. My complimentsto M. Fortunat, please. " And so saying, he re-entered the house. 

Victor Chupin drew a huge silver watch from his pocket and consultedit. "Five minutes to eight, " he growled, "and the guv'nor expects me ateight precisely. I shall have to stretch out my legs. "

II. 

M. Isidore Fortunat resided at No. 27 Place de la Bourse, on thethird floor. He had a handsome suite of apartments: a drawing-room, adining-room, a bed-room, a large outer office where his clerksworked, and a private one, which was the sanctuary of his thoughts andmeditations. The whole cost him only six thousand francs a year, a meretrifle as rents go nowadays. His lease entitled him, moreover, to theuse of a room ten feet square, up under the eaves, where he lodged hisservant, Madame Dodelin, a woman of forty-six or thereabouts, who hadmet with reverses of fortune, and who now took such good charge of hisestablishment, that his table--for he ate at home--was truly fit for asybarite. 

Having been established here for five years or more, M. Fortunat wasvery well known in the neighborhood, and, as he paid his rent promptly, and met all his obligations without demur, he was generally respected. Besides, people knew very well from what source M. Fortunat derived hisincome. He gave his attention to contested claims, liquidations, therecovery of legacies, and so on, as was shown by the inscription inlarge letters which figured on the elegant brass plate adorning hisdoor. He must have had a prosperous business, for he employed sixcollectors in addition to the clerks who wrote all day long in hisoffice; and his clients were so numerous that the concierge was oftenheard to complain of the way they ran up and down the stairs, declaringthat it was worse than a procession. 

To be just, we must add that M. Fortunat's appearance, mannersand conduct were of a nature to quiet all suspicions. He was somethirty-eight years of age, extremely methodical in his habits, gentleand refined in his manner, intelligent, very good-looking, and alwaysdressed in perfect taste. He was accused of being, in business matters, as cold, as polished, and as hard as one of the marble slabs of theMorgue; but then, no one was obliged to employ him unless they choseto do so. This much is certain: he did not frequent cafes or places ofamusement. If he went out at all after dinner, it was only to passthe evening at the house of some rich client in the neighborhood. Hedetested the smell of tobacco, and was inclined to be devout--neverfailing to attend eight o'clock mass on Sunday mornings. His housekeepersuspected him of matrimonial designs, and perhaps she was right. 

On the evening that the Count de Chalusse was struck with apoplexy M. Isidore Fortunat had been dining alone and was sipping a cup of tea whenthe door-bell rang, announcing the arrival of a visitor. Madame Dodelinhastened to open the door, and in walked Victor Chupin, breathless fromhis hurried walk. It had not taken him twenty-five minutes to coverthe distance which separates the Rue de Courcelles from the Place de laBourse. 

"You are late, Victor, " said M. Fortunat, quietly. 

"That's true, monsieur, but it isn't my fault. Everything was inconfusion down there, and I was obliged to wait. "

"How is that? Why?"

"The Count de Chalusse was stricken with apoplexy this evening, and heis probably dead by this time. "

M. Fortunat sprang from his chair with a livid face and trembling lips. "Stricken with apoplexy!" he exclaimed in a husky voice. "I am ruined!"

Then, fearing Madame Dodelin's curiosity, he seized the lamp and rushedinto his office, crying to Chupin: "Follow me. "

Chupin obeyed without a word, for he was a shrewd fellow, and knew howto make the best of a trying situation. He was not usually allowedto enter this private room, the floor of which was covered with amagnificent carpet; and so, after carefully closing the door, heremained standing, hat in hand, and looking somewhat intimidated. ButM. Fortunat seemed to have forgotten his presence. After depositing thelamp on the mantel-shelf, he walked several times round and round theroom like a hunted beast seeking for some means of egress. 

"If the count is dead, " he muttered, "the Marquis de Valorsay is lost!Farewell to the millions!"

The blow was so cruel, and so entirely unexpected, that he could not, would not believe in its reality. He walked straight to Chupin, andcaught him by the collar, as if the young fellow had been the causeof this misfortune. "It isn't possible, " said he; "the count CANNOTbe dead. You are deceiving me, or they deceived you. You must havemisunderstood--you only wished to give some excuse for your delayperhaps. Speak, say something!"

As a rule, Chupin was not easily impressed, but he felt almostfrightened by his employer's agitation. "I only repeated what M. Casimirtold me, monsieur, " was his reply. 

He then wished to furnish some particulars, but M. Fortunat had alreadyresumed his furious tramp to and fro, giving vent to his wrath anddespair in incoherent exclamations. "Forty thousand francs lost!" heexclaimed. "Forty thousand francs, counted out there on my desk! I seethem yet, counted and placed in the hand of the Marquis de Valorsay inexchange for his signature. My savings for a number of years, and I haveonly a worthless scrap of paper to show for them. That cursed marquis!And he was to come here this evening, and I was to give him ten thousandfrancs more. They are lying there in that drawer. Let him come, thewretch, let him come!"

Anger had positively brought foam to M. Fortunat's lips, and any oneseeing him then would subsequently have had but little confidence in hiscustomary good-natured air and unctuous politeness. "And yet the marquisis as much to be pitied as I am, " he continued. "He loses as much, even more! And such a sure thing it seemed, too! What speculation can afellow engage in after this? And a man must put his money somewhere; hecan't bury it in the ground!"

Chupin listened with an air of profound commiseration; but it was onlyassumed. He was inwardly jubilant, for his interest in the affair was indirect opposition to that of his employer. Indeed, if M. Fortunat lostforty thousand francs by the Count de Chalusse's death, Chupin expectedto make a hundred francs commission on the funeral. 

"Still, he may have made a will!" pursued M. Fortunat. "But no, I'msure he hasn't. A poor devil who has only a few sous to leave behind himalways takes this precaution. He thinks he may be run over by an omnibusand suddenly killed, and he always writes and signs his last wishes. But millionaires don't think of such things; they believe themselvesimmortal!" He paused to reflect for a moment, for power of reflectionhad returned to him. His excitement had quickly spent itself by reasonof its very violence. "This much is certain, " he resumed, slowly, andin a more composed voice, "whether the count has made a will or not, Valorsay will lose the millions he expected from Chalusse. If thereis no will, Mademoiselle Marguerite won't have a sou, and then, goodevening! If there is one, this devil of a girl, suddenly becomingher own mistress, and wealthy into the bargain, will send Monsieur deValorsay about his business, especially if she loves another, as hehimself admits--and in that case, again good evening!"

M. Fortunat drew out his handkerchief, and, pausing in front of thelooking-glass, wiped the perspiration from his brow, and arranged hisdisordered hair. He was one of those men who may be stunned, but nevercrushed, by a catastrophe. "In conclusion, " he muttered, "I must entermy forty thousand francs as an item in the profit and loss account. Itonly remains to be seen if it would not be possible to regain them inthe same affair. " He was again master of himself, and never had his mindbeen more clear. He seated himself at his desk, leant his elbows uponit, rested his head on his hands, and remained for some time perfectlymotionless; but there was triumph in his gesture when he at last lookedup again. 

"I am safe, " he muttered, so low that Chupin could not hear him. "What afool I was! If there is no will a fourth of the millions shall be mine!Ah, when a man knows his ground, he never need lose the battle! But Imust act quickly, " he added, "very quickly. " And so speaking, he roseand glanced at the clock. "Nine o'clock, " said he. "I must open thecampaign this very evening. "

Motionless in his dark corner, Chupin still retained his commiseratingattitude; but he was so oppressed with curiosity that he could scarcelybreathe. He opened his eyes and ears to the utmost, and watched hisemployer's slightest movements with intense interest. 

Prompt to act when he had once decided upon his course, M. Fortunat nowdrew from his desk a large portfolio, crammed full of letters, receipts, bills, deeds of property, and old parchments. "I can certainly discoverthe necessary pretext here, " he murmured, rummaging through the mass ofpapers. But he did not at once find what he sought, and he was growingimpatient, as could be seen by his feverish haste, when all at once hepaused with a sigh of relief. "At last!"

He held in his hand a soiled and crumpled note of hand, affixed by apin to a huissier's protest, thus proving conclusively that it had beendishonored. M. Fortunat waved these strips of paper triumphantly, andwith a satisfied air exclaimed: "It is here that I must strike; it ishere--if Casimir hasn't deceived me--that I shall find the indispensableinformation I need. "

He was in such haste that he did not wait to put his portfolio in order. He threw it with the papers it had contained into the drawer of hisdesk again, and, approaching Chupin, he asked, "It was you, was it not, Victor, who obtained that information respecting the solvency of theVantrassons, husband and wife, who let out furnished rooms?"

"Yes, monsieur, and I gave you the answer: nothing to hope for----"

"I know; but that doesn't matter. Do you remember their address?"

"Perfectly. They are now living on the Asnieres Road, beyond thefortifications, on the right hand side. "

"What is the number?"

Chupin hesitated, reflected for a moment, and then began to scratchhis head furiously, as he was in the habit of doing whenever his memoryfailed him and he wished to recall it to duty. "I'm not sure whether thenumber is eighteen or forty-six, " he said, at last; "that is----"

"Never mind, " interrupted M. Fortunat. "If I sent you to the house couldyou find it?"

"Oh--yes, m'sieur--at once--with my eyes shut. I can see the placeperfectly--a rickety old barrack. There is a tract of unoccupied land onone side, and a kitchen-garden in the rear. "

"Very well; you shall accompany me there. "

Chupin seemed astonished by this strange proposal. "What, m'sieur, " saidhe, "do you think of going there at this time of night?"

"Why not? Shall we find the establishment closed?"

"No; certainly not. Vantrasson doesn't merely keep furnished rooms; he'sa grocer, and sells liquor too. His place is open until eleven o'clockat least. But if you are going there to present a bill, it's perhapsa little late. If I were in your place, m'sieur, I should waittill to-morrow. It's raining, and the streets are deserted. It's anout-of-the-way place too; and in such cases, a man has been known tosettle his account with whatever came handiest--with a cudgel, or abullet, for instance. "

"Are you afraid?"

This question seemed so utterly absurd to Chupin that he was not inthe least offended by it; his only answer was a disdainful shrug of theshoulders. 

"Then we will go, " remarked M. Fortunat. "While I'm getting ready, goand hire a cab, and see that you get a good horse. "

Chupin was off in an instant, tearing down the staircase like a tempest. There was a cab-stand only a few steps from the house, but he preferredto run to the jobmaster's stables in the Rue Feydeau. 

"Cab, sir!" shouted several men, as they saw him approaching. 

He made no reply, but began to examine the horses with the air of aconnoisseur, until at last he found an animal that suited him. Thereuponhe beckoned to the driver, and going to the little office where a womansat reading: "My five sous, if you please, " he said, authoritatively. 

The woman looked at him. Most jobmasters are in the habit of giving fivesous to any servant who comes in search of a cab for his master; andthis was the custom here. But the keeper of the office, who felt surethat Chupin was not a servant, hesitated; and this made the young fellowangry. "Make haste, " he cried, imperiously. "If you don't, I shall runto the nearest stand. "

The woman at once threw him five sous, which he pocketed with asatisfied grin. They were his--rightfully his--since he had taken thetrouble to gain them. He then hastily returned to the office to informhis employer that the cab was waiting at the door, and found himselfface to face with a sight which made him open his eyes to their widestextent. 

M. Fortunat had profited by his clerk's absence, not to disguisehimself--that would be saying too much--but to make some changes in hisappearance. He had arrayed himself in a long overcoat, shiny with greaseand wear, and falling below his knees; in place of his elegant satincravat he had knotted a gaudy silk neckerchief about his throat; hisboots were worn, and out of shape; and his hat would have been treatedwith contempt even by a dealer in old clothes. Of the prosperousFortunat, so favorably known round about the Place de la Bourse, naughtremained save his face and his hands. Another Fortunat had taken hisplace, more than needy in aspect--wretched, famished, gaunt with hunger, ready for any desperate deed. And, yet, he seemed at ease in this garb;it yielded to his every movement, as if he had worn it for a long time. The butterfly had become a chrysalis again. Chupin's admiring smile musthave repaid him for his trouble. Since the young clerk evinced approval, M. Fortunat felt sure that Vantrasson would take him for what he wishedto appear--a poor devil of an agent, who was acting on some otherperson's behalf. "Let us start at once, " said he. 

But just as he was leaving the ante-room, he remembered an order ofgreat importance which he wished to give. He called Madame Dodelin, andwithout paying the slightest heed to her astonishment at seeing him thusattired: "If the Marquis de Valorsay comes, in my absence, " saidhe--"and he WILL come--ask him to wait for me. I shall returnbefore midnight. Don't take him into my office--he can wait in thedrawing-room. "

This last order was certainly unnecessary, since M. Fortunat had closedand double-locked his office door and placed the key carefully in hisown pocket. But perhaps he had forgotten this circumstance. Therewere now no traces of his recent anger and disappointment. He was inexcellent humor; and you might have supposed that he was starting on anenterprise from which he expected to derive both pleasure and profit. 

Chupin was climbing to a place on the box beside the driver when hisemployer bade him take a seat inside the vehicle. They were not long inreaching their destination, for the horse was really a good one, and thedriver had been stimulated by the promise of a magnificent gratuity. Infact, M. Fortunat and his companion reached the Asnieres Road in lessthan forty minutes. 

In obedience to the orders he had received before starting, the cabmandrew up on the right hand side of the road, at about a hundred pacesfrom the city gate, beyond the fortifications. "Well, sir, here you are!Are you satisfied?" he inquired, as he opened the door. 

"Perfectly satisfied, " replied M. Fortunat. "Here is your promisedgratuity. Now, you have only to wait for us. Don't stir from this place. Do you understand?"

But the driver shook his head. "Excuse me, " he said, "but if it's allthe same to you, I will station myself over there near the gate. Here, you see, I should be afraid to go to sleep, while over there----"

"Very well; suit yourself, " M. Fortunat replied. 

This precaution on the driver's part convinced him that Chupin had notexaggerated the evil reputation of this quarter of the Parisian suburbs. And, indeed, there was little of a reassuring character in the aspectof this broad road, quite deserted at this hour, and shrouded in thedarkness of a tempestuous night. The rain had ceased falling, but thewind blew with increased violence, twisting the branches off the trees, tearing slates from the roofs, and shaking the street-lamps so furiouslyas to extinguish the gas. They could not see a step before them; the mudwas ankle-deep, and not a person, not a solitary soul was visible. 

"Are we almost there?" M. Fortunat asked every ten paces. 

"Almost there, m'sieur. "

Chupin said this; but to tell the truth, he knew nothing about it. He tried to discover where he was, but did not succeed. Houses werebecoming scanty, and vacant plots of building ground more numerous;it was only with the greatest difficulty that one could occasionallydiscern a light. At last, however, after a quarter of an hour's hardstruggling, Chupin uttered a joyful cry. "Here we are, m'sieur--look!"said he. 

A large building, five stories high, sinister of aspect, and standingquite alone, could just be distinguished in the darkness. It was alreadyfalling to pieces, and yet it was not entirely completed. Plainlyenough, the speculator who had undertaken the enterprise had not beenrich enough to complete it. On seeing the many closely pierced windowsof the facade, a passer-by could not fail to divine for what purposethe building had been erected; and in order that no one should remain inignorance of it, this inscription: "Furnished Rooms, " figured inletters three feet high, between the third and fourth floors. The insidearrangements could be easily divined: innumerable rooms, all small andinconvenient, and let out at exorbitant rentals. 

However, Victor Chupin's memory had misled him. This establishment wasnot on the right, but on the left-hand side of the road, a perfect mirethrough which M. Fortunat and his companion were obliged to cross. Theireyes having become accustomed to the darkness, they could discern sundrydetails as they approached the building. The ground floor comprisedtwo shops, one of which was closed, but the other was still open, and afaint light gleamed through the soiled red curtains. Over the frontageappeared the shop-keeper's name, Vantrasson, while on either side, insmaller letters, were the words: "Groceries and Provisions--Foreign andFrench Wines. " Everything about this den denoted abject poverty and lowdebauchery. 

M. Fortunat certainly did not recoil, but before entering the shophe was not sorry to have an opportunity to reconnoitre. He approachedcautiously, and peered through the window at a place where a rent inthe curtain allowed him some view of the interior. Behind the countera woman who looked some fifty years of age was seated, mending a soileddress by the light of a smoking lamp. She was short and very stout. She seemed literally weighed down, and puffed out by an unwholesomeand unnatural mass of superfluous flesh; and she was as white as if herveins had been filled with water, instead of blood. Her hangingcheeks, her receding forehead, and her thin lips, imparted an alarmingexpression of wickedness and cunning to her countenance. At the fartherend of the store Fortunat could vaguely discern the figure of a manseated on a stool. He seemed to be asleep, for his crossed arms restedon a table, with his head leaning on them. 

"Good luck!" whispered Chupin in his employer's ear; "there is nota customer in the place. Vantrasson and his wife are alone. " Thiscircumstance was by no means displeasing to M. Fortunat, as could beseen by his expression of face. "So, m'sieur, " continued Chupin, "youneed have no fears. I'll remain here and watch, while you go in. "

M. Fortunat did so. On hearing the door open and shut, the woman laiddown her work. "What can I do for monsieur?" she asked, in a wheedlingvoice. 

M. Fortunat did not reply at once; but he drew the note with whichhe had provided himself from his pocket, and displayed it. "I am ahuissier's clerk, " he then exclaimed; "and I called in reference to thislittle matter--a note of hand for five hundred and eighty-three francs, value received in goods, signed Vantrasson, and made payable to theorder of a person named Barutin. "

"An execution!" said the woman, whose voice suddenly soured. "Vantrasson, wake up, and come and see about this. "

This summons was unnecessary. On hearing the words "note of hand, "the man had lifted his head; and at the name of Barutin, he rose andapproached with a heavy, uncertain step, as if he had not yet sleptoff his intoxication. He was younger than his wife, tall, with awell-proportioned and athletic form. His features were regular, but theabuse of alcohol and all sorts of excesses had greatly marred them, andtheir present expression was one of ferocious brutishness. "What's thatyou are talking about?" he asked in a harsh, grating voice. "Is it tomock people that you come and ask for money on the 15th of October--rentday? Where have you seen any money left after the landlord has made hisround? Besides, what is this bill? Give it me to look at. "

M. Fortunat was not guilty of such folly; he did not intrust the paperto Vantrasson's hand, but held it a little distance from him, and thenread it aloud. 

When he had finished: "That note fell due eighteen months ago, " declaredVantrasson. "It is worth nothing now. "

"You are mistaken--a note of this kind is of value any time within fiveyears after the day it goes to protest. "

"Possibly; but as Barutin has failed, and gone no one knows where, I amreleased----"

"Another mistake on your part. You owe these five hundred andeighty-three francs to the person who bought this note at Barutin'ssale, and who has given my employer orders to prosecute----"

The blood had risen to Vantrasson's face. "And what of that? Do yousuppose I've never been sued for debts before? Even the king can't takeanything from a person who possesses nothing; and I own nothing. Myfurniture is all pawned or mortgaged, and my stock is not worth ahundred francs. When your employer finds it useless to waste money inworrying me, he'll let me alone. You can't injure a man like me. "

"Do you really think so?"

"I'm sure of it. "

"Unfortunately you are again mistaken, for although the holder of thenote doesn't care so very much about obtaining his dues, he'll spend hisown money like water to make trouble for you. " And thereupon M. Fortunatbegan to draw a vivid and frightful picture of a poor debtor pursuedby a rich creditor who harassed him, and tortured him, and hounded himeverywhere, until not even a change of clothing was left him. 

Vantrasson rolled his eyes and brandished his formidable fist in themost defiant manner; but his wife was evidently much alarmed. At lastshe could bear it no longer, and rising hastily she led her husband tothe rear of the shop, saying: "Come, I must speak with you. "

He followed her, and they remained for some little time conversingtogether in a low tone, but with excited gestures. When they returned, the woman opened the conversation. "Alas! sir, " she said to M. Fortunat, "we have no money just now; business is so very bad, and if youprosecute us, we are lost. What can be done? You look like an honestman; give us your advice. "

M. Fortunat did not reply at once; he was apparently absorbed inthought, but suddenly he exclaimed: "One owes a duty to unfortunatefolks, and I'm going to tell you the exact truth. My employer, who isn'ta bad man at heart, hasn't the slightest desire for revenge. He said tome: 'Go and see these Vantrassons, and if they seem to be worthy people, propose a compromise. If they choose to accept it, I shall be quitesatisfied. '"

"And what is this compromise?"

"It is this: you must write an acknowledgment of the debt on a sheet ofstamped paper, together with a promise to pay a little on account eachmonth. In exchange I will give you this note of hand. "

The husband and wife exchanged glances, and it was the woman who said:"We accept. "

But to carry out this arrangement it was necessary to have a sheet ofstamped paper, and the spurious clerk had neglected to provide himselfwith some. This circumstance seemed to annoy him greatly, and you mightalmost have sworn that he regretted the concession he had promised. Didhe think of going? Madame Vantrasson feared so, and turning eagerlyto her husband, she exclaimed: "Run to the tobacco shop in the Rue deLevis; you will find some paper there!"

He started off at once, and M. Fortunat breathed freely again. He hadcertainly retained his composure admirably during the interview, butmore than once he had fancied that Vantrasson was about to spring onhim, crush him with his brawny hands, tear the note from him, burn it, and then throw him, Fortunat, out into the street, helpless and nearlydead. But now that danger had passed and Madame Vantrasson, fearing hemight tire of waiting, was prodigal in her attentions. She broughthim the only unbroken chair in the establishment, and insisted that heshould partake of some refreshment--a glass of wine at the very least. While rummaging among the bottles, she alternately thanked him andcomplained, declaring she had a right to repine, since she had knownbetter days--but fate had been against her ever since her marriage, though she had little thought she would end her days in such misery, after having been so happy in the Count de Chalusse's household manyyears before. 

To all appearance, M. Fortunat listened with the mere superficialinterest which ordinary politeness requires one to show, but in realityhis heart was filled with intense delight. Coming here without anyclearly-defined plan, circumstances had served him a thousand timesbetter than he could reasonably have hoped. He had preserved hispower over the Vantrassons, had won their confidence, had succeededin obtaining a tete-a-tete with the wife, and to crown all, this womanalluded, of her own accord, to the very subject upon which he waslonging to question her. 

"Ah! if I were only back in the Count's household again, " she exclaimed. "Six hundred francs a year, and gifts worth double that amount. Thosewere good times for me. But you know how it is--one is never contentwith one's lot, and then the heart is weak----"

She had not succeeded in finding the sweet wine which she proposed toher guest; so in its place she substituted a mixture of ratafia andbrandy in two large glasses which she placed upon the counter. "Oneevening, to my sorrow, " she resumed, "I met Vantrasson at a ball. It wasthe 13th day of the month. I might have known no good would come of it. Ah, you should have seen him at that time, in full uniform. He belongedto the Paris Guards then. All the women were crazy about soldiers, andmy head was turned, too----" Her tone, her gestures, and the compressionof her thin lips, revealed the bitterness of her disappointment and herunavailing regret. "Ah, these handsome men!" she continued; "don'ttalk to me about them! This one had heard of my savings. I had nineteenthousand francs, so he begged me to marry him, and I was fool enoughto consent. Yes, fool--for I was forty, and he was only thirty. I mighthave known it was my money that he wanted, and not me. However, I gaveup my situation, and even purchased a substitute for him, in order thatI might have him all to myself. "

She had gradually warmed with her theme, as she described her confidenceand blind credulity, and then, with a tragic gesture, as if she desiredto drive away these cruel memories, she suddenly seized her glass andemptied it at a draught. 

Chupin, who was still at his post outside, experienced a thrill ofenvy, and involuntarily licked his lips. "A mixed ratafia, " he said, longingly. "I shouldn't object to one myself. "

However, this choice compound seemed to inspire Madame Vantrasson withrenewed energy, for, with still greater earnestness, she resumed: "Atfirst, all went well. We employed my savings in purchasing the Hotel desEspagnes, in the Rue Notre Dame des Victoires, and business prospered;there was never a vacant room. But any person who has drank, sir, willdrink again. Vantrasson kept sober for a few months, but gradually hefell into his old habits. He was in such a condition most of the timethat he was scarcely able to ask for food. And if that had been all!But, unfortunately, he was too handsome a man to be a good husband. Onenight he didn't come home, and the next day, when I ventured to reproachhim--very gently, I assure you--he answered me with an oath and a blow. All our happiness was over! Monsieur declared that he was master, andwould do as he liked. He drank and carried away all the wine from thecellar--he took all the money--he remained away for weeks together; andif I complained--more blows!"

Her voice trembled, and a tear gathered in her eye; but, wiping it awaywith the back of her hand, she resumed: "Vantrasson was always drunk, and I spent my time in crying my very eyes out. Business became verybad, and soon everybody left the house. We were obliged to sell it. We did so, and bought a small cafe. But by the end of the year we lostthat. Fortunately, I still had a little money left, and so I bought astock of groceries in my own name; but in less than six months the stockwas eaten up, and we were cast into the street. What was to be done?Vantrasson drank worse than ever; he demanded money when he knew that Ihad none to give him, and he treated me even more cruelly than before. I lost courage--and yet one must live! Oh, you wouldn't believe it ifI told you how we have lived for the past four years. " She did not tellhim, but contented herself with adding, "When you begin to go down hill, there is no such thing as stopping; you roll lower and lower, until youreach the bottom, as we have done. Here we live, no one knows how; wehave to pay our rent each week, and if we are driven from this place, Isee no refuge but the river. "

"If I had been in your position, I should have left my husband, " M. Fortunat ventured to remark. 

"Yes--it would have been better, no doubt. People advised me to doso, and I tried. Three or four times I went away, and yet I alwaysreturned--it was stronger than myself. Besides, I'm his wife; I've paiddearly for him; he's mine--I won't yield him to any one else. He beatsme, no doubt; I despise him, I hate him, and yet I----" She poured outpart of a glass of brandy, and swallowed it; then, with a gesture ofrage, she added: "I can't give him up! It's fate! As it is now, it willbe until the end, until he starves, or I----"

M. Fortunat's countenance wore an expression of profound commiseration. A looker-on would have supposed him interested and sympathetic to thelast degree; but in reality, he was furious. Time was passing, and theconversation was wandering farther and farther from the object of hisvisit. "I am surprised, madame, " said he, "that you never applied toyour former employer, the Count de Chalusse. "

"Alas! I did apply to him for assistance several times----"

"With what result?"

"The first time I went to him he received me; I told him my troubles, and he gave me bank-notes to the amount of five thousand francs. "

M. Fortunat raised his hands to the ceiling. "Five thousand francs!" herepeated, in a tone of astonishment; "this count must be very rich----"

"So rich, monsieur, that he doesn't know how much he's worth. He owns, nobody knows how many houses in Paris, chateaux in every part of thecountry, entire villages, forests--his gold comes in by the shovelful. "

The spurious clerk closed his eyes, as if he were dazzled by this visionof wealth. 

"The second time I went to the count's house, " resumed MadameVantrasson, "I didn't see him, but he sent me a thousand francs. Thethird and last time they gave me twenty francs at the door, and told methat the count had gone on a journey. I understood that I could hope forno further help from him. Besides, all the servants had been changed. One morning, without any apparent reason, M. De Chalusse dismissed allthe old servants, so they told me. He even sent away the concierge andthe housekeeper. "

"Why didn't you apply to his wife?"

"M. De Chalusse isn't married. He never has been married. "

From the expression of solicitude upon her guest's features, MadameVantrasson supposed he was racking his brain to discover some mode ofescape from her present difficulties. "If I were in your place, " hesaid, "I should try to interest his relatives and family in my case----"

"The count has no relatives. "

"Impossible!"

"He hasn't, indeed. During the ten years I was in his service, I heardhim say more than a dozen times that he alone was left of all hisfamily--that all the others were dead. People pretend that this is thereason why he is so immensely rich. "

M. Fortunat's interest was no longer assumed; he was rapidly approachingthe real object of his visit. "No relatives!" he muttered. "Who, then, will inherit his millions when he dies?"

Madame Vantrasson jerked her head. "Who can say?" she replied. "Everything will go to the government, probably, unless---- But no, that's impossible. "

"What's impossible?"

"Nothing. I was thinking of the count's sister, Mademoiselle Hermine. "

"His sister! Why, you said just now that he had no relatives. "

"It's the same as if he hadn't; no one knows what has become of her, poor creature! Some say that she married; others declare that she died. It's quite a romance. "

M. Isidore Fortunat was literally upon the rack; and to make hissufferings still more horrible, he dared not ask any direct question, nor allow his curiosity to become manifest, for fear of alarming thewoman. "Let me see, " said he; "I think--I am sure that I have heard--orthat I have read--I cannot say which--some story about a Mademoiselle deChalusse. It was something terrible, wasn't it?"

"Terrible, indeed. But what I was speaking of happened a long timeago--twenty-five or twenty-six years ago, at the very least. I was stillin my own part of the country--at Besancon. No one knows the exact truthabout the affair. "

"What! not even you?"

"Oh! I--that's an entirely different thing. When I entered the count'sservice, six years later, there was still an old gardener who knew thewhole story, and who told it to me, making me swear that I would neverbetray his confidence. "

Lavish of details as she had been in telling her own story, it wasevident that she was determined to exercise a prudent reserve ineverything connected with the De Chalusse family; and M. Fortunatinwardly cursed this, to him, most unseasonable discretion. But he wasexperienced in these examinations, and he had at his command littletricks for loosening tongues, which even an investigating magistratemight have envied. Without seeming to attach the slightest importance toMadame Vantrasson's narrative, he rose with a startled air, like aman who suddenly realizes that he has forgotten himself. "Zounds!" heexclaimed, "we sit here gossiping, and it's growing late. I really can'twait for your husband. If I remain here any longer, I shall miss thelast omnibus; and I live on the other side of the river, near theLuxembourg. "

"But our agreement, monsieur?"

"We will draw that up at some future time. I shall be passing again, orI will send one of my colleagues to see you. "

It was Madame Vantrasson's turn to tremble now. She feared, if sheallowed this supposed clerk to go without signing the agreement, thatthe person who came in his stead might not prove so accommodating; andeven if he called again himself, he might not be so kindly disposed. "Wait just a moment longer, monsieur, " she pleaded; "my husband willsoon be back, and the last omnibus doesn't leave the Rue de Levis untilmidnight. "

"I wouldn't refuse, but this part of the suburbs is so lonely. "

"Vantrasson will see you on your way. " And, resolved to detain him atany cost, she poured out a fresh glass of liquor for him, and said:"Where were we? Oh, yes! I was about to tell you Mademoiselle Hermine'sstory. "

Concealing his delight with an assumed air of resignation, M. Fortunatreseated himself, to the intense disgust of Chupin, who was thoroughlytired of waiting outside in the cold. 

"I must tell you, " began Madame Vantrasson, "that when this happened--atleast twenty-five years ago--the De Chalusse family lived in the RueSaint-Dominique. They occupied a superb mansion, with extensive grounds, full of splendid trees like those in the Tuileries gardens. MademoiselleHermine, who was then about eighteen or nineteen years old, was, according to all accounts, the prettiest young creature ever seen. Herskin was as white as milk, she had a profusion of golden hair, and hereyes were as blue as forget-me-nots. She was very kind and generous, they say, only, like all the rest of the family, she was very haughtyand obstinate--oh, obstinate enough to allow herself to be roasted aliveover a slow fire rather than yield an inch. That's the count's natureexactly. Having served him, I know something about it, to be sure, and----"

"Excuse me, " interrupted M. Fortunat, who was determined to preventthese digressions, "and Mademoiselle Hermine?"

"I was coming to her. Although she was very beautiful and immenselyrich, she had no suitors--for it was generally understood that she wasto marry a marquis, whose father was a particular friend of the family. The parents had arranged the matter between them years before, andnothing was wanting but the young lady's consent; but MademoiselleHermine absolutely refused to hear the marquis's name mentioned. 

"They did everything to persuade her to consent to this marriage; theyemployed prayers and threats alike, but they might as well have talkedto a stone. When they asked her why she refused to marry the marquis, she replied, 'Because'--and that was all. In fact, at last she declaredshe would leave home and take refuge in a convent, if they didn't ceaseto torment her. Her relatives were certain there must be some reasonfor her refusal. It isn't natural for a girl to reject a suitor whois young, handsome, rich, and a marquis besides. Her friends suspectedthere was something she wouldn't confess; and M. Raymond swore that hewould watch his sister, and discover her secret. "

"M. Raymond is the present Count de Chalusse, I suppose?" inquired M. Fortunat. 

"Yes, monsieur. Such was the state of matters when, one night, thegardener thought he heard a noise in the pavilion, at the end of thegarden. This pavilion was very large. I have seen it. It containeda sitting-room, a billiard-room, and a large fencing-hall. Naturallyenough, the gardener got up to go and see what was the matter. As heleft the house, he fancied he saw two persons moving about among thetrees. He ran after them, but could find nothing. They had made theirescape through a small gate leading from the garden into the street. When the gardener was telling me this story, he declared again andagain that he had fancied the noise he had heard was made by some ofthe servants trying to leave the house secretly, and for this reasonhe didn't give the alarm. However, he hurried to the pavilion, but onseeing no light there, he went back to bed with an easy mind. "

"And it was Mademoiselle Hermine eloping with a lover?" asked M. Fortunat. 

Madame Vantrasson seemed as disappointed as an actor who has beendeprived of an opportunity of producing a grand effect. "Wait a moment, "she replied, "and you'll see. The night passed, morning came, andthen the breakfast hour. But Mademoiselle Hermine did not make herappearance. Some one was sent to rap at her door--there was no answer. The door was opened--the young lady was not in her room, and the bed hadnot even been disturbed. In a few moments the whole household was inthe wildest commotion; the mother weeping, and the father half wildwith rage and sorrow. Of course, the next thought was of MademoiselleHermine's brother, and he was sent for. But, he, too, was not in hisroom, and his bed had not been touched. The excitement was becomingfrenzy, when it occurred to the gardener to mention what he had heardand seen on the previous night. They hastened to the pavilion, anddiscovered what? Why, M. Raymond stretched upon the ground, stiff, cold, and motionless, weltering in his own blood. One of his rigid hands stillgrasped a sword. They lifted him up, carried him to the house, laid himupon his bed, and sent for a physician. He had received two dangerouswounds; one in the throat, the other in the breast. For more than amonth he hung between life and death, and six weeks elapsed before hehad strength to relate what had happened. He was lighting a cigar at hiswindow when he thought he saw a woman's form flit through the garden. A suspicion that it might be his sister flashed through his mind; so hehastened down, stole noiselessly into the pavilion, and there he foundhis sister and a young man who was absolutely unknown to him. He mighthave killed the intruder, but instead of doing so, he told him theywould fight then and there. Weapons were within reach, and they fought, with the result that Raymond was wounded twice, in quick succession, andfell. His adversary, supposing him dead, thereupon fled from the spot, taking Mademoiselle Hermine with him. "

At this point in her narrative Madame Vantrasson evinced a desire topause and draw a breath, and perhaps partake of some slight refreshment;but M. Fortunat was impatient. The woman's husband might return at anymoment. "And, after that?" he inquired. 

"After that--well--M. Raymond recovered, and in about three months'time he was out again; but the parents, who were old folks, had receivedtheir death-blow. They never rallied from the shock. Perhaps they feltthat it was their own hard-heartedness and obstinacy that had causedtheir daughter's ruin--and remorse is hard to bear. They wanedperceptibly from day to day, and during the following year they wereborne to the cemetery within two months of each other. "

From the spurious clerk's demeanor it was easy to see that he had ceasedthinking about his omnibus, and his hostess felt both reassured andflattered. "And Mademoiselle Hermine?" he inquired, eagerly. 

"Alas! monsieur, no one ever knew where she went, or what became ofher. "

"Didn't they try to find her?"

"They searched for her everywhere, for I don't know how long; all theablest detectives in France and in foreign countries tried to find her, but not one of them succeeded in discovering the slightest trace of herwhereabouts. M. Raymond promised an enormous sum to the man who wouldfind his sister's betrayer. He wished to kill him, and he sought for himfor years; but all in vain. "

"And did they never receive any tidings of this unfortunate girl?"

"I was told that they heard from her twice. On the morning followingher flight her parents received a letter, in which she implored theirforgiveness. Five or six months later, she wrote again to say that sheknew her brother was not dead. She confessed that she was a wicked, ungrateful girl--that she had been mad; but she said that her punishmenthad come, and it was terrible. She added that every link was severedbetween herself and her friends, and she hoped they would forget her ascompletely as if she had never existed. She went so far as to say thather children should never know who their mother was, and that never inher life again would she utter the name which she had so disgraced. "

It was the old, sad story of a ruined girl paying for a moment's madnesswith her happiness and all her after life. A terrible drama, no doubt;but one that is of such frequent occurrence that it seems as commonplaceas life itself. Thus any one who was acquainted with M. Isidore Fortunatwould have been surprised to see how greatly he was moved by such atrifle. "Poor girl!" said he, in view of saying something. And then, ina tone of assumed carelessness, he inquired: "Did they never discoverwhat scoundrel carried Mademoiselle de Chalusse away?"

"Never. Who he was, whence he came, whether he was young or old, how hebecame acquainted with Mademoiselle Hermine--these questions were neveranswered. It was rumored at one time that he was an American, a captainin the navy; but that was only a rumor. To tell the truth, they nevereven discovered his name. "

"What, not even his name?"

"Not even his name. "

Unable to master his emotion, M. Fortunat had at least the presence ofmind to rise and step back into the darker part of the shop. But hisgesture of disappointment and the muttered oath that fell from his lipsdid not escape Madame Vantrasson. She was startled, and from that momentshe looked upon the supposed clerk with evident distrust. It was notlong before he again resumed his seat nearer the counter, still atrifle pale, perhaps, but apparently calm. Two questions more seemedindispensable to him, and yet either one of them would be sure to arousesuspicion. Nevertheless, he resolved to incur the risk of betrayinghimself. And, after all, what would it matter now? Did he not possessthe information he had wished for, at least as much of it as it was inthis woman's power to impart? "I can scarcely tell you, my dear madame, how much your narrative has interested me, " he began. "I can confessnow that I am slightly acquainted with the Count de Chalusse, and that Ihave frequently visited the house in the Rue de Courcelles, where he nowresides. "

"You!" exclaimed the woman, taking a hasty inventory of M. Fortunat'stoilette. 

"Yes, I--on the part of my employer, understand. Each time I've beento visit M. De Chalusse's I've seen a young lady whom I took for hisdaughter there. I was wrong, no doubt, since he isn't a married man--"

He paused. Astonishment and anger seemed to be almost suffocating hishostess. Without understanding how or why, she felt convinced that shehad been duped; and if she had obeyed her first impulse she would haveattacked M. Isidore then and there. If she restrained this impulse, ifshe made an effort to control herself, it was only because she thoughtshe held a better revenge in reserve. 

"A young lady in the count's house!" she said, thoughtfully. "That'sscarcely possible. I've never seen her; I've never heard her spoken of. How long has she been there?"

"For six or seven months?"

"In that case, I can't absolutely deny it. It's two years since I setfoot in the count's house. "

"I fancied this young lady might be the count's niece MademoiselleHermine's daughter. "

Madame Vantrasson shook her head. "Put that fancy out of your head, "she remarked. "The count said that his sister was dead to him from theevening of her flight. "

"Who CAN this young girl be, then?"

"Bless me! I don't know. What sort of a looking person is she?"

"Very tall; a brunette. "

"How old is she?"

"Eighteen or nineteen. "

The woman made a rapid calculation on her fingers. "Nine and four arethirteen, " she muttered, "and five are eighteen. Ah, ha!--why not? Imust look into this. "

"What did you say?"

"Nothing; a little reflection I was making to myself. Do you know thisyoung lady's name?"

"It's Marguerite. "

The woman's face clouded. "No; it can't be then, " she muttered, in ascarcely audible voice. 

M. Fortunat was on coals of fire. It was evident that this frightfulcreature, even if she knew nothing definite, had some idea, some vaguesuspicion of the truth. How could he compel her to speak now that shewas on her guard? He had not time to ascertain, for the door suddenlyopened, and Vantrasson appeared on the threshold. He was scarcely soberwhen he left the shop, but now he was fairly drunk; his heavy shamblehad become a stagger. "Oh, you wretch, you brigand!" howled his wife;"you've been drinking again!"

He succeeded in maintaining his equilibrium, and, gazing at her with thephlegmatic stare peculiar to intoxicated men, he replied: "Well, whatof that! Can't I have a little pleasure with my friends? I came acrossa couple of men who were just taking their fifteenth glass; why should Irefuse a compliment?"

"You can't hold yourself up. "

"That's true. " And to prove it he tumbled on to a chair. 

A torrent of abuse now flowed from Madame Vantrasson's lips! M. Fortunat only imperfectly distinguished the words "thief, " "spy, " and"detective;" but he could not mistake the meaning of the looks which shealternately gave her husband and himself. "It's a fortunate thing foryou that my husband is in this condition, " her glances plainly implied, "otherwise there would be an explanation, and then we should see--"

"I've had a lucky escape, " thought the spurious clerk. But as mattersstood there was nothing to fear. It was a case where one could show abrave front to the enemy without incurring the slightest danger. "Letyour husband alone, " said he. "If he has only brought the paper that hewas sent to fetch, I sha'n't have lost my evening to oblige you. "

Vantrasson had brought not one sheet of stamped paper, but two. A badpen and some muddy ink were produced, and M. Fortunat began to draw upan acknowledgment according to the established formula. However, it wasnecessary to mention the name of the creditor of whom he had spoken, andnot wishing to state his own, he used that of poor Victor Chupin, whowas at that very moment shivering at the door, little suspecting whatliberty was being taken with his cognomen. 

"Chupin!" repeated the vixen, as if to engrave the name on her memory;"Victor Chupin! I should just like to see him, " she added, viciously. 

When the document was finished, it became necessary to wake Vantrasson, so that he might sign it. He did so with very good grace, and his wifeappended her signature beside her husband's. Thereupon M. Fortunat gavethem in exchange the note which had served as a pretext for his visit. "And above all, " he remarked, as he opened the door to go, "don't forgetthat you are to pay something on account each month. "

"Go to the devil, and your account with you!" growled Madame Vantrasson. 

But Fortunat did not hear this. He was already walking down the roadby the side of Chupin, who was saying: "Well, here you are, at last, m'sieur! I thought you had taken a lease of that old barrack. If ever Icome here again, I'll bring a foot-warmer with me. "

But one of those fits of profound abstraction to which determinedseekers after truth are subject had taken possession of M. Fortunat, andmade him oblivious of all surrounding circumstances. His heart had beenfull of hope when he reached the Asnieres Road, but he went away gloomyand despondent; and quite unconscious of the darkness, the mud, and therain, which was again falling, he silently plodded along in the middleof the highway. Chupin was obliged to stop him at the city gate, andremind him that the cab was waiting. 

"That's true, " was M. Fortunat's only answer. He entered the vehicle, certainly without knowing it; and as they rolled homeward, the thoughtsthat filled his brain to overflowing found vent in a sort of monologue, of which Chupin now and then caught a few words. "What a piece ofbusiness!" he muttered--"what a piece of business! I've had seven years'experience in such matters, and yet I've never met with an affairso shrouded in mystery. My forty thousand francs are in a precariouscondition. Certainly I've lost money before through heirs whoseexistence I hadn't even suspected; but by reinstating these same heirsin their rights, I've regained my lost money, and received a handsomereward in addition; but in this case all is darkness; there isn't asingle gleam of light--not the slightest clew. If I could only findthem! But how can I search for people whose names I don't even know--forpeople who have escaped all the inquiries of the police? And where shallI look for them--in Europe, in America? It would be sheer madness! Towhom, then, will the count's millions go?"

It was only the sudden stoppage of the cab in front of his own door thatrecalled M. Fortunat to the realities of life. "Here are twentyfrancs, Victor, " he said to Chupin. "Pay the driver, and keep the restyourself. "

As he spoke, he sprang nimbly to the ground. A handsome brougham, drawnby two horses, was standing before the house. "The Marquis de Valorsay'scarriage, " muttered M. Fortunat. "He has been very patient; he haswaited for me--or, rather, he has waited for my ten thousand francs. Well, we shall see. "

III. 

M. Fortunat had scarcely started off on his visit to the Vantrassonswhen the Marquis de Valorsay reached the Place de la Bourse. 

"Monsieur has gone out, " said Madame Dodelin, as she opened the door. 

"You must be mistaken, my good woman. "

"No, no; my master said you would, perhaps, wait for him. "

"Very well; I will do so. "

Faithful to the orders she had received, the servant conducted thevisitor to the drawing-room, lit the tapers in the candelabra, andretired. "This is very strange!" growled the marquis. "Monsieur Fortunatmakes an appointment, Monsieur Fortunat expects me to wait for him! Whatwill happen next?" However, he drew a newspaper from his pocket, threwhimself into an arm-chair, and waited. 

By his habits and tastes, the Marquis de Valorsay belonged to thatsection of the aristocracy which has coined the term "high life" in viewof describing its own manners and customs. The matters that engrossedthe marquis's frivolous mind were club-life and first performances atthe opera and the leading theatres, social duties and visits to thefashionable watering-places, racing and the shooting and huntingseasons, together with his mistress and his tailor. 

He considered that to ride in a steeple-chase was an act of prowessworthy of his ancestors; and when he galloped past the stand, clad asa jockey, in top-boots and a violet silk jacket, he believed he readadmiration in every eye. This was his every-day life, which had beenenlivened by a few salient episodes: two duels, an elopement with amarried woman, a twenty-six hours' seance at the gaming table, and afall from his horse, while hunting, which nearly cost him his life. These acts of valor had raised him considerably in the estimation ofhis friends, and procured him a celebrity of which he was not a littleproud. The newspaper reporters were constantly mentioning his name, andthe sporting journals never failed to chronicle his departure from Parisor his arrival in the city. 

Unfortunately, such a life of busy idleness has its trials and itsvicissitudes, and M. De Valorsay was a living proof of this. He was onlythirty-three, but in spite of the care he expended upon his toilette, he looked at least forty. Wrinkles were beginning to show themselves;it required all the skill of his valet to conceal the bald spots on hiscranium; and since his fall from his horse, he had been troubled bya slight stiffness in his right leg, which stiffness became perfectlameness in threatening weather. Premature lassitude pervaded hisentire person, and when he relaxed in vigilance even his eyes betrayeda distaste for everything--weariness, satiety as it were. All the same, however, he bore himself with an undeniable air of distinction, albeitthe haughtiness of his manner indicated an exaggerated idea of his ownimportance. He was indeed in the habit of treating all those whom heconsidered his inferiors with supercilious sufficiency. 

The clock on M. Fortunat's mantel-shelf struck eleven at last and themarquis rose to his feet with a muttered oath. "This is too much!" hegrowled, angrily. 

He looked about for a bell, and seeing none, he was reduced to the direnecessity of opening the door himself, and calling some one. MadameDodelin answered the summons. "Monsieur said he would return beforemidnight, " she replied; "so he will certainly be here. There is no onelike him for punctuality. Won't monsieur have patience a little longer?"

"Well, I will wait a few moments; but, my good woman, light the fire; myfeet are frozen!"

M. Fortunat's drawing-room being used but seldom, was really as frigidas an iceberg; and to make matters still worse, M. De Valorsay was inevening dress, with only a light overcoat. The servant hesitated for aninstant, thinking this visitor difficult to please, and inclined to makehimself very much at home, still she obeyed. 

"I think I ought to go, " muttered the marquis. "I really think Iought to go. " And yet he remained. Necessity, it should be remembered, effectually quiets the revolts of pride. 

Left an orphan in his early childhood, placed in possession of animmense fortune at the age of twenty-three, M. De Valorsay had enteredlife like a famished man enters a dining-room. His name entitled him toa high position in the social world; and he installed himself at tablewithout asking how much the banquet might cost him. It cost him dear, as he discovered at the end of the first year, on noting that hisdisbursements had considerably exceeded his large income. It was veryevident that if he went on in this way, each twelvemonth would deepenan abyss where in the one hundred and sixty thousand francs a year, lefthim by his father, would finally be swallowed up. But he had plenty oftime to reflect upon this unpleasant possibility ere it could come topass! And, besides, he found his present life so delightful, and heobtained so much gratification for his money, that he was unwilling tomake any change. He possessed several fine estates, and he found plentyof men who were only too glad to lend him money on such excellentsecurity. He borrowed timidly at first, but more boldly when hediscovered what a mere trifle a mortgage is. Moreover, his wantsincreased in proportion to his vanity. Occupying a certain position inthe opinion of his acquaintances, he did not wish to descend from theheights to which they had exalted him; and the very fact that he hadbeen foolishly extravagant one year made it necessary for him to beguilty of similar folly during the succeeding twelvemonth. He failed topay his creditors the interest that was due on his loans. They did notask him for it; and perhaps he forgot that it was slowly but surelyaccumulating, and that at the end of a certain number of years theamount of his indebtedness would be doubled. He never thought what theend would be. He became absolutely ignorant of the condition of hisaffairs, and really arrived at the conclusion that his resources wereinexhaustible. He believed this until one day when on going to hislawyer for some money, that gentleman coldly said: "You requested me toobtain one hundred thousand francs for you, Monsieur le Marquis--but Ihave only been able to procure fifty thousand--here they are. And do nothope for more. All your real estate is encumbered beyond its value. Yourcreditors will probably leave you in undisturbed possession for anotheryear--it will be to their interest--but when it has elapsed they willtake possession of their own, as they have a perfect right to do. " Then, with a meaning smile, the smile of a wily prime minister, he added: "IfI were in your place, Monsieur le Marquis, I would profit by this yearof grace. You undoubtedly understand what I mean. I have the honor towish you good-morning. "

What an awakening--after a glorious dream that had lasted for ten years. M. De Valorsay was stunned--crushed. For three days he remained immuredin his own room, obstinately refusing to receive any one. "The marquisis ill, " was his valet's answer to every visitor. 

M. De Valorsay felt that he must have time to regain his mentalequilibrium--to look his situation calmly in the face. It was afrightful one, for his ruin was complete, absolute. He could savenothing from the wreck. What was to become of him? What could he do? Heset his wits to work; but he found that he was incapable of plying anykind of avocation. All the energy he had been endowed with by nature hadbeen squandered--exhausted in pandering to his self-conceit. If he hadbeen younger he might have turned soldier; but at his age he had noteven this resource. Then it was that his notary's smile recurred tohis mind. "His advice was decidedly good, " he muttered. "All is not yetlost; one way of escape still remains--marriage. "

And why, indeed, shouldn't he marry, and marry a rich wife too? No oneknew anything about his misfortune; for a year at least, he would retainall the advantages that wealth bestows upon its possessor. His namealone was a great advantage. It would be very strange if he could notfind some manufacturer's or banker's daughter who would be only toodelighted to have a marquisial coronet emblazoned on her carriagepanels. 

Having arrived at this conclusion, M. De Valorsay began his search, andit was not long before he thought he had found what he was seeking. But something was still necessary. The bestowers of large dowers areinclined to be suspicious; they like to have a clear understanding as tothe financial position of the suitors who present themselves, and theynot unfrequently ask for information. Accordingly, before committinghimself, M. De Valorsay understood that it was necessary he shouldprovide himself with an intelligent and devoted adviser. There must besome one to hold his creditors in check, to silence them, and obtainsundry concessions from them--in a word, some one to interest them inhis success. With this object in view, M. De Valorsay applied to hisnotary; but the latter utterly refused to mix himself up in any suchaffair, and declared that the marquis's suggestion was almost an insult. Then touched, perhaps, by his client's apparent despair, he said, "ButI can mention a person who might be of service to you. Go to M. IsidoreFortunat, No. 27 Place de la Bourse. If you succeed in interesting himin your marriage, it is an accomplished fact. "

It was under these circumstances that the marquis became acquainted withM. Fortunat. M. De Valorsay was a man of no little penetration, and onhis first visit he carefully weighed his new acquaintance. He foundhim to be the very counsellor he desired--prudent, and at the sametime courageous; fertile in expedients; a thorough master of the artof evading the law, and not at all troubled by scruples. With suchan adviser, it would be mere child's play to conceal his financialembarrassments and deceive the most suspicious father-in-law. So M. DeValorsay did not hesitate a moment. He frankly disclosed his pecuniarycondition and his matrimonial hopes, and concluded by promising M. Fortunat a certain percentage on the bride's dowry, to be paid on theday following the marriage. 

After a prolonged conference, the agreement was drawn up and signed, and that very day M. Fortunat took the nobleman's interests in hand. Howheartily, and with what confidence in his success, is shown by the factthat he had advanced forty thousand francs for his client's use, outof his own private purse. After such a proof of confidence the marquiscould hardly have been dissatisfied with his adviser; in point of fact, he was delighted with him, and all the more so, as this invaluable manalways treated him with extreme deference, verging on servility. Andin M. De Valorsay's eyes this was a great consideration; for he wasbecoming more arrogant and more irascible in proportion as his right tobe so diminished. Secretly disgusted with himself, and deeply humiliatedby the shameful intrigue to which he had stooped, he took a secretsatisfaction in crushing his accomplice with his imaginary superiorityand lordly disdain. According as his humor was good or bad, hecalled him "my dear extortioner, " "Mons. Fortunat, " or "MasterTwenty-per-cent. " But though these sneers and insults drove theobsequious smile from M. Fortunat's lips, he was quite capable ofincluding them in the bill under the head of sundries. 

The unvarying deference and submission which M. De Valorsay's adviserdisplayed made his failure to keep the present appointment all themore remarkable. Such neglect of the commonest rules of courtesy wasinconceivable on the part of so polite a man; and the marquis's angergradually changed to anxiety. "What can have happened?" he thought. 

He was trying to decide whether he should leave or stay, when he heard akey grate in the lock of the outer door, and then some quick stepsalong the ante-room. "At last--here he is!" he muttered, with a sigh ofrelief. 

He expected to see M. Fortunat enter the room at once, but he wasdisappointed. The agent had no desire to show himself in the garb whichhe had assumed for his excursion with Chupin; and so he had hastened tohis room to don his wonted habiliments. He also desired a few momentsfor deliberation. 

If--as was most probably the case--M. De Valorsay were ignorant of theCount de Chalusse's critical condition, was it advisable to tell him ofit? M. Fortunat thought not, judging with reason that this would leadto a discussion and very possibly to a rupture, and he wished to avoidanything of the kind until he was quite certain of the count's death. 

Meanwhile the marquis was thinking--he was a trifle late about it--thathe had done wrong to wait in that drawing-room for three mortal hours. Was such conduct worthy of him? Had he shown himself proper respect?Would not M. Fortunat construe this as an acknowledgment of theimportance of his services and his client's urgent need? Would he notbecome more exacting, more exorbitant in his demands? If the marquiscould have made his escape unheard, he would, no doubt, have done so;but this was out of the question. So he resorted to a stratagem whichseemed to him likely to save his compromised dignity. He stretchedhimself out in his arm-chair, closed his eyes, and pretended to doze. Then, when M. Fortunat at last entered the drawing-room he sprang upas if he were suddenly aroused from slumber, rubbed his eyes, andexclaimed: "Eh! what's that? Upon my word I must have been asleep!"

But M. Fortunat was not deceived. He noticed, on the floor, a torn andcrumpled newspaper, which betrayed the impatience and anger his clienthad experienced during his long waiting. "Well, " resumed the marquis, "what time is it? Half-past twelve? This is a pretty time to keep anappointment fixed for ten o'clock. This is presuming on my good-nature, M. Fortunat! Do you know that my carriage has been waiting below eversince half-past nine, and that my horses have, perhaps, taken cold? Apair of horses worth six hundred louis!"

M. Fortunat listened to these reproaches with the deepest humility. "Youmust excuse me, Monsieur le Marquis, " said he. "If I remained out somuch later than usual, it was only because your business interestsdetained me. "

"Zounds! that is about the same as if it had been your own business thatdetained you!" And well pleased with this joke, he added, "Ah well! Howare affairs progressing?"

"On my side as well as could be desired. "

The marquis had resumed his seat in the chimney-corner, and was pokingthe fire with a haughty, but poorly assumed air of indifference. "I amlistening, " he said carelessly. 

"In that case, Monsieur le Marquis, I will state the facts in a fewwords, without going into particulars. Thanks to an expedient devisedby me, we shall obtain for twenty hours a release from all the mortgagesthat now encumber your estates. On that very day we will request acertificate from the recorder. This certificate will declare that yourestates are free from all encumbrances; you will show this statement toM. De Chalusse, and all his doubts--that is, if he has any--will vanish. The plan was very simple; the only difficulty was about raising themoney, but I have succeeded in doing so. All your creditors but two lentthemselves very readily to the arrangement. I have now won the consentof the two who at first refused, but we shall have to pay dearly for it. It will cost you about twenty-six thousand francs. "

M. De Valorsay was so delighted that he could not refrain from clappinghis hands. "Then the affair is virtually concluded, " he exclaimed. "In less than a month Mademoiselle Marguerite will be the Marquise deValorsay, and I shall have a hundred thousand francs a year again. "Then, noting how gravely M. Fortunat shook his head: "Ah! so you doubtit!" he cried. "Very well; now it is your turn to listen. Yesterday Ihad a long conference with the Count de Chalusse, and everything hasbeen settled. We exchanged our word of honor, Master Twenty-per-cent. The count does things in a princely fashion; he gives MademoiselleMarguerite two millions. "

"Two millions!" the other repeated like an echo. 

"Yes, my dear miser, neither more nor less. Only for private reasons, which he did not explain, the count stipulates that only two hundredthousand francs shall appear in the marriage contract. The remainingeighteen hundred thousand francs, he gives to me unreservedly andunconditionally. Upon my word, I think this very charming. How does itstrike you?"

M. Fortunat made no reply. M. De Valorsay's gayety, instead of cheering, saddened him. "Ah! my fine fellow, " he thought, "you would sing adifferent song if you knew that by this time M. De Chalusse is probablydead, and that most likely Mademoiselle Marguerite has only herbeautiful eyes left her, and will dim them in weeping for her vanishedmillions. "

But this brilliant scion of the aristocracy had no suspicion of thereal state of affairs, for he continued: "You will say, perhaps, it isstrange, that I, Ange-Marie Robert Dalbou, Marquis de Valorsay, shouldmarry a girl whose father and mother no one knows, and whose only nameis Marguerite. In this respect it is true that the match is not exactlya brilliant one. Still, as it will appear that she merely has a fortuneof two hundred thousand francs, no one will accuse me of marrying formoney on the strength of my name. On the contrary, it will seem to be alove-match, and people will suppose that I have grown young again. " Hepaused, incensed by M. Fortunat's lack of enthusiasm. "Judging fromyour long face, Master Twenty-per-cent, one would fancy you doubted mysuccess, " he said. 

"It is always best to doubt, " replied his adviser, philosophically. 

The marquis shrugged his shoulders. "Even when one has triumphed overall obstacles?" he asked sneeringly. 

"Yes. "

"Then, tell me, if you please, what prevents this marriage from being aforegone conclusion?"

"Mademoiselle Marguerite's consent, Monsieur le Marquis. "

It was as if a glass of ice-water had been thrown in M. De Valorsay'sface. He started, turned as pale as death, and then exclaimed: "I shallhave that; I am sure of it. "

You could not say that M. Fortunat was angry. Such a man, as cold andas smooth as a hundred franc piece, has no useless passions. But he wasintensely irritated to hear his client foolishly chanting the paeons ofvictory, while he was compelled to conceal his grief at the loss of hisforty thousand francs, deep in the recesses of his heart. So, far frombeing touched by the marquis's evident alarm, it pleased him to be ableto turn the dagger in the wound he had just inflicted. "You mustexcuse my incredulity, " said he. "It comes entirely from something you, yourself, told me about a week ago. "

"What did I tell you?"

"That you suspected Mademoiselle Marguerite of a--how shall I expressit?--of a secret preference for some other person. "

The gloomiest despondency had now followed the marquis's enthusiasm andexultation. He was evidently in torture. "I more than suspected it, "said he. 

"Ah!"

"I was certain of it, thanks to the count's house-keeper, Madame Leon, a miserable old woman whom I have hired to look after my interests. Shehas been watching Mademoiselle Marguerite, and saw a letter written byher----"

"Oh!"

"Certainly nothing has passed that Mademoiselle Marguerite has anycause to blush for. The letter, which is now in my possession, containsunmistakable proofs of that. She might proudly avow the love she hasinspired, and which she undoubtedly returns. Yet----"

M. Fortunat's gaze was so intent that it became unbearable. "You see, then, " he began, "that I had good cause to fear. "

Exasperated beyond endurance, M. De Valorsay sprang up so violently thathe overturned his chair. "No!" he exclaimed, "no, a thousand times no!You are wrong--for the man who loves Mademoiselle Marguerite is nowruined. Yes, such is really the case. While we are sitting here, at thisvery moment, he is lost--irredeemably lost. Between him and the womanwhom I wish to marry--whom I SHALL marry--I have dug so broad and deepan abyss that the strongest love cannot overleap it. It is betterand worse than if I had killed him. Dead, he would have been mourned, perhaps; while now, the lowest and most degraded woman would turn fromhim in disgust, or, even if she loved him, she would not dare to confessit. "

M. Fortunat seemed greatly disturbed. "Have you then put into executionthe project--the plan you spoke of?" he faltered. "I thought you wereonly jesting. "

The marquis lowered his head. "Yes, " he answered. 

His companion stood for a moment as if petrified, and then suddenlyexclaimed: "What! You have done that--you--a gentleman?"

M. De Valorsay paced the floor in a state of intense agitation. Had hecaught a glimpse of his own face in the looking-glass, it would havefrightened him. "A gentleman!" he repeated, in a tone of suppressedrage; "a gentleman! That word is in everybody's mouth, nowadays. Pray, what do you understand by a gentleman, Mons. Fortunat? No doubt, youmean a heroic idiot who passed through life with a lofty mien, clad inall the virtues, as stoical as Job, and as resigned as a martyr--a sortof moral Don Quixote, preaching the austerest virtue, and practisingit? But, unfortunately, nobility of soul and of purpose are expensiveluxuries, and I am a ruined man. I am no saint! I love life and all thatmakes life beautiful and desirable--and to procure its pleasures I mustfight with the weapons of the age. No doubt, it is grand to be honest;but in my case it is so impossible, that I prefer to be dishonest--tocommit an act of shameful infamy which will yield a hundred thousandfrancs a year. This man is in my way--I suppress him--so much the worsefor him--he has no business to be in my way. If I could have met himopenly, I would have dispatched him according to the accepted code ofhonor; but, then, I should have had to renounce all idea of marryingMademoiselle Marguerite, so I was obliged to find some other way. Icould not choose my means. The drowning man does not reject the plank, which is his only chance of salvation, because it chances to be dirty. "

His gestures were even more forcible than his words; and when heconcluded, he threw himself on to the sofa, holding his head tightlybetween his hands, as if he felt that it was bursting. Anger chokedhis utterance--not anger so much as something he would not confess, the quickening of his own conscience and the revolt of every honorableinstinct; for, in spite of his sins of omission, and of commission, never, until this day, had he actually violated any clause of the codeacknowledged by men of honor. 

"You have been guilty of a most infamous act, Monsieur le Marquis, " saidM. Fortunat, coldly. 

"Oh! no moralizing, if you please. "

"Only evil will come of it. "

The marquis shrugged his shoulders, and in a tone of bitter scorn, retorted: "Come, Mons. Fortunat, if you wish to lose the forty thousandfrancs you advanced to me, it's easy enough to do so. Run to Madamed'Argeles's house, ask for M. De Coralth, and tell him I countermand myorder. My rival will be saved, and will marry Mademoiselle Margueriteand her millions. "

M. Fortunat remained silent. He could not tell the marquis: "Myforty thousand francs are lost already. I know that only too well. Mademoiselle Marguerite is no longer the possessor of millions, and youhave committed a useless crime. " However, it was this conviction whichimparted such an accent of eagerness to his words as he continued toplead the cause of virtue and of honesty. Would he have said as muchif he had entertained any great hope of the success of the marquis'smatrimonial enterprise? It is doubtful, still we must do M. Fortunat thejustice to admit that he was really and sincerely horrified by what hehad unhesitatingly styled an "infamous act. "

The marquis listened to his agent for a few moments in silence, and thenrose to his feet again. "All this is very true, " he interrupted; "butI am, nevertheless, anxious to learn the result of my little plot. Forthis reason, Monsieur Fortunat, give me at once the five hundred louisyou promised me, and I will then bid you good-evening. "

The agent had been preparing himself for this moment, and yet hetrembled. "I am deeply grieved, monsieur, " he replied, with a dolefulsmile; "it was this matter that kept me out so much later than usualthis evening. I hoped to have obtained the money from a banker, whohas always accommodated me before--M. Prosper Bertomy, you know him: hemarried M. Andre Fauvel's niece----"

"Yes, I know; proceed, if you please. "

"Ah, well! it was impossible for me to procure the money. "

The marquis had hitherto been pale, but now his face flushed crimson. "This is a jest, I suppose, " said he. 

"Alas!--unfortunately--no. "

There was a moment's silence, which the marquis probably spent inreflecting upon the probable consequences of this disappointment, forit was in an almost threatening tone that he eventually exclaimed: "Youknow that I must have this money at once--that I must have it. "

M. Fortunat would certainly have preferred to lose a good pound of fleshrather than the sum of money mentioned; but, on the other hand, he feltthat it would not do for him to sever his connection with his clientuntil the death of the Count de Chalusse was certain; and being anxiousto save his money and to keep his client, his embarrassment was extreme. "It was the most unfortunate thing in the world, " he stammered; "Iapprehended no difficulty whatever--" Then, suddenly clapping his handto his forehead, he exclaimed: "But, Monsieur le Marquis, couldn't youborrow this amount from one of your friends, the Duke de Champdoce orthe Count de Commarin?--that would be a good idea. "

M. De Valorsay was anything but unsophisticated, and his naturalshrewdness had been rendered much more acute by the difficulties withwhich he had recently been obliged to contend. M. Fortunat's confusionhad not escaped his keen glance; and this last suggestion aroused hissuspicions at once. "What!" he said, slowly, and with an air of evidentdistrust. "YOU give me this advice, Master Twenty-per-cent. This iswonderful! How long is it since your opinions have undergone such achange?"

"My opinions?"

"Yes. Didn't you say to me during our first interview; 'The thing thatwill save you, is that you have never in your whole life borroweda louis from a friend. An ordinary creditor only thinks of a largeinterest; and if that is paid him he holds his peace. A friend is neversatisfied until everybody knows that he has generously obliged you. Itis far better to apply to a usurer. ' I thought all that very sensible, and I quite agreed with you when you added: 'So, Monsieur le Marquis, no borrowing of this kind until after your marriage--not on any pretextwhatever. Go without eating rather than do it. Your credit is stillgood; but it is being slowly undermined--and the indiscretion of afriend who chanced to say: "I think Valorsay is hard up, " might fire thetrain, and then you'd explode. '"

M. Fortunat's embarrassment was really painful to witness. He was notusually wanting in courage, but the events of the evening had shaken hisconfidence and his composure. The hope of gain and the fear of loss haddeprived him of his wonted clearness of mind. Feeling that he had justcommitted a terrible blunder, he racked his brain to find some way ofrepairing it, and finding none, his confusion increased. 

"Did you, or didn't you, use that language?" insisted M. De Valorsay. "What have you to say in reply?"

"Circumstances----"

"What circumstances?"

"Urgent need--necessity. There is no rule without its exceptions. I didnot imagine you would be so rash. I have advanced you forty thousandfrancs in less than five months--it is outrageous. If I were in yourplace, I would be more reasonable--I would economize----"

He paused! in fact, he was compelled to pause by the piercing glancewhich M. De Valorsay turned upon him. He was furious with himself. "I amlosing my wits, " he thought. 

"Still more wise counsel, " remarked the ruined nobleman ironically. "While you are about it, why don't you advise me to sell my horses andcarriages, and establish myself in a garret in the Rue Amelot? Such acourse would seem very natural, wouldn't it? and, of course, it wouldinspire M. De Chalusse with boundless confidence!"

"But without going to such extremes----"

"Hold your tongue!" interrupted the marquis, violently. "Better than anyone else you know that I cannot retrench, although the reality no longerexists. I am condemned, cost what it may, to keep up appearances. Thatis my only hope of salvation. I have gambled, given expensive suppers, indulged in dissipation of every kind, and I must continue to do so. I have come to hate Ninette Simplon, for whom I have committed so manyacts of folly, and yet I still keep her--to show that I am rolling inwealth. I have thrown thousand-franc notes out of the window, and Imustn't stop throwing them. Indeed, what would people say if I stopped!Why, 'Valorsay is a ruined man!' Then, farewell to my hopes of marryingan heiress. And so I am always gay and smiling; that is part of my role. What would my servants--the twenty spies that I pay--what would theythink if they saw me thoughtful or disturbed? You would scarcely believeit, M. Fortunat, but I have positively been reduced to dining on creditat my club, because I had paid, that morning, for a month's provenderfor my horses! It is true I have many valuable articles in my house, butI cannot dispose of them. People would recognize them at once; besides, they form a part of my stock-in-trade. An actor doesn't sell hiscostumes because he's hungry--he goes without food--and when it's timefor the curtain to rise, he dons his satin and velvet garments, and, despite his empty stomach, he chants the praises of a bountiful tableand rare old wine. That is what I am doing--I, Robert Dalbou, Marquisde Valorsay! At the races at Vincennes, about a fortnight ago, I wasbowling along the boulevard behind my four-in-hand, when I heard alaborer say, 'How happy those rich people must be!' Happy, indeed! Why, I envied him his lot. He was sure that the morrow would be like theday that preceded it. On that occasion my entire fortune consisted ofa single louis, which I had won at baccarat the evening before. As Ientered the enclosure, Isabelle, the flower-girl, handed me a rose formy button-hole. I gave her my louis--but I longed to strangle her!"

He paused for a moment, and then, in a frenzy of passion, he advancedtoward M. Fortunat, who instinctively retreated into the protectingembrasure of a window. "And for eight months I have lived this horriblelife!" he resumed. "For eight months each moment has been so muchtorture. Ah! better poverty, prison, and shame! And now, when the prizeis almost won, actuated either by treason or caprice, you try to makeall my toil and all my suffering unavailing. You try to thwart me on thevery threshold of success! No! I swear, by God's sacred name, it shallnot be! I will rather crush you, you miserable scoundrel--crush you likea venomous reptile!"

There was such a ring of fury in his voice that the crystals of thecandelabra vibrated; and Madame Dodelin, in her kitchen, heard it, andshuddered. "Some one will certainly do M. Fortunat an injury one ofthese days, " she thought. 

It was not by any means the first time that M. Fortunat had foundhimself at variance with clients of a sanguine temperament; but hehad always escaped safe and sound, so that, after all, he was notparticularly alarmed in the present instance, as was proved by the factthat he was still calm enough to reflect and plan. "In forty-eight hoursI shall be certain of the count's fate, " he thought; "he will be dead, or he will be in a fair way to recovery--so by promising to give thisfrenzied man what he desires on the day after to-morrow, I shall incurno risk. "

Taking advantage of an opportunity which M. De Valorsay furnished, on pausing to draw breath, he hastily exclaimed, "Really, Monsieur leMarquis, I cannot understand your anger. "

"What! scoundrel!"

"Excuse me. Before insulting me, permit me to explain----"

"No explanation--five hundred louis!"

"Have the kindness to allow me to finish. Yes, I know that you are inurgent need of money--not by-and-by, but now. To-day I was unableto procure it, nor can I promise it to-morrow; but on the day afterto-morrow, Saturday, I shall certainly have it ready for you. "

The marquis seemed to be trying to read his agent's very soul. "Are youin earnest?" he asked. "Show your hand. If you don't intend to help meout of my embarrassment, say so. "

"Ah, Monsieur le Marquis, am I not as much interested in your successas you yourself can be? Have you not received abundant proofs of mydevotion?"

"Then I can rely upon you. "

"Absolutely. " And seeing a lingering doubt in his client's eyes, M. Fortunat added, "You have my word of honor!"

The clock struck three. The marquis took his hat and started towardthe door. But M. Fortunat, in whose heart the word scoundrel was stillrankling, stopped him. "Are you going to that lady's house now? Whatis she called? I've forgotten her name. Ah, yes, I remember now. Madamed'Argeles, isn't she called? It's at her place, I believe, that thereputation of Mademoiselle Marguerite's favored lover is to be ruined. "

The marquis turned angrily. "What do you take me for, MasterTwenty-per-cent?" he rudely asked. "That is one of those things nowell-bred gentleman will do himself. But in Paris people can be found todo any kind of dirty work, if you are willing to pay them for it. "

"Then how will you know the result?"

"Why, twenty minutes after the affair is over, M. De Coralth will beat my house. He is there even now, perhaps. " And as this subject wasanything but pleasant, he hastened away, exclaiming, "Get to bed, mydear extortioner. Au revoir. And, above all, remember your promise. "

"My respects, Monsieur le Marquis. "

But when the door closed, M. Fortunat's expression immediately changed. "Ah! you insult me!" he muttered sullenly. "You rob me, and you callme a scoundrel into the bargain. You shall pay dearly for it, my finefellow, no matter what may happen!"

IV. 

It is in vain that the law has endeavored to shield private life fromprying eyes. The scribes who pander to Parisian curiosity surmount allobstacles and brave every danger. Thanks to the "High Life" reporters, every newspaper reader is aware that twice a week--Mondays andThursdays--Madame Lia d'Argeles holds a reception at her charmingmansion in the Rue de Berry. Her guests find plenty of amusement there. They seldom dance; but card-playing begins at midnight, and a daintysupper is served before the departure of the guests. 

It was on leaving one of these little entertainments that thatunfortunate young man, Jules Chazel, a cashier in a large banking-house, committed suicide by blowing out his brains. The brilliant frequentersof Madame d'Argeles's entertainments considered this act proof ofexceeding bad taste and deplorable weakness on his part. "The fellow wasa coward, " they declared. "Why, he had lost hardly a thousand louis!"

He had lost only that, it is true--a mere trifle as times go. Only themoney was not his; he had taken it from the safe which was confidedto his keeping, expecting, probably, to double the amount in a singlenight. In the morning, when he found himself alone, without a penny, andthe deficit staring him in the face, the voice of conscience cried, "Youare a thief!" and he lost his reason. 

The event created a great sensation at the time, and the Petit Journalpublished a curious story concerning this unfortunate young man'smother. The poor woman--she was a widow--sold all she possessed, eventhe bed on which she slept, and when she had succeeded in gatheringtogether twenty thousand francs--the ransom of her son's honor--shecarried them to the banker by whom her boy had been employed. He tookthem, without even asking the mother if she had enough left to purchaseher dinner that evening; and the fine gentleman, who had won andpocketed Jules Chazel's stolen gold, thought the banker's conductperfectly natural and just. It is true that Madame d'Argeles was indespair during forty-eight hours or so; for the police had begun a sortof investigation, and she feared this might frighten her visitors andempty her drawing-rooms. Not at all, however; on the contrary, she hadgood cause to congratulate herself upon the notoriety she gained throughthis suicide. For five days she was the talk of Paris, and Alfredd'Aunay even published her portrait in the Illustrated Chronicle. 

Still, no one was able to say exactly who Madame Lia d'Argeles was. Whowas she, and whence did she come? How had she lived until she sprang up, full grown, in the sunshine of the fashionable world? Did the splendidmansion in the Rue de Berry really belong to her? Was she as rich as shewas supposed to be? Where had she acquired such manners, the manners ofa thorough woman of the world, with her many accomplishments, as well asher remarkable skill as a musician? Everything connected with her wasa subject of conjecture, even to the name inscribed upon her visitingcards--"Lia d'Argeles. "

But no matter. Her house was always filled to over-flowing; and at thevery moment when the Marquis de Valorsay and M. Fortunat were speakingof her, a dozen coroneted carriages stood before her door, and herrooms were thronged with guests. It was a little past midnight, and thebi-weekly card party had just been made up, when a footman announced, "Monsieur le Vicomte de Coralth! Monsieur Pascal Ferailleur!"

Few of the players deigned to raise their heads. But one man growled, "Good--two more players!" And four or five young men exclaimed, "Ah!here's Ferdinand! Good evening, my dear fellow!"

M. De Coralth was very young and remarkably good-looking, almost toogood-looking, indeed; for his handsomeness was somewhat startling andunnatural. He had an exceedingly fair complexion, and large, meltingblack eyes, while a woman might have envied him his wavy brown hairand the exquisite delicacy of his skin. He dressed with great care andtaste, and even coquettishly; his turn-down collar left his firm whitethroat uncovered, and his rose-tinted gloves fitted as perfectly as theskin upon his soft, delicate hands. He bowed familiarly on entering, and with a rather complacent smile on his lips, he approached Madamed'Argeles, who, half reclining in an easy chair near the fire-place, was conversing with two elderly gentlemen of grave and distinguishedbearing. "How late you are, viscount, " she remarked carelessly. "Whathave you been doing to-day? I fancied I saw you in the Bois, in theMarquis de Valorsay's dog-cart. "

A slight flush suffused M. De Coralth's cheeks, and to hide it, perhaps, he turned toward the visitor who had entered with him, and drew himtoward Madame d'Argeles, saying, "Allow me, madame, to present to youone of my great friends, M. Pascal Ferailleur, an advocate whose namewill be known to fame some day. "

"Your friends are always welcome at my house, my dear viscount, " repliedMadame d'Argeles. And before Pascal had concluded his bow, she avertedher head, and resumed her interrupted conversation. 

The new-comer, however, was worthy of more than that cursory notice. Hewas a young man of five or six-and-twenty, dark-complexioned and tall;each movement of his person was imbued with that natural grace which isthe result of perfect harmony of the muscles, and of more than commonvigor. His features were irregular, but they gave evidence of energy, kindness of heart, and honesty of purpose. A man possessing such aproud, intelligent, and open brow, such a clear, straightforward gaze, and such finely-cut lips, could be no ordinary one. Deserted by hissponsor, who was shaking hands right and left, he seated himself on asofa a little in the background; not because he was embarrassed, butbecause he felt that instinctive distrust of self which frequentlyseizes hold of a person on entering a crowd of strangers. He did hisbest to conceal his curiosity, but nevertheless he looked and listenedwith all his might. 

The salon, was an immense apartment, divided into two rooms by slidingdoors and hangings. When Madame d'Argeles gave a ball, the rooms werethrown into one; but, as a general rule, one room was occupied by thecard-players, and the other served as a refuge for those who wishedto chat. The card-room, into which Pascal had been ushered, was anapartment of noble proportions, furnished in a style of tastefulmagnificence. The tints of the carpet were subdued; there was not toomuch gilding on the cornices; the clock upon the mantel-shelf was chasteand elegant in design. The only thing at all peculiar about the roomand its appointments was a reflector, ingeniously arranged above thechandelier in such a way as to throw the full glare of the candles uponthe card-table which stood directly beneath it. The table itself wasadorned with a rich tapestry cover, but this was visible only atthe corners, for it was covered, in turn, with a green baize clothconsiderably the worse for wear. Madame d'Argeles's guests were probablynot over fifty in number, but they all seemed to belong to the very bestsociety. The majority of them were men of forty or thereabouts; severalwore decorations, and two or three of the eldest were treated withmarked deference. Certain well-known names which Pascal overheardsurprised him greatly. "What! these men here?" he said to himself; "andI--I regarded my visit as a sort of clandestine frolic. "

There were only seven or eight ladies present, none of them beingespecially attractive. Their toilettes were very costly, but in ratherdoubtful taste, and they wore a profusion of diamonds. Pascal noticedthat these ladies were treated with perfect indifference, and that, whenever the gentlemen spoke to them, they assumed an air of politenesswhich was too exaggerated not to be ironical. 

A score of persons were seated at the card-table, and the guests who hadretired into the adjoining salon were silently watching the progress ofthe game, or quietly chatting in the corners of the room. It surprisedhim to note that every one spoke in very low tones; there was somethingvery like respect, even awe, in this subdued murmur. One mighthave supposed that those present were celebrating the rites of somemysterious worship. And is not gaming a species of idolatry, symbolizedby cards, and which has its images, its fetishes, its miracles, itsfanatics, and its martyrs?

Occasionally, above the accompaniment of whispers, rose the strange andincoherent exclamations of the players: "Here are twenty louis! I takeit--I pass! The play is made! Banco!"

"What a strange gathering!" thought Pascal Ferailleur. "What singularpeople!" And he turned his attention to the mistress of the house, as ifhe hoped to decipher the solution of the enigma on her face. 

But Madame Lia d'Argeles defied all analysis. She was one of those womenwhose uncertain age varies according to their mood, between the thirtiesand the fifties; one who did not look over thirty in the evening, butwho would have been charged with being more than fifty the next morning. In her youth she must have been very beautiful, and she was stillgood-looking, though she had grown somewhat stout, and her face hadbecome a trifle heavy, thus marring the symmetry of her very delicatefeatures. A perfect blonde, she had eyes of so clear a blue that theyseemed almost faded. The whiteness of her skin was so unnatural that italmost startled one. It was the dull, lifeless white which suggests anexcessive use of cosmetics and rice powder, and long baths, late hours, and sleep at day-time, in a darkened room. Her face was utterly devoidof expression. One might have fancied that its muscles had becomerelaxed after terrible efforts to feign or to conceal some violentemotions; and there was something melancholy, almost terrifying in theeternal, and perhaps involuntary smile, which curved her lips. She worea dress of black velvet, with slashed sleeves and bodice, a new designof the famous man-milliner, Van Klopen. 

Pascal was engaged in these observations when M. De Coralth, having madehis round, came and sat down on the sofa beside him. "Well, what do youthink of it?" he inquired. 

"Upon my word!" replied the young advocate, "I am infinitely obliged toyou for inviting me to accompany you here. I am intensely amused. "

"Good! My philosopher is captivated. "

"Not captivated, but interested, I confess. " Then, in the tone ofgood-humor which was habitual to him, he added: "As for being the sageyou call me, that's all nonsense. And to prove it, I'm going to risk mylouis with the rest. "

M. De Coralth seemed amazed, but a close observer might have detected agleam of triumph in his eyes. "You are going to play--you?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"Take care!"

"Of what, pray? The worst I can do is to lose what I have in mypocket--something over two hundred francs. "

The viscount shook his head thoughtfully. "It isn't that which one hascause to fear. The devil always has a hand in this business, and thefirst time a man plays he's sure to win. "

"And is that a misfortune?"

"Yes, because the recollection of these first winnings is sure to lureyou back to the gaming-table again. You go back, you lose, you try torecover your money, and that's the end of it--you become a gambler. "

Pascal Ferailleur's smile was the smile of a man who has full confidencein himself. "My brain is not so easily turned, I hope, " said he. "I havethe thought of my name, and the fortune I must make, as ballast for it. "

"I beseech you not to play, " insisted the viscount. "Listen to me; youdon't know what this passion for play is; the strongest and the coldestnatures succumb--don't play. "

He had raised his voice, as if he intended to be overheard by two guestswho had just approached the sofa. They did indeed hear him. "Can Ibelieve my own eyes and ears!" exclaimed one of them, an elderly man. "Can this really be Ferdinand who is trying to shake the allegiance ofthe votaries of our noble lady--the Queen of Spades?"

M. De Coralth turned quickly round: "Yes, it is indeed I, " he answered. "I have purchased with my patrimony the right of saying: 'Distrustyourself, and don't do as I've done, ' to an inexperienced friend. "

The wisest counsels, given in a certain fashion, never fail to producean effect diametrically opposed to that which they seemingly aim at. M. De Coralth's persistence, and the importance he attached to a meretrifle, could not fail to annoy the most patient man in the world, andin fact his patronizing tone really irritated Pascal. "You are free, myfriend, to do as you please, " said he; "but I----"

"Are you resolved?" interrupted the viscount. 

"Absolutely. "

"So be it, then. You are no longer a child, and I have warned you. Letus play, then. " Thereupon they approached the table; room was madefor them, and they seated themselves, Pascal being on M. Ferdinand deCoralth's right-hand side. 

The guests were playing "Baccarat tournant, " a game of terrible andinfantile simplicity. There are no such things as skill or combinationpossible in it; science and calculation are useless. Chance alonedecides, and decides with the rapidity of lightning. Amateurs certainlyassert that, with great coolness and long practice, one can, in ameasure at least, avert prolonged ill-luck. Maybe they are right, butit is not conclusively proved. Each person takes the cards in his turn, risks what he chooses, and when his stakes are covered, deals. If hewins, he is free to follow up his vein of good-luck, or to pass thedeal. When he loses, the deal passes at once to the next player on theright. 

A moment sufficed for Pascal Ferailleur to learn the rules of the game. It was already Ferdinand's deal. M. De Coralth staked a hundred francs;the bet was taken; he dealt, lost, and handed the cards to Pascal. 

The play, which had been rather timid at first--since it was necessary, as they say, to try the luck--had now become bolder. Several playershad large piles of gold before them, and the heavy artillery--that is tosay, bank-notes--were beginning to put in appearance. But Pascal had nofalse pride. "I stake a louis!" said he

The smallness of the sum attracted instant attention, and two or threevoices replied: "Taken!"

He dealt, and won. "Two louis!" he said again. This wager was alsotaken; he won, and his run of luck was so remarkable that, in awonderfully short space of time, he won six hundred francs. 

"Pass the deal, " whispered Ferdinand, and Pascal followed this advice. "Not because I desire to keep my winnings, " he whispered in M. DeCoralth's ear, "but because I wish to have enough to play until the endof the evening without risking anything. "

But such prudence was unnecessary so far as he was concerned. When thedeal came to him again, fortune favored him even more than before. He started with a hundred francs, and doubling them each time in sixsuccessive deals, he won more than three thousand francs. 

"The devil! Monsieur is in luck. "--"Zounds! And he is playing for thefirst time. "--"That accounts for it. The inexperienced always win. "

Pascal could not fail to hear these comments. The blood mantled overhis cheeks, and, conscious that he was flushing, he, as usually happens, flushed still more. His good fortune embarrassed him, as was evident, and he played most recklessly. Still his good luck did not desert him;and do what he would he won--won continually. In fact, by four o'clockin the morning he had thirty-five thousand francs before him. 

For some time he had been the object of close attention. "Do you knowthis gentleman?" inquired one of the guests. 

"No. He came with Coralth. "

"He is an advocate, I understand. "

And all these whispered doubts and suspicions, these questions fraughtwith an evil significance, these uncharitable replies, grew into amalevolent murmur, which resounded in Pascal's ears and bewilderedhim. He was really becoming most uncomfortable, when Madame d'Argelesapproached the card-table and exclaimed: "This is the third time, gentlemen, that you have been told that supper is ready. What gentlemanwill offer me his arm?"

There was an evident unwillingness to leave the table, but an oldgentleman who had been losing heavily rose to his feet. "Yes, let us goto supper!" he exclaimed; "perhaps that will change the luck. "

This was a decisive consideration. The room emptied as if by magic; andno one was left at the table but Pascal, who scarcely knew what todo with all the gold piled up before him. He succeeded, however, indistributing it in his pockets, and was about to join the other guestsin the dining-room, when Madame d'Argeles abruptly barred his passage. 

"I desire a word with you, monsieur, " she said. Her face still retainedits strange immobility, and the same stereotyped smile played about herlips. And yet her agitation was so evident that Pascal, in spite of hisown uneasiness, noticed it, and was astonished by it. 

"I am at your service, madame, " he stammered, bowing. 

She at once took his arm, and led him to the embrasure of a window. "Iam a stranger to you, monsieur, " she said, very hurriedly, and in verylow tones, "and yet I must ask, and you must grant me, a great favor. "

"Speak, madame. "

She hesitated, as if at a loss for words, and then all of a sudden shesaid, eagerly: "You will leave this house at once, without warning anyone, and while the other guests are at supper. "

Pascal's astonishment changed into stupor. 

"Why am I to go?" he asked. 

"Because--but, no; I cannot tell you. Consider it only a caprice on mypart--it is so; but I entreat you, don't refuse me. Do me this favor, and I shall be eternally grateful. "

There was such an agony of supplication in her voice and her attitude, that Pascal was touched. A vague presentiment of some terrible, irreparable misfortune disturbed his own heart. Nevertheless, he sadlyshook his head, and bitterly exclaimed: "You are, perhaps, not awarethat I have just won over thirty thousand francs. "

"Yes, I am aware of it. And this is only another, and still strongerreason why you should protect yourself against possible loss. It is wellto pattern after Charlemagne [1] in this house. The other night, theCount d'Antas quietly made his escape bareheaded. He took a thousandlouis away with him, and left his hat in exchange. The count is a braveman; and far from indulging in blame, every one applauded him the nextday. Come, you have decided, I see--you will go; and to be still moresafe, I will show you out through the servants' hall, then no one canpossibly see you. "

Pascal had almost decided to yield to her entreaties; but this proposedretreat through the back-door was too revolting to his pride to bethought of for a moment. "I will never consent to such a thing, " hedeclared. "What would they think of me? Besides I owe them their revengeand I shall give it to them. "

Neither Madame d'Argeles nor Pascal had noticed M. De Coralth, who inthe meantime had stolen into the room on tiptoe, and had been listeningto their conversation, concealed behind the folds of a heavy curtain. Henow suddenly revealed his presence. "Ah! my dear friend, " he exclaimed, in a winning tone. "While I honor your scruples, I must say that I thinkmadame is a hundred times right. If I were in your place, if I had wonwhat you have won, I shouldn't hesitate. Others might think what theypleased; you have the money, that is the main thing. "

For the second time, the viscount's intervention decided Pascal. "Ishall remain, " he said, resolutely. 

But Madame d'Argeles laid her hand imploringly on his arm. "I entreatyou, monsieur, " said she. "Go now, there is still time. "

"Yes, go, " said the viscount, approvingly, "it would be a most excellentmove. Retreat and save the cash. "

These words were like the drop which makes the cup overflow. Crimsonwith anger and assailed by the strangest suspicions, Pascal turned fromMadame d'Argeles and hastened into the dining-room. The conversationceased entirely on his arrival there. He could not fail to understandthat he had been the subject of it. A secret instinct warned him thatall the men around him were his enemies--though he knew not why--andthat they were plotting against him. He also perceived that hisslightest movements were watched and commented upon. However he was abrave man; his conscience did not reproach him in the least, and he wasone of those persons who, rather than wait for danger, provoke it. 

So, with an almost defiant air, he seated himself beside a younglady dressed in pink tulle, and began to laugh and chat with her. Hepossessed a ready wit, and what is even better, tact; and for a quarterof an hour astonished those around him by his brilliant sallies. Champagne was flowing freely; and he drank four or five glasses in quicksuccession. Was he really conscious of what he was doing and saying? Hesubsequently declared that he was not, that he acted under the influenceof a sort of hallucination similar to that produced by the inhalation ofcarbonic gas. 

However, the guests did not linger long at the supper-table. "Let us goback!" cried the old gentleman, who had insisted upon the suspension ofthe game; "we are wasting a deal of precious time here!"

Pascal rose with the others, and in his haste to enter the adjoiningroom he jostled two men who were talking together near the door. "So itis understood, " said one of them. 

"Yes, yes, leave it to me; I will act as executioner. "

This word sent all Pascal's blood bounding to his heart. "Who is to beexecuted?" he thought? "I am evidently to be the victim. But what does itall mean?"

Meanwhile the players at the green table had changed places, and Pascalfound himself seated not on Ferdinand's right, but directly oppositehim, and between two men about his own age--one of them being the personwho had announced his intention of acting as executioner. All eyes werefixed upon the unfortunate advocate when it came his turn to deal. Hestaked two hundred louis, and lost them. There was a slight commotionround the table; and one of the players who had lost most heavily, remarked in an undertone: "Don't look so hard at the gentleman--he won'thave any more luck. "

As Pascal heard this ironical remark, uttered in a tone which made it asinsulting as a blow, a gleam of light darted through his puzzled brain. He suspected at last, what any person less honest than himself wouldhave long before understood. He thought of rising and demanding anapology; but he was stunned, almost overcome by the horrors of hissituation. His ears tingled, and it seemed to him as if the beating ofhis heart were suspended. 

However the game proceeded; but no one paid any attention to it. Thestakes were insignificant, and loss or gain drew no exclamation from anyone. The attention of the entire party was concentrated on Pascal; andhe, with despair in his heart, followed the movements of the cards, which were passing from hand to hand, and fast approaching him again. When they reached him the silence became breathless, menacing, evensinister. The ladies, and the guests who were not playing, approachedand leaned over the table in evident anxiety. "My God!" thought Pascal, "my God, if I can only lose!"

He was as pale as death; the perspiration trickled down from his hairupon his temples, and his hands trembled so much that he could scarcelyhold the cards. "I will stake four thousand francs, " he faltered. 

"I take your bet, " answered a voice. 

Alas! the unfortunate fellow's wish was not gratified; he won. Thenin the midst of the wildest confusion, he exclaimed: "Here are eightthousand francs!"

"Taken!"

But as he began to deal the cards, his neighbor sprang up, seized himroughly by the hands and cried: "This time I'm sure of it--you are athief!"

With a bound, Pascal was on his feet. While his peril had been vague andundetermined, his energy had been paralyzed. But it was restored to himintact when his danger declared itself in all its horror. He pushed awaythe man who had caught his hands, with such violence that he sent himreeling under a sofa; then he stepped back and surveyed the excitedthrong with an air of menace and defiance. Useless! Seven or eightplayers sprang upon him and overpowered him, as if he had been thevilest criminal. 

Meanwhile, the executioner, as he had styled himself, had risen to hisfeet with his cravat untied, and his clothes in wild disorder. "Yes, "he said, addressing Pascal, "you are a thief! I saw you slip other cardsamong those which were handed to you. "

"Wretch!" gasped Pascal. 

"I saw you--and I am going to prove it. " So saying he turned tothe mistress of the house, who had dropped into an arm-chair, andimperiously asked, "How many packs have we used?"

"Five. "

"Then there ought to be two hundred and sixty cards upon the table. "

Thereupon he counted them slowly and with particular care, and he foundno fewer than three hundred and seven. "Well, scoundrel!" he cried; "areyou still bold enough to deny it?"

Pascal had no desire to deny it. He knew that words would weigh asnothing against this material, tangible, incontrovertible proof. Forty-seven cards had been fraudulently inserted among the others. Certainly not by him! But by whom? Still he, alone, had been the gainerthrough the deception. 

"You see that the coward will not even defend himself!" exclaimed one ofthe women. 

He did not deign to turn his head. What did the insult matter to him? Heknew himself to be innocent, and yet he felt that he was sinking to thelowest depths of infamy--he beheld himself disgraced, branded, ruined. And realizing that he must meet facts with facts, he besought God togrant him an idea, an inspiration, that would unmask the real culprit. 

But another person came to his aid. With a boldness which no one wouldhave expected on his part, M. De Coralth placed himself in front ofPascal, and in a voice which betokened more indignation than sorrow, heexclaimed: "This is a terrible mistake, gentlemen. Pascal Ferailleuris my friend; and his past vouches for his present. Go to the Palais deJustice, and make inquiries respecting his character there. They willtell you how utterly impossible it is that this man can be guilty of theignoble act he is accused of. "

No one made any reply. In the opinion of all his listeners, Ferdinandwas simply fulfilling a duty which it would have been difficult forhim to escape. The old gentleman who had decided the suspension andthe resumption of the game, gave audible expression to the prevailingsentiment of the party. He was a portly man, who puffed like a porpoisewhen he talked, and whom his companions called the baron. "Your words doyou honor--really do you honor, " he said, addressing Ferdinand--"and nopossible blame can attach to you. That your friend is not an honestman is no fault of yours. There is no outward sign to distinguishscoundrels. "

Pascal had so far not opened his lips. After struggling for a moment inthe hands of his captors, he now stood perfectly motionless, glancingfuriously around him as if hoping to discover the coward who hadprepared the trap into which he had fallen. For he felt certain that hewas the victim of some atrocious conspiracy, though it was impossiblefor him to divine what motive had actuated his enemies. Suddenly thosewho were holding him felt him tremble. He raised his head; he fanciedhe could detect a ray of hope. "Shall I be allowed to speak in my owndefence?" he asked. 

"Speak!"

He tried to free himself; but those beside him would not relax theirhold, so he desisted, and then, in a voice husky with emotion, heexclaimed: "I am innocent! I am the victim of an infamous plot. Whothe author of it is I do not know. But there is some one here who mustknow. " Angry exclamations and sneering laughs interrupted him. "Wouldyou condemn me unheard?" he resumed, raising his voice. "Listen to me. About an hour ago, while you were at supper, Madame d'Argeles almostthrew herself at my feet as she entreated me to leave this house. Heragitation astonished me. Now I understand it. "

The gentleman known as the baron turned toward Madame d'Argeles: "Iswhat this man says true?"

She was greatly agitated, but she answered: "Yes. "

"Why were you so anxious for him to go?"

"I don't know--a presentiment--it seemed to me that something was goingto happen. "

The least observant of the party could not fail to notice Madamed'Argeles's hesitation and confusion; but even the shrewdest weredeceived. They supposed that she had seen the act committed, and hadtried to induce the culprit to make his escape, in order to avoid ascandal. 

Pascal saw he could expect no assistance from this source. "M. DeCoralth could assure you, " he began. 

"Oh, enough of that, " interrupted a player. "I myself heard M. DeCoralth do his best to persuade you not to play. "

So the unfortunate fellow's last and only hope had vanished. Still hemade a supreme effort, and addressing Madame d'Argeles: "Madame, " hesaid, in a voice trembling with anguish? "I entreat you, tell what youknow. Will you allow an honorable man to be ruined before your veryeyes? Will you abandon an innocent man whom you could save by a singleword?" But she remained silent; and Pascal staggered as if some one haddealt him a terrible blow. "It is all over!" he muttered. 

No one heard him; everybody was listening to the baron, who seemed tobe very much put out. "We are wasting precious time with all this, " saidhe. "We should have made at least five rounds while this absurd scenehas been going on. We must put an end to it. What are you going to dowith this fellow? I am in favor of sending for a commissary of police. "

Such was not at all the opinion of the majority of the guests. Fouror five of the ladies took flight at the bare suggestion and severalmen--the most aristocratic of the company--became angry at once. "Areyou mad?" said one of them. "Do you want to see us all summoned aswitnesses? You have probably forgotten that Garcia affair, and thatrumpus at Jenny Fancy's house. A fine thing it would be to see, no oneknows how many great names mixed up with those of sharpers and notoriouswomen!"

Naturally of a florid complexion, the baron's face now became scarlet. "So it's fear of scandal that deters you! Zounds, sir! a man's courageshould equal his vices. Look at me. "

Celebrated for his income of eight hundred thousand francs a year, forhis estates in Burgundy, for his passion for gaming, his horses, and hiscook, the baron wielded a mighty influence. Still, on this occasion hedid not carry the day, for it was decided that the "sharper" shouldbe allowed to depart unmolested. "Make him at least return the money, "growled a loser; "compel him to disgorge. "

"His winnings are there upon the table. "

"Don't believe it, " cried the baron. "All these scoundrels have secretpockets in which they stow away their plunder. Search him by all means. "

"That's it--search him!"

Crushed by this unexpected, undeserved and incomprehensible misfortune, Pascal had almost yielded to his fate. But the shameful cry: "Searchhim!" kindled terrible wrath in his brain. He shook off his assailantsas a lion shakes off the hounds that have attacked him, and, reachingthe fireplace with a single bound, he snatched up a heavy bronzecandelabrum and brandished it in the air, crying: "The first whoapproaches is a dead man!"

He was ready to strike, there was no doubt about it; and such a weaponin the hands of a determined man, becomes positively terrible. Thedanger seemed so great and so certain that his enemies paused--eachencouraging his neighbor with his glance; but no one was inclined toengage in this struggle, by which the victor would merely gain afew bank-notes. "Stand back, and allow me to retire?" said Pascal, imperiously. They still hesitated; but finally made way. And, formidablein his indignation and audacity, he reached the door of the roomunmolested, and disappeared. 

This superb outburst of outraged honor, this marvellousenergy--succeeding, as it did, the most complete mental prostration--andthese terrible threats, had proved so prompt and awe-inspiring thatno one had thought of cutting off Pascal's retreat. The guests hadnot recovered from their stupor, but were still standing silent andintimidated when they heard the outer door close after him. 

It was a woman who at last broke the spell. "Ah, well!" she exclaimed, in a tone of intense admiration, "that handsome fellow is level-headed!"

"He naturally desired to save his plunder!"

It was the same expression that M. De Coralth had employed; and whichhad, perhaps, prevented Pascal from yielding to Madame d'Argeles'sentreaties. Everybody applauded the sentiment--everybody, the baronexcepted. This rich man, whose passions had dragged him into the vilestdens of Europe, was thoroughly acquainted with sharpers and scoundrelsof every type, from those who ride in their carriages down to thebare-footed vagabond. He knew the thief who grovels at his victim'sfeet, humbly confessing his crime, the desperate knave who swallows thenotes he has stolen, the abject wretch who bares his back to receive theblows he deserves, and the rascal who boldly confronts his accusers andprotests his innocence with the indignation of an honest man. But never, in any of these scoundrels, had the baron seen the proud, steadfastglance with which this man had awed his accusers. 

With this thought uppermost in his mind he drew the person who hadseized Pascal's hands at the card-table a little aside. "Tell me, " saidhe, "did you actually see that young man slip the cards into the pack?"

"No, not exactly. But you know what we agreed at supper? We were surethat he was cheating; and it was necessary to find some pretext forcounting the cards. "

"What if he shouldn't be guilty, after all?"

"Who else could be guilty then? He was the only winner. "

To this terrible argument--the same which had silenced Pascal--the baronmade no reply. Indeed his intervention became necessary elsewhere, forthe other guests were beginning to talk loudly and excitedly around thepile of gold and bank-notes which Pascal had left on the table. Theyhad counted it, and found it to amount to the sum of thirty-six thousandthree hundred and twenty francs; and it was the question of dividing itproperly among the losers which was causing all this uproar. Among theseguests, who belonged to the highest society--among these judges who hadso summarily convicted an innocent man, and suggested the searching ofa supposed sharper only a moment before--there were several whounblushingly misrepresented their losses. This was undeniable; for onadding the various amounts that were claimed together a grand total ofninety-one thousand francs was reached. Had this man who had just fledtaken the difference between the two sums away with him? A differenceamounting almost to fifty-five thousand francs? No, this was impossible;the supposition could not be entertained for a moment. However, thediscussion might have taken an unfortunate turn, had it not been for thebaron. In all matters relating to cards, his word was law. He quietlysaid, "It is all right;" and they submitted. 

Nevertheless, he absolutely refused to take his share of the money; andafter the division, rubbing his hands as if he were delighted to seethis disagreeable affair concluded, he exclaimed: "It is only sixo'clock; we have still time for a few rounds. "

But the other guests, pale, disturbed, and secretly ashamed ofthemselves, were eager to depart, and in fact they were alreadyhastening to the cloak-room. "At least play a game of ecarte, " cried thebaron, "a simple game of ecarte, at twenty louis a point. "

But no one listened, and he reluctantly prepared to follow his departingfriends, who bowed to Madame d'Argeles on the landing, as they filed by, M. De Coralth, who was among the last to retire, had already reachedthe staircase, and descended two or three steps, when Madame d'Argelescalled to him. "Remain, " said she; "I want to speak with you. "

"You will excuse me, " he began; "I----"

But she again bade him "remain" in such an imperious tone that he darednot resist. He reascended the stairs, very much after the manner of aman who is being dragged into a dentist's office, and followed Madamed'Argeles into a small boudoir at the end of the gambling-room. As soonas the door was closed and locked, the mistress of the house turned toher prisoner. "Now you will explain, " said she. "It was you who broughtM. Pascal Ferailleur here. "

"Alas! I know only too well that I ought to beg your forgiveness. However, this affair will cost me dear myself. It has already embroiledme in a difficulty with that fool of a Rochecote, with whom I shall haveto fight in less than a couple of hours. "

"Where did you make his acquaintance?"

"Whose--Rochecote's?"

Madame d'Argeles's sempiternal smile had altogether disappeared. "I amspeaking seriously, " said she, with a threatening ring in her voice. "How did you happen to become acquainted with M. Ferailleur?"

"That can be very easily explained. Seven or eight months ago I had needof an advocate's services, and he was recommended to me. He managed mycase very cleverly, and we kept up the acquaintance. "

"What is his position?"

M. De Coralth's features wore an expression of exceeding weariness as ifhe greatly longed to go to sleep. He had indeed installed himself in alarge arm-chair, in a semi-recumbent position. "Upon my word, Idon't know, " he replied. "Pascal had always seemed to be the mostirreproachable man in the world--a man you might call a philosopher! Helives in a retired part of the city, near the Pantheon, with his mother, who is a widow, a very respectable woman, always dressed in black. Whenshe opened the door for me, on the occasion of my first visit, I thoughtsome old family portrait had stepped down from its frame to receiveme. I judge them to be in comfortable circumstances. Pascal has thereputation of being a remarkable man, and people supposed he would risevery high in his profession. "

"But now he is ruined; his career is finished. "

"Certainly! You can be quite sure that by this evening all Paris willknow what occurred here last night. "

He paused, meeting Madame Argeles's look of withering scorn with acleverly assumed air of astonishment. "You are a villain! Monsieur deCoralth, " she said, indignantly. 

"I--and why?"

"Because it was you who slipped those cards, which made M. Ferailleurwin, into the pack; I saw you do it! And yielding to my entreaties, the young fellow was about to leave the house when you, intentionally, prevented him from saving himself. Oh! don't deny it. "

M. De Coralth rose in the coolest possible manner. "I deny nothing, mydear lady, " he replied, "absolutely nothing. You and I understand eachother. "

Confounded by his unblushing impudence, Madame d'Argeles remainedspeechless for a moment. "You confess it!" she cried, at last. "You dareto confess it! Were you not afraid that I might speak and state what Ihad seen?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "No one would have believed you, " heexclaimed. 

"Yes, I should have been believed, Monsieur de Coralth, for I could havegiven proofs. You must have forgotten that I know you, that your pastlife is no secret to me, that I know who you are, and what dishonoredname you hide beneath your borrowed title! I could have told my gueststhat you are married--that you have abandoned your wife and child, leaving them to perish in want and misery--I could have told them whereyou obtain the thirty or forty thousand francs you spend each year. Youmust have forgotten that Rose told me everything, Monsieur--Paul!"

She had struck the right place this time, and with such precision thatM. De Coralth turned livid, and made a furious gesture, as if he wereabout to fell her to the ground. "Ah, take care!" he exclaimed; "takecare!"

But his rage speedily subsided, and with his usual indifferent manner, and in a bantering tone, he said: "Well, what of that? Do you fancy thatthe world doesn't already suspect what you could reveal? People havesuspected me of being even worse than I am. When you proclaim on thehousetops that I am an adventurer, folks will only laugh at you, and Ishall be none the worse for it. A matter that would crush a dozen menlike Pascal Ferailleur would not injure me in the least. I am accustomedto it. I must have luxury and enjoyment, everything that is pleasant andbeautiful--and to procure all this, I do my very best. It is true thatI don't derive my income from my estate in Brie; but I have plenty ofmoney, and that is the essential thing. Besides, it is so difficult toearn a livelihood nowadays, and the love of luxury is so intense thatno one knows at night what he may do--or, rather, what he won't do--thenext day. And last, but not least, the people who ought to be despisedare so numerous that contempt is an impossibility. A Parisian whohappened to be so absurdly pretentious as to refuse to shake hands withsuch of his acquaintances as were not irreproachable characters, mightwalk for hours on the Boulevards without finding an occasion to take hishands out of his pockets. "

M. De Coralth talked well enough, and yet, in point of fact, all thiswas sheer bravado on his part. He knew better than any one else, on whata frail and uncertain basis his brilliant existence was established. Certainly, society does show great indulgence to people of doubtfulreputation. It shuts its eyes and refuses to look or listen. But this isall the more reason why it should be pitiless when a person's guilt ispositively established. Thus, although he assumed an air of insolentsecurity, the "viscount" anxiously watched the effect of his words uponMadame d'Argeles. Fortunately for himself, he saw that she was abashedby his cynicism; and so he resumed: "Besides, as our friend, the baron, would say, we are wasting precious time in discussing improbable, andeven impossible, suppositions. I was sufficiently well acquainted withyour heart and your intelligence, my dear madame, to be sure that youwould not speak a word to my disparagement. "

"Indeed! What prevented me from doing so?"

"I did; or perhaps I ought rather to say, your own good sense, whichclosed your mouth when Monsieur Pascal entreated you to speak in hisdefence. I am entitled to considerable indulgence, madame, and a greatdeal ought to be forgiven me. My mother, unfortunately, was an honestwoman, who did not furnish me with the means of gratifying every whim. "

Madame d'Argeles recoiled as if a serpent had suddenly crossed her path. 

"What do you mean?" she faltered. 

"You know as well as I do. "

"I don't understand you--explain yourself. "

With the impatient gesture of a man who finds himself compelledto answer an idle question, and assuming an air of hypocriticalcommiseration, he replied: "Well, since you insist upon it, I know, in Paris--in the Rue de Helder, to be more exact--a nice young fellow, whose lot I have often envied. He has wanted for nothing since the dayhe came into the world. At school, he had three times as much moneyas his richest playfellow. When his studies were finished, a tutor wasprovided--with his pockets full of gold--to conduct this favored youthto Italy, Egypt, and Greece. He is now studying law; and four timesa year, with unvarying punctuality, he receives a letter from Londoncontaining five thousand francs. This is all the more remarkable, asthis young man has neither a father nor a mother. He is alone in theworld with his income of twenty thousand francs. I have heard him say, jestingly, that some good fairy must be watching over him; but I knowthat he believes himself to be the illegitimate son of some greatEnglish nobleman. Sometimes, when he has drunk a little too much, hetalks of going in search of my lord, his father. "

The effect M. De Coralth had created by these words must have beenextremely gratifying to him, for Madame d'Argeles had fallen back in herchair, almost fainting. "So, my dear madame, " he continued, "if I everhad any reason to fancy that you intended causing me any trouble, Ishould go to this charming youth and say: 'My good fellow, you arestrangely deceived. Your money doesn't come from the treasure-box of anEnglish peer, but from a small gambling den with which I am very wellacquainted, having often had occasion to swell its revenues with myfranc-pieces. ' And if he mourned his vanished dreams, I should tellhim: 'You are wrong; for, if the great nobleman is lost, the good fairyremains. She is none other than your mother, a very worthy person, whoseonly object in life is your comfort and advancement. ' And if he doubtedmy word, I should bring him to his mother's house some baccarat night;and there would be a scene of recognition worthy of Fargueil's genius. "

Any man but M. De Coralth would have had some compassion, for Madamed'Argeles was evidently suffering agony. "It is as I feared!" shemoaned, in a scarcely audible voice. 

However, he heard her. "What!" he exclaimed in a tone of intenseastonishment; "did you really doubt it? No; I can't believe it; it wouldbe doing injustice to your intelligence and experience. Are people likeourselves obliged to talk in order to understand each other? Should Iever have ventured to do what I have done, in your house, if I had notknown the secret of your maternal tenderness, delicacy of feeling, anddevotion?"

She was weeping; big tears were rolling down her face, tracing a broadfurrow through the powder on her cheeks. "He knows everything!" shemurmured; "he knows everything!"

"By the merest chance, I assure you. As I don't like folks to meddlewith my affairs, I never meddle with theirs. As I have just said, it wasentirely the work of chance. One April afternoon I came to invite youto a drive in the Bois. I was ushered into this very room where weare sitting now, and found you writing. I said I would wait until youfinished your letter; but some one called you, and you hastily left theroom. How it was that I happened to approach your writing-table I cannotexplain; but I did approach it, and read your unfinished letter. Upon myword it touched me deeply. I can give no better proof of the truth of myassertion than the fact that I can repeat it, almost word for word, evennow. 'DEAR SIR, '--you wrote to your London correspondent--'I send youthree thousand francs, in addition to the five thousand for the regularquarterly payment. Forward the money without delay. I fear the poor boyis greatly annoyed by his creditors. Yesterday I had the happinessof seeing him in the Rue de Helder, and I found him looking pale andcareworn. When you send him this money, forward at the same time aletter of fatherly advice. It is true, he ought to work and win anhonorable position for himself; but think of the dangers and temptationthat beset him, alone and friendless, in this corrupt city. ' There, mydear lady, your letter ended; but the name and address were given, andit was easy enough to understand it. You remember, perhaps, a littleincident that occurred after your return. On perceiving that you hadforgotten your letter, you turned pale and glanced at me. 'Have youread it, and do you understand it?' your eyes asked; while mine replied:'Yes, but I shall be silent. '"

"And I shall be silent too, " said Madame d'Argeles. 

M. De Coralth took her hand and raised it to his lips. "I knew we shouldunderstand each other, " he remarked, gravely. "I am not bad at heart, believe me; and if I had possessed money of my own, or a mother likeyou----"

She averted her face, fearing perhaps that M. De Coralth might readher opinion of him in her eyes; but after a short pause she exclaimedbeseechingly: "Now that I am your accomplice, let me entreat you to doall you possibly can to prevent last night's affair from being noisedabroad. "

"Impossible. "

"If not for M. Ferailleur's sake, for the sake of his poor widowedmother. "

"Pascal must be put out of the way!"

"Why do you say that? Do you hate him so much then? What has he done toyou?"

"To me, personally? Nothing--I even feel actual sympathy for him. "

Madame d'Argeles was confounded. "What!" she stammered; "it wasn't onyour own account that you did this?"

"Why, no. "

She sprang to her feet, and quivering with scorn and indignation, cried:"Ah! then the deed is even more infamous--even more cowardly!" Butalarmed by the threatening gleam in M. De Coralth's eyes, she went nofurther. 

"A truce to these disagreeable truths, " said he, coldly. "If weexpressed our opinions of each other without reserve, in this world, we should soon come to hard words. Do you think I acted for my ownpleasure? Suppose some one had seen me when I slipped the cards into thepack. If that had happened, I should have been ruined. "

"And you think that no one suspects you?"

"No one. I lost more than a hundred louis myself. If Pascal belonged toour set, people might investigate the matter, perhaps; but to-morrow itwill be forgotten. "

"And will he have no suspicions?"

"He will have no proofs to offer, in any case. "

Madame d'Argeles seemed to resign herself to the inevitable. "I hope youwill, at least, tell me on whose behalf you acted, " she remarked. 

"Impossible, " replied M. De Coralth. And, consulting his watch, headded, "But I am forgetting myself; I am forgetting that that idiot ofa Rochecote is waiting for a sword-thrust. So go to sleep, my dear lady, and--till we meet again. "

She accompanied him so far as the landing. "It is quite certain that heis hastening to the house of M. Ferailleur's enemy, " she thought. And, calling her confidential servant, "Quick, Job, " she said; "follow M. De Coralth. I want to know where he is going. And, above all, take carethat he doesn't see you. "

V. 

If through the length and breadth of Paris there is a really quiet, peaceful street, a refuge for the thoughtfully inclined, it is surelythe broad Rue d'Ulm, which starts from the Place du Pantheon, and finishes abruptly at the Rue des Feuillantines. The shops areunassuming, and so few that one can easily count them. There isa wine-shop on the left-hand side, at the corner of the Rue de laVieille-Estrapade; then a little toy-shop, then a washerwoman's and thena book-binder's establishment; while on the right-hand you will findthe office of the Bulletin, with a locksmith's, a fruiterer's, and abaker's--that is all. Along the rest of the street run several spaciousbuildings, somewhat austere in appearance, though some of them aresurrounded by large gardens. Here stands the Convent of the Sisters ofthe Cross, with the House of Our Lady of Adoration; while further on, near the Rue des Feuillantines, you find the Normal School, with theoffice of the General Omnibus Company hard by. At day-time you mostlymeet grave and thoughtful faces in the street: priests, savants, professors, and clerks employed in the adjacent public libraries. Theonly stir is round about the omnibus office; and if occasional bursts oflaughter are heard they are sure to come from the Normal School. Afternightfall, a person might suppose himself to be at least a hundredleagues from the Boulevard Montmartre and the Opera-House, in somequiet old provincial town, at Poitiers, for instance. And it is only onlistening attentively that you can catch even a faint echo of the tumultof Paris. 

It was in this street--"out of the world, " as M. De Coralth expressedit--that Pascal Ferailleur resided with his mother. They occupied asecond floor, a pretty suite of five rooms, looking out upon a garden. Their rent was high. Indeed, they paid fourteen hundred francs a year. But this was a burden which Pascal's profession imposed upon him; forhe, of course, required a private office and a little waiting-room forhis clients. With this exception, the mother and son led a straightened, simple life. Their only servant was a woman who came at seven o'clock todo the heavy work, went home again at twelve, and did not return againuntil the evening, to serve dinner. Madame Ferailleur attended toeverything, not blushing in the least when she was compelled to open thedoor for some client. Besides, she could do this without the least riskof encountering disrespect, so imposing and dignified were her mannersand her person. 

M. De Coralth had shown excellent judgment when he compared her to afamily portrait. She was, in fact, exactly the person a painter wouldselect to represent some old burgher's wife--a chaste and loving spouse, a devoted mother, an incomparable housewife--in one phrase, the faithfulguardian of her husband's domestic happiness. She had just passed herfiftieth birthday, and looked fully her age. She had suffered. A closeobserver would have detected traces of weeping about her wrinkledeyelids; and the twinge of her lips was expressive of cruel anguish, heroically endured. Still, she was not severe, nor even too sedate; andthe few friends who visited her were often really astonished at her wit. Besides, she was one of those women who have no history, and who findhappiness in what others would call duty. Her life could be summed up ina single sentence: she had loved; she had mourned. 

The daughter of a petty clerk in one of the government departments, andmerely dowered with a modest portion of three thousand francs, she hadmarried a young man as poor as herself, but intelligent and industrious, whom she loved, and who adored her. This young man on marrying had swornthat he would make a fortune; not that he cared for money for himself, but he wished to provide his idol with every luxury. His love, enhancinghis energy, no doubt hastened his success. Attached as a chemist toa large manufacturing establishment, his services soon became soinvaluable to his employers that they gave him a considerable interestin the business. His name even obtained an honorable place among moderninventors; and we are indebted to him for the discovery of one of thosebrilliant colors that are extracted from common coal. At the end of tenyears he had become a man of means. He loved his wife as fondly as onthe day of their marriage, and he had a son--Pascal. 

Unfortunate fellow! One day, in the full sunshine of happiness andsuccess, while he was engaged in a series of experiments for the purposeof obtaining a durable, and at the same time perfectly harmless, green, the chemicals exploded, smashing the mortar which he held, and woundinghim horribly about the head and chest. A fortnight later he died, apparently calm, but in reality a prey to bitter regrets. It was aterrible blow for his poor wife, and the thought of her son alonereconciled her to life. Pascal was now everything to her--her presentand her future; and she solemnly vowed that she would make a noble manof him. But alas! misfortunes never come singly. One of her husband'sfriends, who acted as administrator to the estate, took a contemptibleadvantage of her inexperience. She went to sleep one night possessingan income of fifteen thousand francs, but she awoke to find herselfruined--so completely ruined that she did not know where to obtain herdinner for that same evening. Had she been alone in the world, she wouldnot have grieved much over the catastrophe, but she was sadly affectedby the thought that her son's future was, perhaps, irrevocably blighted, and that, in any case, this disaster would condemn him to enter lifethrough the cramped and gloomy portals of poverty. 

However, Madame Ferailleur was of too courageous and too proud a naturenot to meet this danger with virile energy. She wasted no time inuseless lamentations. She determined to repair the harm as far as itwas in her power to repair it, resolving that her son's studies at thecollege of Louis-the-Great should not be interrupted, even if she had tolabor with her own hands. And when she spoke of manual toil, it wasno wild, unmeaning exaggeration born of sorrow and a passing flash ofcourage. She found employment as a day-servant and in sewing forlarge shops, until she at last obtained a situation as clerk in theestablishment where her husband had been a partner. To obtain this shewas obliged to acquire a knowledge of bookkeeping, but she was amplyrepaid for her trouble; for the situation was worth eighteen hundredfrancs a year, besides food and lodging. Then only did her effortsmomentarily abate; she felt that her arduous task was drawing to a happyclose. Pascal's expenses at school amounted to about nine hundred francsa year; she did not spend more than one hundred on herself; and thus shewas able to save nearly eight hundred francs a year. 

It must be admitted that she was admirably seconded in her efforts byher son. Pascal was only twelve years old when his mother said to him:"I have ruined you, my son. Nothing remains of the fortune which yourfather accumulated by dint of toil and self-sacrifice. You will beobliged to rely upon yourself, my boy. God grant that in years to comeyou will not reproach me for my imprudence. "

The child did not throw himself into her arms, but holding his headproudly erect, he answered: "I shall love you even more, dear mother, if that be possible. As for the fortune which my father left you, I willrestore it to you again. I am no longer a school-boy, I am a man--as youshall see. "

One could not fail to perceive that he had taken a solemn vow. Althoughhe possessed a remarkable mind, and the power of acquiring knowledgerapidly, he had, so far, worked indifferently, and then only by fits andstarts, whenever examination time drew near. But from that day forwardhe did not lose a moment. His remarks, which were at once comical andtouching, were those of the head of a family, deeply impressed by asense of his own responsibility. "You see, " he said to his companions, who were astonished at his sudden thirst for knowledge, "I can't affordto wear out my breeches on the college forms, now that my poor motherhas to pay for them with her work. "

His good-humor was not in the least impaired by his resolve not to spenda single penny of his pocket money. With a tact unusual at his age, orindeed at any other, he bore his misfortunes simply and proudly, withoutany of the servile humility or sullen envy which so often accompaniespoverty. For three years in succession the highest prizes at thecompetitions rewarded him for his efforts; but these successes, far fromelating him unduly, seemed to afford him but little satisfaction. "This is only glory, " he thought; and his great ambition was to supporthimself. 

He was soon able to do so, thanks to the kindness of the head-master, who offered him his tuition gratis if he would assist in superintendingsome of the lower classes. Thus one day when Madame Ferailleur presentedherself as usual to make her quarterly payment, the steward replied:"You owe us nothing, madame; everything has been paid by your son. "

She almost fainted; after bearing adversity so bravely, this happinessproved too much for her. She could scarcely believe it. A longexplanation was necessary to convince her of the truth, and then bigtears, tears of joy this time, gushed from her eyes. 

In this way, Pascal Ferailleur paid all the expenses of his educationuntil he had won his degree, arming himself so as to resist the trialsthat awaited him, and giving abundant proof of energy and ability. He wished to be a lawyer; and the law, he was forced to admit, is aprofession which is almost beyond the reach of penniless young men. Butthere are no insurmountable obstacles for those whose hearts are reallyset on an object. On the very day that Pascal inscribed his name as astudent at the law school, he entered an advocate's office as a clerk. His duties, which were extremely tiresome at first, had the two-foldadvantage of familiarizing him with the forms of legal procedure, and offurnishing him with the means of prosecuting his studies. After he hadbeen in the office six months, his employer agreed to pay him eighthundred francs a year, which were increased to fifteen hundred at theend of the second twelvemonth. In three years, when he had passed hisfinal examination qualifying him to practise, his patron raised himto the position of head-clerk, with a salary of three thousand francs, which Pascal was moreover able to increase considerably by drawing updocuments for busy attorneys, and assisting them in the preparation oftheir least important cases. 

It was certainly something wonderful to have achieved such a result inso short a time; but the most difficult part of his task had still tobe accomplished. It was a perilous undertaking to abandon an assuredposition, to cast a certainty aside for the chances of life at the bar. It was a grave step--so grave, indeed, that Pascal hesitated for along time. He was threatened with the danger that always threatenssubordinates who are useful to their superiors. He felt that hisemployer, who was in the habit of relieving himself of his heaviestduties by intrusting them to him, would not be likely to forgive himfor leaving. And on starting on his own account, he could ill afford todispense with this lawyer's good-will. The patronage that could scarcelyfail to follow him from an office where he had served for four yearswas the most substantial basis of his calculations for the future. Eventually he succeeded to his satisfaction, though not without somedifficulty, and only by employing that supreme finesse which consists inabsolute frankness. 

Before his office had been open a fortnight, he had seven or eightbriefs waiting their turn upon his desk, and his first efforts weresuch as win the approving smile of old judges, and draw from them theprediction: "That young man will rise in his profession. " He had notdesired to make any display of his knowledge or talent, but merely towin the cases confided to him; and, unlike many beginners, he evincedno inclination to shine at his clients' expense. Rare modesty, and itserved him well. His first ten months of practice brought him abouteight thousand francs, absorbed in part by the expense attaching to asuitable office. The second year his fees increased by about one-half, and, feeling that his position was now assured, he insisted that hismother should resign her clerkship. He proved to her what was indeedthe truth--that by superintending his establishment, she would save morethan she made in her present position. 

From that time the mother and the son had good reason to believe thattheir heroic energy had conquered fate. Clients became so numerous thatPascal found it necessary to draw nearer the business centre, andhis rent was consequently doubled; but the income he derived from hisprofession increased so rapidly that he soon had twelve thousand francssafely invested as a resource against any emergency. Madame Ferailleurnow laid aside the mourning she had worn since her husband's death. Shefelt that she owed it to Pascal; and, besides, after believing there wasno more happiness left for her on earth, her heart rejoiced at her son'ssuccess. 

Pascal was thus on the high-road to fame, when a complication in M. Ferdinand de Coralth's affair, brought that young nobleman to hisoffice. The trouble arose from a little stock exchange operationwhich M. Ferdinand had engaged in--an affair which savored a trifleof knavery. It was strange, but Pascal rather took a liking to M. DeCoralth. The honest worker felt interested in this dashing adventurer;he was almost dazzled by his brilliant vices, his wit, his hardihood, conceit, marvellous assurance, and careless impudence; and he studiedthis specimen of the Parisian flora with no little curiosity. M. De Coralth certainly did not confide the secret of his life and hisresources to Pascal but the latter's intelligence should have told himto distrust a man who treated the requirements of morality even morethan cavalierly, and who had infinitely more wants than scruples. However, the young advocate seemed to have no suspicions; they exchangedvisits occasionally, and it was Pascal himself who one day requested theviscount to take him to one of those "Reunions in High Life" which thenewspapers describe in such glowing terms. 

Madame Ferailleur was playing a game of whist with a party of oldfriends, according to her custom every Thursday evening, when M. DeCoralth called to invite the young advocate to accompany him to Madamed'Argeles's reception. Pascal considered his friend's invitationexceedingly well timed. He dressed himself with more than ordinary care, and, as usual before going out, he approached his mother to kiss her andwish her good-bye. "How fine you are!" she said, smiling. 

"I am going to a soiree, my dear mother, " he replied; "and it isprobable that I shall not return until very late. So don't wait for me, I beg of you; promise me to go to bed at your usual hour. "

"Have you the night-key?"

"Yes. "

"Very well, then; I will not wait for you. When you come in you willfind your candle and some matches on the buffet in the ante-room. Andwrap yourself up well, for it is very cold. " Then raising her foreheadto her son's lips, she gayly added: "A pleasant evening to you, my boy!"

Faithful to her promise, Madame Ferailleur retired at the usual hour;but she could not sleep. She certainly had no cause for anxiety, andyet the thought that her son was not at home filled her heart withvague misgivings such as she had never previously felt under similarcircumstances. Possibly it was because she did not know where Pascal wasgoing. Possibly M. De Coralth was the cause of her strange disquietude, for she utterly disliked the viscount. Her woman's instinct warned herthat there was something unwholesome about this young man's peculiarhandsomeness, and that it was not safe to trust to his professions offriendship. At all events, she lay awake and heard the clock of theneighboring Normal School strike each successive hour--two, three, andfour. "How late Pascal stays, " she said to herself. 

And suddenly a fear more poignant even than her presentiments dartedthrough her mind. She sprang out of bed and rushed to the window. Shefancied she had heard a terrible cry of distress in the deserted street. At that very moment, the insulting word "thief" was being hurled in herson's face. But the street was silent, and deciding that she had beenmistaken, she went back to bed laughing at herself for her fears; andat last she fell asleep. But judge of her terror in the morning when, onrising to let the servant in, she saw Pascal's candle still standing onthe buffet. Was it possible that he had not returned? She hastened tohis room--he was not there. And it was nearly eight o'clock. 

This was the first time that Pascal had spent a night from home withoutwarning his mother in advance; and such an act on the part of a manof his character was sufficient proof that something extraordinaryhad occurred. In an instant all the dangers that lurk in Paris afternightfall flashed through her mind. She remembered all the stories shehad read of men decoyed into dark corners, of men stabbed at the turn ofsome deserted street, or thrown into the Seine while crossing one ofthe bridges. What should she do? Her first impulse was to run to theCommissary of Police's office or to the house of Pascal's friend; buton the other hand, she dared not go out, for fear he might return in herabsence. Thus, in an agony of suspense, she waited--counting the secondsby the quick throbbings of her temples, and straining her ears to catchthe slightest sound. 

At last, about half-past eight o'clock, she heard a heavy, uncertainfootfall on the stairs. She flew to the door and beheld her son. Hisclothes were torn and disordered; his cravat was missing, he wore noovercoat, and he was bareheaded. He looked very pale, and his teeth werechattering. His eyes stared vacantly, and his features had an almostidiotic expression. "Pascal, what has happened to you?" she asked. 

He trembled from head to foot as the sound of her voice suddenly rousedhim from his stupor. "Nothing, " he stammered; "nothing at all. " And ashis mother pressed him with questions, he pushed her gently aside andwent on to his room. 

"Poor child!" murmured Madame Ferailleur, at once grieved and reassured;"and he is always so temperate. Some one must have forced him to drink. "

She was entirely wrong in her surmise, and yet Pascal's sensations wereexactly like those of an intoxicated man. How he had returned home, bywhat road, and what had happened on the way, he could not tell. He hadfound his way back mechanically, merely by force of habit--physicalmemory, as it might be called. He had a vague impression, however, thathe had sat down for some time on a bench in the Champs-Elysees, that hehad felt extremely cold, and that he had been accosted by a policeman, who threatened him with arrest if he did not move on. The last thing hecould clearly recollect was rushing from Madame d'Argeles's house inthe Rue de Berry. He knew that he had descended the staircase slowlyand deliberately; that the servants in the vestibule had stood aside toallow him to pass; and that, while crossing the courtyard, he had thrownaway the candelabrum with which he had defended himself. After that, he remembered nothing distinctly. On reaching the street he had beenovercome by the fresh air, just as a carouser is overcome on emergingfrom a heated dining-room. Perhaps the champagne which he had drank hadcontributed to this cerebral disorder. At all events, even now, inhis own room, seated in his own arm-chair, and surrounded by familiarobjects, he did not succeed in regaining the possession of hisfaculties. 

He had barely strength enough to throw himself on to the bed, and ina moment he was sleeping with that heavy slumber which so oftenseizes hold of one on the occasion of a great crisis, and which has sofrequently been observed among persons condemned to death, on the nightpreceding their execution. Four or five times his mother came to listenat the door. Once she entered, and seeing her son sleeping soundly, shecould not repress a smile of satisfaction. "Poor Pascal!" she thought;"he can bear no excess but excess of work. Heavens! how surprised andmortified he will be when he awakes!"

Alas! it was not a trifling mortification, but despair, which awaitedthe sleeper on his wakening; for the past, the present, and the futurewere presented simultaneously and visionlike to his imagination. Although he had scarcely regained the full use of his faculties, he was, to some extent, at least capable of reflection and deliberation, and hetried to look the situation bravely in the face. First, as to the past, he had not the shadow of a doubt. He realized that he had fallen into avile trap, and the person who had laid it for him was undoubtedly M. DeCoralth, who, seated at his right, had prepared the "hands" with whichhe had won. This was evident. It seemed equally proven that Madamed'Argeles knew the real culprit--possibly she had detected him in theact, possibly he had taken her into his confidence. But what he couldnot fathom was M. De Coralth's motive. What could have prompted theviscount to commit such an atrocious act? The incentive must have beenvery powerful, since he had naturally incurred the danger of detectionand of being considered an accomplice at the least. And then whatinfluence had closed Madame d'Argeles's lips? But after all, whatwas the use of these conjectures? It was an actual, unanswerable, andterrible fact that this infamous plot had been successful, andthat Pascal was dishonored. He was honesty itself, and yet he wasaccused--more than that, CONVICTED--of cheating at cards! He wasinnocent, and yet he could furnish no proofs of his innocence. He knewthe real culprit, and yet he could see no way of unmasking him or evenof accusing him. Do what he would, this atrocious, incomprehensivecalumny would crush him. The bar was closed against him; his career wasended. And the terrible conviction that there was no escape from theabyss into which he had fallen made his reason totter--he felt that hewas incapable of deciding on the best course, and that he must have afriend's advice. 

Full of this idea, he hastily changed his clothes, and hurried fromhis room. His mother was watching for him--inclined to laugh at hima little; but a single glance warned her that her son was in terribletrouble, and that some dire misfortune had certainly befallen him. "Pascal, in heaven's name, what has happened?" she cried. 

"A slight difficulty--a mere trifle, " he replied. 

"Where are you going?"

"To the Palais de Justice. " And such was really the case, for he hopedto meet his most intimate friend there. 

Contrary to his usual custom, he took the little staircase on the right, leading to the grand vestibule, where several lawyers were assembled, earnestly engaged in conversation. They were evidently astonished tosee Pascal, and their conversation abruptly ceased on his approach. They assumed a grave look and turned away their heads in disgust. Theunfortunate man at once realized the truth, and pressed his hand tohis forehead, with a despairing gesture, as he murmured:"Already!--already!"

However, he passed on, and not seeing his friend, he hurried to thelittle conference hall, where he found five of his fellow-advocates. OnPascal's entrance, two of them at once left the hall, while two of theothers pretended to be very busily engaged in examining a brief whichlay open on the table. The fifth, who did not move, was not the friendPascal sought, but an old college comrade named Dartelle. Pascal walkedstraight toward him. "Well?" he asked. 

Dartelle handed him a Figaro, still damp from the printing-press, butcrumpled and worn, as if it had already passed through more than ahundred hands. "Read!" said he. 

Pascal read as follows: "There was great sensation and a terriblescandal last night at the residence of Madame d'A----, a well-known starof the first magnitude. A score of gentlemen of high rank and immensewealth were enjoying a quiet game of baccarat, when it was observed thatM. F---- was winning in a most extraordinary manner. He was watched anddetected in the very act of dexterously slipping some cards into thepack he held. Crushed by the overpowering evidence against him, heallowed himself to be searched, and without much demur consented torefund the fruit of his knavery, to the amount of two thousand louis. The strangest thing connected with this scandal is, that M. F----, whois an advocate by profession, has always enjoyed an enviable reputationfor integrity; and, unfortunately, this prank cannot be attributed to amomentary fit of madness, for the fact that he had provided himself withthese cards in advance proves the act to have been premeditated. One ofthe persons present was especially displeased. This was the Viscount deC----, who had introduced M. F---- to Madame d'A----. Extremely annoyedby this contretemps, he took umbrage at an offensive remark made by M. De R----, and it was rumored that these gentlemen would cross swords atdaybreak this morning. 

"LATER INTELLIGENCE. --We learn at the moment of going to press that anencounter has just taken place between M. De R---- and M. De C----. M. De R---- received a slight wound in the side, but his condition issufficiently satisfactory not to alarm his friends. "

The paper slipped from Pascal's hand. His features were almostunrecognizable in his passion and despair. "It is an infamous lie!"he said, hoarsely. "I am innocent; I swear it upon my honor!" Dartelleaverted his face, but not quickly enough to prevent Pascal from noticingthe look of withering scorn in his eyes. Then, feeling that he wascondemned, that his sentence was irrevocable, and that there was nolonger any hope: "I know the only thing that remains for me to do!" hemurmured. 

Dartelle turned, his eyes glistening with tears. He seized Pascal'shands and pressed them with sorrowful tenderness, as if taking leave ofa friend who is about to die. "Courage!" he whispered. 

Pascal fled like a madman. "Yes, " he repeated, as he rushed along theBoulevard Saint-Michel, "that is the only thing left me to do. "

When he reached home he entered his office, double-locked the door, andwrote two letters--one to his mother, the other to the president of theorder of Advocates. After a moment's thought he began a third, but toreit into pieces before he had completed it. Then, without an instant'shesitation, and like a man who had fully decided upon his course, hetook a revolver and a box of cartridges from a drawer in his desk. "Poormother!" he murmured; "it will kill her--but my disgrace would kill hertoo. Better shorten the agony. "

He little fancied at that supreme moment that each of his gestures, eachcontraction of his features, were viewed by the mother whose name hefaltered. Since her son had left her to go to the Palais de Justice, thepoor woman had remained almost crazy with anxiety; and when she heardhim return and lock himself in his office--a thing he had never donebefore--a fearful presentiment was aroused in her mind. Gliding into herson's bedroom, she at once approached the door communicating with hisoffice. The upper part of this portal was of glass; it was possible tosee what was occurring in the adjoining room. When Madame Ferailleurperceived Pascal seat himself at his desk and begin to write, she felta trifle reassured, and almost thought of going away. But a vague dread, stronger than reason or will, riveted her to the spot. A few momentslater, when she saw the revolver in her son's hand, she understoodeverything. Her blood froze in her veins; and yet she had sufficientself-control to repress the cry of terror which sprang to her lips. Sherealized that the danger was terrible, imminent, extreme. Her heart, rather than her bewildered reason, told her that her son's life hung ona single thread. The slightest sound, a word, a rap on the door mighthasten the unfortunate man's deed. 

An inspiration from heaven came to the poor mother. Pascal had contentedhimself with locking the door leading to the ante-room. He had forgottenthis one, or neglected it, not thinking that anybody would approachhis office through his bedroom. But his mother perceived that this dooropened toward her. So, turning the knob with the utmost caution, sheflung it suddenly open, and reaching her son's side with a single bound, she clasped him closely in her arms. "Pascal, wretched boy! what wouldyou do?"

He was so surprised that his weapon fell from his hand, and he sankback almost fainting in his arm-chair. The idea of denying his intentionnever once occurred to him; besides, he was unable to articulate a word. But on his desk there lay a letter addressed to his mother which wouldspeak for him. 

Madame Ferailleur took it, tore the envelope open, and read: "Forgiveme--I'm about to die. It must be so. I cannot survive dishonor; and I amdishonored. "

"Dishonored!--you!" exclaimed the heartbroken mother. "My God! what doesthis mean? Speak. I implore you: tell me all--you must. I command you todo so. I command you!"

He complied with this at once supplicating and imperious behest, andrelated in a despairing voice the events which had wrought his woe. Hedid not omit a single particular, but tried rather to exaggerate thanpalliate the horrors of his situation. Perhaps he found a strangesatisfaction in proving to himself that there was no hope left; possiblyhe believed his mother would say: "Yes, you are right; and death is youronly refuge!"

As Madame Ferailleur listened, however, her eyes dilated with fear andhorror, and she scarcely realized whether she were awake or in themidst of some frightful dream. For this was one of those unexpectedcatastrophes which are beyond the range of human foresight or evenimagination, and which her mind could scarcely conceive or admit. ButSHE did not doubt him, even though his friends had doubted him. Indeed, if he had himself told her that he was guilty of cheating at cards, she would have refused to believe him. When his story was ended, she exclaimed: "And you wished to kill yourself? Did you not think, senseless boy, that your death would give an appearance of truth to thisvile calumny?"

With a mother's wonderful, sublime instinct, she had found the mostpowerful reason that could be urged to induce Pascal to live. "Did younot feel, my son, that it showed a lack of courage on your part to brandyourself and your name with eternal infamy, in order to escape yourpresent sufferings? This thought ought to have stayed your hand. Anhonest name is a sacred trust which no one has a right to abuse. Yourfather bequeathed it to you, pure and untarnished, and so you mustpreserve it. If others try to cover it with opprobrium, you must live todefend it. "

He lowered his head despondently, and in a tone of profounddiscouragement, he replied: "But what can I do? How can I escape fromthe web which has been woven around me with such fiendish cunning? If Ihad possessed my usual presence of mind at the moment of the accusation, I might have defended and justified myself, perhaps. But now themisfortune is irreparable. How can I unmask the traitor, and what proofsof his guilt can I cast in his face?"

"All the same, you ought not to yield without a struggle, " interruptedMadame Ferailleur, sternly. "It is wrong to abandon a task because it isdifficult; it must be accepted, and, even if one perish in the struggle, there is, at least, the satisfaction of feeling that one has not failedin duty. "

"But, mother----"

"I must not keep the truth from you, Pascal! What! are you lacking inenergy? Come, my son, rise and raise your head. I shall not let youfight alone. I will fight with you. "

Without speaking a word, Pascal caught hold of his mother's hands andpressed them to his lips. His face was wet with tears. His overstrainednerves relaxed under the soothing influence of maternal tenderness anddevotion. Reason, too, had regained her ascendency. His mother's noblewords found an echo in his own heart, and he now looked upon suicide asan act of madness and cowardice. Madame Ferailleur felt that the victorywas assured, but this did not suffice; she wished to enlist Pascal inher plans. "It is evident, " she resumed, "that M. De Coralth is theauthor of this abominable plot. But what could have been his object? Hashe any reason to fear you, Pascal? Has he confided to you, or have youdiscovered, any secret that might ruin him if it were divulged?"

"No, mother. "

"Then he must be the vile instrument of some even more despicable being. Reflect, my son. Have you wounded any of your friends? Are you sure thatyou are in nobody's way? Consider carefully. Your profession has itsdangers; and those who adopt it must expect to make bitter enemies. "

Pascal trembled. It seemed to him as if a ray of light at last illuminedthe darkness--a dim and uncertain ray, it is true, but still a gleam oflight. 

"Who knows!" he muttered; "who knows!"

Madame Ferailleur reflected a few moments, and the nature of herreflections brought a flush to her brow. "This is one of those casesin which a mother should overstep reserve, " said she. "If you had amistress, my son----"

"I have none, " he answered, promptly. Then his own face flushed, andafter an instant's hesitation, he added: "But I entertain the mostprofound and reverent love for a young girl, the most beautiful andchaste being on earth--a girl who, in intelligence and heart, is worthyof you, my own mother. "

Madame Ferailleur nodded her head gravely, as much as to say that shehad expected to find a woman at the bottom of the mystery. "And who isthis young girl?" she inquired. "What is her name?"

"Marguerite. "

"Marguerite who?"

Pascal's embarrassment increased. "She has no other name, " he replied, hurriedly, "and she does not know her parents. She formerly lived in ourstreet with her companion, Madame Leon, and an old female servant. Itwas there that I saw her for the first time. She now lives in the houseof the Count de Chalusse, in the Rue de Courcelles. "

"In what capacity?"

"The count has always taken care of her--she owes her education to him. He acts as her guardian; and although she has never spoken to me on thesubject, I fancy that the Count de Chalusse is her father. "

"And does this girl love you, Pascal?"

"I believe so, mother. She has promised me that she will have no otherhusband than myself. "

"And the count?"

"He doesn't know--he doesn't even suspect anything about it. Day afterday I have been trying to gather courage to tell you everything, and toask you to go to the Count de Chalusse. But my position is so modest asyet. The count is immensely rich, and he intends to give Marguerite anenormous fortune--two millions, I believe----"

Madame Ferailleur interrupted him with a gesture. "Look no further, " shesaid; "you have found the explanation. "

Pascal sprang to his feet with crimson cheeks, flaming eyes, andquivering lips. "It may be so, " he exclaimed; "it may be so! The count'simmense fortune may have tempted some miserable scoundrel. Who knows butsome one may have been watching Marguerite, and have discovered that Iam an obstacle?"

"Something told me that my suspicions were correct, " said MadameFerailleur. "I had no proofs, and yet I felt sure of it. "

Pascal was absorbed in thought. "And what a strange coincidence, " heeventually remarked. "Do you know, the last time I saw Marguerite, a week ago, she seemed so sad and anxious that I felt alarmed. Iquestioned her, but at first she would not answer. After a littlewhile, however, as I insisted, she said: 'Ah, well, I fear the count isplanning a marriage for me. M. De Chalusse has not said a word to me onthe subject, but he has recently had several long conferences in privatewith a young man whose father rendered him a great service in formeryears. And this young man, whenever I meet him, looks at me in such apeculiar manner. '"

"What is his name?" asked Madame Ferailleur. 

"I don't know--she didn't mention it; and her words so disturbed methat I did not think of asking. But she will tell me. This evening, ifI don't succeed in obtaining an interview, I will write to her. If yoursuspicions are correct, mother, our secret is in the hands of threepersons, and so it is a secret no longer----"

He paused suddenly to listen. The noise of a spirited altercationbetween the servant and some visitor, came from the ante-room. "I tellyou that he IS at home, " said some one in a panting voice, "and I mustsee him and speak with him at once. It is such an urgent matter that Ileft a card-party just at the most critical moment to come here. "

"I assure you, monsieur, that M. Ferailleur has gone out. "

"Very well; I will wait for him, then. Take me to a room where I can sitdown. "

Pascal turned pale, for he recognized the voice of the individual whohad suggested searching him at Madame d'Argeles's house. Nevertheless, he opened the door; and a man, with a face like a full moon, and who waspuffing and panting like a locomotive, came forward with the assuranceof a person who thinks he may do anything he chooses by reason of hiswealth. "Zounds!" he exclaimed. "I knew perfectly well that youwere here. You don't recognize me, perhaps, my dear sir. I am BaronTrigault--I came to----"

The words died away on his lips, and he became as embarrassed as if hehad not possessed an income of eight hundred thousand francs a year. Thefact is he had just perceived Madame Ferailleur. He bowed to her, andthen, with a significant glance at Pascal he said: "I should like tospeak to you in private, monsieur, in reference to a matter--"

Great as was Pascal's astonishment, he showed none of it on his face. "You can speak in my mother's presence, " he replied, coldly; "she knowseverything. "

The baron's surprise found vent in a positive distortion of hisfeatures. "Ah!" said he, in three different tones; "ah! ah!" And asno one had offered him a seat, he approached an arm-chair and tookpossession of it, exclaiming, "You will allow me, I trust? Those stairshave put me in such a state!"

In spite of his unwieldy appearance, this wealthy man was endowed withgreat natural shrewdness and an unusually active mind. And while hepretended to be engaged in recovering his breath he studied the roomand its occupants. A revolver was lying on the floor beside a torn andcrumpled letter, and tears were still glittering in the eyes of MadameFerailleur and her son. A keen observer needed no further explanation ofthe scene. 

"I will not conceal from you, monsieur, " began the baron, "that Ihave been led here by certain compunctions of conscience. " And, misinterpreting a gesture which Pascal made, "I mean what I say, " hecontinued; "compunctions of conscience. I have them occasionally. Yourdeparture this morning, after that deplorable scene, caused certaindoubts and suspicions to arise in my mind; and I said to myself, 'Wehave been too hasty; perhaps this young man may not be guilty. '"

"Monsieur!" interrupted Pascal, in a threatening tone. 

"Excuse me, allow me to finish, if you please. Reflection, I mustconfess, only confirmed this impression, and increased my doubts. 'Thedevil!' I said to myself again; 'if this young man is innocent, theculprit must be one of the habitues of Madame d'Argeles's house--that isto say, a man with whom I play twice a week, and whom I shall play withagain next Monday. ' And then I became uneasy, and here I am!" Was theabsurd reason which the baron gave for his visit the true one? It wasdifficult to decide. "I came, " he continued, "thinking that a look atyour home would teach me something; and now I have seen it, I am readyto take my oath that you are the victim of a vile conspiracy. "

So saying he noisily blew his nose, but this did not prevent him fromobserving the quiet joy of Pascal and his mother. They were amazed. Butalthough these words were calculated to make them feel intensely happy, they still looked at their visitor with distrust. It is not natural fora person to interest himself in other people's misfortunes, unless hehas some special motive for doing so; and what could this singular man'sobject be?

However, he did not seem in the slightest degree disconcerted by theglacial reserve with which his advances were received. "It is clearthat you are in some one's way, " he resumed, "and that this some one hasinvented this method of ruining you. There can be no question about it. The intention became manifest to my mind the moment I read the paragraphconcerning you in the Figaro. Have you seen it? Yes? Well, what do youthink of it? I would be willing to swear that it was written from notesfurnished by your enemy. Moreover, the particulars are incorrect, and Iam going to write a line of correction which I shall take to the officemyself. " So saying he transported his unwieldy person to Pascal's desk, and hastily wrote as follows:

 "MR. EDITOR, "As a witness of the scene that took place at Madame d'A----s's house last night, allow me to make an important correction. It is only too true that extra cards were introduced into the pack, but that they were introduced by M. F---- is not proven, since he was NOT SEEN to do it. I know that appearances are against him, but he nevertheless possesses my entire confidence and esteem. 

 "BARON TRIGAULT. "

Meanwhile Madame Ferailleur and her son had exchanged significantglances. Their impressions were the same. This man could not be anenemy. When the baron had finished his letter, and had read it aloud, Pascal, who was deeply moved, exclaimed: "I do not know how to expressmy gratitude to you, monsieur; but if you really wish to serve me, praydon't send that note. It would cause you a great deal of trouble andannoyance, and I should none the less be obliged to relinquish thepractice of my profession--besides, I am especially anxious to beforgotten for a time. "

"So be it--I understand you; you hope to discover the traitor, and youdo not wish to put him on his guard. I approve of your prudence. Butremember my words: if you ever need a helping hand, rap at my door; andwhen you hold the necessary proofs, I will furnish you with the means ofrendering your justification even more startling than the affront. " Heprepared to go, but before crossing the threshold, he turned and said:"In future I shall watch the fingers of the player who sits on my lefthand. And if I were in your place, I would obtain the notes from whichthat newspaper article was written. One never knows the benefit that maybe derived, at a certain moment, from a page of writing. "

As he started off, Madame Ferailleur sprang from her chair. "Pascal, "she exclaimed, "that man knows something, and your enemies are his; Iread it in his eyes. He, too, distrusts M. De Coralth. "

"I understood him, mother, and my mind is made up. I must disappear. From this moment Pascal Ferailleur no longer exists. "

That same evening two large vans were standing outside MadameFerailleur's house. She had sold her furniture without reserve, and wasstarting to join her son, who had already left for Le Havre, she said, in view of sailing to America. 

VI. 

"There are a number of patients waiting for me. I will drop in againabout midnight. I still have several urgent visits to make. " Thus hadDr. Jodon spoken to Mademoiselle Marguerite; and yet, when he left theHotel de Chalusse, after assuring himself that Casimir would have somestraw spread over the street, the doctor quietly walked home. The visitshe had spoken of merely existed in his imagination; but it was a part ofhis role to appear to be overrun with patients. To tell the truth, the only patient he had had to attend to that week was a superannuatedporter, living in the Rue de la Pepiniere, and whom he visited twice aday, for want of something better to do. The remainder of his timewas spent in waiting for patients who never came, and in cursing theprofession of medicine, which was ruined, he declared, by excessivecompetition, combined with certain rules of decorum which hampered youngpractitioners beyond endurance. 

However, if Dr. Jodon had devoted one-half of the time he spent incursing and building castles in the air to study, he might have, perhaps, raised his little skill to the height of his immense ambition. But neither work nor patience formed any part of his system. He wasa man of the present age, and wished to rise speedily with as littletrouble as possible. A certain amount of display and assurance, a littleluck, and a good deal of advertising would, in his opinion, suffice tobring about this result. It was with this conviction, indeed, that hehad taken up his abode in the Rue de Courcelles, situated in one of themost aristocratic quarters of Paris. But so far, events had shown histheory to be incorrect. In spite of the greatest economy, very cleverlyconcealed, he had seen the little capital which constituted his entirefortune dwindle away. He had originally possessed but twenty thousandfrancs, a sum which in no wise corresponded with his lofty pretensions. He had paid his rent that very morning; and he could not close his eyesto the fact that the time was near at hand when he would be unable topay it. What should he do then? When he thought of this contingency, and it was a subject that filled his mind to the exclusion of all othermatters, he felt the fires of wrath and hatred kindle in his soul. Heutterly refused to regard himself as the cause of his own misfortunes;on the contrary, following the example of many other disappointedindividuals, he railed at mankind and everything in general--atcircumstances, envious acquaintances, and enemies, whom he certainly didnot possess. 

At times he was capable of doing almost anything to gratify his lust forgold, for the privations which he had endured so long were like oil castupon the flame of covetousness which was ever burning in his breast. Incalmer moments he asked himself at what other door he could knock, in view of hastening the arrival of Fortune. Sometimes he thought ofturning dentist, or of trying to find some capitalist who would join himin manufacturing one of those patent medicines which are warrantedto yield their promoters a hundred thousand francs a year. On otheroccasions he dreamed of establishing a monster pharmacy, or of openinga private hospital. But money was needed to carry out any one of theseplans, and he had no money. There was the rub. However the time was fastapproaching when he must decide upon his course; he could not possiblyhold out much longer. 

His third year of practice in the Rue de Courcelles had not yielded himenough to pay his servant's wages. For he had a servant, of course. He had a valet for the same reason as he had a suite of rooms of asuperficially sumptuous aspect. Faithful to his system, or, rather, tohis master's system, he had sacrificed everything to show. The displayof gilding in his apartments was such as to make a man of taste shuthis eyes to escape the sight of it. There were gorgeous carpets andhangings, frescoed ceilings, spurious objects of virtu, and pier-tablesloaded with ornaments. An unsophisticated youth from the country wouldcertainly have been dazzled; but it would not do to examine these thingstoo closely. There was more cotton than silk in the velvet covering ofthe furniture; and if various statuettes placed on brackets at a certainheight had been closely inspected, it would have been found that theywere of mere plaster, hidden beneath a coating of green paint, sprinkledwith copper filings. This plaster, playing the part of bronze, was inperfect keeping with the man, his system, and the present age. 

When the doctor reached home, his first question to his servant was asusual: "Has any one called?"

"No one. "

The doctor sighed, and passing through his superb waiting-room, heentered his consulting sanctum, and seated himself in the chimney cornerbeside an infinitesimal fire. He was even more thoughtful than usual. The scene which he had just witnessed at the Count de Chalusse's houserecurred to his mind, and he turned it over and over again in his brain, striving to find some way by which he might derive an advantage from themystery. For he was more than ever convinced that there was a mystery. He had been engrossed in these thoughts for some time, when hismeditations were disturbed by a ring at the bell. Who could be callingat this hour?

The question was answered by his servant, who appeared and informedhim that a lady, who was in a great hurry, was waiting in thereception-room. "Very well, " was his reply; "but it is best to let herwait a few moments. " For he had at least this merit: he never deviatedfrom his system. Under no circumstances whatever would he have admitteda patient immediately; he wished him to wait so that he might have anopportunity of reflecting on the advantages of consulting a physicianwhose time was constantly occupied. 

However, when ten minutes or so had elapsed, he opened the door, anda tall lady came quickly forward, throwing back the veil which hadconcealed her face. She must have been over forty-five; and if she hadever been handsome, there was nothing to indicate it now. She had brownhair, thickly sprinkled with gray, but very coarse and abundant, andgrowing low over her forehead; her nose was broad and flat; her lipswere thick, and her eyes were dull and expressionless. However, hermanners were gentle and rather melancholy; and one would have judged herto be somewhat of a devotee. Still for the time being she seemed greatlyagitated. She seated herself at the doctor's invitation; and withoutwaiting for him to ask any questions: "I ought to tell you at once, monsieur, " she began, "that I am the Count de Chalusse's house-keeper. "

In spite of his self-control, the doctor bounded from his chair. "MadameLeon?" he asked, in a tone of intense surprise. 

She bowed, compressing her thick lips. "I am known by that name--yes, monsieur. But it is only my Christian name. The one I have a right tobear would not accord with my present position. Reverses of fortune arenot rare in these days; and were it not for the consoling influences ofreligion, one would not have strength to endure them. "

The physician was greatly puzzled. "What can she want of me?" hethought. 

Meanwhile, she had resumed speaking: "I was much reduced incircumstances--at the end of my resources, indeed--when M. DeChalusse--a family friend--requested me to act as companion to a younggirl in whom he was interested--Mademoiselle Marguerite. I accepted theposition; and I thank God every day that I did so, for I feel a mother'saffection for this young girl, and she loves me as fondly as if she weremy own daughter. " In support of her assertion, she drew a handkerchieffrom her pocket, and succeeded in forcing a few tears to her eyes. "Under these circumstances, doctor, " she continued, "you cannot fail tounderstand that the interests of my dearly beloved Marguerite bring meto you. I was shut up in my own room when M. De Chalusse was broughthome, and I did not hear of his illness until after your departure. Perhaps you might say that I ought to have waited until your next visit;but I had not sufficient patience to do so. One cannot submit withouta struggle to the torture of suspense, when the future of a beloveddaughter is at stake. So here I am. " She paused to take breath, and thenadded, "I have come, monsieur, to ask you to tell me the exact truthrespecting the count's condition. "

The doctor was expecting something very different, but nevertheless hereplied with all due gravity and self-possession. "It is my painful dutyto tell you, madame, that there is scarcely any hope, and that I expecta fatal termination within twenty-four hours, unless the patient shouldregain consciousness. "

The housekeeper turned pale. "Then all is lost, " she faltered, "allis lost!" And unable to articulate another word she rose to her feet, bowed, and abruptly left the room. 

Before the grate, with his mouth half open, and his right arm extendedin an interrupted gesture, the doctor stood speechless and disconcerted. It was only when the outer door closed with a bang that he seemedrestored to consciousness. And as he heard the noise he sprang forwardas if to recall his visitor. "Ah!" he exclaimed, with an oath, "themiserable old woman was mocking me!" And urged on by a wild, irrationalimpulse, he caught up his hat and darted out in pursuit. Madame Leon wasconsiderably in advance of him, and was walking very quickly; still, byquickening his pace, he might have overtaken her. However, he did notjoin her, for he scarcely knew what excuse to offer for such a strangeproceeding; he contented himself by cautiously following her at a littledistance. Suddenly she stopped short. It was in front of a tobacconist'sshop, where there was a post-office letter-box. The shop was closed, butthe box was there with its little slit for letters to be dropped intoit. Madame Leon evidently hesitated. She paused, as one always doesbefore venturing upon a decisive act, from which there will be noreturn, whatever may be the consequences. An observer never remainstwenty minutes before a letter-box without witnessing this pantomime soexpressive of irresolution. At last, however, she shrugged hershoulders with a gesture which eloquently expressed the result of herdeliberations; and drawing a letter from her bosom, she dropped it intothe box, and then hastened on more quickly than before. 

"There is not the slightest doubt, " thought the doctor, "that letter hadbeen prepared in advance, and whether it should be sent or not dependedon the answer I gave. "

We have already said that M. Jodon was not a wealthy man, and yethe would willingly have given a hundred-franc note to have known thecontents of this letter, or even the name of the person to whom it wasaddressed. But his chase was almost ended. Madame Leon had reached theHotel de Chalusse, and now went in. Should he follow her? His curiositywas torturing him to such a degree that he had an idea of doing so;and it required an heroic effort of will to resist the temptationsuccessfully. But a gleam of common sense warned him that this wouldbe a terrible blunder. Once already during the evening his conduct hadattracted attention; and he began to realize that there was a betterway of winning confidence than by intruding almost forcibly into otherpeople's affairs. Accordingly he thoughtfully retraced his steps, feeling intensely disgusted with himself. "What a fool I am!" hegrumbled. "If I had kept the old woman in suspense, instead of blurtingout the truth, I might have learned the real object of her visit; forshe had an object. But what was it?"

The doctor spent the two hours that remained to him before making hissecond visit in trying to discover it. But, although nothing preventedhim from exploring the boundless fields of improbable possibilities, hecould think of nothing satisfactory. There was only one certain point, that Madame Leon and Mademoiselle Marguerite were equally interested inthe question as to whether the count would regain consciousness or not. As to their interests in the matter, the doctor felt confident thatthey were not identical; he was persuaded that a secret enmityexisted between them, and that the housekeeper had visited him withoutMademoiselle Marguerite's knowledge. For he was not deceived by MadameLeon, or by her pretended devotion to Mademoiselle Marguerite. Hermanner, her smooth words, her tone of pious resignation, and theallusion to the grand name she had the right to bear, were allcalculated to impose upon one; but she had been too much disconcertedtoward the last to remember her part. Dr. Jodon lacked the courage toreturn to his sumptuous rooms, and it was in a little cafe that he thusreflected upon the situation, while drinking some execrable beer brewedin Paris out of a glass manufactured in Bavaria. 

At last midnight sounded--the hour had come. Still the doctor did notmove. Having been obliged to wait himself, he wished, in revenge, tomake the others wait, and it was not until the cafe closed that he againwalked up the Rue de Courcelles. Madame Leon had left the gate ajar, andthe doctor had no difficulty in making his way into the courtyard. Asin the earlier part of the evening, the servants were assembled in theconcierge's lodge; but the careless gayety which shone upon their facesa few hours before had given place to evident anxiety respecting theirfuture prospects. Through the windows of the lodge they could be seenstanding round the two choice spirits of the household, M. Bourigeau, the concierge, and M. Casimir, the valet, who were engaged in earnestconversation. And if the doctor had listened, he would have heardsuch words as "wages, " and "legacies, " and "remuneration for faithfulservice, " and "annuities" repeated over and over again. 

But M. Jodon did not listen. Thinking he should find some servantinside, he entered the house. However, there was nobody to announce hispresence; the door closed noiselessly behind him, the heavy carpet whichcovered the marble steps stifled the sound of his footsteps, and heascended the first flight without seeing any one. The door opening intothe count's room was open, the room itself being brilliantly lighted bya large fire, and a lamp which stood on a corner of the mantel-shelf. Instinctively the doctor paused and looked in. There had been no changesince his first visit. The count was still lying motionless on hispillows; his face was swollen, his eyelids were closed, but he stillbreathed, as was shown by the regular movement of the covering over hischest. Madame Leon and Mademoiselle Marguerite were his only attendants. The housekeeper, who sat back a little in the shade, was half recliningin an arm-chair with her hands clasped in her lap, her lips firmlycompressed, and her eyes fixed upon vacancy. Pale but calm, and moreimposing and more beautiful than ever, Mademoiselle Marguerite waskneeling beside the bed, eagerly watching for some sign of renewed lifeand intelligence on the count's face. 

A little ashamed of his indiscretion, the doctor retreated seven oreight steps down the stairs, and then ascended them again, coughingslightly, so as to announce his approach. This time he was heard. For Mademoiselle Marguerite came to the door to meet him. "Well?" heinquired. 

"Alas!"

He advanced toward the bed, but before he had time to examine hispatient Mademoiselle Marguerite handed him a scrap of paper. "Thephysician who usually attends M. De Chalusse has been here in yourabsence, monsieur, " said she. "This is his prescription, and we havealready administered a few drops of the potion. "

M. Jodon, who was expecting this blow, bowed coldly. 

"I must add, " continued Mademoiselle Marguerite, "that the doctorapproved of all that had been done; and I beg you will unite your skillwith his in treating the case. "

Unfortunately all the medical skill of the faculty would have availednothing here. After another examination, Dr. Jodon declared that itwould be necessary to wait for the action of nature, but that he mustbe informed of the slightest change in the sick man's condition. "And Iwill tell my servant to wake me at once if I am sent for, " he added. 

He was already leaving the room, when Madame Leon barred his passage. "Isn't it true, doctor, that one attentive person would suffice to watchover the count?" she asked. 

"Most assuredly, " he answered. 

The housekeeper turned toward Mademoiselle Marguerite. "Ah, you see, mydear young lady, " she said, "what did I tell you? Listen to me; take alittle rest. Watching is not suitable work for one of your age----"

"It is useless to insist, " interrupted the young girl, resolutely. "Ishall remain here. I shall watch over him myself. "

The housekeeper made no reply; but it seemed to the doctor that the twowomen exchanged singular glances. "The devil!" he muttered, as he tookhis departure; "one might think that they distrusted each other!"

Perhaps he was right; but at all events he had scarcely left the housebefore Madame Leon again urged her dear young lady to take a fewhours' rest. "What can you fear?" she insisted, in her wheedling voice. "Sha'n't I be here? Do you suppose your old Leon capable of losingherself in sleep, when your future depends upon a word from that poorman lying there?"

"Pray, cease. "

"Ah, no! my dear young lady; my love for you compels me. "

"Oh, enough!" interrupted Mademoiselle Marguerite; "enough, Leon!"

Her tone was so determined that the housekeeper was compelled to yield;but not without a deep sigh, not without an imploring glance to Heaven, as if calling upon Providence to witness the purity of her motives andthe usefulness of her praiseworthy efforts. "At least, my dear lady, wrap yourself up warmly. Shall I go and bring you your heavy travellingshawl?"

"Thanks, my dear Leon--Annette will bring it. "

"Then, pray, send for it. But we are not going to watch alone? Whatshould we do if we needed anything?"

"I will call, " replied Marguerite. 

This was unnecessary, for Dr. Jodon's departure from the house had putan abrupt termination to the servants' conference; and they were nowassembled on the landing, anxious and breathless, and peering eagerlyinto the sick-room. 

Mademoiselle Marguerite went toward them. "Madame Leon and myself willremain with the count, " she said. "Annette"--this was the woman whomshe liked best of all the servants "Casimir and a footman will spend thenight in the little side salon. The others may retire. "

Her orders were obeyed. Two o'clock sounded from the church-tower nearby, and then the solemn and terrible silence was only broken by thehard breathing of the unconscious man and the implacable ticktack of theclock on the mantel-shelf, numbering the seconds which were left forhim to live. From the streets outside, not a sound reached this princelyabode, which stood between a vast courtyard and a garden as large as apark. Moreover, the straw which had been spread over the paving-stoneseffectually deadened the rumble of the few vehicles that passed. Enveloped in a soft, warm shawl, Madame Leon had again taken possessionof her arm-chair, and while she pretended to be reading a prayer-book, she kept a close watch over her dear young lady, as if she were strivingto discover her in-most thoughts. Mademoiselle Marguerite did notsuspect this affectionate espionage. Besides, what would it havemattered to her? She had rolled a low arm-chair near the bedside, seatedherself in it, and her eyes were fixed upon M. De Chalusse. Two or threetimes she started violently, and once even she said to Madame Leon:"Come--come and see!"

It seemed to her that there was a faint change in the patient's face;but it was only a fancy--she had been deceived by the shadows thatplayed about the room, caused by the capricious flame in the grate. Thehours were creeping on, and the housekeeper, wearying at last of herfruitless watch, dropped asleep; her head fell forward on to her breast, her prayer-book slipped from her hands, and finally she began to snore. But Mademoiselle Marguerite did not perceive this, absorbed as she wasin thoughts which, by reason of their very profundity, had ceased tobe sorrowful. Perhaps she felt she was keeping a last vigil over herhappiness, and that with the final breath of this dying man all hergirlhood's dreams and all her dearest hopes would take flight forevermore. Undoubtedly her thoughts flew to the man to whom she hadpromised her life--to Pascal, to the unfortunate fellow whose honorwas being stolen from him at that very moment, in a fashionablegaming-house. 

About five o'clock the air became so close that she felt a suddenfaintness, and opened the window to obtain a breath of fresh air. Thenoise aroused Madame Leon from her slumbers. She rose, yawned, andrather sullenly declared that she felt very queer, and would certainlyfall ill if she did not take some refreshment. It became necessary tosummon M. Casimir, who brought her a glass of Madeira and some biscuits. "Now I feel better, " she murmured, after her repast. "My excessivesensibility will be the death of me. " And so saying, she dropped asleepagain. 

Mademoiselle Marguerite had meanwhile returned to her seat; but herthoughts gradually became confused, her eyelids grew heavy, and althoughshe struggled, she at last fell asleep in her turn, with her headresting on the count's bed. It was daylight when a strange and terribleshock awoke her. It seemed to her as if an icy hand, some dead person'shand, was gently stroking her head, and tenderly caressing her hair. Sheat once sprang to her feet. The sick man had regained consciousness;his eyes were open and his right arm was moving. Mademoiselle Margueritedarted to the bell-rope and pulled it violently, and as a servantappeared in answer to the summons, she cried: "Run for the physician wholives near here--quick!--and tell him that the count is conscious. "

In an instant, almost, the sick-room was full of servants, but the girldid not perceive it. She had approached M. De Chalusse, and taking hishand, she tenderly asked: "You hear me, do you not, monsieur? Do youunderstand me?"

His lips moved; but only a hollow, rattling sound, which was absolutelyunintelligible, came from his throat. Still, he understood her; asit was easy to see by his gestures--despairing and painful ones, forparalysis had not released its hold on its victim, and it was only withgreat difficulty that he could slightly move his right arm. He evidentlydesired something. But what?

They mentioned the different articles in the room--everything indeedthat they could think of. But in vain, until the housekeeper suddenlyexclaimed: "He wishes to write. "

That was, indeed, what he desired. With the hand that was comparativelyfree, with the hoarse rattle that was his only voice, M. De Chalusseanswered, "Yes, yes!" and his eyes even turned to Madame Leon with anexpression of joy and gratitude. They raised him on his pillows, andbrought him a small writing-desk, with some paper, and a pen thathad been dipped in ink. But like those around him, he had himselfover-estimated his strength; if he could move his hand, he could notCONTROL its movements. After a terrible effort and intense suffering, however, he succeeded in tracing a few words, the meaning of which itwas impossible to understand. It was only with the greatestdifficulty that these words could be deciphered--"My entirefortune--give--friends--against----" This signified nothing. 

In despair, he dropped the pen, and his glance and his hand turned tothat part of the room opposite his bed. "Monsieur means his escritoire, perhaps?"

"Yes, yes, " the sick man hoarsely answered. 

"Perhaps the count wishes that it should be opened?"

"Yes, yes!" was the reply again. 

"My God!" exclaimed Mademoiselle Marguerite, with a gesture of despair;"what have I done? I have broken the key. I feared the responsibilitywhich would fall upon us all. "

The expression of the count's face had become absolutely frightful. It indicated utter discouragement, the most bitter suffering, the mosthorrible despair. His soul was writhing in a body from which life hadfled. Intelligence, mind, and will were fast bound in a corpse whichthey could not electrify. The consciousness of his own powerlessnesscaused him a paroxysm of frantic rage; his hands clinched, the veins inhis throat swelled, his eyes almost started from their sockets, and ina harsh, shrill voice that had nothing human in it, he exclaimed:"Marguerite!--despoiled!--take care!--your mother!" And this was all--itwas the supreme effort that broke the last link that bound the soul toearth. 

"A priest!" cried Madame Leon! "A priest! In the name of Heaven, go fora priest!"

"Rather for a notary, " suggested M. Casimir. "You see he wishes to makea will. "

But at that moment the physician entered, pale and breathless. He walkedstraight to the bedside, glanced at the motionless form, and solemnlyexclaimed: "The Count de Chalusse is dead!"

There was a moment's stupor--the stupor which always follows death, especially when death comes suddenly and unexpectedly. A feeling ofmingled wonder, selfishness, and fear pervaded the group of servants. "Yes, it is over!" muttered the doctor; "it is all over!"

And as he was familiar with these painful scenes, and had lost noneof his self-possession, he furtively studied Mademoiselle Marguerite'sfeatures and attitude. She seemed thunderstruck. With dry, fixed eyesand contracted features, she stood rooted to her place, gazing at thelifeless form as if she were expecting some miracle--as if she stillhoped to hear those rigid lips reveal the secret which he had tried invain to disclose, and which he had carried with him to the grave. 

The physician was the only person who observed this. The other occupantsof the room were exchanging looks of distress. Some of the women hadfallen upon their knees, and were sobbing and praying in the samebreath. But Madame Leon's sobs could be heard above the rest. They wereat first inarticulate moans, but suddenly she sprang toward MademoiselleMarguerite, and clasping her in her arms, she cried: "What a misfortune!My dearest child, what a loss!" Utterly incapable of uttering a word, the poor girl tried to free herself from this close embrace, but thehousekeeper would not be repulsed, and continued: "Weep, my dear younglady, weep! Do not refuse to give vent to your sorrow. "

She herself displayed so little self-control that the physicianreprimanded her with considerable severity, whereat her emotionincreased, and with her handkerchief pressed to her eyes, she sobbed:"Yes, doctor, yes; you are right; I ought to moderate my grief. Butpray, doctor, remove my beloved Marguerite from this scene, which is tooterrible for her young and tender heart. Persuade her to retire to herown room, so that she may ask God for strength to bear the misfortunewhich has befallen her. "

The poor girl had certainly no intention of leaving the room, butbefore she could say so, M. Casimir stepped forward. "I think, " he drylyobserved, "that mademoiselle had better remain here. "

"Eh?" said Madame Leon, looking up suddenly. "And why, if you please?"

"Because--because----"

Anger had dried the housekeeper's tears. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Do you pretend to prevent mademoiselle from doing as she chooses in herown house?"

M. Casimir gave vent to a contemptuous whistle, which, twenty-four hoursearlier, would have been punished with a heavy blow from the man whowas now lying there--dead. "Her own house!" he answered; "her own house!Yesterday I shouldn't have denied it; but to-day it's quite anotherthing. Is she a relative? No, she isn't. What are you talking about, then? We are all equals here. "

He spoke so impudently that even the doctor felt indignant. "Scoundrel!"said he. 

But the valet turned toward him with an air which proved that he waswell acquainted with the doctor's servant, and, consequently, with allthe secrets of the master's life. "Call your own valet a scoundrel, ifyou choose, " he retorted, "but not me. Your duties here are over, aren'tthey? So leave us to manage our own affairs. Thank heaven, I know whatI'm talking about. Everybody knows that caution must be exercised in adead man's house, especially when that house is full of money, and when, instead of relatives, there are--persons who--who are there nobody knowshow or why. In case any valuables were missed, who would be accusedof taking them? Why, the poor servants, of course. Ah, they have broadshoulders! Their trunks would be searched; and even if nothing werefound, they would be sent to prison all the same. In the meantime otherpeople would escape with the booty. No, Lisette! No one will stir fromthis room until the arrival of the justice----"

Madame Leon was bursting with rage. "All right!" she interrupted; "I'mgoing to send for the count's particular friend, General----"

"I don't care a fig for your general. "

"Wretch!"

It was Mademoiselle Marguerite who put an end to this indecent dispute. Its increasing violence had aroused her from her stupor. Casimir'simpudence brought a flush to her forehead, and stepping forward withhaughty resolution, she exclaimed: "You forget that one never raisesone's voice in the chamber of death. " Her words were so true, and hermanner so majestic, that M. Casimir was silenced. Then, pointing to thedoor, she coldly added: "Go for the justice of the peace, and don't setfoot here again, except in his company. "

He bowed, stammered an unintelligible apology, and left the room. "Shealways gets the best of me, " he growled, as he went downstairs. "Butseals shall be put on everything. "

When he entered the porter's lodge, M. Bourigeau was just getting up, having slept all night, while his wife watched. "Quick, " ordered M. Casimir; "make haste and finish dressing, and run for the justice of thepeace--we must have him here at once. Everything must be done regularlyand in order, upstairs. "

The concierge was in despair. "Heavens!" he exclaimed; "so the master'sdead! What a misfortune!"

"You may well say so; and this is the second time such a thing hashappened to me. I remember now what a shrewd fellow named Chupin oncesaid to me. 'If I were a servant, ' he remarked, 'before entering a man'sservice, I'd make him insure his life for my benefit in one of thosenew-fangled companies, so that I might step into a handsome fortune ifhe took it into his head to die. ' But make haste, Bourigeau. "

"That's a famous idea, but scarcely practicable, " growled the concierge. 

"I don't know whether it is or not. But at all events I'm terriblyannoyed. The count was giving me enormous wages, and I had got himnicely into my ways. Well, after all, I shall only have to begin again!"

M. Bourigeau had not yet attained to the heights of such serenephilosophy, and as he buttoned his overcoat, he groaned: "Ah! you're notsituated as I am, Casimir. You've only yourself to look out for. I havemy furniture; and if I don't succeed in finding a position where I canhave two rooms, I shall be obliged to sell part of it. What a blessednuisance!"

As soon as he was dressed he started off on his mission; and M. Casimir, who dared not return to the house, began walking slowly to and froin front of the lodge. He had made some thirty turns or so, and wasbeginning to feel impatient, when he saw Victor Chupin approaching. "Youare always on hand at the right moment, " remarked M. Casimir. "It's allover!"

Chupin turned eagerly. "Then our bargain holds?" he exclaimed. "Youunderstand what I mean--the funeral, you know. "

"It isn't certain that I shall have anything to do with it; but callagain in three hours from now. "

"All right, I'll be here. "

"And M. Fortunat?" asked Casimir. 

"He received what he called a 'violent shock' last evening, but he'sbetter this morning. He instructed me to tell you that he should lookfor you between twelve and one--you know where. "

"I'll endeavor to be there, although it may be difficult for me to getaway. If I go, however, I'll show him the letter that caused the count'sillness; for the count threw it away, after tearing it into severalpieces, and I found some of the bits which escaped his notice as well asmademoiselle's. It's a strange letter, upon my word!"

Chupin gazed at the valet with a look of mingled wonder and admiration. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "how fortunate a man must be to secure a valetlike you!"

His companion smiled complacently, but all of a sudden he remarked:"Make haste and go. I see Bourigeau in the distance, bringing thejustice of the peace. "

VII. 

The magistrate who was now approaching the Chalusse mansion in theconcierge's company, exemplified in a remarkable manner all the ideasthat are awakened in one's mind by the grand yet simple title of"Justice of the Peace. " He was the very person you would like to thinkof as the family magistrate; as the promoter of friendly feeling; as theguardian of the rights of the absent, the young, and the weak; as thejust arbiter in unfortunate differences between those who are closelyrelated; a sage of wide experience and boundless benevolence; a judgewhose paternal justice dispenses with all pomp and display, and whois allowed by French statutes to hold his court by his own fireside, providing the doors stand open. He was considerably over fifty, tall, and very thin, with bent shoulders. His clothes were ratherold-fashioned in cut, but by no means ridiculous. The expression of hisface was gentleness itself; but it would not have done to presume uponthis gentleness, for his glance was keen and piercing--like the glanceof all who are expert in diving into consciences, and discovering thesecrets hidden there. Moreover, like all men who are accustomed todeliberate in public, his features were expressionless. He could see andhear everything, suspect and understand everything, without letting amuscle of his face move. And yet the habitues of his audience-chamber, and his clerks, pretended that they could always detect the nature ofhis impressions. A ring which he wore upon one of his fingers servedas a barometer for those who knew him. If a difficult case, or one thatembarrassed his conscience, presented itself, his eyes fixed themselvesobstinately upon this ring. If he were satisfied that everything wasright, he looked up again, and began playing with the ring, slipping itup and down between the first and second joint of his finger; but if hewere displeased, he abruptly turned the bezel inside. 

In appearance, he was sufficiently imposing to intimidate even M. Casimir. The proud valet bowed low as the magistrate approached, andwith his heart in his mouth, and in an obsequious voice he said: "It wasI who took the liberty of sending for you, monsieur. "

"Ah!" said the magistrate, who already knew as much about the Hotelde Chalusse, and the events of the past twelve hours, as M. Casimirhimself; for on his way to the house, he had turned Bourigeau inside outlike a glove, by means of a dozen gentle questions. 

"If monsieur wishes I will explain, " resumed M. Casimir. 

"Nothing! It is quite unnecessary. Usher us in. "

This "us" astonished the valet; but before they reached the house itwas explained to him. He discovered a man of flourishing and even jovialmien who was walking along in the magistrate's shadow carrying a largeblack portfolio under his arm. This was evidently the clerk. He seemedto be as pleased with his employment as he was with himself; and ashe followed M. Casimir, he examined the adornments of the mansion, themosaics in the vestibule, the statuary and the frescoed walls with anappraiser's eye. Perhaps he was calculating how many years' salary itwould require to pay for the decorating of this one staircase. 

On the threshold of the death room the magistrate paused. There had beensome change during M. Casimir's absence. The doctor had left. The bedhad been rearranged, and several candles were burning on a table coveredwith a white cloth. Madame Leon had gone to her own room, accompanied bytwo servants, to fetch a vessel of holy water and a branch of witheredpalm. She was now engaged in repeating the prayers for the dead, pausingfrom time to time to dip the palm branch in the holy water, and sprinklethe bed. Both windows had been opened in spite of the cold. On themarble hearth stood a chafing-dish full of embers from which rose spiralrings of smoke, filling the room with a pungent odor as a servant pouredsome vinegar and sugar on to the coals. 

As the magistrate appeared, every one rose up. Then, after bestowingprolonged scrutiny upon the room and its occupants, he respectfullyremoved his hat, and walked in. "Why are so many people here?" heinquired. 

"I suggested that they should remain, " replied M. Casimir, "because--"

"You are--suspicious, " interrupted the magistrate. 

His clerk had already drawn a pen and some paper from his portfolio, andwas engaged in reading the decision, rendered by the magistrate at therequest of one Bourigeau, and in virtue of which, seals were about tobe affixed to the deceased nobleman's personal effects. Since themagistrate had entered the room, his eyes had not once wandered fromMademoiselle Marguerite, who was standing near the fireplace, lookingpale but composed. At last he approached her, and in a tone of deepsympathy: "Are you Mademoiselle Marguerite?" he asked. 

She raised her clear eyes, rendered more beautiful than ever, by thetears that trembled on her lashes, and in a faltering voice, replied:"Yes, monsieur. "

"Are you a relative? Are you connected in any way with the Count deChalusse? Have you any right to his property?"

"No, monsieur. "

"Excuse me, mademoiselle, but these questions are indispensable. Whointrusted you to the care of M. De Chalusse, and by what right? Was ityour father or your mother?"

"I have neither father nor mother, monsieur. I am alone in theworld--utterly alone. "

The magistrate glanced keenly round the room. "Ah! I understand, " saidhe, at last; "advantage has been taken of your isolation to treat youwith disrespect, to insult you, perhaps. "

Every head drooped, and M. Casimir bitterly regretted that he had notremained below in the courtyard. Mademoiselle Marguerite looked at themagistrate in astonishment, for she was amazed by his penetration. Shewas ignorant of his conversation with Bourigeau on the road, and did notknow that through the concierge's ridiculous statements and accusations, the magistrate had succeeded in discovering at least a portion of thetruth. 

"I shall have the honor of asking for a few moments' conversation withyou presently, mademoiselle, " he said. "But first, one question. I amtold that the Count de Chalusse entertained a very lively affection foryou. Are you sure that he has not taken care to provide for your future?Are you sure that he has not left a will?"

The girl shook her head. "He made one in my favor some time ago, " shereplied. "I saw it; he gave it to me to read; but it was destroyed afortnight after my arrival here, and in compliance with my request. "

Madame Leon had hitherto been dumb with fear, but, conqueringher weakness, she now decided to draw near and take part in theconversation. "How can you say that, my dear young lady?" she exclaimed. "You know that the count--God rest his soul!--was an extremely cautiousman. I am certain that there is a will somewhere. "

The magistrate's eyes were fixed on his ring. "It would be well to look, perhaps, before affixing the seals. You have a right to require this;so, if you wish----"

But she made no reply. 

"Oh, yes!" insisted Madame Leon; "pray look, monsieur. "

"But where should we be likely to find a will?"

"Certainly in this room--in this escritoire, or in one of the deceasedcount's cabinets. "

The magistrate had learnt the story of the key from Bourigeau, but allthe same he asked: "Where is the key to this escritoire?"

"Alas! monsieur, " replied Mademoiselle Marguerite, "I broke it lastnight when M. De Chalusse was brought home unconscious. I hoped to avertwhat has, nevertheless, happened. Besides, I knew that his escritoirecontained something over two millions in gold and bank-notes. "

Two millions--there! The occupants of the room stood aghast. Eventhe clerk was so startled that he let a blot fall upon his paper. Twomillions! The magistrate was evidently reflecting. "Hum!" he murmured, meditatively. Then, as if deciding on his course, he exclaimed:

"Let a locksmith be sent for. "

A servant went in search of one; and while they were waiting for hisreturn, the magistrate sat down beside his clerk and talked to him in alow voice. At last the locksmith appeared, with his bag of toolshanging over his shoulder, and set to work at once. He found his taska difficult one. His pick-locks would not catch, and he was talking offiling the bolt, when, by chance, he found the joint, and the door flewopen. But the escritoire was empty. There were only a few papers, and abottle about three-quarters full of a crimson liquid on the shelf. HadM. De Chalusse rose and shook off his winding sheet, the consternationwould not have been greater. The same instinctive fear thrilled thehearts of everybody present. An enormous fortune had disappeared. Thesame suspicions would rest upon them all. And each servant already sawhimself arrested, imprisoned, and dragged before a law court. 

However, anger speedily followed bewilderment, and a furious clamorarose. "A robbery has been committed!" cried the servants, in concert. "Mademoiselle had the key. It is wrong to suspect the innocent!"

Revolting as this exhibition was, it did not modify the magistrate'scalmness. He had witnessed too many such scenes in the course ofhis career, and, at least, a score of times he had been compelled tointerpose between children who had come to blows over their inheritancebefore their father's body was even cold. "Silence!" he commandedsternly. And as the tumult did not cease, as the servants continuedto cry, "The thief must be found. We shall have no difficulty indiscovering the culprit, " the magistrate exclaimed, still moreimperiously: "Another word, and you all leave the room. "

They were silenced; but there was a mute eloquence about their looks andgestures which it was impossible to misunderstand. Every eye was fixedupon Mademoiselle Marguerite with an almost ferocious expression. Sheknew it only too well; but, sublime in her energy, she stood, with herhead proudly erect, facing the storm, and disdaining to answer thesevile imputations. However she had a protector near by--the magistrate inperson. "If this treasure has been diverted from the inheritance, " saidhe, "the thief will be discovered and punished. But I wish to have onepoint explained--who said that Mademoiselle Marguerite had the key ofthe escritoire?"

"I did, " replied a footman. "I was in the dining-room yesterday morningwhen the count gave it to her. "

"For what purpose did he give it to her?"

"That she might obtain this vial--I recognized it at once. She broughtit down to him. "

"Did she return the key?"

"Yes; she gave it to him when she handed him the vial, and I saw him putit in his pocket. "

The magistrate pointed to the bottle which was standing on the shelf. "Then the count himself must have put the vial back in its place, " saidhe. "Further comment is unnecessary; for, if the money had then beenmissing, he could not have failed to discover the fact. " No one hadany reply to make to this quiet defence, which was, at the same time, a complete vindication. "And, besides, " continued the magistrate, "whotold you that this immense sum would be found here? Did you know it?Which one of you knew it?" And as nobody still ventured any remark, he added in an even more severe tone, and without seeming to noticeMademoiselle Marguerite's look of gratitude, "It is by no means a proofof honesty to be so extremely suspicious. Would it not have been easierto suppose that the deceased had placed the money somewhere else, andthat it will yet be found?"

The clerk had been even less disturbed than the magistrate. He also wasblase, having witnessed too many of those frightful and shameless dramaswhich are enacted at a dead man's bedside, to be surprised at anything. If he had deigned to glance at the escritoire, it was only becausehe was curious to see how small a space would suffice to contain twomillions; and then he had begun to calculate how many years he wouldbe obliged to remain a clerk before he could succeed in amassing sucha fabulous sum. However, hearing his superior express the intentionof continuing the search for the will, and the missing treasure, heabruptly abandoned his calculation, and exclaimed, "Then, I suppose, Ican commence my report, monsieur?"

"Yes, " replied the magistrate, "write as follows:" And in a monotonousvoice he began to dictate the prescribed formula, an unnecessaryproceeding, for the clerk was quite as familiar with it as themagistrate himself:--"On the 16th of October, 186-, at nine o'clockin the morning, in compliance with the request of the servants of thedeceased Louis-Henri-Raymond de Durtal, Count de Chalusse, and in theinterest of his presumptive heirs, and all others connected with him, and in accordance with the requirements of clauses 819 (Code Napoleon)and 909 (Code of Procedure), we, justice of the peace, accompanied byour clerk, visited the residence of the deceased aforesaid, in theRue de Courcelles, where, having entered a bedroom opening on to thecourtyard, and lighted by two windows looking toward the south, we foundthe body of the deceased aforesaid, lying on his bed, and covered with asheet. In this room were----" He paused in his dictation, and addressingthe clerk, "Take down the names of all present, " said he. "That willrequire some little time, and, meanwhile, I will continue my search. "

They had, in fact, only examined the shelf of the escritoire, and thedrawers were still to be inspected. In the first which he opened, themagistrate found ample proofs of the accuracy of the information whichhad been furnished him by Mademoiselle Marguerite. The drawer containeda memorandum which established the fact that the Credit Foncier had lentM. De Chalusse the sum of eight hundred and fifty thousand francs, whichhad been remitted to him on the Saturday preceding his death. Besidethis document lay a second memorandum, signed by a stockbroker namedPell, setting forth that the latter had sold for the count securities ofvarious descriptions to the amount of fourteen hundred and twenty-threethousand francs, which sum had been paid to the count on the precedingTuesday, partly in bank-notes and partly in gold. It was thus evidentthat M. De Chalusse had received a grand total of two million twohundred and seventy-three thousand francs within the past six days. 

In the drawer which was next opened, the magistrate only found a numberof deeds, bonds, leases, and mortgages; but they proved that publicrumor, far from exaggerating the figures of the count's fortune, had diminished it, and this made it difficult to explain why he hadcontracted a loan. The third and last drawer contained twenty-eightthousand francs, in packages of twenty-franc pieces. Finally, in a smallcasket, the magistrate found a packet of letters, yellow with age andbound together with a broad piece of blue velvet; as well as three orfour withered bouquets, and a woman's glove, which had been worn by ahand of marvellous smallness. These were evidently the relics of somegreat passion of many years before; and the magistrate looked at themfor a moment with a sigh. 

His own interest prevented him from noticing Mademoiselle Marguerite'sagitation. She had almost fainted on perceiving these souvenirs of thecount's past life so suddenly exhumed. However, the examination ofthe escritoire being over, and the clerk having completed his task ofrecording the names of all the servants, the magistrate said, in a loudvoice, "I shall now proceed to affix the seals; but, before doing so, Ishall take a portion of the money found in this desk, and set it apartfor the expenses of the household, in accordance with the law. Who willtake charge of this money?"

"Oh, not I!" exclaimed Madame Leon. 

"I will take charge of it, " said M. Casimir. 

"Then here are eight thousand francs, for which you will be heldaccountable. "

M. Casimir being a prudent man, counted the money himself, and afterdoing so, "Who will attend to the count's obsequies?" he inquired. 

"You, and without loss of time. "

Proud of his new importance, the valet hastily left the room, hisself-complacency increased by the thought that he was to breakfast withM. Isidore Fortunat, and would afterward share a fat commission withVictor Chupin. 

However, the magistrate had already resumed his dictation: "And at thismoment we have affixed bands of white tape, sealed at either end withred wax, bearing the impress of our seal as justice of the peace, towit: In the aforesaid chamber of the deceased: First, A band of tape, covering the keyhole of the lock of the escritoire, which had beenpreviously opened by a locksmith summoned by us, and closed again by thesaid locksmith----" And so the magistrate and his clerk went fromone piece of furniture to another, duly specifying in the report eachinstance in which the seals were affixed. 

From the count's bedroom they passed into his study, followed byMademoiselle Marguerite, Madame Leon, and the servants. By noon everyarticle of furniture in which M. De Chalusse would have been likelyto deposit his valuables or a will, had been searched, and nothing, absolutely nothing, had been found. The magistrate had pursued hisinvestigation with the feverish energy which the most self-possessedof men are apt to display under such circumstances, especially wheninfluenced by the conviction that the object they are seeking issomewhere within their reach, perhaps under their very hand. Indeed, hewas persuaded--he was sure--he would, in fact, have sworn that the Countde Chalusse had taken all the precautions natural in childless men, who have no near relatives to inherit their fortune, or who have placedtheir interest and affections beyond their family circle. And when hewas obliged to abandon his search, his gesture indicated anger ratherthan discouragement; for apparent evidence had not shaken his convictionin the least. So he stood motionless, with his eyes riveted on his ring, as if waiting some miraculous inspiration from it. "For the count'sonly fault, I am sure, was in being too cautious, " he muttered. "This isfrequently the case, and it would be quite in keeping with the characterof this man, judging from what I know of him. "

Madame Leon lifted her hands to heaven. "Ah, yes! such was, indeed, hisnature, " she remarked, approvingly. "Never, no never, have I seen sucha suspicious and distrustful person as he was. Not in reference tomoney--no, indeed--for he left that lying about everywhere; but abouthis papers. He locked them up with the greatest care, as if he fearedthat some terrible secret might evaporate from them. It was a mania withhim. If he had a letter to write, he barricaded his door, as if he wereabout to commit some horrible crime. More than once have I seen him----"The words died away on her lips, and she remained motionless andabashed, like a person who has just escaped some great peril. Oneword more, and involuntarily, without even knowing it, she wouldhave confessed her besetting sin, which was listening at, and peeringthrough, the keyholes of the doors that were closed against her. Still, she deluded herself with the belief that this slight indiscretion of heroverready tongue had escaped the magistrate's notice. 

He certainly did not seem to be conscious of it, for he was givinghis attention entirely to Mademoiselle Marguerite, who seemed to haveregained the cold reserve and melancholy resignation habitual to her. "You see, mademoiselle, " he remarked, "that I have done all that isin my power to do. We must now leave the search to chance, and to theperson who takes the inventory. Who knows what surprise may be in storefor us in this immense house, of which we have only explored threerooms?"

She shook her head gently and replied: "I can never be sufficientlygrateful for your kindness, monsieur, and for the great service yourendered me in crushing that infamous accusation. As regards the rest, Ihave never expected anything--I do not expect anything now. "

She believed what she said, and her tone of voice proved this sounmistakably that the magistrate was surprised and somewhat disturbed. "Come, come, my young lady, " he said, with almost paternal kindness ofmanner, "you ought not to despond. Still, you must have certain reasonsfor speaking as you do; and as I am free for an hour, we are going tohave a plain talk, as if we were father and daughter. "

On hearing these words, the clerk rose with a cloud on his jovialface. He impatiently jingled his bunch of keys; for as the seals aresuccessively affixed, each key is confided to the clerk, to remain inhis hands until the seals are removed. 

"I understand, " said the magistrate. "Your stomach, which is moreexacting in its demands than mine, is not satisfied with a cup ofchocolate till dinner-time. So, go and get your lunch; on your return, you will find me here. You may now conclude the report, and requestthese parties to sign it. "

Urged on by hunger, the clerk hastily mumbled over the remainder of theformula, called all the names that he had inserted in the report, andeach of the servants advanced in turn, signed his or her name, or madea cross, and then retired. Madame Leon read in the judge's face that shealso was expected to withdraw; and she was reluctantly leaving the room, when Mademoiselle Marguerite detained her to ask: "Are you quite surethat nothing has come for me to-day?"

"Nothing, mademoiselle; I went in person to inquire of the concierge. "

"Did you post my letter last night?"

"Oh! my dear young lady, can you doubt it?"

The young girl stifled a sigh, and then, with a gesture of dismissal, she remarked, "M. De Fondege must be sent for. "

"The General?"

"Yes. "

"I will send for him at once, " replied the housekeeper; and thereuponshe left the room, closing the door behind her with a vicious slam. 

VIII. 

The justice of the peace and Mademoiselle Marguerite were at last alonein M. De Chalusse's study. This room, which the count had preferredabove all others, was a spacious, magnificent, but rather gloomyapartment, with lofty walls and dark, richly carved furniture. Itspresent aspect was more than ever solemn and lugubrious, for it gaveone a chill to see the bands of white tape affixed to the locks of thecabinets and bookcases. When the magistrate had installed himself in thecount's arm-chair, and the girl had taken a seat near him, they remainedlooking at each other in silence for a few moments. The magistratewas asking himself how he should begin. Having fathomed MademoiselleMarguerite's extreme sensitiveness and reserve, he said to himself thatif he offended or alarmed her, she would refuse him her confidence, inwhich case he would be powerless to serve her as he wished to do. Hehad, in fact, an almost passionate desire to be of service to her, feeling himself drawn toward her by an inexplicable feeling of sympathy, in which esteem, respect, and admiration alike were blended, though hehad only known her for a few hours. Still, he must make a beginning. "Mademoiselle, " he said, at last, "I abstained from questioning youbefore the servants--and if I take the liberty of doing so now, itis not, believe me, out of any idle curiosity; moreover, you are notcompelled to answer me. But you are young--and I am an old man; and itis my duty--even if my heart did not urge me to do so--to offer you theaid of my experience----"

"Speak, monsieur, " interrupted Marguerite. "I will answer your questionsfrankly, or else not answer them at all. "

"To resume, then, " said he, "I am told that M. De Chalusse has norelatives, near or remote. Is this the truth?"

"So far as I know--yes, monsieur. Still, I have heard it said that asister of his, Mademoiselle Hermine de Chalusse, abandoned her hometwenty-five or thirty years ago, when she was about my age, and thatshe has never received her share of the enormous fortune left by herparents. "

"And has this sister never given any sign of life?"

"Never! Still, monsieur, I have promised you to be perfectly frank. Thatletter which the Count de Chalusse received yesterday, that letter whichI regard as the cause of his death--well, I have a presentiment that itcame from his sister. It could only have been written by her or--by thatother person whose letters--and souvenirs--you found in the escritoire. "

"And--this other person--who can she be?" As the young girl made noreply, the magistrate did not insist, but continued: "And you, my child, who are you?"

She made a gesture of sorrowful resignation, and then, in a voicefaltering with emotion, she answered: "I do not know, monsieur. PerhapsI am the count's daughter. I should be telling an untruth if I said thatwas not my belief. Yes, I believe it, but I have never been certain ofit. Sometimes I have believed, sometimes I have doubted it. On certaindays I have said to myself, 'Yes, it must be so!' and I have longed tothrow my arms around his neck. But at other times I have exclaimed: 'No, it isn't possible!' and I have almost hated him. Besides, he never saida word on the subject--never a decisive word, at least. When I saw himfor the first time, six years ago, I judged by the manner in which heforbade me to call him 'father, ' that he would never answer any questionI might ask on the subject. "

If there was a man in the world inaccessible to idle curiosity, it wascertainly this magistrate, whose profession condemned him to listenevery day to family grievances, neighborly quarrels, complaints, accusations, and slander. And yet as he listened to MademoiselleMarguerite, he experienced that strange disquietude which seizes hold ofa person when a puzzling problem is presented. "Allow me to believe thatmany decisive proofs may have escaped your notice on account of yourinexperience, " he said. 

But interrupting him with a gesture, she sadly remarked: "You aremistaken; I am not inexperienced. "

He could not help smiling at what he considered her self-conceit. "Poorchild!" said he; "how old are you? Eighteen?"

She shook her head. "Yes, by my certificate of birth I am only eighteen;but by the sufferings I have endured I am, perhaps, older than you are, monsieur, despite your white hair. Those who have lived such a life asI have, are never young; they are old in suffering, even in theirchildhood. And if by experience you mean lack of confidence, a knowledgeof good and evil, distrust of everything and everybody, mine, young girlthough I be, will no doubt equal yours. " She paused, hesitated for amoment, and then continued: "But why should I wait for you to questionme? It is neither sincere nor dignified on my part to do so. The personwho claims counsel owes absolute frankness to his adviser. I will speakto you as if I were communing with my own soul. I will tell you what noperson has ever known--no one, not even Pascal. And believe me, mypast life was full of bitter misery, although you find me here in thissplendid house. But I have nothing to conceal; and if I have cause toblush, it is for others, not for myself. "

Perhaps she was impelled by an irresistible desire to relieve heroverburdened heart, after long years of self-restraint; perhaps sheno longer felt sure of herself, and desired some other advice thanthe dictates of her conscience, in presence of the calamity which hadbefallen her. At all events, too much engrossed in her own thoughts toheed the magistrate's surprise, or hear the words he faltered, she rosefrom her seat, and, with her hands pressed tightly on her throbbingbrow, she began to tell the story of her life. 

"My first recollections, " she said, "are of a narrow, cheerlesscourtyard, surrounded by grim and massive walls, so high that I couldscarcely see the top of them. At noontime in summer the sun visited onelittle corner, where there was a stone bench; but in winter it nevershowed itself at all. There were five or six small, scrubby trees, withmoss-grown trunks and feeble branches, which put forth a few yellowleaves at springtime. We were some thirty children who assembled inthis courtyard--children from five to eight years old, all clad alike inbrown dresses, with a little blue handkerchief tied about our shoulders. We all wore blue caps on week-days, and white ones on Sundays, withwoollen stockings, thick shoes, and a black ribbon, with a large metalcross dangling from our necks. Among us moved the good sisters, silentand sad, with their hands crossed in their large sleeves, their faces aswhite as their snowy caps, and their long strings of beads, set offwith numerous copper medals, clanking when they walked like prisoners'chains. As a rule, each face wore the same expression of resignation, unvarying gentleness, and inexhaustible patience. But there were somewho wore it only as one wears a mask--some whose eyes gleamed attimes with passion, and who vented their cold, bitter anger upon usdefenceless children. However, there was one sister, still young andvery fair, whose manner was so gentle and so sad that even I, withmy mere infantile intelligence, felt that she must have some terriblesorrow. During play-time she often took me on her knee and embraced mewith convulsive tenderness, murmuring: 'Dear little one! darling littleone!' Sometimes her endearments were irksome to me, but I never allowedher to see it, for fear of making her still more sad; and in my heart Iwas content and proud to suffer for and with her. Poor sister! I owe herthe only happy hours of my infancy. She was called Sister Calliste. Ido not know what has become of her, but often, when my heart fails me, Ithink of her, and even now I cannot mention her name without tears. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite was indeed weeping--big tears which she made noattempt to conceal were coursing down her cheeks. It cost her a greateffort to continue: "You have already understood, monsieur, what Imyself did not know for several years. I was in a foundling asylum, andI was a foundling myself. I cannot say that we lacked anything; and Ishould be ungrateful if I did not say and feel that these good sisterswere charity personified. But, alas! their hearts had only a certainamount of tenderness to distribute between thirty poor little girls, andso each child's portion was small; the caresses were the same for all, and I longed to be loved differently, to have kind words and caressesfor myself alone. We slept in little white beds with snowy curtains, in a clean, well-ventilated dormitory, in the centre of which stood astatue of the Virgin, who seemed to smile on us all alike. In winter wehad a fire. Our clothes were warm and neat; our food was excellent. We were taught to read and write, to sew and embroider. There was arecreation hour between all the exercises. Those who were studious andgood were rewarded; and twice a week we were taken into the country fora long walk. It was during one of these excursions that I learned fromthe talk of the passers-by, what we were, and what we were called. Sometimes, in the afternoon, we were visited by elegantly-attiredladies, who were accompanied by their own children, radiant with healthand happiness. The good sisters told us that these were 'pious ladies, 'or 'charitable ladies, ' whom we must love and respect, and whom we mustnever forget to mention in our prayers. They always brought us toys andcakes. Sometimes the establishment was visited by priests and grave oldgentlemen, whose sternness of manner alarmed us. They peered into everynook and corner, asked questions about everything, assured themselvesthat everything was in its place, and some of them even tasted our soup. They were always satisfied; and the lady superior led them through thebuilding, and bowed to them, exclaiming: 'We love them so much, the poorlittle dears! 'And the gentlemen replied: 'Yes, yes, my dear sister, they are very fortunate. ' And the gentlemen were right. Poor laborers'children are often obliged to endure privations which we knew nothingof; they are often obliged to make their supper off a piece of drybread--but, then, the crust is given them by their mother, with a kiss. "

The magistrate, who was extremely ill at ease, had not yet succeeded infinding a syllable to offer in reply. Indeed, Mademoiselle Margueritehad not given him an opportunity to speak, so rapidly had thislong-repressed flood of recollections poured from her lips. When shespoke the word "mother, " the magistrate fancied she would show some signof emotion. 

But he was mistaken. On the contrary, her voice became harsher, and aflash of anger, as it were, darted from her eyes. 

"I suffered exceedingly in that asylum, " she resumed. "Sister Callisteleft the establishment, and all the surroundings chilled and repelledme. My only few hours of happiness were on Sundays, when we attendedchurch. As the great organ pealed, and as I watched the priestsofficiating at the altar in their gorgeous vestments, I forgot my ownsorrows. It seemed to me that I was ascending on the clouds of incenseto the celestial sphere which the sisters so often talked to us about, and where they said each little girl would find her mother. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite hesitated for an instant, as if she weresomewhat unwilling to give utterance to her thoughts; but at last, forcing herself to continue, she said: "Yes, I suffered exceedingly inthat foundling asylum. Almost all my little companions were spiteful, unattractive in person, sallow, thin, and afflicted with all kinds ofdiseases, as if they were not unfortunate enough in being abandonedby their parents. And--to my shame, monsieur, I must confess it--theseunfortunate little beings inspired me with unconquerable repugnance, with disgust bordering on aversion. I would rather have pressed my lipsto a red-hot iron than to the forehead of one of these children. I didnot reason on the subject, alas! I was only eight or nine years old;but I felt this antipathy in every fibre of my being. The others knew ittoo; and, in revenge, they ironically styled me 'the lady, ' and left meseverely alone. But sometimes, during playtime, when the good sisters'backs were turned, the children attacked me, beat me, and scratched myface and tore my clothes. I endured these onslaughts uncomplainingly, for I was conscious that I deserved them. But how many reprimands mytorn clothes cost me! How many times I received only a dry crust for mysupper, after being soundly scolded and called 'little careless. ' Butas I was quiet, studious, and industrious, a quicker learner than themajority of my companions, the sisters were fond of me. They said that Iwas a promising girl, and that they would have no difficulty in findingme a nice home with some of the rich and pious ladies who have a sharein managing institutions of this kind. The only fault the sisters foundwith me was that I was sullen. But such was not really the case; I wasonly sad and resigned. Everything around me so depressed and saddened methat I withdrew into myself, and buried all my thoughts and aspirationsdeep in my heart. If I had naturally been a bad child, I scarcely knowwhat would have been the result of this. I have often asked myself thequestion in all sincerity, but I have been unable to reply, for onecannot be an impartial judge respecting one's self. However, this muchis certain, although childhood generally leaves a train of pleasantrecollections in a young girl's life, mine was only fraught with tortureand misery, desperate struggles, and humiliation. I was unwilling tobe confirmed because I did not wish to wear a certain dress, which a'benevolent lady' had presented for the use of the asylum, and which hadbelonged to a little girl of my own age who had died of consumption. The thought of arraying myself in this dress to approach the holy tablefrightened and revolted me as much as if I had been sentenced todrape myself in a winding-sheet. And yet it was the prettiest dress ofall--white muslin beautifully embroidered. It had been ardently covetedby the other children, and had been given to me as a sort of reward ofmerit. And I dared not explain the cause of my unconquerable repugnance. Who would have understood me? I should only have been accused of unduesensitiveness and pride, absurd in one of my humble position. I was thenonly twelve years old; but no one knew the struggle in my mind savethe old priest, my confessor. I could confess everything to him; heunderstood me, and did not reproach me. Still he answered: 'You mustwear this dress, my child, for your pride must be broken. Go--I shallimpose no other penance on you. ' I obeyed him, full of superstitiousterror; for it seemed to me that this was a frightful omen which wouldbring me misfortune, my whole life through. And I was confirmed in thedead girl's embroidered dress. "

During the five-and-twenty years that he had held the position ofjustice of the peace, the magistrate had listened to many confessions, wrung from wretched souls by stern necessity, or sorrow, but never hadhis heart been moved as it now was, by this narrative, told with suchuncomplaining anguish, and in a tone of such sincerity. However sheresumed her story. "The confirmation over, our life became as gloomilymonotonous as before; we read the same pious books and did the same workat the same hours as formerly. It seemed to me that I was stifling inthis atmosphere. I gasped for breath, and thought that anything wouldbe preferable to this semblance of existence, which was not real life. I was thinking of applying for the 'good situation, ' which had so oftenbeen mentioned to me, when one morning I was summoned into the steward'soffice--a mysterious and frightful place to us children. He himselfwas a stout, dirty man, wearing large blue spectacles and a blacksilk skullcap; and from morning until night, summer and winter, he satwriting at a desk behind a little grating, hung with green curtains. Round the room were ranged the registers, in which our names wererecorded and our appearances described, together with the boxescontaining the articles found upon us, which were carefully preservedto assist in identifying us should occasion arise. I entered this officewith a throbbing heart. In addition to the stout gentleman and theLady Superior, I found there a thin, wiry man, with cunning eyes, and aportly woman, with a coarse but rather good-natured face. The superiorat once informed me that I was in the presence of M. And Madame Greloux, bookbinders, who had come to the asylum in search of two apprentices, and she asked me if I should like to be one of them. Ah! monsieur, itseemed to me that heaven had opened before me and I boldly replied:'Yes. ' The gentleman in the black skullcap immediately emerged from hisplace behind the grating to explain my obligations and duties to meat length, especially insisting upon the point, that I ought to begrateful--I, a miserable foundling, reared by public charity--for thegenerosity which this good gentleman and lady showed in offering totake charge of me and employ me in their workshop. I must confess thatI could not clearly realize in what this great generosity which he sohighly praised consisted, nor did I perceive any reason why I should beparticularly grateful. Still, to all the conditions imposed upon me, I answered, 'Yes, yes, yes!' so heartily that Madame Greloux seemedgreatly pleased. 'It is evident that the child will be glad to getaway, ' she said to herself. Then the superior began to enumerate theobligations my employers would incur, repeating again and again thatI was one of the very best girls in the asylum--pious, obedient, andindustrious, reading and writing to perfection, and knowing how to sewand embroider as only those who are taught in such institutions can. Shemade Madame Greloux promise to watch over me as she would have watchedover her own daughter; never to leave me alone; to take me to church, and allow me an occasional Sunday afternoon, so that I might pay a visitto the asylum. The gentleman with the spectacles and the skullcapthen reminded the bookbinder of the duties of an employer toward hisapprentices, and turning to a bookcase behind him, he even took down alarge volume from which he read extract after extract, which I listenedto without understanding a word, though I was quite sure that the bookwas written in French. At last, when the man and his wife had said'Amen' to everything, the gentleman with the spectacles drew up adocument which we all signed in turn. I belonged to a master. "

She paused. Here her childhood ended. But almost immediately sheresumed: "My recollections of these people are not altogetherunpleasant. They were harassed and wearied by their efforts to supporttheir son in a style of living far above their position; but, despitetheir sacrifices, their son had no affection for them, and on thisaccount I pitied them. However, not only was the husband gloomy andquick-tempered, but his wife also was subject to fits of passion, sothat the apprentices often had a hard time of it. Still, between MadameGreloux's tempests of wrath there were occasional gleams of sunshine. After beating us for nothing, she would exclaim, with quite as littlereason, 'Come and kiss me, and don't pout any more. Here are four sous;go and buy yourself some cakes. '"

The justice started in his arm-chair. Was it, indeed, MademoiselleMarguerite who was speaking, the proud young girl with a queenlikebearing, whose voice rang out like crystal? Was it she indeed, whoimitated the harsh, coarse dialect of the lower classes with suchaccuracy of intonation? Ah! at that moment, as her past life rose sovividly before her, it seemed to her as if she were still in theyears gone by, and she fancied she could still hear the voice of thebookbinder's wife. 

She did not even notice the magistrate's astonishment. "I had left theasylum, " she continued, "and that was everything to me. I felt that anew and different life was beginning, and that was enough. I flatteredmyself that I might win a more earnest and sincere affection among thesehonest, industrious toilers, than I had found in the asylum; and to winit and deserve it, I neglected nothing that good-will could suggest, orstrength allow. My patrons no doubt fathomed my desire, and naturallyenough, perhaps unconsciously, they took advantage of my wish to please. I can scarcely blame them. I had entered their home under certainconditions in view of learning a profession; they gradually made metheir servant--it was praiseworthy economy on their part. What I had atfirst done of my own freewill and from a wish to please, at last becamemy daily task, which I was rigidly required to fulfil. Compelled to riselong before any one else in the house, I was expected to have everythingin order by the time the others made their appearance with their eyesstill heavy with sleep. It is true that my benefactors rewarded me aftertheir fashion. On Sundays they took me with them on their excursionsinto the country, so as to give me a rest, they said, after the week'swork. And I followed them along the dusty highways in the hot sunshine, panting, perspiring, and tottering under the weight of a heavy basketof provisions, which were eaten on the grass or in the woods, andthe remnants of which fell to me. Madame Greloux's brother generallyaccompanied us; and his name would have lingered in my memory, even ifit had not been a peculiar one. He was called Vantrasson. He was a tall, robust man, with eyes that made me tremble whenever he fixed them uponme. He was a soldier; intensely proud of his uniform; a great talker, and enchanted with himself. He evidently thought himself irresistible. It was from that man's mouth that I heard the first coarse word at whichmy unsophisticated heart took offence. It was not to be the last one. He finally told me that he had taken a fancy to me, and I was obliged tocomplain to Madame Greloux of her brother's persecutions. But she onlylaughed at me, and said: 'Nonsense! He's merely talking to hear himselftalk. ' Yes, that was her answer. And yet she was an honest woman, adevoted wife, and a fond mother. Ah! if she had had a daughter. But witha poor apprentice, who has neither father nor mother, one need notbe over-fastidious. She had made a great many promises to the ladysuperior, but she fancied that the utterance of a few commonplace wordsof warning relieved her of all further obligations. 'And so much theworse for those who allow themselves to be fooled, ' she always added inconclusion. 

"Fortunately, my pride, which I had so often been reproached with, shielded me. My condition might be humble, but my spirit was lofty. It was a blessing from God, this pride of mine, for it saved me fromtemptation, while so many fell around me. I slept, with the otherapprentices, in the attic, where we were entirely beyond the control ofthose who should have been our guardians. That is to say, when the day'stoil was over, and the work-shop closed, we were free--abandoned toour own instincts, and the most pernicious influences. And neither eviladvice nor bad example was wanting. The women employed in the binderyin nowise restrained themselves in our presence, and we heard them tellmarvellous stories that dazzled many a poor girl. They did not talk asthey did from any evil design, or out of a spirit of calculation, butfrom pure thoughtlessness, and because they were quite devoid of moralsense. And they never tired of telling us of the pleasures of life, offine dinners at restaurants, gay excursions to Joinville-le-Pont, andmasked balls at Montparnasse or the Elysee Montmartre. Ah! experienceis quickly gained in these work-shops. Sometimes those who went off atnight with ragged dresses and worn-out shoes, returned the next morningin superb toilettes to say that they resigned their situations, as theywere not made for work, and intended to live like ladies. They departedradiant, but often before a month was over they came back, emaciated, hollow-eyed, and despairing, and humbly begged for a little work. "

She paused, so crushed by the weight of these sad memories as to loseconsciousness of the present. And the judge also remained silent, notdaring to question her. And, besides, what good would it do? What couldshe tell him about these poor little apprentices that he did not knowalready? If he was surprised at anything, it was that this beautifulyoung girl, who had been left alone and defenceless, had possessedsufficient strength of character to escape the horrible dangers thatthreatened her. 

However, it was not long before Mademoiselle Marguerite shook off thetorpor which had stolen over her. "I ought not to boast of my strength, sir, " she resumed. "Besides my pride, I had a hope to sustain me--a hopewhich I clung to with the tenacity of despair. I wished to become expertat my profession, for I had learned that skilled workers were always indemand, and could always command good wages. So when my household dutieswere over, I still found time to learn the business, and made such rapidprogress that I astonished even my employer. I knew that I should soonbe able to make five or six francs a day; and this prospect was pleasantenough to make me forget the present, well-nigh intolerable as itsometimes was. During the last winter that I spent with my employers, their orders were so numerous and pressing that they worked on Sundaysas well as on week days, and it was with difficulty that I obtained anhour twice a month to pay a visit to the good sisters who had cared forme in my childhood. I had never failed in this duty, and indeed it hadnow become my only pleasure. My employer's conscience compelled him topay me a trifle occasionally for the additional toil he imposed upon me, and the few francs I thus received I carried to the poor children at theasylum. After living all my life on public charity, I was able togive in my turn; and this thought gratified my pride, and increasedmy importance in my own eyes. I was nearly fifteen, and my term ofapprenticeship had almost expired, when one bright day in March, I sawone of the lay sisters of the asylum enter the work-room. She was in aflutter of excitement; her face was crimson, and she was so breathlessfrom her hurried ascent of the stairs that she gasped rather thansaid to me: 'Quick! come--follow me! Some one is waiting for you!''Who?--where?'--'Make haste! Ah! my dear child, if you only knew----' Ihesitated; but Madame Greloux pushed me toward the door, exclaiming:'Be off, you little stupid!' I followed the sister without thinkingof changing my dress--without even removing the kitchen apron I wore. Downstairs, at the front door, stood the most magnificent carriage I hadever seen in my life. Its rich silk cushions were so beautiful thatI scarcely dared to enter it; and I was all the more intimidated bya footman in gorgeous livery, who respectfully opened the door at ourapproach. 'You must get into the carriage, ' said the sister; 'itwas sent for you. ' I obeyed her, and before I had recovered from myastonishment we had reached the asylum, and I was ushered into theoffice where the contract which bound me as an apprentice had beensigned. As soon as I entered, the superior took me by the hand and ledme toward a gentleman who was sitting near the window. 'Marguerite, 'said she, 'salute Monsieur le Comte de Chalusse. '"

IX. 

For some little time there had been a noise of footsteps and a subduedmurmur of voices in the vestibule. Annoyed by this interruption, although he perfectly understood its cause, the magistrate rose andhastily opened the door. He was not mistaken. His clerk had returnedfrom lunch, and the time of waiting seemed extremely long to him. "Ah!it's you, " said the magistrate. "Very well! begin your inventory. Itwon't be long before I join you. " And closing the door he resumed hisseat again. Mademoiselle Marguerite was so absorbed in her narrativethat she scarcely noticed this incident, and he had not seated himselfbefore she resumed. "In all my life, I had never seen such an imposinglooking person as the Count de Chalusse. His manner, attire, andfeatures could not fail to inspire a child like me with fear andrespect. I was so awed that I had scarcely enough presence of mind tobow to him. He glanced at me coldly, and exclaimed: 'Ah! is thisthe young girl you were speaking of?' The count's tone betrayed suchdisagreeable surprise that the superior was dismayed. She looked at me, and seemed indignant at my more than modest attire. 'It's a shameto allow a child to leave home dressed in this fashion, ' she angrilyexclaimed. And she almost tore my huge apron off me, and then withher own hands began to arrange my hair as if to display me to betteradvantage. 'Ah! these employers, ' she exclaimed, 'the best of them arebad. How they do deceive you. It's impossible to place any confidence intheir promises. Still, one can't always be at their heels. '

"But the superior's efforts were wasted, for M. De Chalusse had turnedaway and had begun talking with some gentlemen near by. For the officewas full that morning. Five or six gentlemen, whom I recognized as thedirectors of the asylum, were standing round the steward in the blackskullcap. They were evidently talking about me. I was certain of this bythe glances they gave me, glances which, however, were full of kindness. The superior joined the group and began speaking with unusual vivacity, while standing in the recess of a window, I listened with all my might. But I must have overestimated my intelligence, for I could gain nomeaning whatever from the phrases which followed each other in rapidsuccession; though the words 'adoption, ' 'emancipation, ' 'dowry, ''compensation, ' 'reimbursement for sums expended, ' recurred again andagain. I was only certain of one point: the Count de Chalusse wishedsomething, and these gentlemen were specifying other things in exchange. To each of their demands he answered: 'Yes, yes--it's granted. That'sunderstood. ' But at last he began to grow impatient, and in a voicewhich impressed one with the idea that he was accustomed to command, heexclaimed, 'I will do whatever you wish. Do you desire anything more?'The gentlemen at once became silent, and the superior hastily declaredthat M. De Chalusse was a thousand times too good, but that one couldexpect no less of him, the last representative of one of the greatestand oldest families of France. 

"I cannot describe the surprise and indignation that were raging in mysoul. I divined--I felt that it was MY fate, MY future, MY life thatwere being decided, and I was not even consulted on the matter. Theywere disposing of me as if they were sure in advance of my consent. Mypride revolted at the thought, but I could not find a word to say inprotest. Crimson with shame, confused and furious, I was wondering how Icould interfere, when suddenly the consultation ceased and the gentlemenat once surrounded me. One of them, a little old man with a vapid smileand twinkling eyes, tapped me on the cheek, and said: 'So she is as goodas she is pretty!' I could have struck him; but all the others laughedapprovingly, with the exception of M. De Chalusse, whose manner becamemore and more frigid, and whose lips wore a constrained smile, as if hehad resolved to keep his temper despite all provocation. It seemed to methat he was suffering terribly, and I afterward learned that I had notbeen mistaken. Far from imitating the old gentleman's manner, he bowedto me very gravely, with an air of deference that quite abashed me, andwent away after saying that he would return the next day to conclude thearrangements. 

"I was at last left alone with the superior, whom I longed to question, but she gave me no time to do so, for with extreme volubility she beganto tell me of my surprising good fortune, which was an unanswerableand conclusive proof of the kindness and protection of Providence. 'Thecount, ' she said, 'was to become my guardian. He would certainly give mea dowry; and by and by, if I were grateful to him for his goodness, hewould adopt me, a poor, fatherless and motherless girl, and I shouldbear the great name of Durtal de Chalusse, and inherit an immensefortune. ' In conclusion, she said that there was no limit to the count'sgenerosity, that he had consented to reimburse the asylum the money thathad been spent on me, that he had offered to dower, I do not know howmany poor girls, and that he had promised to build a chapel for the useof the establishment. This was all true, incredible as it might seem. That very morning, M. De Chalusse had called at the asylum, declaredthat he was old and childless, a bachelor without any near relatives, and that he wished to adopt a poor orphan. They had given him a listof all the children in the institution, and he had chosen me. 'A merechance, my dear Marguerite, ' repeated the superior. 'A mere chance--orrather a true miracle. ' It did, indeed, seem a miracle, but I was moresurprised than elated. I longed to be alone, so as to deliberate andreflect, for I knew that I was free to accept or decline this dazzlingoffer. 

"I timidly asked permission to return to my employers to inform them ofwhat had happened and consult with them; but my request was refused. Thesuperior told me that I must deliberate and decide alone; and that whenonce my decision was taken, there could be no change. So I remained atthe asylum, and dined at the superior's table; and during the night Ioccupied the room of a sister who was absent. What surprised me most ofall was the deference with which I was treated. The sisters all seemedto consider me a person of great importance. And yet I hesitated. 

"My indecision may seem absurd and hypocritical; but it was reallysincere. My present situation was certainly by no means an enviable one. But the worst was over; my term as an apprentice had nearly expired, andmy future seemed assured. My future! What could it be with the Count deChalusse? It was painted in such brilliant colors that it frightened me. Why had the count chosen me in preference to any of the other girls? Wasit really chance which had decided him in his choice? On reflecting, the miracle seemed to me to have been prepared in advance, and I fanciedthat it must conceal some mystery. More than this, the thought ofyielding myself up to a stranger terrified me. Forty-eight hours hadbeen granted me to consider my decision, and till the very last instantI remained in doubt. Who knows? Perhaps it would have been better for meif I had returned to my humble life. At all events, I should have beenspared a great deal of sorrow and humiliation. But I lacked the courage;and when the time expired, I consented to the new arrangement. 

"Should I live a thousand years I shall never forget the day I leftthe foundling asylum to become the Count de Chalusse's ward. It wasa Saturday, and I had given my answer to the superior on the eveningbefore. The next morning I received a visit from my former employers, who, having been informed of the great change in my prospects, had cometo bid me good-bye. The cancelling of my apprenticeship had at firstcaused some trouble, but eventually the count's gold silenced theirobjections. Still, they were sorry to part with me, as I plainly saw. Their eyes were moist with tears. They were sorry to lose the poorlittle servant who had served them so faithfully. At the same time, however, I noticed evident constraint in their manner. They no longersaid 'thee' and 'thou' to me; they no longer spoke roughly; but theysaid 'you, ' and addressed me as 'mademoiselle. ' Poor people! theyawkwardly apologized for having ventured to accept my services, declaring in the same breath that they should never be able to replaceme at the same price. Madame Greloux, moreover, declared that she shouldnever forgive herself for not having sharply reproved her brother forhis abominable conduct. He was a good-for-nothing fellow, she said, aswas proved by the fact that he had dared to raise his eyes to me. Forthe first time in my life, I felt that I was sincerely loved; and I wasso deeply touched that if my decision had not been written and signed, Ishould certainly have returned to live with these worthy people. But itwas too late. A sister came to tell me that the superior wished to seeme. I bade Father and Mother Greloux farewell and went downstairs. 

"In the superior's room, a lady and two shop-girls, laden with boxes andparcels, were waiting for me. It was a dressmaker who had come with someclothes suited to my new station in life. I was told that she hadbeen sent by the Count de Chalusse. This great nobleman thought ofeverything; and, although he had thirty servants to do his bidding, henever disdained to occupy himself with the pettiest details. So, forthe first time, I was arrayed in rustling silk and clinging cashmere. My toilette was no trifling affair. All the good sisters clustered roundme, and tried to beautify me with the same care and patience as theywould have displayed in adorning the Virgin's statue for a fete-day. Asecret instinct warned me that they were overdoing the matter, and thatthey were making me look ridiculous; but I did not mind. I allowed themto please themselves I could still feel Madame Greloux's tears on myhand, and the scene seemed to me as lugubrious as the last toilette of aprisoner under sentence of death. When they had completed their task, I heard a buzz of admiration round me. If the sisters were worthy ofbelief, they had never seen such a wonderful transformation. Those whowere in the class-rooms or the sewing-room, were summoned to view andadmire me, and some of the elder children were also admitted. Perhaps Iwas intended as an example for the latter, for I heard the lady superiorsay to them, 'You see, my dear children, the result of good behavior. Bediligent and dutiful, like our dear Marguerite, and God will rewardyou as He has rewarded her. ' And, meantime, miserable in my finery, Iwaited--waited for M. De Chalusse, who was coming to take me away. 

"At the appointed hour he appeared, with the same air of haughtyreserve, that had so awed me on the occasion of our first meeting. Hescarcely deigned to look at me, and although I watched him with poignantanxiety, I could read neither blame nor approval on his face. 'You seethat your wishes have been scrupulously obeyed, Monsieur le Comte, ' saidthe superior. 'I thank you, ' he replied; 'and I shall prove the extentof my gratitude to the poor children under your charge. ' Then, turningto me: 'Marguerite, ' he said, 'take leave of--your mothers, and tellthem that you will never forget their kindness. '"

The girl paused, for her emotion had rendered her words almostunintelligible. But, with an effort, she speedily conquered herweakness. 

"It was only then, " she continued, "that I realized how much I lovedthese poor nuns, whom I had sometimes almost cursed. I felt now howclose the ties were, that bound me to this hospitable roof, and to theseunfortunate children, my companions in misery and loneliness. It seemedto me as if my heart were breaking; and the superior, who was generallyso impassible, appeared scarcely less moved than myself. At last, M. DeChalusse took me by the hand and led me away. In the street there was acarriage waiting for us, not such a beautiful one as that which had beensent to fetch me from my workshop, but a much larger one, with trunksand boxes piled on its roof. It was drawn by four gray horses. I feltmore dead than alive, as I entered the carriage and took the seat whichthe count pointed out. He sat down opposite to me. All the sisters hadassembled at the door of the asylum, and even the superior wept withoutmaking any attempt to hide her tears. 'Farewell!' they all cried;'farewell, farewell, dear child! Don't forget your old friends. We shallpray for your happiness. ' Alas! God could not have heard their prayers. At a sign from M. De Chalusse, a footman closed the door, the postilionscracked their whips, and the heavy vehicle rolled away. 

"The die was cast. Henceforth, an impassable gulf was to separate mefrom this asylum, whither I had been carried in my infancy half dead, and wrapped in swaddling clothes, from which every mark that couldpossibly lead to identification had been carefully cut away. Whatever myfuture might prove, I felt that my past was gone forever. But I wastoo greatly agitated even to think; and crouching in a corner of thecarriage, I watched M. De Chalusse with the poignant anxiety a slavedisplays as he studies his new master. Ah! monsieur, what a wondrouschange! A mask seemed to have fallen from the count's face; his lipsquivered, a tender light beamed in his eyes, and he drew me to him, exclaiming: 'Oh, Marguerite! my beloved Marguerite! At last--at last!'He sobbed--this old man, whom I had thought as cold and as insensible asmarble; he crushed me in his close embrace, he almost smothered mewith kisses. And I was frightfully agitated by the strange, indefinablefeeling, kindled in my heart; but I no longer trembled with fear. An inward voice whispered that this was but the renewal of a formertie--one which had somehow been mysteriously broken. However, as Iremembered the superior's assertion that it was a miracle in my favor--awonderful interposition of Providence, I had courage enough to ask: 'Soit was not chance that guided you in your choice?'

"My question seemed to take him by surprise. 'Poor Marguerite!' hemurmured, 'dearly beloved child! for years I have been laboring to bringabout this chance!' Instantly all the romantic stories I had heard inthe asylum recurred to my mind. And Heaven knows there are plenty ofthese stories transmitted by the sisters from generation to generation, till they have become a sort of Golden Legend for poor foundlings. Thatsad formula, 'Father and mother unknown, ' which figures on certificatesof birth, acts as a dangerous stimulant for unhealthy imaginations, andleaves an open door for the most extravagant hopes. And thus influenced, I fixed my eyes on the face of the Count de Chalusse, striving todiscover some resemblance in his features to my own. But he did notseem to notice my intent gaze, and following his train of thought, hemuttered: 'Chance! It was necessary that they should think so, andthey did think so. And yet the cleverest detectives in Paris, from oldTabaret to Fortunat, both masters in the art of following up a clue, hadexhausted their resources in helping me in my despairing search. ' Theagony of suspense I was enduring had become intolerable; and unableto restrain myself longer, I exclaimed, with a wildly throbbing heart:'Then, you are my father, Monsieur le Comte?' He pressed his hand to mylips with such violence that he hurt me, and then, in a voice quiveringwith excitement, he replied: 'Imprudent girl! What can you mean?Forget that unfortunate idea. Never utter the name of father--you hearme--never! I forbid it!' He had become extremely pale, and he lookedanxiously around him, as if he feared that some one had overheard me--asif he had forgotten that we were alone in a carriage which was dashingonward at full speed!

"I was stupefied and alarmed by the sudden terror which M. De Chalussehad displayed and could not control. What could it all mean? Whatsorrowful recollections, what mysterious apprehensions, had my wordsaroused in the count's mind? I could not understand or imagine why heshould regard my question as strange or unnatural. On the contrary, Ithought it perfectly natural, dictated as it had been by circumstances, and by the count's own words and manner. And, in spite of my confusionand agitation, the inexplicable voice which we call presentimentwhispered in my heart: 'He has forbidden you to CALL him father, buthe has not said that he is not your father. ' However, I had not time toreflect or to question M. De Chalusse any more, though at that moment Ishould have had the courage to do so; afterward I did not dare. 

"Our carriage had drawn up outside the railway station, and the nextinstant we alighted. Then, for the first time, I learned the magicalpower of money, I, a poor girl--reared by public charity--and who forthree years had worked for my daily bread. M. De Chalusse found theservants, who were to accompany us, awaiting him. They had thought ofeverything, and made every possible arrangement for our comfort. I hadscarcely time to glance round me before we were on the platform in frontof a train, which was ready to start. I perceived the very carriage thathad brought us to the station already fastened on a low open truck, andI was advancing to climb into it, when M. De Chalusse stopped me. 'Notthere, ' said he, 'come with me. ' I followed him, and he led me to amagnificent saloon carriage, much higher and roomier than the others, and emblazoned with the Chalusse coat-of-arms. 'This is our carriage, dear Marguerite, he said. I got in. The whistle sounded; and the trainstarted off. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite was growing very tired. Big drops ofperspiration stood out on her forehead, she panted for breath, and hervoice began to fail her. 

The magistrate was almost frightened. "Pray rest a little, mademoiselle, " he entreated, "there is no hurry. "

But she shook her head and replied: "It is better to go on. I shouldnever have courage to begin again if I paused. " And thereupon shecontinued: "I had never gone farther than Versailles. This journey wasat first as delightful as a glimpse into fairy-land. Our carriagewas one of those costly whims which some millionaires indulge in. Itconsisted of a central saloon--a perfect chef-d'oeuvre of taste andluxury--with two compartments at either end, furnished with comfortablesleeping accommodation. And all this, the count seemed never weary ofrepeating, was mine--mine alone. Leaning back on the velvet cushions, Igazed at the changing landscape, as the train rushed madly on. Leaningover me, M. De Chalusse named all the towns and villages we passed:Brunoy, Melun, Fontainebleau, Villeneuve, Sens, Laroche. And each timethe train stopped the servants came to ask if we wished for anything. When we reached Lyons, in the middle of the night, we found a delicioussupper awaiting us. It was served as soon as we alighted, and in duetime we were warned that the train was ready to start, and then weresumed our journey. You can imagine, perhaps, how marvellous all thisseemed to a poor little apprentice, whose only ambition a week beforewas to earn five francs a day. What a change indeed! At last the countmade me retire to one of the compartments, where I soon fell asleep, abandoning my efforts to distinguish what was dreamlike in my situationfrom reality. However, when I woke up I became terribly anxious. Iasked myself what was awaiting me at the end of this long journey. M. De Chalusse's manner continued kind, and even affectionate; but he hadregained his accustomed reserve and self-control, and I realized thatit would be useless on my part to question him. At last, after a thirtyhours' journey by rail, we again entered the count's berline, drawnby post-horses, and eventually M. De Chalusse said to me: 'Here isCannes--we are at our journey's end. '

"In this town, which is one of the most charming that overlook the bluewaters of the Mediterranean, the count owned a palace embowered amonglovely orange-trees, only a few steps from the sea, and in full view ofthe myrtle and laurel groves which deck the isles of Sainte Marguerite. He told me that he proposed spending a few months here in seclusion, soas to give me time to accustom myself to my new position and the luxurythat surrounded me. I was, indeed, extremely awkward, and my excessivetimidity was increased by my pride. I did not know what to say, or whatto do. I did not know how to use my hands, nor how to walk, nor howto carry myself. Everything embarrassed and frightened me; and I wasconscious of my awkwardness, without being able to remedy it. I saw myblunders, and knew that I spoke a different language to that which wasspoken around me. And yet the memory of Cannes will ever be dear to me. For there I first met the only friend I have now left in this world. Idid not exchange a word with him, but by the quickened throbbings ofmy heart, when our eyes met, I felt that he would exert a powerfulinfluence over my life, and events have since proved that I was notdeceived. At that time, however, he was a stranger to me; and nothingon earth would have induced me to make inquiries concerning him. Itwas only by chance I learned that he lived in Paris, that his name wasPascal, and that he had come south as a companion to a sick friend. 

"By a single word the count could have insured the happiness of mylife and his own, but he did not speak it. He was the kindest andmost indulgent of guardians, and I was often affected to tears by histenderness. But, although my slightest wish was law, he did not grant mehis confidence. The secret--the mystery that stood between us--was likea wall of ice. Still, I was gradually becoming accustomed to my newlife, and my mind was regaining its equilibrium, when one evening thecount returned home more agitated and excited, if possible, than on theday of my departure from the asylum. He summoned his valet, and, in atone that admitted no reply, he exclaimed, 'I wish to leave Cannes atonce--I must start in less than an hour--so procure some post-horsesinstantly. ' And in answer to my inquiring glance, he said: 'It mustbe. It would be folly to hesitate. Each moment increases the peril thatthreatens us. '

"I was very young, inexperienced, and totally ignorant of life; but mysufferings, my loneliness, and the prospect of being compelled to relyupon myself, had imparted to my mind that precocious maturity which isso often observed among the children of the poor. Knowing from the veryfirst that there was some mystery connected with the count's life, I hadstudied him with a child's patient sagacity--a sagacity which is all themore dangerous, as it is unsuspected--and I had come to the conclusionthat a constant dread rendered his life a burden. Could it be forhimself that he trembled, this great nobleman, who was so powerful byreason of his exalted rank, his connections, and his wealth? Certainlynot. Was it for me, then? Undoubtedly it was. But why? It had not takenme long to discover that he was concealing me, or, at least, that heendeavored by all means in his power to prevent my presence in his housefrom being known beyond a very limited circle of friends. Our hurrieddeparture from Cannes confirmed me in my impression. 

"It might have been truly called a flight. We left that same evening ateleven o'clock, in a pouring rain, with the first horses that could beprocured. Our only attendant was the count's valet--not Casimir, the manwho insulted me a little while ago--but another man, an old and valuedservant, who has since died, unfortunately, and who possessed hismaster's entire confidence. The other servants were dismissed with aprincely gratuity, and told to disperse two days after our departure. Wedid not return to Paris, but journeyed toward the Italian frontier, andon arriving at Nice in the dead of night, we drove directly to the quay. The postilions unharnessed the horses, and we remained in the carriage. The valet, however, hastened off, and more than two hours elapsed beforehe returned. He declared that he had found it very difficult to procurewhat he wished for, but that at last, by a prodigal outlay of money, hehad succeeded in overcoming all obstacles. What M. De Chalusse desiredwas a vessel ready for sea, and the bark which the valet had charterednow came up to the quay. Our carriage was put on board, we went below, and before daybreak we were under way. 

"Three days later we were in Genoa, registered under a false name in asecond class hotel. While we were on the open sea, the count had seemedto be less agitated, but now he was far from calm, and the precautionshe took proved that he still feared pursuit. A malefactor flying fromjustice could not have taken greater pains to mislead the detectives onhis track. And facts proved conclusively that I was the sole cause ofthe count's apprehension. On one occasion I even heard him discussingwith his valet the feasibility of clothing me in masculine attire. And it was only the difficulty of obtaining a suitable costume thatprevented him from carrying this project into execution. I ought tomention, however, that the servant did not share his master's anxiety, for three or four times I overheard him saying: 'The count is toogood to worry himself so much about such bad stock. Besides, she won'tovertake us. It isn't certain that she has even followed us. How canshe know anything about it?' She! Who was she? This is what I racked mybrain to discover, but without success. I must confess, monsieur, thatbeing of a practical nature, and not in the least degree romantic, Iarrived at the conclusion that the peril chiefly existed in the count'simagination, or that he greatly exaggerated it. Still he suffered nonethe less on that account, as was shown by the fact that the followingmonth was spent in hurried journeys from one Italian city to another. 

"It was the end of May before M. De Chalusse would consent to return toFrance; and then we went direct to Lyons. We had spent a couple of daysthere, when the count informed me that prudence required us to separatefor a time--that our safety demanded this sacrifice. And without givingme time to say a word, he began to explain the advantages that wouldaccrue from such an arrangement. I was extremely ignorant, and he wishedme to profit by our temporary separation to raise my knowledge toa level with my new social position. He had, accordingly, madearrangements for me to enter the convent of Sainte-Marthe, aneducational establishment which is as celebrated in the department ofthe Rhone as the Convent des Oiseaux is in Paris. He added that it wouldnot be prudent for him to visit me; and he made me solemnly promise thatI would never mention his name to any of my schoolmates. I was to sendany letters I might write to an address which he would give me, and hewould sign his answers with a fictitious name. He also told me that thelady superior of Sainte-Marthe knew his secret, and that I could confidein her. He was so restless and so miserably unhappy on the day whenhe acquainted me with these plans, that I really believed him insane. Nevertheless, I replied that I would obey him, and to tell the truth, I was not ill pleased at the thought of the change. My life with M. De Chalusse was a monotonous and cheerless one. I was almost dying ofennui, for I had been accustomed to work, bustle, and confusion with theGreloux, and I felt delighted at the prospect of finding myself amongcompanions of my own age. 

"Unfortunately, M. De Chalusse had forgotten one circumstance, whichmade my two years' sojourn at Sainte-Marthe a lingering and cruel agony. At first I was kindly treated by my schoolmates. A new pupil is alwayswelcome, for her arrival relieves the monotony of convent-life. But itwas not long before my companions wished to know my name; and I had noneother than Marguerite to give them. They were astonished and wished toknow who my parents were. I could not tell an untruth; and I was obligedto confess that I knew nothing at all respecting my father or my mother. After that 'the bastard'--for such was the name they gave me--was sooncondemned to isolation. No one would associate with me during play-time. No one would sit beside me in the school-room. At the piano lesson, thegirl who played after me pretended to wipe the keyboard carefullybefore commencing her exercises. I struggled bravely against thisunjust ostracism; but all in vain. I was so unlike these other girls incharacter and disposition, and I had, moreover, been guilty of a greatimprudence. I had been silly enough to show my companions the costlyjewels which M. De Chalusse had given me, but which I never wore. And ontwo occasions I had proved to them that I had more money at my disposalthan all the other pupils together. If I had been poor, they would, perhaps, have treated me with affected sympathy; but as I was rich, I became an enemy. It was war; and one of those merciless wars whichsometimes rage so furiously in convents, despite their seeming quiet. 

"I should surprise you, monsieur, if I told you what refined torturethese daughters of noblemen invented to gratify their petty spite. Imight have complained to the superior, but I scorned to do so. I buriedmy sorrow deep in my heart, as I had done years before; and I firmlyresolved never to show ought but a smiling, placid face, so as to proveto my enemies that they were powerless to disturb my peace of mind. Study became my refuge and consolation; and I plunged into work with theenergy of despair. I should probably still live at Sainte-Marthe now, had it not been for a trivial circumstance. One day I had a quarrelwith my most determined enemy, a girl named Anais de Rochecote. I was athousand times right; and I would not yield. The superior dared nottell me I was wrong. Anais was furious, and wrote I don't know whatfalsehoods to her mother. Madame de Rochecote thereupon interested themothers of five or six other pupils in her daughter's quarrel, and oneevening these ladies came in a body, and nobly and courageously demandedthat the 'bastard' should be expelled. It was impossible, outrageous, monstrous, they declared, that their daughters should be compelled toassociate with a girl like me--a nameless girl, who humiliated the othergirls with her ill-gotten wealth. The superior tried to take my part;but these ladies declared they would take their daughters from theconvent if I were not sent away. There was no help for it: I wassacrificed. Summoned by telegraph, M. De Chalusse hastened to Lyons, andtwo days later I left Sainte-Marthe with jeers and opprobrious epithetsringing in my ears. "

X. 

Once before, that very morning, the magistrate had witnessed a displayof the virile energy with which misfortune and suffering had endowedthis proud but naturally timid girl. But he was none the less surprisedat the sudden explosion of hatred which he now beheld; for it washatred. The way in which Mademoiselle Marguerite's voice had quivered asshe pronounced the name of Anais de Rochecote proved, unmistakably, thathers was one of those haughty natures that never forget an insult. Allsigns of fatigue had now disappeared. She had sprung from her chair, and remembrance of the shameful, cowardly affront she had received hadbrought a vivid flush to her cheeks and a bright gleam to her eyes. 

"This atrocious humiliation happened scarcely a year ago, monsieur, " sheresumed; "and there is but little left for me to tell you. My expulsionfrom Sainte-Marthe made M. De Chalusse frantic with indignation. He knewsomething that I was ignorant of--that Madame de Rochecote, who enactedthe part of a severe and implacable censor, was famed for the laxityof her morals. The count's first impulse was to wreak vengeance on mypersecutors; for, in spite of his usual coolness, M. De Chalusse had afurious temper at times. It was only with the greatest difficulty thatI dissuaded him from challenging General de Rochecote, who was livingat the time. However, it now became necessary to make some otherarrangements for me. M. De Chalusse offered to find another school, promising to take such precautions as would insure my peace of mind. ButI interrupted him before he had spoken a dozen words, declaring I wouldrather return to the book-binders than chance another such experiment. And what I said I meant. A subterfuge--a fictitious name, forinstance--could alone shield me from persecution similar to what I hadendured at Sainte-Marthe. But I knew that I was incapable of playingsuch a part--I felt that I should somehow confess everything. Myfirmness imparted some resolution to M. De Chalusse. He exclaimed, withan oath, that I was right--that he was weary of all this deception andconcealment, and that he would make arrangements to have me near him. 'Yes, ' he concluded, embracing me, 'the die is cast, come what may!'

"However, these measures required a certain delay; and, in the meantime, he decided to install me in Paris, which is the only place where one cansuccessfully hide from prying eyes. He purchased a small but convenienthouse, surrounded by a garden, in the neighborhood of the LuxembourgPalace, and here he installed me, with two old women and a trustyman-servant. As I needed a chaperon, he went in quest of one, and foundMadame Leon. "

On hearing this name, the magistrate gave the young girl a searchinglook, as if he hoped to discover what estimate she had formed of thehousekeeper's character, as well as what degree of confidence she hadgranted her. But Mademoiselle Marguerite's face remained unaltered inexpression. 

"After so many trials, " she resumed, "I thought I should now find restand peace. Yes, I believed so; and the few months I spent in that quiethouse will be the happiest of my life--I am sure of it. Judge of mysurprise when, on going down into the little garden on the second dayafter my arrival, I saw the young man whom I had met at Cannes, andwhose face had lingered in my memory for more than two years as thetype of all that was best and noblest in the human countenance. He wasstanding near the gate. A cloud passed before my eyes. What mysteriousfreak of fate had caused him to pause there at that particular moment?This much is certain, he recognized me as I had recognized him. Hebowed, smiling somewhat, and I fled indoors again, indignant with myselffor not being angry at his audacity. I made many plans that day, but thenext morning, at the same hour, I hid myself behind a Venetian blind, and saw him pause at the gate, and gaze at the garden with evidentanxiety. I soon learned that he lived near by, with his widowed mother;and twice a day, when he went to the Palais de Justice and returned, hepassed my home. "

Her cheeks were crimson now, her eyes were lowered, and she wasevidently embarrassed. But suddenly, as if ashamed of her blushes, sheproudly raised her head, and said, in a firmer voice: "Shall I tell youour simple story? Is it necessary? I should not have concealed anythingthat has passed from my mother, if I had been so happy as to possess amother. A few moments' conversation now and then, the exchange of a fewletters, the pressure of a hand through the garden gate, and that isall. Still, I have been guilty of a grave and irreparable fault: I havedisobeyed the one rule of my life--frankness; and I am cruelly punishedfor doing so. I did not tell all this to M. De Chalusse--in fact, Idared not. I was ashamed of my cowardice; from day to day I vowed thatI would confess everything, and yet I procrastinated. I said to myselfevery night, 'It shall be done to-morrow; but when the morrow came Isaid, 'I will give myself another day--just one more day. ' Indeed, mycourage failed me when I thought of the count's aristocratic prejudices;and besides, I knew how ambitious he was for my future. On the otherhand, moreover, Pascal was always pleading: 'Don't speak now. Mycircumstances are constantly improving. The day is not far off when Ishall be able to offer you wealth and fame. When that day comes I willgo to your guardian and ask him for your hand; but in Heaven's namedon't speak now. ' I understood Pascal's motives well enough. The count'simmense fortune frightened him, and he feared that he would be accusedof being a fortune-hunter. So I waited, with that secret anguish whichstill haunts those who have been unhappy even when their present ispeaceful, and their future seems bright. I kept my secret, saying tomyself that such happiness was not meant for me, that it would soon takeflight. 

"It took flight all too soon. One morning I heard a carriage draw upoutside our door, and the next moment the Count de Chalusse enteredthe sitting-room. 'Everything is ready to receive you at the Hotel deChalusse, Marguerite, ' said he, 'come!' He ceremoniously offered me hisarm, and I accompanied him. I could not even leave a message for Pascal, for I had never made a confidante of Madame Leon. Still, a faint hopesustained me. I thought that the precautions taken by M. De Chalussewould somewhat dispel the uncertainty of my position, and furnish me atleast with some idea of the vague danger which threatened me. But no. His efforts, so far as I could discover, had been confined to changinghis servants. Our life in this grand house was the same as it had beenat Cannes--even more secluded, if that were possible. The count had agedconsiderably. It was evident that he was sinking beneath the burdenof some ever-present sorrow. 'I am condemning you to a cheerless andmelancholy youth, ' he sometimes said to me, 'but it will not lastforever--patience, patience!' Did he really love me? I think so. But hisaffection showed itself in a strange manner. Sometimes his voice was sotender that my heart was touched. At others there was a look of hatredin his eyes which terrified me. Occasionally he was severe almost tobrutality, and then the next moment he would implore me to forgive him, order the carriage, take me with him to his jewellers', and insist uponme accepting some costly ornaments. Madame Leon declares that my jewelsare worth more than twenty thousand francs. At times I wondered if hiscapricious affection and sternness were really intended for myself. Itoften seemed to me that I was only a shadow--the phantom of some absentperson, in his eyes. It is certain that he often requested me to dressmyself or to arrange my hair in a certain fashion, to wear such and sucha color, or to use a particular perfume which he gave me. Frequently, when I was moving about the house, he suddenly exclaimed: 'Marguerite! Ientreat you, remain just where you are!'

"I obeyed him, but the illusion had already vanished. A sob or an oathwould come from his lips, and then in an angry voice he would bid meleave the room. "

The magistrate did not raise his eyes from his talismanic ring; it mighthave been supposed that it had fascinated him. Still, his expressiondenoted profound commiseration, and he shook his head thoughtfully. Theidea had occurred to him that this unfortunate young girl had been thevictim, not precisely of a madman, but of one of those maniacs who havejust enough reason left to invent the tortures they inflict upon thosearound them. 

Speaking more slowly than before, as if she were desirous of attractingincreased attention on the magistrate's part, Mademoiselle Margueritenow continued: "If I reminded M. De Chalusse of a person whom he hadformerly loved, that person may have been my mother. I say, MAY HAVEBEEN, because I am not certain of it. All my efforts to discoverthe truth were unavailing. M. De Chalusse seemed to take a maliciouspleasure in destroying all my carefully-arranged theories, andin upsetting the conjectures which he had encouraged himself onlytwenty-four hours previously. Heaven only knows how anxiously I listenedto his slightest word! And it can be easily understood why I did so. Mystrange and compromising connection with him drove me nearly frantic. It was not strange that people's suspicions were aroused. True, he hadchanged all his servants before my arrival here; but he had requestedMadame Leon to remain with me, and who can tell what reports she mayhave circulated? It has often happened that when returning from masson Sundays, I have overheard persons say, 'Look! there is the Countde Chalusse's mistress!' Oh! not a single humiliation has been sparedme--not a single one! However, on one point I did not feel the shadowof a doubt. The count had known my mother. He frequently alluded to her, sometimes with an outburst of passion which made me think that he hadonce adored, and still loved her; sometimes, with insults and curseswhich impressed me with the idea that she had cruelly injured him. Butmost frequently he reproached her for having unhesitatingly sacrificedme to insure her own safety. He said she could have had no heart; andthat it was an unheard of, incomprehensible, and monstrous thing thata woman could enjoy luxury and wealth, undisturbed by remorse, knowingthat her innocent and defenceless child was exposed all the while to thehardships and temptations of abject poverty. I was also certain that mymother was a married woman, for M. De Chalusse alluded to her husbandmore than once. He hated him with a terrible hatred. One evening, whenhe was more communicative than usual, he gave me to understand thatthe great danger he dreaded for me came either from my mother or herhusband. He afterward did his best to counteract this impression; buthe did not succeed in convincing me that his previous assertion wasuntrue. "

The magistrate looked searchingly at Mademoiselle Marguerite. "Thenthose letters which we found just now in the escritoire are from yourmother, mademoiselle?" he remarked. 

The girl blushed. She had previously been questioned respecting theseletters, and she had then made no reply. Now, she hesitated for amoment, and then quietly said: "Your opinion coincides with mine, monsieur. "

Thereupon, as if she wished to avoid any further questioning on thesubject, she hurriedly continued: "At last a new and even greatertrouble came--a positive calamity, which made me forget the disgraceattached to my birth. One morning at breakfast, about a month ago, thecount informed me that he expected two guests to dinner that evening. This was such an unusual occurrence that I was struck speechless withastonishment. 'It is extraordinary, I admit, ' he added, gayly; 'but itis nevertheless true. M. De Fondege and the Marquis de Valorsay willdine here this evening. So, my dear Marguerite, look your prettiestin honor of our old friend. ' At six o'clock the two gentlemen arrivedtogether. I was well acquainted with M. De Fondege--the general, as hewas commonly called. He was the count's only intimate friend, and oftenvisited us. But I had never before seen the Marquis de Valorsay, nor hadI ever heard his name until M. De Chalusse mentioned it that morning. Idon't pretend to judge him. I will only say that as soon as I saw him, the dislike I felt for him bordered on aversion. My false positionrendered his close scrutiny actually painful to me, and his attentionsand compliments pleased me no better. At dinner he addressed hisconversation exclusively to me, and I particularly remember a certainpicture he drew of a model household, which positively disgusted me. Inhis opinion, a husband ought to content himself with being his wife'sprime minister--the slave of her slightest caprice. He intended, ifhe married, to allow the Marquise de Valorsay perfect freedom, withan unlimited amount of money, the handsomest carriages, and the mostmagnificent diamonds in Paris--everything, indeed, that could gratifyher vanity, and render her existence a fairylike dream. 'With such ideason her husband's part the marchioness will be very difficult to pleaseif she is not contented with her lot, ' he added, glancing covertly atme. This exasperated me beyond endurance, and I dryly replied: 'The merethought of such a husband would drive me to the shelter of a convent. 'He seemed considerably disconcerted; and I noticed that the general, Imean M. De Fondege, gave him a mischievous look. 

"However, when the gentlemen had gone, M. De Chalusse scolded meseverely. He said that my sentimental philosophy was quite out of placein a drawing-room, and that my ideas of life, marriage, and duty couldonly have been gained in a foundling asylum. As I attempted to reply, heinterrupted me to sound the praises of the Marquis de Valorsay, whonot only came of an ancient family, and possessed immense, unencumberedestates, but was a talented, handsome man into the bargain; in short, one of those favored mortals whom all young girls sigh for. The scalesfell from my eyes. I instantly understood that M. De Chalusse hadselected the Marquis de Valorsay to be my husband, and thus the marquishad designedly explained his matrimonial programme for my benefit. Itwas a snare to catch the bird. I felt indignant that he should supposeme so wanting in delicacy of feeling and nobility of character as tobe dazzled by the life of display and facile pleasure which he haddepicted. I had disliked him at first, and now I despised him; for itwas impossible to misunderstand the shameless proposal concealed beneathhis half-jesting words. He offered me my liberty in exchange for myfortune. That is only a fair contract, one might say. Perhaps so; but ifhe were willing to do this for a certain amount of money, what wouldhe not do for a sum twice or thrice as large? Such were my impressions, though I asked myself again and again if I were not mistaken. No; theevents that followed only confirmed my suspicions. Three days later themarquis came again. His visit was to the count, and they held a longconference in this study. Having occasion to enter the room, after themarquis's departure, I noticed on the table a number of title deedswhich he had probably brought for the count's inspection. On thefollowing week there was another conference, and this time a lawyer waspresent. Any further doubts I might have felt were dispelled by MadameLeon, who was always well informed--thanks to her habit of listeningat the keyholes. 'They are talking of marrying you to the Marquis deValorsay--I heard them, ' she remarked to me. 

"However, the information did not terrify me. I had profited by the timeallowed me for reflection, and I had decided upon the course I shouldpursue. I am timid, but I am not weak; and I was determined to resist M. De Chalusse's will in this matter, even if it became necessary for meto leave his house, and renounce all hopes of the wealth he had promisedme. Still I said nothing to Pascal of my mental struggle and finaldetermination. I did not wish to bind him by the advice which he wouldcertainly have given me. I had his troth, and that sufficed. And it waswith a thrill of joy that I said to myself: 'What does it matter if M. De Chalusse should be so angered by my refusal to obey him as to driveme from his house? It will rather be so much the better; Pascal willprotect me. '

"But resistance is only possible when you are attacked; and M. DeChalusse did not even allude to the subject--perhaps because affairshad not yet been satisfactorily arranged between the marquis andhimself--possibly because he wished to deprive me of the power to opposehim by taking me unawares. It would have been great imprudence onmy part to broach the subject myself, and so I waited calmly andresignedly, storing up all my energy for the decisive hour. I willinglyconfess that I am not a heroine of romance--I do not look uponmoney with the contempt it deserves. I was resolved to wed solely inaccordance with the dictates of my heart; but I wished, and HOPED, thatM. De Chalusse would give me, not a fortune, but a modest dowry. He hadbecome more communicative than usual on money matters, and took no painsto conceal the fact that he was engaged in raising the largest possibleamount of ready cash. He received frequent visits from his stockbroker, and sometimes when the latter had left him, he showed me rolls ofbank-notes and packages of bonds, saying, as he did so: 'You see thatyour future is assured, my dear Marguerite. '

"I am only doing the count justice when I say that my future was asubject of constant anxiety to him during the last few months of hislife. Less than a fortnight after he had taken me from the asylum, hedrew up a will, in which he adopted me and made me his sole legatee. Buthe afterward destroyed this document on the plea that it did not affordme sufficient security; and a dozen others shared the same fate. For hismind was constantly occupied with the subject, and he seemed to have apresentiment that his death would be a sudden one. I am forced toadmit that he seemed less anxious to endow me with his fortune than tofrustrate the hopes of some persons I did not know. When he burned hislast will in my presence, he remarked: 'This document is useless: theywould contest it, and probably succeed in having it set aside. I havethought of a better way; I have found an expedient which will providefor all emergencies. ' And as I ventured some timid objection--for it wasrepugnant to my sense of honor to act as an instrument of vengeance orinjustice, or assist, even passively, in despoiling any person of hisrightful inheritance--he harshly, almost brutally, replied: 'Mindyour own business! I will disappoint the folks who are waiting for myproperty as they deserve to be disappointed. They covet my estates dothey! Very well, they shall have them. I will leave them my property, but they shall find it mortgaged to its full value. '

"Unfortunate man! all his plans have failed. The heirs whom he hated sobitterly, and whom I don't even know, whose existence people have noteven suspected, can now come, and they will find the wealth he wasdetermined to deprive them of intact. He dreamed of a brilliant destinyfor me--a proud name, and the rank of a marchioness--and he has not evensucceeded in protecting me from the most shameful insults. I have beenaccused of theft before his body was even cold. He wished to makeme rich, frightfully rich, and he has not left me enough to buy mybread--literally, not enough to buy bread. He was in constant terrorconcerning my safety, and he died without even telling me what werethe mysterious dangers which threatened me; without even telling mesomething which I am morally certain of--that he was my father. Heraised me against my will to the highest social position--he placed thatwonderful talisman, gold, in my hand; he showed me the world at my feet;and suddenly he allowed me to fall even to lower depths of misery thanthose in which he found me. Ah! M. De Chalusse, it would have been farbetter for me if you had left me in the foundling asylum to have earnedmy own bread. And yet, I freely forgive you. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite reflected for a moment, questioning her memoryto ascertain if she had told everything--if she had forgotten anyparticulars of importance. And as it seemed to her that she had nothingmore to add, she approached the magistrate, and, with impressivesolemnity of tone and manner, exclaimed: "My life up to the present houris now as well known to you as it is to myself. You know what even thefriend, who is my only hope, does not know as yet. And now, when I tellhim what I really am, will he think me unworthy of him?"

The magistrate sprang to his feet, impelled by an irresistible force. Two big tears, the first he had shed for years, trembled on hiseyelashes, and coursed down his furrowed cheeks. "You are a noblecreature, my child, " he replied, in a voice faltering with emotion; "andif I had a son, I should deem myself fortunate if he chose a wife likeyou. "

She clasped her hands, with a gesture of intense joy and relief, andthen sank into an arm-chair, murmuring: "Oh, thanks, monsieur, thanks!"For she was thinking of Pascal; and she had feared he might shrink fromher when she fully revealed to him her wretched, sorrowful past, ofwhich he was entirely ignorant. But the magistrate's words had reassuredher. 

XI. 

The clock on the mantel-shelf struck half-past four. The magistrate andMademoiselle Marguerite could hear stealthy footsteps in the hall, anda rustling near the door. The servants were prowling round about thestudy, wondering what was the reason of this prolonged conference. "Imust see how the clerk is progressing with the inventory. " said themagistrate. "Excuse me if I absent myself for a moment; I will soonreturn. " And so saying he rose and left the room. 

But it was only a pretext. He really wished to conceal his emotionand regain his composure, for he had been deeply affected by the younggirl's narrative. He also needed time for reflection, for the situationhad become extremely complicated since Mademoiselle Marguerite hadinformed him of the existence of heirs--of those mysterious enemies whohad poisoned the count's peace. These persons would, of course, requireto know what had become of the millions deposited in the escritoire, and who would be held accountable for the missing treasure? MademoiselleMarguerite, unquestionably. Such were the thoughts that flitted throughthe magistrate's mind as he listened to his clerk's report. Nor was thisall; for having solicited Mademoiselle Marguerite's confidence, he mustnow advise her. And this was a matter of some difficulty. 

However, when he returned to the study he was quite self-possessedand impassive again, and he was pleased to see that on her side theunfortunate girl had, to some extent, at least, recovered her wontedcomposure. "Let us now discuss the situation calmly, " he began. "I shallconvince you that your prospects are not so frightful as you imagine. But before speaking of the future, will you allow me to refer to thepast?" The girl bowed her consent. "Let us first of all consider thesubject of the missing millions. They were certainly in the escritoirewhen M. De Chalusse replaced the vial; but now they are not to be found, so that the count must have taken them away with him. "

"That thought occurred to me also. "

"Did the treasure form a large package?"

"Yes, it was large; but it could have been easily concealed under thecloak which M. De Chalusse wore. "

"Very good! What was the time when he left the house?"

"About five o'clock. "

"When was he brought back?"

"At about half-past six. "

"Where did the cabman pick him up?"

"Near the church of Notre Dame de Lorette, so he told me. "

"Do you know the driver's number?"

"Casimir asked him for it, I believe. "

Had any one inquired the reason of this semi-official examination, themagistrate would have replied that Mademoiselle Marguerite's interestsalone influenced him in the course he was taking. This was quite true;and yet, without being altogether conscious of the fact, he was alsoimpelled by another motive. This affair interested, almost fascinated, him on account of its mysterious surroundings, and influenced by thedesire for arriving at the truth which is inherent in every human heart, he was anxious to solve the riddle. After a few moments' thoughtfulsilence, he remarked: "So the point of departure in our investigation, if there is an investigation, will be this: M. De Chalusse left thehouse with two millions in his possession; and while he was absent, heeither disposed of that enormous sum--or else it was stolen from him. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite shuddered. "Oh! stolen, " she faltered. 

"Yes, my child--anything is possible. We must consider the situation inevery possible light. But to continue. Where was M. De Chalusse going?"

"To the house of a gentleman who would, he thought, be able to furnishthe address given in the letter he had torn up. "

"What was this gentleman's name?"

"Fortunat. "

The magistrate wrote the name down on his tablets, and then, resuminghis examination, he said: "Now, in reference to this unfortunate letterwhich, in your opinion, was the cause of the count's death, what did itsay?"

"I don't know, monsieur. It is true that I helped the count incollecting the fragments, but I did not read what was written on them. "

"That is of little account. The main thing is to ascertain who wrotethe letter. You told me that it could only have come from the sister whodisappeared thirty years ago, or else from your mother. "

"That was, and still is, my opinion. "

The magistrate toyed with his ring; and a smile of satisfaction stoleover his face. "Very well!" he exclaimed, "in less than five minutesI shall be able to tell you whether the letter was from your motheror not. My method is perfectly simple. I have only to compare thehandwriting with that of the letters found in the escritoire. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite sprang up, exclaiming: "What a happy idea!"

But without seeming to notice the girl's surprise, he added: "Where arethe remnants of this letter which you and the count picked up in thegarden?"

"M. De Chalusse placed them in his pocket. "

"They must be found. Tell the count's valet to look for them. "

The girl rang; but M. Casimir, who was supposed to be engaged in makingpreparations for the funeral, was not in the house. However, anotherservant and Madame Leon offered their services, and certainly displayedthe most laudable zeal, but their search was fruitless; the fragmentsof the letter could not be found. "How unfortunate!" muttered themagistrate, as he watched them turn the pockets of the count's clothesinside out. "What a fatality! That letter would probably have solved themystery. "

Compelled to submit to this disappointment, he returned to the study;but he was evidently discouraged. Although he did not consider themystery insoluble, far from it, he realized that time and researchwould be required to arrive at a solution, and that the affair was quitebeyond his province. One hope alone remained. 

By carefully studying the last words which M. De Chalusse had writtenand spoken he might arrive at the intention which had dictated them. Experience had wonderfully sharpened his penetration, and perhaps hemight discover a hidden meaning which would throw light upon all thisdoubt and uncertainty. Accordingly, he asked Mademoiselle Marguerite forthe paper upon which the count had endeavored to pen his last wishes;and in addition he requested her to write on a card the dying man's lastwords in the order they had been uttered. But on combining the writtenand the spoken words the only result obtained was as follows:--"Myentire fortune--give--friends--against--Marguerite--despoiled--yourmother--take care. " These twelve incoherent words revealed the count'sabsorbing and poignant anxiety concerning his fortune and Marguerite'sfuture, and also the fear and aversion with which Marguerite's motherinspired him. But that was all; the sense was not precise enough for anypractical purpose. Certainly the word "give" needed no explanation. It was plain that the count had endeavored to write, "I give my entirefortune. " The meaning of the word "despoiled" was also clear. It hadevidently been wrung from the half-unconscious man by the horriblethought that Marguerite--his own daughter, unquestionably--would nothave a penny of all the millions he had intended for her. "Take care"also explained itself. But there were two words which seemed absolutelyincomprehensible to the magistrate, and which he vainly strove toconnect with the others in an intelligible manner. These were the words"friends" and "against, " and they were the most legibly written ofall. For the thirtieth time the magistrate was repeating them in anundertone, when a rap came at the door, and almost immediately MadameLeon entered the room. 

"What is it?" inquired Mademoiselle Marguerite. 

Laying a package of letters, addressed to M. De Chalusse, on the desk, the housekeeper replied: "These have just come by the post for thepoor count. Heaven rest his soul!" And then handing a newspaper toMademoiselle Marguerite, she added, in an unctuous tone: "And some oneleft this paper for mademoiselle at the same time. "

"This paper--for me? You must be mistaken. "

"Not at all. I was in the concierge's lodge when the messenger broughtit; and he said it was for Mademoiselle Marguerite, from one of herfriends. " And with these words she made one of her very best courtesies, and withdrew. 

The girl had taken the newspaper, and now, with an air of astonishmentand apprehension, she slowly unfolded it. What first attracted herattention was a paragraph on the first page marked round with red chalk. The paper had evidently been sent in order that she might read thisparticular passage, and accordingly she began to peruse it. "There was agreat sensation and a terrible scandal last evening at the residence ofMadame d'A----, a well known star of the first magnitude----"

It was the shameful article which described the events that had robbedPascal of his honor. And to make assurance doubly sure, to prevent theleast mistake concerning the printed initials, the coward who sent thepaper had appended the names of the persons mixed up in the affair, atfull length, in pencil. He had written d'Argeles, Pascal Ferailleur, Ferdinand de Coralth, Rochecote. And yet, in spite of these precautions, the girl did not at first seize the full meaning of the article; andshe was obliged to read it over again. But when she finally understoodit--when the horrible truth burst upon her--the paper fell from hernerveless hands, she turned as pale as death, and, gasping for breath, leaned heavily against the wall for support. 

Her features expressed such terrible suffering that the magistratesprang from his chair with a bound. "What has happened?" he eagerlyasked. 

She tried to reply, but finding herself unable to do so, she pointed tothe paper lying upon the floor, and gasped: "There! there!"

The magistrate understood everything at the first glance; and this man, who had witnessed so much misery--who had been the confidant of so manymartyrs--was filled with consternation at thought of the misfortuneswhich destiny was heaping upon this defenceless girl. He approached her, and led her gently to an arm-chair, upon which she sank, half fainting. "Poor child!" he murmured. "The man you had chosen--the man whom youwould have sacrificed everything for--is Pascal Ferailleur, is he not?"

"Yes, it is he. "

"He is an advocate?"

"As I have already told you, monsieur. "

"Does he live in the Rue d'Ulm?"

"Yes. "

The magistrate shook his head sadly. "It is the same, " said he. "I alsoknow him, my poor child; and I loved and honored him. Yesterday I shouldhave told you that he was worthy of you. He was above slander. But now, see what depths love of play has brought him to. He is a thief!"

Mademoiselle Marguerite's weakness vanished. She sprang from herchair, and indignantly faced the magistrate. "It is false!" she cried, vehemently; "and what that paper says is false as well!"

Had her reason been affected by so many successive blows? It seemedlikely; for, livid a moment before, her face had now turned scarlet. Shetrembled nervously from head to foot, and there was a gleam of insanityin her big black eyes. 

"If she doesn't weep, she is lost, " thought the magistrate. And, insteadof encouraging her to hope, he deemed it best to try and destroy what heconsidered a dangerous illusion. "Alas! my poor child, " he said sadly, "you must not deceive yourself. The newspapers are often hasty in theirjudgment; but an article like that is only published when proof of itstruth is furnished by witnesses of unimpeachable veracity. "

She shrugged her shoulders as if she were listening to some monstrousabsurdities, and then thoughtfully muttered: "Ah! now Pascal's silenceis explained: now I understand why he has not yet replied to the letterI wrote him last night. "

The magistrate persevered, however, and added: "So, after the articleyou have just read, no one can entertain the shadow of a doubt. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite hastily interrupted him. "But I have not doubtedhim for a second!" she exclaimed. "Doubt Pascal! I doubt Pascal! I wouldsooner doubt myself. I might commit a dishonorable act; I am only apoor, weak, ignorant girl, while he--he----You don't know, then, thathe was my conscience? Before undertaking anything, before deciding uponanything, if ever I felt any doubt, I asked myself, 'What would he do?'And the mere thought of him is sufficient to banish any unworthy ideafrom my heart. " Her tone and manner betokened complete and unwaveringconfidence; and her faith imparted an almost sublime expression to herface. "If I was overcome, monsieur, " she continued, "it was only becauseI was appalled by the audacity of the accusation. How was it possible tomake Pascal even SEEM to be guilty of a dishonorable act? This is beyondmy powers of comprehension. I am only certain of one thing--that he isinnocent. If the whole world rose to testify against him, it would notshake my faith in him, and even if he confessed that he was guilty Ishould be more likely to believe that he was crazed than culpable!"

A bitter smile curved her lips, she was beginning to judge the situationmore correctly, and in a calmer tone she resumed: "Moreover, what doescircumstantial evidence prove? Did you not this morning hear all ourservants declaring that I was accountable for M. De Chalusse'smillions? Who knows what might have happened if it had not been for yourintervention? Perhaps, by this time, I should have been in prison. "

"This is not a parallel case, my child. "

"It IS a parallel case, monsieur. Suppose, for one moment, that I hadbeen formally accused--what do you think Pascal would have replied ifpeople had gone to him, and said, 'Marguerite is a thief?' He would havelaughed them to scorn, and have exclaimed, 'Impossible!"'

The magistrate's mind was made up. In his opinion, Pascal Ferailleur wasguilty. Still it was useless to argue with the girl, for he felt that heshould not be able to convince her. However, he determined, if possible, to ascertain her plans in order to oppose them, if they seemed to him atall dangerous. "Perhaps you are right, my child, " he conceded, "still, this unfortunate affair must change all your arrangements. "

"Rather, it modifies them. " Surprised by her calmness, he looked at herinquiringly. "An hour ago, " she added, "I had resolved to go to Pascaland claim his aid and protection as one claims an undeniable right orthe fulfilment of a solemn promise; but now--"

"Well?" eagerly asked the magistrate. 

"I am still resolved to go to him--but as an humble suppliant. And Ishall say to him, 'You are suffering, but no sorrow is intolerable whenthere are two to bear the burden; and so, here I am. Everything elsemay fail you--your dearest friends may basely desert you; but here am I. Whatever your plans may be--whether you have decided to leave Europe orto remain in Paris to watch for your hour of vengeance, you will needa faithful, trusty companion--a confidant--and here I am! Wife, friend, sister--I will be which ever you desire. I am yours--yoursunconditionally. '" And as if in reply to a gesture of surprise whichescaped the magistrate, she added: "He is unhappy--I am free--I lovehim!"

The magistrate was struck dumb with astonishment. He knew that shewould surely do what she said; he had realized that she was one of thosegenerous, heroic women who are capable of any sacrifice for the man theylove--a woman who would never shrink from what she considered to beher duty, who was utterly incapable of weak hesitancy or selfishcalculation. 

"Fortunately, my dear young lady, your devotion will no doubt beuseless, " he said at last. 

"And why?"

"Because M. Ferailleur owes it to you, and, what is more, he owes itto himself, not to accept such a sacrifice. " Failing to understand hismeaning, she looked at him inquiringly. "You will forgive me, I trust, "he continued, "if I warn you to prepare for a disappointment. Innocentor guilty, M. Ferailleur is--disgraced. Unless something little short ofa miracle comes to help him, his career is ended. This is one of thosecharges--one of those slanders, if you prefer that term, which a man cannever shake off. So how can you hope that he will consent to link yourdestiny to his?"

She had not thought of this objection, and it seemed to her a terribleone. Tears came to her dark eyes, and in a despondent voice shemurmured: "God grant that he will not evince such cruel generosity. Theonly great and true misfortune that could strike me now would be to havehim repel me. M. De Chalusse's death leaves me without means--withoutbread; but now I can almost bless my poverty since it enables me to askhim what would become of me if he abandoned me, and who would protect meif he refused to do so. The brilliant career he dreamed of is ended, yousay. Ah, well! I will console him, and though we are unfortunate, wemay yet be happy. Our enemies are triumphant--so be it: we should onlytarnish our honor by stooping to contend against such villainy. But insome new land, in America, perhaps, we shall be able to find somequiet spot where we can begin a new and better career. " It was almostimpossible to believe that it was Mademoiselle Marguerite, usually sohaughtily reserved, who was now speaking with such passionate vehemence. And to whom was she talking in this fashion? To a stranger, whom she sawfor the first time. But she was urged on by circumstances, the influenceof which was stronger than her own will. They had led her to reveal herdearest and most sacred feelings and to display her real nature freefrom any kind of disguise. 

However, the magistrate concealed the emotion and sympathy which filledhis heart and refused to admit that the girl's hopes were likely to berealized. "And if M. Ferailleur refused to accept your sacrifice?" heasked. 

"It is not a sacrifice, monsieur. "

"No matter; but supposing he refused it, what should you do?"

"What should I do?" she muttered. "I don't know. Still I should haveno difficulty in earning a livelihood. I have been told that I have aremarkable voice. I might, perhaps, go upon the stage. "

The magistrate sprang from his arm-chair. "You become an actress, YOU?"

"Under such circumstances it would little matter what became of me!"

"But you don't suspect--you cannot imagine----"

He was at a loss for words to explain the nature of his objections tosuch a career; and it was Mademoiselle Marguerite who found them forhim. "I suspect that theatrical life is an abominable life for a woman, "she said, gravely; "but I know that there are many noble and chastewomen who have adopted the profession. That is enough for me. My prideis a sufficient protection. It preserved me as an apprentice; it wouldpreserve me as an actress. I might be slandered; but that is not anirremediable misfortune. I despise the world too much to be troubled byits opinion so long as I have the approval of my own conscience. Andwhy should I not become a great artiste if I consecrated all theintelligence, passion, energy, and will I might possess, to my art?"

Hearing a knock at the door she paused; and a moment later a footmanentered with lights, for night was falling. He was closely followed byanother servant, who said: "Mademoiselle, the Marquis de Valorsay isbelow, and wishes to know if mademoiselle will grant him the honor of aninterview. "

XII. 

On hearing M. De Valorsay's name, Mademoiselle Marguerite and themagistrate exchanged glances full of wondering conjecture. The girl wasundecided what course to pursue; but the magistrate put an end to herperplexity. "Ask the marquis to come up, " he said to the servant. 

The footman left the room; and, as soon as he had disappeared, Mademoiselle Marguerite exclaimed: "What, monsieur! after all I havetold you, you still wish me to receive him?"

"It is absolutely necessary that you should do so. You must know whathe wishes and what hope brings him here. Calm yourself, and submit tonecessity. "

In a sort of bewilderment, the girl hastily arranged her disordereddress, and caught up her wavy hair which had fallen over her shoulders. "Ah! monsieur, " she remarked, "don't you understand that he stillbelieves me to be the count's heiress? In his eyes, I am stillsurrounded by the glamor of the millions which are mine no longer. "

"Hush! here he comes!"

The Marquis de Valorsay was indeed upon the threshold, and a momentlater he entered the room. He was clad with the exquisite taste ofthose intelligent gentlemen to whom the color of a pair of trousers isa momentous matter, and whose ambition is satisfied if they are regardedas a sovereign authority respecting the cut of a waistcoat. As a rule, his expression of face merely denoted supreme contentment with himselfand indifference as to others, but now, strange to say, he looked graveand almost solemn. His right leg--the unfortunate limb which had beenbroken when he fell from his horse in Ireland--seemed stiff, and draggeda trifle more than usual, but this was probably solely due to theinfluence of the atmosphere. He bowed to Mademoiselle Marguerite withevery mark of profound respect, and without seeming to notice themagistrate's presence. 

"You will excuse me, I trust, mademoiselle, " said he, "in havinginsisted upon seeing you, so that I might express my deep sympathy. Ihave just heard of the terrible misfortune which has befallen you--thesudden death of your father. "

She drew back as if she were terrified, and repeated: "My father!"

The marquis did not evince the slightest surprise. "I know, " said he, ina voice which he tried to make as feeling as possible, "I know thatM. De Chalusse kept this fact concealed from you; but he confided hissecret to me. "

"To you?" interrupted the magistrate, who was unable to restrain himselfany longer. 

The marquis turned haughtily to this old man dressed in black, and inthe dry tone one uses in speaking to an indiscreet inferior, he replied:"To me, yes, monsieur; and he acquainted me not only by word of mouth, but in writing also, with the motives which influenced him, expressinghis fixed intention, not only of recognizing Mademoiselle Marguerite ashis daughter, but also of adopting her in order to insure her undisputedright to his fortune and his name. "

"Ah!" said the magistrate as if suddenly enlightened; "ah! ah!"

But without noticing this exclamation which was, at least, remarkablein tone, M. De Valorsay again turned to Mademoiselle Marguerite, andcontinued: "Your ignorance on this subject, mademoiselle, convincesme that your servants have not deceived me in telling me that M. DeChalusse was struck down without the slightest warning. But they havetold me one thing which I cannot believe. They have told me that thecount made no provision for you, that he left no will, and that--excusea liberty which is prompted only by the most respectful interest--andthat, the result of this incomprehensible and culpable neglect is thatyou are ruined and almost without means. Can this be possible?"

"It is the exact truth, monsieur, " replied Mademoiselle Marguerite. "Iam reduced to the necessity of working for my daily bread. "

She spoke these words with a sort of satisfaction, expecting that themarquis would betray his disappointed covetousness by some significantgesture or exclamation, and she was already prepared to rejoice at hisconfusion. But her expectations were not realized. Instead of evincingthe slightest dismay or even regret, M. De Valorsay drew a long breath, as if a great burden had been lifted from his heart, and his eyessparkled with apparent delight. "Then I may venture to speak, " heexclaimed, with unconcealed satisfaction, "I will speak, mademoiselle, if you will deign to allow me. "

She looked at him with anxious curiosity, wondering what was to come. "Speak, monsieur, " she faltered. 

"I will obey you, mademoiselle, " he said, bowing again. "But first, allow me to tell you how great my hopes have been. M. De Chalusse'sdeath is an irreparable misfortune for me as for yourself. He hadallowed me, mademoiselle, to aspire to the honor of becoming a suitorfor your hand. If he did not speak to you on the subject, it was onlybecause he wished to leave you absolutely free, and impose upon methe difficult task of winning your consent. But between him and meeverything had been arranged in principle, and he was to give a dowryof three millions of francs to Mademoiselle Marguerite de Chalusse, hisdaughter. "

"I am no longer Mademoiselle de Chalusse, Monsieur le Marquis, and I amno longer the possessor of a fortune. "

He felt the sharp sting of this retort, for the blood rose to hischeeks, still he did not lose his composure. "If you were still rich, mademoiselle, " he replied, in the reproachful tone of an honest man whofeels that he is misunderstood, "I should, perhaps, have strength tokeep the sentiments with which you have inspired me a secret in my ownheart; but--" He rose, and with a gesture which was not devoid ofgrace, and in a full ringing voice he added: "But you are no longer thepossessor of millions; and so I may tell you, Mademoiselle Marguerite, that I love you. Will you be my wife?"

The poor girl was obliged to exercise all her powers of self-control torestrain an exclamation of dismay. It was indeed more than dismay;she was absolutely terrified by the Marquis de Valorsay's unexpecteddeclaration, and she could only falter: "Monsieur! monsieur!"

But with an air of winning frankness he continued: "Need I tell you whoI am, mademoiselle? No; that is unnecessary. The fact that my suit wasapproved of by M. De Chalusse is the best recommendation I can offeryou. The pure and stainless name I bear is one of the proudest inFrance; and though my fortune may have been somewhat impaired byyouthful folly, it is still more than sufficient to maintain anestablishment in keeping with my rank. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite was still powerless to reply. Her presence ofmind had entirely deserted her, and her tongue seemed to cleave to herpalate. She glanced entreatingly at the old magistrate, as if imploringhis intervention, but he was so absorbed in contemplating his wonderfulring, that one might have imagined he was oblivious of all that wasgoing on around him. 

"I am aware that I have so far not been fortunate enough to please you, mademoiselle, " continued the marquis. "M. De Chalusse did not conceal itfrom me--I remember, alas! that I advocated in your presence a numberof stupid theories, which must have given you a very poor opinion of me. But you will forgive me, I trust. My ideas have entirely changed sinceI have learned to understand and appreciate your vigorous intellect andnobility of soul. I thoughtlessly spoke to you in the language whichis usually addressed to young ladies of our rank of life--frivolousbeauties, who are spoiled by vanity and luxury, and who look uponmarriage only as a means of enfranchisement. "

His words were disjointed as if emotion choked his utterance. At times, it seemed as if he could scarcely command his feelings; and then hisvoice became so faint and trembling that it was scarcely intelligible. 

However, by allowing him to continue, by listening to what he said, Mademoiselle Marguerite was encouraging him, even more--virtuallybinding herself. She understood that this was the case, and making apowerful effort, she interrupted him, saying: "I assure you, Monsieurle Marquis, that I am deeply touched--and grateful--but I am no longerfree. "

"Pray, mademoiselle, pray do not reply to-day. Grant me a little time toovercome your prejudices. "

She shook her head, and in a firmer voice, replied: "I have noprejudices; but for some time past already, my future has been decided, irrevocably decided. "

He seemed thunderstruck, and his manner apparently indicated that thepossibility of a repulse had never entered his mind. His eyes wanderedrestlessly from Mademoiselle Marguerite to the countenance of the oldmagistrate, who remained as impassive as a sphinx, and at last theylighted on a newspaper which was lying on the floor at the young girl'sfeet. "Do not deprive me of all hope, " he murmured. 

She made no answer, and understanding her silence, he was about toretire when the door suddenly opened and a servant announced: "Monsieurde Fondege. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite touched the magistrate on the shoulder toattract his attention. "This gentleman is M. De Chalusse's friend whom Isent for this morning. "

At the same moment a man who looked some sixty years of age entered theroom. He was very tall, and as straight as the letter I, being arrayedin a long blue frock-coat, while his neck, which was as red and aswrinkled as that of a turkey-cock, was encased in a very high and stiffsatin cravat. On seeing his ruddy face, his closely cropped hair, hislittle eyes twinkling under his bushy eyebrows, and his formidablemustaches a la Victor Emmanuel, you would have immediately exclaimed:"That man is an old soldier!"

A great mistake! M. De Fondege had never been in the service, and it wasonly in mockery of his somewhat bellicose manners and appearance thatsome twenty years previously his friends had dubbed him "the General. "However, the appellation had clung to him. The nickname had been changedto a title, and now M. De Fondege was known as "the General" everywhere. He was invited and announced as "the General. " Many people believed thathe had really been one, and perhaps he fancied so himself, for he hadlong been in the habit of inscribing "General A. De Fondege" on hisvisiting cards. The nickname had had a decisive influence on his life. He had endeavored to show himself worthy of it, and the manners he hadat first assumed, eventually became natural ones. He seemed to be theconventional old soldier--irascible and jovial at the same time; bruskand kind; at once frank, sensible and brutal; as simple as a child, andyet as true as steel. He swore the most tremendous oaths in a deep bassvoice, and whenever he talked his arms revolved like the sails of awindmill. However, Madame de Fondege, who was a very angular lady, witha sharp nose and very thin lips, assured people that her husband was notso terrible as he appeared. He was not considered very shrewd, and hepretended to have an intense dislike for business matters. No one knewanything precise about his fortune, but he had a great many friendswho invited him to dinner, and they all declared that he was in verycomfortable circumstances. 

On entering the study this worthy man did not pay the slightestattention to the Marquis de Valorsay, although they were intimatefriends. He walked straight up to Mademoiselle Marguerite, caught her inhis long arms, and pressed her to his heart, brushing her face withhis huge mustaches as he pretended to kiss her. "Courage, my dear, " hegrowled; "courage. Don't give way. Follow my example. Look at me!"So saying he stepped back, and it was really amusing to see theextraordinary effort he made to combine a soldier's stoicism with afriend's sorrow. "You must wonder at my delay, my dear, " he resumed, "but it was not my fault. I was at Madame de Rochecote's when I wasinformed that your messenger was at home waiting for me. I returned, and heard the frightful news. It was a thunderbolt. A friend of thirtyyears' standing! A thousand thunderclaps! I acted as his second when hefought his first duel. Poor Chalusse! A man as sturdy as an oak, and whoought to have outlived us all. But it is always so; the best soldiersalways file by first at dress-parade. "

The Marquis de Valorsay had beaten a retreat, the magistrate was hiddenin a dark corner, and Mademoiselle Marguerite, who was accustomed to theGeneral's manner, remained silent, being well aware that there was nochance of putting in a word as long as he had possession of the floor. "Fortunately, poor Chalusse was a prudent man, " continued M. De Fondege. "He loved you devotedly, my dear, as his testamentary provisions musthave shown you. "

"His provisions?"

"Yes, most certainly. Surely you don't mean to try and conceal anythingfrom one who knows all. Ah! you will be one of the greatest catches inEurope, and you will have plenty of suitors. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite sadly shook her head. "You are mistaken, General; the count left no will, and has made no provision whatever forme. "

M. De Fondege trembled, turned a trifle pale, and in a faltering voice, exclaimed: "What! You tell me that? Chalusse! A thousand thunderclaps!It isn't possible. "

"The count was stricken with apoplexy in a cab. He went out aboutfive o'clock, on foot, and a little before seven he was brought homeunconscious. Where he had been we don't know. "

"You don't know? you don't know?"

"Alas! no; and he was only able to utter a few incoherent words beforehe died. " Thereupon the poor girl began a brief account of what hadtaken place during the last four-and-twenty hours. Had she been lessabsorbed in her narrative she would have noticed that the General wasnot listening to her. He was sitting at the count's desk and was toyingwith the letters which Madame Leon had brought into the room a shorttime previously. One of them especially seemed to attract his attention, to exercise a sort of fascination over him as it were. He looked atit with hungry eyes, and whenever he touched it, his hand trembled, orinvoluntarily clinched. His face, moreover, had become livid; his eyestwitched nervously; he seemed to have a difficulty in breathing, and bigdrops of perspiration trickled down his forehead. If the magistrate wereable to see the General's face, he must certainly have been of opinionthat a terrible conflict was raging in his mind. The struggle lastedindeed for fully five minutes, and then suddenly, certain that no onesaw him, he caught up the letter in question and slipped it into hispocket. 

Poor Marguerite was now finishing her story: "You see, monsieur, that, far from being an heiress, as you suppose, I am homeless and penniless, "she said. 

The General had risen from his chair, and was striding up and downthe room with every token of intense agitation. "It's true, " he saidapparently unconscious of his words. "She's ruined--lost--the misfortuneis complete!" Then, suddenly pausing with folded arms in front ofMademoiselle Marguerite: "What are you going to do?" he asked. 

"God will not forsake me, General, " she replied. 

He turned on his heel and resumed his promenade, wildly gesticulatingand indulging in a furious monologue which was certainly not very easyto follow. "Frightful! terrible!" he growled. "The daughter of an oldcomrade--zounds!--of a friend of thirty years' standing--to be left insuch a plight! Never, a thousand thunderclaps!--never! Poor child!--aheart of gold, and as pretty as an angel! This horrible Paris woulddevour her at a single mouthful! It would be a crime--an abomination! Itsha'n't be!--the old veterans are here, firm as rocks!"

Thereupon, approaching the poor girl again, he exclaimed in a coarse butseemingly feeling voice: "Mademoiselle Marguerite. "

"General?"

"You are acquainted with my son, Gustave Fondege, are you not?"

"I think I have heard you speak of him to M. De Chalusse several times. "

The General tugged furiously at his mustaches as was his wont wheneverhe was perplexed or embarrassed. "My son, " he resumed, "is twenty-seven. He's now a lieutenant of hussars, and will soon be promoted to the rankof captain. He's a handsome fellow, sure to make his way in the world, for he's not wanting in spirit. As I never attempt to hide the truth, Imust confess that he's a trifle dissipated; but his heart is all right, and a charming little wife would soon turn him from the error of hisways, and he'd become the pearl of husbands. " He paused, passed hisforefinger three or four times between his collar and his neck, andthen, in a half-strangled voice, he added: "Mademoiselle Marguerite, Ihave the honor to ask for your hand in marriage on behalf of LieutenantGustave de Fondege, my son. "

There was a dangerous gleam of anger in Mademoiselle Marguerite's eyes, as she coldly replied: "I am honored by your request, monsieur; but myfuture is already decided. "

Some seconds elapsed before M. De Fondege could recover his powers ofspeech. "This is a piece of foolishness, " he faltered, at last withsingular agitation. "Let me hope that you will reconsider the matter. And if Gustave doesn't please you, we will find some one better. Butunder no circumstances will Chalusse's old comrade ever desert you. Ishall send Madame de Fondege to see you this evening. She's a good womanand you will understand each other. Come, answer me, what do you say toit?"

His persistence irritated the poor girl beyond endurance, and to putan end to the painful scene, she at last asked: "Would you not like tolook--for the last time--at M. De Chalusse?"

"Ah! yes, certainly--an old friend of thirty years' standing. " So sayinghe advanced toward the door leading into the death-room, but on reachingthe threshold, he cried in sudden terror: "Oh! no, no, I could not. " Andwith these words he withdrew or rather he fled from the room down thestairs. 

As long as the General had been there, the magistrate had given no signof life. But seated beyond the circle of light cast by the lamps, hehad remained an attentive spectator of the scene, and now that he foundhimself once more alone with Mademoiselle Marguerite he came forward, and leaning against the mantelpiece and looking her full in the face heexclaimed: "Well, my child?"

The girl trembled like a culprit awaiting sentence of death, and it wasin a hollow voice that she replied: "I understood--"

"What?" insisted the pitiless magistrate. 

She raised her beautiful eyes, in which angry tears were stillglittering, and then answered in a voice which quivered with suppressedpassion, "I have fathomed the infamy of those two men who have just leftthe house. I understood the insult their apparent generosity conceals. They had questioned the servants, and had ascertained that two millionswere missing. Ah, the scoundrels! They believe that I have stolen thosemillions; and they came to ask me to share the ill-gotten wealth withthem. What an insult! and to think that I am powerless to avenge it! Ah!the servants' suspicions were nothing in comparison with this. Atleast, they did not ask for a share of the booty as the price of theirsilence!"

The magistrate shook his head as if this explanation scarcely satisfiedhim. "There is something else, there is certainly something else, " herepeated. But the doors were still open, so he closed them carefully, and then returned to the girl he was so desirous of advising. "I wishto tell you, " he said, "that you have mistaken the motives which inducedthese gentlemen to ask for your hand in marriage. "

"Do you believe, then, that you have fathomed them?"

"I could almost swear that I had. Didn't you remark a great differencein their manner? Didn't one of them, the marquis, behave with allthe calmness and composure which are the result of reflection andcalculation? The other, on the contrary, acted most precipitately, asif he had suddenly come to a determination, and formed a plan on theimpulse of the moment. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite reflected. 

"That's true, " she said, "that's indeed true. Now I recollect thedifference. "

"And this is my explanation of it, " resumed the magistrate. "'TheMarquis de Valorsay, ' I said to myself, 'must have proofs in hispossession that Mademoiselle Marguerite is the count's daughter--writtenand conclusive proofs, that is certain--probably a voluntary admissionof the fact from the father. Who can prove that M. De Valorsay does notpossess this acknowledgment? In fact, he must possess it. He hinted ithimself. ' Accordingly on hearing of the count's sudden death, he said tohimself, 'If Marguerite was my wife, and if I could prove her to be M. De Chalusse's daughter, I should obtain several millions. ' Whereupon heconsulted his legal adviser who assured him that it would be the bestcourse he could pursue; and so he came here. You repulsed him, but hewill soon make another assault, you may rest assured of that. And someday or other he will come to you and say, 'Whether we marry or not, letus divide. '"

Mademoiselle Marguerite was amazed. The magistrate's words seemed todispel the mist which had hitherto hidden the truth from view. "Yes, "she exclaimed, "yes, you are right, monsieur. "

He was silent for a moment, and then he resumed: "I understand M. DeFondege's motive less clearly; but still I have some clue. He had notquestioned the servants. That is evident from the fact that on hisarrival here he believed you to be the sole legatee. He was also awarethat M. De Chalusse had taken certain precautions we are ignorant of, but which he is no doubt fully acquainted with. What you told him aboutyour poverty amazed him, and he immediately evinced a desire to atonefor the count's neglect with as much eagerness as if he were the causeof this negligence himself. And, indeed, judging by the agitation hedisplayed when he was imploring you to become his son's wife, one mightalmost imagine that the sight of your misery awakened a remorse which hewas endeavoring to quiet. Now, draw your own conclusions. "

The wretched girl looked questioningly at the magistrate as if shehesitated to trust the thoughts which his words had awakened in hermind. "Then you think, monsieur, " she said, with evident reluctance, "you think, you suppose, that the General is acquainted with thewhereabouts of the missing millions?"

"Quite correct, " answered the magistrate, and then as if he feared thathe had gone too far, he added: "but draw your own conclusions respectingthe matter. You have the whole night before you. We will talk it overagain to-morrow, and if I can be of service to you in any way, I shallbe only too glad. "

"But, monsieur--"

"Oh--to-morrow, to-morrow--I must go to dinner now; besides, my clerkmust be getting terribly impatient. "

The clerk was, indeed, out of temper. Not that he had finished takingan inventory of the appurtenances of this immense house, but because heconsidered that he had done quite enough work for one day. And yet hisdiscontent was sensibly diminished when he calculated the amount hewould receive for his pains. During the nine years he had held thisoffice he had never made such an extensive inventory before. He seemedsomewhat dazzled, and as he followed his superior out of the house, heremarked: "Do you know, monsieur, that as nearly as I can discover thedeceased's fortune must amount to more than twenty millions--an incomeof a million a year! And to think that the poor young lady shouldn'thave a penny of it. I suspect she's crying her eyes out. "

But the clerk was mistaken. Mademoiselle Marguerite was then questioningM. Casimir respecting the arrangements which he had made for thefuneral, and when this sad duty was concluded, she consented to take alittle food standing in front of the sideboard in the dining-room. Then she went to kneel in the count's room, where four members of theparochial clergy were reciting the prayers for the dead. 

She was so exhausted with fatigue that she could scarcely speak, andher eyelids were heavy with sleep. But she had another task to fulfil, atask which she deemed a sacred duty. She sent a servant for a cab, threwa shawl over her shoulders, and left the house accompanied by MadameLeon. The cabman drove as fast as possible to the house where Pascal andhis mother resided in the Rue d'Ulm; but on arriving there, thefront door was found to be closed, and the light in the vestibule wasextinguished. Marguerite was obliged to ring five or six times beforethe concierge made his appearance. 

"I wish to see Monsieur Ferailleur, " she quietly said. 

The man glanced at her scornfully, and then replied: "He no longer liveshere. The landlord doesn't want any thieves in his house. He's sold hisrubbish and started for America, with his old witch of a mother. "

So saying he closed the door again, and Marguerite was so overwhelmed bythis last and unexpected misfortune, that she could hardly stagger backto the vehicle. "Gone!" she murmured; "gone! without a thought of me! Ordoes he believe me to be like all the rest? But I will find him again. That man Fortunat, who ascertained addresses for M. De Chalusse, willfind Pascal for me. "

XIII. 

Few people have any idea of the great number of estates which, indefault of heirs to claim them, annually revert to the government. Thetreasury derives large sums from this source every year. And this iseasily explained, for nowadays family ties are becoming less and lessbinding. Brothers cease to meet; their children no longer know eachother; and the members of the second generation are as perfect strangersas though they were not united by a bond of consanguinity. The young manwhom love of adventure lures to a far-off country, and the young girlwho marries against her parents' wishes, soon cease to exist for theirrelatives. No one even inquires what has become of them. Those whoremain at home are afraid to ask whether they are prosperous orunfortunate, lest they should be called upon to assist the wanderers. Forgotten themselves, the adventurers in their turn soon forget. If fortune smiles upon them, they are careful not to inform theirrelatives. Poor--they have been cast off; wealthy--they themselves denytheir kindred. Having become rich unaided, they find an egotisticalsatisfaction in spending their money alone in accordance with their ownfancies. Now when a man of this class dies what happens? The servantsand people around him profit of his loneliness and isolation, and thejustice of the peace is only summoned to affix the seals, after theyhave removed all the portable property. An inventory is taken, and aftera few formalities, as no heirs present themselves, the court declaresthe inheritance to be in abeyance, and appoints a trustee. 

This trustee's duties are very simple. He manages the property andremits the income to the Treasury until a legal judgment declares theestate the property of the country, regardless of any heirs who maypresent themselves in future. 

"If I only had a twentieth part of the money that is lost in this way, my fortune would be made, " exclaimed a shrewd man, some thirty yearsago. 

The person who spoke was Antoine Vaudore. For six months he secretlynursed the idea, studying it, examining it in all respects, weighing itsadvantages and disadvantages, and at last he decided that it was a goodone. That same year, indeed, assisted by a little capital which hehad obtained no one knew how, he created a new, strange, and untriedprofession to supply a new demand. 

Thus Vaudore was the first man who made heir-hunting a profession. As will be generally admitted, it is not a profession that can besuccessfully followed by a craven. It requires the exercise of unusualshrewdness, untiring activity, extraordinary energy and courage, aswell as great tact and varied knowledge. The man who would follow itsuccessfully must possess the boldness of a gambler, the sang-froid of aduelist, the keen perceptive powers and patience of a detective, and theresources and quick wit of the shrewdest attorney. 

It is easier to decry the profession than to exercise it. To begin with, the heir-hunter must be posted up with information respecting unclaimedinheritances, and he must have sufficient acquaintance with the legalworld to be able to obtain information from the clerks of the differentcourts, notaries, and so on. When he learns that a man has died withoutany known heirs, his first care is to ascertain the amount of unclaimedproperty, to see if it will pay him to take up the case. If he findsthat the inheritance is a valuable one, he begins operations withoutdelay. He must first ascertain the deceased's full name and age. It iseasy to procure this information; but it is more difficult to discoverthe name of the place where the deceased was born, his profession, what countries he lived in, his tastes and mode of life--in a word, everything that constitutes a complete biography. 

However, when he has armed himself with the more indispensable facts, our agent opens the campaign with extreme prudence, for it would beruinous to awake suspicion. It is curious to observe the incomparableaddress which the agent displays in his efforts to learn the particularsof the deceased's life, by consulting his friends, his enemies, hisdebtors, and all who ever knew him, until at last some one is found whosays: "Such and such a man--why, he came from our part of the country. I never knew HIM, but I am acquainted with one of his brothers--with oneof his uncles--or with one of his nephews. "

Very often years of constant research, a large outlay of money, andcostly and skilful advertising in all the European journals, arenecessary before this result is reached. And it is only when it has beenattained that the agent can take time to breathe. But now the chancesare greatly in his favor. The worst is over. The portion of his taskwhich depended on chance alone is concluded. The rest is a matter ofskill, tact, and shrewdness. The detective must give place to the craftylawyer. The agent must confer with this heir, who has been discovered atthe cost of so much time and trouble and induce him to bestow a portionof this prospective wealth on the person who is able to establishhis claim. There must be an agreement in writing clearly stating whatproportion--a tenth, a third, or a half--the agent will be entitledto. The negotiation is a very delicate and difficult one, requiringprodigious presence of mind, and an amount of duplicity which would makethe most astute diplomatist turn pale with envy. Occasionally, the heirsuspects the truth, sneers at the proposition, and hurries off to claimthe whole of the inheritance that belongs to him. The agent may then bidhis hopes farewell. He has worked and spent money for nothing. 

However, such a misfortune is of rare occurrence. On hearing of theunexpected good fortune that has befallen him, the heir is generallyunsuspicious, and willingly promises to pay the amount demanded of him. A contract is drawn up and signed; and then, but only then, does theagent take his client into his confidence. "You are the relative of sucha person, are you not?" "Yes. " "Very well. He is dead, and you are hisheir. Thank Providence, and make haste to claim your money. "

As a rule, the heir loyally fulfils his obligation. But sometimesit happens that, when he has obtained undisputed possession of theproperty, he declares that he has been swindled, and refuses to fulfilhis part of the contract. Then the case must go to the courts. It istrue, however, that the judgment of the tribunals generally recalls therefractory client to a sense of gratitude and humility. 

Now our friend M. Isidore Fortunat was a hunter of missing heirs. Undoubtedly he often engaged in other business which was a trifle lessrespectable; but heir-hunting was one of the best and most substantialsources of his income. So we can readily understand why he so quicklyleft off lamenting that forty thousand francs lent to the Marquis deValorsay. 

Changing his tactics, he said to himself that, even if he had lost thisamount through M. De Chalusse's sudden death, it was much less than hemight obtain if he succeeded in discovering the unknown heirs to so manymillions. And he had some reason to hope that he would be able to doso. Having been employed by M. De Chalusse when the latter wasseeking Mademoiselle Marguerite, M. Fortunat had gained some valuableinformation respecting his client, and the additional particulars whichhe had obtained from Madame Vantrasson elated him to such an extent thatmore than once he exclaimed: "Ah, well! it is, perhaps, a blessing indisguise, after all. "

Still, M. Isidore Fortunat slept but little after his stormy interviewwith the Marquis de Valorsay. A loss of forty thousand francs is notlikely to impart a roseate hue to one's dreams--and M. Fortunat prizedhis money as if it had been the very marrow of his bones. By way ofconsolation, he assured himself that he would not merely regain the sum, but triple it; and yet this encouragement did not entirely restorehis peace of mind. The gain was only a possibility, and the loss was acertainty. So he twisted, and turned, and tossed on his bed as if it hadbeen a hot gridiron, exhausting himself in surmises, and preparing hismind for the difficulties which he would be obliged to overcome. 

His plan was a simple one, but its execution was fraught withdifficulties. "I must discover M. De Chalusse's sister, if she isstill living--I must discover her children, if she is dead, " he said tohimself. It was easy to SAY this; but how was he to do it? How could hehope to find this unfortunate girl, who had abandoned her home thirtyyears previously, to fly, no one knew where, or with whom? How was he togain any idea of the life she had lived, or the fate that had befallenher? At what point on the social scale, and in what country, should hebegin his investigations? These daughters of noble houses, who desertthe paternal roof in a moment of madness, generally die most miserablyafter a wretched life. The girl of the lower classes is armed againstmisfortune, and has been trained for the conflict. She can measureand calculate the force of her fall, and regulate and control it to acertain extent. But the others cannot. They have never known privationand hardship, and are, therefore, defenceless. And for the very reasonthat they have been hurled from a great height, they often fall downinto the lowest depths of infamy. 

"If morning would only come, " sighed M. Isidore Fortunat, as he tossedrestlessly to and fro. "As soon as morning comes I will set to work!"

But just before daybreak he fell asleep; and at nine o'clock he wasstill slumbering so soundly that Madame Dodelin, his housekeeper, hadconsiderable difficulty in waking him. "Your clerks have come, " sheexclaimed, shaking him vigorously; "and two clients are waiting for youin the reception-room. "

He sprang up, hastily dressed himself, and went into his office. It costhim no little effort to receive his visitors that morning; but it wouldhave been folly to neglect all his other business for the uncertainChalusse affair. The first client who entered was a man still young, ofcommon, even vulgar appearance. Not being acquainted with M. Fortunat, he deemed it proper to introduce himself without delay. "My name isLeplaintre, and I am a coal merchant, " said he. "I was recommended tocall on you by my friend Bouscat, who was formerly in the wine trade. "

M. Fortunat bowed. "Pray be seated, " was his reply. "I remember yourfriend very well. If I am not mistaken I gave him some advice withreference to his third failure. "

"Precisely; and it is because I find myself in the same fix as Bouscatthat I have called on you. Business is very bad, and I have notes to alarge amount overdue, so that--"

"You will be obliged to go into bankruptcy. "

"Alas! I fear so. "

M. Fortunat already knew what his client desired, but it was againsthis principles to meet these propositions more than half way. "Will youstate your case?" said he. 

The coal merchant blushed. It was hard to confess the truth; but theeffort had to be made. "This is my case, " he replied, at last. "Amongmy creditors I have several enemies, who will refuse me a release. Theywould like to deprive me of everything I possess. And in that case, whatwould become of me? Is it right that I should be compelled to starve?"

"It is a bad outlook. "

"It is, indeed, monsieur; and for this reason, I desire--if possible, ifI can do so without danger--for I am an honest man, monsieur--I wish toretain a little property--secretly, of course, not for myself, by anymeans, but I have a young wife and----"

M. Fortunat took compassion on the man's embarrassment. "In short, "he interrupted, "you wish to conceal a part of your capital from yourcreditors?"

On hearing this precise and formal statement of his honorableintentions, the coal-merchant trembled. His feelings of integrity wouldnot have been alarmed by a periphrasis, but this plain speaking shockedhim. "Oh, monsieur!" he protested, "I would rather blow my brains outthan defraud my creditors of a single penny that was rightfully theirs. What I am doing is for their interest, you understand. I shall beginbusiness again under my wife's name; and if I succeed, they shall bepaid--yes, monsieur, every sou, with interest. Ah! if I had only myselfto think of, it would be quite different; but I have two children, twolittle girls, so that----"

"Very well, " replied M. Fortunat. "I should suggest to you the sameexpedient as I suggested to your friend Bouscat. But you must gather alittle ready money together before going into bankruptcy. "

"I can do that by secretly disposing of a part of my stock, so----"

"In that case, you are saved. Sell it and put the money beyond yourcreditors' reach. "

The worthy merchant scratched his ear in evident perplexity. "Excuse me, " said he. "I had thought of this plan; but it seemed tome--dishonorable--and--also very dangerous. How could I explain thisdecrease in my stock? My creditors hate me. If they suspected anything, they would accuse me of fraud, and perhaps throw me into prison; andthen----"

M. Fortunat shrugged his shoulders. "When I give advice, " he roughlyreplied, "I furnish the means of following it without danger. Listento me attentively. Let us suppose, for a moment, that some time ago youpurchased, at a very high figure, a quantity of stocks and shares, which are to-day almost worthless, could not this unfortunate investmentaccount for the absence of the sum which you wish to set aside? Yourcreditors would be obliged to value these securities, not at theirpresent, but at their former value. "

"Evidently; but, unfortunately, I do not possess any such securities. "

"You can purchase them. "

The coal-merchant opened his eyes in astonishment. "Excuse me, " hemuttered, "I don't exactly understand you. "

He did not understand in the least; but M. Fortunat enlightened him byopening his safe, and displaying an enormous bundle of stocks and shareswhich had flooded the country a few years previously, and ruined a greatmany poor, ignorant fools which were hungering for wealth; among themwere shares in the Tifila Mining Company, the Berchem Coal Mines, theGreenland Fisheries, the Mutual Trust and Loan Association, and so on. There had been a time when each of these securities would have fetchedfive hundred or a thousand francs at the Bourse, but now they were notworth the paper on which they were printed. 

"Let us suppose, my dear sir, " resumed M. Fortunat, "that you had adrawer full of these securities----"

But the other did not allow him to finish. "I see, " he exclaimed; "Isee--I can sell my stock, and put the proceeds in my pocket with perfectsafety. There is enough to represent my capital a thousand times over. "

And, in a paroxysm of delight, he added:

"Give me enough of these shares to represent a capital of one hundredand twenty thousand francs; and give me some of each kind. I should likemy creditors to have a variety. "

Thereupon M. Fortunat counted out a pile of these worthless securitiesas carefully as if he had been handling bank-notes; and his client atthe same time drew out his pocketbook. 

"How much do I owe you?" he inquired. 

"Three thousand francs. "

The honest merchant bounded from his chair. "Three thousand francs!" herepeated. "You must be jesting. That trash is not worth a louis. "

"I would not even give five francs for it, " rejoined M. Fortunat, coldly; "but it is true that I don't desire to purchase these shares inmy creditors' interest. With you it is quite a different matter--thistrash, as you very justly call it, will save you at least a hundredthousand francs. I ask only three per cent. , which is certainly notdear. Still, you know, I don't force any one to purchase them. " And, ina terribly significant tone, he added: "You can undoubtedly buysimilar securities on better terms; but take care you don't arouse yourcreditors' suspicions by applying elsewhere. "

"He would betray me, the scoundrel!" thought the merchant. And, realizing that he had fallen into a trap, "Here are three thousandfrancs, " he sighed; "but at least, my dear sir, give me good measure, and throw in a few thousand francs more. "

The coal-merchant smiled the ghastly smile of a man who sees no way ofescape from imposition, and has, therefore, resolved to submit with thebest grace possible. But M. Fortunat's gravity did not relax. Hegave what he had promised--neither more nor less--in exchange for thebank-notes, and even gravely exclaimed: "See if the amount is correct. "

His client pocketed the shares without counting them: but before leavingthe room he made his estimable adviser promise to assist him at thedecisive moment, and help him to prepare one of those clear financialstatements which make creditors say: "This is an honest man who has beenextremely unfortunate. "

M. Fortunat was admirably fitted to render this little service; for hedevoted such part of his time as was not spent in hunting for missingheirs to difficult liquidations, and he had indeed made bankruptcya specialty in which he was without a rival. The business was aremunerative one, thanks to the expedient he had revealed to thecoal-merchant--an expedient which is common enough nowadays, but ofwhich he might almost be called the inventor. It consisted in compellingthe persons who asked for his advice to purchase worthless sharesat whatever price he chose to set upon them, and they were forced tosubmit, under penalty of denunciation and exposure. 

The client who followed the coal-merchant proved to be a simplecreature, who had called to ask for some advice respecting a slightdifficulty between himself and his landlord. M. Fortunat speedilydisposed of him, and then, opening the door leading into the outeroffice, he called: "Cashier!"

A shabbily-dressed man, some thirty-five years of age, at once enteredthe private sanctum, carrying a money-bag in one hand and a ledger inthe other. 

"How many debtors were visited yesterday?" inquired M. Fortunat. 

"Two hundred and thirty-seven. "

"What was the amount collected?"

"Eighty-nine francs. "

M. Isidore Fortunat's grimace was expressive of satisfaction. "Not bad, "said he, "not at all bad. "

Then a singular performance began. M. Fortunat called over the names ofhis debtors, one by one, and the cashier answered each name by readinga memorandum written against it on the margin of a list he held. "Sucha one, " said the agent, "and such a one--and such----" Whereupon thecashier replied: "Has paid two francs--was not at home--paid twentysous--would not pay anything. "

How did it happen that M. Fortunat had so many debtors? This questioncan be easily answered. In settling bankrupts' estates it was easy forhim to purchase a large number of debts which were considered worthless, at a trifling cost, and he reaped a bountiful harvest on a field whichwould have yielded nothing to another person. It was not because hewas rigorous in his demands; he conquered by patience, gentleness, andpoliteness, but also by unwearying perseverance and tenacity. When hedecided that a debtor was to pay him a certain sum, it was paid. Henever relaxed in his efforts. Every other day some one was sent tovisit the debtor, to follow him, and harass him; he was surrounded byM. Fortunat's agents; they pursued him to his office, shop, orcafe--everywhere, continually, incessantly--and always with the mostperfect urbanity. At last even the most determined succumbed; to escapethis frightful persecution, they, somehow or other, found the money tosatisfy M. Fortunat's claim. Besides Victor Chupin, he had five otheragents whose business it was to visit these poor wretches. A list wasassigned to each man every morning; and when evening came, he made hisreport to the cashier, who in turn reported to his employer. This branchof industry added considerably to the profits of M. Fortunat's otherbusiness, and was the third and last string to his bow. 

The report proceeded as usual, but it was quite evident that M. Fortunat's thoughts were elsewhere. He paused each moment to listeneagerly for the slightest sound outside, for before receiving thecoal-merchant he had told Victor Chupin to run to the Rue de Courcellesand ask M. Casimir for news of the Count de Chalusse. He had done thismore than an hour before; and Victor Chupin, who was usually so prompt, had not yet made his appearance. 

At last, however, he returned, whereupon M. Fortunat dismissed thecashier, and addressed his messenger: "Well?" he asked. 

"He is no longer living. They think he died without a will, and that thepretty young lady will be turned out of the house. "

This information agreed so perfectly with M. Fortunat's presentimentsthat he did not even wince, but calmly asked: "Will Casimir keep hisappointment?"

"He told me that he would endeavor to come, and I'd wager a hundred toone that he will be there; he would travel ten leagues to put somethinggood into his stomach. "

M. Fortunat's opinion coincided with Chupin's. "Very well, " said he. "Only you were a long time on the road, Victor. "

"That's true, m'sieur; but I had a little matter of my own to attendto--a matter of a hundred francs, if you please. "

M. Fortunat knit his brows angrily. "It's only right to attend tobusiness, " said he; "but you think too much of money, Victor--altogethertoo much. You are insatiable. "

The young man proudly lifted his head, and with an air of importance, replied: "I have so many responsibilities----"

"Responsibilities!--you?"

"Yes, indeed, m'sieur. And why not? My poor, good mother hasn't beenable to work for a year, and who would care for her if I didn't?Certainly not my father, the good-for-nothing scamp, who squandered allthe Duke de Sairmeuse's money without giving us a sou of it. Besides, I'm like other men, I'm anxious to be rich, and enjoy myself. I shouldlike to ride in my carriage like other people do. And whenever a gamin, such as I was once, opened the door for ME, I should put a five-francpiece in his hand----"

He was interrupted by Madame Dodelin, the worthy housekeeper, who rushedinto the room without knocking, in a terrible state of excitement. "Monsieur!" she exclaimed, in the same tone as if she would have called"Fire!" "here is Monsieur de Valorsay. "

M. Fortunat sprang up and turned extremely pale. "What to the devilbrings him here?" he anxiously stammered. "Tell him that I've goneout--tell him--"

But it was useless, for the marquis at that very moment entered theroom, and the agent could only dismiss his housekeeper and Chupin. 

M. De Valorsay seemed to be very angry, and it looked as if he meantto give vent to his passion. Indeed, as soon as he was alone with M. Fortunat, he began: "So this is the way you betray your friends, Master Twenty-per-Cent! Why did you deceive me last night about the tenthousand francs you had promised me? Why didn't you tell me the truth?You knew of the misfortune that had befallen M. De Chalusse. I heard ofit first scarcely an hour ago through a letter from Madame Leon. "

M. Fortunat hesitated somewhat. He was a quiet man, opposed to violenceof any kind; and it seemed to him that M. De Valorsay was twisting andturning his cane in a most ominous manner. "I must confess, Monsieur leMarquis, " he at last replied, "that I had not the courage to tell you ofthe dreadful misfortune which had befallen us. "

"How--US?"

"Certainly. If you lose the hope of several millions, I also lose theamount I advanced to you, forty thousand francs--my entire fortune. Andyet, you see that I don't complain. Do as I do--confess that the game islost. "

The marquis was listening with an air of suppressed wrath; his facewas crimson, there was a dark frown on his brow, and his hands wereclinched. He was apparently furious with passion, but in reality hewas perfectly self-possessed. The best proof that can be given of hiscoolness is that he was carefully studying M. Fortunat's face, andtrying to discover the agent's real intentions under his meaninglesswords. He had expected to find "his dear extortioner" exasperated by hisloss, cursing and swearing, and demanding his money--but not at all. He found him more gentle and calm, colder and more reserved thanever; brimful of resignation indeed, and preaching submission to theinevitable. "What can this mean?" he thought, with an anxious heart. "What mischief is the scoundrel plotting now? I'd wager a thousand toone that he's forging some thunderbolt to crush me. " And, in a haughtytone, he said aloud:

"In a word, you desert me. "

With a deprecatory gesture, M. Fortunat exclaimed: "I desert you, Monsieur le Marquis! What have I done that you should think so illof me? Alas! circumstances are the only traitors. I shouldn't like todeprive you of the courage you so much need, but, honestly, it would befolly to struggle against destiny. How can you hope to succeed in yourplans? Have you not resorted to every possible expedient to prolong yourapparently brilliant existence until the present time? Are you not atsuch a point that you must marry Mademoiselle Marguerite in a month'stime, or perish? And now the count's millions are lost! If I mightbe allowed to give you some advice, I should say, 'The shipwreck isinevitable; think only of saving yourself. ' By tact and shrewdness, youmight yet save something from your creditors. Compromise with them. Andif you need my services, here I am. Go to Nice, and give me a powerof attorney to act for you. From the debris of your fortune, I willundertake to guarantee you a competence which would satisfy many anambitious man. "

The marquis laughed sneeringly. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "You wouldrid yourself of me and recover your forty thousand francs at the sametime. A very clever arrangement. "

M. Fortunat realized that his client understood him; but what did itmatter? "I assure you----" he began. 

But the marquis silenced him with a contemptuous gesture. "Let us stopthis nonsense, " said he. "We understand each other better than that. I have never made any attempt to deceive you, nor have I ever supposedthat I had succeeded in doing so, and pray do me the honor to considerme as shrewd as yourself. " And still refusing to listen to the agent, hecontinued: "If I have come to you, it is only because the case is not sodesperate as you suppose. I still hold some valuable cards which youare ignorant of. In your opinion, and every one else's, MademoiselleMarguerite is ruined. But I know that she is still worth three millions, at the very least. "

"Mademoiselle Marguerite?"

"Yes, Monsieur Twenty-per-Cent. Let her become my wife, and the verynext day I will place her in possession of an income of a hundred andfifty thousand francs. But she must marry me first; and this scornfulmaiden will not grant me her hand unless I can convince her of my loveand disinterestedness. "

"But your rival?"

M. De Valorsay gave a nervous start, but quickly controlled himself. "He no longer exists. Read this day's Figaro, and you will be edified. I have no rival now. If I can only conceal my financial embarrassment alittle longer, she is mine. A friendless and homeless girl cannot defendherself long in Paris--especially when she has an adviser like MadameLeon. Oh! I shall win her! I shall have her!--she is a necessity to me. Now you can judge if it would be wise on your part to deprive me of yourassistance. Would you like to know what I want? Simply this--the meansto sustain me two or three months longer--some thirty thousand francs. You can procure the money--will you? It would make, in all, seventythousand francs that I should owe you, and I will promise to pay youtwo hundred and fifty thousand if I succeed--and I shall succeed! Suchprofit is worth some risk. Reflect, and decide. But no more subterfuges, if you please. Let your answer be plain yes or no. "

Without a second's hesitation, M. Fortunat replied, "No. "

The flush on the marquis's face deepened, and his voice became a trifleharsher; but that was all. "Confess, then, that you have resolved toruin me, " he said. "You refuse before you have heard me to the end. Wait, at least, until I have told you my plans, and shown you the solidfoundation which my hopes rest upon. "

But M. Fortunat had resolved to listen to nothing. He wished for noexplanations, so distrustful was he of himself--so much did he fearthat his adventurous nature would urge him to incur further risk. He waspositively afraid of the Marquis de Valorsay's eloquence; besides, heknew well enough that the person who consents to listen is at least halfconvinced. "Tell me nothing, monsieur, " he hastily answered; "it wouldbe useless. I haven't the money. If I had given you ten thousand francslast night, I should have been compelled to borrow them of M. ProsperBertomy. And even if I had the money, I should still say 'Impossible. 'Every man has his system--his theory, you know. Mine is, never to runafter my money. With me, whatever I may lose, I regard it as finallylost; I think no more about it, and turn to something else. So yourforty thousand francs have already been entered on my profit and lossaccount. And yet it would be easy enough for you to repay me, if youwould follow my advice and go quietly into bankruptcy. "

"Never!" interrupted M. De Valorsay; "never! I do not wish totemporize, " he continued. "I will save all, or save nothing. If yourefuse me your help, I shall apply elsewhere. I will never give mygood friends, who detest me, and whom I cordially hate in return, thedelicious joy of seeing the Marquis de Valorsay fall step by step fromthe high position he has occupied. I will never truckle to the men whomI have eclipsed for fifteen years. No, never! I would rather die, oreven commit the greatest crime!"

He suddenly checked himself, a trifle astonished, perhaps, by his ownplain-speaking; and, for a moment, he and M. Fortunat looked into eachother's eyes, striving to divine their respective secret thoughts. 

The marquis was the first to speak. "And so, " said he, in a tone whichhe strove to make persuasive, but which was threatening instead, "it issettled--your decision is final?"

"Final. "

"You will not even condescend to listen to my explanation?"

"It would be a loss of time. "

On receiving this cruel reply, M. De Valorsay struck the desk such aformidable blow with his clenched fist that several bundles of papersfell to the floor. His anger was not feigned now. "What are youplotting, then?" he exclaimed; "and what do you intend to do? What isyour object in betraying me? Take care! It is my life that I am goingto defend, and as truly as there is a God in heaven, I shall defend itwell. A man who is determined to blow his brains out if he is defeated, is a terribly dangerous adversary. Woe to you, if I ever find youstanding between me and the Count de Chalusse's millions!"

Every drop of blood had fled from M. Fortunat's face, still his mien wascomposed and dignified. "You do wrong to threaten me, " said he. "I don'tfear you in the least. If I were your enemy, I should bring suit againstyou for the forty thousand francs you owe me. I should not obtain mymoney, of course, but I could shatter the tottering edifice of yourfortune by a single blow. Besides, you forget that I possess a copy ofour agreement, signed by your own hand, and that I have only to showit to Mademoiselle Marguerite to give her a just opinion of yourdisinterestedness. Let us sever our connection now, monsieur, and eachgo his own way without reference to the other. If you should succeed youwill repay me. "

Victory perched upon the agent's banner, and it was with a feeling ofpride that he saw his noble client depart, white and speechless withrage. "What a rascal that marquis is, " he muttered. "I would certainlywarn Mademoiselle Marguerite, poor girl, if I were not so much afraid ofhim. "

XIV. 

M. Casimir, the deceased Count de Chalusse's valet, was neither betternor worse than most of his fellows. Old men tell us that there formerlyexisted a race of faithful servants, who considered themselves a partof the family that employed them, and who unhesitatingly embraced itsinterests and its ideas. At the same time their masters requited theirdevotion by efficacious protection and provision for the future. Butsuch masters and such servants are nowadays only found in the oldmelodramas performed at the Ambigu, in "The Emigre, " for instance, orin "The Last of the Chateauvieux. " At present servants wander from onehouse to another, looking on their abode as a mere inn where they mayfind shelter till they are disposed for another journey. And familiesreceive them as transient, and not unfrequently as dangerous, guests, whom it is always wise to treat with distrust. The key ofthe wine-cellar is not confided to these unreliable inmates; they areintrusted with the charge of little else than the children--a practicewhich is often productive of terrible results. 

M. Casimir was no doubt honest, in the strict sense of the word. Hewould have scorned to rob his master of a ten-sous piece; and yethe would not have hesitated in the least to defraud him of a hundredfrancs, if an opportunity had presented itself. Vain and rapacious indisposition, he consoled himself by refusing to obey any one save hisemployer, by envying him with his whole heart, and by cursing fatefor not having made him the Count de Chalusse instead of the Count deChalusse's servant. As he received high wages, he served passably well;but he employed the best part of his energy in watching the count. Hescented some great family secret in the household, and he felt angry andhumiliated that this secret had not been intrusted to his discretion. And if he had discovered nothing, it was because M. De Chalusse had beencaution personified, as Madame Leon had declared. 

Thus it happened that when M. Casimir saw Mademoiselle Margueriteand the count searching in the garden for the fragments of a letterdestroyed in a paroxysm of rage which he had personally witnessed, his natural curiosity was heightened to such a degree as to becomeunendurable. He would have given a month's wages, and something over, to have known the contents of that letter, the fragments of which werebeing so carefully collected by the count. And when he heard M. DeChalusse tell Mademoiselle Marguerite that the most important partof the letter was still lacking, and saw his master relinquish hisfruitless search, the worthy valet vowed that he would be more skilfulor more fortunate than his master; and after diligent effort, heactually succeeded in recovering five tiny scraps of paper, which hadbeen blown into the shrubbery. 

They were covered with delicate handwriting, a lady's unquestionably;but he was utterly unable to extract the slightest meaning from them. Nevertheless, he preserved them with jealous care, and was carefulnot to say that he had found them. The incoherent words which he haddeciphered on these scraps of paper mixed strangely in his brain, andhe grew more and more anxious to learn what connection there was betweenthis letter and the count's attack. This explains his extreme readinessto search the count's clothes when Mademoiselle Marguerite told him tolook for the key of the escritoire. And fortune favored him, for he notonly found the key, but he also discovered the torn fragments ofthe letter, and having crumpled them up in the palm of his hand, hecontrived to slip them into his pocket. Fruitless dexterity! M. Casimirhad joined these scraps to the fragments he had found himself, he hadread and re-read the epistle, but it told him nothing; or, at least, theinformation it conveyed was so vague and incomplete that it heightenedhis curiosity all the more. Once he almost decided to give the letterto Mademoiselle Marguerite, but he resisted this impulse, saying tohimself: "Ah, no; I'm not such a fool! It might be of use to her. "

And M. Casimir had no desire to be of service to this unhappy girl, whohad always treated him with kindness. He hated her, under the pretencethat she was not in her proper place, that no one knew who or what shewas, and that it was absurd that he--he, Casimir--should be compelledto receive orders from her. The infamous slander which MademoiselleMarguerite had overheard on her way home from church, "There goes therich Count de Chalusse's mistress, " was M. Casimir's work. He had swornto be avenged on this haughty creature; and no one can say what hemight have attempted, if it had not been for the intervention of themagistrate. Imperatively called to order, M. Casimir consoled himselfby the thought that the magistrate had intrusted him with eight thousandfrancs and the charge of the establishment. Nothing could havepleased him better. First and foremost, it afforded him a magnificentopportunity to display his authority and act the master, and it alsoenabled him to carry out his compact with Victor Chupin, and repair tothe rendezvous which M. Isidore Fortunat had appointed. 

Leaving his comrades to watch the magistrate's operations, he sent M. Bourigeau to report the count's death at the district mayor's office, and then lighting a cigar he walked out of the house, and strolledleisurely up the Rue de Courcelles. The place appointed for his meetingwith M. Fortunat was on the Boulevard Haussmann, almost oppositeBinder's, the famous carriage builder. Although it was rather awine-shop than a restaurant, a capital breakfast could be obtained thereas M. Casimir had ascertained to his satisfaction several times before. "Has no one called for me?" he asked, as he went in. 

"No one. "

He consulted his watch, and evinced considerable surprise. "Not yetnoon!" he exclaimed. "I'm in advance; and as that is the case, give me aglass of absinthe and a newspaper. "

He was obeyed with far more alacrity than his deceased master had everrequired him to show, and he forthwith plunged into the report ofthe doings at the Bourse, with the eagerness of a man who has anall-sufficient reason for his anxiety in a drawer at home. Havingemptied one glass of absinthe, he was about to order a second, when hefelt a tap on the shoulder, and on turning round he beheld M. IsidoreFortunat. 

In accordance with his wont, the agent was attired in a style of severeelegance--with gloves and boots fitting him to perfection--but anunusually winning smile played upon his lips. "You see I have beenwaiting for you, " exclaimed M. Casimir. 

"I am late, it's true, " replied M. Fortunat, "but we will do our bestto make up for lost time; for, I trust, you will do me the honor ofbreakfasting with me?"

"Really, I don't know that I ought. "

"Yes, yes, you must. They will give us a private room; we must have atalk. "

It was certainly not for the pleasure of the thing that M. Fortunatcultivated M. Casimir's acquaintance, and entertained him at breakfast. M. Fortunat, who was a very proud man, considered this connectionsomewhat beneath his dignity; but at first, circumstances, and afterwardinterest, had required him to overcome his repugnance. It was throughthe Count de Chalusse that he had made M. Casimir's acquaintance. Whilethe count was employing the agent he had frequently sent his valet tohim with messages and letters. Naturally, M. Casimir had talked on theseoccasions, and the agent had listened to him; hence this superficialfriendship. Subsequently when the marriage contemplated by the Marquisde Valorsay was in course of preparation, M. Fortunat had profited ofthe opportunity to make the count's servant his spy; and it had beeneasy to find a pretext for continuing the acquaintance, as M. Casimirwas a speculator, or rather a dabbler in stocks and shares. So, wheneverhe needed information, M. Fortunat invited M. Casimir to breakfast, knowing the potent influence of a good bottle of wine offered at theright moment. It is needless to say that he exercised uncommon care inthe composition of the menu on a day like this when his future coursedepended, perhaps, on a word more or less. 

M. Casimir's eye sparkled as he took his seat at the table opposite hisentertainer. The crafty agent had chosen a little room looking out on tothe boulevard. Not that it was more spacious or elegant than the others, but it was isolated, and this was a very great advantage; for every oneknows how unsafe and perfidious are those so-called private rooms whichare merely separated from each other by a thin partition, scarcelythicker than a sheet of paper. It was not long before M. Fortunat hadreason to congratulate himself on his foresight, for the breakfast beganwith a dish of shrimps, and M. Casimir had not finished his twelfth, washed down by a glass of chablis, before he declared that he could seeno impropriety in confiding certain things to a friend. 

The events of the morning had completely turned his head; and gratifiedvanity and good cheer excited him to such a degree that he discoursedwith unwonted volubility. With total disregard of prudence, he talkedwith inexcusable freedom of the Count de Chalusse, and M. De Valorsay, and especially of his enemy, Mademoiselle Marguerite. "For it is she, "he exclaimed, rapping on the table with his knife--"it is she who hastaken the missing millions! How she did it, no one will ever know, forshe has not an equal in craftiness; but it's she who has stolen them, I'm sure of it! I would have taken my oath to that effect before themagistrate, and I would have proved it, too, if he hadn't taken her partbecause she's pretty--for she is devilishly pretty. "

Even if M. Fortunat had wished to put in a word or two, he could havefound no opportunity. But his guest's loquacity did not displease him;it gave him an opportunity for reflection. Strange thoughts arose in hismind, and connecting M. Casimir's affirmations with the assurances ofthe Marquis de Valorsay, he was amazed at the coincidence. "It's verysingular!" he thought. "Has this girl really stolen the money? and hasthe marquis discovered the fact through Madame Leon, and determined toprofit by the theft? In that case, I may get my money back, after all! Imust look into the matter. "

A partridge and a bottle of Pomard followed the shrimps and chablis; andM. Casimir's loquacity increased, and his voice rose higher and higher. He wandered from one absurd story to another, and from slander toslander, until suddenly, and without the slightest warning, he began tospeak of the mysterious letter which he considered the undoubted causeof the count's illness. 

At the first word respecting this missive, M. Fortunat startedviolently. "Nonsense!" said he, with an incredulous air. "Why the devilshould this letter have had such an influence?"

"I don't know. But it is certain--it had. " And, in support of hisassertion, he told M. Fortunat how the count had destroyed the letteralmost without reading it, and how he had afterward searched for thefragments, in order to find an address it had contained. "And I'm quitesure, " said the valet, "that the count intended to apply to you for theaddress of the person who wrote the letter. "

"Are you sure of that?"

"As sure as I am of drinking Pomard!" exclaimed M. Casimir, draining hisglass. 

Rarely had the agent experienced such emotion. He did not doubt but whatthis missive contained the solution of the mystery. "Were the scraps ofthis letter found?" he asked. 

"I have them, " cried the valet, triumphantly. "I have them in my pocket, and, what's more, I have the whole of them!"

This declaration made M. Fortunat turn pale with delight. "Indeed--indeed!" said he; "it must be a strange production. "

His companion pursed up his lips disdainfully. "May be so, may be not, "he retorted. "It's impossible to understand a word of it. The only thingcertain about it is that it was written by a woman. "

"Ah!"

"Yes, by a former mistress, undoubtedly. And, naturally, she asks formoney for a child. Women of that class always do so. They've tried thegame with me more than a dozen times, but I'm not so easily caught. " Andbursting with vanity, he related three or four love affairs in which, according to his own account, he must have played a most ignoble part. 

If M. Fortunat's chair had been a gridiron, heated by an excellent fire, he could not have felt more uncomfortable. After pouring out bumperafter bumper for his guest, he perceived that he had gone too far, and that it would not be easy to check him. "And this letter?" heinterrupted, at last. 

"Well?"

"You promised to let me read it. "

"That's true--that's quite true; but it would be as well to have somemocha first, would it not? What if we ordered some mocha, eh?"

Coffee was served, and when the waiter had closed the door, M. Casimirdrew the letter, the scraps of which were fixed together, from hispocket, and unfolded it, saying: "Attention; I'm going to read. "

This did not suit M. Fortunat's fancy. He would infinitely havepreferred perusing it himself; but it is impossible to argue with anintoxicated man, and so M. Casimir with a more and more indistinctenunciation read as follows: "'Paris, October 14, 186--. ' So the ladylives in Paris, as usual. After this she puts neither 'monsieur, ' nor'my friend, ' nor 'dear count, ' nothing at all. She begins abruptly:'Once before, many years ago, I came to you as a suppliant. You werepitiless, and did not even deign to answer me. And yet, as I told you, Iwas on the verge of a terrible precipice; my brain was reeling, vertigohad seized hold of me. Deserted, I was wandering about Paris, homelessand penniless, and my child was starving!'"

M. Casimir paused to laugh. "That's like all the rest of them, " heexclaimed; "that is exactly like all the rest! I've ten such letters inmy drawer, even more imperative in their demands. If you'll come homewith me after breakfast, I'll show them to you. We'll have a heartylaugh over them!"

"Let us finish this first. "

"Of course. " And he resumed: "'If I had been alone. I should not havehesitated. I was so wretched that death seemed a refuge to me. Butwhat was to become of my child? Should I kill him, and destroy myselfafterward? I thought of doing so, but I lacked the courage. And whatI implored you in pity to give me, was rightfully mine. I had only topresent myself at your house and demand it. Alas! I did not know thatthen. I believed myself bound by a solemn oath, and you inspired mewith inexpressible terror. And still I could not see my child die ofstarvation before my very eyes. So I abandoned myself to my fate, andI have sunk so low that I have been obliged to separate from my son. He must not know the shame to which he owes his livelihood. And he isignorant even of my existence. '"

M. Fortunat was as motionless as if he had been turned to stone. Afterthe information he had obtained respecting the count's past, and afterthe story told him by Madame Vantrasson, he could scarcely doubt. "This letter, " he thought, "can only be from Mademoiselle Hermine deChalusse. "

However, M. Casimir resumed his reading: "'If I apply to you again, iffrom the depth of infamy into which I have fallen, I again call upon youfor help, it is because I am at the end of my resources--because, beforeI die, I must see my son's future assured. It is not a fortune that Iask for him, but sufficient to live upon, and I expect to receive itfrom you. '"

Once more the valet paused in his perusal of the letter to remark:"There it is again sufficient to live upon, and I expect to receive itfrom you!--Excellent! Women are remarkable creatures, upon my word! Butlisten to the rest! 'It is absolutely necessary that I should see youas soon as possible. Oblige me, therefore, by calling to-morrow, October15th, at the Hotel de Homburg, in the Rue du Helder. You will ask forMadame Lucy Huntley, and they will conduct you to me. I shall expect youfrom three o'clock to six. Come. I implore you, come. It is painful tome to add that if I do not hear from you, I am resolved to demand andOBTAIN--no matter what may be the consequences--the means which I have, so far, asked of you on my bended knees and with clasped hands. '"

Having finished the letter, M. Casimir laid it on the table, and pouredout a glassful of brandy, which he drained at a single draught. "Andthat's all, " he remarked. "No signature--not even an initial. It was aso-called respectable woman who wrote that. They never sign their notes, the hussies! for fear of compromising themselves, as I've reason toknow. " And so saying, he laughed the idiotic laugh of a man who has beendrinking immoderately. "If I had time, " he resumed, "I should make someinquiries about this Madame Lucy Huntley--a feigned name, evidently. I should like to know---- But what's the matter with you, MonsieurFortunat? You are as pale as death. Are you ill?"

To tell the truth, the agent did look as if he were indisposed. "Thanks, " he stammered. "I'm very well, only I just remembered that someone is waiting for me. "

"Who?"

"A client. "

"Nonsense!" rejoined the valet; "make some excuse; let him go about hisbusiness. Aren't you rich enough? Pour us out another glass of wine; itwill make you all right again. "

M. Fortunat complied, but he performed the task so awkwardly, or, rather, so skilfully, that he drew toward him, with his sleeve, theletter which was lying beside M. Casimir's plate. "To your health, " saidthe valet. "To yours, " replied M. Fortunat. And in drawing back the armhe had extended to chink glasses with his guest, he caused the letter tofall on his knees. 

M. Casimir, who had not observed this successful manoeuvre, was tryingto light his cigar; and while vainly consuming a large quantity ofmatches in the attempt, he exclaimed: "What you just said, my friend, means that you would like to desert me. That won't do, my dear fellow!You are going home with me; and I will read you some love-letters froma woman of the world. Then we will go to Mourloup's, and play a game ofbilliards. That's the place to enjoy one's self. You'll see Joseph, ofthe Commarin household, a splendid comedian. "

"Very well; but first I must settle the score here. "

"Yes, pay. "

M. Fortunat rang for his bill. He had obtained more information thanhe expected; he had the letter in his pocket, and he had now only onedesire, to rid himself of M. Casimir. But this was no easy task. Drunkenmen cling tenaciously to their friends; and M. Fortunat was askinghimself what strategy he could employ, when the waiter entered, andsaid: "There's a very light-complexioned man here, who looks as if hewere a huissier's clerk. He wishes to speak with you, gentlemen. "

"Ah! it's Chupin!" exclaimed the valet. "He is a friend. Let him comein, and bring us another glass. 'The more the merrier, ' as the sayinggoes. "

What could Chupin want? M. Fortunat had no idea, but he was none theless grateful for his coming, being determined to hand this troublesomeCasimir over to his keeping. On entering the room Chupin realized thevalet's condition at the first glance, and his face clouded. Hebowed politely to M. Fortunat, but addressed Casimir in an extremelydiscontented tone. "It's three o'clock, " said he, "and I've come, as weagreed, to arrange with you about the count's funeral. "

These words had the effect of a cold shower-bath on M. Casimir. "Uponmy word, I had forgotten--forgotten entirely, upon my word!" And thethought of his condition, and the responsibility he had accepted, comingupon him at the same time, he continued: "Good Heavens! I'm in a nicestate! It is all I can do to stand. What will they think at the house?What will they say?"

M. Fortunat had drawn his clerk a little on one side. "Victor, " said he, quickly and earnestly, "I must go at once. Everything has been paid for;but in case you need some money for a cab or anything of the sort, hereare ten francs. If there's any you don't use, keep it for yourself. Ileave this fool in your charge, take care of him. "

The sight of the ten-franc piece made Chupin's face brighten a little. "Very well, " he replied. "I understand the business. I served myapprenticeship as a 'guardian angel' when my grandmother kept thePoivriere. " [2]

"Above all, don't let him return home in his present state. "

"Have no fears, monsieur, I must talk business with him, and so I shallhave him all right in a jiffy. " And as M. Fortunat made his escape, Chupin beckoned to the waiter, and said:

"Fetch me some very strong coffee, a handful of salt, and a lemon. There's nothing better for bringing a drunken man to his senses. "

XV. 

M. Fortunat left the restaurant, almost on the run, for he feared thathe might be pursued and overtaken by M. Casimir. But after he had gonea couple of hundred paces, he paused, not so much to take breath, as tocollect his scattered wits; and though the weather was cold, he seatedhimself on a bench to reflect. 

Never in all his changeful life had he known such intense anxiety andtorturing suspense as he had just experienced in that little room in therestaurant. He had longed for positive information and he had obtainedit; but it had upset all his plans and annihilated all his hopes. Imagining that the count's heirs had been lost sight of, he haddetermined to find them and make a bargain with them, before theylearned that they were worth their millions. But on the contrary, theseheirs were close at hand, watching M. De Chalusse, and knowing theirrights so well that they were ready to fight for them. "For it wascertainly the count's sister who wrote the letter which I have in mypocket, " he murmured. "Not wishing to receive him at her own home, sheprudently appointed a meeting at a hotel. But what about this name ofHuntley? Is it really hers, or is it only assumed for the occasion?Is it the name of the man who enticed her from home, or is it the namegiven to the son from whom she has separated herself?"

But after all what was the use of all these conjectures? There wasbut one certain and positive thing, and this was that the money he hadcounted upon had escaped him; and he experienced as acute a pang asif he had lost forty thousand francs a second time. Perhaps, at thatmoment, he was sorry that he had severed his connection with themarquis. Still, he was not the man to despond, however desperate hisplight might appear, without an attempt to better his situation. Heknew how many surprising and sudden changes in fortune have been broughtabout by some apparently trivial action. "I must discover this sister, "he said to himself--"I must ascertain her position and her plans. If she has no one to advise her, I will offer my services; and whoknows----"

A cab was passing; M. Fortunat hailed it, and ordered the Jehu to drivehim to the Rue du Helder, No. 43, Hotel de Homburg. 

Was it by chance or premeditation that this establishment had receivedthe name of one of the gambling dens of Europe? Perhaps the followinginformation may serve to answer the question. The Hotel de Homburg wasone of those flash hostelries frequented by adventurers of distinction, who are attracted to Paris by the millions that are annually squanderedthere. Spurious counts and questionable Russian princesses were sureto find a cordial welcome there with princely luxury, moderate prices, and--but very little confidence. Each person was called by the titlewhich it pleased him to give on his arrival--Excellency or Prince, according to his fancy. He could also find numerous servants carefullydrilled to play the part of old family retainers, and carriages uponwhich the most elaborate coat-of-arms could be painted at an hour'snotice. Nor was there any difficulty whatever in immediately procuringall the accessories of a life of grandeur--all that is needful to dazzlethe unsuspecting, to throw dust in people's eyes, and to dupe one'schance acquaintances. All these things were provided without delay, bythe month, by the day or by the hour, just as the applicant pleased. But there was no such thing as credit there. Bills were presented everyevening, to those lodgers who did not pay in advance: and he who couldnot, or would not, settle the score, even if he were Excellency orPrince, was requested to depart at once, and his trunks were held assecurity. 

When M. Fortunat entered the office of the hotel, a woman, with a craftylooking face, was holding a conference with an elderly gentleman, whohad a black velvet skullcap on his head, and a magnifying glass in hishand. They applied their eyes to the glass in turn, and were engaged inexamining some very handsome diamonds, which had no doubt been offeredin lieu of money by some noble but impecunious foreigner. On hearing M. Fortunat enter, the woman looked up. 

"What do you desire, monsieur?" she inquired, politely. 

"I wish to see Madame Lucy Huntley. "

The woman did not reply at first, but raised her eyes to the ceiling, asif she were reading there the list of all the foreigners of distinctionwho honored the Hotel de Homburg by their presence at that moment. "LucyHuntley!" she repeated. "I don't recollect that name! I don't thinkthere's such a person in the house--Lucy Huntley! What kind of a personis she?"

For many reasons M. Fortunat could not answer. First of all, he didnot know. But he was not in the least disconcerted, and he avoided thequestion without the slightest embarrassment, at the same time trying toquicken the woman's faulty memory. "The person I wished to see was hereon Friday, between three and six in the afternoon; and she was waitingfor a visitor with an anxiety which could not possibly have escaped yournotice. "

This detail quickened the memory of the man with the magnifyingglass--none other than the woman's husband and landlord of the hotel. "Ah! the gentleman is speaking of the lady of No. 2--you remember--thesame who insisted upon having the large private room. "

"To be sure, " replied the wife; "where could my wits have been!" Andturning to M. Fortunat: "Excuse my forgetfulness, " she added. "The ladyis no longer in the house; she only remained here for a few hours. "

This reply did not surprise M. Fortunat--he had expected it; and yethe assumed an air of the utmost consternation. "Only a few hours!" herepeated, like a despairing echo. 

"Yes, monsieur. She arrived here about eleven o'clock in the morning, with only a large valise by way of luggage, and she left that sameevening at eight o'clock. "

"Alas! and where was she going?"

"She didn't tell me. "

You might have sworn that M. Fortunat was about to burst into tears. "Poor Lucy!" said he, in a tragical tone; "it was for me, madame, thatshe was waiting. But it was only this morning that I received her letterappointing a meeting here. She must have been in despair. The post can'tbe depended on!"

The husband and wife simultaneously shrugged their shoulders, and theexpression of their faces unmistakably implied: "What can we do aboutit? It is no business of ours. Don't trouble us. "

But M. Fortunat was not the man to be dismayed by such a trifle. 

"She was taken to the railway station, no doubt, " he insisted. 

"Really, I know nothing about it. "

"You told me just now that she had a large valise, so she could not haveleft your hotel on foot. She must have asked for a vehicle. Who wassent to fetch it? One of your boys? If I could find the driver I should, perhaps, be able to obtain some valuable information from him. "

The husband and wife exchanged a whole volume of suspicions in a singleglance. M. Isidore Fortunat's appearance was incontestably respectable, but they were well aware that those strange men styled detectives areperfectly conversant with the art of dressing to perfection. So thehotelkeeper quickly decided on his course. "Your idea is an excellentone, " he said to M. Fortunat. "This lady must certainly have takena vehicle on leaving; and what is more, it must have been a vehiclebelonging to the hotel. If you will follow me, we will make someinquiries on the subject. "

And rising with a willingness that augured well for their success, he led the agent into the courtyard, where five or six vehicles werestationed, while the drivers lounged on a bench, chatting and smokingtheir pipes "Which of you was employed by a lady yesterday evening atabout eight o'clock?"

"What sort of a person was she?"

"She was a handsome woman, between thirty and forty years' old, veryfair, rather stout, and dressed in black. She had a large Russia-leathertravelling-bag. "

"I took her, " answered one of the drivers promptly. M. Fortunat advancedtoward the man with open arms, and with such eagerness that it mighthave been supposed he meant to embrace him. "Ah, my worthy fellow!" heexclaimed, "you can save my life!"

The driver looked exceedingly pleased. He was thinking that thisgentleman would certainly requite his salvation by a magnificentgratuity. "What do you want of me?" he asked. 

"Tell me where you drove this lady?"

"I took her to the Rue de Berry. "

"To what number?"

"Ah, I can't tell. I've forgotten it. "

But M. Fortunat no longer felt any anxiety. "Very good, " said he. "You've forgotten it--that's not at all strange. But you would know thehouse again, wouldn't you?"

"Undoubtedly I should. "

"Will you take me there?"

"Certainly, sir. This is my vehicle. "

The hunter of missing heirs at once climbed inside; but it was not untilthe carriage had left the courtyard that the landlord returned to hisoffice. "That man must be a detective, " he remarked to his wife. 

"So I fancy. "

"It's strange we're not acquainted with him. He must be a new member ofthe force. "

But M. Fortunat was quite indifferent as to what impression he had leftbehind him at the Hotel de Homburg, for he never expected to set footthere again. The one essential thing was that he had obtained theinformation he wished for, and even a description of the lady, and hefelt that he was now really on the track. The vehicle soon reached theRue de Berry, and drew up in front of a charming little private house. "Here we are, monsieur, " said the driver, bowing at the door. 

M. Fortunat sprang nimbly on to the pavement, and handed five francsto the coachman, who went off growling and swearing, for he thought thereward a contemptibly small one, coming as it did from a man whose lifehad been saved, according to his own confession. However, the person theJehu anathematized certainly did not hear him. Standing motionless wherehe had alighted, M. Fortunat scrutinized the house in front of him withclose attention. "So she lives here, " he muttered. "This is the place;but I can't present myself without knowing her name. I must make someinquiries. "

There was a wine-shop some fifty paces distant, and thither M. Fortunathastened, and ordered a glass of currant syrup. As he slowly sippedthe beverage, he pointed to the house in question, with an air ofwell-assumed indifference, and asked: "Whom does that pretty dwellingbelong to?"

"To Madame Lia d'Argeles, " answered the landlady. 

M. Fortunat started. He well remembered that this was the name theMarquis de Valorsay had mentioned when speaking of the vile conspiracyhe had planned. It was at this woman's house that the man whomMademoiselle Marguerite loved had been disgraced! Still he managed tomaster his surprise, and in a light, frank tone he resumed: "What apretty name! And what does this lady do?"

"What does she do? Why, she amuses herself. "

M. Fortunat seemed astonished. "Dash it!" said he. "She must amuseherself to good purpose to have a house like that. Is she pretty?"

"That depends on taste. She's no longer young, at any rate; but shehas superb golden hair. And, oh! how white she is--as white as snow, monsieur--as white as snow! She has a fine figure as well, and a mostdistinguished bearing--pays cash, too, to the very last farthing. "

There could no longer be any doubt. The portrait sketched by thewine-vendor fully corresponded with the description given by thehotelkeeper in the Rue de Helder. Accordingly, M. Fortunat drainedhis glass, and threw fifty centimes on the counter. Then, crossing thestreet, he boldly rang at the door of Madame d'Argeles's house. If anyone had asked him what he proposed doing and saying if he succeeded ineffecting an entrance, he might have replied with perfect sincerity, "Idon't know. " The fact is, he had but one aim, one settled purpose inhis mind. He was obstinately, FURIOUSLY resolved to derive some benefit, small or great, from this mysterious affair. As for the means ofexecution, he relied entirely on his audacity and sang-froid, convincedthat they would not fail him when the decisive moment came. "First ofall, I must see this lady, " he said to himself. "The first words willdepend solely upon my first impressions. After that, I shall be guidedby circumstances. "

An old serving-man, in a quiet, tasteful livery, opened the door, whereupon M. Fortunat, in a tone of authority, asked: "Madame Liad'Argeles?"

"Madame does not receive on Friday, " was the reply. 

With a petulant gesture, M. Fortunat rejoined: "All the same I mustspeak with her to-day. It is on a matter of the greatest importance. Give her my card. " So saying, he held out a bit of pasteboard, on which, below his name, were inscribed the words: "Liquidations. Settlementseffected for insolvent parties. "

"Ah! that's a different thing, " said the servant. "Will monsieur takethe trouble to follow me?"

M. Fortunat did take the trouble; and he was conducted into a largedrawing-room where he was requested to sit down and await madame'scoming. Left to himself, he began an inventory of the apartment, as ageneral studies the ground on which he is about to give battle. No traceremained of the unfortunate scene of the previous night, save a brokencandelabrum on the chimney-piece. It was the one which Pascal Ferailleurhad armed himself with, when they talked of searching him, and which hehad thrown down in the courtyard, as he left the house. But this detaildid not attract M. Fortunat's attention. The only thing that puzzledhim was the large reflector placed above the chandelier, and it tookhim some time to fathom with what object it was placed there. Withoutprecisely intimidating him, the luxurious appointments of the housearoused his astonishment. "Everything here is in princely style, " hemuttered, "and this shows that all the lunatics are not at Charentonyet. If Madame d'Argeles lacked bread in days gone by, she does so nolonger--that's evident. "

Naturally enough this reflection led him to wonder why such a rich womanshould become the Marquis de Valorsay's accomplice, and lend a hand inso vile and cowardly a plot, which horrified even him--Fortunat. "Forshe must be an accomplice, " he thought. 

And he marvelled at the freak of fate which had connected theunfortunate man who had been sacrificed with the unacknowledgeddaughter, and the cast-off sister, of the Count de Chalusse. A vaguepresentiment, the mysterious voice of instinct, warned him, moreover, that his profit in the affair would depend upon the antagonism, oralliance, of Mademoiselle Marguerite and Madame d'Argeles. But hismeditations were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a discussion inan adjoining room. He stepped eagerly forward, hoping to hear something, and he did hear a man saying in a coarse voice: "What! I leave aninteresting game, and lose precious time in coming to offer you myservices, and you receive me like this! Zounds! madame, this will teachme not to meddle with what doesn't concern me, in future. So, good-bye, my dear lady. You'll learn some day, to your cost, the real nature ofthis villain of a Coralth whom you now defend so warmly. "

This name of Coralth was also one of those which were engraven uponM. Fortunat's memory; and yet he did not notice it at the moment. Hisattention was so absorbed by what he had just heard that he could notfix his mind upon the object of his mission; and he only abandoned hisconjectures on hearing a rustling of skirts against the panels of thedoor leading into the hall. 

The next moment Madame Lia d'Argeles entered the room. She was arrayedin a very elegant dressing-gown of gray cashmere, with blue satintrimmings, her hair was beautifully arranged, and she had neglected noneof the usual artifices of the toilette-table; still any one would haveconsidered her to be over forty years of age. Her sad face wore anexpression of melancholy resignation; and there were signs of recenttears in her swollen eyes, surrounded by bluish circles. She glanced ather visitor, and, in anything but an encouraging tone exclaimed: "Youdesired to speak with me, I believe?"

M. Fortunat bowed, almost disconcerted. He had expected to meet one ofthose stupid, ignorant young women, who make themselves conspicuous atthe afternoon promenade in the Bois de Boulogne; and he found himself inthe presence of an evidently cultivated and imperious woman, who, even in her degradation, retained all her pride of race, and awed him, despite all his coolness and assurance. "I do, indeed, madame, wish toconfer with you respecting some important interests, " he answered. 

She sank on to a chair; and, without asking her visitor to take a seat:"Explain yourself, " she said, briefly. 

M. Fortunat's knowledge of the importance of the game in which he hadalready risked so much had already restored his presence of mind. Hehad only needed a glance to form a true estimate of Madame d'Argeles'scharacter; and he realized that it would require a sudden, powerful, andwell-directed blow to shatter her composure. "I have the unpleasant dutyof informing you of a great misfortune, madame, " he began. "A person whois very dear to you, and who is nearly related to you, was a victim of afrightful accident yesterday evening and died this morning. "

This gloomy preamble did not seem to produce the slightest effect onMadame d'Argeles. "Whom are you speaking of?" she coldly asked. 

M. Fortunat assumed his most solemn manner as he replied: "Of yourbrother, madame--of the Count de Chalusse. "

She sprang up, and a convulsive shudder shook her from head to foot. "Raymond is dead!" she faltered. 

"Alas! yes, madame. Struck with death at the very moment he wasrepairing to the appointment you had given him at the Hotel de Homburg. "

This clever falsehood, which was not entirely one, would, so the agentthought, be of advantage to him, since it would prove he was acquaintedwith previous events. But Madame d'Argeles did not seem to notice, oreven to hear the remark. She had fallen back in her arm-chair, palerthan death. "How did he die?" she asked. 

"From an attack of apoplexy. "

"My God!" exclaimed the wretched woman, who now suspected the truth; "myGod, forgive me. It was my letter that killed him!" and she wept as ifher heart were breaking--this woman who had suffered and wept so much. 

It is needless to say that M. Fortunat was moved with sympathy; healways evinced a respectful sympathy for the woes of others; but in thepresent instance, his emotion was greatly mitigated by the satisfactionhe felt at having succeeded so quickly and so completely. Madamed'Argeles had confessed everything! This was indeed a victory, for itmust be admitted that he had trembled lest she should deny all, and bidhim leave the house. He still saw many difficulties between his pocketand the Count de Chalusse's money; but he did not despair of conqueringthem after such a successful beginning. And he was muttering some wordsof consolation, when Madame d'Argeles suddenly looked up and said: "Imust see him--I will see him once more! Come, monsieur!" But a terriblememory rooted her to the spot and with a despairing gesture, and in avoice quivering with anguish she exclaimed:

"No, no--I cannot even do that. "

M. Fortunat was not a little disturbed; and it was with a look ofsomething very like consternation that he glanced at Madame d'Argeles, who had reseated herself and was now sobbing violently, with her facehidden on the arm of her chair. "What prevents her?" he thought. "Whythis sudden terror now that her brother is dead? Is she unwillingto confess that she is a Chalusse? She must make up her mind to it, however, if she wishes to receive the count's property--and she mustmake up her mind to it, for my sake, if not for her own. "

He remained silent, until it seemed to him that Madame d'Argeles wascalmer, then: "Excuse me, madame, " he began, "for breaking in uponyour very natural grief, but duty requires me to remind you of yourinterests. "

With the passive docility of those who are wretched, she wiped away hertears, and replied, gently: "I am listening, monsieur. "

He had had time to prepare his discourse. "First of all, madame, " heremarked, "I must tell you that I was the count's confidential agent. Inhim I lose a protector. Respect alone prevents me from saying a friend. He had no secrets from me. " M. Fortunat saw so plainly that Madamed'Argeles did not understand a word of this sentimental exordium that hethought it necessary to add: "I tell you this, not so much to gainyour consideration and good-will, as to explain to you how I becameacquainted with these matters relating to your family--how I becameaware of your existence, for instance, which no one else suspected. " Hepaused, hoping for some reply, a word, a sign, but not receiving thisencouragement, he continued: "I must, first of all, call your attentionto the peculiar situation of M. De Chalusse, and to the circumstanceswhich immediately preceded and attended his departure from life. Hisdeath was so unexpected that he was unable to make any disposition ofhis property by will, or even to indicate his last wishes. This, madame, is fortunate for you. M. De Chalusse had certain prejudices against you, as you are aware. Poor count. He certainly had the best heart in theworld, and yet hatred with him was almost barbaric in its intensity. There can be no doubt whatever, that he had determined to deprive youof your inheritance. With this intention he had already begun to converthis estates into ready money, and had he lived six months longer youwould not have received a penny. "

With a gesture of indifference, which was difficult to explain afterthe vehemence and the threatening tone of her letter, Madame d'Argelesmurmured:

"Ah, well! what does it matter?"

"What does it matter?" repeated M. Fortunat. "I see, madame, that yourgrief prevents you from realizing the extent of the peril you haveescaped. M. De Chalusse had other, and more powerful reasons even thanhis hatred for wishing to deprive you of your share of his property. He had sworn that he would give a princely fortune to his beloveddaughter. "

For the first time, Madame d'Argeles's features assumed an expression ofsurprise. "What, my brother had a child?"

"Yes, madame, an illegitimate daughter, Mademoiselle Marguerite, alovely and charming girl whom I had the pleasure of restoring to hiscare some years ago. She has been living with him for six months or so;and he was about to marry her, with an enormous dowry, to a noblemanbearing one of the proudest names in France, the Marquis de Valorsay. "

The name shook Madame d'Argeles as if she had experienced the shock ofan electric battery, and springing to her feet, with flashing eyes: "Yousay that my brother's daughter was to marry M. De Valorsay?" she asked. 

"It was decided--the marquis adored her. "

"But she--she did not love him--confess that she did not love him. "

M. Fortunat did not know what to reply. The question took him completelyby surprise; and feeling that his answer would have a very considerableinfluence upon what might follow, he hesitated. 

"Will you answer me?" insisted Madame d'Argeles, imperiously. "She lovedanother, did she not?"

"To tell the truth, I believe she did, " the agent stammered. "But I haveno proof of it, madame. "

"Ah! the wretch!" she exclaimed with a threatening gesture; "thetraitor! the infamous scoundrel! Now I understand it all. And to thinkthat it occurred in my house. But no; it was best so, I can still repaireverything. " And darting to the bell-rope, she pulled it violently. 

A servant at once appeared. "Job, " she said, "hasten after BaronTrigault--he left the house a moment ago and bring him back. I mustspeak with him. If you do not overtake him, go to his club, to hishouse, to the houses of his friends, go to every place where there isany chance of finding him. Make haste, and do not return without him. "

And as the man turned to obey, she added: "My carriage must be in thecourtyard. Take it. "

Meanwhile M. Fortunat's expression of countenance had undergone a markedchange. "Well!" thought he, "I have just made a mess of it! M. Valorsayis unmasked; and now, may I be hung, if he ever marries MademoiselleMarguerite. Certainly, I do not owe much to the scoundrel, for he hasdefrauded me of forty thousand francs, but what will he say when hediscovers what I've done? He will never believe me if I tell him that itwas an involuntary blunder, and Heaven only knows what revenge he willplan! A man of his disposition, knowing that he is ruined, is capableof anything! So much the worse for me. Before night I shall warn thecommissary of police in my district, and I shall not go out unarmed!"

The servant went off, and Madame d'Argeles then turned to her visitoragain. But she seemed literally transfigured by the storm of passionwhich was raging in her heart and mind; her cheeks were crimson, and anunwonted energy sparkled in her eyes. "Let us finish this business, " shesaid, curtly; "I am expecting some one. "

M. Fortunat bowed with a rather pompous, but at the same time obsequiousair. "I have only a few more words to say, " he declared. "M. De Chalussehaving no other heir, I have come to acquaint you with your rights. "

"Very good; continue, if you please. "

"You have only to present yourself, and establish your identity, to beput in possession of your brother's property. "

Madame d'Argeles gave the agent a look of mingled irony and distrust;and after a moment's reflection, she replied: "I am very gratefulfor your interest, monsieur; but if I have any rights, it is not myintention to urge them. "

It seemed to M. Fortunat as if he were suddenly falling from someimmense height. "You are not in earnest, " he exclaimed, "or you areignorant of the fact that M. De Chalusse leaves perhaps twenty millionsbehind him. "

"My course is decided on, monsieur; irrevocably decided on. "

"Very well, madame; but it often happens that the court institutesinquiries for the heirs of large fortunes, and this may happen in yourcase. "

"I should reply that I was not a member of the Chalusse family, and thatwould end it. Startled by the news of my brother's death, I allowed mysecret to escape me. I shall know how to keep it in future. "

Anger succeeded astonishment in M. Fortunat's mind. "Madame, madame, what can you be thinking of?" he cried, impetuously. "Accept--inHeaven's name--accept this inheritance; if not for yourself, for thesake of----"

In his excitement, he was about to commit a terrible blunder. He saw itin time, and checked himself. 

"For the sake of whom?" asked Madame d'Argeles, in an altered voice. 

"For the sake of Mademoiselle Marguerite, madame; for the sake of thispoor child, who is your niece. The count never having acknowledged heras his daughter, she will be left actually without bread, while herfather's millions go to enrich the state. "

"That will suffice, monsieur; I will think of it. And now, enough!"

The dismissal was so imperious that M. Fortunat bowed and went off, completely bewildered by this denouement. "She's crazy!" he said tohimself. "Crazy in the fullest sense of the word. She refuses thecount's millions from a silly fear of telling people that she belongsto the Chalusse family. She threatened her brother, but she would neverhave carried her threats into execution. And she prefers her presentposition to such a fortune. What lunacy!" But, although he wasdisappointed and angry, he did not by any means despair. "Fortunatelyfor me, " he thought, "this proud and haughty lady has a son somewherein the world. And she'll do for him what she would not consent to do forherself. Through her, with a little patience and Victor Chupin's aid, I shall succeed in discovering this boy. He must be an intelligentyouth--and we'll see if he surrenders his millions as easily as hismamma does. "

XVI. 

It is a terrible task to break suddenly with one's past, without evenhaving had time for preparation; to renounce the life one has so farlived, to return to the starting point, and begin existence anew; toabandon everything--the position one has gained, the work one has becomefamiliar with, every fondly cherished hope, and friend, and habit; toforsake the known to plunge into the unknown, to leave the certain forthe uncertain, and desert light for darkness; to cast one's identityaside, assume a strange individuality, become a living lie, change name, position, face, and clothes--in one phrase, to cease to be one's self, in order to become some one else. 

This is indeed, a terrible ordeal, and requires an amount of resolutionand energy which few human beings possess. The boldest hesitate beforesuch a sacrifice, and many a man has surrendered himself to justicerather than resort to this last extremity. And yet this was whatPascal Ferailleur had the courage to do, on the morrow of the shamefulconspiracy that had deprived him of his good name. When his mother'sexhortations and Baron Trigault's encouraging words had restored hiswonted clearness of perception, the only course he felt disposed topursue was to disappear and fly from the storm of slander andcontempt; and then, in a secure hiding-place, to watch for the time andopportunity of rehabilitation and revenge. 

Madame Ferailleur and her son made all needful arrangements. "I shallstart out at once, " said Pascal, "and before two hours have elapsed Ishall have found a modest lodging, where we must conceal ourselves forthe present. I know a locality that will suit us, and where no one willcertainly ever think of looking for us. "

"And I, " asked Madame Ferailleur, "what shall I do in the meantime?"

"You, mother; you must, at once, sell all that we possesshere--everything--even my books. You will only keep such of our linenand clothes as you can pack in three or four trunks. We are undoubtedlywatched; and so it is of the utmost importance that every one shouldimagine I have left Paris, and that you are going to join me. "

"And when everything is sold, and my trunks are ready?"

"Then, mother, you must send some one for a cab, and order the driver totake you to the Western Railway Station, where you will have the trunksremoved from the cab and placed in the baggage-room, as if you did notintend to leave Paris till the next day. "

"Very good, I will do so; even if any one is watching us, he won't belikely to suspect this ruse. But afterward?"

"Afterward, mother, you must go to the waiting-room upstairs, and youwill find me there. I will then take you to the rooms I shall haverented, and to-morrow we'll send a messenger with the receipt therailway people will give you, to fetch our luggage for us. "

Madame Ferailleur approved of this plan, deeming herself fortunate inthis great calamity that despair had not destroyed her son's energy andresources of mind. "Shall we retain our name, Pascal?"

"Oh, no. That would be an unpardonable imprudence. "

"What name shall we take, then? I must know, for they may ask me at thestation. "

He reflected for a moment and then said: "We'll take your maiden name, mother. It will bring us good luck. Our new lodgings shall be hired inthe name of the Widow Maumejan. "

They talked for some time longer, anxious to take every precautionthat prudence could suggest. And when they were convinced that they hadforgotten nothing, Madame Ferailleur suggested that Pascal should startoff. But before doing so he had a sacred duty to perform. "I must warnMarguerite, " he muttered. And seating himself at his desk, he wrote hisbeloved a concise and exact account of the events which had taken place. He told her of the course he intended to pursue; and promised herthat she should know his new abode as soon as he knew it himself. Inconclusion, he entreated her to grant him an interview, in which hecould give her the full particulars of the affair and acquaint herwith his hopes. As for exculpating himself, even by so much as a singleword--as for explaining the snare he had been the victim of, the ideanever once occurred to him. He was worthy of Mademoiselle Marguerite;he knew that not a doubt would disturb the perfect faith she had in hishonor. 

Leaning over her son's shoulder, Madame Ferailleur read what he hadwritten. "Do you intend to trust this letter to the post?" sheinquired. "Are you sure, perfectly sure, that it will reach MademoiselleMarguerite, and not some one else who might use it against you?"

Pascal shook his head. "I know how to insure its safe receipt, " hereplied. "Some time ago, Marguerite told me that if ever any great perilthreatened us, I might call for the housekeeper at the Chalusse mansionand intrust my message to her. The danger is sufficiently great tojustify such a course in the present instance. So I shall pass down theRue de Courcelles, ask to see Madame Leon, and give her this letter. Have no fear, my dear mother. "

As he spoke, he began to pack all the legal documents which had beenconfided to him into a large box, which was to be carried to one of hisformer friends, who would distribute the papers among the people theybelonged to. He next made a small bundle of the few important privatepapers and valuables he possessed; and then, ready for the sacrifice, he took a last survey of the pleasant home where success had smiled sofavorably upon his efforts, where he had been so happy, and where hehad cherished such bright dreams of the future. Overcome by a flood ofrecollections, the tears sprang to his eyes. He embraced his mother, andfled precipitately from the house. 

"Poor child!" murmured Madame Ferailleur; "poor Pascal!"

Was she not also to be pitied? This was the second time within twentyyears that a thunderbolt had fallen on her in the full sunlight ofhappiness. And yet now, as on the day following her husband's death, shefound in her heart the robust energy and heroic maternal constancy whichenable one to rise above every misfortune. It was in a firm voice thatshe ordered her servant to go in search of the nearest furniture dealer, no matter which, provided he would pay cash. And when the man arrivedshe showed him through the rooms with stoical calmness. God alone knewhow intensely she was suffering. And yet while she was waiting for thedealer, each piece of furniture had acquired an extraordinary value inher eyes. It seemed to her as if each object were a part of herself, andwhen the man turned and twisted a chair or a table she almost consideredit a personal affront. 

The rich, who are accustomed from birth to the luxury that surroundsthem, are ignorant of the terrible sufferings which attend such casesas these. The persons who do suffer are those of the middle classes, notthe parvenus, but those who bid fair to become parvenus when misfortuneovertook them. Their hearts bleed when inexorable necessity deprivesthem of all the little comforts with which they had gradually surroundedthemselves, for there is not an object that does not recall a longungratified desire, and the almost infantile joy of possession. Whathappiness they felt on the day when they purchased that large arm-chair!How many times they had gone to admire those velvet curtains in theshop windows before buying them! Those carpets represented months ofself-denial. And that pretty clock--ah! they had fancied it would onlyherald the flight of prosperous and pleasant hours. And all these thingsthe dealer handles, and shakes, and jeers at, and depreciates. He willscarcely condescend to purchase. Who would care to buy such trash?He knows that the owner is in need of money, and he profits by thisknowledge. It is his business. "How much did this cost you?" he asks, ashe inspects one piece of furniture after another. 

"So much. "

"Well, you must have been terribly cheated. "

You know very well that if there is a cheat in the world, it is thissame man; but what can you say? Any other dealer you might send forwould act in the same way. Now, Madame Ferailleur's furniture had costsome ten thousand francs; and, although it was no longer new, it wasworth at least a third of that sum. But she obtained only seven hundredand sixty francs for it. It is true, however, that she was in haste, andthat she was paid cash. 

Nine o'clock was striking when her trunks were at last piled on a cab, and she called out to the driver: "Take me to the Place du Havre--to therailway station. " Once before, when defrauded by a scoundrel, she hadbeen obliged to part with all her household treasures. Once before shehad left her home, taking merely the wreck of her fortune with her. Butwhat a difference between then and now!

Then, the esteem and sympathy of all who knew her was hers, and theadmiring praise she received divested the sacrifice of much of itsbitterness, and increased her courage two-fold. Now, she was flyingsecretly, and alone, under an assumed name, trembling at the thoughtof pursuit or recognition--flying as a criminal flies at thought of hiscrime, and fear of punishment. She had far less suffered on the day, when, with her son upon her knees, she journeyed to the cemetery, following all that was mortal of the man who had been her only thought, her love, her pride, her happiness, and hope. Though crushed by thesense of her irreparable loss, she had not rebelled against the handthat struck her; but now it was human wickedness that assailed herthrough her son, and her suffering was like that of the innocent man whoperishes for want of power to prove his innocence. Her husband's deathhad not caused her such bitter tears as her son's dishonor. She who wasso proud, and who had such good reason to be proud, she could note theglances of scorn she was favored with as she left her home. She heardthe insulting remarks made by some of her neighbors, who, like so manyfolks, found their chief delight in other people's misfortunes. 

"Crocodile tears, " some had exclaimed. "She is going to meet her son;and with what he has stolen they will live like princes in America. "Rumor, which enlarges and misrepresents everything, had, indeed, absurdly exaggerated the affair at Madame d'Argeles's house. It wasreported in the Rue d'Ulm that Pascal had spent every night at thegaming table for more than five years; and that, being an incomparabletrickster, he had stolen millions. 

Meanwhile, Madame Ferailleur was approaching the station. The cab horsesoon slackened its pace to climb the acclivity of the Rue d'Amsterdam;and shortly afterward the vehicle drew up in the courtyard of therailway station. Faithfully observing the directions which had beengiven her, the worthy woman had her trunks taken to the baggage-room, declaring that she should not leave Paris until the next day, whereuponshe received a receipt from the man in charge of the room. She wasoppressed by vague apprehensions, and looked closely at every one whopassed her; fearing the presence of spies, and knowing full well thatthe most profound secrecy could alone insure the success of Pascal'splans. However, she did not see a single suspicious looking person. Some Englishmen--those strange travellers, who are at the same time sofoolishly prodigal and so ridiculously miserly--were making a great hueand cry over the four sous gratuity claimed by a poor commissionaire;but these were the only persons in sight. 

Partially reassured, Madame Ferailleur hastily ascended the staircase, and entered the large waiting-room. It was here that Pascal had promisedto meet her; but, though she looked round on all sides, she did notperceive him. Still, this delay did not alarm her much; nor was it atall strange, since Pascal had scarcely known what he would have to dowhen he left the house. She seated herself on a bench, as far back inthe shade as possible and gazed sadly at the ever-changing throng, whenall of a sudden she was startled by a man, who abruptly paused in frontof her. This man proved to be Pascal. But his hair had been closely cut, and he had shaved off his beard. And thus shorn, with his smooth face, and with a brown silk neckerchief in lieu of the white muslin tie heusually wore, he was so greatly changed that for an instant his ownmother did not recognize him. "Well?" asked Madame Ferailleur, as sherealized his identity. 

"I have succeeded. We have secured such rooms as I wished for. "

"Where?"

"Ah!--a long way off, my poor mother--many a league from those we haveknown and loved--in a thinly populated part of the suburbs, on the Routede la Revolte, just outside the fortifications, and almost at the pointwhere it intersects the Asnieres road. You will not be very comfortablethere, but you will have the pleasure of a little garden. "

She rose, summoning all her energy. "What does it matter where or whatour abode is?" she interrupted, with forced gayety. "I am confident thatwe shall not remain there long. "

But it seemed as if her son did not share her hopes, for he remainedsilent and dejected; and as his mother observed him closely, she fanciedby the expression of his eyes, that some new anxiety had been added toall his other troubles. 

"What is the matter?" she inquired, unable to master her alarm--"whathas happened?"

"Ah! a great misfortune!"

"My God! still another?"

"I have been to the Rue de Courcelles; and I have spoken to MadameLeon. "

"What did she say?"

"The Count de Chalusse died this morning. "

Madame Ferailleur drew a long breath, as if greatly relieved. She wascertainly expecting to hear something very different, and she didnot understand why this death should be a great misfortune to thempersonally. One point, however, she did realize, that it was imprudent, and even dangerous, to carry on this conversation in a hall where ahundred persons were passing and repassing every minute. So she took herson's arm, and led him away, saying: "Come, let us go. "

Pascal had kept the cab which he had been using during the afternoon;and having installed his mother inside, he got in himself, and gave hisnew address to the driver. "Now tell me all, " said Madame Ferailleur. 

Poor Pascal was in that state of mind in which it costs one actualsuffering to talk; but he wished to mitigate his mother's anxiety asmuch as possible; and moreover, he did not like her to suppose himwanting in endurance. So, with a powerful effort, he shook off thelethargy that was creeping over him, and in a voice loud enough to beheard above the noise of the carriage wheels, he began: "This is whatI have done, mother, since I left you. I remembered that some time ago, while I was appraising some property, I had seen three or four houseson the Route de la Revolte, admirably suited to our present wants. Naturally I went there first. A suite of rooms was vacant in one ofthese houses. I have taken it; and in order that nothing may interferewith the liberty of my movements, I have paid six months' rent inadvance. Here is the receipt, drawn up in the name we shall henceforthbear. " So saying, he showed his mother a document in which the landlorddeclared that he had received from M. Maumejan the sum of three hundredand fifty francs for two quarters' rent, etc. "My bargain concluded, " heresumed, "I returned into Paris, and entered the first furniture shopI saw. I meant to hire the necessary things to furnish our littlehome, but the dealer made all sorts of objections. He trembled for hisfurniture, he wanted a sum of money to be deposited as security, or theguarantee of three responsible business men. Seeing this, and knowingthat I had no time to lose, I preferred to purchase such articles aswere absolutely necessary. One of the conditions of the purchase wasthat everything should be in the house and in its place by eleveno'clock to-night. As I stipulated in writing that the dealer shouldforfeit three hundred francs in case he failed to fulfil his agreement, I can rely upon his punctuality; I confided the key of our lodgings tohim, and he must now be there waiting for us. "

So, before thinking of his love, and Mademoiselle Marguerite, Pascal hadtaken the necessary measures for the execution of his plan to regain hislost honor. Madame Ferailleur had scarcely supposed him capable of somuch courage and firmness, and she rewarded him with a warm pressure ofthe hand. Then, as he was silent: "When did you see Madame Leon, then?"she asked. 

"When all the household arrangements were completed, mother. On leavingthe furniture-shop, I found that I had still an hour and a quarterbefore me. I could defer no longer, and at the risk of obliging you towait for me, I hastened to the Rue de Courcelles. "

It was evident that Pascal felt extreme embarrassment in speaking ofMademoiselle Marguerite. There is an instinctive delicacy and dislike ofpublicity in all deep passion, and true and chaste love is everaverse to laying aside the veil with which it conceals itself from theinquisitive. Madame Ferailleur understood this feeling; but she was amother, and as such, jealous of her son's tenderness, and anxious forparticulars concerning this rival who had suddenly usurped her place inthe heart where she had long reigned supreme. She was also a woman--thatis to say, distrustful and suspicious in reference to all other women. So, without taking pity on Pascal's embarrassment, she urged him tocontinue. 

"I gave the driver five francs on condition that he would hurry hishorses, " he resumed, "and we were rattling along at a rapid rate, when, suddenly, near the Hotel de Chalusse, I noticed a change in the motionof the vehicle. I looked out and saw that we were driving over a thicklayer of straw which had been spread across the street. I can scarcelydescribe my feelings on seeing this. A cold perspiration came over me--Ifancied I saw Marguerite in agony, dying--far from me, and calling me invain. Without waiting for the vehicle to stop, I sprang to the ground, and was obliged to exercise all my self-control to prevent myself fromrushing into the concierge's lodge, and wildly asking: 'Who is dyinghere?' But an unforeseen difficulty presented itself. It was evidentthat I ought not to go in person to inquire for Madame Leon. Whom couldI send? There were no commissionaires at the street corners, and nothingwould have induced me to confide the message to any of the lads in theneighboring wine-shops. Fortunately, my driver--the same who is drivingus now--is an obliging fellow, and I intrusted him with the commission, while I stood guard over his horses. Ten minutes later, Madame Leon leftthe house and came to meet me. I knew her at once, for I had seen her ahundred times with Marguerite when they lived near the Luxembourg; andhaving seen me pass and repass so often, she recognized me in spiteof my changed appearance. Her first words, 'M. De Chalusse is dead, 'relieved my heart of a terrible weight. I could breathe again. But shewas in such haste that she could not stop to tell me any particulars. Still I gave her my letter, and she promised me a prompt reply fromMarguerite. Everybody will be up and moving about the house to-night, and she said she could easily make her escape for a few moments. So, athalf-past twelve to-night she will be at the little garden gate, and ifI am promptly at hand, I shall have a reply from Marguerite. "

Madame Ferailleur seemed to be expecting something more, and as Pascalremained silent, she remarked: "You spoke of a great misfortune. In whatdoes it consist? I do not perceive it. "

With an almost threatening gesture, and in a gloomy voice, he answered:"The misfortune is this: if it had not been for this abominableconspiracy, which has dishonored me, Marguerite would have been my wifebefore a month had elapsed, for now she is free, absolutely free to obeythe dictates of her own will and heart. "

"Then why do you complain?"

"Oh, mother! don't you understand? How can I marry her? Would it beright for me to think of offering her a dishonored name? It seems to methat I should be guilty of a most contemptible act--of something evenworse than a crime--if I dared speak to her of my love and our futurebefore I have crushed the villains who have ruined me. "

Regret, anger, and the consciousness of his present powerlessness drewfrom him tears which fell upon Madame Ferailleur's heart like moltenlead; but she succeeded in concealing her agony. "All the more reason, "she answered, almost coldly, "why you should not lose a second, butdevote all your energy and intelligence to the work of justification. "

"Oh, I shall have my revenge, never fear. But in the meantime, what isto become of HER? Think, mother, she is alone in the world, without asingle friend. It is enough to drive one mad!"

"She loves you, you tell me. What have you to fear? Now she will befreed from the persecutions of the suitor they intended to force uponher, whom she has spoken to you about--the Marquis de Valorsay, is itnot?"

This name sent Pascal's blood to his brain. "Ah, the scoundrel!" heexclaimed. "If there was a God in heaven----"

"Wretched boy!" interrupted Madame Ferailleur; "you blaspheme whenProvidence has already interposed on your behalf. And who suffers mostat this moment, do you think?--you, strong in your innocence, or themarquis, who realizes that he has committed an infamous crime in vain?"

The sudden stopping of the cab put an end to their conversation. Leaving the Route d'Asnieres, the driver had turned into the Route de laRevolte, and had drawn up in front of an unpretentious two-storied housewhich stood entirely alone. "We have arrived, mother, " said Pascal. 

A man, who was standing on the threshold, stepped forward to openthe cab door. It was the furniture-dealer. "Here you are at last, M. Maumejan, " said he. "Come in, and you'll see that I've strictlyfulfilled the conditions of our contract. " His words proved true. He waspaid the sum stipulated, and went away satisfied. 

"Now, my dear mother, " said Pascal, "allow me to do the honors of thepoor abode I have selected. "

He had taken only the ground floor of this humble dwelling. The storyabove, which had an independent entrance and staircase, was occupiedby the quiet family of the owner. Although the space was small, thearchitect had made the most of it. He had divided it into four smallrooms, separated by a corridor; and the kitchen looked out upon a littlegarden about four times as large as an ordinary sheet. The furniturewhich Pascal had purchased was more than plain; but it was well suitedto this humble abode. It had just been brought in, but any one wouldhave supposed it had been in its place for a couple of years. 

"We shall be very comfortable here, " declared Madame Ferailleur. "Yes, very comfortable. By to-morrow evening you won't recognize the place. I have saved a few trifles from the wreck--some curtains, a couple oflamps, a clock--you'll see. It's wonderful how much four trunks can bemade to hold. "

When his mother set him such a noble example Pascal would have blushedto allow himself to be outdone. He very quietly explained the reasonswhich had influenced him in choosing these rooms, the principal onebeing that there was no concierge, and he was therefore assured absoluteliberty in his movements, as well as entire immunity from indiscreetgossip. "Certainly, my dear mother, " he added, "it is a lonely andunattractive neighborhood; but you will find all the necessaries of lifenear at hand. The owner of the house lives on the floor above. I havetalked with the wife--they seem to be honest, quiet people--and she willpilot you about. I inquired for some one to do the heavy work, and shementioned a poor woman named Vantrasson, who lives in the neighborhood, and who is anxious to obtain employment. They were to inform her thisevening, and you will see her to-morrow. And above all, don't forgetthat you are henceforth Madame Maumejan. "

Occupied with these arrangements for the future, he was still talking, when Madame Ferailleur, drawing out her watch, gently remarked: "Andyour appointment? You forget that the cab is waiting at the door. "

It was true; he had forgotten it. He caught up his hat, hastilyembraced his mother, and sprang into the vehicle. The horses were almostexhausted, but the driver was so willing that he found a means of makingthem trot as far as the Rue de Courcelles. However, on arriving there, he declared that his animals and himself could endure no more, and afterreceiving the amount due to him, he departed. 

The air was chilly, the night dark, and the street deserted. The gloomysilence was only disturbed at long intervals by the opening or shuttingof a door, or by the distant tread of some belated pedestrian. Having atleast twenty minutes to wait, Pascal sat down on the curbstone oppositethe Hotel de Chalusse, and fixed his eyes upon the building as if hewere striving to penetrate the massive walls, and see what was passingwithin. Only one window--that of the room where the dead man waslying--was lighted up, and he could vaguely distinguish the motionlessform of a woman standing with her forehead pressed against the paneof glass. A prey to the indescribable agony which seizes a man whenhe feels that his life is at stake--that his future is about to beirrevocably decided--Pascal counted the seconds as they passed by. Hefound it impossible to reflect, to deliberate, to decide on any planof action. He forgot the tortures he had endured during the lasttwenty-four hours; Coralth, Valorsay, Madame d'Argeles, the baron, nolonger existed for him. He forgot his loss of honor and position, andthe disgrace attached to his name. The past was annihilated, as itwere, and he could think of no future beyond the next few moments. Hisphysical condition undoubtedly contributed to his mental weakness. Hehad taken no food that day, and he was faint from want of nourishment. He had come without an overcoat, moreover, and the cold night airchilled him to the bone. There was a strange ringing in his ears, anda mist swam before his eyes. At last the bell at the Beaujon Hospitaltolled the appointed hour, and roused him from his lethargy. He seemedto hear a voice crying to him in the darkness, "Up! the hour has come!"

Trembling, and with tottering limbs, he dragged himself to the littlegate opening into the gardens of the Chalusse mansion. Soon it softlyopened, and Madame Leon appeared. Ah! it was not she that Pascal hadhoped to see. Unfortunate man! He had been listening to that mysteriousecho of our own desires which we so often mistake for a presentiment;and it had whispered in his heart: "Marguerite herself will come!"

With the candor of wretchedness, he could not refrain from tellingMadame Leon the hope he had entertained. But, on hearing him, thehousekeeper recoiled with a gesture of outraged propriety, andreproachfully exclaimed: "What are you thinking of, monsieur? What!could you suppose that Mademoiselle Marguerite would abandon her placeby her dead father's bedside to come to a rendezvous? Ah! you shouldthink better of her than that, the dear child!"

He sighed deeply, and in a scarcely audible voice, he asked: "Hasn't sheeven sent me a reply?"

"Yes, monsieur, she has; and although it is a great indiscretion on mypart, I bring you the letter. Here it is. Now, good-evening. I must goat once. What would become of me if the servants discovered my absence, and found that I had gone out alone----"

She was hurrying away, but Pascal detained her. "Pray wait until I seewhat she has written, " he said, imploringly. "I shall perhaps be obligedto send her some message in reply. "

Madame Leon obeyed, though with rather bad grace, and not withoutseveral times repeating: "Make haste!"--while Pascal ran to a streetlamp near by. It was not a letter that Marguerite had sent him, buta short note, written on a scrap of crumpled paper, folded, and notsealed. It was written in pencil; and the handwriting was irregular andindistinct. Still, by the flickering light of the gas, Pascal decipheredthe word "Monsieur. " It made him shudder. "Monsieur!" What did thismean? In writing to him of recent times, Marguerite had always said, "Mydear Pascal, " or, "My friend. "

Nevertheless, he continued: "I have not had the courage to resist theentreaties made to me by the Count de Chalusse, my father, in his lastagony. I have solemnly pledged myself to become the wife of the Marquisde Valorsay. 

"One cannot break a promise made to the dying. I shall keep mine, eventhough my heart break. I shall do my duty. God will give me strength andcourage. Forget her whom you loved. She is now the betrothed of another, and honor commands her to forget your very name. Once more, and for thelast time, farewell! If you love me, you will not try to see me again. It would only add to my misery. 

"Think as though she were dead--she who signs herself--MARGUERITE. "

The commonplace wording of this letter, and the mistakes in spellingthat marred it, entirely escaped Pascal's notice. He only understood onething, that Marguerite was lost to him, and that she was on the point ofbecoming the wife of the vile scoundrel who had planned the snare whichhad ruined him at the Hotel d'Argeles. Breathless, despairing, and halfcrazed with rage, he sprang toward Madame Leon. "Marguerite, where isshe?" he demanded, in a hoarse, unnatural voice; "I must see her!"

"Oh! monsieur, what do you ask? Is it possible? Allow me to explainto you----" But the housekeeper was unable to finish her sentence, forPascal had caught her by the hands, and holding them in a vicelike grip, he repeated: "I must see Marguerite, and speak to her. I must tell herthat she has been deceived; I will unmask the scoundrel who----"

The frightened housekeeper struggled with all her might, trying her bestto reach the little gate which was standing open. "You hurt me!" shecried. "Are you mad? Let me go or I shall call for help?" And twiceindeed she shouted in a loud voice, "Help! murder!"

But her cries were lost in the stillness of the night. If any oneheard them, no one came; still they recalled Pascal to a sense of thesituation, and he was ashamed of his violence. He released Madame Leon, and his manner suddenly became as humble as it had been threatening. "Excuse me, " he said, entreatingly. "I am suffering so much that Idon't know what I'm doing. I beseech you to take me to MademoiselleMarguerite, or else run and beg her to come here. I ask but a moment. "

Madame Leon pretended to be listening attentively; but, in reality, shewas quietly manoeuvring to gain the garden gate. Soon she succeeded indoing so, whereupon, with marvellous strength and agility, she pushedPascal away, and sprang inside the garden, closing the gate after her, and saying as she did so, "Begone, you scoundrel!"

This was the final blow; and for more than a minute Pascal stoodmotionless in front of the gate, stupefied with mingled rage and sorrow. His condition was not unlike that of a man who, after falling to thebottom of a precipice, is dragging himself up, all mangled and bleeding, swearing that he will yet save himself, when suddenly a heavy stonewhich he had loosened in his descent, falls forward and crushes him. Allthat he had so far endured was nothing in comparison with the thoughtthat Valorsay would wed Marguerite. Was such a thing possible? WouldGod permit such a monstrous iniquity? "No, that shall never be, " hemuttered. "I will murder the scoundrel rather; and afterward justice maydo whatever it likes with me. "

He experienced that implacable, merciless thirsting for vengeancewhich does not even recoil before the commission of a crime to securesatisfaction, and this longing inflamed him with such energy that, although he had been so utterly exhausted a few moments before--he wasnot half an hour in making his way back to his new home. His mother, whowas waiting for him with an anxious heart, was surprised by the flushon his cheeks, and the light glittering in his eyes. "Ah, you bring goodnews, " she exclaimed. 

His only answer was to hand her the letter which Madame Leon had givenhim, saying as he did so, "Read. "

Madame Ferailleur's eyes fell upon the words: "Once more, and for thelast time, farewell!" She understood everything, turned very pale, andin a trembling voice exclaimed: "Don't grieve, my son; the girl did notlove you. "

"Oh, mother! if you knew----"

But she checked him with a gesture, and lifting her head proudly, shesaid: "I know what it is to love, Pascal--it is to have perfect faith. If the whole world had accused your father of a crime, would a singledoubt of his innocence have ever entered my mind? This girl has doubtedyou. They have told her that you cheated at cards--and she has believedit. You have failed to see that this oath at the bedside of the dyingcount is only an excuse. "

It was true; the thought had not occurred to Pascal. "My God!" he criedin agony; "are you the only one who believes in my innocence?"

"Without proofs--yes. It must be your task to obtain these proofs. "

"And I shall obtain them, " he rejoined, in a tone of determination. "Iam strong now that I have Marguerite's life to defend--for they havedeceived her, mother, or she would never have given me up. Oh! don'tshake your head. I love her, and so I trust her. "

XVII. 

M. Isidore Fortunat was not the man to go to sleep over a plan when itwas once formed. Whenever he said to himself, "I'll do this, or that, "he did it as soon as possible--that very evening, rather than the nextday. Having sworn that he would find out Madame d'Argeles's son, theheir to the Count de Chalusse's millions, it did not take him longto decide which of his agents he would select to assist him in thisdifficult task. Thus his first care, on returning home, was to ask hisbookkeeper for Victor Chupin's address. 

"He lives in the Faubourg Saint-Denis, " replied the bookkeeper, "atNo. --. "

"Very well, " muttered M. Fortunat; "I'll go there as soon as I haveeaten my dinner. " And, indeed, as soon as he had swallowed his coffee, he requested Madame Dodelin to bring him his overcoat, and half an hourlater he reached the door of the house where his clerk resided. 

The house was one of those huge, ungainly structures, large enoughto shelter the population of a small village, with three or fourcourtyards, as many staircases as there are letters in the alphabet, and a concierge who seldom remembers the names of the tenants except onquarter-days when he goes to collect the rent, and at New Year, when heexpects a gratuity. But, by one of those lucky chances made expresslyfor M. Fortunat, the porter did recollect Chupin, knew him and waskindly disposed toward him, and so he told the visitor exactly how andwhere to find him. It was very simple. He had only to cross the firstcourtyard, take staircase D, on the left-hand side, ascend to the sixthfloor, go straight ahead, etc. , etc. 

Thanks to this unusual civility, M. Fortunat did not lose his way morethan five times before reaching the door upon which was fastened a bitof pasteboard bearing Victor Chupin's name. Noticing that a bell-ropehung beside the door, M. Fortunat pulled it, whereupon there was atinkling, and a voice called out, "Come in!" He complied, and foundhimself in a small and cheaply furnished room, which was, however, radiant with the cleanliness which is in itself a luxury. The waxedfloor shone like a mirror; the furniture was brilliantly polished, andthe counterpane and curtains of the bed were as white as snow. Whatfirst attracted the agent's attention was the number of superfluousarticles scattered about the apartment--some plaster statuettes oneither side of a gilt clock, an etagere crowded with knickknacks, andfive or six passable engravings. When he entered, Victor Chupin wassitting, in his shirt-sleeves, at a little table, where, by the light ofa small lamp, and with a zeal that brought a flush to his cheeks, he wascopying, in a very fair hand a page from a French dictionary. Near thebed, in the shade, sat a poorly but neatly clad woman about forty yearsof age, who was knitting industriously with some long wooden needles. 

"M. Victor Chupin?" inquired M. Fortunat. 

The sound of his voice made the young man spring to his feet. He quicklylifted the shade from his lamp, and, without attempting to conceal hisastonishment, exclaimed: "M'sieur Fortunat!--at this hour! Where'sthe fire?" Then, in a grave manner that contrasted strangely withhis accustomed levity: "Mother, " said he, "this is one of my patrons, M'sieur Fortunat--you know--the gentleman whom I collect for. "

The knitter rose, bowed respectfully, and said: "I hope, sir, that youare pleased with my son, and that he's honest. "

"Certainly, madame, " replied the agent; "certainly. Victor is one of mybest and most reliable clerks. "

"Then I'm content, " said the woman, reseating herself. 

Chupin also seemed delighted "This is my good mother, sir, " said he. "She's almost blind now; but, in less than six months she will be ableto stand at her window and see a pin in the middle of the street, sothe physician who is treating her eyes promised me; then we shall beall right again. But take a seat, sir. May we venture to offer youanything?"

Although his clerk had more than once alluded to his responsibilities, M. Fortunat was amazed. He marvelled at the perfume of honesty whichexhaled from these poor people, at the dignity of this humble woman, andat the protecting and respectful affection evinced by her son--a youngman, whose usual tone of voice and general behavior had seemed toindicate that he was decidedly a scapegrace. "Thanks, Victor, " hereplied, "I won't take any refreshment. I've just left the dinner-table. I've come to give you my instructions respecting a very important andvery urgent matter. "

Chupin at once understood that his employer wished for a privateinterview. Accordingly, he took up the lamp, opened a door, and, in thepompous tone of a rich banker who is inviting some important personageto enter his private room, he said: "Will you be kind enough to stepinto my chamber, m'sieur?"

The room which Chupin so emphatically denominated his "chamber" was atiny nook, extraordinarily clean, it is true, but scantily furnishedwith a small iron bedstead, a trunk, and a chair. He offered the chairto his visitor, placed the lamp on the trunk, and seated himself on thebed, saying as he did so: "This is scarcely on so grand a scale as yourestablishment, m'sieur; but I am going to ask the landlord to gild thewindow of my snuff-box. "

M. Fortunat was positively touched. He held out his hand to his clerkand exclaimed: "You're a worthy fellow, Chupin. "

"Nonsense, m'sieur, one does what one can; but, zounds! how hard it isto make money honestly! If my good mother could only see, she wouldhelp me famously, for there is no one like her for work! But you see onecan't become a millionaire by knitting!"

"Doesn't your father live with you?"

Chupin's eyes gleamed angrily. "Ah! don't speak of that man to me, m'sieur!" he exclaimed, "or I shall hurt somebody. " And then, as if hefelt it necessary to explain and excuse his vindictive exclamation, headded: "My father, Polyte Chupin, is a good-for-nothing scamp. And yethe's had his opportunities. First, he was fortunate enough to find awife like my mother, who is honesty itself--so much so that she wascalled Toinon the Virtuous when she was young. She idolized him, andnearly killed herself by working to earn money for him. And yet heabused her so much, and made her weep so much, that she has becomeblind. But that's not all. One morning there came to him--I don't knowwhence or how--enough money for him to have lived like a gentleman. Ibelieve it was a munificent reward for some service he had rendered agreat nobleman at the time when my grandmother, who is now dead, kept adramshop called the Poivriere. Any other man would have treasured thatmoney, but not he. What he did was to carouse day and night, and all thewhile my poor mother was working her fingers to the bone to earn foodfor me. She never saw a penny of all his money; and, indeed, once whenshe asked him to pay the rent, he beat her so cruelly that she was laidup in bed for a week. However, monsieur, you can very readily understandthat when a man leads that kind of life, he speedily comes to the end ofhis banking account. So my father was soon without a penny in his purse, and then he was obliged to work in order to get something to eat, andthis didn't suit him at all. But when he didn't know where to find acrust he remembered us; he sought us out, and found us. Once I lent hima hundred sous; the next day he came for forty more, and the next forthree francs; then for five francs again. And so it was every day: 'Giveme this, or give me that!' At last I said, 'Enough of this, the bank'sclosed!' Then, what do you think he did? He watched the house until hesaw me go out; then he came in with a second-hand furniture-dealer, and tried to sell everything, pretending that he was the master. Andmy poor, dear mother would have allowed him to do it. Fortunately, Ihappened to come in again. Let him sell my furniture? Not I. I wouldsooner have been chopped in pieces! I went and complained to thecommissary of police, who made my father leave the house, and since thenwe've lived in peace. "

Certainly this was more than sufficient to explain and excuse VictorChupin's indignation. And yet he had prudently withheld the most seriousand important cause of his dislike. What he refrained from tellingwas that years before, when he was still a mere child, without will ordiscernment, his father had taken him from his mother, and had startedhim down that terrible descent, which inevitably leads one to prison orthe gallows, unless there be an almost miraculous interposition on one'sbehalf. This miracle had occurred in Chupin's case; but he did not boastof it. 

"Come, come!" said M. Fortunat, "don't worry too much about it. Afather's a father after all, and yours will undoubtedly reform by andby. "

He said this as he would have said anything else, out of politeness andfor the sake of testifying a friendly interest; but he really cared nomore for this information concerning the Chupin family than the grandTurk. His first emotion had quickly vanished; and he was beginning tofind these confidential disclosures rather wearisome. "Let us get backto business, " he remarked; "that is to say, to Casimir. What did you dowith the fool after my departure?"

"First, monsieur, I sobered him; which was no easy task. The greedyidiot had converted himself into a wine-cask! At last, however, when hecould talk as well as you and I, and walk straight, I took him back tothe Hotel de Chalusse. "

"That was right. But didn't you have some business to transact withhim?"

"That's been arranged, monsieur; the agreement has been signed. Thecount will have the best of funerals--the finest hearse out, with sixhorses, twenty-four mourning coaches--a grand display, in fact. It willbe worth seeing. "

M. Fortunat smiled graciously. "That ought to bring you a handsomecommission, " he said, benignly. 

Employed by the job, Chupin was the master of his own time, free toutilize his intelligence and industry as he chose, but M. Fortunat didnot like his subordinates to make any money except through him. Hencehis approval, in the present instance, was so remarkable that itawakened Chupin's suspicions. "I shall make a few sous, probably, " hemodestly replied, "a trifle to aid my good mother in keeping the potboiling. "

"So much the better, my boy, " said M. Fortunat. "I like to see moneygained by those who make a good use of it. And to prove this, I'mabout to employ you in an affair which will pay you handsomely if youprosecute it successfully. "

Chupin's eyes brightened at first but grew dark a moment afterward, fordelight had been quickly followed by a feeling of distrust. He thoughtit exceedingly strange that an employer should take the trouble to climbto a sixth floor merely for the purpose of conferring a favor on hisclerk. There must be something behind all this; and so it behove him tokeep his eyes open. However, he knew how to conceal his real feelings;and it was with a joyous air that he exclaimed: "Eh! What? Money? Now?What must I do to earn it?"

"Oh! a mere trifle, " replied the agent; "almost nothing, indeed. " Anddrawing his chair nearer to the bed on which his employee was seated, he added: "But first, one question, Victor. By the way in which a womanlooks at a young man in the street, at the theatre or anywhere--wouldyou know if she were watching her son?"

Chupin shrugged his shoulders. "What a question!" he retorted. "Nonsense! monsieur, it would be impossible to deceive me. I should onlyhave to remember my mother's eyes when I return home in the evening. Poor woman! although she's half blind, she sees me--and if you wishto make her happy, you've only to tell her I'm the handsomest and mostamiable youth in Paris. "

M. Fortunat could not refrain from rubbing his hands, so delighted washe to see his idea so perfectly understood and so admirably expressed. "Good!" he declared; "very good! That's intelligence, if I am any judge. I have not been deceived in you, Victor. "

Victor was on fire with curiosity. "What am I to do, monsieur?" he askedeagerly. 

"This: you must follow a woman whom I shall point out to you, follow hereverywhere without once losing sight of her, and so skilfully as not tolet her suspect it. You must watch her every glance, and when her eyestell you that she is looking at her son, your task will be nearly over. You will then only have to follow this son, and find out his name andaddress, what he does, and how he lives. I don't know if I explain whatI mean very clearly. "

This doubt was awakened in M. Fortunat's mind by Chupin's features, which were expressive of lively astonishment and discontent. "Excuse me, monsieur, " he said, at last, "I do not understand at all. "

"It's very simple, however. The lady in question has a son about twenty. I know it--I'm sure of it. But she denies it; she conceals the fact, andhe doesn't even know her. She secretly watches over him, however--sheprovides him with money, and every day she finds some way of seeing him. Now, it is to my interest to find this son. "

Chupin's mobile face became actually threatening in its expression; hefrowned darkly, and his lips quivered. Still this did not prevent M. Fortunat from adding, with the assurance of a man who does not evensuspect the possibility of a refusal: "Now, when shall we set about ourtask?"

"Never!" cried Chupin, violently; and, rising, he continued: "No! Iwouldn't let my good mother eat bread earned in that way--it wouldstrangle her! Turn spy! I? Thanks--some one else may have the job!" Hehad become as red as a turkey-cock, and such was his indignation that heforgot his accustomed reserve and the caution with which he had so farconcealed his antecedents. "I know this game--I've tried it!" he wenton, vehemently. "One might as well take one's ticket to prison by adirect road. I should be there now if it hadn't been for Monsieur Andre. I was thirsting for gold, and, like the brigand that I was, I shouldhave killed the man; but in revenge he drew me from the mire and placedmy feet on solid ground once more. And now, shall I go back to my viletricks again? Why, I'd rather cut my leg off! I'm to hunt down this poorwoman--I'm to discover her secret so that you may extort money from her, am I? No, not I! I should like to be rich, and I shall be rich; but I'llmake my money honestly. I hope to touch my hundred-franc pieces withoutbeing obliged to wash my hands afterward. So, a very good evening toyour establishment. "

M. Fortunat was amazed, and at the same time much annoyed, to findhimself forsaken on account of such a trifle. He feared, too, thatChupin might let his tongue wag if he left his employment. So, since hehad confided this project to Chupin, he was determined that Chupin aloneshould carry it into execution. Assuming his most severe and injuredmanner, he sternly exclaimed: "I think you have lost your senses. "His demeanor and intonation were so perfectly cool that Chupin seemedslightly abashed. "It seems that you think me capable of urging you tocommit some dangerous and dishonorable act, " continued M. Fortunat. 

"Why--no--m'sieur--I assure you. "

There was such evident hesitation in the utterance of this "no" that theagent at once resumed: "Come, you are not ignorant of the fact thatin addition to my business as a collector, I give my attention to thediscovery of the heirs of unclaimed estates? You are aware of this?Very well then: pray tell me how I am to find them without searching forthem? If I wish this lady to be watched, it is only in view of reachinga poor lad who is likely to be defrauded of the wealth that rightfullybelongs to him. And when I give you a chance to make forty or fiftyfrancs in a couple of days, you receive my proposition in this style!You are an ingrate and a fool, Victor!"

Chupin's nature combined, in a remarkable degree, the vices andpeculiarities of the dweller in the Paris faubourgs, who is born old, but who, when aged in years, still remains a gamin. In his youth he hadseen many strange things, and acquired a knowledge of life that wouldhave put the experience of a philosopher to shame. But he was not fit tocope with M. Fortunat, who had an immense advantage over him, by reasonof his position of employer, as well as by his fortune and education. So Chupin was both bewildered and disconcerted by the cool arguments hispatron brought forward; and what most effectually allayed his suspicionswas the small compensation offered for the work--merely forty or fiftyfrancs. "Small potatoes, upon my word!" he thought. "Just the price ofan honest service; he would have offered more for a piece of rascality. "So, after considering a moment, he said, aloud: "Very well; I'm yourman, m'sieur. "

M. Fortunat was secretly laughing at the success of his ruse. Havingcome with the intention of offering his agent a handsome sum, he wasagreeably surprised to find that Chupin's scruples would enable him tosave his money. "If I hadn't found you engaged in study, Victor, " hesaid, "I should have thought you had been drinking. What venomous insectstung you so suddenly? Haven't I confided similar undertakings to youtwenty times since you have been in my employment? Who ransacked Paristo find certain debtors who were concealing themselves? Who discoveredthe Vantrassons for me? Victor Chupin. Very well. Then allow me to saythat I see nothing in this case in any way differing from the others, nor can I understand why this should be wrong, if the others were not. "

Chupin could only have answered this remark by saying that there hadbeen no mystery about the previous affairs, that they had not beenproposed to him late at night at his own home, and that he had actedopenly, as a person who represents a creditor has a recognized rightto act. But, though he felt that there WAS a difference in the presentcase, it would have been very difficult for him to explain in what thisdifference consisted. Hence, in his most resolute tone: "I'm only afool, m'sieur, " he declared; "but I shall know how to make amends for myfolly. "

"That means you have recovered your senses, " said M. Fortunat, ironically. "Really, that's fortunate. But let me give you one bitof advice: watch yourself, and learn to bridle your tongue. You won'talways find me in such a good humor as I am this evening. "

So saying, he rose, passed out into the adjoining room, bowed civillyto his clerk's mother, and went off. His last words, as he crossed thethreshold, were, "So I shall rely upon you. Be at the office to-morrow alittle before noon. "

"It's agreed m'sieur. "

The blind woman had risen, and had bowed respectfully; but, as soon asshe was alone with her son, she asked: "What is this business he bidsyou undertake in such a high and mighty tone?"

"Oh! an every-day matter, mother. "

The old woman shook her head. "Why were you talking so loud then?" sheinquired. "Weren't you quarrelling? It must be something very grave whenit's necessary to conceal it from me. I couldn't see your employer'sface, my son; but I heard his voice, and it didn't please me. It isn'tthe voice of an honest, straightforward man. Take care, Toto, and don'tallow yourself to be cajoled--be prudent. "

However, it was quite unnecessary to recommend prudence to VictorChupin. He had promised his assistance, but not without a mentalreservation. "No need to see danger till it comes, " he had said tohimself. "If the thing proves to be of questionable propriety after all, then good-evening; I desert. "

It remains to know what he meant by questionable propriety; the meaningof the expression is rather vague. He had returned in all honesty andsincerity of purpose to an honest life, and nothing in the world wouldhave induced him, avaricious though he was, to commit an act that waspositively wrong. Only the line that separates good from evil was notvery clearly defined in his mind. This was due in a great measure to hiseducation, and to the fact that it had been long before he realized thatpolice regulations do not constitute the highest moral law. It was duealso to chance, and, since he had no decided calling, to the necessityof depending for a livelihood upon the many strange professions whichimpecunious and untrained individuals, both of the higher and lowerclasses, adopt in Paris. 

However, on the following morning he arrayed himself in his bestapparel, and at exactly half-past eleven o'clock he rang at hisemployer's door. M. Fortunat had made quick work with his clients thatmorning, and was ready, dressed to go out. He took up his hat and saidonly the one word, "Come. " The place where the agent conducted hisclerk was the wine-shop in the Rue de Berry, where he had made inquiriesrespecting Madame d'Argeles the evening before; and on arriving there, he generously offered him a breakfast. Before entering, however, hepointed out Madame d'Argeles's pretty house on the opposite side of thestreet, and said to him: "The woman whom you are to follow, and whoseson you are to discover, will emerge from that house. "

At that moment, after a night passed in meditating upon his mother'sprophetic warnings, Chupin was again beset by the same scruples whichhad so greatly disturbed him on the previous evening. However, theysoon vanished when he heard the wine-vendor, in reply to M. Fortunat'sskilful questions, begin to relate all he knew concerning Madame Liad'Argeles, and the scandalous doings at her house. The seeker after lostheirs and his clerk were served at a little table near the door;and while they partook of the classical beef-steak and; potatoes--M. Fortunat eating daintily, and Chupin bolting his food with the appetiteof a ship-wrecked mariner--they watched the house opposite. 

Madame d'Argeles received on Saturdays, and, as Chupin remarked, "therewas a regular procession of visitors. "

Standing beside M. Fortunat, and flattered by the attention which sucha well-dressed gentleman paid to his chatter, the landlord of the housementioned the names of all the visitors he knew. And he knew a goodnumber of them, for the coachmen came to his shop for refreshments whentheir masters were spending the night in play at Madame d'Argeles'shouse. So he was able to name the Viscount de Coralth, who dashed up tothe door in a two-horse phaeton, as well as Baron Trigault, who came onfoot, for exercise, puffing and blowing like a seal. The wine-vendor, moreover, told his customers that Madame d'Argeles never went out beforehalf-past two or three o'clock, and then always in a carriage--a pieceof information which must have troubled Chupin; for, as soon as thelandlord had left them to serve some other customers, he leant forwardand said to M. Fortunat: "Did you hear that? How is it possible to tracka person who's in a carriage?"

"By following in another vehicle, of course. "

"Certainly, m'sieur; that's as clear as daylight. But that isn't thequestion. The point is this: How can one watch the face of a person whoturns her back to you? I must see this woman's face to know whom shelooks at, and how. "

This objection, grave as it appeared, did not seem to disturb M. Fortunat. "Don't worry about that, Victor, " he replied. "Under suchcircumstances, a mother wouldn't try to see her son from a rapidlymoving carriage. She will undoubtedly alight, and contrive some means ofpassing and repassing him--of touching him, if possible. Your task willonly consist in following her closely enough to be on the ground as soonas she is. Confine your efforts to that; and if you fail to-day, you'll succeed to-morrow or the day after--the essential thing is to bepatient. "

He did better than to preach patience--he practised it. The hours woreaway, and yet he did not stir from his post, though nothing could havebeen more disagreeable to him than to remain on exhibition, as it were, at the door of a wine-shop. At last, at a little before three o'clock, the gates over the way turned upon their hinges, and a dark-bluevictoria, in which a woman was seated, rolled forth into the street. "Look!" said M. Fortunat, eagerly. "There she is!"

XVIII. 

The woman in the carriage was none other than Madame Lia d'Argeles. She was attired in one of those startling costumes which are the ragenowadays, and which impart the same bold and brazen appearance to allwho wear them: so much so, that the most experienced observers areno longer able to distinguish the honest mother of a family from anotorious character. A Dutchman, named Van Klopen, who was originally atailor at Rotterdam, rightfully ascribes the honor of this progress tohimself. One can scarcely explain how it happens that this individual, who calls himself "the dressmaker of the queens of Europe, " has becomethe arbiter of Parisian elegance; but it is an undeniable fact thathe does reign over fashion. He decrees the colors that shall be worn, decides whether dresses shall be short or long, whether paniers shallbe adopted or discarded, whether ruches and puffs and flowers shall beallowed, and in what form; and his subjects, the so-called elegant womenof Paris, obey him implicitly. 

Madame d'Argeles would personally have preferred less finery, perhaps, but it would not have done for her to be out of the fashion. She wore animperceptible hat, balanced on an immense pyramidal chignon, from whichescaped a torrent of wavy hair. "What a beautiful woman!" exclaimed thedazzled Chupin, and indeed, seen from this distance, she did not look aday more than thirty-five--an age when beauty possesses all the alluringcharm of the luscious fruit of autumn. She was giving orders for thedrive, and her coachman, with a rose in his buttonhole, listened whilehe reined in the spirited horse. "The weather's superb, " added Chupin. "She'll no doubt drive round the lakes in the Bois de Boulogne----"

"Ah, she's off!" interrupted M. Fortunat. "Run, Victor, run! anddon't be miserly as regards carriage hire; all your expenses shall beliberally refunded you. "

Chupin was already far away. Madame d'Argeles's horse went swiftlyenough, but the agent's emissary had the limbs and the endurance of astag, and he kept pace with the victoria without much difficulty. Andas he ran along, his brain was busy. "If I don't take a cab, " he said tohimself, "if I follow the woman on foot, I shall have a perfect right topocket the forty-five sous an hour--fifty, counting the gratuity--that acab would cost. "

But on reaching the Champ Elysees, he discovered, to his regret, that this plan was impracticable, for on running down the Avenue del'Imperatrice after the rapidly driven carriage, he could not fail toattract attention. Stifling a sigh of regret, and seeing a cab at astand near by, he hastily hailed it. "Where do you want to go, sir?"inquired the driver. 

"Just follow that blue victoria, in which a handsome lady is seated, mygood fellow. "

The order did not surprise the cabman, but rather the person who gaveit; for in spite of his fine apparel, Chupin did not seem quite theman for such an adventure. "Excuse me, " said the Jehu, in a slightlyironical tone, "I----"

"I said exactly what I mean, " retorted Chupin, whose pride was severelywounded. "And no more talk--hurry on, or we shall miss the track. "

This last remark was correct, for if Madame d'Argeles's coachman had notslackened his horse's speed on passing round the Arc de Triomphe, thewoman would have escaped Chupin, for that day at least. However, thiscircumstance gave the cabman an opportunity to overtake the victoria;and after that the two vehicles kept close together as they proceededdown the Avenue de l'Imperatrice. But at the entrance of the Bois deBoulogne Chupin ordered his driver to stop. "Halt!" he exclaimed; "Ishall get out. Pay the extra cab charges for passing beyond the limitsof Paris!--never! I'll crawl on my hands and knees first. Here are fortysous for your fare--and good-evening to you. "

And, as the blue victoria was already some distance in advance, hestarted off at the top of his speed to overtake it. This manoeuvre wasthe result of his meditations while riding along. "What will this finelady do when she gets to the Bois?" he asked himself. "Why, her coachmanwill take his place in the procession, and drive her slowly round andround the lakes. Meantime I can trot along beside her without attractingattention--and it will be good for my health. "

His expectations were realized in every respect. The victoria soonturned to the left, and took its place in the long line of equipageswhich were slowly winding round the lake. Having gained the foot-pathwhich borders the sheet of water, Chupin followed the carriage easilyenough, with his hands in his pockets, and his heart jubilant at thethought that he would gain the sum supposed to have been spent in cabhire, in addition to the compensation which had been promised him. "Thisis a strange way of enjoying one's self, " he muttered, as he trottedalong. "There can't be much pleasure in going round and round this lake. If ever I'm rich, I'll find some other way of amusing myself. "

Poor Chupin did not know that people do not go to the Bois to enjoythemselves, but rather to torment others. This broad drive is in realityonly a field for the airing of vanity--a sort of open-air bazaar forthe display of dresses and equipages. People come here to see and tobe seen; and, moreover, this is neutral ground, where so-called honestwomen can meet those notorious characters from whom they are elsewhereseparated by an impassable abyss. What exquisite pleasure it must be tothe dames of society to find themselves beside Jenny Fancy or NinetteSimplon, or any other of those young ladies whom they habituallycall "creatures, " but whom they are continually talking of, and whosetoilettes, make-up, and jargon, they assiduously copy!

However, Chupin indulged in none of these reflections. He was engaged innoting Madame d'Argeles's evident anxiety and restlessness. She lookedeagerly on all sides, sometimes half leaning out of her carriage, andimmediately turning her head whenever she heard the gallop of a horsemanbehind her. She was evidently looking or waiting for some one, but theperson did not make his appearance, and so, growing weary of waiting, after driving three times round the lake, she made a sign to hercoachman, who at once drew out of line, and turned his horse into aside-path. Chupin hastened after the victoria, keeping it in sight untilhe was fortunate enough to meet an empty cab, which he at once hired. Madame d'Argeles's coachman, who had received his orders, now drove downthe Champs Elysees, again crossed the Place de la Concorde, turned intothe boulevards, and stopped short at the corner of the Chaussee d'Antin, where, having tied a thick veil over her face, Madame Lia abruptlyalighted and walked away. 

This was done so quickly that Chupin barely had time to fling two francsto his driver and rush after her. She had already turned round thecorner of the Rue du Helder, and was walking rapidly up the street. It was a little after five o'clock, and dusk was setting in. Madamed'Argeles had taken the side of the street allotted to the unevennumbers. After she had passed the Hotel de Homburg, she slackened herpace, and eagerly scrutinized one of the houses opposite--No. 48. Herexamination lasted but a moment, and seemed to be satisfactory. She thenturned, and rapidly retraced her steps as far as the boulevard, when, crossing the street to the side of the even numbers, she walked up itagain very slowly, stopping before every shop-window. 

Convinced that he had almost reached the goal, Chupin also crossed, and followed closely at her heels. He soon saw her start and resume herrapid gait. A young man was coming toward her so quickly indeed that shehad not time to avoid him, and a collision ensued, whereupon the youngman gave vent to an oath, and hurling an opprobrious epithet in herface, passed on. 

Chupin shuddered. "What if that should be her son?" he thought. Andwhile he pretended to be gazing into a shop window, he stealthilywatched the poor woman. She had paused, and he was so near that hecould almost have touched her. He saw her raise her veil and follow herinsulter with a look which it was impossible to misunderstand. "Oh! oh!It was her son that called her that----" said Chupin to himself, quitehorrified. And without more ado, he hastened after the young man. 

He was between two and four-and-twenty years of age, rather above themedium height, with very light hair and an extremely pale complexion. His slight mustache would have been almost imperceptible if it had notbeen dyed several shades darker than his hair. He was attired with thatstudied carelessness which many consider to be the height of elegance, but which is just the reverse. And his bearing, his mustache, andhis low hat, tipped rakishly over one ear, gave him an arrogant, pretentious, rowdyish appearance. "Zounds! that fellow doesn't suit myfancy, " growled Chupin, as he trotted along. For he was almost runningin his efforts to keep pace with Madame d'Argeles's insulter. Thelatter's haste was soon explained. He was carrying a letter which hewished to have delivered, and no doubt he feared he would not be ableto find a commissionaire. Having discovered one at last, he called him, gave him the missive, and then pursued his way more leisurely. 

He had reached the boulevard, when a florid-faced youth, remarkablyshort and stout, rushed toward him with both hands amicably extended, at the same time crying, loud enough to attract the attention of thepassers-by: "Is it possible that this is my dear Wilkie?"

"Yes--alive and in the flesh, " replied the young man. 

"Well, and what the devil have you been doing with yourself? LastSunday, at the races, I looked for you everywhere, and not a vestigeof Wilkie was to be found. However, you were wise not to go. I am threehundred louis out of pocket. I staked everything on Domingo, the Marquisde Valorsay's horse. I thought I was sure to win--yes, sure. Well, Domingo came in third. Can you understand that? If every one didn't knowthat Valorsay was a millionaire, it might be supposed there had beensome foul play--yes, upon my word--that he had bet against his ownhorse, and forbidden his jockey to win the race. " But the speaker didnot really believe this, so he continued, more gayly: "Fortunately, I shall retrieve my losses to-morrow, at Vincennes. Shall we see youthere?"

"Probably. "

"Then good-by, until to-morrow. "

"Until to-morrow. "

Thereupon they shook hands, and each departed on his way. 

Chupin had not lost a word of this conversation. "Valorsay amillionaire!" he said to himself. "That's good! Ah, well! now I knowmy little gamecock's name, and I also know that he goes to the races. Wilkie that must be an English name; I like the name of d'Argelesbetter. But where the devil is he going now?"

M. Wilkie had simply paused to replenish his cigar-case at the tobaccooffice of the Grand Hotel; and, after lighting a cigar, he came outagain, and walked up the boulevard in the direction of the FaubourgMontmartre. He was no longer in a hurry now; he strolled along in viewof killing time, displaying his charms, and staring impudently at everywoman who passed. With his shoulders drawn up on a level with his ears, and his chest thrown back, he dragged his feet after him as if hislimbs were half paralyzed; he was indeed doing his best to create theimpression that he was used up, exhausted, broken down by excesses anddissipation. For that is the fashion--the latest fancy--chic!

"Will you never have done?" growled Chupin. 

"You shall pay for this, you little wretch!" He was so indignant thatthe gamin element in his nature stirred again under his fine broadcloth, and he had a wild longing to throw stones at M. Wilkie. He wouldcertainly have trodden on his heels, and have picked a quarrel with him, had it not been for a fear of failing in his mission, and thereby losinghis promised reward. 

He followed his man closely, for the crowd was very great. Light wascoming on, and the gas was lit on all sides. The weather was very mild, and there was not an unoccupied table in front of the cafes, for it wasnow the absinthe hour. How does it happen that every evening, betweenfive and seven o'clock, every one in Paris who is known--who is somebodyor something--can be found between the Passage de l'Opera and thePassage Jouffroy? Hereabout you may hear all the latest news and gossipof the fashionable world, the last political canards--all the incidentsof Parisian life which will be recorded by the papers on the followingmorning. You may learn the price of stocks, and obtain tips forto-morrow's Bourse; ascertain how much Mademoiselle A's necklace cost, and who gave it to her; with the latest news from Prussia; and the nameof the bank chairman or cashier who has absconded during the day, andthe amount he has taken with him. 

The crowd became more dense as the Faubourg Montmartre was approached, but Wilkie made his way through the throng with the ease of an oldboulevardier. He must have had a large circle of acquaintances, forhe distributed bows right and left, and was spoken to by five or sixpromenaders. He did not pass the Terrasse Jouffroy, but, pausing there, he purchased an evening paper, retraced his steps, and about seveno'clock reached the Cafe Riche, which he entered triumphantly. He didnot even touch the rim of his hat on going in--that would have beenexcessively BAD form; but he called a waiter, in a very loud voice, and imperiously ordered him to serve dinner on a table near the window, where he could see the boulevard--and be seen. 

"And now my little fighting-cock is going to feed, " thought Chupin. He, too, was hungry; and he was trying to think of some modest restaurantin the neighborhood, when two young men passed near him and glanced intothe cafe. 

"Look, there's Wilkie!" observed one of them. 

"That's so, upon my word!" responded the other. "And he has money, too;fortune has smiled upon him. "

"How do you know that?"

"Why, by watching the fellow; one can tell the condition of his purseas correctly as he could himself. If his funds are low, he has his mealsbrought to his room from a cook-shop where he has credit; his mustachedroops despondingly; he is humble even to servility with his friends, and he brushes his hair over his forehead. When he is in averagecircumstances, he dines at Launay's, waxes his mustache, and brushes hishair back from his face. But when he dines at the Cafe Riche, my boy, when he has dyed his mustache, and tips his hat over his ear, anddeports himself in that arrogant fashion, why, he has at least five orsix thousand francs in his pocket, and all is well with him. "

"Where does he get his money from?"

"Who can tell?"

"Is he rich?"

"He must have plenty of money--I lent him ten louis once, and he paid meback. "

"Zounds! He's a very honorable fellow, then. " Thereupon the two youngmen laughed, and passed on. 

Chupin had been greatly edified. "Now I know you as well as if I wereyour concierge, " he muttered, addressing the unconscious Wilkie; "andwhen I've followed you home, and learned your number, I shall haverichly earned the fifty francs M. Fortunat promised me. " As well as hecould judge through the windowpane, M. Wilkie was eating his dinnerwith an excellent appetite. "Ah!" he exclaimed, not without envy, "thesefighting-cocks take good care of their stomachs. He's there for an hourat least, and I shall have time to run and swallow a mouthful myself. "

So saying, Chupin hastened to a small restaurant in a neighboringstreet, and magnificently disbursed the sum of thirty-nine sous. Suchextravagance was unusual on his part, for he had lived very frugallysince he had taken a vow to become rich. Formerly, when he lived fromhand to mouth--to use his own expression--he indulged in cigars and inabsinthe; but now he contented himself with the fare of an anchorite, drank nothing but water, and only smoked when some one gave him a cigar. Nor was this any great privation to him, since he gained a penny byit--and a penny was another grain of sand added to the foundation of hisfuture wealth. However, this evening he indulged in the extravagance ofa glass of wine, deciding in his own mind that he had fairly earned it. 

When he returned to his post in front of the Cafe Riche, M. Wilkie wasno longer alone at his table. He was finishing his coffee in the companyof a man of his own age, who was remarkably good-looking--almost toogood-looking, in fact--and a glance at whom caused Chupin to exclaim:"What! what! I've seen that face somewhere before--". But he racked hisbrain in vain in trying to remember who this newcomer was, in trying toset a name on this face, which was positively annoying in its classicalbeauty, and which he felt convinced had occupied a place among thephantoms of his past. Irritated beyond endurance by what he termed hisstupidity, he was trying to decide whether he should enter the cafe ornot, when he saw M. Wilkie take his bill from the hands of a waiter, glance at it, and throw a louis on the table. His companion had drawnout his pocketbook for the ostensible purpose of paying for the coffeehe had taken; but Wilkie, with a cordial gesture, forbade it, andmade that magnificent, imperious sign to the waiter, which so clearlyimplies: "Take nothing! All is paid! Keep the change. " Thereupon theservant gravely retired, more than ever convinced of the fact thatvanity increases the fabulous total of Parisian gratuities by more thana million francs a year. 

"My gallant youths are coming out, " thought Chupin. "I must keep my earsopen. " And approaching the door, he dropped on one knee, and pretendedto be engaged in tying his shoestrings. This is one of the thousandexpedients adopted by spies and inquisitive people. And when a man isfoolish enough to tell his secrets in the street, he should at least bewise enough to distrust the people near him who pretend to be absorbedin something else; for in nine cases out of ten these persons arelistening to him, possibly for pay, or possibly from curiosity. 

However, the young men whom Chupin was watching were far from suspectingthat they were under surveillance. M. Wilkie came out first, talkingvery loud, as often happens when a man has just partaken of a gooddinner, and is blessed with an excellent digestion. "Come, Coralth, my good fellow, you won't desert me in this way? I have a box for theVarietes, and you must go with me. We'll see if Silly imitates Theresaas perfectly as they say. "

"But I have an appointment. "

"Oh, well, let it wait. Come, viscount, is it agreed?"

"Ah, you do with me just as you like. "

"Good! But, first of all let us take a glass of beer to finish ourcigars. And do you know whom you will find in my box?"

At this moment they passed, and Chupin rose to his feet. "Coralth, " hemuttered, "Viscount de Coralth. He's not one of our clients. Let me see, Coralth. This is certainly the first time I have ever heard the name. Can it be that I'm mistaken? Impossible!"

The more he reflected, the more thoroughly he became convinced of theaccuracy of his first impression, consoling himself with the thoughtthat a name has but a slight significance after all. His preoccupationhad at least the advantage of shortening the time which he spent inpromenading to and fro, while the friends sat outside a cafe smoking anddrinking. It was still M. Wilkie who monopolized the conversation, whilehis companion listened with his elbow resting on the table, occasionallynodding his head in token of approbation. One thing that incensed Chupinwas that they loitered there, when one of them had a ticket for a box atthe theatre in his pocket. 

"Idiots!" he growled; "they'll wait till the play's half over beforethey go in. And then they'll let the doors slam behind them for theexpress purpose of disturbing everybody. Fools, go!"

As if they had heard the command, they rose suddenly, and an instantafter they entered the Varietes. They entered, but Chupin remained onthe pavement, scratching his head furiously, in accordance with hishabit whenever he wished to develop his powers of imagination. He wastrying to think how he might procure admission to the theatre withoutpaying for it. For several years he had seen every play put upon thestage in Paris, without spending a sou, and he felt that it would beactually degrading to purchase a ticket at the office now. "Pay to see afarce!" he thought. "Not I. I must know some one here--I'll wait for theentr'acte. "

The wisdom of this course became apparent when among those who left thetheatre at the close of the first act he recognized an old acquaintance, who was now working on the claque, [3] and who at once procured hima ticket of admission for nothing. "Well, it is a good thing to havefriends everywhere, " he muttered, as he took the seat assigned him. 

It was a very good place they had given him--a seat in the secondgallery commanding an excellent view of the house. The first glancearound told him that his "customers, " as he styled them, were in abox exactly opposite. They were now in the company of two damsels instartling toilettes, with exceedingly dishevelled yellow hair, who movedrestlessly about, and giggled and stared, and tried in every possibleway to attract attention. And their stratagem succeeded. However, thisdid not seem to please the Viscount de Coralth, who kept himself as farback in the shade as he possibly could. But young Wilkie was evidentlydelighted, and seemed manifestly proud of the attention which the publicwas compelled to bestow upon his box. He offered himself as much aspossible to the gaze of the audience; moved about, leaned forward, andmade himself fully as conspicuous as his fair companions. Less than everdid Chupin now forgive Wilkie for the insult he had cast in the face ofMadame Lia d'Argeles, who was probably his mother. 

As for the play, M. Fortunat's emissary did not hear twenty words of it. He was so overcome with fatigue that he soon fell asleep. The noise andbustle of each entr'acte aroused him a little, but he did not thoroughlywake up until the close of the performance. His "customers" were stillin their box, and M. Wilkie was gallantly wrapping the ladies in theircloaks and shawls. In the vestibule, he and M. De Coralth were joined byseveral other young men, and the whole party adjourned to a neighboringcafe. "These people are certainly afflicted with an unquenchablethirst, " growled Chupin. "I wonder if this is their everyday life?"

He, too, was thirsty after his hastily eaten dinner; and necessityprevailing over economy, he seated himself at a table outside the cafe, and called for a glass of beer, in which he moistened his parched lipswith a sigh of intense satisfaction. He sipped the beverage slowly, inorder to make it last the longer, but this did not prevent his glassfrom becoming dry long before M. Wilkie and his friends were ready toleave. "It seems to me we are going to stay here all night, " he thought, angrily. 

His ill-humor was not strange under the circumstances, for it was oneo'clock in the morning; and after carrying all the tables and chairsround about, inside, a waiter came to ask Chupin to go away. All theother cafes were closing too, and the fastening of bolts or the clankingof shutter chains could be heard on every side. On the pavement stoodgroups of waiters in their shirt-sleeves, stretching and yawning, and inhaling the fresh night air with delight. The boulevard was fastbecoming deserted--the men were going off in little groups, and femaleforms could be seen gliding along in the dark shadow cast by the houses. The police were watching everywhere, with a word of menace ever readyon their lips; and soon the only means of egress from the cafes werethe narrow, low doorways cut in the shutters through which the lastcustomers--the insatiable, who are always ordering one thimbleful moreto finish--passed out. 

It was through a portal of this sort that M. Wilkie and his companionsat last emerged, and on perceiving them, Chupin gave a grunt ofsatisfaction. "At last, " he thought, "I can follow the man to his door, take his number, and go home. "

But his joy was short-lived, for M. Wilkie proposed that the whole partyshould go and take supper. M. De Coralth demurred to the idea, but theothers over-ruled his objections, and dragged him away with them. 

XIX. 

"Ah! this is a bad job!" growled Chupin. "Go, go, and never stop!"

What exasperated him even more than his want of sleep was the thoughtthat his good mother must be waiting for him at home in an agony ofanxiety; for since his reformation he had become remarkably regular inhis habits. What should he do? "Go home, " said Reason; "it will be easyenough to find this Wilkie again. There can be little doubt that helives at No. 48, in the Rue du Helder. " "Remain, " whispered Avarice;"and, since you have accomplished so much, finish your work. M. Fortunatwon't pay for conjectures, but for a certainty. "

Love of money carried the day; so, weaving an interminable chaplet ofoaths, he followed the party until they entered Brebant's restaurant, one of the best known establishments which remain open at night-time. Itwas nearly two o'clock in the morning now; the boulevard was silent anddeserted, and yet this restaurant was brilliantly lighted from top tobottom, and snatches of song and shouts of laughter, with the clatterof knives and forks and the clink of glasses, could be heard through thehalf opened windows. 

"Eight dozen Marennes for No. 6, " shouted a waiter to the man who openedoysters near the restaurant door. 

On hearing this order, Chupin shook his clenched fist at the stars. "Thewretches!" he muttered through his set teeth; "bad luck to them! Thoseoysters are for their mouths, plainly enough, for there are eight ofthem in all, counting those yellow-haired women. They will, no doubt, remain at table until six o'clock in the morning. And they call thisenjoying themselves. And meanwhile, poor little Chupin must wear out hisshoe-leather on the pavement. Ah! they shall pay for this!"

It ought to have been some consolation to him to see that he was notalone in his misery, for in front of the restaurant stood a dozen cabswith sleepy drivers, who were waiting for chance to send them one ofthose half-intoxicated passengers who refuse to pay more than fifteensous for their fare, but give their Jehu a gratuity of a louis. Allthese vehicles belonged to the peculiar category known as "nightcabs"--dilapidated conveyances with soiled, ragged linings, and drawn byhalf-starved, jaded horses. 

However, Chupin neither thought of these vehicles, nor of the poorhorses, nor, indeed, of the drivers themselves. His wrath had beensucceeded by philosophical resignation; he accepted with good grace whathe could not avoid. As the night air had become very cool, he turned upthe collar of his overcoat, and began to pace to and fro on the pavementin front of the restaurant. He had made a hundred turns perhaps, passingthe events of the day in review, when suddenly such a strange andstartling idea flashed across his mind that he stood motionless, lostin astonishment. Reflecting on the manner in which M. Wilkie and theViscount de Coralth had behaved during the evening, a singular suspicionassailed him. While M. Wilkie gradually lost his wits, M. De Coralthhad become remarkably cold and reserved. He had seemed to oppose all M. Wilkie's propositions; but he had agreed to them at last, so that hisobjections had produced much the same effect as a stimulant. It seemedthen as if M. De Coralth had some strange interest in wishing to gainascendency over his friend. At least such was Chupin's opinion. "Oh, oh!" he murmured. "What if HE should be working up the same littlescheme? What if he were acquainted with Madame Lia d'Argeles? What if heknew that there's a fortune waiting for a claimant? I shouldn't at allbe surprised if I found that he wanted to cook his bread in our oven. But father Fortunat wouldn't be pleased with the news. Ah! no--hewouldn't even smile----"

While carrying on this little conversation with himself, he stood justin front of the restaurant, looking up into the air, when all of asudden a window was thrown noisily open, and the figures of two menbecame plainly visible. They were engaged in a friendly struggle; one ofthem seemed to be trying to seize hold of something which the other hadin his hand, and which he refused to part with. One of these men was M. Wilkie as Chupin at once perceived. "Good!" he said to himself; "this isthe beginning of the end!"

As he spoke, M. Wilkie's hat fell on the window-sill, slipped off, anddropped on to the pavement below. With a natural impulse Chupin pickedit up, and he was turning it over and over in his hands, when M. Wilkieleant out of the window and shouted in a voice that was thick with wine:"Halloo! Eh, there! Who picked up my hat? Honesty shall be rewarded. Aglass of champagne and a cigar for the fellow who'll bring it me in roomNo. 6. "

Chupin hesitated. By going up, he might, perhaps, compromise the successof his mission. But on the other hand his curiosity was aroused, andhe very much wished to see, with his own eyes, how these young men wereamusing themselves. Besides, he would have an opportunity of examiningthis handsome viscount, whom he was certain he had met before, though hecould not tell when or where. In the meantime, M. Wilkie had perceivedhim. 

"Come, you simpleton!" he cried; "make haste. You can't be verythirsty. "

The thought of the viscount decided Chupin. Entering the restaurantand climbing the staircase, he had just reached the landing when apale-looking man, who had a smoothly-shaven face and was dressed inblack, barred his way and asked: "What do you want?"

"M'sieur, here's a hat which fell from one of your windows and----"

"All right, hand it here. "

But Chupin did not seem to hear this order. He was beginning a longexplanation, when a curtain near by was pushed aside, and M. Wilkiecalled out: "Philippe! eh, Philippe!--bring me the man who picked up myhat. "

"Ah!" said Chupin, "you see, m'sieur, that he asks for me. "

"Very well, " said Philippe. "Go on, then. " And raising the portiere hepushed Chupin into room No. 6. 

It was a small, square apartment, with a very low ceiling. Thetemperature was like that of a furnace, and the glare of the gaslightsalmost blinded one. The supper was over, but the table had not yet beencleared, and plates full of leavings showed that the guests had fairlyexhausted their appetites. Still, with the exception of M. Wilkie, everyone present seemed to be terribly bored. In one corner, with her headresting on a piano, sat one of the yellow-haired damsels, fast asleep, while, beside the window, M. De Coralth was smoking with his elbowspropped upon the table. The four other young men were looking onphlegmatically. "Ah! here's my hat, " exclaimed M. Wilkie, as soon asChupin appeared. "Wait and receive your promised reward. " Andthereupon he rang the bell, crying at the top of his voice: "Henry, you sleepy-head--a clean glass and some more of the widow Cliquot'schampagne!"

Several bottles were standing upon the table, only half empty, andone of M. Wilkie's friends called his attention to this fact, but heshrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "You must take me for a fool, " hesaid, contemptuously. "A man doesn't drink stale wine when he has theprospect of such an inheritance as is coming to me. "

"Wilkie!" interrupted M. De Coralth, quickly; "Wilkie!"

But he was too late; Chupin had heard and understood everything. Hisconjectures had proved correct. M. Wilkie knew his right to the estate;M. Fortunat had been forestalled by the viscount, and would merelyhave his labor for his pains. "No chance for the guv'nor!" thought theagent's emissary. "And what a blow after the De Valorsay affair! It'senough to give him the jaundice!"

For a youth of his age, Chupin controlled his feelings admirably; butthe revelation came so suddenly that he had started despite himself, andchanged color a trifle. M. De Coralth saw this; and, though he was farfrom suspecting the truth, his long repressed anger burst forth. He roseabruptly, took up a bottle, and filling the nearest glass, he rudelyexclaimed: "Come, drink that--make haste--and clear out!"

Victor Chupin must have become very sensitive since his conversion. Informer times he was not wont to be so susceptible as to lose his temperwhen some one chanced to address him in a rather peremptory manner, orto offer him wine out of the first available glass. But M. De Coralthinspired him with one of those inexplicable aversions which cannot berestrained "Eh! tell me if it's because we've drank champagne togetherbefore that you talk to me like that?" the young fellow retorted, savagely. 

It was only a random shot, but it reached home. The viscount seemedtouched to the quick. "You hear that, Wilkie, " said he. "This will teachyou that the time of your compatriot, Lord Seymour, has passed by. Thegood-humored race of plebeians who respectfully submitted to the blowswith which noblemen honored them after drinking, has died out. Thisought to cure you of your unfortunate habit of placing yourself on termsof equality with all the vagabonds you meet. "

Chupin's hair fairly bristled with anger. "What! what!" he exclaimed;"I'll teach you to call me a vagabond, you scoundrel!"

His gesture, his attitude, and his eyes were so expressive of defianceand menace that two of the guests sprang up and caught him by the arm. "Go, go, " they said. 

But he freed himself from their grasp. "Go!" he replied. "Never! Hecalled me a vagabond. Am I to pocket the insult quietly and walk offwith it? You can scarcely expect that. First, I demand an apology. "

This was asking too much of the Viscount de Coralth. "Let the foolalone, " he remarked, with affected coolness, "and ring for the waitersto kick him out. "

It did not require this new insult to put Chupin in a furious passion. "Come on!" he exclaimed. "Ah, ha! Where's the fellow who'll turn me out?Let him come. I'll teach him a lesson!" And as he spoke he squared hisshoulders, inflated his chest, and threw the weight of his entire bodyon his left leg, after the most approved method of sparring-masters. 

"Go, go!" insisted Wilkie's friends. 

"Yes, I'll go with pleasure, but your friend must go, too. Is he a man?Then let him come, and we'll settle this outside. " And seeing that theywere again trying to seize him: "Hands off!" he thundered, "or I'llstrike. You were not obliged to invite me here. It isn't my business tofurnish amusement to parties who've drunk too much wine. And whyshould you despise me? It's true I haven't any money while you haveplenty--that I work and you carouse. Still that's no reason whyyou should scorn me. Besides, those who are poor in the morning aresometimes rich in the evening. Every dog has his day. I have an ideathat I shall have some coin when yours is all gone. Then it will bemy turn to laugh; and as I'm a good-natured fellow, I will give you myhalf-smoked cigars. "

M. Wilkie seemed delighted. He had climbed on to the piano and seatedhimself, with his feet on the keyboard; and there, as on a judgmentseat, he listened and applauded, alternately taking Chupin's part, andthen the viscount's. "Bravo, gamin!" or, "Give it to him, Coralth!" heshouted in turn. 

This irritated the viscount exceedingly. "I see that we shall be obligedto call in the police to settle the affair, " he said, sneeringly. 

"The police!" roared Chupin. "Ah! that won't do, you scamp--" But hisvoice died away in his throat, and he stood motionless, speechless, withhis arm raised as if he were about to strike, and his eyes dilated withastonishment. 

For a change of expression in M. De Coralth's face had enlightened him;and he suddenly recollected when and under what circumstances he hadknown this so-called viscount. He remembered, too, the name he had bornewhen he first met him. "Oh!" he stammered; "oh! oh!"

However, the effect of this discovery was to dispel his anger, or ratherto restore his calmness, and, addressing M. De Coralth, he exclaimed:"Don't be angry at what I've said, m'sieur; it was only a jest--Iknow that there's a wide difference between a poor devil like me and aviscount like you--I haven't a sou, you see, and that maddens me. ButI'm not so very bad-looking, fortunately, and I'm always hoping thatthe daughter of some rich banker will fall in love with me and marry me. Some people have such luck, you know. If I meet with any you may be sureI shall pass myself off as the lost child of some great personage--ofa duke, for instance--and if the real son exists, and troubles me, whyI'll quietly put him out of the way, if possible. "

With but one exception the persons present did not understand a singleword of this apparent nonsense; and indeed the yellow-haired damselsstared at the speaker in amazement. Still it was evident that each ofthese words had a meaning, and a terrible meaning for M. De Coralth. Accustomed for years to control his features, he remained apparentlyunmoved--he even smiled; but a close observer could have detectedanguish in his eyes, and he had become very pale. At last, unable toendure the scene any longer, he drew a hundred-franc bank-note fromhis pocketbook, crumpled it in his hand and threw it at Chupin, saying:"That's a very pretty story you are telling, my boy; but we've hadenough of it. Take your pay and leave us. "

Unfortunately, the note struck Chupin full in the face. He uttered ahoarse cry of rage, and, by the way in which he seized and brandished anempty bottle, it might have been imagined that M. De Coralth was aboutto have his head broken. But no. Thanks to a supreme effort of will, Chupin conquered this mad fury; and, dropping the bottle, he remarkedto the young women who were uttering panic-stricken shrieks: "Be quiet;don't you see that I was only in fun. "

But even M. Wilkie had found the fun a little rough, and even dangerous. Several of the young fellows present sprang up, with the evidentintention of pushing Chupin out of the room, but he checked them witha gesture. "Don't disturb yourselves, gentlemen, " he said. "I'm going, only let me find the bank-note which this gentleman threw at me. "

"That's quite proper, " replied M. Wilkie, approvingly; "look for it. "

Chupin did so, and at last found it lying almost under the piano. "Now, "he remarked, "I should like a cigar. "

A score or so were lying in a dish. He gravely selected one of themand coolly cut off the end of it before placing it in his mouth. Those around watched him with an air of profound astonishment, notunderstanding this ironical calmness following so closely upon such astorm of passion. Then he, Victor Chupin, who had, it seems to me, butone aim in life--to become rich--Victor Chupin, who loved money aboveanything else, and had stifled all other passions in his soul--he whooften worked two whole days to earn five francs--he who did not disdainto claim his five sous when he went to hire a cab for his employer--he, Chupin, twisted the bank-note in his fingers, lit it at the gas, andused it to light his cigar. 

"Ah! he's crazy!" murmured the yellow-haired damsels, with despair intheir voices. 

But M. Wilkie was enthusiastic. "There's form!" said he. "Fine form andno mistake!"

But Chupin did not even deign to turn his head. He opened the door, andstanding on the threshold, he bowed to M. De Coralth with an ironicalsmile. "Until we meet again, Monsieur Paul, " said he. "And kindlyremember me to Madame Paul, if you please. "

If the others had been less astonished, they would have no doubt haveremarked the prodigious effect of this name upon their brilliant friend. He became ghastly pale and fell back in his chair. Then, suddenly, he bounded up as if he wished to attack his enemy. But pursuit seemedlikely to yield no result, for Chupin was already on the boulevard. 

It was daybreak. Paris was waking up; the bakers were standing at theirdoors, and boys in their shirt-sleeves, with their eyes swollen withsleep, were taking down the shutters of the wine-shops. A cloud of dust, raised by the street-sweepers, hung in the distance; the rag-pickerswandered about, peering among the rubbish; the noisy milk-carts joltedalong at a gallop, and workmen were proceeding to their daily toil, with hunches of bread in their hands. The morning air was very chilly;nevertheless, Chupin seated himself on a bench across the boulevard, ata spot where he could watch the entrance of the restaurant withoutbeing seen. He had just experienced one of those sudden shocks which sodisturb the mind, that one becomes insensible to outward circumstances, whatever they may be. He had recognized in the so-called Viscount deCoralth, the man whom he had hated above all others in the world, or, rather, the only man whom he hated, for his was not a bad heart. Impressionable to excess like a true child of the faubourgs, he had theParisian's strange mobility of feeling. If his anger was kindled bya trifle, the merest nothing usually sufficed to extinguish it. Butmatters were different respecting this handsome viscount! "God! how Ihate him!" he hissed through his set teeth. "God! how I hate him!"

For once, years before, as he had confessed to M. Fortunat, Chupin hadbeen guilty of a cowardly and abominable act, which had nearly costa man his life. And this crime, if it had been successful, would havebenefited the very fellow who concealed his sinful, shameful pastunder the high-sounding name of Coralth. How was it that Chupin had notrecognized him at once? Because he had worked for this fellow withoutknowing him, receiving his orders through the miserable wretches whopandered to his vices. He had only seen him personally once or twice, and had never spoken to him. Later--too late--he discovered whatvile intrigue it was that he had served. And when he became sincerelyrepentant he loathed this Coralth who had caused his crime. 

Nor was this all. The recognition of Coralth had inspired him withremorse. It had aroused in the recesses of his conscience a threateningvoice which cried: "What are you doing here? You are acting as a spy fora man you distrust, and whose real designs you are ignorant of. It wasin this way you began before. Have you forgotten what it led to? Haveyou not sin enough already upon your conscience? Blood enough upon yourhands? It is folly to pretend that one may serve as a tool for villains, and still remain an honest man!"

It was this voice which had given Chupin the courage to light his cigarwith the bank-note. And this voice still tortured him, as seated on thebench he now tried to review the situation. Where, indeed, was he? Withrare good luck he had discovered the son whom Madame Lia d'Argeles hadso long and successfully concealed. But contrary to all expectations, this young fellow already knew of the inheritance which he was entitledto. M. De Coralth had already achieved what M. Fortunat had meant to do;and so the plan was a failure, and it was useless to persist in it. 

This would have ended the matter if Chupin had not chanced to knowthe Viscount de Coralth's shameful past. And this knowledge changedeverything, for it gave him the power to interfere in a most effectualmanner. Armed with this secret, he could bestow the victory on M. Fortunat, and force M. De Coralth to capitulate. And he could do thisall the more easily, as he was sure that Coralth had not recognizedhim, and that he was perhaps ignorant of his very existence. Chupin hadallowed himself to be carried away by a sudden impulse of anger whichhe regretted; he had made an ironical illusion to his enemy's past life, but after all this had done no particular harm. So nothing prevented himfrom lending M. Fortunat his assistance, and thus killing two birds withone stone. He could have his revenge on Coralth, and at the same timeinsure his patron a large fee, of which he could claim a considerableshare for himself. But no! The idea of deriving any profit whatever fromthis affair inspired him with a feeling of disgust--honor triumphed overhis naturally crafty and avaricious nature. It seemed to him that anymoney made in this way would soil his fingers; for he realized theremust be some deep villainy under all this plotting and planning; he wassure of it, since Coralth was mixed up in the affair. "I will servemy guv'nor for nothing, " he decided. "When a man is avenged, he's wellpaid. "

Chupin decided upon this course because he could think of no betterplan. Still, if he had been master of events he would have actedotherwise. He would have quietly presented the government with thisinheritance which he found M. Wilkie so unworthy of. "The devil onlyknows what he'll do with it, " he thought. "He'll squander it as myfather squandered the fortune that was given him. It is only fools whomeet with such luck as that. "

However, his meditations did not prevent him from keeping a close watchover the restaurant, for it was of the utmost importance that M. Wilkieshould not escape him. It was now broad daylight, and customers wereleaving the establishment; for, after passing what is generally concededto be a joyous night, they felt the need of returning home to rest andsleep. Chupin watched them as they emerged. There were some who came outwith drooping heads, mumbling incoherent phrases; while others who wereequally intoxicated, but more nervous, evinced considerable animation, and sang snatches of songs, or jested loudly with the street-sweepers asthey passed on. The more sober, surprised by the sunlight, and blushingat themselves, slunk hastily and quietly away. There was one man, moreover, whom the waiters were obliged to carry to his cab, for hecould no longer stand on his feet. 

At last Chupin saw the individual clad in black whom Wilkie hadaddressed as Philippe, and who had endeavored to prevent him fromentering the restaurant, come out, and walk rapidly away. He was warmlyclad in a thick overcoat, but he shivered, and his pale, wan facebetrayed the man who is a martyr to the pleasures of others--the man whois condemned to be up all night and sleep only in the daytime--the manwho can tell you how much folly and beastliness lurk in the depths ofthe wine-cup, and who knows exactly how many yawns are expressed by theverb "to amuse one's self. " Chupin was beginning to feel uneasy. "Can M. Wilkie and his friends have made their escape?" he wondered. 

But at that very moment they made their appearance. They lingered awhileon the pavement to chat, and Chupin had an opportunity of observingthe effect of their night's dissipation on their faces. The brilliantsunlight made their eyes blink, and the cold sent purple blotches totheir bloated cheeks. As for the young women with yellow hair, theyappeared as they really were--hideous. They entered the only cab thatremained, the most dilapidated one of all, and the driver of whichhad no little difficulty in setting his horse in motion; whereupon thegentlemen went off on foot. 

Many persons would have been vexed and even humiliated by the necessityof appearing at this hour on the boulevard in disorderly attire, whichplainly indicated that they had spent the night in debauchery. Butwith the exception of the Viscount de Coralth, who was evidently out ofhumor, the party seemed delighted with themselves, as it was easy tosee by the way they met the glances of the passers-by. They consideredthemselves first-class form--they were producing an effect--they wereastonishing people. And what more could they desire?

One thing is certain--they were irritating Chupin terribly. He wasfollowing them on the opposite side of the boulevard, at some littledistance in the rear, for he was afraid of being recognized. "Thewretches!" he growled. "One couldn't draw a pint of manly blood from theveins of all six of them. Ah, if they knew how I hate them!"

But he had not long to nurse his wrath. On reaching the Rue Drouot, two of the gentlemen left the party, and two more went down the RueLepelletier. M. Wilkie and the viscount were left to walk down theboulevard alone. They linked their arms and carried on an animatedconversation until they reached the Rue du Helder, where they shookhands and separated. What had they said at parting? What agreement hadbeen made between them? Chupin would willingly have given a hundred sousfrom his private purse to have known. He would have given as much moreto have been able to double himself, in order to pursue the viscount, who had started off in the direction of the Madeleine, without having togive up watching and following his friend. But the days of miracles areover. So Chupin sighed, and, following Wilkie, he soon saw him enterNo. 48 of the Rue du Helder. The concierge, who was at the door busilyengaged in polishing the bell-handle, bowed respectfully. "So there itis!" grumbled Chupin. "I knew he lived there--I knew it by the way thatMadame d'Argeles looked at the windows yesterday evening. Poor woman!Ah! her son's a fine fellow and no mistake!"

His compassion for the unhappy mother seemed to recall him to a senseof duty. "Scoundrel that I am!" he exclaimed, striking his forehead withhis clenched fist. "Why, I'm forgetting my own good mother!" And as histask was now ended, he started off on the run, taking the shortest cutto the Faubourg Saint-Denis. "Poor mother!" he said to himself as hetore along, "what a night she must have had! She must have cried hereyes out!"

He spoke the truth. The poor woman had passed a night of agony--countingthe hours, and trembling each time the door of the house opened, announcing some tenant's return. And as morning approached, her anxietyincreased. "For her son would not have allowed her to remain in suchsuspense, " she said to herself, "unless he had met with some accident orencountered some of his former friends--those detestable scamps who hadtried to make him as vile as themselves. " Perhaps he had met his father, Polyte Chupin, the man whom she still loved in spite of everything, because he was her husband, but whom she judged, and whom indeed sheknew, to be capable of any crime. And of all misfortunes, it was anaccident, even a fatal accident, that she dreaded least. In her heroicsoul the voice of honor spoke even more loudly than the imperiousinstinct of maternity; and she would rather have found her son lyingdead on the marble slabs of the Morgue than seated in the dock at theAssize Court. 

Her poor eyes were weary of weeping when she at last recognized Victor'sfamiliar step approaching down the passage. She hastily opened the door, and as soon as she FELT that he was near her, for she could not see him, she asked: "Where have you spent the night? Where have you come from?What has happened?"

His only answer was to fling his arms round her neck, following alikethe impulse of his heart and the advice of experience, which told himthat this would be the best explanation he could give. Still it did notprevent him from trying to justify himself, although he was careful notto confess the truth, for he dreaded his mother's censure, knowing wellenough that she would be less indulgent than his own conscience. 

"I believe you, my son, " said the good woman, gravely; "you wouldn'tdeceive me, I'm sure. " And she added: "What reassured me, when youkissed me, was that you hadn't been drinking. "

Chupin did not speak a word; this confidence made him strangely uneasy. "May I be hung, " he thought, "if after this I ever do anything that Ican't confess to this poor good woman!"

But he hadn't time for sentimental reflections. He had gone too farto draw back, and it was necessary for him to report the result of hisresearches as soon as possible. Accordingly, he hastily ate a morsel, for he was faint with hunger, and started out again, promising to returnto dinner. He was in all the greater haste as it was Sunday. M. Fortunatwas in the habit of passing these days in the country, and Chupin fearedhe might fail to see him if he was not expeditious in his movements. Andwhile running to the Place de la Bourse, he carefully prepared the storyhe meant to relate, deeply impressed by the wisdom of the popular maximwhich says: "It is not always well to tell the whole truth. " Ought heto describe the scene at the restaurant, mention Coralth, and say thatthere was nothing more to be done respecting M. Wilkie? After maturedeliberation he decided in the negative. If he revealed everything, M. Fortunat might become discouraged and abandon the affair. It would bebetter to let him discover the truth himself, and profit by his anger toindicate a means of vengeance. 

It happened that M. Fortunat had decided not to go to the countrythat Sunday. He had slept later than usual, and was still in hisdressing-gown when Chupin made his appearance. He uttered a joyful cryon seeing his emissary, feeling assured that he must be the bearerof good news, since he came so early. "You have succeeded, then?" heexclaimed. 

"Yes, monsieur. "

"You have discovered Madame d'Argeles's son?"

"I have him. "

"Ah! I knew that you were a clever fellow. Quick, tell me everything. But no, wait a moment. "

He rang the bell, and Madame Dodelin at once made her appearance. "Putanother plate on the table, " said the agent. "M. Chupin will breakfastwith me--and serve us at once. You agree, don't you, Victor? It's teno'clock; I'm hungry; and we can talk better over a bottle of wine. "

This was a great honor; and it gave Chupin a fitting idea of the valueof the service he had rendered. He was not too much elated, however;though he felt very sorry that he had eaten before he came. On his side, M. Fortunat by no means regretted having conferred this favor on hisclerk, for the story which the latter related, caused him intensedelight. "Very good!--well done, " he exclaimed every other minute. "Icould not have done better myself. You shall be abundantly rewarded, Victor, if this affair is successful. " And at this thought hissatisfaction overflowed in a complacent monologue: "Why shouldn't itsucceed?" he asked himself. "Could anything be more simple and certain?I can make any demand I please--one, two, three hundred thousand francs. Ah, it was a good thing that the Count de Chalusse died! Now, I canforgive Valorsay. Let him keep my forty thousand francs; he's quitewelcome to them! Let him marry Mademoiselle Marguerite; I wish thema large and flourishing family! And Madame d'Argeles, too, has mybenediction!"

He was so confident his fortune was made that at noon he could restrainhimself no longer. He hired a cab and accompanied by Chupin he set outfor M. Wilkie's abode, declaring that he would wake that young gentlemanup if needs be, but at all events he must see him without delay. When hereached the Rue du Helder, he told Chupin to wait in the cab, and thenentering the house, he asked: "Monsieur Wilkie?"

"On the second floor, the door to the right, " replied the concierge. 

M. Fortunat ascended the stairs very slowly, for he felt the necessityof regaining all his composure, and it was not until he had broughthimself to a proper frame of mind that he rang the bell. A smallservant, M. Wilkie's fag, who took his revenge in robbing his employermost outrageously, came to the door, and began by declaring that hismaster was out of town. But M. Fortunat understood how to force doorsopen, and his manoeuvres succeeded so well that he was finally allowedto enter a small sitting-room, while the servant went off, saying: "Iwill go and inform monsieur. "

Instead of wasting time in congratulating himself on this firstachievement the agent began to inspect the room in which he foundhimself, as well as another apartment, the door of which stood open. Forhe was of the opinion that a dwelling-place indicates the character ofits inmate, as surely as a shell indicates the form of the creature thatinhabits it. M. Wilkie was comfortably lodged; but his rooms weremost pretentiously ornamented. They were indeed decorated in morethan doubtful taste. There were very few books lying about, but costlyriding-whips, spurs, rifles, cartridge-boxes, and all the paraphernaliaof a fashionable sporting man, were here in abundance. 

The only pictures on the wall were a few portraits of celebrated horses, which foreshadowed the fact that M. Wilkie must have, at least, aneighth share in some well-known racer. After this inspection, M. Fortunat smiled complacently. "This young fellow has expensive tastes, "he thought. "It will be very easy to manage him. "

However his reflections were interrupted by the return of the servant, who exclaimed: "My master is in the dining-room, and if monsieur willenter----"

The heir-hunter did enter, and found himself face to face with M. Wilkie, who was partaking of a cup of chocolate. He was not only up, but he was dressed to go out--dressed in such a style that he would havebeen taken for a respectable groom. A couple of hours' sleep had madehim himself again; and he had regained the arrogance of manner which wasthe distinguishing trait of his character, and a sure sign that he wasin prosperous circumstances. As his unknown visitor entered he lookedup, and bruskly asked: "What do you want?"

"I called on business, monsieur. "

"Ah, well! this isn't a favorable moment. I must be at Vincennes for theraces. I'm interested in a horse. So, you understand----"

M. Fortunat was secretly amused by M. Wilkie's nonchalance. "The youngfellow won't be in so much of a hurry when he learns my business, " hethought. And he replied aloud: "I can explain what brings me in a fewwords, monsieur. "

"Proceed, then. "

M. Fortunat began by closing the door which had been intentionally leftopen by the servant; and then, returning to M. Wilkie's side, he beganwith an air of the greatest mystery: "What would you give a shrewdman if he suddenly placed you in undisputed possession of an immensefortune--of a million--two millions, perhaps?"

He had prepared this little effect most carefully, and he fully expectedto see Wilkie fall on his knees before him. But not at all; the younggentleman's face never moved a muscle; and it was in the calmestpossible tone, and with his mouth half full that he replied: "I knowthe rest. You come, don't you, to sell me the secret of an unclaimedinheritance, which belongs to me? Very well, you have come too late. "

If the ceiling had fallen and crushed M. Fortunat there and then hewould, mentally at least, have not been in a more pitiable condition. Hestood silent, motionless, utterly confounded, with his mouth wide open, and such an expression of consternation in his eyes that M. Wilkieburst into a hearty laugh. Still the agent struggled against fate, andultimately faltered: "Let me explain--permit me----"

"Oh, it would be useless. I know my rights. I have already arranged witha party to prosecute my claims; the agreement will be signed on the dayafter to-morrow. "

"With whom?"

"Ah, excuse me; that's my affair. "

He had finished his chocolate, and he now poured out a glass ofice-water, drank it, wiped his mouth, and rose from the table. "You willexcuse me, my dear sir, if I leave you, " he remarked. "As I said before, I am going to Vincennes. I have staked a thousand louis on 'Pompier deNanterre, ' my horse, and my friends have ventured ten times as much. Whoknows what may happen if I'm not there at the start?" And then, ignoringM. Fortunat as completely as if he had not existed, M. Wilkie exclaimed:"Toby, you fool! where are you? Is my carriage below? Quick, bring me mycane, my gloves, and my glasses. Take down that basket of champagne. Runand put on your new livery. Make haste, you little beast, I shall be toolate. "

M. Fortunat left the room. The frightful anger that had followed hisidiotic stupor sent his blood rushing madly to his brain. A purple mistswam before his eyes; there was a loud ringing in his ears, and witheach pulsation of his heart his head seemed to receive a blow froma heavy hammer. His feelings were so terrible that he was reallyfrightened. "Am I about to have an attack of apoplexy?" he wondered. And, as every surrounding object seemed to whirl around him, the veryfloor itself apparently rising and falling under his feet, he remainedon the landing waiting for this horrible vertigo to subside and doinghis best to reason with himself. It was fully five minutes before hedared to risk the descent; and even when he reached the street, hisfeatures were so frightfully distorted that Chupin trembled. 

He sprang out, assisted his employer into the cab, and bade the driverreturn to the Place de la Bourse. It was really pitiful to see thedespair which had succeeded M. Fortunat's joyful confidence. "This isthe end of everything, " he groaned. "I'm robbed, despoiled, ruined! Andsuch a sure thing as it seemed. These misfortunes happen to no one butme! Some one in advance of me! Some one else will capture the prize! Oh, if I knew the wretch, if I only knew him!"

"One moment, " interrupted Chupin; "I think know the man. "

M. Fortunat gave a violent start. "Impossible!" he exclaimed. 

"Excuse me, monsieur--it must be a vile rascal named Coralth. "

It was a bellow rather than a cry of rage that escaped M. Fortunat'slips. To a man of his experience, only a glimmer of light was requiredto reveal the whole situation. "Ah! I understand!--I see!" he exclaimed. "Yes, you are right, Victor; it's he--Coralth--Valorsay's tool! Coralthwas the traitor who, in obedience to Valorsay's orders, ruined theman who loved Mademoiselle Marguerite. The deed was done at Madamed'Argeles's house. So Coralth knows her, and knows her secret. It's hewho has outwitted me. " He reflected for a moment, and then, in a verydifferent tone, he said: "I shall never see a penny of the count'smillions, and my forty thousand francs are gone forever; but, as Heavenhears me, I will have some satisfaction for my money. Ah!--so Coralthand Valorsay combine to ruin me! Very well!--since this is the case, I shall espouse the cause of Mademoiselle Marguerite and of theunfortunate man they've ruined. Ah, my cherubs, you don't know Fortunatyet! Now well see if the innocent don't get the best of you, and if theydon't unmask you. I shall do my best, since you have forced me to doit--and gratis too!"

Chupin was radiant; his vengeance was assured. "And I, monsieur, " saidhe, "will give you some information about this Coralth. First of all, the scoundrel's married and his wife keeps a tobacco-shop somewhere nearthe Route d'Asnieres. I'll find her for you--see if I don't. "

The sudden stopping of the vehicle which had reached the Place de laBourse, cut his words short. M. Fortunat ordered him to pay thedriver, while he himself rushed upstairs, eager to arrange his plan ofcampaign--to use his own expression. In his absence a commissionaire hadbrought a letter for him which Madame Dodelin now produced. He broke theseal, and read to his intense surprise: "Monsieur--I am the ward ofthe late Count de Chalusse. I must speak to you. Will you grant me aninterview on Wednesday next, at a quarter-past three o'clock? Yoursrespectfully, "MARGUERITE. "

XX. 

When Mademoiselle Marguerite left the dead count's bedside at teno'clock at night to repair to Pascal Ferailleur's house, she did not yetdespair of the future. Father, friend, rank, security, fortune--she hadlost all these in a single moment--but she could still see a promise ofhappiness in the distance. 

She suffered undoubtedly, and yet she experienced a sort of bitterpleasure at the thought of uniting her life to the man who was asunfortunate as herself, who was slandered as she herself had beenslandered, branded with the most cruel and unjust imputations, and hadneither fortune nor friends. Others might scorn them; but what did theycare for the world's disdain so long as they had the approval of theirconsciences? Would not their mutual esteem suffice since they loved eachother? It seemed to Marguerite that their very misfortunes would bindthem more closely to each other, and cement the bonds of their lovemore strongly. And if it were absolutely necessary for them to leaveFrance--ah, well! they would leave it. To them Fatherland would alwaysbe the spot where they lived together. 

As the cab approached the Rue d'Ulm she pictured Pascal's sorrow, andthe joy and surprise he would feel when she suddenly appeared beforehim, and faltered: "They accuse you--here I am! I know that you areinnocent, and I love you!"

But the brutal voice of the concierge, informing her of Pascal's secretdeparture, in the most insulting terms, abruptly dispelled her dreams. If Pascal had failed her, everything had failed her. If she had losthim, she had lost her all. The world seemed empty--struggling would befolly--happiness was only an empty name. She indeed longed for death!

Madame Leon who had a set of formulas adapted to all circumstances, undertook to console her. "Weep, my dear young lady, weep; it will doyou good. Ah! this is certainly a horrible catastrophe. You are young, fortunately, and Time is a great consoler. M. Ferailleur isn't theonly man on earth. Others will love you. There are others who love youalready!"

"Silence!" interrupted Marguerite, more revolted than if she had hearda libertine whispering shameful proposals in her ear. "Silence! I forbidyou to add another word. " To speak of another--what sacrilege! Poorgirl. She was one of those whose life is bound up in one love alone, andif that fails them--it is death!

The thought that she was utterly alone added to the horror of hersituation. Whom could she depend upon? Not on Madame Leon. Shedistrusted her; she had no confidence whatever in her. Should sheask for the advice of either of her suitors? The Marquis de Valorsayinspired her with unconquerable aversion, and she despised the so-calledGeneral de Fondege. So her only friend, her only protector was astranger, the old justice of the peace who had taken her defence, bycrushing the slander of the servants, and whom she had opened her heartto. But he would soon forget her, she thought; and the future, such asit was presented to her imagination, seemed a terrible one. However, shewas too courageous to remain for long in despair--she struggled againsther sorrow; and the thought that she might, perhaps, reach Pascalthrough M. Fortunat at last occurred to her mind. This hope was her solechance of salvation. She clung to it as a shipwrecked mariner clings tothe plank which is his only hope of life. 

When she returned to the mansion her mind was made up, and she hadregained her usual composure. For ten minutes or so she had been prayingby the count's bedside, when M. Bourigeau, the concierge, appeared andhanded her a letter which had just been brought to the house. It wasaddressed to "Mademoiselle Marguerite de Durtal de Chalusse, at theHotel de Chalusse, Rue de Courcelles. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite blushed. Who was it that addressed her bythis name which she no longer had the right to bear? She studied thehandwriting for a moment, but she did not remember ever having seen itbefore. At last, however, she opened the letter and read: "My dear, dear child. " "Dear child!" indeed. What could this mean? Was there anyone in the world sufficiently interested in her welfare, or loving herenough, to address her in this style? She quickly turned the sheet tosee the signature; and when her eyes fell on it she turned pale. "Ah!"she exclaimed, involuntarily, "ah! ah!"

The letter was signed: "Athenais de Fondege. " It had been written bythe General's wife. She resumed her perusal of it, and this is what sheread: "I this instant hear of the cruel loss you have sustained, andalso learn that, for want of testamentary provisions, the poor Count deChalusse leaves you, his idolized daughter, almost without resources. Iwill not attempt to offer you consolation, God alone can assuage certainsorrows. I should come and weep with you if I were not kept in bed byillness. But to-morrow, whatever happens, I shall be with you beforebreakfast. It is at such a time as this, my poor dear afflicted child, that one can tell one's true friends; and we are yours as I hope toprove. The General feels that he should be insulting and betraying thememory of a man who was his dearest friend for thirty years, if he didnot take the count's place, if he did not become your second father. He has offered you our modest home; you have refused. Why? With theauthority conferred upon me by my age and my position as the mother ofa family, I tell you that you ought to accept. What other course can youpossibly think of? Where would you go, my poor, dear child? But we willdiscuss this matter to-morrow. I shall find a way to persuade you tolove us, and to allow yourself to be loved. In MY heart you will fillthe place of the beloved and lamented daughter I have lost--my beautifuland gentle Bathilde. Once more I say farewell until to-morrow--trustingthat you will accept the sympathy and affection of your best friend, "ATHENAIS DE FONDEGE. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite was thunderstruck, for the writer of thisepistle was a lady whom she had only met five or six times, who hadnever visited her, and with whom she had scarcely exchanged twentywords. Moreover, she well remembered certain glances with which Madamede Fondege had, on one occasion, tried to crush her--glances so full ofcruel contempt that they had drawn bitter tears of sorrow, shame, andanger, from the poor girl. The count himself had said to her at thetime: "Don't be so childish, Marguerite, as to trouble yourself aboutthis foolish and impudent woman. "

And now this same woman sent her a letter overflowing with sympathy, and claimed her affection and confidence in the tone of an old and triedfriend. Was such a change natural? Not being what is called a credulousperson, Mademoiselle Marguerite was unable to believe it. She divinedthat Madame de Fondege must have had some hidden motive in writing sucha letter--but what motive was it? Alas! she divined this also only toowell. The General, suspecting that she had stolen the missing money, hadimparted his suspicions to his wife; and she, being as avaricious and asunscrupulous as himself, was doing her best to secure the booty for herson. Such a calculation is a common one nowadays. Steal yourself? Fie. Never! You would not dare. Besides, you are honest. But it is quite adifferent thing to profit by other people's rascality. Besides, thereare no risks to be encountered. 

On perusing the letter a second time, it seemed to MademoiselleMarguerite that she could hear the General and his wife discussing themeans of obtaining a share of the two millions. She could hear Madame deFondege saying to her husband: "You are a block-head! You frightened thegirl by your precipitancy and roughness. But fortunately, I'm here. Letme manage the affair; and I'll prove that women are far more clever thanmen. " And, thereupon, she had seized her pen, and commenced this letter. In Mademoiselle Marguerite's opinion, the epistle betrayed the jointefforts of the pair. She could have sworn that the husband had dictatedthe sentence: "The General feels that he should be insulting andbetraying the memory of a man who was his dearest friend for thirtyyears, if he did not become your second father. " On the other hand, thephrase, "I shall find a way to persuade you to love us, and to allowyourself to be loved, " was unmistakably the wife's work. The writer'sinsincerity was fully revealed by one passage of the letter. "You willfill the place of the beloved daughter I have lost, " wrote Madame deFondege. It is true that she had once had a daughter; but the child haddied of croup when only six months old, and more than twenty-five yearspreviously. 

It was strange, moreover, that this letter had not been sent until teno'clock in the evening; but, on reflection, Mademoiselle Margueritewas able to explain this circumstance satisfactorily to herself. Beforetaking any decided step, M. And Madame de Fondege had wished to consulttheir son; and they had been unable to see him until late in theevening. However, as soon as the brilliant hussar had approved the noblescheme concocted by his parents, a servant had been dispatched withthe letter. All these surmises were surely very plausible; but itwas difficult to reconcile them with the opinion advanced by themagistrate--that M. De Fondege must know what had become of the missingmillions. 

Mademoiselle Marguerite did not think of this, however. She was losingher presence of mind at thought of the odious suspicions which restedon her, suspicions which she had seemed to read in the eyes of all whoapproached her, from Dr. Jodon to the Marquis de Valorsay. It is truethat the magistrate had taken her defence; he had silenced the servants, but would that suffice? Would she not remain branded by an abominableaccusation? And even the consciousness of her innocence did not reassureher, for Pascal's case warned her that innocence is not a sufficientsafeguard against slander. 

Could she hope to escape when he had succumbed? She could tell by theagony that was torturing her own heart, how much he must have suffered. Where was he now? Beyond the frontiers of France? They had told her so, but she did not, could not believe it. Knowing him as she knew him, itseemed to her impossible that he had accepted his fate so quickly andwithout a struggle. A secret presentiment told her that his absence wasonly feigned, that he was only biding his time, and that M. Fortunatwould not have far to go in search of him. It was in M. De Chalusse'sbedroom that she thus reflected, but a few steps from the bed on whichreposed all that was mortal of the man whose weakness had made her lifeone long martyrdom, whose want of foresight had ruined her future, butwhom she had not the heart to censure. She was standing in front of thewindow with her burning forehead resting against the glass. At that verymoment Pascal was waiting, seated on the curbstone opposite the mansion. At that very moment he was watching the shadow on the window-curtain, wondering if it were not Marguerite's. If the night had been clear shemight have discerned the motionless watcher in the street below, anddivined that it was Pascal. But how could she suspect his presence? Howcould she suspect that he had hastened to the Rue de Courcelles as shehad hastened to the Rue d'Ulm?

It was almost midnight when a slight noise, a sound of stealthyfootsteps, made her turn. Madame Leon was leaving the room, and a momentlater Marguerite heard the house-door leading into the garden open andshut again. There was nothing extraordinary about such an occurrence, and yet a strange misgiving assailed her. Why, she could not explain;but many trivial circumstances, suddenly invested with a new andalarming significance, recurred to her mind. She remembered that MadameLeon had been restless and nervous all the evening. The housekeeper, who was usually so inactive, who lounged in her arm-chair for hourstogether, had been moving uneasily about, going up and down stairs atleast a dozen times, and continually glancing at her watch or the clock. Twice, moreover, had the concierge come to tell her that some onewished to see her. "Where can she be going now, at midnight?" thoughtMademoiselle Marguerite; "she who is usually so timid?"

At first, the girl resisted her desire to solve the question; hersuspicions seemed absurd to her, and, besides, it was distasteful toher to play the spy. Still, she listened, waiting to hear Madame Leonre-enter the house. But more than a quarter of an hour elapsed, and yetthe door did not open or close again. Either Madame Leon had not leftthe house at all, or else she was still outside. "This is very strange!"thought Mademoiselle Marguerite. "Was I mistaken? I must convincemyself. " And, obeying a mysterious influence, stronger than her ownwill, she left the room and went down the stairs. She had reached thehall, when the garden door suddenly opened, and Madame Leon came in. Thelights in the hall were burning brightly, so that it was easy to observethe housekeeper's manner and countenance. She was panting for breath, like a person who had been running. She was very pale, and her dress wasdisordered. Her cap-strings were untied, and her cap had slipped fromher head and was hanging over her shoulders. "What is the matter withyou?" asked Mademoiselle Marguerite in astonishment. "Where have youbeen?"

On seeing the girl Madame Leon recoiled. Should she fly off or remain?She hesitated for an instant; and it was easy to read her hesitation inher eyes. She decided to remain; but it was with a constrained smileand in an unnatural voice that she replied: "Why do you speak to me likethat, my dear young lady? One might suppose you were angry with me. Youmust know very well that I've been in the garden!"

"At this hour of the night?"

"MON DIEU! yes--and not for pleasure, I assure you--not by anymeans--I--I----" She was evidently seeking for some excuse; and, fora moment or two, she stammered forth one incoherent sentence afteranother, trying to gain time and imploring Heaven to grant her aninspiration. 

"Well?" insisted Mademoiselle Marguerite, impatiently. "Why did you goout?"

"Ah! I--I--thought I heard Mirza barking in the garden. I thought shehad been forgotten in all the confusion, and that the poor creature hadbeen shut out, so I summoned all my courage, and----"

Mirza was an old spaniel that M. De Chalusse had been very fond of, andthe animal's caprices were respected by all the inmates of the house. 

"That's very strange, " remarked Mademoiselle Marguerite, "for when yourose to leave the room, half an hour ago, Mirza was sleeping at yourfeet. "

"What--really--is it possible?"

"It's certain. "

But the worthy woman had already recovered her self-possession and heraccustomed loquacity at the same time. "Ah! my dear young lady, " shesaid, bravely, "I'm in such sorrow that I'm losing my senses completely. Still, it was only from the kindest of motives that I ventured into thegarden, and I had scarcely entered it before I saw something white runaway from me--I felt sure it was Mirza--and so I ran after it. ButI could find nothing. I called 'Mirza! Mirza!' and still nothing. Isearched under all the trees, and yet I could not find her. It was asdark as pitch, and suddenly a terrible fear seized hold of me--such aterrible fright that I really believe I called for help, and I ran backto the house half crazed. "

Any one hearing her would have sworn that she was telling the truth. But, unfortunately, her earlier manner had proved her guilt. 

Mademoiselle Marguerite was not deceived when she said to herself: "Iam on the track of some abominable act. " However, she had sufficientself-control to conceal her suspicions; and she pretended to beperfectly satisfied with the explanation which the house-keeper hadconcocted. "Ah, my dear Leon, you are altogether too timid; it'sabsurd, " she said, kindly. 

The housekeeper hung her head. "I know that I make myself ridiculous, "she said, humbly. "But how can I help it? When a person's frightened, she can't reason. And that white object which I saw, as plainly as Isee you, what could it have been?" And, convinced that her fable wasbelieved, she grew bolder, and ventured to add: "Oh, my dear young lady, I shall tremble all night if the garden isn't searched. Pray send theservants out to look. There are so many thieves and rascals in Paris!"

Under any other circumstances Mademoiselle Marguerite would have refusedto listen to this ridiculous request; but, determined to repay thehypocrite in her own coin, she replied. "Very well; it shall be done. "And calling M. Casimir and Bourigeau, the concierge, she ordered them totake a lantern and explore the garden carefully. 

They obeyed, though with rather bad grace, not being particularlycourageous, either of them, and, of course, they found nothing. 

"No matter, " said Madame Leon, "I feel safe now. " And she did indeedfeel more tranquil in mind. "I had a lucky escape!" she said to herself. "What would have become of me, if Mademoiselle Marguerite had discoveredthe truth?"

But the housekeeper congratulated herself on her victory too soon. Mademoiselle Marguerite not only suspected her of treason, but she wasendeavoring to procure proofs of it. She felt certain that the plausiblehousekeeper had deceived her, and cruelly wronged her as well. But whatshe could not understand was, how Madame Leon had been able to do so. She had spent a long time in fruitless conjectures, when suddenly sheremembered the little garden gate. "The deceitful creature must haveused that gate, " she thought. 

It was easy for her to verify her suspicion. The little gate had notbeen exactly condemned, but many months had elapsed since it had beenused; so it would be a very simple matter to ascertain whether it hadbeen recently opened or not. "And I will know for certain before an hourhas passed, " said Mademoiselle Marguerite to herself. 

Having come to this conclusion, she feigned sleep, keeping a sharp watchover Madame Leon from between her half-closed eyelids. The housekeeper, after twisting uneasily in her arm-chair, at last became quiet again;and it was soon evident that she was sleeping soundly. ThereuponMademoiselle Marguerite rose to her feet and stole noiselessly from theroom downstairs into the garden. She had provided herself with a candleand some matches, and as soon as she struck a light, she saw that hersurmises were correct. The little gate had just been opened and closedagain. The cobwebs round about the bolts were torn and broken; the rustwhich had filled the keyhole had been removed, and on the dust coveringthe lock the impress of a hand could be detected. "And I have confidedmy most precious secrets to this wicked woman!" thought MademoiselleMarguerite. "Fool that I was!"

Already thoroughly convinced, she extinguished her candle. Still, havingdiscovered so much, she wished to pursue her investigation to the end, and so she opened the little gate. The ground outside had been soakedby the recent rains, and had not yet dried, and by the light ofthe neighboring street-lamp, she plainly distinguished a number ofwell-defined footprints on the muddy soil. An experienced observer wouldhave realized by the disposition of these footprints that something likea struggle had taken place here; but Mademoiselle Marguerite was notsufficiently expert for that. She only understood what a child wouldhave understood--that two people had been standing here for some time. Poor girl! She had not seen Pascal when he was sitting in front of themansion some hours before! And now no presentiment warned her that thesefootprints were his. In her opinion, the man who had been talking withMadame Leon was either M. De Fondege, or the Marquis de Valorsay--thatis to say, Madame Leon was hired to watch her and to render an accountof all she said and did. 

Her first impulse was to denounce and dismiss this miserable hypocrite;but as she was returning to the house, an idea which an old diplomatistneed not have been ashamed of entered her mind. She said to herselfthat as Madame Leon was unmasked she was no longer to be feared; sowhy should she be sent away? "A known spy can undoubtedly be made a mostvaluable auxiliary. Why shouldn't I make use of this wicked woman?"thought Mademoiselle Marguerite. "I can conceal from her what I don'twish her to know, and with a little skill I can make her carry to heremployers such information as will serve my plans. By watching her, Ishall soon discover my enemy; and who knows if, by this means, I may notsucceed in finding an explanation of the fatality that pursues me?"

When Mademoiselle Marguerite returned to her place beside the count'sbedside, she had calmly and irrevocably made up her mind. She wouldnot only retain Madame Leon in her service, but she would display evengreater confidence in her than before. Such a course was most repugnantto Marguerite's loyal, truthful nature; but reason whispered to her thatin fighting with villains, it is often necessary to use their weapons;and she had her honor, her life, and her future to defend. A strange andbut imperfectly defined suspicion had entered her mind. To-night, forthe first time, she thought she could discover a mysterious connectionbetween Pascal's misfortunes and her own. Was it mere chance which hadstruck them at the same time, and in much the same manner? Who wouldhave profited by the abominable crime which had dishonored her lover, had it not been for M. De Chalusse's death and her own firmness?Evidently the Marquis de Valorsay, for whom Pascal's flight had left thefield clear. 

All these thoughts were well calculated to drive away sleep; but thepoor girl was only twenty, and it was the second night she had watchedby the count's bedside. Thus at last fatigue overcame her, and she fellasleep. 

In the morning, about seven o'clock, Madame Leon was obliged to shakeher to rouse her from the kind of lethargy into which she had fallen. "Mademoiselle, " said the housekeeper, in her honeyed voice; "dearmademoiselle, wake up at once!"

"What is the matter? What is it?"

"Ah! how can I explain? My dear young lady, the undertaker's men havecome to make arrangements for the ceremony. "

Those in charge of the last rites had indeed arrived, and their heavytread could be heard in the hall and in the courtyard. M. Casimir, whowas bursting with self-sufficiency, hurried here, there? and everywhere, indicating, with an imperious gesture, where he wished the blackhangings, embroidered with silver and emblazoned with the De Chalussearms, to be suspended. As the magistrate had given him carte-blanche, he deemed it proper, as he remarked to Concierge Bourigeau, to haveeverything done in grand style. But he took good care not to reveal thefact that he had exacted a very handsome commission from all the peoplehe employed. The hundred francs derived from Chupin had only whetted hisappetite for more. At all events, he had certainly spared no pains inview of having everything as magnificent as possible; and it was notuntil he considered the display thoroughly satisfactory that he went towarn Mademoiselle Marguerite. "I come to beg mademoiselle to retire toher own room, " he said. 

"Retire--why?"

He did not reply by words, but pointed to the bed on which the body waslying, and the poor girl realized that the moment of eternal separationhad come. She rose, and dragged herself to the bedside. Death hadnow effaced all traces of the count's last agony. His face wore itsaccustomed expression again, and it might have been fancied that he wasasleep. For a long time Mademoiselle Marguerite stood looking at him, asif to engrave the features she would never behold again upon her memory. "Mademoiselle, " insisted M. Casimir; "mademoiselle, do not remain here. "

She heard him, and summoning all her strength, she leaned over thebed, kissed M. De Chalusse, and went away. But she was too late, for inpassing through the hall she encountered the undertakers, who carried ontheir shoulders a long metallic case enclosed in two oaken ones. And shehad scarcely reached her own room before a smell of resin told her thatthe men were closing the coffin which contained all that was mortal ofM. De Chalusse, her father. 

So, none of those terrible details, which so increase one's grief, werespared her. But she had already suffered so much that she had reacheda state of gloomy apathy, almost insensibility; and the exercise of herfaculties was virtually suspended. Whiter than marble, she fell, ratherthan seated herself, on a chair, scarcely perceiving Madame Leon, whohad followed her. 

The worthy housekeeper was greatly excited, and not without cause. Asthere were no relations, it had been decided that M. De Fondege, thecount's oldest friend, should do the honors of the mansion to thepersons invited to attend the funeral; and he had sworn that he would beunder arms at daybreak, and that they might positively depend upon him. But the hour fixed for the ceremony was approaching, several persons hadalready arrived, and yet M. De Fondege had not put in an appearance. "It is incomprehensible, " exclaimed Madame Leon. "The General is usuallypunctuality personified. He must have met with some accident. " Andin her anxiety she stationed herself at the window, whence she couldcommand a view of the courtyard, carefully scrutinizing every fresharrival. 

At last, about half-past nine o'clock, she suddenly exclaimed: "Here heis! Do you hear, mademoiselle, here's the General!"

A moment later, indeed, there was a gentle rap at the door, and M. DeFondege entered. "Ah, I'm late!" he exclaimed; "but, dash it all! it'snot my fault!" And, struck by Mademoiselle Marguerite's immobility, headvanced and took her hand. "And you, my dear little one, what is thematter with you?" he asked. "Have you been ill? You are frightfullypale. "

She succeeded in shaking off the torpor which was stealing over her, andreplied in a faint voice; "I am not ill, monsieur. "

"So much the better, my dear child, so much the better. It is our littleheart that is suffering, is it not? Yes--yes--I understand. But your oldfriends will console you. You received my wife's letter, did you not?Ah, well! what she told you, she will do--she will do it. And to proveit, in spite of her illness, she followed me--in fact, she is here!"

XXI. 

Mademoiselle Marguerite sprang to her feet, quivering with indignation. Her eyes sparkled and her lips trembled as she threw back her head witha superb gesture of scorn, which loosened her beautiful dark hair, andcaused it to fall in rippling masses over her shoulders. "Ah! Madame deFondege is here!" she repeated, in a tone of crushing contempt--"Madamede Fondege, your wife, here!"

It seemed to her an impossibility to receive the hypocrite who hadwritten the letter of the previous evening--the accomplice of thescoundrels who took advantage of her wretchedness and isolation. Herheart revolted at the thought of meeting this woman, who had neitherconscience nor shame, who could stoop so low as to intrigue for themillions which she fancied had been stolen. Mademoiselle Marguerite wasabout to forbid her to enter, or to retire herself, when the thoughtof her determination to act stealthily restrained her. She instantlyrealized her imprudence, and, mastering herself with a great effort, she murmured: "Madame de Fondege is too kind! How can I ever express mygratitude?"

Madame de Fondege must have heard this, for at the same moment sheentered the room. She was short, and very stout--a faded blonde, withher complexion spoilt by a multitude of freckles. She had very largehands, broad, thick feet, and a shrill voice; and the vulgarity of herappearance was all the more noticeable on account of her pretensions toelegance. For although her father had been a wood-merchant, sheboasted of her exalted birth, and endeavored to impress people withthe magnificence of her style of living, though her fortune wasproblematical, and her household conducted in the most frugal style. Her attire suggested a continual conflict between elegance andeconomy--between real poverty and feigned prodigality. She worea corsage and overskirt of black satin; but the upper part of theunderskirt, which was not visible, was made of lute-string costingthirty sous a yard, and her laces were Chantilly only in appearance. Still, her love of finery had never carried her so far as shop-lifting, or induced her to part with her honor for gewgaws--irregularities whichare so common nowadays, even among wives and mothers of families, thatpeople are no longer astonished to hear of them. 

No--Madame de Fondege was a faithful wife, in the strict and legal senseof the word. But how she revenged herself! She was "virtuous;" but sodangerously virtuous that one might have supposed she was so against herwill, and that she bitterly regretted it. She ruled her husband with arod of iron. And he who was so terrible in appearance, he who twirledhis ferocious mustaches in such a threatening manner, he who sworehorribly enough to make an old hussar blush, became more submissivethan a child, and more timid than a lamb when he was beside his wife. He trembled when she turned her pale blue eyes upon him in a certainfashion. And woe to him if he ventured to rebel. She suppressed hispocket-money, and during these penitential seasons he was reduced to thenecessity of asking his friends to lend him twenty-franc pieces, whichhe generally forgot to return. 

Madame de Fondege was, as a rule, most imperious, envious, and spitefulin disposition; but on coming to the Hotel de Chalusse she had providedherself with any amount of sweetness and sensibility, and when sheentered the room, she held her handkerchief to her lips as if to stifleher sobs. The General led her toward Mademoiselle Marguerite, and, in asemi-solemn, semi-sentimental tone, he exclaimed: "Dear Athenais, thisis the daughter of my best and oldest friend. I know your heart--I knowthat she will find in you a second mother. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite stood speechless and rigid. Persuaded thatMadame de Fondege was about to throw her arms round her neck and kissher, she was imposing the most terrible constraint upon herself, inorder to conceal her horror and aversion. But she was unnecessarilyalarmed. The hypocrisy of the General's wife was superior to thatof Madame Leon. Madame de Fondege contented herself with pressingMademoiselle Marguerite's hands and faltering: "What a misfortune! Soyoung--so sudden! It is frightful!" And, as she received no reply, she added, with an air of sorrowful dignity: "I dare not ask your fullconfidence, my dear unfortunate child. Confidence can be born only oflong acquaintance and mutual esteem. But you will learn to know me. Youwill give me that sweet name of mother when I shall have deserved it. "

Standing at a little distance off, the General listened with the air ofa man who has a profound respect for his wife's ability. "Now the ice isbroken, " he thought, "it will be strange if Athenais doesn't do whatevershe pleases with that little savage. "

His hopes were so brightly reflected upon his countenance, that MadameLeon, who was furtively watching him, became alarmed. "Ah! what do thesepeople want?" she said to herself; "and what do all these endearmentsmean? Upon my word, I must warn my patron at once. " And, fancying thatno one noticed her, she slipped quietly and noiselessly from the room. 

But Mademoiselle Marguerite was on the watch. Determined to fathom theplotting that was going on around her, and frustrate it, she realizedthat everything depended upon her watchfulness and her ability toprofit even by the most futile incidents. She had noticed the General'striumphant smile, and the look of anxiety that had suddenly cloudedMadame Leon's face. So, without troubling herself about "theproprieties, " she asked M. And Madame de Fondege to excuse her for asecond, and darted alter the housekeeper. Ah! she did not need to gofar. Leaning over the banisters, she saw Madame Leon and the Marquisde Valorsay in earnest conversation in the hall below; the marquis asphlegmatic and as haughty as usual, but the house-keeper fairly excited. Marguerite at once understood that as Madame Leon knew that the marquiswas among the funeral guests, she had gone to warn him of Madamede Fondege's presence. This trivial circumstance proved that M. DeFondege's interests were opposed to those of M. De Valorsay; that theymust, therefore, hate each other, and that, with a little patience andskill, she might utilize them, one against the other. It also provedthat Madame Leon was the Marquis de Valorsay's paid spy and that he musttherefore have long been aware of Pascal's existence. But she lacked thetime to follow out this train of thought. Her absence might awaken theFondeges' suspicions; and her success depended on letting them supposethat she was their dupe. She therefore returned to them as soon aspossible, excusing herself for her abrupt departure as well as shecould; but she was not accustomed to deceive, and her embarrassmentmight have betrayed her had it not been for the General, who fortunatelyinterrupted her by saying: "I, too, must excuse myself, my dear child;but Madame de Fondege will remain with you. I must fulfil a sacredduty. They are waiting for me downstairs, and they are no doubt becomingimpatient. It is the first time in my life that I was ever behind time. "

The General was right in losing no more time. At least a hundred andfifty guests had assembled in the reception-rooms on the ground floor, and they were beginning to think it very strange that they should bekept waiting in this style. And yet curiosity somewhat tempered theirimpatience. Some of the strange circumstances attending the count'sdeath had been noised abroad; and some well-informed persons declaredthat a fabulous sum of money had been stolen by a young girl. Itis true, they did not think this embezzlement a positive crime. Itcertainly proved that the young lady in question possessed a strong anddetermined character; and many of the proudest among the guests wouldgladly have taken the place of De Valorsay, who, it was rumored, wasabout to marry the pretty thief and her millions. 

The person who was most disturbed by the delay was the master of theceremonies. Arrayed in his best uniform, his thin legs encased in blacksilk stockings, his mantle thrown gracefully over his shoulders, and hiscocked hat under his arm, he was looking anxiously about for some one inthe assembled crowd to whom he could give the signal for departure. Hewas already talking of starting off when M. De Fondege appeared. Thefriends of M. De Chalusse who were to hold the cords of the pall cameforward. There was a moment's confusion, then the hearse started, andthe whole cortege filed out of the courtyard. 

Deep silence followed, so deep that the noise made in closing theheavy gates came upon one with startling effect. "Ah!" moaned Madame deFondege, "it is over. "

Marguerite's only reply was a despairing gesture. It would have beenimpossible for her to articulate a syllable--her tears were choking her. What would she not have given to be alone at this moment--to havebeen able to abandon herself without constraint to her emotions! Alas!prudence condemned her to play a part even now. The thought of herfuture and her honor lent her strength to submit to the deceitfulconsolations of a woman whom she knew to be a dangerous enemy. And theGeneral's wife was by no means sparing of her consolatory phrases; infact, it was only after a long homily on the uncertainty of life belowthat she ventured to approach the subject of her letter of the previousevening. "For it is necessary to face the inevitable, " she pursued. "Thetroublesome realities of life have no respect for our grief. So it iswith you, my dear child; you would find a bitter pleasure in giving ventto your sorrow, but you are compelled to think of your future. As M. DeChalusse has no heirs, this house will be closed--you can remain here nolonger. "

"I know it, madame. "

"Where will you go?"

"Alas! I don't know. "

Madame de Fondege raised her handkerchief to her eyes as if to wipe afurtive tear away, and then, almost roughly, she exclaimed: "I must tellyou the truth, my child. Listen to me. I see only two courses for youto adopt. Either to ask the protection of some respectable family, or toenter a convent. This is your only hope of safety. "

Mademoiselle Marguerite bowed her head, without replying. To learn theplans which the General's wife had formed she must let her disclosethem. However, the girl's silence seemed to make Madame de Fondegeuncomfortable, and at last she resumed: "Is it possible that you thinkof braving the perils of life alone? I cannot believe it! It would bemadness. Young, beautiful, and attractive as you are, it is impossiblefor you to live unprotected. Even if you had sufficient strength ofcharacter to lead a pure and honest life, the world would none the lessrefuse you its esteem. Mere prejudice, you say? You are quite right; butit is nevertheless true that a young girl who braves public opinion islost. "

It was easy to see by Madame de Fondege's earnestness that she fearedMademoiselle Marguerite would avail herself of this opportunity ofrecovering her liberty. "What shall I do, then?" asked the girl. 

"There is the convent. "

"But I love life. "

"Then ask the protection of some respectable family. "

"The idea of being in any one's charge is disagreeable to me. "

Strange to say, Madame de Fondege did not protest, did not speak of herown house. She was too proud for that. Having once offered hospitality, she thought it would arouse suspicion if she insisted. So she contentedherself with enumerating the arguments for and against the twopropositions, remarking from time to time: "Come, you must decide! Don'twait until the last moment!"

Mademoiselle Marguerite had already decided but before announcingher decision she wished to confer with the only friend she had in theworld--the old justice of the peace. On the previous evening he had saidto her: "Farewell until to-morrow, " and knowing that his work in thehouse had not been concluded, she was extremely surprised that he hadnot yet put in an appearance. 

While conversing with Madame de Fondege she had dexterously avoidedcompromising herself in any way when suddenly a servant appeared andannounced the magistrate's arrival. He entered the room, with his usualbenevolent smile upon his lips, but his searching eyes were never oncetaken off Madame de Fondege's face. He bowed, made a few polite remarks, and then addressing Marguerite, he said: "I must speak with you, mademoiselle, at once. You may tell madame, however, that you willcertainly return in less than a quarter of an hour. "

Marguerite followed him, and when they were alone in the count's studyand the doors had been carefully closed, the magistrate exclaimed: "Ihave been thinking a great deal of you, my child, a great deal; andit seems to me that I can explain certain things which worried youyesterday. But first of all, what has happened since I left you?"

Briefly, but with remarkable precision, Marguerite recounted the variousincidents which had occurred--her useless journey to the Rue d'Ulm, Madame Leon's strange midnight ramble and conversation with the Marquisde Valorsay, Madame de Fondege's letter, and lastly, her visit and allthat she had said. 

The magistrate listened with his eyes fixed on his ring "This is veryserious, very serious, " he said at last. "Perhaps you are right. PerhapsM. Ferailleur is innocent. And yet, why should he abscond? why should heleave the country?"

"Ah! monsieur, Pascal's flight is only feigned. He is inParis--concealed somewhere--I'm sure of it; and I know a man who willfind him for me. Only one thing puzzles me--his silence. To disappearwithout a word, without giving me any sign of life----"

The magistrate interrupted her by a gesture. "I see nothing surprisingin that since your companion is the Marquis de Valorsay's spy. How doyou know that she has not intercepted or destroyed some letter from M. Pascal?"

Mademoiselle Marguerite turned pale. "Great Heavens! how blind I havebeen!" she exclaimed. "I did not think of that. Oh, the wretch! if onecould only question her and make her confess her crime. It is horribleto think that if I wish to arrive at the truth, I must remain with herand treat her in the future just as I have treated her till now. "

But the magistrate was not the man to wander from the subject he wasinvestigating. "Let us return to Madame de Fondege, " said he. "Sheis extremely unwilling to see you go out into the world alone. Why?--through affection? No. Why, then? This is what we must ascertain. Secondly, she seems indifferent as to whether you accept her hospitalityor enter a convent. "

"She seems to prefer that I should enter a convent. "

"Very well. What conclusion can we draw from that? Simply, that theFondege family don't particularly care about keeping you with them, ormarrying you to their son. If they don't desire this, it is because theyare perfectly sure that the missing money was not taken by you. Now, letme ask, how can they be so certain? Simply because they know where themissing millions are--and if they know----"

"Ah! monsieur, it is because they've stolen them!"

The magistrate was silent. He had turned the bezel of his ring inside, asure sign of stormy weather, so his clerk would have said--and though hehad his features under excellent control he could not entirely concealsome signs of a severe mental conflict he was undergoing. "Well, yes, my child, " he said, at last. "Yes, it is my conviction that the Fondegespossess the millions you saw in the count's escritoire, and which wehave been unable to find. How they obtained possession of the money Ican't conceive--but they have it, or else logic is no longer logic. "He paused again for a moment, and then he resumed, more slowly: "Inacquainting you with my opinion on this subject, I have given you, ayoung girl, almost a child, a proof of esteem and confidence which, it seems to me, few men are worthy of; for I may be deceived, and amagistrate ought not to accuse a person unless he is absolutely certainof his guilt. So you must forget what I have just told you, MademoiselleMarguerite. "

She looked at him with an air of utter astonishment. "You advise me toforget, " she murmured, "you wish me to forget. "

"Yes; you must conceal these suspicions in the deepest recesses of yourheart, until the time comes when you have sufficient proof to convictthe culprits. It is true that it will be a difficult task to collectsuch proofs; but it is not impossible, with the aid of time, whichdivulges so many crimes. And you may count upon me; I will give you thebenefit of all my influence and experience. It shall never be said thatI allowed a defenceless girl to be crushed while I saw any chance ofsaving her. "

Tears came to Mademoiselle Marguerite's eyes. So the world was notcomposed entirely of scoundrels! "Ah! how kind you are, monsieur, " shesaid; "how kind you are!"

"To be sure!" he interrupted, in a benevolent tone. "But, my child, you must help yourself. Remember this: if the Fondeges suspect oursuspicions, all is lost. Repeat this to yourself at every moment in theday--and be discreet, impenetrable; for people with unclean consciencesand hands are always distrustful of others. "

There was no necessity to say anything more on this point; and so, witha sudden change of tone he asked: "Have you any plan?"

She felt that she could, and ought, to confide everything to thisworthy old man, and so rising to her feet, with a look of energy anddetermination on her face, she replied in a firm voice: "My decisionis taken, monsieur, subject, of course, to your approval. In the firstplace I shall keep Madame Leon with me, in whatever capacity she likes, it doesn't matter what. Through her I shall no doubt be able to watchthe Marquis de Valorsay, and perhaps eventually discover his hopes andhis aim. In the second place, I shall accept the hospitality offered meby the General and his wife. With them, I shall be in the very centre ofthe intrigue, and in a position to collect proofs of their infamy. "

The magistrate gave vent to an exclamation of delight. "You are a bravegirl, Mademoiselle Marguerite, " he said, "and at the same time a prudentone. Yes; that is the proper course to pursue. "

Nothing now remained save to make arrangements for her departure. Shepossessed some very handsome diamonds and other costly jewels; shouldshe keep them? "They are undoubtedly mine, " said she; "but after theinfamous accusations levelled at me, I can't consent to take them awaywith me. They are worth a very handsome amount. I shall leave them withyou, monsieur. If the courts restore them to me later--well--I shalltake them--and not without pleasure, I frankly confess. " Then as themagistrate questioned her anxiously as to her resources, she replied:"Oh! I'm not without money. M. De Chalusse was generosity itself, and mytastes are very simple. From the money he gave me for my clothes I savedmore than eight thousand francs in less than six months. That is morethan sufficient to maintain me for a year. "

The magistrate then explained that when the court took possessionof this immense estate, it would surely allow her a certain sum. For whether the count was her father or not, he was at any rate herofficially appointed guardian, and she would be considered a minor. Andin support of his assertion, he quoted Article 367 of the Civil Code, which says: "In the event of the officially appointed guardian dyingwithout adopting, his ward, the said ward shall be furnished during herminority with the means of subsistence from the said guardian's estate, "etc. , etc. 

"An additional reason why I should give up my jewels, " said MademoiselleMarguerite. 

The only point that now remained was to decide upon some plan by whichshe could communicate with her friend, the magistrate, without theknowledge of the General or his wife. The magistrate accordinglyexplained a system of correspondence which would defy the closestsurveillance, and then added: "Now, make haste back to your visitor. Whoknows what suspicions your absence may have caused her?"

But Mademoiselle Marguerite had one more request to make. She had oftenseen in M. De Chalusse's possession a little note-book, in which heentered the names and addresses of the persons with whom he had businesstransactions. M. Fortunat's address must be there, so she asked andobtained permission to examine this note-book, and to her great joy, under the letter "F, " she found the entry: "Fortunat (Isidore), No. 28Place de la Bourse. " "Ah! I'm sure that I shall find Pascal now!" sheexclaimed. And after once more thanking the magistrate, she returned toher room again. 

Madame de Fondege was awaiting her with feverish impatience. "How longyou stayed!" she cried. 

"I had so many explanations to give, madame. "

"How you are tormented, my poor child!"

"Oh, shamefully!"

This furnished Madame de Fondege with another excuse for profferingher advice. But Mademoiselle Marguerite would not allow herself to beconvinced at once. She raised a great many objections, and parleyed fora long time before telling Madame de Fondege that she would be happy toaccept the hospitality which had been offered her. And her consentwas by no means unconditional. She insisted on paying her board, andexpressed the wish to retain the services of Madame Leon to whom she wasso much attached. The worthy housekeeper was present at this conference. For an instant she had feared that Mademoiselle Marguerite suspected hermanoeuvres but her fears were now dispelled, and she even congratulatedherself on her skilfulness. Everything was arranged, and the agreementhad been sealed with a kiss, when the General returned about fouro'clock. "Ah, my dear!" cried his wife, "what happiness! We have adaughter!"

But even this intelligence was scarcely sufficient to revive herhusband's drooping spirits. He had almost fainted when he heard theearth falling on M. De Chalusse's coffin; and this display of weaknesson the part of a man adorned with such terrible and ferocious mustacheshad excited no little comment. "Yes, it is a great happiness!" he nowreplied. "But thunder and lightning! I never doubted the dear girl'sheart!"

Still both he and his wife could scarcely conceal their disappointmentwhen the magistrate informed them that their beloved daughter wouldnot take her diamonds. "Dash it!" growled the General. "I recognize herfather in this! What delicacy! almost too much, perhaps!"

However, when the magistrate informed him that the court wouldundoubtedly order the restitution of the jewels, his face brightenedagain, and he went down to superintend the removal of MademoiselleMarguerite's trunks, which were being loaded on one of the vehicles ofthe establishment. 

Then the moment of departure came. Mademoiselle Marguerite acknowledgedthe parting remarks of the servants, who were secretly delighted to befreed from her presence, and then, before entering the carriage, shecast a long, sad look upon this princely mansion which she had once hadthe right to believe her own, but which she was, alas! now leaving, inall probability, for ever. 

The conclusion of this narrative will be found in the volume called"Baron Trigault's Vengeance. "

[Footnote 1: French gamblers use this expression which they explain by the factthat Charlemagne departed this life with all his possessions intact, having always added to his dominions without ever experiencing aloss. Historically this is no doubt incorrect, but none the less, theexpression prevails in France. --TRANS. ]

[Footnote 2: See "Lecoq the Detective" by Emile Gaboriau]

[Footnote 3: The body of hired applauders who are employed at most Parisiantheatres to stimulate the enthusiasm of the audience. --Trans. ]