"At last it has been given to my eyes to contemplate him, and to myarms to press him against my heart!"It was in these terms that the old Italian master, all vibratingwith enthusiasm, and with his most terrible accent, announced toMlle. Gilberte that he had just seen that famous pupil from whom heexpected both glory and fortune.
But how weak he is still! he added, "and suffering from his wounds.
I hardly recognized him, he has grown so pale and so thin."But the girl was listening to him no more. A flood of life filledher heart. This moment made her forget all her troubles and allher anguish.
And I too, thought she, "shall see him again to-day."And, with the unerring instinct of the woman who loves, shecalculated the moment when Marius would appear in Rue St. Gilles.
It would probably be about nightfall, like the first time, beforeleaving; that is, about eight o'clock, for the days just then wereabout the longest in the year. Now it so happened, that, on thatvery day and hour, Mlle. Gilberte expected to be alone at home.
It was understood that her mother would, after dinner, call onMme. Desclavettes, who was in bed, half dead of the fright she hadhad during the last convulsions of the Commune. She would thereforebe free and would not need to invent a pretext to go out for a fewmoments. She could not help, however, but feel that this was abold and most venturesome step for her to take; and, when her motherwent out, she had not yet fully decided what to do. But her bonnetwas within reach, and Marius' letter was in her pocket. She wentto sit at the window. The street was solitary and silent as ofold. Night was coming; and heavy black clouds floated over Paris.
The heat was overpowering: there was not a breath of air.
One by one, as the hour was approaching when she expected to seeMarius, the hesitations of the young girl vanished like smoke. Shefeared but one thing, - that he would not come, or that he mayalready have come and left, without succeeding in seeing her.
Already did the objects become less distinct; and the gas was beinglit in the back-shops, when she recognized him on the other side ofthe street. He looked up as he went by; and, without stopping, headdressed her a rapid gesture, which she alone could understand, andwhich meant, "Come, I beseech you!"Her heart beating loud enough to be heard, Mlle. Gilberte ran downthe stairs. But it was only When she found herself in the streetthat she could appreciate the magnitude of the risk she was running.
Concierges and shopkeepers were all sitting in front of their doors,taking the fresh air. All knew her. Would they not be surprisedto see her out alone at such an hour? Twenty steps in front of hershe could see Marius. But he had understood the danger; for,instead of turning the corner of the Rue des Minimes, he followedthe Rue St. Gilles straight, and only stopped on the other side ofthe Boulevard.
Then only did Mlle. Gilberte join him; and she could not withholdan exclamation, when she saw that he was as pale as death, andscarcely able to stand and to walk.
How imprudent of you to have returned so soon! she said.
A little blood came to M. de Tregars' cheeks. His face brightenedup, and, in a voice quivering with suppressed passion,"It would have been more imprudent still to stay away," he uttered.
Far from you, I felt myself dying.They were both leaning against the door of a closed shop; and theywere as alone in the midst of the throng that circulated on theBoulevards, busy looking at the fearful wrecks of the Commune.
And besides, added Marius, "have I, then, a minute to lose? Iasked you for three years. Fifteen months have gone, and I am nobetter off than on the first day. When this accursed war broke out,all my arrangements were made. I was certain to rapidly accumulatea sufficient fortune to enable me to ask for your hand without beingrefused. Whereas now""Well?""Now every thing is changed. The future is so uncertain, that noone wishes to venture their capital. Marcolet himself, who certainlydoes not lack boldness, and who believes firmly in the success of ourenterprise, was telling me yesterday, 'There is nothing to be donejust now: we must wait.'"There was in his voice such an intensity of grief, that the girlfelt the tears coming to her eyes.
We will wait then, she said, attempting to smile.
But M. de Tregars shook his head.
Is it possible? he said. "Do you, then, think that I do not knowwhat a life you lead?"Mlle. Gilberte looked up.
Have I ever complained? she asked proudly?
No. Your mother and yourself, you have always religiously kept thesecret of your tortures; and it was only a providential accidentthat revealed them to me. But I learned every thing at last. I knowthat she whom I love exclusively and with all the power of my soul issubjected to the most odious despotism, insulted, and condemned tothe most humiliating privations. And I, who would give my life forher a thousand times over, - I can do nothing for her. Money raisesbetween us such an insuperable obstacle, that my love is actually anoffence. To hear from her, I am driven to accept accomplices. If Iobtain from her a few moments of conversation, I run the risk ofcompromising her maidenly reputation.Deeply affected by his emotion:
At least, said Mlle. Gilberte, "you succeeded in delivering mefrom M. Costeclar.""Yes, I was fortunately able to find weapons against that scoundrel.
But can I find some against all others that may offer? Your fatheris very rich; and the men are numerous for whom marriage is but aspeculation like any other.""Would you doubt me?""Ah, rather would I doubt myself! But I know what cruel trials yourrefusal to marry M. Costeclar imposed upon you: I know what amerciless struggle you had to sustain. Another pretender may come,and then - No, no, you see that we cannot wait.""What would you do?""I know not. I have not yet decided upon my future course. And yetHeaven knows what have been the labors of my mind during that longmonth I have just spent upon an ambulance-bed, that month duringwhich you were my only thought. Ah! when I think of it, I cannotfind words to curse the recklessness with which I disposed of myfortune."As if she had heard a blasphemy, the young girl drew back a step.
It is impossible, she exclaimed, "that you should regret havingpaid what your father owed."A bitter smile contracted M. de Tregars' lips.
And suppose I were to tell you, he replied, "that my father inreality owed nothing?""Oh!""Suppose I told you they took from him his entire fortune, over twomillions, as audaciously as a pick-pocket robs a man of hishandkerchief? Suppose I told you, that, in his loyal simplicity,he was but a man of straw in the hands of skillful knaves? Have youforgotten what you once heard the Count de Villegre say?"Mlle. Gilberte had forgotten nothing.
The Count de Villegre, she replied, "pretended that it was timeenough still to compel the men who had robbed your father todisgorge.""Exactly!" exclaimed Marius. "And now I am determined to make themdisgorge."In the mean time night had quite come. Lights appeared in theshop-windows; and along the line of the Boulevard the gas-lamps werebeing lit. Alarmed by this sudden illumination, M. de Tregars drewoff Mlle. Gilberte to a more obscure spot, by the stairs that leadto the Rue Amelot; and there, leaning against the iron railing, hewent on,"Already, at the time of my father's death, I suspected theabominable tricks of which he was the victim. I thought it unworthyof me to verify my suspicions. I was alone in the world: my wantswere few. I was fully convinced that my researches would give me,within a brief time, a much larger fortune than the one I gave up.
I found something noble and grand, and which flattered my vanity,in thus abandoning every thing, without discussion, withoutlitigation, and consummating my ruin with a single dash of my pen.
Among my friends the Count de Villegre alone had the courage to tellme that this was a guilty piece of folly; that the silence of thedupes is the strength of the knaves; that my indifference, whichmade the rascals rich, would make them laugh too. I replied that Idid not wish to see the name of Tregars dragged into court in ascandalous law-suit, and that to preserve a dignified silence wasto honor my father's memory. Treble fool that I was! The only wayto honor my father's memory was to avenge him, to wrest his spoilsfrom the scoundrels who had caused his death. I see it clearlyto-day. But, before undertaking any thing, I wished to consult you."Mlle. Gilberte was listening with the most intense attention. Shehad come to mingle so completely in her thoughts her future life andthat of M. de Tregars, that she saw nothing unusual in the fact ofhis consulting her upon matters affecting their prospects, and ofseeing herself standing there deliberating with him.
You will require proofs, she suggested.
I have none, unfortunately, replied M. de Tregars; "at least, nonesufficiently positive, and such as are required by courts of justice.
But I think I may find them. My former suspicions have become acertainty. The same good luck that enabled me to deliver you of M.
Costeclar's persecutions, also placed in my hands the most valuableinformation.""Then you must act," uttered Mlle. Gilberte resolutely.
Marius hesitated for a moment, as if seeking expression to conveywhat he had still to say. Then,"It is my duty," he proceeded, "to conceal nothing from you. Thetask is a heavy one. The obscure schemers of ten years ago havebecome big financiers, intrenched behind their money-bags as behindan impregnable fort. Formerly isolated, they have managed to gatheraround them powerful interests, accomplices high in office, andfriends whose commanding situation protects them. Having succeeded,they are absolved. They have in their favor what is called publicconsideration,-that idiotic thing which is made up of the admirationof the fools, the approbation of the knaves, and the concert of allinterested vanities. When they pass, their horses at full trot,their carriage raising a cloud of dust, insolent, impudent, swelledwith the vulgar fatuity of wealth, people bow to the ground, and say,'Those are smart fellows!' And in fact, yes, skill or luck, theyhave hitherto avoided the police-courts where so many others havecome to grief. Those who despise them fear them) and shake handswith them. Moreover, they are rich enough not to steal any morethemselves. They have employes to do that. I take Heaven to witnessthat never until lately had the idea come to me to disturb in theirpossession the men who robbed my father. Alone, what need had I ofmoney? Later, 0 my friend! I thought I could succeed in conqueringthe fortune I needed to obtain your hand. You had promised to wait;and I was happy to think that I should owe you to my sole exertions.
Events have crushed my hopes. I am to-day compelled to acknowledgethat all my efforts would be in vain. To wait would be to run therisk of losing you. Therefore I hesitate no longer. I want what'smine: I wish to recover that of which I have been robbed. WhateverI may do, - for, alas! I know not to what I may be driven, whatrole I may have to play, - remember that of all my acts, of all mythoughts, there will not be a single one that does not aim to bringnearer the blessed day when you shall become my wife."There was in his voice so much unspeakable affection, that the younggirl could hardly restrain her tears.
Never, whatever may happen, shall I doubt you, Marius, she uttered.
He took her hands, and, pressing them passionately within his,"And I," he exclaimed, "I swear, that, sustained by the thought ofyou, there is no disgust that I will not overcome, no obstacle thatI will not overthrow."He spoke so loud, that two or three persons stopped. He noticed it,and was brought suddenly from sentiment to the reality,"Wretches that we are," he said in a low voice, and very fast, "weforget what this interview may cost us!
And he led Mlle. Gilberte across the Boulevard; and, whilst makingtheir way to the Rue St. Gilles, through the deserted streets,"It is a dreadful imprudence we have just committed," resumed M. deTregars. "But it was indispensable that we should see each other;and we had not the choice of means. Now, and for a long time, weshall be separated. Every thing you wish me to know, - say it tothat worthy Gismondo, who repeats faithfully to me every word youutter. Through him, also, you shall hear from me. Twice a week,on Tuesdays and Fridays, about nightfall, I shall pass by your house;and, if I am lucky enough to have a glimpse of you, I shall returnhome fired with fresh energy. Should any thing extraordinaryhappen, beckon to me, and I'll wait for you in the Rue des Minimes.
But this is an expedient to which we must only resort in the lastextremity. I should never forgive myself, were I to compromise yourfair name."They had reached the Rue St. Gilles. Marius stopped.
We must part, he began.
But then only Mlle. Gilberte remembered M. de Tregars' letter, whichshe had in her pocket. Taking it out, and handing it to him,"Here," she said, "is the package you deposited with me.""No," he answered, repelling her gently, "keep that letter: it mustnever be opened now, except by the Marquise de Tregars."And raising her hand to his lips, and in a deeply agitated voice,"Farewell!" he murmured. "Have courage, and have hope."
Mlle. Gilberte was soon far away; and Marius de Tregars remainedmotionless at the corner of the street, following her with his eyesthrough the darkness.
She was walking fast, staggering over the rough pavement. LeavingMarius, she fell back upon the earth from the height of her dreams.
The deceiving illusion had vanished, and, returned to the world ofsad reality, she was seized with anxiety.
How long had she been out? She knew not, and found it impossibleto reckon. But it was evidently getting late; for some of the shopswere already closing.
Meantime, she had reached the house. Stepping back, and looking up,she saw that there was light in the parlor.
Mother has returned, she thought, trembling with apprehension.
She hurried up, nevertheless; and, just as she reached the landing,Mme. Favoral opened the door, preparing to go down.
At last you are restored to me! exclaimed the poor mother, whosesinister apprehensions were revealed by that single exclamation. "Iwas going out to look for you at random, - in the streets, anywhere."And, drawing her daughter within the parlor, she clasped her in herarms with convulsive tenderness, exclaiming,"Where were you? Where do you come from? Do you know that it isafter nine o'clock?"Such had been Mlle. Gilberte's state of mind during the whole ofthat evening, that she had not even thought of finding a pretextto justify her absence. Now it was too late. Besides, whatexplanation would have been plausible? Instead, therefore, ofanswering,"Why, dear mother," she said with a forced smile, "has it nothappened to me twenty times to go out in the neighborhood?"But Mme. Favoral's confiding credulity existed no longer.
I have been blind, Gilberte, she interrupted; "but this time myeyes must open to evidence. There is in your life a mystery,something extraordinary, which I dare not try to guess."Mlle. Gilberte drew herself up, and, looking her mother straight inthe eyes, with her beautiful, clear glance,"Would you suspect me of something wrong, then?" she exclaimed.
Mme. Favoral stopped her with a gesture.
A young girl who conceals something from her mother always doeswrong, she uttered. "It is a long while since I have had for thefirst time the presentiment that you were hiding something from me.
But, when I questioned you, you succeeded in quieting my suspicions.
You have abused my confidence and my weakness."This reproach was the most cruel that could be addressed to Mlle.
Gilberte. The blood rushed to her face, and, in a firm voice,"Well, yes," said she: "I have a secret.""Dear me!""And, if I did not confide it to you, it is because it is also thesecret of another. Yes, I confess it, I have been imprudent in theextreme; I have stepped beyond all the limits of propriety and socialcustom; I have exposed myself to the worst calumnies. But never, - Iswear it, - never have I done any thing of which my conscience canreproach me, nothing that I have to blush for, nothing that I regret,nothing that I am not ready to do again to-tomorrow.""I said nothing, 'tis true; but it was my duty. Alone I had tosuffer the responsibility of my acts. Having alone freely engagedmy future, I wished to bear alone the weight of my anxiety. I shouldnever have forgiven myself for having added this new care to all yourother sorrows."Mme. Favoral stood dismayed. Big tears rolled down her witheredcheeks.
Don't you see, then, she stammered, "that all my past suffering isas nothing compared to what I endure to-day? Good heavens! what haveI ever done to deserve so many trials? Am I to be spared none of thetroubles of this world? And it is through my own daughter that I amthe most cruelly stricken!"This was more than Mlle. Gilberte could bear. Her heart was breakingat the sight of her mother's tears, that angel of meekness andresignation. Throwing her arms around her neck, and kissing her onthe eyes,"Mother," she murmured, "adored mother, I beg of you do not weepthus! Speak to me! What do you wish me to do?"Gently the poor woman drew back.
Tell me the truth, she answered.
Was it not certain that this was the very, thing she would ask; infact, the only thing she could ask? Ah! how much would the younggirl have preferred one of her father's violent scenes, andbrutalities which would have exalted her energy, instead ofcrushing it!
Attempting to gain time,"Well, yes," she answered," I'll tell you every thing, mother, butnot now, to-morrow, later."She was about to yield, however, when her father's arrival cutshort their conversation.
The cashier of the Mutual Credit was quite lively that night. Hewas humming a tune, a thing which did not happen to him four timesa year, and which was indicative of the most extreme satisfaction.
But he stopped short at the sight of the disturbed countenance of hiswife and daughter.
What is the matter? he inquired.
Nothing, hastily answered Mlle. Gilberte, - "nothing at all,father.""Then you are crying for your amusement," he said. "Come, be candidfor once, and confess that Maxence has been at his tricks again!
"You are mistaken, father: I swear it! He asked no further questions, being in his nature not very curious,whether because family matters were of so little consequence to him,or because he had a vague idea that his general behavior deprivedhim of all right to their confidence. Very well, then,"" he said in a gruff tone, ""let us all go to bed.
"I have worked so hard to-day, that I am quite exhausted. Peoplewho pretend that business is dull make me laugh. Never has M. deThaller been in the way of making so much money as now."When he spoke, they obeyed. So that Mlle. Gilberte was thus goingto have the whole night before her to resume possession of herself,to pass over in her mind the events of the evening, and deliberatecoolly upon the decision she must come to; for, she could not doubtit, Mme. Favoral would, the very next day, renew her questions.
What should she say? All? Mlle. Gilberte felt disposed to do soby all the aspirations of her heart, by the certainty of indulgentcomplicity, by the thought of finding in a sympathetic soul the echoof her joys, of her troubles, and of her hopes.
Yes. But Mme. Favoral was still the same woman, whose firmestresolutions vanished under the gaze of her husband. Let a pretendercome; let a struggle begin, as in the case of M. Costeclar, - wouldshe have strength enough to remain silent? No!
Then it would be a fearful scene with M. Favoral. He might,perhaps, even go to M. de Tregars. What scandal! For he was a manwho spared no one; and then a new obstacle would rise between them,more insurmountable still than the others.
Mlle. Gilberte was thinking, too, of Marius's projects; of thatterrible game he was about to play, the issue of which was to decidetheir fate. He had said enough to make her understand all itsperils, and that a single indiscretion might suffice to set atnought the result of many months' labor and patience. Besides, tospeak, was it not to abuse Marius's confidence. How could sheexpect another to keep a secret she had been unable to keep herself?
At last, after protracted and painful hesitation, she decided thatshe was bound to silence, and that she would only vouchsafe thevaguest explanations.
It was in vain, then, that, on the next and the following days,Mme. Favoral tried to obtain that confession which she had seen,as it were, rise to her daughter's lips. To her passionateadjurations, to her tears, to her ruses even, Mlle. Gilberteinvariably opposed equivocal answers, a story through which nothingcould be guessed, save one of those childish romances which stopat the preface, - a schoolgirl love for a chimerical hero.
There was nothing in this very reassuring to a mother; but Mme.
Favoral knew her daughter too well to hope to conquer her invincibleobstinacy. She insisted no more, appeared convinced, but resolvedto exercise the utmost vigilance. In vain, however, did she displayall the penetration of which she was capable. The severestattention did not reveal to her a single suspicious fact, not acircumstance from which she could draw an induction, until, at last,she thought that she must have been mistaken.
The fact is, that Mlle. Gilberte had not been long in feelingherself watched; and she observed herself with a tenaciouscircumspection that could hardly have been expected of her resoluteand impatient nature. She had trained herself to a sort of cheerfulcarelessness, to which she strictly adhered, watching everyexpression of her countenance, and avoiding carefully those hoursof vague revery in which she formerly indulged.
For two successive weeks, fearing to be betrayed by her looks, shehad the courage not to show herself at the window at the hour whenshe knew Marius would pass. Moreover, she was very minutelyinformed of the alternatives of the campaign undertaken by M. deTregars.
More enthusiastic than ever about his pupil, the Signor GismondoPulei never tired of singing his praise, and with such pomp ofexpression, and so curious an exuberance of gesticulation, that Mme.
Favoral was much amused; and, on the days when she was present ather daughter's lesson, she was the first to inquire,"Well, how is that famous pupil?"And, according to what Marius had, told him,"He is swimming in the purest satisfaction," answered the candidmaestro. "Every thing succeeds miraculously well, and much beyondhis hopes."Or else, knitting his brows-"He was sad yesterday," he said, "owing to an unexpecteddisappointment; but he does not lose courage. We shall succeed."The young girl could not help smiling to see her mother assistingthus the unconscious complicity of the Signor Gismondo. Then shereproached herself for having smiled, and for having thus come,through a gradual and fatal descent, to laugh at a duplicity atwhich she would have blushed in former times. In spite of herself,however, she took a passionate interest in the game that was beingplayed between her mother and herself, and of which her secret wasthe stake. It was an ever-palpitating interest in her hithertomonotonous life, and a source of constantly-renewed emotions.
The days became weeks, and the weeks months; and Mme. Favoralrelaxed her useless surveillance, and, little by little, gave itup almost entirely. She still thought, that, at a certain moment,something unusual had occurred to her daughter; but she feltpersuaded, that, whatever that was, it had been forgotten.
So that, on the stated days, Mlle. Gilberte could go and lean uponthe window, without fear of being called to account for the emotionwhich she felt when M. de Tregars appeared. At the expected hour,invariably, and with a punctuality to shame M. Favoral himself, heturned the corner of the Rue Turenne, exchanged a rapid glance withthe young girl, and passed on.
His health was completely restored; and with it he had recoveredthat graceful virility which results from the perfect blending ofsuppleness and strength. But he no longer wore the plain garmentsof former days. He was dressed now with that elegant simplicitywhich reveals at first sight that rarest of objects, - a "perfectgentleman." And, whilst she accompanied him with her eyes as hewalked towards the Boulevard, she felt thoughts of joy and priderising from the bottom of her soul.
Who would ever imagine, thought she, "that this young gentlemanwalking away yonder is my affianced husband, and that the day isperhaps not far, when, having become his wife, I shall lean uponhis arm? Who would think that all my thoughts belong to him, thatit is for my sake that he has given up the ambition of his life,and is now prosecuting another object? Who would suspect that itis for Gilberte Favoral's sake that the Marquis de Tregars iswalking in the Rue St. Gilles?"And, indeed, Marius did deserve some credit for these walks; forwinter had come, spreading a thick coat of mud over the pavementof all those little streets which are always forgotten by thestreet-cleaners.
The cashier's home had resumed its habits of before the war, itsdrowsy monotony scarcely disturbed by the Saturday dinner, by M.
Desclavette's naivetes or old Desormeaux's puns.
Maxence, in the mean time, had ceased to live with his parents. Hehad returned to Paris immediately after the Commune; and, feeling nolonger in the humor to submit to the paternal despotism, he hadtaken a small apartment on the Boulevard du Temple; but, at thepressing instance, of his mother, he had consented to come everynight to dine at the Rue St. Gilles.
Faithful to his oath, he was working hard, though without gettingon very fast. The moment was far from propitious; and the occasion,which he had so often allowed to escape, did not offer itself again.
For lack of any thing better, he had kept his clerkship at therailway; and, as two hundred francs a month were not quite sufficientfor his wants, he spent a portion of his nights copying documentsfor M. Chapelain's successor.
What do you need so much money for? his mother said to him whenshe noticed his eyes a little red.
Every thing is so dear! he answered with a smile, which wasequivalent to a confidence, and yet which Mme. Favoral did notunderstand.
He had, nevertheless, managed to pay all his debts, little bylittle. The day when, at last, he held in his hand the lastreceipted bill, he showed it proudly to his father, begging him tofind him a place at the Mutual Credit, where, with infinitely lesstrouble, he could earn so much more.
M. Favoral commenced to giggle.
Do you take me for a fool, like your mother? he exclaimed. "Anddo you think I don't know what life you lead?"My life is that of a poor devil who works as hard as he can.""Indeed! How is it, then, that women are constantly seen at yourhouse, whose dresses and manners are a scandal in the neighborhood?""You have been deceived, father.""I have seen.""It is impossible. Let me explain."No, you would have your trouble for nothing. You are, and you willever remain, the same; and it would be folly on my part to introduceinto an office where I enjoy the esteem of all, a fellow, who, someday or other, will be fatally dragged into the mud by some lostcreature."Such discussions were not calculated to make the relations betweenfather and son more cordial. Several times M. Favoral hadinsinuated, that, since Maxence lodged away from home, he might aswell dine away too. And he would evidently have notified him todo so, had he not been prevented by a remnant of human respect,and the fear of gossip.
On the other hand, the bitter regret of having, perhaps, spoiledhis life, the uncertainty of the future, the penury of the moment,all the unsatisfied desires of youth, kept Maxence in a state ofperpetual irritation.
The excellent Mme. Favoral exhausted all her arguments to quiet him.
Your father is harsh for us, she said; "but is he less harsh forhimself? He forgives nothing; but he has never needed to beforgiven himself. He does not understand youth, but he has neverbeen young himself; and at twenty he was as grave and as cold asyou see him now. How could he know what pleasure is? - he to whomthe idea has never come to take an hour's enjoyment.""Have I, then, been guilty of any crimes, to be thus treated by myfather?" exclaimed Maxence, flushed with anger. "Our existence hereis an unheard-of thing. You, poor, dear mother! - you have neverhad the free disposition of a five-franc-piece. Gilberte spendsher days turning her dresses, after having had them dyed. I amdriven to a petty clerkship. And my father has fifty thousandfrancs a year!"Such, indeed, was the figure at which the most moderate estimatedM. Favoral's fortune. M. Chapelain, who was supposed to be wellinformed, insinuated freely that his friend Vincent, besides beingthe cashier of the Mutual Credit, must also be one of its principalstock-holders. Now, judging from the dividend which had just beenpaid, the Mutual Credit must, since the war, have realized enormousprofits. All its enterprises were successful; and it was on thepoint of negotiating a foreign loan which would infallibly fill itsexchequer to overflowing.
M. FAVORAL, moreover, defended himself feebly from these accusationsof concealed opulence. When M. Desormeaux told him, "Come, now,between us, candidly, how many millions have you?" he had such astrange way of affirming that people were very much mistaken, thathis friends' convictions became only the more settled. And, assoon as they had a few thousand francs of savings, they promptlybrought them to him, imitated in this by a goodly number of thesmall capitalists of the neighborhood, who were wont to remarkamong themselves,"That man is safer than the bank!"Millionaire or otherwise, the cashier of the Mutual Credit becamedaily more difficult to live with. If strangers, those who hadwith him but a superficial intercourse, if the Saturday gueststhemselves, discovered in him no appreciable change, his wife andhis children followed with anxious surprise the modifications ofhis humor.
If outwardly he still appeared the same impassible, precise, andgrave man, he showed himself at home more fretful than an old maid,- nervous, agitated, and subject to the oddest whims. Afterremaining three or four days without opening his lips, he wouldbegin to speak upon all sorts of subjects with amazing volubility.
Instead of watering his wine freely, as formerly, he had begun todrink it pure; and he often took two bottles at his meal, excusinghimself upon the necessity that he felt the need of stimulatinghimself a little after his excessive labors.
Then he would be taken with fits of coarse gayety; and he relatedsingular anecdotes, intermingled with slang expressions, whichMaxence alone could understand.
On the morning of the first day of January, 1872, as he sat downto breakfast, he threw upon the table a roll of fifty napoleons,saying to his children,"Here is your New Year's gift! Divide, and buy anything you like."And as they were looking at him, staring, stupid with astonishment,"Well, what of it?" he added with an oath. "Isn't it well, once ina while, to scatter the coins a little?"Those unexpected thousand francs Maxence and Mlle. Gilberte appliedto the purchase of a shawl, which their mother had wished forten years.
She laughed and she cried with pleasure and emotion, the poor woman;and, whilst draping it over her shoulders,"Well, well, my dear children," she said: "your father, after all,is not such a bad man."Of which they did not seem very well convinced. "One thing is sure,"remarked Mlle. Gilberte: "to permit himself such liberality, papamust be awfully rich."M. FAVORAL was not present at this scene. The yearly accounts kepthim so closely confined to his office, that he remained forty-eighthours without coming home. A journey which he was compelled toundertake for M. de Thaller consumed the balance of the week.
But on his return he seemed satisfied and quiet. Without giving uphis situation at the Mutual Credit, he was about, he stated, toassociate himself with the Messrs. Jottras, M. Saint Pavin of"The Financial Pilot," and M. Costeclar, to undertake theconstruction of a foreign railway.
M. Costeclar was at the head of this enterprise, the enormousprofits of which were so certain and so clear; that they could befigured in advance.
And whilst on this same subject,"You were very wrong," he said to Mlle. Gilberte, "not to make hasteand marry Costeclar when he was willing to have you. You will neverfind another such match, - a man who, before ten years, will be afinancial power."The very name of M. Costeclar had the effect of irritating the younggirl.
I thought you had fallen out? she said to her father.
So we had, he replied with some embarrassment, "because he hasnever been willing to tell me why he had withdrawn; but peoplealways make up again when they have interests in common."Formerly, before the war, M. Favoral would certainly never havecondescended to enter into all these details. But he was becomingalmost communicative. Mile. Gilberte, who was observing him withinterested attention, fancied she could see that he was yieldingto that necessity of expansion, more powerful than the will itself,which besets the man who carries within him a weighty secret.
Whilst for twenty years he had, so to speak, never breathed a wordon the subject of the Thaller family, now he was continuallyspeaking of them. He told his Saturday friends all about theprincely style of the baron, the number of his servants and horses,the color of his liveries, the parties that he gave, what he spentfor pictures and objects of art, and even the very names of hismistresses; for the baron had too much respect for himself not tolay every year a few thousand napoleons at the feet of some younglady sufficiently conspicuous to be mentioned in the societynewspapers.
M. Favoral confessed that he did not approve the baron; but it waswith a sort of bitter hatred that he spoke of the baroness. It wasimpossible, he affirmed to his guests, to estimate even approximatelythe fabulous sums squandered by her, scattered, thrown to the fourwinds. For she was not prodigal, she was prodigality itself, - thatidiotic, absurd, unconscious prodigality which melts a fortune in aturn of the hand; which cannot even obtain from money thesatisfaction of a want, a wish, or a fancy.
He said incredible things of her, - things which made Mme.
Desclavettes jump upon her seat, explaining that he learned allthese details from M. de Thaller, who had often commissioned him topay his wife's debts, and also from the baroness herself, who didnot hesitate to call sometimes at the office for twenty francs; forsuch was her want of order, that, after borrowing all the savingsof her servants, she frequently had not two cents to throw to abeggar.
Neither did the cashier of the Mutual Credit seem to have a verygood opinion of Mademoiselle de Thaller.
Brought up at hap-hazard, in the kitchen much more than in theparlor, until she was twelve, and, later, dragged by her motheranywhere, - to the races, to the first representations, to thewatering-places, always escorted by a squadron of the young menof the bourse, Mlle. de Thaller had adopted a style which wouldhave been deemed detestable in a man. As soon as some questionablefashion appeared, she appropriated it at once, never finding anything eccentric enough to make herself conspicuous. She rode onhorseback, fenced, frequented pigeon-shooting matches, spoke slang,sang Theresa's songs, emptied neatly her glass of champagne, andsmoked her cigarette.
The guests were struck dumb with astonishment.
But those people must spend millions! interrupted M. Chapelain.
M. Favoral started as if he had been slapped on the back.
Bash! he answered. "They are so rich, so awfully rich!"He changed the conversation that evening; but on the followingSaturday, from the very beginning of the dinner,I believe," he said, "that M. de Thaller has just discovered ahusband for his daughter.""My compliments!" exclaimed M. Desormeaux. "And who may this boldfellow be?""A nobleman, of course," he replied. "Isn't that the tradition?
As soon as a financier has made his little million, he starts inquest of a nobleman to give him his daughter."One of those painful presentiments, such as arise in the inmostrecesses of the soul, made Mlle. Gilberte turn pale. Thispresentiment suggested to her an absurd, ridiculous, unlikely thing;and yet she was sure that it would not deceive her, - so sure,indeed, that she rose under the pretext of looking for something inthe side-board, but in reality to conceal the terrible emotion whichshe anticipated.
And this gentleman? inquired M. Chapelain.
Is a marquis, if you please, - the Marquis de Tregars.Well, yes, it was this very name that Mlle. Gilberte was expecting,and well that she did; for she was thus able to command enoughcontrol over herself to check the cry that rose to her throat.
But this marriage is not made yet, pursued M. Favoral. "Thismarquis is not yet so completely ruined, that he can be made to doany thing they please. Sure, the baroness has set her heart uponit, oh! but with all her might!"A discussion which now arose prevented Gilberte from learning anymore; and as soon as the dinner, which seemed eternal to her, wasover, she complained of a violent headache, and withdrew to her room.
She shook with fever; her teeth chattered. And yet she could notbelieve that Marius was betraying her, nor that he could have thethought of marrying such a girl as M. Favoral had described, andfor money too! Poor, ah! No, that was not admissible. Althoughshe remembered well that Marius had made her swear to believenothing that might be said of him, she spent a horrible Sunday,and she felt like throwing herself in the Signor Gismondo's arms,when, in giving her his lesson the following Monday,My poor pupil," he said, "feels miserable. A marriage has beenspoken of for him, for which he has a perfect horror; and he trembleslest the rumor may reach his intended, whom he loves exclusively."Mlle. Gilberte felt re-assured after that. And yet there remainedin her heart an invincible sadness. She could hardly doubt thatthis matrimonial scheme was a part of the plan planned by Mariusto recover his fortune. But why, then, had he applied to M. deThaller? Who could be the man who had despoiled the Marquis deTregars?
Such were the thoughts which occupied her mind on that Saturdayevening when the commissary of police presented himself in the RueSt. Gilles to arrest M. Favoral, charged with embezzling ten ortwelve millions.
The hour had now come for the denouement of that home tragedy whichwas being enacted in the Rue St. Gilles.
The reader will remember the incidents narrated at the beginning ofthis story, - M. de Thaller's visit and angry words with M. Favoral,his departure after leaving a package of bank-notes in Mlle.
Gilberte's hands, the advent of the commissary of police, M.
Favoral's escape, and finally the departure of the Saturday eveningguests.
The disaster which struck Mme. Favoral and her children had been sosudden and so crushing, that they had been, on the moment, toostupefied to realize it. What had happened went so far beyond thelimits of the probable, of the possible even, that they could notbelieve it. The too cruel scenes which had just taken place wereto them like the absurd incidents of a horrible nightmare.
But when their guests had retired after a few commonplaceprotestations, when they found themselves alone, all three, in thathouse whose master had just fled, tracked by the police, - thenonly, as the disturbed equilibrium of their minds became somewhatrestored, did they fully realize the extent of the disaster, andthe horror of the situation.
Whilst Mme. Favoral lay apparently lifeless on an arm-chair,Gilberte kneeling at her feet, Maxence was walking up and down theparlor with furious steps. He was whiter than the plaster on thehalls; and a cold perspiration glued his tangled hair to his temples.
His eyes glistening, and his fists clinched,"Our father a thief!" he kept repeating in a hoarse voice, "a forger!"And in fact never had the slightest suspicion arisen in his mind.
In these days of doubtful reputations, he had been proud indeed ofM. Favoral's reputation of austere integrity. And he had enduredmany a cruel reproach, saying to himself that his father had, by hisown spotless conduct, acquired the right to be harsh and exacting.
And he has stolen twelve millions! he exclaimed.
And he went on, trying to calculate all the luxury and splendorwhich such a sum represents, all the cravings gratified, all thedreams realized, all it can procure of things that may be bought.
And what things are not for sale for twelve millions!
Then he examined the gloomy home in the Rue St. Gilles, - thecontracted dwelling, the faded furniture the prodigies of aparsimonious industry, his mother's privations, his sister's penury,and his own distress. And he exclaimed again,"It is a monstrous infamy!"The words of the commissary of police had opened his eyes; and henow fancied the most wonderful things. M. Favoral, in his mind,assumed fabulous proportions. By what miracles of hypocrisy anddissimulation had he succeeded in making himself ubiquitous as itwere, and, without awaking a suspicion, living two lives so distinctand so different, - here, in the midst of his family, parsimonious,methodic, and severe; elsewhere, in some illicit household,doubtless facile, smiling, and generous, like a successful thief.
For Maxence considered the bills found in the secretary as aflagrant, irrefutable and material proof.
Upon the brink of that abyss of shame into which his father had justtumbled, he thought he could see, not the inevitable woman, thatincentive of all human actions, but the entire legion of thosebewitching courtesans who possess unknown crucibles wherein to swellfortunes, and who have secret filters to stupefy their dupes, andstrip them of their honor, after robbing them of their last cent.
And I, said Maxence, - " I, because at twenty I was fond ofpleasure, I was called a bad son! Because I had made some threehundred francs of debts, I was deemed a swindler! Because I lovea poor girl who has for me the most disinterested affection, I amone of those rascals whom their family disown, and from whom nothingcan be expected but shame and disgrace!"He filled the parlor with the sound of his voice, which rose likehis wrath.
And at the thought of all the bitter reproaches which had beenaddressed to him by his father, and of all the humiliations thathad been heaped upon him,"Ah, the wretch!" he fairly shrieked, " - the coward!"As pale as her brother, her face bathed in tears, and her beautifulhair hanging undone, Mlle. Gilberte drew herself up.
He is our father, Maxence, she said gently.
But he interrupted her with a wild burst of laughter. "True," heanswered; "and, by virtue of the law which is written in the code,we owe him affection and respect.""Maxence! "murmured the girl in a beseeching tone. But he went on,nevertheless,"Yes, he is our father, unfortunately. But I should like to knowhis titles to our respect and our affection. After making ourmother the most miserable of creatures, he has embittered ourexistence, withered our youth, ruined my future, and done his bestto spoil yours by compelling you to marry Costeclar. And, to crownall these deeds of kindness, he runs away now, after stealing twelvemillions, leaving us nothing but misery and a disgraced name.
And yet, he added, "is it possible that a cashier should taketwelve millions, and his employer know nothing of it? And is ourfather really the only man who benefitted by these millions?"Then came back to the mind of Maxence and Mlle. Gilberte the lastwords of their father at the moment of his flight," I have been betrayed; and I must suffer for all!"And his sincerity could hardly be called in question; for he wasthen in one of those moments of decisive crisis in which the truthforces itself out in spite of all calculation.
He must have accomplices then, murmured Maxence.
Although he had spoken very low, Mme. Favoral overheard him. Todefend her husband, she found a remnant of energy, and, straighteningherself on her seat,"Ah! do not doubt it," she stammered out. "Of his own inspiration,Vincent could never have committed an evil act. He has beencircumvented, led away, duped!""Very well; but by whom?""By Costeclar," affirmed Mlle. Gilberte.
By the Messrs. Jottras, the bankers, said Mme. Favoral, "and alsoby M. Saint Pavin, the editor of 'the Financial Pilot.'""By all of them, evidently," interrupted Maxence, "even by hismanager, M. de Thaller."When a man is at the bottom of a precipice, what is the use offinding out how he has got there, - whether by stumbling over astone, or slipping on a tuft of grass! And yet it is always ourforemost thought. It was with an eager obstinacy that Mme. Favoraland her children ascended the course of their existence, seeking inthe past the incidents and the merest words which might throw somelight upon their disaster; for it was quite manifest that it wasnot in one day and at the same time that twelve millions had beensubtracted from the Mutual Credit. This enormous deficit must havebeen, as usual, made gradually, with infinite caution at first,whilst there was a desire, and some hope, to make it good again,then with mad recklessness towards the end when the catastrophe hadbecome inevitable.
Alas! murmured Mme. Favoral, "why did not Vincent listen to mypresentiments on that ever fatal day when he brought M. de Thaller,M. Jottras, and M. Saint Pavin to dine here? They promised him afortune."Maxence and Mlle. Gilberte were too young at the time of that dinnerto have preserved any remembrance of it; but they remembered manyother circumstances, which, at the time they had taken place, hadnot struck them. They understood now the temper of their father,his perpetual irritation, and the spasms of his humor. When hisfriends were heaping insults upon him, he had exclaimed,"Be it so! let them arrest me; and to-night, for the first time inmany years, I shall sleep in peace."There were years, then, that he lived, as it were upon burning coals,trembling at the fear of discovery, and wondering, as he went tosleep each night, whether he would not be awakened by the rude handof the police tapping him on the shoulder. No one better than Mme.
Favoral could affirm it.
Your father, my children, she said, "had long since lost his sleep.
There was hardly ever a night that he did not get up and walk theroom for hours."They understood, now, his efforts to compel Mlle. Gilberte to marryM. Costeclar.
He thought that Costeclar would help him out of the scrape,suggested Maxence to his sister.
The poor girl shuddered at the thought, and she could not helpfeeling thankful to her father for not having told her his situation;for would she have had the sublime courage to refuse the sacrifice,if her father had told her?.
I have stolen! I am lost! Costeclar alone can save me; and hewill save me if you become his wife.M. Favoral's pleasant behavior during the siege was quite natural.
Then he had no fears; and one could understand how in the mostcritical hours of the Commune, when Paris was in flames, he couldhave exclaimed almost cheerfully,"Ah! this time it is indeed the final liquidation."Doubtless, in the bottom of his heart, he wished that Paris mightbe destroyed, and, with it, the evidences of his crime. Andperhaps he was not the only one to form that impious wish.
That's why, then, exclaimed Maxence, - "that's why my fathertreated me so rudely: that's why he so obstinately persisted inclosing the offices of the Mutual Credit against me."He was interrupted by a violent ringing of the door-bell. He lookedat the clock: ten o'clock was about to strike.
Who can call so late? said Mme. Favoral.
Something like a discussion was heard in the hall, - a voice hoarsewith anger, and the servant's voice.
Go and see who's there, said Gilberte to her brother.
It was useless; the servant appeared.
It's M. Bertan, she commenced, "the baker - He had followed her,and, pushing her aside with his robust arm, he appeared himself.
He was a man about forty years of age, tall, thin, already bald,and wearing his beard trimmed close.
M. Favoral? he inquired.
My father is not at home, replied Maxence.
It's true, then, what I have just been told?"What?"That the police came to arrest him, and he escaped through awindow."It's true, replied Maxence gently.
The baker seemed prostrated.
And my money? he asked.
What money?"Why, my ten thousand francs! Ten thousand francs which I broughtto M. Favoral, in gold, you hear? in ten rolls, which I placedthere, on that very table, and for which he gave me a receipt. Hereit is, - his receipt.He held out a paper; but Maxence did not take it.
I do not doubt your word, sir, he replied; "but my father'sbusiness is not ours.""You refuse to give me back my money?""Neither my mother, my sister, nor myself, have any thing."The blood rushed to the man's face, and, with a tongue made thickby anger,"And you think you are going to pay me off in that way?" heexclaimed. "You have nothing! Poor little fellow! And will youtell me, then, what has become of the twenty millions your fatherhas stolen? for he has stolen twenty millions. I know it: I havebeen told so. Where are they?""The police, sir, has placed the seals over my fathers papers.""The police?" interrupted the baker, "the seals? What do I carefor that? It's my money I want: do you hear? Justice is going totake a hand in it, is it? Arrest your father, try him? What goodwill that do me? He will be condemned to two or three years'
imprisonment. Will that give me a cent? He will serve out his timequietly; and, when he gets out of prison, he'll get hold of the pilethat he's got hidden somewhere; and while I starve, he'll spend mymoney under my very nose. No, no! Things won't 'suit me that way.
It's at once that I want to be paid."And throwing himself upon a chair his head back, and his legsstretched forward-"And what's more," he declared, "I am not going out of here untilI am paid."It was not without the greatest efforts that Maxence managed tokeep his temper.
Your insults are useless, sir, he commenced.
The man jumped up from his seat.
Insults! he cried in a voice that could have been heard allthrough the house. "Do you call it an insult when a man claims hisown? If you think you can make me hush, you are mistaken in yourman, M. Favoral, Jun. I am not rich myself: my father has notstolen to leave me an income. It is not in gambling at the boursethat I made these ten thousand francs. It is by the sweat of mybody, by working hard night and day for years, by depriving myselfof a glass of wine when I was thirsty. And I am to lose them? Bythe holy name of heaven, we'll have to see about that! If everybodywas like me, there would not be so many scoundrels going about,their pockets filled with other people's money, and from the top oftheir carriage laughing at the poor fools they have ruined. Come,my ten thousand francs, canaille, or I take my pay on your back."Maxence, enraged, was about to throw himself upon the man, and adisgusting struggle was about to begin, when Mlle. Gilberte steppedbetween them.
Your threats are as cowardly as your insults, Monsieur Bertan,she uttered in a quivering voice. "You have known us long enoughto be aware that we know nothing of our father's business, and thatwe have nothing ourselves. All we can do is to give up to ourcreditors our very last crumb. Thus it shall be done. And now,sir, please retire."There was so much dignity in her sorrow, and so imposing was herattitude, that the baker stood abashed.
Ah! if that's the way, he stammered awkwardly; "and since youmeddle with it, mademoiselle" - And he retreated precipitately,growling at the same time threats and excuses, and slamming thedoors after him hard enough to break the partitions.
What a disgrace! murmured Mme. Favoral. Crushed by this lastscene, she was choking; and her children had to carry her to theopen window. She recovered almost at once; but thus, through thedarkness, bleak and cold, she had like a vision of her husband; and,throwing herself back,"0 great heavens!" she uttered, "where did he go when he left us?
Where is he now? What is he doing? What has become of him?"Her married life had been for Mme. Favoral but a slow torture. Itwas in vain that she would have looked back through her past lifefor some of those happy days which leave their luminous track inlife, and towards which the mind turns in the hours of grief.
Vincent Favoral had never been aught but a brutal despot, abusingthe resignation of his victim. And yet, had he died, she would havewept bitterly over him in all the sincerity of her honest and simplesoul. Habit! Prisoners have been known to shed tears over thegrave of their jailer. Then he was her husband, after all, thefather of her children, the only man who existed for her. Fortwenty-six years they had never been separated: they had sat at thesame table: they had slept side by side.
Yes, she would have wept over him. But how much less poignant wouldher grief have been than at this moment, when it was complicated byall the torments of uncertainty, and by the most frightfulapprehensions!
Fearing lest she might take cold, her children had removed her tothe sofa, and there, all shivering,"Isn't it horrible," she said, "not to know any thing of your father?
- to think that at this very moment, perhaps, pursued by the police,he is wandering in despair through the streets, without daring toask anywhere for shelter."Her children had no time to answer and comfort her; for at thismoment the door-be11 rang again.
Who can it be now? said Mme. Favoral with a start.
This time there was no discussion in the hall. Steps sounded on thefloor of the dining-room; the door opened; and M. Desclavettes, theold bronze-merchant, walked, or rather slipped into the parlor.
Hope, fear, anger, all the sentiments which agitated his soul, couldbe read on his pale and cat-like face.
It is I, he commenced.
Maxence stepped forward.
Have you heard any thing from my father, sir?"No, answered the old merchant, "I confess I have not; and I wasjust coming to see if you had yourselves. Oh, I know very well thatthis is not exactly the hour to call at a house; but I thought,that, after what took place this evening, you would not be in bedyet. I could not sleep myself. You understand a friendship oftwenty years' standing! So I took Mme. Desclavettes home, and hereI am.""We feel very thankful for your kindness," murmured Mme. Favoral.
I am glad you do. The fact is, you see, I take a good deal ofinterest in the misfortune that strikes you, - a greater interestthan any one else. For, after all, I, too, am a victim. I hadintrusted one hundred and twenty thousand francs to our dear Vincent."Alas, sir! said Mlle. Gilberte.
But the worthy man did not allow her to proceed. "I have no faultto find with him," he went on- "absolutely none. Why, dear me!
haven't I been in business myself? and don't I know what it is?
First, we borrow a thousand francs or so from the cash account,then ten thousand, then a hundred thousand. Oh! without any badintention, to be sure, and with the firm resolution to return them.
But we don't always do what we wish to do. Circumstances sometimeswork against us, if we operate at the bourse to make up the deficitwe lose. Then we must borrow again, draw from Peter to pay Paul.
We are afraid of being caught: we are compelled, reluctantly ofcourse, to alter the books. At last a day comes when we find thatmillions are gone, and the bomb-shell bursts. Does it follow fromthis that a man is dishonest? Not the least in the world: he issimply unlucky."He stopped, as if awaiting an answer; but, as none came, he resumed,"I repeat, I have no fault to find with Favoral. Only then, now,between us, to lose these hundred and twenty thousand francs wouldsimply be a disaster for me. I know very well that both Chapelainand Desormeaux had also deposited funds with Favoral. But they arerich: one of them owns three houses in Paris, and the other has agood situation; whereas I, these hundred and twenty thousand francsgone, I'd have nothing left but my eyes to weep with. My wife isdying about it. I assure you our position is a terrible one."To M. Desciavettes, - as to the baker a few moments before,"We have nothing," said Maxence.
I know it, exclaimed the old merchant. "I know it as well as youdo yourself. And so I have come to beg a little favor of you, whichwill cost you nothing. When you see Favoral, remember me to him,explain my situation to him, and try to make him give me back mymoney. He is a hard one to fetch, that's a fact. But if you goright about it, above all, if our dear Gilberte will take the matterin hand ""Sir!""Oh! I swear I sha'n't say a word about it, either to Desormeauxor Chapelain, nor to any one else. Although reimbursed, I'll makeas much noise as the rest, - more noise, even. Come, now, my dearfriends, what do you say?"He was almost crying.
And where the deuse, exclaimed Maxence, "do you expect my fatherto take a hundred and twenty thousand francs? Didn't you see him gowithout even taking the money that M. de Thaller had brought?"A smile appeared upon M. Desclavettes' pale lips.
That will do very well to say, my dear Maxence; he said, "andsome people may believe it. But don't say it to your old friend,who knows too much about business for that. When a man, puts off,after borrowing twelve millions from his employers, he would be agreat fool if he had not put away two or three in safety. Now,Favoral is not a fool."Tears of shame and anger started from Mlle. Gilberte's eyes.
What you are saying is abominable, sir! she exclaimed.
He seemed much surprised at this outburst of violence.
Why so? he answered. "In Vincent's place, I should not havehesitated to do what he has certainly done. And I am an honest mantoo. I was in business for twenty years; and I dare any one toprove that a note signed Desclavettes ever went to protest. Andso, my dear friends, I beseech you, consent to serve your oldfriend, and, when you see your father "The old man's tone of voice exasperated even Mme. Favoral herself.
We never expect to see my husband again, she uttered.
He shrugged his shoulders, and, in a tone of paternal reproach,"You just give up all such ugly ideas," he said. "You will see himagain, that dear Vincent; for he is much too sharp to allow himselfto be caught. Of course, he'll stay away as long as it may benecessary; but, as soon as he can return without danger, he willdo so. The Statute of Limitations has not been invented for theGrand Turk. Why, the Boulevard is crowded with people who have allhad their little difficulty, and who have spent five or ten yearsabroad for their health. Does any one think any thing of it? Notin the least; and no one hesitates to shake hands with them.
Besides, those things are so soon forgotten."He kept on as if he never intended to stop; and it was not withouttrouble that Maxence and Gilberte succeeded in sending him off, verymuch dissatisfied to see his request so ill received. It was aftertwelve o'clock. Maxence was anxious to return to his own home; but,at the pressing instances of his mother, he consented to remain,and threw himself, without undressing, on the bed in his old room.
What will the morrow bring forth? he thought.
After a few hours of that leaden sleep which follows greatcatastrophes, Mme. Favoral and her children were awakened on themorning of the next day, which was Sunday, by the furious clamorsof an exasperated crowd. Each one, from his own room, understoodthat the apartment had just been invaded. Loud blows upon the doorwere mingled with the noise of feet, the oaths of men, and thescreams of women. And, above this confused and continuous tumult,such vociferations as these could be heard:
I tell you they must be at home!"Canailles, swindlers, thieves!"We want to go in: we will go in!"Let the woman come, then: we want to see her, to speak to her!Occasionally there were moments of silence, during which theplaintive voice of the servant could be heard; but almost at oncethe cries and the threats commenced again, louder than ever.
Maxence, being ready first, ran to the parlor, where his mother andsister joined him directly, their eyes swollen by sleep and by tears.
Mme. Favoral was trembling so much that she could not succeed infastening her dress.
Do you hear? she said in a choking voice.
From the parlor, which was divided from the dining-room byfolding-doors, they did not miss a single insult.
Well, said Mlle. Gilberte coldly, "what else could we expect? IfBertan came alone last night, it is because he alone had beennotified. Here are the others now."And, turning to her brother,"You must see them," she added, "speak to them."But Maxence did not stir. The idea of facing the insults and thecurses of these enraged creditors was too repugnant to him.
Would you rather let them break in the door? said Mlle. Gilberte.
That won't take long.He hesitated no more. Gathering all his courage, he stepped intothe dining-room. The disorder was beyond limits. The table hadbeen pushed towards one of the corners, the chairs were upset.
They were there some thirty men and women, - concierges,shop-keepers, and retired bourgeois of the neighborhood, theircheeks flushed, their eyes staring, gesticulating as if they had afit, shaking their clinched fists at the ceiling.
Gentlemen, commenced Maxence.
But his voice was drowned by the most frightful shouts. He hadhardly got in, when he was so closely surrounded, that he had beenunable to close the parlor-door after him, and had been driven andbacked against the embrasure of a window.
My father, gentlemen, he resumed.
Again he was interrupted. There were three or four before him, whowere endeavoring before all to establish their own claims clearly.
They were speaking all at once, each one raising his own voice soas to drown that of the others. And yet, through their confusedexplanations, it was easy to understand the way in which the cashierof the Mutual Credit had managed things.
Formerly it was only with great reluctance that he consented to takecharge of the funds which were offered to him; and then he neveraccepted sums less than ten thousand francs, being always careful tosay, that, not being a prophet, he could not answer for any thing,and might be mistaken, like any one else. Since the Commune, on thecontrary, and with a duplicity, that could never have been suspected,he had used all his ingenuity to attract deposits. Under somepretext or other, he would call among the neighbors, theshop-keepers; and, after lamenting with them about the hard timesand the difficulty of making money, he always ended by holding up tothem the dazzling profits which are yielded by certain investmentsunknown to the public.
If these very proceedings had not betrayed him, it is because herecommended to each the most inviolable secrecy, saying, that, atthe slightest indiscretion, he would be assailed with demands, andthat it would be impossible for him to do for all what he did for one.
At any rate, he took every thing that was offered, even the mostinsignificant sums, affirming, with the most imperturbable assurance,that he could double or treble them without the slightest risk.
The catastrophe having come, the smaller creditors showed themselves,as usual, the most angry and the most intractable. The less moneyone has, the more anxious one is to keep it. There was there an oldnewspaper-vender, who had placed in M. Favoral's hands all she hadin the world, the savings of her entire life, - five hundred francs.
Clinging desperately to Maxence's garments, she begged him to givethem back to her, swearing, that, if he did not, there was nothingleft for her to do, except to throw herself in the river. Her groansand her cries of distress exasperated the other creditors.
That the cashier of the Mutual Credit should have embezzled millions,they could well understand, they said. But that he could haverobbed this poor woman of her five hundred francs, - nothing morelow, more cowardly, and more vile could be imagined; and the lawhad no chastisement severe enough for such a crime.
Give her back her five hundred francs; they cried. For there wasnot one of them but would have wagered his head that M. Favoral hadlots of money put away; and some went even so far as to say that hemust have hid it in the house, and, if they looked well, they wouldfind it.
Maxence, bewildered, was at a loss what to do, when, in the midstof this hostile crowd, he perceived M. Chapelain's friendly face.
Driven from his bed at daylight by the bitter regrets at the heavyloss he had just sustained, the old lawyer had arrived in the RueSt. Gilles at the very moment when the creditors invaded M. Favoral'sapartment. Standing behind the crowd, he had seen and heard everything without breathing a word; and, if he interfered now, it wasbecause he thought things were about to take an ugly turn. He waswell known; and, as soon as he showed himself,"He is a friend of the rascal!" they shouted on all sides.
But he was not the man to be so easily frightened. He had seen manya worse case during twenty years that he had practised law,, and hadwitnessed all the sinister comedies and all the grotesque dramas ofmoney. He knew how to speak to infuriated creditors, how to handlethem, and what strings can be made to vibrate within them. In themost quiet tone,"Certainly," he answered, "I was Favoral's intimate friend; and theproof of it is, that he has treated me more friendly than the rest.
I am in for a hundred and sixty thousand francs."By this mere declaration he conquered the sympathies of the crowd.
He was a brother in misfortune; they respected him: he was a skilfulbusiness-man; they stopped to listen to him.
At once, and in a short and trenchant tone, he asked these invaderswhat they were doing there, and what they wanted. Did they not knowto what they exposed themselves in violating a domicile? What wouldhave happened, if, instead of stopping to parley, Maxence had sentfor the commissary of police? Was it to Mme. Favoral and herchildren that they had intrusted their funds? No! What did theywant with them then? Was there by chance among them some of thoseshrewd fellows who always try to get themselves paid in full, to thedetriment of the others?
This last insinuation proved sufficient to break up the perfectaccord that had hitherto existed among all the creditors. Distrustarose; suspicious glances were exchanged; and, as the old newspaperwoman was keeping up her groans,"I should like to know why you should be paid before us," two womentold her roughly. "Our rights are just as good as yours!"Prompt to avail himself of the dispositions of the crowd,"And, moreover," resumed the old lawyer, "in whom did we place ourconfidence? Was it in Favoral the private individual? To a certainextent, yes; but it was much more to the cashier of the MutualCredit. Therefore that establishment owes us, at least, someexplanations. And this is .not all. Are we really so badly burned,that we should scream so loud? What do we know about it? ThatFavoral is charged with embezzlement, that they came to arrest him,and that he has run away. Is that any reason why our money shouldbe lost? I hope not. And so what should we do? Act prudently,and wait patiently for the work of justice."Already, by this time, the creditors had slipped out one by one;and soon the servant closed the door on the last of them.
Then Mme. Favoral, Maxence, and Mlle. Gilberte surrounded M.
Chapelain, and, pressing his hands,"How thankful we feel, sir, for the service you have justrendered us!
But the old lawyer seemed in no wise proud of his victory.
Do not thank me, he said. "I have only done my duty, - what anyhonest man would have done in my place."And yet, under the appearance of impassible coldness, which he owedto the long practice of a profession which leaves no illusions, heevidently felt a real emotion.
It is you whom I pity, he added, "and with all my soul, - you,madame, you, my dear Gilberte, and you, too, Maxence. Never had Iso well understood to what degree is guilty the head of a familywho leaves his wife and children exposed to the consequences of hiscrimes.
He stopped. The servant was trying her best to put the dining-roomin some sort of order wheeling the table to the centre of the room,and lifting up the chairs from the floor.
What pillage! she grumbled. "Neighbors too, - people from whomwe bought our things! But they were worse than savages; impossibleto do any thing with them.""Don't trouble yourself, my good girl," said M. Chapelain: "theywon't come back any more!"Mme. Favoral looked as if she wished to drop on her knees beforethe old lawyer.
How, very kind you are! she murmured: "you are not too angry withmy poor Vincent!"With the look of a man who has made up his mind to make the best ofa disaster that he cannot help, M. Chapelain shrugged his shoulders.
I am angry with no one but myself, he uttered in a bluff tone.
An old bird like me should not have allowed himself to be caughtin a pigeon-trap. I am inexcusable. But we want to get rich. It'sslow work getting rich by working, and it's so much easier to getthe money already made out of our neighbor's pockets! I have beenunable to resist the temptation myself. It's my own fault; and Ishould say it was a good lesson, if it did not cost so dear.'
So much philosophy could hardly have been expected of him.
All my father's friends are not as indulgent as you are, saidMaxence, - "M. Desclavettes, for instance.""Have you seen him?""Yes, last night, about twelve o'clock. He came to ask us to getfather to pay him back, if we should ever see him again.""That might be an idea!"Mlle. Gilberte started.
What! said she, "you, too, sir, can imagine that my father hasrun away with millions?"The old lawyer shook his head.
I believe nothing, he answered. "Favoral has taken me in socompletely, - me, who had the pretension of being a judge of men,- that nothing from him, either for good or for evil, could surpriseme hereafter."Mme. Favoral was about to offer some objection; but he stopped herwith a gesture.
And yet, he went on, "I'd bet that he has gone off with emptypockets. His recent operations reveal a frightful distress. Hadhe had a few thousand francs at his command, would he have extortedfive hundred francs from a poor old woman, a newspaper-vender?
What did he want with the money? Try his luck once more, no doubt."He was seated, his elbow upon the arm of the chair, his head restingupon his hands, thinking; and the contraction of his featuresindicated an extraordinary tension of mind.
Suddenly he drew himself up.
But why, he exclaimed, "why wander in idle conjectures? What dowe know about Favoral? Nothing. One entire side of his existenceescapes us, - that fantastic side, of which the insane prodigalitiesand inconceivable disorders have been revealed to us by the billsfound in his desk. He is certainly guilty; but is he as guilty aswe think? and, above all, is he alone guilty? Was it for himselfalone that he drew all this money? Are the missing millions reallylost? and wouldn't it be possible to find the biggest share of themin the pockets of some accomplice? Skilful men do not exposethemselves. They have at their command poor wretches, sacrificedin advance, and who, in exchange for a few crumbs that are thrownto them, risk the criminal court, are condemned, and go to prison.""That's just what I was telling my mother and sister, sir,"interrupted Maxence.
And that's what I am telling myself, continued the old lawyer.
I have been thinking over and over again of last evening's scene;and strange doubts have occurred to my mind. For a man who hasbeen robbed of a dozen millions, M. de Thaller was remarkably quietand self-possessed. Favoral appeared to me singularly calm for aman charged with embezzlement and forgery. M. de Thaller, asmanager of the Mutual Credit, is really responsible for the stolenfunds, and, as such, should have been anxious to secure the guiltyparty, and to produce him. Instead of that, he wished him to go,and actually brought him the money to enable him to leave. Was hein hopes of hushing up the affair? Evidently not, since the policehad been notified. On the other hand, Favoral seemed much moreangry than surprised by the occurrence. It was only on theappearance of the commissary of police that he seems to have losthis head; and then some very strange things escaped him, which Icannot understand.He was walking at random through the parlor, apparently ratheranswering the objections of his own mind than addressing himself tohis interlocutors, who were listening, nevertheless, with all theattention of which they were capable.
I don't know, he went on. "An old traveler like me to be takenin thus! Evidently there is under all this one of those diabolicalcombinations which time even fails to unravel. We ought to see,to inquire "And then, suddenly stopping in front of Maxence,"How much did M. de Thaller bring to your father last evening?" heasked.
Fifteen thousand francs."Where are they?"Put away in mother's room."When do you expect to take them back to M. de Thaller?"To-morrow."Why not to-day?"This is Sunday. The offices of the Mutual Credit must be closed."After the occurrences of yesterday, M. de Thaller must be at hisoffice. Besides, haven't you his private address?"I beg your pardon, I have.The old lawyer's small eyes were shining with unusual brilliancy.
He certainly felt deeply the loss of his money; but the idea thathe had been swindled for the benefit of some clever rascal wasabsolutely insupportable to him.
If we were wise, he said again, "we'd do this. Mme. Favoralwould take these fifteen thousand francs, and we would go together,she and I, to see M. de Thaller."It was an unexpected good-fortune for Mme. Favoral, that M.
Chapelain should consent to assist her. So, without hesitating,"The time to dress, sir," she said, "and I am ready." She left theparlor; but as she reached her room, her son joined her.
I am obliged to go out, dear mother, he said; "and I shallprobably not be home to breakfast."She looked at him with an air of painful surprise. "What," she said,"at such a moment!""I am expected home.""By whom? A woman?" she murmured.
Well, yes."And it is for that woman's sake that you want to leave your sisteralone at home?"I must, mother, I assure you; and, if you only knew -"I do not wish to know, any thing.But his resolution had been taken. He went off; and a few momentslater Mme. Favoral and M. Chapelain entered a cab which had beensent for, and drove to M. de Thaller's.
Left alone, Mlle. Gilberte had but one thought, - to notify M. deTregars, and obtain word from him. Any thing seemed preferable tothe horrible anxiety which oppressed her. She had just commenceda letter, which she intended to have taken to the Count de Villegre,when a violent ring of the bell made her start; and almostimmediately the servant came in, saying,"It is a gentleman who wishes to see you, a friend of monsieur's,- M. Costeclar, you know."Mlle. Gilberte started to her feet, trembling with excitement.
That's too much impudence! she exclaimed. She was hesitatingwhether to refuse him the door, or to see him, and dismiss himshamefully herself, when she had a sudden inspiration. "What doeshe want?" she thought. "Why not see him, and try and find out whathe knows? For he certainly must know the truth."But it was no longer time to deliberate. Above the servant'sshoulder M. Costeclar,s pale and impudent face showed itself.
The girl having stepped to one side, he appeared, hat in hand.
Although it was not yet nine o'clock, his morning toilet wasirreproachably correct. He had already passed through thehair-dresser's hands; and his scanty hair was brought forward overhis low fore-head with the usual elaborate care.
He wore a pair of those ridiculous trousers which grow wide fromthe knee down, and which were invented by Prussian tailors to hidetheir customers' ugly feet. Under his light-colored overcoat couldbe seen a velvet-faced jacket, with a rose in its buttonhole.
Meantime, he remained motionless on the threshold of the door,trying to smile, and muttering one of those sentences which arenever intended to be finished.
I beg you to believe, mademoiselle your mother's absence - my mostrespectful admiration -In fact, he was taken aback by the disorder of the girl's toilet,- disorder which she had had no time to repair since the clamorsof the creditors had started her from her bed.
She wore a long brown cashmere wrapper, fitting quite close overthe hips setting off the vigorous elegance of her figure, themaidenly perfections of her waist, and the exquisite contour ofher neck. Gathered up in haste, her thick blonde hair escapedfrom beneath the pins, and spread over her shoulders in luminouscascades. Never had she appeared to M. Costeclar as lovely as atthis moment, when her whole frame was vibrating with suppressedindignation her cheeks flushed, her eyes flashing.
Please come in, sir, she uttered.
He stepped forward, no longer bowing humbly as formerly, but withlegs outstretched, chest thrown out, with an ill-concealed look ofgratified vanity. "I did not expect the honor of your visit, sir,"said the young girl.
Passing rapidly his hat and his cane from the right hand into theleft, and then the right hand upon his heart, his eyes raised tothe ceiling, and with all the depth of expression of which he wascapable,"It is in times of adversity that we know our real friends,mademoiselle," he uttered. "Those upon whom we thought we couldrely the most, often, at the first reverse, take flight forever!"She felt a shiver pass over her. Was this an allusion to Marius?
The other, changing his tone, went on,"It's only last night that I heard of poor Favoral's discomfiture,at the bourse where I had gone for news. It was the general topicof conversation. Twelve millions! That's pretty hard. The MutualCredit Society might not be able to stand it. From 580 at whichit was selling before the news, it dropped at once to 300. At nineo'clock, there were no takers at 180 And yet, if there is nothingbeyond what they say, at 180, I am in."Was he forgetting himself, or pretending to?
But please excuse me, mademoiselle, he resumed: "that's not whatI came to tell you."I came to ask if you had any news of our poor Favoral.""We have none, sir.""Then it is true: he succeeded in getting away through this window?""Yes.""And he did not tell you where he meant to take refuge?"Observing M. Costeclar with all her power of penetration, Mlle.
Gilberte fancied she discovered in him something like a certainsurprise mingled with joy.
Then Favoral must have left without a sou!"They accuse him of having carried away millions, sir; but I wouldswear that it is not so.M. Costeclar approved with a nod.
I am of the same opinion he declared, unless - but no, he was notthe man to try such a game. And yet - but again no, he was tooclosely watched. Besides, he was carrying a very heavy load, a loadthat exhausted all his resources."Mlle. Gilberte, hoping that she was going to learn something, madean effort to preserve her indifference.
What do you mean? she inquired.
He looked at her, smiled, and, in a light tone,"Nothing," he answered, "only some conjectures of my own."And throwing himself upon a chair, his head leaning upon its back,"That is not the object of my visit either," he uttered. "Favoralis overboard: don't let us say any thing more about him. Whetherhe has got 'the bag' or not, you'll never see him again: he is asgood as dead. Let us, therefore, talk of the living, of yourself.
What's going to become of you?""I do not understand your question, sir.""It is perfectly limpid, nevertheless. I am asking myself how youare going to live, your mother and yourself?
Providence will not abandon us, sir?M. Costeclar had crossed his legs, and with the end of his cane hewas negligently tapping his immaculate boot.
Providence! he giggled; "that's very good on the stage, in a play,with low music in the orchestra. I can just see it. In real life,unfortunately, the life which we both live, you and I, it is notwith words, were they a yard long, that the baker, the grocer, andthose rascally landlords, can be paid, or that dresses and shoescan be bought."She made no answer.
Now, then, he went on, "here you are without a penny. Is itMaxence who will supply you with money? Poor fellow! Where wouldhe get it? He has hardly enough for himself. Therefore, what areyou going to do?"I shall work, sir."He got up, bowed low, and, resuming his seat,"My sincere compliments," he said. "There is but one obstacle tothat fine resolution: it is impossible for a woman to live by herlabor alone. Servants are about the only ones who ever get theirfull to eat.""I'll be a servant, if necessary.".
For two or three seconds he remained taken aback, but, recoveringhimself,"How different things would be," he resumed in an insinuating tone,"if you had not rejected me when I wanted to become your husband!
But you couldn't bear the sight of me. And yet, 'pon my word, I wasin love with you, oh, but for good and earnest! You see, I am ajudge of women; and I saw very well how you would look, handsomelydressed and got up, leaning back in a fine carriage in the Bois -"Stronger than her will, disgust rose to her lips.
Ah, sir! she said.
He mistook her meaning.
You are regretting all that, he continued. "I see it. Formerly,eh, you would never have consented to receive me thus, alone withyou, which proves that girls should not be headstrong, my dear child."He, Costeclar, he dared to call her, "My dear child." Indignant andinsulted, "Oh!" she exclaimed. But he had started, and kept on,"Well, such as I was, I am still. To be sure, there probably wouldbe nothing further said about marriage between us; but, frankly,what would you care if the conditions were the same, - a fine house,carriages, horses, servants -"Up to this moment, she, had not fully understood him. Drawingherself up to her fullest height, and pointing to the door,"Leave this moment," she ordered.
But he seemed in no wise disposed to do so: on the contrary, palerthan usual, his eyes bloodshot, his lips trembling, and smiling astrange smile, he advanced towards Mlle. Gilberte.
What! said he. "You are in trouble, I kindly come to offer myservices, and this is the way you receive me! You prefer to work,do you? Go ahead then, my lovely one, prick your pretty fingers,and redden your eyes. My time will come. Fatigue and want, coldin the winter, hunger in all seasons, will speak to your littleheart of that kind Costeclar who adores you, like a big fool thathe is, who is a serious man and who has money, - much money."Beside herself,"Wretch!" cried the girl, "leave, leave at once.""One moment," said a strong voice.
M. Costeclar looked around.
Marius de Tregars stood within the frame of the open door.
Marius! murmured Mlle. Gilberte, rooted to the spot by a surprisehardly less immense than her joy.
To behold him thus suddenly, when she was wondering whether shewould ever see him again; to see him appear at the very momentwhen she found herself alone, and exposed to the basest outrages,- it was one of those fortunate occurrences which one can scarcelyrealize; and from the depth of her soul rose something like a hymnof thanks.
Nevertheless, she was confounded at M. Costeclar's attitude.
According to her, and from what she thought she knew, he should havebeen petrified at the sight of M. de Tregars.
And he did not even seem to know him. He seemed shocked, annoyedat being interrupted, slightly surprised, but in no wise moved orfrightened. Knitting his brows,"What do you wish?" he inquired in his most impertinent tone.
M. de Tregars stepped forward. He was somewhat pale, but unnaturallycalm, cool, and collected. Bowing to Mlle. Gilberte,"If I have thus ventured to enter your apartment, mademoiselle," heuttered gently, " it is because, as I was going by the door, Ithought I recognized this gentleman's carriage."And, with his finger over his shoulder, he was pointing to M.
Costeclar.
Now, he went on, "I had reason to be somewhat astonished at this,after the positive orders I had given him never to set his feet, notonly in this house, but in this part of the city. I wished to findout exactly. I came up: I heard -"All this was said in a tone of such crushing contempt, that a slapon the face would have been less cruel. All the blood in M.
Costeclar's veins rushed to his face.
You! he interrupted insolently: "I do not know you."Imperturbable, M. de Tregars was drawing off his gloves.
Are you quite certain of that? he replied. "Come, you certainlyknow my old friend, M. de Villegre?"An evident feeling of anxiety appeared on M. Costeclar's countenance.
I do, he stammered.
Did not M. Villegre call upon you before the war?"He did."Well, 'twas I who sent him to you; and the commands which hedelivered to you were mine.Yours?"Mine. I am Marius de Tregars."A nervous shudder shook M. Costeclar's lean frame. Instinctivelyhis eye turned towards the door.
You see, Marius went on with the same gentleness, "we are, youand I, old acquaintances. For you quite remember me now, don'tyou? I am the son of that poor Marquis de Tregars who came toParis, all the way from his old Brittany with his whole fortune,- two millions.""I remember," said the stock-broker: "I remember perfectly well.""On the advice of certain clever people, the Marquis de Tregarsventured into business. Poor old man! He was not very sharp. Hewas firmly persuaded that he had already more than doubled hiscapital, when his honorable partners demonstrated to him that he wasruined, and, besides, compromised by certain signatures imprudentlygiven."Mlle. Gilberte was listening, her mouth open, and wondering whatMarius was aiming at, and how he could remain so calm.
That disaster, he went on, "was at the time the subject of anenormous number of very witty jokes. The people of the boursecould hardly admire enough these bold financiers who had, so deftlyrelieved that candid marquis of his money. That was well done forhim; what was he meddling with? As to myself, to stop theprosecutions with which my father was threatened, I gave up all Ihad. I was quite young, and, as you see, quite what you call, Ibelieve, 'green.' I am no longer so now. Were such a thing tohappen to me to-day, I should want to know at once what had becomeof the millions: I would feel all the pockets around me. I wouldsay, 'Stop thief!'"At every word, as it were, M. Costeclar's uneasiness became moremanifest.
It was not I, he said, "who received the benefit of M. de Tregars'
fortune."Marius nodded approvingly.
I know now, he replied, "among whom the spoils were divided. You,M. Costeclar, you took what you could get, timidly, and according toyour means. Sharks are always accompanied by small fishes, to whichthey abandon the crumbs they disdain. You were but a small fishthen: you accommodated yourself with what your patrons, the sharks,did not care about. But, when you tried to operate alone, you werenot shrewd enough: you left proofs of your excessive appetite forother people's money. Those proofs I have in my possession."M. COSTECLAR was now undergoing perfect torture.
I am caught, he said, "I know it: I told M. de Villegre so.""Why are you here, then?""How did I know that the count had been sent by you?""That's a poor reason, sir.""Besides, after what has occurred, after Favoral's flight, I thoughtmyself relieved of my engagement.""Indeed!""Well, if you insist upon it, I am wrong, I suppose.""Not only you are wrong," uttered Marius still perfectly cool, "butyou have committed a great imprudence. By failing to keep yourengagements, you have relieved me of mine. The pact is broken.
According to the agreement, I have the right, as I leave here, to gostraight to the police."M. COSTECLAR's dull eye was vacillating.
I did not think I was doing wrong, he muttered. "Favoral was myfriend.""And that's the reason why you were coming to propose to Mlle.
Favoral to become your mistress? There she is, you thought, withoutresources, literally without bread, without relatives, withoutfriends to protect her: this is the time to come forward. Andthinking you could be cowardly, vile, and infamous with impunity,you came."To be thus treated, he, the successful man, in presence of thisyoung girl, whom, a moment before, he was crushing with his impudentopulence, no M. Costeclar could not stand it. Losing completelyhis head,"You should have let me know, then," he exclaimed, "that she wasyour mistress."Something like a flame passed over M. de Tregars' face. His eyesflashed. Rising in all the height of his wrath, which broke outterrible at last,"Ah, you scoundrel!" he exclaimed.
M. Costeclar threw himself suddenly to one side.
Sir!But at one bound M. de Tregars had caught him.
On your knees! he cried.
And, seizing him by the collar with an iron grip, he lifted himclear off the floor, and then threw him down violently upon bothknees.
Speak! he commanded. "Repeat, - 'Mademoiselle'
M. Costeclar had expected worse from M. de Tregars' look. A horriblefear had instantly crushed within him all idea of resistance.
Mademoiselle, he stuttered in a choking voice. "I am the vilestof wretches," continued Marius. M. Costeclar's livid face wasoscillating like an inert object.
I am, he repeated, "the vilest of wretches.""And I beg of you -"But Mlle. Gilberte was sick of the sight.
Enough, she interrupted, "enough!"Feeling no longer upon his shoulders the heavy hand of M. de Tregars,the stock-broker rose with difficulty to his feet. So livid was hisface, that one might have thought that his whole blood had turnedto gall.
Dusting with the end of his glove the knees of his trousers, andrestoring as best he could the harmony of his toilet, which had beenseriously disturbed,"Is it showing any courage," he grumbled, "to abuse one's physicalstrength?"M. de Tregars had already recovered his self-possession; and Mlle.
Gilberte thought she could read upon his face regret for his violence.
Would it be better to make use of what you know? M. Costeclarjoined his hands.
You would not do that,, he said. "What good would it do you toruin me?""None," answered M. de Tregars: "you are right. But yourself?"And, looking straight into M. Costeclar's eyes, - "If you could beof service to me," he inquired, "would you be willing?""Perhaps. That I might recover possession of the papers you have."M. de Tregars was thinking.
After what has just taken place, he said at last, "an explanationis necessary between us. I will be at your house in an hour. Waitfor me."M. Costeclar had become more pliable than his own lavender kidgloves: in fact, alarmingly pliable.
I am at your command, sir, he replied to M. de Tregars.
And, bowing to the ground before Mlle. Gilberte, he left the parlor;and, a few moments after, the street-door was heard to close upon him.
Ah, what a wretch! exclaimed the, girl, dreadfully agitated.
Marius, did you see what a look he gave us as he went out?"I saw it, replied M. de Tregars.
That man hates us: he will not hesitate to commit a crime to avengethe atrocious humiliation you have just inflicted upon him."I believe it too.Mlle. Gilberte made a gesture of distress.
Why did you treat him so harshly? she murmured.
I had intended to remain calm, and it would have been politic tohave done so. But there are some insults which a man of heartcannot endure. I do not regret what I have done.A long pause followed; and they remained standing, facing each other,somewhat embarrassed. Mlle. Gilberte felt ashamed of the disorderof her dress. M. de Tregars wondered how he could have been boldenough to enter this house.
You have heard of our misfortune, said the young girl at last.
I read about it this morning, in the papers.""What! the papers know already?""Every thing.""And our name is printed in them?"Yes."She covered her face with her two hands.
What disgrace! she said.
At first, went on M. de Tregars, "I could hardly believe what Iread. I hastened to come; and the first shopkeeper I questionedconfirmed only too well what I had seen in the papers. From thatmoment, I had but one wish, - to see and speak to you. When Ireached the door, I recognized M. Costeclar's equipage, and I hada presentiment of the truth. I inquired from the concierge foryour mother or your brother, and heard that Maxence had gone outa few moments before, and that Mme. Favoral had just left in acarriage with M. Chapelain, the old lawyer. At the idea that youwere alone with Costeclar, I hesitated no longer. I ran up stairs,and, finding the door open, had no occasion to ring."Mlle. Gilberte could hardly repress the sobs that rose to her throat.
I never hoped to see you again, she stammered; "and you'll findthere on the table the letter I had just commenced for you when M.
Costeclar interrupted me."M. de Tregars took it up quickly. Two lines only were written. Heread: "I release you from your engagement, Marius. Henceforth youare free."He became whiter than his shirt.
You wish to release me from my engagement! he exclaimed. "You -""Is it not my duty? Ah! if it had only been our fortune, I shouldperhaps have rejoiced to lose it. I know your heart. Poverty wouldhave brought us nearer together. But it's honor, Marius, honor thatis lost too! The name I bear is forever stained. Whether my fatheris caught, or whether he escapes, he will be tried all the same,condemned, and sentenced to a degrading penalty for embezzlement andforgery."If M. de Tregars was allowing her to proceed thus, it was because hefelt all his thoughts whirling in his brain; because she looked sobeautiful thus, all in tears, and her hair loose; because therearose from her person so subtle a charm, that words failed him toexpress the sensations that agitated him.
Can you, she went on, "take for your wife the daughter of adishonored man? No, you cannot. Forgive me, then, for having fora moment turned away your life from its object; forgive the sorrowwhich I have caused you; leave me to the misery of my fate;forget me!"She was suffocating.
Ah, you have never loved me! exclaimed Marius.
Raising her hands to heaven,"Thou hearest him, great God!" she uttered, as if shocked by ablasphemy.
Would it be easy for you to forget me then? Were I to be struckby misfortune, would you break our engagement, cease to love me?She ventured to take his hands, and, pressing them between hers,"To cease loving you no longer depends on my will," she murmuredwith quivering lips. "Poor, abandoned of all, disgraced, criminaleven, I should love you still and always."With a passionate gesture, Marius threw his arm around her waist,and, drawing her to his breast, covered her blonde hair withburning kisses.
Well, 'tis thus that I love you too! he exclaimed, "and with allmy soul, exclusively, and for life! What do I care for yourparents? Do I know them? Your father - does he exist? Your name- it is mine, the spotless name of the Tregars. You are my wife!
mine, mine!"She was struggling feebly: an almost invincible stupor was creepingover her. She felt her reason disturbed, her energy giving way, afilm before her eyes, the air failing to her heaving chest.
A great effort o er will restored her to consciousness. Shewithdrew gently, and sank upon a chair, less strong against joythan s had been against sorrow.
Pardon me, she stammered, "pardon me for having doubted you!"M. de Tregars was not much less agitated than Mlle. Gilberte: but hewas a man; and the springs of his energy were of a superior temper.
In less than a minute he had fully recovered his self-possessionand imposed upon his features their accustomed expression. Drawinga chair by the side of Mlle. Gilberte,"Permit me, my friend," he said, "to remind you that our moments arenumbered, and that there are many details which it is urgent that Ishould know.""What details?" she asked, raising her head.
About your father.She looked at him with an air of profound surprise.
Do you not know more about it than I do? she replied, "more thanmy mother, more than any of us? Did you not, whilst following upthe people who robbed your father, strike mine unwittingly? And'tis I, wretch that I am, who inspired you to that fatal resolution;and I have not the heart to regret it."M. de Tregars had blushed imperceptibly. "How did you know?" hebegan.
Was it not said that you were about to marry Mlle. de Thaller?He drew up suddenly.
Never, he exclaimed, "has this marriage existed, except in thebrain of M. de Thaller, and, more still, of the Baroness de Thaller.
That ridiculous idea occurred to her because she likes my name, andwould be delighted to see her daughter Marquise de Tregars. Shehas never breathed a word of it to me; but she has spoken of iteverywhere, with just enough secrecy to give rise to a good pieceof parlor gossip. She went so far as to confide to several personsof my acquaintance the amount of the dowry, thinking thus toencourage me. As far as I could, I warned you against this falsenews through the Signor Gismondo.""The Signor Gismondo relieved me of cruel anxieties," she replied;"but I had suspected the truth from the first. Was I not theconfidante of your hopes? Did I not know your projects? I hadtaken for granted that all this talk about a marriage was but ameans to advance yourself in M. de Thaller's intimacy withoutawaking his suspicions."M. de Tregars was not the man to deny a true fact.
"Perhaps, indeed, I have not been wholly foreign to M. Favoral'sdisaster. At least I may have hastened it a few months, a fewdays only, perhaps; for it was inevitable, fatal. Nevertheless,had I suspected the real facts, I would have given up my designs- Gilberte, I swear it - rather than risk injuring your father. There is no undoing what is done; but the evil may, perhaps, besomewhat lessened.Mlle. Gilberte started.
"Great heavens! she exclaimed, "do you, then, believe my fatherinnocent?"Better than any one else, Mlle. Gilberte must have been convincedof her father's guilt. Had she not seen him humiliated andtrembling before M. de Thaller? Had she not heard him, as it were,acknowledge the truth of the charge that was brought against him?
But at twenty hope never forsakes us, even in presence of facts.
And when she understood by M. de Tregars' silence that she wasmistaken,"It's madness," she murmured, dropping her head:
"I feel it but too well. But the heart speaks louder than reason. It is so cruel to be driven to despise one's father!She wiped the tears which filled her eyes, and, in a firmer voice,""What happens is so incomprehensible!"" she went on. How can I helpimagining some one of those mysteries which time alone unravels.
"For twenty-four hours we have been losing ourselves in idleconjectures, and, always and fatally, we come to this conclusion,that my father must be the victim of some mysterious intrigue.
M. Chapelain, whom a loss of a hundred and sixty thousand francshas not made particularly indulgent, is of that opinion."And so am I, exclaimed Marius.
You see, then -But without allowing her to proceed and taking gently her hand,"Let me tell you all," he interrupted, "and try with you to findan issue to this horrible situation. Strange rumors are afloatabout M. Favoral. It is said that his austerity was but a mask,his sordid economy a means of gaining confidence. It is affirmedthat in fact he abandoned himself to all sorts of disorders; thathe had, somewhere in Paris, an establishment, where he lavished themoney of which he was so sparing here. Is it so? The same thingis said of all those in whose hands large fortunes have melted."The young girl had become quite red.
I believe that is true, she replied. "The commissary of policestated so to us. He found among my father's papers receipted billsfor a number of costly articles, which could only have been intendedfor a woman.
M. de Tregars looked perplexed.
And does any one know who this woman is? he asked.
Whoever she may be, I admit that she may have cost M. Favoralconsiderable sums. But can she have cost him twelve millions?"Precisely the remark which M. Chapelain made."And which every sensible man must also make. I know very wellthat to conceal for years a considerable deficit is a costlyoperation, requiring purchases and sales, the handling and shiftingof funds, all of which is ruinous in the extreme. But, on the otherhand, M. Favoral was making money, a great deal of money. He wasrich: he was supposed to be worth millions. Otherwise, Costeclarwould never have asked your hand."M. Chapelain pretends that at a certain time my father had at leastfifty thousand francs a year."It's bewildering.For two or three minutes M. de Tregars remained silent, reviewingin his mind every imaginable eventuality, and then,"But no matter," he resumed. "As soon as I heard this morning theamount of the deficit, doubts came to my mind. And it is for thatreason, dear friend, that I was so anxious to see you and speak toyou. It would be necessary for me to know exactly what occurredhere last night."Rapidly, but without omitting a single useful detail, Mlle. Gilbertenarrated the scenes of the previous night - the sudden appearance ofM. de Thaller, the arrival of the commissary of police, M. Favoral'sescape, thanks to Maxence's presence of mind. Every one of herfather's words had remained present to her mind; and it was almostliterally that she repeated his strange speeches to his indignantfriends, and his incoherent remarks at the moment of flight, when,whilst acknowledging his fault, he said that he was not as guiltyas they thought; that, at any rate, he was not alone guilty; andthat he had been shamefully sacrificed. When she had finished,"That's exactly what I thought," said M. de Tregars.
"What?""M. Favoral accepted a role in one of those terrible financialdramas which ruin a thousand poor dupes to the benefit of two orthree clever rascals. Your father wanted to be rich: he neededmoney to carry on his intrigues. He allowed himself to be tempted. But whilst he believed himself one of the managers, called upon todivide the receipts, he was but a scene-shifter with a statedsalary. The moment of this denouement having come, his so-calledpartners disappeared through a trap-door with the cash, leavinghim alone, as they say, to face the music.""If that's the case, replied the young girl, ""why didn't my fatherspeak?""""What was he to say?""""Name his accomplices.""""And suppose he had no proofs of their complicity to offer? He wasthe cashier of the Mutual Credit; and it is from his cash that themillions are gone.""Mlle. Gilberte's conjectures had run far ahead of that sentence.
"Looking straight at Marius,"Then," she said, "you believe, as M. Capelan does, that M. deThaller -""Ah! M. Capelan thinks "-"That the manager of the Mutual Credit must have known the fact ofthe frauds.""And that he had his share of them?""A larger share than his cashier, yes."A singular smile curled M. de Tregars' lips. "Quite possible," hereplied: "that's quite possible."For the past few moments Mlle. Gilberte's embarrassment was quiteevident in her look. At last, overcoming her hesitation,"Pardon me," said she, "I had imagined that M. de Thaller was oneof those men whom you wished to strike; and I had indulged in thehope, that, whilst having justice done to your father, you werethinking, perhaps, of avenging mine."M. de Tregars stood up, as if moved by a spring. "Well, yes!" heexclaimed. "Yes, you have correctly guessed. But how can weobtain this double result? A single misstep at this moment mightlose all. Ah, if I only knew your father's real situation; if Icould only see him and speak to him! In one word he might, perhaps,place in my hands a sure weapon, - the weapon that I have as yetbeen unable to find.""Unfortunately," replied Mlle. Gilberte with a gesture of despair,"we are without news of my father; and he even refused to tell uswhere he expected to take refuge.""But he will write, perhaps. Besides, we might look for him,quietly, so as not to excite the suspicions of the police; and ifyour brother Maxence was only willing to help me -""Alas! I fear that Maxence may have other cares. He insisted upongoing out this morning, in spite of mother's request to the contrary."But Marius stopped her, and, in the tone of a man who knows muchmore than he is willing to say, - "Do not calumniate Maxence," hesaid: "it is through him, perhaps, that we will receive the helpthat we need."Eleven o'clock struck. Mlle. Gilberte started.
Dear me! she exclaimed, "mother will be home directly."M. de Tregars might as well have waited for her. Henceforth he hadnothing to conceal. Yet, after duly deliberating with the younggirl, they decided that he should withdraw, and that he would sendM. de Villegre to declare his intentions. He then left, and, fiveminutes later, Mine: Favoral and M. Capelan appeared.
The ex-attorney was furious; and he threw the package of bank-notesupon the table with a movement of rage.
In order to return them to M. de Thaller, he exclaimed, "it was atleast necessary to see him. But the gentleman is invisible; keepshimself under lock and key, guarded by a perfect cloud of servantsin livery."Meantime, Mme. Favoral had approached her daughter.
Your brother? she asked in a whisper.
He has not yet come home."Dear me! sighed the poor mother: "at such a time he forsakes us,and for whose sake?"
Mme. Favoral, usually so indulgent, was too severe this time; andit was very unjustly that she accused her son. She forgot, andwhat mother does not forget, that he was twenty-five years of age,that he was a man, and that, outside of the family and of herself,he must have his own interests and his passions, his affections andhis duties. Because he happened to leave the house for a few hours,Maxence was surely not forsaking either his mother or his sister.
It was not without a severe internal struggle that he had made uphis mind to go out, and, as he was going down the steps,"Poor mother," he thought. "I am sure I am making her very unhappy;but how can I help it?"This was the first time that he had been in the street since hisfarther's disaster had been known; and the impression produced uponhim was painful in the extreme. Formerly, when he walked throughthe Rue St. Gilles, that street where he was born, and where he usedto play as a boy, every one met him with a friendly nod or a familiarsmile. True he was then the son of a man rich and highly esteemed;whereas this morning not a hand was extended, not a hat raised, onhis passage. People whispered among themselves, and pointed himout with looks of hatred and irony. That was because he was nowthe son of the dishonest cashier tracked by the police, of the manwhose crime brought disaster upon so many innocent parties.
Mortified and ashamed, Maxence was hurrying on, his head down, hischeek burning, his throat parched, when, in front of a wine-shop,"Halloo!" said a man; "that's the son. What cheek!"And farther on, in front of the grocer's.
I tell you what, said a woman in the midst of a group, "they stillhave more than we have."Then, for the first time, he understood with what crushing weighthis father's crime would weigh upon his whole life; and, whilstgoing up the Rue Terrain,"It's all over," he thought: "I can never get over it." And hewas thinking of changing his name, of emigrating to America, andhiding himself in the deserts of the Far West, when, a littlefarther on, he noticed a group of some thirty persons in frontof a newspaper-stand. The vender, a fat little man with a redface and an impudent look, was crying in a hoarse voice,"Here are the morning papers! The last editions! All about therobbery of twelve millions by a poor cashier. Buy the morningpapers!"And, to stimulate the sale of his wares, he added all sorts ofjokes of his own invention, saying that the thief belonged to theneighborhood; that it was quite flattering, etc.
The crowd laughed; and he went on,"The cashier Favoral's robbery! twelve millions! Buy the paper,and see how it's done."And so the scandal was public, irreparable. Maxence was listeninga few steps off. He felt like going; but an imperative feeling,stronger than his will, made him anxious to see what the papers said.
Suddenly he made up his mind, and, stepping up briskly, he threwdown three sous, seized a paper, and ran as if they had all knownhim.
Not very polite, the gentleman, remarked two idlers whom he hadpushed a little roughly.
Quick as he had been, a shopkeeper of the Rue Terrain had had timeto recognize him.
Why, that's the cashier's son! he exclaimed. Is it possible?""Why don't they arrest him?"Half a dozen curious fellows, more eager than the rest, ran afterhim to try and see his face. But he was already far off.
Leaning against a gas-lamp on the Boulevard, he unfolded the paperhe had just bought. He had no trouble looking for the article. Inthe middle of the first page, in the most prominent position, heread in large letters,"At the moment of going to press, the greatest agitation prevailsamong the stock-brokers and operators at the bourse generally,owing to the news that one of our great banking establishmentshas just been the victim of a theft of unusual magnitude.
"At about five o'clock in the afternoon, the manager of theMutual Credit Society, having need of some documents, went tolook for them in the office of the head cashier, who was thenabsent. A memorandum forgotten on the table excited hissuspicions. Sending at once for a locksmith, he had all thedrawers broken open, and soon acquired the irrefutable evidencethat the Mutual Credit had been defrauded of sums, which, as faras now, known, amount to upwards of twelve millions. At once the police was notified; and M. Brosse, commissary ofpolice, duly provided with a warrant, called at the guiltycashier's house.
" "That cashier, named Favoral, - we do not hesitate to name him,since his name has already been made public, - had just sat downto dinner with some friends. Warned, no one knows how, hesucceeded in escaping through a window into the yard of theadjoining house, and up to this hour has succeeded in eludingall search. It seems that these embezzlements had been going on for years,but had been skillfully concealed by false entries.
" "M. Favoral had managed to secure the esteem of all who knew him. He led at home a more than modest existence. But that was only,as it were, his official life. Elsewhere, and under another name,he indulged in the most reckless expenses for the benefit of awoman with whom he was madly in love. Who this woman is, is not yet exactly known.
" "Some mention a very fascinating young actress, who performs ata theatre not a hundred miles from the Rue Vivienne; others, alady of the financial high life, whose equipages, diamonds, anddresses are justly famed. We might easily, in this respect, give particulars which wouldastonish many people; for we know all; but, at the risk ofseeming less well informed than some others of our morningcontemporaries, we will observe a silence which our readers willsurely appreciate. We do not wish to add, by a prematureindiscretion, any thing to the grief of a family already socruelly stricken; for M. Favoral leaves behind him in the deepestsorrow a wife and two children, - a son of twenty-five, employedin a railroad office, and a daughter of twenty, remarkablyhandsome, who, a few months ago, came very near marrying M.
"C. -.
Next -"Tears of rage obscured Maxence's sight whilst reading the last fewlines of this terrible article. To find himself thus held up topublic curiosity, though innocent, was more than he could bear.
And yet he was, perhaps, still more surprised than indignant. Hehad just learned in that paper more than his father's most intimatefriends knew, more than he knew himself. Where had it got itsinformation? And what could be these other details which the writerpretended to know, but did not wish to publish as yet? Maxence feltlike running to the office of the paper, fancying that they couldtell him there exactly where and under what name M. Favoral led thatexistence of pleasure and luxury, and who the woman was to whom thearticle alluded.
But in the mean time he had reached his hotel, - the Hotel desFolies. After a moment of hesitation,"Bash!" he thought, "I have the whole day to call at the office ofthe paper.
And he started in the corridor of the hotel, a corridor that was solong, so dark, and so narrow, that it gave an idea of the shaft ofa mine, and that it was prudent, before entering it, to make surethat no one was coming in the opposite direction. It was from theneighboring theatre, des Folies-Nouvelles (now the Theatre Dejazet),that the hotel had taken its name.
It consists of the rear building of a large old house, and has nofrontage on the Boulevard, where nothing betrays its existence,except a lantern hung over a low and narrow door, between a cafand a confectionery-shop. It is one of those hotels, as there area good many in Paris, somewhat mysterious and suspicious, ill-kept,and whose profits remain a mystery for simple-minded folks. Whooccupy the apartments of the first and second story? No one knows.
Never have the most curious of the neighbors discovered the faceof a tenant. And yet they are occupied; for often, in theafternoon, a curtain is drawn aside, and a shadow is seen to move.
In the evening, lights are noticed within; and sometimes the soundof a cracked old piano is heard.
Above the second story, the mystery ceases. All the upper rooms,the price of which is relatively modest, are occupied by tenantswho may be seen and heard, - clerks like Maxence, shop-girls fromthe neighborhood, a few restaurant-waiters, and sometimes some poordevil of an actor or chorus-singer from the Theatre Dejazet, theCircus, or the Chateau d'Eau. One of the great advantages of theHotel des Folies - and Mme. Fortin, the landlady, never failed topoint it out to the new tenants, an inestimable advantage, shedeclared - was a back entrance on the Rue Beranger.
And everybody knows, she concluded, "that there is no chance ofbeing caught, when one has the good luck of living in a house thathas two outlets."When Maxence entered the office, a small, dark, and dirty room,the proprietors, M. and Mme. Fortin were just finishing theirbreakfast with an immense bowl of coffee of doubtful color, ofwhich an enormous red cat was taking a share.
Ah, here is M. Favoral! they exclaimed.
There was no mistaking their tone. They knew the catastrophe;and the newspaper lying on the table showed how they had heard it.
Some one called to see you last night, said Mme. Fortin, a largefat woman, whose nose was always besmeared with snuff, and whosehoneyed voice made a marked contrast with her bird-of-prey look.
Who?"A gentleman of about fifty, tall and thin, with a long overcoat,coming down to his heels.Maxence imagined, from this description, that he recognized his ownfather. And yet it seemed impossible, after what had happened, thathe should dare to show himself on the Boulevard du Temple, whereeverybody knew him, within a step of the Caf Turc, of which hewas one of the oldest customers.
At what o'clock was he here? he inquired.
I really can't tell, answered the landlady. "I was half asleepat the time; but Fortin can tell us."M. Fortin, who looked about twenty years younger than his wife, wasone of those small men, blonde, with scanty beard, a suspiciousglance, and uneasy smile, such as the Madame Fortins know how, tofind, Heaven knows where.
The confectioner had just put up his shutters, he replied:
consequently, it must have been between eleven and a quarter-pasteleven."And didn't he leave any word? said Maxence.
Nothing, except that he was very sorry not to find you in. And,in fact, he did look quite annoyed. We asked him to leave his name;but he said it wasn't worth while, and that he would call again.At the glance which the landlady was throwing toward him from thecorner of her eyes, Maxence understood that she had on the subjectof that late visitor the same suspicion as himself.
And, as if she had intended to make it more apparent still,"I ought, perhaps, to have given him your key," she said.
"And why so, pray?""Oh! I don't know, an idea of mine, that's all. Besides, Mlle. Lucienne can probably tell you more about it; for she was therewhen the gentleman came, and I even think that they exchanged afew words in the yard.Maxence, seeing that they were only seeking a pretext to questionhim, took his key, and inquired,""Is - Mlle. Lucienne at home?""""Can't tell. She has been going and coming all the morning, andI don't know whether she finally staid in or out. One thing issure, she waited for you last night until after twelve; and shedidn't like it much, I can tell you.""Maxence started up the steep stairs; and, as he reached the upperstories, a woman's voice, fresh and beautifully toned, reached hisears more and more distinctly.
"She was singing a popular tune, - one of those songs which aremonthly put in circulation by the singing cafes"To hope! 0 charming word,Which, during all life,Husband and children and wifeRepeat in common accord!
When the moment of successFrom us ever further slips,'Tis Hope from its rosy lipsWhispers, To-morrow you will bless.
'Tis very nice to run,But to have is better fun.""She is in," murmured Maxence, breathing more freely.
Reaching the fourth story, he stopped before the door which facedthe stairs, and knocked lightly.
At once, the voice, which had just commenced another verse stoppedshort, and inquired, "Who's there?""I, Maxence!""At this hour!" replied the voice with an ironical laugh. "That'slucky. You have probably forgotten that we were to go to thetheatre last night, and start for St. Germain at seven o'clockthis morning.""Don't you know then?" Maxence began, as soon as he could put in aword.
I know that you did not come home last night."Quite true. But when I have told you -"What? the lie you have imagined? Save yourself the trouble."Lucienne, I beg of you, open the door."Impossible, I am dressing. Go to your own room: as soon as I amdressed, I'll join you.And, to cut short all these explanations, she took up her song again:
"Hope, I've waited but too longFor thy manna divine! I've drunk enough of thy wine,And I know thy siren song: Waiting for a lucky turn,I have wasted my best days: Take up thy magic-lanternAnd elsewhere display its rays. Tis very nice to run,But to have is better fun!
"It was on the opposite side of the landing that what Mme. Fortinpompously called" Maxence's apartment" was situated.
It consisted of a sort of antechamber, almost as large as ahandkerchief (decorated by the Fortins with the name of dining-room),a bedroom, and a closet called a dressing-room in the lease.
Nothing could be more gloomy than this lodging, in which the raggedpaper and soiled paint retained the traces of all the wanderers whohad occupied it since the opening of the Hotel des Folies. Thedislocated ceiling was scaling off in large pieces; the floorseemed affected with the dry-rot; and the doors and windows wereso much warped and sprung, that it required an effort to close them.
The furniture was on a par with the rest.
How everything does wear out! sighed Mme. Fortin. "It isn't tenyears since I bought that furniture."In point of fact it was over fifteen, and even then she had boughtit secondhanded, and almost unfit for use. The curtains retainedbut a vague shade of their original color. The veneer was almostentirely off the bedstead. Not a single lock was in order, whetherin the bureau or the secretary. The rug had become a nameless rag;and the broken springs of the sofa, cutting through the threadbarestuff, stood up threateningly like knife-blades.
The most sumptuous object was an enormous China stove, whichoccupied almost one-half of the hall-dining-room. It could not beused to make a fire; for it had no pipe. Nevertheless, Mme. Fortinrefused obstinately to take it out, under the pretext that it gavesuch a comfortable appearance to the apartment. All this elegancecost Maxence forty-five francs a month, and five francs for theservice; the whole payable in advance from the 1st to the 3d ofthe month. If, on the 4th, a tenant came in without money, Mme.
Fortin squarely refused him his key, and invited him to seekshelter elsewhere.
I have been caught too often, she replied to those who tried toobtain twenty-four hours' grace from her. "I wouldn't trust myown father till the 5th, he who was a superior officer in Napoleon'sarmies, and the very soul of honor."It was chance alone which had brought Maxence, after the Commune,to the Hotel des Folies; and he had not been there a week, beforehe had fully made up his mind not to wear out Mme. Fortin'sfurniture very long. He had even already found another and moresuitable lodging, when, about a year ago, a certain meeting onthe stairs had modified all his views, and lent a charm to hisapartment which he did not suspect.
As he was going out one morning to his office, he met on the verylanding a rather tall and very dark girl, who had just comerunning up stairs. She passed before him like a flash, openedthe opposite door, and disappeared. But, rapid as the apparitionhad been, it had left in Maxence's mind one of those impressionswhich are never obliterated. He could not think of any thingelse the whole day; and after business-hours, instead of going todine in Rue St. Gilles, as usual, he sent a despatch to his motherto tell her not to wait for him, and bravely went home.
But it was in vain, that, during the whole evening, he kept watchbehind his door, left slyly ajar: he did not get a glimpse of theneighbor. Neither did she show herself on the next or the threefollowing days; and Maxence was beginning to despair, when at last,on Sunday, as he was going down stairs, he met her again face toface. He had thought her quite pretty at the first glance: thistime he was dazzled to that extent, that he remained for over aminute, standing like a statue against the wall.
And certainly it was not her dress that helped setting off herbeauty. She wore a poor dress of black merino, a narrow collar,and plain cuffs, and a bonnet of the utmost simplicity. She hadnevertheless an air of incomparable dignity, a grace that charmed,and yet inspired respect, and the carriage of a queen. This wason the 30th of July. As he was handing in his key, before leaving,"My apartment suits me well enough," said Maxence to Mme. Fortin:
I shall keep it. And here are fifty francs for the month of August.And, while the landlady was making out a receipt,"You never told me," he began with his most indifferent look, "thatI had a neighbor."Mme. Fortin straightened herself up like an old warhorse that hearsthe sound of the bugle.
Yes, yes! she said, -" Mademoiselle Lucienne.""Lucienne," repeated Maxence: "that's a pretty name.""Have you seen her?""I have just seen her. She's rather good looking."The worthy landlady jumped on her chair. "Rather good looking!"she interrupted. "You must be hard to please, my dear sir; for I,who am a judge, I affirm that you might hunt Paris over for fourwhole days without finding such a handsome girl. Rather goodlooking! A girl who has hair that comes down to her knees, adazzling complexion, eyes as big as this, and teeth whiter thanthat cat's. All right, my friend. You'll wear out more than onepair of boots running after women before you catch one like her."That was exactly Maxence's opinion; and yet with his coldest look,"Has she been long your tenant, dear Mme. Fortin?" he asked.
A little over a year. She was here during the siege; and justthen, as she could not pay her rent, I was, of course, going tosend her off; but she went straight to the commissary of police,who came here, and forbade me to turn out either her or anybodyelse. As if people were not masters in their own house!"That was perfectly absurd! objected Maxence, who was determinedto gain the good graces of the landlady.
Never heard of such a thing! she went on. "Compel you to lodgepeople free! Why not feed them too? In short, she remained solong, that, after the Commune, she owed me a hundred and eightyfrancs. Then she said, that, if I would let her stay, she wouldpay me each month in advance, besides the rent, ten francs on theold account. I agreed, and she has already paid up twenty francs.""Poor girl!" said Maxence.
But Mme. Fortin shrugged her shoulders.
Really, she replied, "I don't pity her much; for, if she onlywanted, in forty-eight hours I should be paid, and she would havesomething else on her back besides that old black rag. I tell herevery day, 'In these days, my child, there is but one reliablefriend, which is better than all others, and which must be taken asit comes, without making any faces if it is a little dirty: that'smoney.' But all my preaching goes for nothing. I might as wellsing."Maxence was listening with intense delight.
In short, what does she do? he asked.
That's more than I know, replied Mme. Fortin. "The young ladyhas not much to say. All I know is, that she leaves every morningbright and early, and rarely gets home before eleven. On Sundayshe stays home, reading; and sometimes, in the evening, she goesout, always alone, to some theatre or ball. Ah! she is an oddone, I tell you!"A lodger who came in interrupted the landlady; and Maxence walkedoff dreaming how he could manage to make the acquaintance of hispretty and eccentric neighbor.
Because he had once spent some hundreds of napoleons in the companyof young ladies with yellow chignons, Maxence fancied himself a manof experience, and had but little faith in the virtue of a girl oftwenty, living alone in a hotel, and left sole mistress of her ownfancy. He began to watch for every occasion of meeting her; and,towards the last of the month, he had got so far as to bow to her,and to inquire after her health.
But, the first time he ventured to make love to her, she looked athim head to foot, and turned her back upon him with so much contempt,that he remained, his mouth wide open, perfectly stupefied.
I am losing my time like a fool, he thought.
Great, then, was his surprise, when the following week, on a fineafternoon, he saw Mlle. Lucienne leave her room, no longer clad inher eternal black dress, but wearing a brilliant and extremely richtoilet. With a beating heart he followed her.
In front of the Hotel des Folies stood a handsome carriage andhorses.
As soon as Mlle. Lucienne appeared, a footman opened respectfullythe carriage-door. She went in; and the horses started at a fulltrot.
Maxence watched the carriage disappear in the distance, like achild who sees the bird fly upon which he hoped to lay hands.
Gone, he muttered, "gone!"But, when he turned around, he found himself face to face with theFortins, man and wife; who were laughing a sinister laugh.
What did I tell you? exclaimed Mine Fortin. "There she is,started at last. Get up, horse! She'll do well, the child."The magnificent equipage and elegant dress had already producedquite an effect among the neighbors. The customers sitting in frontof the caf were laughing among themselves. The confectioner andhis wife were casting indignant glances at the proprietors of theHotel des Folies.
You see, M. Favoral, replied Mme. Fortin, "such a girl as thatwas not made for our neighborhood. You must make up your mind toit; you won't see much more of her on the Boulevard du Temple."Without saying a word, Maxence ran to his room, the hot tearsstreaming from his eyes. He felt ashamed of himself; for, afterall, what was this girl to him?.
She is gone!" he repeated to himself. "Well, good-by, let her go!"But, despite all his efforts at philosophy, he felt an immensesadness invading his heart: ill-defined regrets and spasms of angeragitated him. He was thinking what a fool he had been to believein the grand airs of the young lady, and that, if he had had dressesand horses to give her, she might not have received him so harshly.
At last he made up his mind to think no more of her, - one of thosefine resolutions which are always taken, and never kept; and in theevening he left his room to go and dine in the Rue St. Gilles.
But, as was often his custom, he stopped at the caf next door, andcalled for a drink. He was mixing his absinthe when he saw thecarriage that had carried off Mlle. Lucienne in the morning returningat a rapid gait, and stopping short in front of the hotel. Mlle.
Lucienne got out slowly, crossed the sidewalk, and entered thenarrow corridor. Almost immediately, the carriage turned around,and drove off.
What does it mean? thought Maxence, who was actually forgettingto swallow his absinthe.
He was losing himself in absurd conjectures, when, some fifteenminutes later, he saw the girl coming out again. Already she hadtaken off her elegant clothes, and resumed her cheap black dress.
She had a basket on her arm, and was going towards the Rue Chariot.
Without further reflections, Maxence rose suddenly, and started tofollow her, being very careful that she should not see him. Afterwalking for five or six minutes, she entered a shop, half-eatinghouse, and half wine-shop, in the window of which a large signcould be read: "Ordinary at all hours for forty centimes. Hardboiled eggs, and salad of the season."Maxence, having crept up as close as he could, saw Mlle. Luciennetake a tin box out of her basket, and have what is called an"ordinaire" poured into it; that is, half a pint of soup, a pieceof beef as large as the fist, and a few vegetables. She then hada small bottle half-filled with wine, paid, and walked out withthat same look of grave dignity which she always wore.
Funny dinner, murmured Maxence, "for a woman who was spreadingherself just now in a ten-thousand-franc carriage."From that moment she became the sole and only object of his thoughts.
A passion, which he no longer attempted to resist, was penetratinglike a subtle poison to the innermost depths of his being. Hethought himself happy, when, after watching for hours, he caught aglimpse of this singular creature, who, after that extraordinaryexpedition, seemed to have resumed her usual mode of life. Mme.
Fortin was dumfounded.
She has been too exacting, she said to Maxence, "and the thinghas fallen through."He made no answer. He felt a perfect horror for the honorablelandlady's insinuations; and yet he never ceased to repeat tohimself that he must be a great simpleton to have faith for amoment in that young lady's virtue. What would he not have givento be able to question her? But he dared not. Often he wouldgather up his courage, and wait for her on the stairs; but, assoon as she fixed upon him her great black eye, all the phraseshe had prepared took flight from his brain, his tongue clove tohis mouth, and he could barely succeed in stammering out a timid,"Good-morning, mademoiselle."He felt so angry with himself, that he was almost on the point ofleaving the Hotel des Folies, when one evening:
Well, said Mme. Fortin to him, "all is made up again, it seems.
The beautiful carriage called again to-day."Maxence could have beaten her.
What good would it do you, he replied, "if Lucienne were to turnout badly?""It's always a pleasure," she grumbled, "to have one more woman totorment the men. Those are the girls, you see, who avenge us poorhonest women!"The sequel seemed at first to justify her worst previsions. Threetimes during that week, Mlle. Lucienne rode out in grand style; butas she always returned, and always resumed her eternal black woolendress,"I can't make head or tail of it," thought Maxence. But never mind,I'll clear the matter up yet."He applied, and obtained leave of absence; and from the very nextday he took up a position behind the window of the adjoining caf .
On the first day he lost his time; but on the second day, at aboutthree o'clock, the famous equipage made its appearance; and, a fewmoments later, Mlle. Lucienne took a seat in it. Her toilet wasricher, and more showy still, than the first time. Maxence jumpedinto a cab.
You see that carriage, he said to the coachman, "Wherever itgoes, you must follow it. I give ten francs extra pay.""All right!" replied the driver, whipping up his horses.
And much need he had, too, of whipping them; for the carriage thatcarried off Mlle. Lucienne started at full trot down the Boulevards,to the Madeleine, then along the Rue Royale, and through the Placede la Concorde, to the Avenue des Champs-E1ysees, where the horseswere brought down to a walk. It was the end of September, and oneof those lovely autumnal days which are a last smile of the bluesky and the last caress of the sun.
There were races in the Bois de Boulogne; and the equipages werefive and six abreast on the avenue. The side-alleys were crowdedwith idlers. Maxence, from the inside of his cab, never lost sightof Mlle. Lucienne.
She was evidently creating a sensation. The men stopped to lookat her with gaping admiration: the women leaned out of theircarriages to see her better.
Where can she be going? Maxence wondered.
She was going to the Bois; and soon her carriage joined theinterminable line of equipages which were following the grand driveat a walk. It became easier now to follow on foot. Maxence sentoff his cab to wait for him at a particular spot, and took thepedestrians' road, that follows the edge of the lakes. He hadnot gone fifty steps, however, before he heard some one call him.
He turned around, and, within two lengths of his cane, saw M. SaintPavin and M. Costeclar. Maxence hardly knew M. Saint Pavin, whomhe had only seen two or three times in the Rue St. Gilles, andexecrated M. Costeclar. Still he advanced towards them.
Mlle. Lucienne's carriage was now caught in the file; and he wassure of joining it whenever he thought proper.
It is a miracle to see you here, my dear Maxence! exclaimed M.
Costeclar, loud enough to attract the attention of several persons.
To occupy the attention of others, anyhow and at any cost, was M.
Costeclar's leading object in life.. That was evident from thestyle of his dress, the shape of his hat, the bright stripes of hisshirt, his ridiculous shirt-collar, his cuffs, his boots, his gloves,his cane, every thing, in fact.
If you see us on foot, he added, "it is because we wanted to walka little. The doctor's prescription, my dear. My carriage isyonder, behind those trees. Do you recognize my dapple-grays?"And he extended his cane in that direction, as if he were addressinghimself, not to Maxence alone, but to all those who were passing by.
Very well, very well! everybody knows you have a carriage,interrupted M. Saint Pavin.
The editor of "The Financial Pilot" was the living contrast of hiscompanion. More slovenly still than M. Costeclar was careful ofhis dress, he exhibited cynically a loose cravat rolled over a shirtworn two or three days, a coat white with lint and plush, muddyboots, though it had not rained for a week, and large red hands,surprisingly filthy.
He was but the more proud ; and he wore, cocked up to one side, ahat that had not known a brush since the day it had left the hatter's.
That fellow Costeclar, he went on, "he won't believe that thereare in France a number of people who live and die without everhaving owned a horse or a coupe; which is a fact, nevertheless.
Those fellows who were born with fifty or sixty thousand francs'
income in their baby-clothes are all alike."The unpleasant intention was evident; but M. Costeclar was not theman to get angry for such a trifle.
You are in bad humor to-day, old fellow, he said. The editor of"The Financial Pilot" made a threatening gesture.
Well, yes, he answered, "I am in bad humor, like a man who forten years past has been beating the drum in front of your d--dfinancial shops, and who does not pay expenses. Yes, for ten yearsI have shouted myself hoarse for your benefit: 'Walk in, ladies andgentlemen, and, for every twenty-cent-piece you deposit with us,we will return you a five-franc-piece. Walk in, follow the crowd,step up to the office: this is the time.' They go in. You receivemountains of twenty-cent-pieces: you never return anything, neithera five-franc-piece, nor even a centime. The trick is done, thepublic is sold. You drive your own carriage; you suspend diamondsto your mistress' ears; and I, the organizer of success, whose puffsopen the tightest closed pockets, and start up the old louis fromthe bottom of the old woolen stocking, - I am driven to have my bootshalf-soled. You stint me my existence; you kick as soon as I askyou to pay for the big drums bursted in your beha1f"He spoke so loud, that three or four idlers had stopped. Withoutbeing very shrewd, Maxence understood readily that he had happenedin the midst of an acrimonious discussion. Closely pressed, anddesirous of gaining time, M. Costeclar had called him in the hopesof effecting a diversion.
Bowing, therefore, politely,"Excuse me, gentlemen," he-said: "I fear I have interrupted you."But M. Costeclar detained him.
Don't go, he declared; "you must come down and take a glass ofMadeira with us, down at the Cascade."And, turning to the editor of "The Pilot":
Come, now, shut up, he said: "you shall have what you want.""Really?""Upon my word.""I'd rather have two or three lines in black and white.""I'll give them to you to-night.""All right, then! Forward the big guns! Look out for next Sunday'snumber!"Peace being made, the gentlemen continued their walk in the mostfriendly manner, M. Costeclar pointing out to Maxence all thecelebrities who were passing by them in their carriages.
He had just designated to his attention Mme. and Mlle. de Thaller,accompanied by two gigantic footmen, when, suddenly interruptinghimself, and rising on tiptoe,"Sacre bleu!" he exclaimed: "what a handsome woman!"Without too much affectation, Maxence fell back a step or two. Hefelt himself blushing to his very ears, and trembled lest his suddenemotion were noticed, and he were questioned; for it was Mlle.
Lucienne who thus excited M. Costeclar's noisy enthusiasm. Oncealready she had been around the lake; and she was continuingher circular drive.
Positively, approved the editor of "The Financial Pilot," "she issomewhat better than the rest of those ladies we have just seengoing by."M. Costeclar was on the point of pulling out what little hair hehad left.
And I don't know her! he went on. "A lovely woman rides in theBois, and I don't know who she is! That is ridiculous andprodigious! Who can post us?"A little ways off stood a group of gentlemen, who had also just lefttheir carriages, and were looking on this interminable procession ofequipages and this amazing display of toilets.
They are friends of mine, said M. Costeclar: "let us join them."They did so; and, after the usual greetings,"Who is that?" inquired M. Costeclar, - "that dark person, whosecarriage follows Mme. de Thaller's?"An old young man, with scanty hair, dyed beard, and a most impudentsmile, answered him,"That's just what we are trying to find out. None of us have everseen her.""I must and shall find out," interrupted M. Costeclar. "I have avery intelligent servant"Already he was starting in the direction of the spot where hiscarriage was waiting for him. The old beau stopped him.
Don't bother yourself, my dear friend," he said. " I have also aservant who is no fool; and he has had orders for over fifteenminutes."The others burst out laughing.
Distanced, Costeclar! exclaimed M. Saint Pavin, who,notwithstanding his slovenly dress and cynic manners, seemedperfectly well received.
No one was now paying any attention to Maxence; and he slipped offwithout the slightest care as to what M. Costeclar might think.
Reaching the spot where his cab awaited him,"Which way, boss?" inquired the driver. Maxence hesitated. Whatbetter had he to do than to go home? And yet...
We'll wait for that same carriage, he answered; and we'll followit on the return."But he learned nothing further. Mlle. Lucienne drove straight tothe Boulevard du Temple, and, as before, immediately resumed hereternal black dress; and Maxence saw, her go to the little restaurantfor her modest dinner.
But he saw something else too.
Almost on the heels of the girl, a servant in livery entered the hotelcorridor, and only went off after remaining a full quarter of an hourin busy conference with Mme. Fortin.
It's all over, thought the poor fellow. "Lucienne will not bemuch longer my neighbor."He was mistaken. A month went by without bringing about any change.
As in the past, she went out early, came home late, and on Sundaysremained alone all day in her room. Once or twice a week, when theweather was fine, the carriage came for her at about three o'clock,and brought her home at nightfall. Maxence had exhausted allconjectures, when one evening, it was the 31st of October, as hewas coming in to go to bed, he heard a loud sound of voices in theoffice of the hotel. Led by an instinctive curiosity, he approachedon tiptoe, so as to see and hear every thing. The Fortins and Mlle.
Lucienne were having a great discussion.
That's all nonsense, shrieked the worthy, landlady; "and I meanto be paid."Mlle. Lucienne was quite calm.
Well, she replied: "don't I pay you? Here are forty francs,- thirty in advance for my room, and ten on the old account.""I don't want your ten francs!""What do you want, then?""Ah, - the hundred and fifty francs which you owe me still."The girl shrugged her shoulders.
You forget our agreement, she uttered.
Our agreement?"Yes. After the Commune, it was understood that I would give youten francs a month on the old account; as long as I give them toyou, you have nothing to ask.Crimson with rage, Mme. Fortin had risen from her seat.
Formerly, she interrupted, "I presumed I had to deal with a poorworking-girl, an honest girl."Mlle. Lucienne took no notice of the insult.
I have not the amount you ask, she said coldly.
Well, then, vociferated the other, "you must go and ask it ofthose who pay for your carriages and your dresses."Still impassible, the girl, instead of answering, stretched herhand towards her key; but M. Fortin stopped her arm.
No, no! he said with a giggle. "People who don't pay theirhotel-bill sleep out, my darling."Maxence, that very morning, had received his month's pay, and hefelt, as it were, his two hundred francs trembling in his pockets.
Yielding to a sudden inspiration, he threw open the office-door,and, throwing down one hundred and fifty francs upon the table,"Here is your money, wretch!" he exclaimed. And he withdrew atonce.
Maxence had not spoken to Mlle. Lucienne for nearly a month. Hetried to persuade himself that she despised him because he was poor.
He kept watching for her, for he could not help it; but as much aspossible he avoided her.
I shall be miserable, he thought, "the day when she does not comehome; and yet it would be the very best thing that could happenfor me."Nevertheless, he spent all his time trying to find some explanationsfor the conduct of this strange girl, who, beneath her woolen dress,had the haughty manners of a great lady. Then he delighted toimagine between her and himself some of those subjects of confidence,some of those facilities which chance never fails to supply toattentive passion, or some event which would enable him to emergefrom his obscurity, and to acquire some rights by virtue of somegreat service rendered.
But never had he dared to hope for an occasion as propitious as theone he had just seized. And yet, after he had returned to his room,he hardly dared to congratulate himself upon the promptitude of hisdecision. He knew too well Mlle. Lucienne's excessive pride andsensitive nature.
I should not be surprised if she were angry with me for what I'vedone, he thought.
The evening being quite chilly, he had lighted a few sticks; and,sitting by the fireside, he was waiting, his mind filled with vaguehopes. It seemed to him that his neighbor could not absolve herselffrom coming to thank him; and he was listening intently to all thenoises of the house, starting at the sound of footsteps on thestairs, and at the slamming of doors. Ten times, at least, he wentout on tiptoe to lean out of the window on the landing, to make surethat there was no light in Mlle. Lucienne's room. At eleven o'clockshe had not yet come home; and he was deliberating whether he wouldnot start out in quest of information, when there was a knock at thedoor.
Come in! he cried, in a voice choked with emotion. Mlle. Luciennecame in. She was somewhat paler than usual, but calm and perfectlyself-possessed. Having bowed without the slightest shade ofembarrassment, she laid upon the mantel-piece the thirtyfive-franc-notes which Maxence had thrown down to the Fortins; and,in her most natural tone,"Here are your hundred and fifty francs, sir," she uttered. "I ammore grateful than I can express for your prompt kindness in lendingthem to me; but I did not need them."Maxence had risen from his seat, and was making every effort tocontrol his own feelings.
Still, he began, "after what I heard""Yes," she interrupted, "Mme. Fortin and her husband were trying tofrighten me. But they were losing their time. When, after theCommune, I settled with them the manner in which I would dischargemy debt towards them, having a just estimate of their worth, Imade them write out and sign our agreement. Being in the right, Icould resist them, and was resisting them when you threw them thosehundred and fifty francs. Having laid hands upon them, they had thepretension to keep them. That's what I could not suffer. Not beingable to recover them by main force, I went at once to the commissaryof police. He was luckily at his office. He is an honest man, whoalready, once before, helped me out of a scrape. He listened to mekindly, and was moved by my explanations. Notwithstanding thelateness of the hour, he put on his overcoat, and came with me tosee our landlord. After compelling them to return me your money, hesignified to them to observe strictly our agreement, under penaltyof incurring his utmost severity."Maxence was wonderstruck.
How could you dare? he said.
"Wasn't I in the right? Oh, a thousand times yes! Still""""What? Should my right be less respected because I am but a woman?
"And, because I have no one to protect me, am I outside the law, andcondemned in advance to suffer the iniquitous fancies of everyscoundrel? No, thank Heaven! Henceforth I shall feel easy. Peoplelike the Fortins, who live of I know not what shameful traffic, havetoo much to fear from the police to dare to molest me further."The resentment of the insult could be read in her great black eyes;and a bitter disgust contracted her lips.
Besides, she added, "the commissary had no need of my explanationsto understand what abject inspirations the Fortins were following.
The wretches had in their pocket the wages of their infamy. Inrefusing me my key, in throwing me out in the street at ten o'clockat night, they hoped to drive me to seek the assistance of the basecoward who paid their odious treason. And we know the price whichmen demand for the slightest service they render to a woman."Maxence turned pale. The idea flashed upon his mind that it was tohim, perhaps, that these last words were addressed.
Ah, I swear it! he exclaimed, "it is without after-thought thatI tried to help you. You do not owe me any thanks even.""I do not thank you any the less, though," she said gently, "andfrom the bottom of my heart""It was so little!
Intention alone makes the value of a service, neighbor. And,besides, do not say that a hundred and fifty francs are nothing toyou: perhaps you do not earn much more each month."I confess it, he said, blushing a little.
You see, then? No, it was not to you that my words were addressed,but to the man who has paid the Fortins. He was waiting on theBoulevard, the result of the manoeuvre, which, they thought, wasabout to place me at his mercy. He ran quickly to me when I wentout, and followed me all the way to the office of the commissaryof police, as he follows me everywhere for the past month, with hissickening gallantries and his degrading propositions.The eye flashing with anger,"Ab, if I had known! " exclaimed Maxence. "If you had told me buta word!"She smiled at his vehemence.
What would you have done? she said. "You cannot impartintelligence to a fool, heart to a coward, or delicacy of feelingto a boor.""I could have chastised the miserable insulter."She had a superb gesture of indifference.
Bash! she interrupted. "What are insults to me? I am soaccustomed to them, that they no longer have any effect upon me.
I am eighteen: I have neither family, relatives, friends, nor anyone in the world who even knows my existence; and I live by mylabor. Can't you see what must be the humiliations of each day?
Since I was eight years old, I have been earning the bread I eat,the dress I wear, and the rent of the den where I sleep. Can youunderstand what I have endured, to what ignominies I have beenexposed, what traps have been set for me, and how it has happenedto me sometimes to owe my safety to mere physical force? And yetI do not complain, since through it all I have been able to retainthe respect of myself, and to remain virtuous in spite of all."She was laughing a laugh that had something wild in it.
And, as Maxence was looking at her with immense surprise,"That seems strange to you, doesn't it?" she resumed. "A girl ofeighteen, without a sou, free as air, very pretty, and yet virtuousin the midst of Paris. Probably you don't believe it, or, if youdo, you just think, 'What on earth does she make by it?'
"And really you are right; for, after all, who cares, and who thinksany the more of me, if I work sixteen hours a day to remain virtuous? But it's a fancy of my own; and don't imagine for a moment that I amdeterred by any scruples, or by timidity, or ignorance. No, no! I believe in nothing. I fear nothing; and I know as much as theoldest libertines, the most vicious, and the most depraved. And Idon't say that I have not been tempted sometimes, when, coming homefrom work, I'd see some of them coming out of the restaurants,splendidly dressed, on their lover's arm, and getting into carriagesto go to the theatre. There were moments when I was cold and hungry,and when, not knowing where to sleep, I wandered all night throughthe streets like a lost dog. There were hours when I felt sick ofall this misery, and when I said to myself, that, since it was myfate to end in the hospital, I might as well make the trip gayly. But what! I should have had to traffic my person, to sell myself!She shuddered, and in a hoarse voice,""I would rather die,"" she said.
"It was difficult to reconcile words such as these with certaincircumstances of Mlle. Lucienne's existence, - her rides around thelake, for instance, in that carriage that came for her two or threetimes a week; her ever renewed costumes, each time more eccentricand more showy. But Maxence was not thinking of that. What shetold him he accepted as absolutely true and indisputable. And hefelt penetrated with an almost religious admiration for this youngand beautiful girl, possessed of so much vivid energy, who alone,through the hazards, the perils, and the temptations of Paris, hadsucceeded in protecting and defending herself.
And yet, he said, "without suspecting it, you had a friend nearyou."She shuddered; and a pale smile flitted upon her lips. She knewwell enough what friendship means between a youth of twenty-fiveand a girl of eighteen.
A friend! she murmured.
Maxence guessed her thought; and, in all the sincerity of his soul,"Yes, a friend," he repeated, "a comrade, a brother." And thinkingto touch her, and gain her confidence,"I could understand you," he added; "for I, too, have been veryunhappy."But he was singularly mistaken. She looked at him with an astonishedair, and slowly,"You unhappy!" she uttered, - "you who have a family, relations, amother who adores you, a sister." Less excited, Maxence might havewondered how she had found this out, and would have concluded thatshe must feel some interest in him, since she had doubtless takenthe trouble of getting information.
Besides, you are a man, she went on; "and I do not understand howa man can complain. Have you not the freedom, the strength, and theright to undertake and to dare any thing? Isn't the world open toyour activity and to your ambition? Woman submits to her fate: manmakes his."This was hurting the dearest pretensions of Maxence, who seriouslythought that he had exhausted the rigors of adversity.
There are circumstances, he began.
But she shrugged her shoulders gently, and, interrupting him,"Do not insist," she said, "or else I might think that you lackenergy. What are you talking of circumstances? There are noneso adverse but that can be overcome. What would you like, then?
To be born with a hundred thousand francs a year, and have nothingto do but to live according to your whim of each day, idle, satiated,a burden upon yourself, useless, or offensive to others? Ah! If Iwere a man, I would dream of another fate. I should like to startfrom the Foundling Asylum, without a name, and by my will, myintelligence, my daring, and my labor, make something and somebodyof myself. I would start from nothing, and become every thing!"With flashing eyes and quivering nostrils, she drew herself upproudly. But almost at once, dropping her head,"The misfortune is," she added, "that I am but a woman; and you whocomplain, if you only knew "She sat down, and with her elbow on the little table, her headresting upon her hand, she remained lost in her meditations, hereyes fixed, as if following through space all the phases of theeighteen years of her life.
There is no energy but unbends at some given moment, no will buthas its hour of weakness; and, strong and energetic as was Mlle.
Lucienne, she had been deeply touched by Maxence's act. Had she,then, found at last upon her path the companion of whom she hadoften dreamed in the despairing hours of solitude and wretchedness?
After a few moments, she raised her head, and, looking intoMaxence's eyes with a gaze that made him quiver like the shock ofan electric battery,"Doubtless," she said, in a tone of indifference somewhat forced,"you think you have in me a strange neighbor. Well, as betweenneighbors; it is well to know each other. Before you judge me,listen."The recommendation was useless. Maxence was listening with allthe powers of his attention.
I was brought up, she began, "in a village of the neighborhood ofParis, - in Louveciennes. My mother had put me out to nurse withsome honest gardeners, poor, and burdened with a large family.
After two months, hearing nothing of my mother, they wrote toher: she made no answer. They then went to Paris, and called atthe address she had given them. She had just moved out; and no oneknew what had become of her. They could no longer, therefore,expect a single sou for the cares they would bestow upon me. Theykept me, nevertheless, thinking that one child the more would notmake much difference. I know nothing of my parents, therefore,except what I heard through these kind gardeners; and, as I wasstill quite young when I had the misfortune to lose them, I havebut a very vague remembrance of what they told me. I remember verywell, however, that according to their statements, my mother was ayoung working-woman of rare beauty, and that, very likely, she wasnot my father's wife. If I was ever told the name of my mother ormy father, if I ever knew it, I have quite forgotten it. I hadmyself no name. My adopted parents called me the Parisian. I washappy, nevertheless, with these kind people, and treated exactlylike their own children. In winter, they sent me to school; insummer, I helped weeding the garden. I drove a sheep or two alongthe road, or else I went to gather violets and strawberriesthrough the woods.
"This was the happiest, indeed, the only happy time of my life,towards which my thoughts may turn when I feel despair anddiscouragement getting the better of me. Alas! I was but eight,when, within the same week, the gardener and his wife were bothcarried off by the same disease, - inflammation of the lungs. On a freezing December morning, in that house upon which the handof death had just fallen, we found ourselves, six children, theoldest of whom was not eleven, crying with grief, fright, cold,and hunger.
" "Neither the gardener nor his wife had any relatives; and theyleft nothing but a few wretched pieces of furniture, the sale ofwhich barely sufficed to pay the expenses of their funeral. Thetwo younger children were taken to an asylum: the others were takencharge of by the neighbors. It was a laundress of Marly who took me. I was quite tall andstrong for my age. She made an apprentice of me. She was notunkind by nature; but she was violent and brutal in the extreme.
"She compelled me to do an excessive amount of work, and often of akind above my strength.
"Fifty times a day, I had to go from the river to the house,carrying on my shoulders enormous bundles of wet napkins or sheets,wring them, spread them out, and then run to Rueil to get the soiledclothes from the customers. I did not complain (I was already tooproud to complain); but, if I was ordered to do something that seemedto me too unjust, I refused obstinately to obey, and then I wasunmercifully beaten. In spite of all, I might, perhaps, have becomeattached to the woman, had she not had the disgusting habit ofdrinking. Every week regularly, on the day when she took the clothesto Paris (it was on Wednesdays), she came home drunk. And then,according as, with the fumes of the wine, anger or gayety rose toher brain, there were atrocious scenes or obscene jests. When she was in that condition, she inspired me with horror. Andone Wednesday, as I showed my feelings too plainly, she struck meso hard, that she broke my arm. I had been with, her for twentymonths. The injury she had done me sobered her at once. Shebecame frightened, overpowered me with caresses, begging me to saynothing to any one. I promised, and kept faithfully my word.
"But a physician had to be called in. There had been witnesses whospoke. The story spread along the river, as far as Bougival andRueil. And one morning an officer of gendarmes called at the house;and I don't exactly know what would have happened, if I had notobstinately maintained that I had broken my arm in falling downstairs."What surprised Maxence most was Mlle. Lucienne's simple and naturaltone. No emphasis, scarcely an appearance of emotion. One mighthave thought it was somebody's else life that she was narrating.
Meantime she was going on,"Thanks to my obstinate denials the woman was not disturbed. Butthe truth was known; and her reputation, which was not good before,became altogether bad. I became an object of interest. The verysame people who had seen me twenty times staggering painfully undera load of wet clothes, which was terrible, began to pity meprodigiously because I had had an arm broken, which was nothing.
"At last a number of our customers arranged to take me out of ahouse, in which, they said, I must end by perishing under badtreatment. And, after many fruitless efforts, they discovered, at last, atLa Jonchere, an old Jewess lady, very rich, and a widow withoutchildren, who consented to take charge of me.
" "I hesitated at first to accept these offers; but noticing that thelaundress, since she had hurt me, had conceived a still greateraversion for me, I made up my mind to leave her. It was on the day when I was introduced to my new mistress that Ifirst discovered I had no name. After examining me at length,turning me around and around, making me walk, and sit down, 'Now,'
"she inquired, 'what is your name?'
"I stared at her in surprise; for indeed I was then like a savage,not having the slightest notions of the things of life. 'My name is the Parisian,' I replied.
" "She burst out laughing, as also another old lady, a friend of hers,who assisted at my presentation; and I remember that my little pridewas quite offended at their hilarity. I thought they were laughingat me. 'That's not a name,' they said at last. 'That's a nickname.'
" "'I have no other.' They seemed dumfounded, repeating over and over that such a thingwas unheard of; and on the spot they began to look for a name for me.
"Where were you born! inquired my new mistress.
"'At Louveciennes.' Very well,' said the other: 'let us call her Louvecienne.' A long discussion followed, which irritated me so much that I feltlike running away; and it was agreed at last, that I should becalled, not Louvecienne, but Lucienne; and Lucienne I have remained.
" "There was nothing said about baptism, since my new mistress was aJewess. She was an excellent woman, although the grief she had felt at theloss of her husband had somewhat deranged her faculties.
" "As soon as it was decided that I was to remain, she desired toinspect my trousseau. I had none to show her, possessing nothingin the world but the rags on my back. As long as I had remainedwith the laundress, I had finished wearing out her old dresses; andI had never worn any other under-clothing save that which I borrowed,'by authority,' from the clients, - an economical system adopted bymany laundresses. Dismayed at my state of destitution, my new mistress sent for aseamstress, and at once ordered wherewith to dress and change me.
" "Since the death of the poor gardeners, this was the first time thatany one paid any attention to me, except to exact some service of me. I was moved to tears; and, in the excess of my gratitude, I wouldgladly have died for that kind old lady. This feeling gave me the courage and the constancy required to bearwith her whimsical nature. She had singular manias, disconcertingfancies, ridiculous and often exorbitant exactions. I lent myselfto it all as best I could.
" "As she already had two servants, a cook and a chambermaid, I hadmyself no special duties in the house. I accompanied her when shewent out riding. I helped to wait on her at table, and to dress her. I picked up her handkerchief when she dropped it; and, above all, Ilooked for her snuff-box, which she was continually mislaying. She was pleased with my docility, took much interest in me, and,that I might read to her, she made me learn to read, for I hardlyknew my letters. And the old man whom she gave me for a teacher,finding me intelligent, taught me all he knew, I imagine, of French,of geography, and of history.
" "The chambermaid, on the other hand, had been commissioned to teachme to sew, to embroider, and to execute all sorts of fancy-work;and she took the more interest in her lessons, that little by littleshe shifted upon me the most tedious part of her work. I would have been happy in that pretty house at La Jonchere, if Ihad only had some society better suited to my age than the old womenwith whom I was compelled to live, and who scolded me for a loudword or a somewhat abrupt gesture. What would I not have given tohave been allowed to play with the young girls whom I saw on Sundayspassing in crowds along the road!
" "As time went on, my old mistress became more and more attached tome, and endeavored in every way to give me proofs of her affection. I sat at table with her, instead of waiting on her, as at first. She had given me clothes, so that she could take me and introduceme anywhere. She went about repeating everywhere that she was as fond of me asof a daughter; that she intended to set me up in life; and thatcertainly she would leave a part of her fortune to me.
" "Alas! She said it too loud, for my misfortune, - so loud, thatthe news reached at last the ears of some nephews of hers in Paris,who came once in a while to La Jonchere. They had never paid much attention to me up to this time. Thosespeeches opened their eyes: they noticed what progress I had madein the heart of their relative; and their cupidity became alarmed.
" "Trembling lest they should lose an inheritance which theyconsidered as theirs, they united against me, determined to put astop to their aunt's generous intentions by having me sent off. But it was in vain, that, for nearly a year, their hatred exhausteditself in skillful manceuvres.
" "The instinct of preservation stimulating my perspicacity I hadpenetrated their intentions, and I was struggling with all my might. Every day, to make myself more indispensable, I invented some novelattention. They only came once a week to La Jonchere: I was there all the time.
"I had the advantage. I struggled successfully, and was probablyapproaching the end of my troubles, when my poor old mistress wastaken sick. After forty-eight hours, she was very low. She wasfully conscious, but for that very reason she could appreciate thedanger; and the fear of death made her crazy.
"Her nieces had come to sit by her bedside; and I was expresslyforbidden to enter the room. They had understood that this was anexcellent opportunity to get rid of me forever. Evidently gained in advance, the physicians declared to my poorbenefactress that the air of La Jonchere was fatal to her, andthat her only chance of recovery was to establish herself in Paris.
"One of her nephews offered to have her taken to his house in alitter. She would soon get well, they said; and she could then goto finish her convalescence in some southern city.
"Her first word was for me. She did not wish to be separated fromme, she protested, and insisted absolutely upon taking me with her. Her nephews represented gravely to her that this was animpossibility; that she must not think of burdening herself withme; that the simplest thing was to leave me at La Jonchere; andthat, moreover, they would see that I should get a good situation. The sick woman struggled for a long time, and with an energy ofwhich I would not have thought her capable.
" "But the others were pressing. The physicians kept repeating thatthey could not answer for any thing, if she did not follow theiradvice. She was afraid of death. She yielded, weeping. The very next morning, a sort of litter, carried by eight men,stopped in front of the door. My poor mistress was laid into it;and they carried her off, without even permitting me to kiss herfor the last time.
" "Two hours later, the cook and the chambermaid were dismissed. Asto myself, the nephew who had promised to look after me put atwenty-franc-piece in my hand saying, 'Here are your eight days inadvance. Pack up your things immediately, and clear out! It was impossible that Mlle. Lucienne should not be deeply movedwhilst thus stirring the ashes of her past. She showed no evidenceof it, however, except, now and then, a slight alteration in hervoice. As to Maxence, he would vainly have tried to conceal the passionateinterest with which he was listening to these unexpected confidences. Have you, then, never seen your benefactress again?"" he asked.
"Never, replied Mlle. Lucienne. "All my efforts to reach her haveproved fruitless. She does not live in Paris now. I have writtento her: my letters have remained without answer. Did she ever getthem? I think not. Something tells me that she has not forgottenme."She remained silent for a few moments, as if collecting herselfbefore resuming the thread of her narrative. And then,"It was thus brutally," she resumed, "that I was sent off. Itwould have been useless to beg, I knew; and, moreover, I have neverknown how to beg. I piled up hurriedly in two trunks and in somebandboxes all I had in the world, - all I had received from thegenerosity of my poor mistress; and, before the stated hour, I wasready. The cook and the chambermaid had already gone. The man whowas treating me so cruelly was waiting for me. He helped me carryout my boxes and trunks, after which he locked the door, put thekey in his pocket; and, as the American omnibus was passing, hebeckoned to it to stop. And then, before entering it,Good luck, my pretty girl !' he said with a laugh.
"This was in the month of January, 1866. I was just thirteen. Ihave had since more terrible trials, and I have found myself in muchmore desperate situations: but I do not remember ever feeling suchintense discouragement as I did that day, when I found myself aloneupon that road, not knowing which way to go. I sat down on one ofmy trunks. The weather was cold and gloomy: there were few personson the road. They looked at me, doubtless wondering what I was doingthere. I wept. I had a vague feeling that the well-meant kindnessof my poor benefactress, in bestowing upon me the blessings ofeducation, would in reality prove a serious impediment in thelife-struggle which I was about to begin again. I thought of whatI suffered with the laundress; and, at the idea of the tortureswhich the future still held in store for me, I desired death. TheSeine was near: why not put an end at once to the miserableexistence which I foresaw? Such were my reflections, when a woman from Rueil, avegetable-vender, whom I knew by sight, happened to pass, pushingher hand-cart before her over the muddy pavement. She stopped whenshe saw me; and, in the softest voice she could command.
" "'What are you doing there, my darling?' she asked. In a few words I explained to her my situation. She seemed moresurprised than moved.
" "'Such is life,' she remarked, -' sometimes up, sometimes down.' And, stepping up nearer,""'What do you expect to do now?' she interrogated in a tone of voiceso different from that in which she had spoken at first, that I feltmore keenly the horror of my altered situation.
" "'I have no idea,' I replied. After thinking for a moment,""'You can't stay there,' she resumed: 'the gendarmes would arrestyou. Come with me. We will talk things over at the house; andI'll give you my advice.'
" "I was so completely crushed, that I had neither strength nor will. Besides, what was the use of thinking? Had I any choice ofresolutions? Finally, the woman's offer seemed to me a last favorof destiny. 'I shall do as you say, madame,' I replied:
" "She proceeded at once to load up my little baggage on her cart. We started; and soon we arrived 'home.' What she called thus was a sort of cellar, at least twelve incheslower than the street, receiving its only light through the glassdoor, in which several broken panes had been replaced by sheets ofpaper. It was revoltingly filthy, and filled with a sickening odor.
"On all sides were heaps of vegetables, - cabbages, potatoes, onions.
In one corner a nameless heap of decaying rags, which she calledher bed; in the centre, a small cast-iron stove, the worn-out pipeof which allowed the smoke to escape in the room.
"Anyway,' she said to me, 'you have a home now!' I helped her to unload the cart. She filled the stove with coal,and at once declared that she wanted to inspect my things.
" "My trunks were opened; and it was with exclamations of surprisethat the woman handled my dresses, my skirts, my stockings. 'The mischief!' she exclaimed, 'you dressed well, didn't you?'
" "Her eyes sparkled so, that a strong feeling of mistrust arose inmy mind. She seemed to consider all my property as an unexpectedgodsend to herself. Her hands trembled as she handled some pieceof jewelry; and she took me to the light that she might betterestimate the value of my ear-rings. And so, when she asked me if I had any money, determined to hideat least my twenty-franc-piece, which was my sole fortune, I repliedboldly, 'No.'
"That's a pity,' she grumbled.
"But she wished to know my history, and I was compelled to tell itto her. One thing only surprised her, - my age; and in fact, thoughonly thirteen, I looked fully sixteen. When I had done,""'Never mind!' she said. 'It was lucky for you that you met me.
"You are at least certain now of eating every day; for I am goingto take charge of you. I am getting old: you'll help me to dragmy cart. If you are as smart as you are pretty, we'll make money.'
"Nothing could suit me less. But how could I resist? She threw afew rags upon the floor; and on them I had to sleep. The next day,wearing my meanest dress, and a pair of wooden shoes which she hadbought for me, and which bruised my feet horribly, I had to harnessmyself to the cart by means of a leather strap, which cut myshoulders and my chest. She was an abominable creature, that woman;and I soon found out that her repulsive features indicated but toowell her ignoble instincts. After leading a life of vice and shame,she had, with the approach of hold age, fallen into the most abjectpoverty, and had adopted the trade of vegetable-vender, which shecarried on just enough to escape absolute starvation. Enraged ather fate, she found a detestable pleasure in ill-treating me, orin endeavoring to stain my imagination by the foulest speeches. Ah, if I had only known where to fly, and where to take refuge!
"But, abusing my ignorance, that execrable woman had persuaded me,that, if I attempted to go out alone, I would be arrested. And Iknew no one to whom I could apply for protection and advice. Andthen I began to learn that beauty, to a poor girl, is a fatal gift.
One by one, the woman had sold every thing I had, - dresses,underclothes, jewels; and I was now reduced to rags almost as meanas when I was with the laundress.
"Every morning, rain or shine, hot or cold, we started, wheelingour cart from village to village, all along the Seine, fromCourbevoie to Pont-Marly. I could see no end to this wretchedexistence, when one evening the commissary of police presentedhimself at our hovel, and ordered us to follow him. We were taken to prison; and there I found myself thrown amongsome hundred women, whose faces, words, and gestures frightenedme. The vegetable-woman had committed a theft; and I was accusedof complicity. Fortunately I was easily able to demonstrate myinnocence; and, at the end of two weeks, a jailer opened the doorto me, saying, 'Go: you are free!'""Maxence understood now the gently ironical smile with which Mlle.
"Lucienne had heard him assert that he, too, had been very unhappy.
What a life hers had been! And how could such things be within astep of Paris, in the midst of a society which deems its organizationtoo perfect to consent to modify it!
Mlle. Lucienne went on, speaking somewhat faster,"I was indeed free; but of what use could my freedom be to me? Iknew not which way to go. A mechanical instinct took me back toRueil. I fancied I would be safer among people who all knew me,and that I might find shelter in our old lodgings. But thislast hope was disappointed. Immediately after our arrest, theowner of the building had thrown out every thing it contained, andhad rented it to a hideous beggar, who offered me, with a giggle,to become his housekeeper. I ran off as fast as I could.
"The situation was certainly more horrible now than the day whenI had been turned out of my benefactress' house. But the eightmonths I had just spent with the horrible woman had taught me anewhow to bear misery, and had nerved up my energy. I took out from a fold of my dress, where I had kept it constantlyhid, the twenty-franc-piece I had received; and, as I was hungry,I entered a sort of eating and lodging house, where I hadoccasionally taken a meal. The proprietor was a kind-hearted man.
"When I had told him my situation, he invited me to remain withhim until I could find something better. On Sundays and Mondaysthe customers were plenty; and he was obliged to take an extraservant. He offered me that work to do, promising, in exchange,my lodging and one meal a day. I accepted. The next day beingSunday, I commenced the arduous duties of a bar-maid in a lowdrinking house. My pourboires amounted sometimes to five or tenfrancs; I had my board and lodging free; and at the end of threemonths I had been able to provide myself with some decent clothing,and was commencing to accumulate a little reserve, when thelodging-house keeper, whose business had unexpectedly developeditself to a considerable extent, concluded to engage a man-waiter,and urged me to look elsewhere for work. I did so. An old neighborof ours told me of a situation at Bougival, where she said I wouldbe very comfortable. Overcoming my repugnance, I applied, and wasaccepted. I was to get thirty francs a month.
"The place might have been a good one. There were only three inthe family, - the gentleman and his wife, and a son of twenty-five. Every morning, father and son left for Paris by the first train,and only came home to dinner at about six o'clock. I was thereforealone all day with the woman. Unfortunately, she was a cross anddisagreeable person, who, never having had a servant before, feltan insatiable desire of showing and exercising her authority. Shewas, moreover, extremely suspicious, and found some pretext to visitregularly my trunks once or twice a week, to see if I had notconcealed some of her napkins or silver spoons. Having told herthat I had once been a laundress, she made me wash and iron all theclothes in the house, and was forever accusing me of using too muchsoap and too much coal. Still I liked the place well enough; and Ihad a little room in the attic; which I thought charming, and whereI spent delightful evenings reading or sewing. But luck was against me. The young gentleman of the house took afancy to me, and determined to make me his mistress. I discouragedhim in a way; but he persisted in his loathsome attention, until onenight he broke into my room, and I was compelled to shout for helpwith all my might, before I could get rid of him.
" "The next day I left that house; but I tried in vain to find anothersituation in Bougival. I resolved then to seek a place in Paris. I had a big trunk full of good clothes, and about a hundred francsof savings; and I felt no anxiety. When I arrived in Paris, I went straight to an intelligence-office.
"I was extremely well received by a very affable old woman whopromised to get me a good place, and, in the mean time, solicitedme to board with her. She kept a sort of boarding-house for servantsout of place; and there were there some fifty or sixty of us, whoslept at night in long dormitories.
Time went by, and still I did not find that famous place. Theboard was expensive, too, for my scanty means; and I determined toleave. I started in quest of new lodgings, followed by a porter,carrying my trunk; but as I was crossing the Boulevard, not gettingquick enough out of the way of a handsome private carriage whichwas coming at full trot, I was knocked down, and trampled under thehorses's feet.Without allowing Maxence to interrupt her,"I had lost consciousness," went on Mlle. Lucienne. "When I cameto my senses, I was sitting in a drugstore; and three or fourpersons were busy around me. I had no fracture, but only somesevere contusions, and a deep cut on the head.
"The physician who had attended me requested me to try and walk; butI could not even stand on my feet. Then he asked me where I lived,that I might be taken there; and I was compelled to own that I was apoor servant out of place, without a home or a friend to care for me. In that case,' said the doctor to the druggist, 'we must send herto the hospital.' And they sent for a cab.
" "In the mean time, quite a crowd had gathered outside, and theconduct of the person who was in the carriage that had run over mewas being indignantly criticised. It was a woman; and I had caughta glimpse of her at the very moment I was falling under the horses' feet. She had not even condescended to get out of her carriage;but, calling a policeman, she had given him her name and address,adding, loud enough to be heard by the crowd, 'I am in too great ahurry to stop. My coachman is an awkward fellow, whom I shalldismiss as soon as I get home. I am ready to pay any thing thatmay be asked.' She had also sent one of her cards for me. A policeman handed itto me; and I read the name, Baronne de Thaller.
" "That's lucky for you,' said the doctor. 'That lady is the wife ofa very rich banker; and she will be able to help you when you getwell.' The cab had now come. I was carried into it; and, an hour later,I was admitted at the hospital, and laid on a dean, comfortable bed.
" "But my trunk! - my trunk, which contained all my things, all I hadin the world, and, worse still, all the money I had left. I askedfor it, my heart filled with anxiety. No one had either seen orheard of it. Had the porter missed me in the crowd? or had hebasely availed himself of the accident to rob me? This was hard todecide. The good sisters promised that they would have it looked after,and that the police would certainly be able to find that man whomI had engaged near the intelligence-office. But all theseassurances failed to console me. This blow was the finishing one.
"I was taken with fever; and for more than two weeks my life wasdespaired of. I was saved at last: but my convalescence was longand tedious; and for over two months I lingered with alternationsof better and of worse.
"Yet such had been my misery for the past two years, that thisgloomy stay in a hospital was for me like an oasis in the desert. The good sisters were very kind to me; and, when I was able, Ihelped them with their lighter work, or went to the chapel withthem. I shuddered at the thought that I must leave them as soonas I was entirely well; and then what would become of me? For mytrunk had not been found, and I was destitute of all. And yet I had, at the hospital, more than one subject for gloomyreflections. Twice a week, on Thursdays and Sundays, visitors wereadmitted; and there was not on those days a single patient who didnot receive a relative or a friend. But I, no one, nothing, never!
" "But I am mistaken. I was commencing to get well, when one SundayI saw by my bedside an old man, dressed all in black, of alarmingappearance, wearing blue spectacles, and holding under his arm anenormous portfolio, crammed full of papers. You are Mlle. Lucienne, I believe,"" he asked.
" "'Yes,' I replied, quite surprised. You are the person who was knocked down by a carriage on the cornerof the Boulevard and the Faubourg St. Martin?'
" "'Yes sir.' Do you know whose equipage that was?'
" "'The Baronne de Thaller's, I was told.' He seemed a little surprised, but at once,""Have you seen that lady, or caused her to be seen in your behalf?'
" "'No.' Have you heard from her in any manner?'
" "'No.' A smile came back upon his lips.
" "Luckily for you I am here,' be said. 'Several times already I havecalled; but you were too unwell to hear me. Now that you are better,listen.' And thereupon, taking a chair, he commenced to explain hisprofession to me.
" "He was a sort of broker; and accidents were his specialty. Assoon as one took place, he was notified by some friends of his atpolice headquarters. At once he started in quest of the victim,overtook her at home or at the hospital, and offered his services. For a moderate commission he undertook, if needs be, to recoverdamages. He commenced suit when necessary; and, if he thought thecase tolerably safe, he made advances. He stated, for instance,that my case was a plain one, and that he would undertake to obtainfour or five thousand francs, at least, from Mme. de Thaller. Allhe wanted was my power of attorney. But, in spite of his pressinginstances, I declined his offers; and he withdrew, very muchdispleased, assuring me that I would soon repent. Upon second thought, indeed, I regretted to have followed the firstinspiration of my pride, and the more so, that the good sisters whomI consulted on the subject told me that I was wrong, and that myreclamation would be perfectly proper. At their suggestion, I thenadopted another line of conduct, which, they thought, would as surelybring about the same result.
" "As briefly as possible, I wrote out the history of my life fromthe day I had been left with the gardeners at Louveciennes. I addedto it a faithful account of my present situation; and I addressedthe whole to Mme. de Thaller. You'll see if she don't come before a day or two,' said the sisters.
" "They were mistaken. Mme. de Thaller came neither the next nor thefollowing days; and I was still awaiting her answer, when, onemorning, the doctor announced that I was well enough to leave thehospital. I cannot say that I was very sorry. I had lately made theacquaintance of a young workwoman, who had been sent to the hospitalin consequence of a fall, and who occupied the bed next to mine. She was a girl of about twenty, very gentle, very obliging, and whoseamiable countenance had attracted me from the first. Like myself, she had no parents. But she was rich, very rich. Sheowned the furniture of the room, a sewing-machine, which had costher three hundred francs, and, like a true child of Paris, sheunderstood five or six trades, the least lucrative of which yieldedher twenty-five or thirty cents a day. In less than a week, we hadbecome good friends; and, when she left the hospital,""'Believe me,' she said: 'when you come out yourself, don't wasteyour time looking for a place. Come to me: I can accommodate you.
"I'll teach you what I know; and, if you are industrious, you'll makeyour living, and you'll be free.'
"It was to her room that I went straight from the hospital, carrying,tied in a handkerchief, my entire baggage, - one dress, and a fewundergarments that the good sisters had given me. She received me like a sister, and after showing me her lodging,two little attic-rooms shining with cleanliness,""'You'll see,' she said, kissing me, 'how happy we'll be here.'
"It was getting late. M. Fortin had long ago come up and put outthe gas on the stairs. One by one, every noise had died away inthe hotel. Nothing now disturbed the silence of the night savethe distant sound of some belated cab on the Boulevard. But neitherMaxence nor Mlle. Lucienne were noticing the flight of time, sointerested were they, one in telling, and the other in listening to,this story of a wonderful existence. However, Mlle. Lucienne' svoice had become hoarse with fatigue. She poured herself a glassof water, which she emptied at a draught, and then at once,"Never yet," she resumed, "had I been agitated by such a sweetsensation. My eyes were full of tears; but they were tears ofgratitude and joy. After so many years of isolation, to meet withsuch a friend, so generous, and so devoted: it was like finding afamily. For a few weeks, I thought that fate had relented at last.
My friend was an excellent workwoman; but with some intelligence,and the will to learn, I soon knew as much as she did.
"There was plenty of work. By working twelve hours, with the helpof the thrice-blessed sewing-machine, we succeeded in making six,seven, and even eight francs a day. It was a fortune. Thus several months elapsed in comparative comfort.
" "Once more I was afloat, and I had more clothes than I had lost inmy trunk. I liked the life I was leading; and I would be leadingit still, if my friend had not one day fallen desperately in lovewith a young man she had meet at a ball. I disliked him very much,and took no trouble to conceal my feelings: nevertheless, my friendimagined that I had designs upon him, and became fiercely, jealousof me. Jealousy does not reason; and I soon understood that wewould no longer be able to live in common, and that I must lookelsewhere for shelter. But my friend gave me no time to do so. Coming home one Monday night at about eleven, she notified me toclear out at once. I attempted to expostulate: she replied withabuse. Rather than enter upon a degrading struggle, I yielded,and went out. That night I spent on a chair in a neighbor's room. But the nextday, when I went for my things, my former friend refused to givethem, and presumed to keep every thing. I was compelled, thoughreluctantly, to resort to the intervention of the commissary ofpolice. I gained my point. But the good days had gone. Luck did not followme to the wretched furnished house where I hired a room. I had nosewing-machine, and but few acquaintances. By working fifteen orsixteen hours a day, I made thirty or forty cents. That was notenough to live on. Then work failed me altogether, and, piece bypiece, every thing I had went to the pawnbroker's. On a gloomyDecember morning, I was turned out of my room, and left on thepavement with a ten-cent-piece for my fortune. Never had I been so low; and I know not to what extremities I mighthave come at last, when I happened to 'think of that wealthy ladywhose horses had upset me on the Boulevard. I had kept her card. Without hesitation, I went unto a grocery, and calling for somepaper and a pen, I wrote, overcoming the last struggle of my pride,'Do you remember, madame, a poor girl whom your carriage came nearcrushing to death? Once before she applied to you, and received noanswer. She is to-day without shelter and without bread; and youare her supreme hope.'
" "I placed these few lines in an envelope, and ran to the addressindicated on the card. It was a magnificent residence, with a vastcourt-yard in front. In the porter's lodge, five or six servantswere talking as I came in, and looked at me impudently, from headto foot, when I requested them to take my letter to Mme. de Thaller. One of them, however, took pity on me,'Come with me,' he said, 'come along !'
"He made me cross the yard, and enter the vestibule; and then,Give me your letter,' he said, 'and wait here for me.'"Maxence was about to express the thoughts which Mme. de Thaller'sname naturally suggested to his mind, but Mlle. Lucienne interruptedhim,"In all my life," she went on, "I had never seen any thing somagnificent as that vestibule with its tall columns, its tessellatedfloor, its large bronze vases filled with the rarest flowers, andits red velvet benches, upon which tall footmen in brilliant liverywere lounging.
"I was, I confess, somewhat intimidated by all of this splendor; andI remained awkwardly standing, when suddenly the servants stood uprespectfully. A door had just opened, through which appeared a man already pastmiddle age, tall, thin, dressed in the extreme of fashion, andwearing long red whiskers falling over his chest.""""The Baron de Thaller,"" murmured Maxence.
"Mlle. Lucienne took no notice of the interruption.
The attitude of the servants, she went on, "had made me easilyguess that he was the master. I was bowing to him, blushing andembarrassed, when, noticing me, he stopped short, shuddering fromhead to foot.
"Who are you?' he asked me roughly. I attributed his manner to the sad condition of my dress, whichappeared more miserable and more dilapidated still amid thesurrounding splendors; and, in a scarcely intelligible voice, I began,""'I am a poor girl, sir -'
" "But he interrupted me. 'To the point! What do you want?'
" "'I am awaiting an answer, sir, to a request which I have justforwarded to the baroness.' What about?'
" "'Once sir, I was run over in the street by the baroness's carriage: I was severely wounded, and had to be taken to the hospital.' I fancied there was something like terror in the man's look.
" "It is you, then, who once before sent a long letter to my wife, inwhich you told the story of your life?' 'Yes, sir, it was I.'
" "'You stated in that letter that you had no parents, having beenleft by your mother with some gardeners at Louveciennes?' 'That is the truth.'
" "'What has become of these gardeners?' 'They are dead.'
" "'What was your mother's name?' 'I never knew.'
" "To M. de Thaller's first surprise had succeeded a feeling ofevident irritation; but, the more haughty and brutal his manners,the cooler and the more self-possessed I became. 'And you are soliciting assistance?' he said.
"I drew myself up, and, looking at him straight in the eyes,'I beg your pardon,' I replied: 'it is a legitimate indemnity whichI claim.'
Indeed, it seemed to me that my firmness alarmed him. With afeverish haste, he began to feel in his pockets. He took out theircontents of gold and bank-notes all in a heap, and, thrusting itinto my hands without counting,'Here,' he said, 'take this. Are you satisfied?'
I observed to him, that, having sent a letter to Mme. de Thaller,it would perhaps be proper to await her answer. But he replied thatit was not necessary, and, pushing me towards the door,You may depend upon it,' he said, 'I shall tell my wife that Isaw you.'
I started to go out; but I had not gone ten steps across the yard,when I heard him crying excitedly to his servants,'You see that beggar, don't you? Well, the first one who allowsher to cross the threshold of my door shall be turned out on theinstant.'
"A beggar, I! Ah the wretch! I turned round to cast his alms intohis face; but already he had disappeared, and I only found before methe footman, chuckling stupidly. I went out; and, as my anger gradually passed off, I felt thankfulthat I had been unable to follow the dictates of my wounded pride.
" "'Poor girl,' I thought to myself, 'where would you be at this hour? You would only have to select between suicide and the vilestexistence; whereas now you are above want.' I was passing before a small restaurant. I went in; for I wasvery hungry, having, so to speak, eaten nothing for several dayspast. Besides, I felt anxious to count my treasure. The Baron deThaller had given me nine hundred and thirty francs.
" "This sum, which exceeded the utmost limits of my ambition, seemedinexhaustible to me: I was dazzled by its possession. 'And yet,' I thought, 'had M. de Thaller happened to have tenthousand francs in his pockets he would have given them to me allthe same.'
" "I was at a loss to explain this strange generosity. Why hissurprise when he first saw me, then his anger, and his haste to getrid of me? How was it that a man whose mind must be filled withthe gravest cares had so distinctly remembered me, and the letterI had written to his wife? Why, after showing himself so generous,had he so strictly excluded me from his house? After vainly trying for some time to solve this riddle, I concludedthat I must be the victim of my own imagination; and I turned myattention to making the best possible use of my sudden fortune. Onthe same day, I took a little room in the Faubourg St. Denis; andI bought myself a sewing-machine. Before the week was over, I hadwork before me for several months. Ah! this time it seemed indeedthat I had nothing more to apprehend from destiny; and I lookedforward, without fear, to the future. At the end of a month, I wasearning four to five francs a day, when, one afternoon, a stout man,very well dressed, looking honest and good-natured, and speakingFrench with some difficulty, made his appearance at my room. Hewas an American he stated, and had been sent to me by the woman forwhom I worked. Having need of a skilled Parisian work-woman, hecame to propose to me to follow him to New York, where he wouldinsure me a brilliant position.
" "But I knew several poor girls, who, on the faith of dazzlingpromises, had expatriated themselves. Once abroad, they had beenshamefully abandoned, and had been driven, to escape starvation,to resort to the vilest expedients. I refused, therefore, andfrankly gave him my reasons for doing so. My visitor at once protested indignantly. Whom did I take himfor? It was a fortune that I was refusing. He guaranteed me inNew York board, lodging, and two hundred francs a month. He wouldpay all traveling and moving expenses. And, to prove to me thefairness of his intentions, he was ready, he said, to sign anagreement, and pay me a thousand down.
" "These offers were so brilliant, that I was staggered in myresolution. Well,' I said, 'give me twenty-four hours to decide. I wish tosee my employer.'
" "He seemed very much annoyed; but, as I remained firm in my purpose,he left, promising to return the next day to receive my final answer. I ran at once to my employer. She did not know what I was talkingabout. She had sent no one, and was not acquainted with any American.
"Of course, I never saw him again; and I couldn't help thinking ofthis singular adventure, when, one evening during the followingweek, as I was coming home at about eleven o'clock, two policemenarrested me, and, in spite of my earnest protestations, took meto the station-house, where I was locked up with a dozen unfortunateswho had just been taken up on the Boulevards. I spent the nightcrying with shame and anger; and I don't know what would have becomeof me, if the justice of the peace, who examined me the next morning,had not happened to be a just and kind man. As soon as I hadexplained to him that I was the victim of a most humiliating errorhe sent an agent in quest of information, and having satisfiedhimself that I was an honest girl, working for my living, hedischarged me. But, before permitting me to go,'Beware, my child,' he said to me: 'it is upon a formal andwell-authenticated declaration that you were arrested. Thereforeyou must have enemies. People have an interest in getting rid ofyou'"Mademoiselle Lucienne was evidently almost exhausted with fatigue:
her voice was failing her. But it was in vain that Maxence beggedher to take a few moments of rest.
No, she answered," I'd rather get through as quick as possible."And, making an effort, she resumed her narrative, hurrying moreand more.
"I returned home, my mind all disturbed by the judge's warnings. I am no coward; but it is a terrible thing to feel one's selfincessantly threatened by an unknown and mysterious danger, againstwhich nothing can be done. In vain did I search my past life: I could think of no one whocould have any interest in effecting my ruin. Those alone haveenemies who have had friends. I had never had but one friend, thekind-hearted girl who had turned me out of her home in a fit ofabsurd jealousy. But I knew her well enough to knew that she wasincapable of malice, and that she must long since have forgottenthe unlucky cause of our rupture.
" "Weeks after weeks passed without any new incident. I had plentyof work and was earning enough money to begin saving. So I feltcomfortable, laughed at my former fears, and neglected theprecautions which I had taken at first; when, one evening, myemployer, having a very important and pressing order, sent for me. We did not get through our work until long after midnight. She wished me to spend the rest of the night with her; but it wouldhave been necessary to make up a bed for me, and disturb the wholehousehold.
"'Bash!' I said, 'this will not be the first time I cross Paris inthe middle of the night.'
"I started; and I was going along, walking as fast as I could, when,from the angle of a dark, narrow street, a man sprang upon me,threw me down, struck me, and would doubtless have killed me, butfor two brave gentlemen who heard my screams and rushed to myassistance. The man ran off; and I was able to walk the rest ofthe way home, having received but a very slight wound. But the very next morning I ran to see my friend, the justice ofthe peace. He listened to me gravely, and, when I had concluded,""'How were you dressed?' he inquired.
" "'All in black,' I replied, 'very modestly, like a workwoman.' 'Had you nothing on your person that could tempt a thief?'
" "'Nothing. No watch-chain, no jewelry, no ear-rings even.' 'Then,' he uttered, knitting his brows, 'it is not a fortuitouscrime: it is another attempt on the part of your enemies.'
" "Such was also my opinion. And yet: 'But, sir,' I exclaimed, 'who can have any interest to destroy me,- a poor obscure girl as I am? I have thought carefully and well,and I have not a single enemy that I can think of.' And, as I hadfull confidence in his kindness, I went on telling him the storyof my life.
" "'You are a natural child,' he said as soon as I had done, 'and youhave been basely abandoned. That fact alone would be sufficient tojustify every supposition. You do not know your parents; but it isquite possible that they may knew you, and that they may never havelost sight of you. Your mother was a working-girl, you think? Thatmay be. But your father? Do you know what interests your existencemay threaten? Do you know what elaborate edifice of falsehood andinfamy your sudden appearance might tumble to the ground?' I was listening dumfounded.
" "Never had such conjectures crossed my mind; and, whilst I doubtedtheir probability, I had, at least, to admit their possibility. 'What must I do, then?"" I inquired.
"The peace-officer shook his head.
"'Indeed, my poor child, I hardly know what to advise. The policeis not omnipotent. It can do nothing to anticipate a crime conceivedin the brain of an unknown scoundrel.' I was terrified. He saw it, and took pity on me.
"'In your place,' he added, I would change my domicile. You might,perhaps, thus make them lose your track. And, above all, do notfail to give me your new address. Whatever I can do to protect you,and insure your safety, I shall do.'
"That excellent man has kept his word; and once again I owed mysafety to him. Tis he who is now commissary of police in thisdistrict, and who protected me against Mme. Fortin. I hastened tofollow his advice, and two days later I had hired the room in thishouse in which I am still living. In order to avoid every chanceof discovery, I left my employer, and requested her to say, if anyone came to inquire after me, that I had gone to America. I soon found work again in a very fashionable dress-makingestablishment, the name of, which you must have heard, - Van Klopen's.
"Unfortunately, war had just been declared. Every day announced a newdefeat. The Prussians were coming; then the siege began. Van Klopenhad closed his shop, and left Paris. I had a few savings, thankheaven; and I husbanded them as carefully as shipwrecked mariners dotheir last ration of food, when I unexpectedly found some work.
It was one Sunday, and I had gone out to see some battalions ofNational Guards passing along the Boulevard, when suddenly I sawone of the vivandieres, who was marching behind the band, stop, andrun towards me with open arms. It was my old friend from theBatignolles, who had recognized me. She threw her arms around myneck, and, as we had at once become the centre of a group of atleast five hundred idlers,I must speak to you,' she said. 'If you live in the neighborhood,let's go to your room. The service can wait.'
"I brought her here,; and at once she commenced to excuse herselffor her past conduct, begging me to restore her my friendship. AsI expected, she had long since forgotten the young man, cause ofour rupture. But she was now in love, and seriously this time, shedeclared, with a furniture-maker, who was a captain in the NationalGuards. It was through him that she had become a vivandiere; andshe offered me a similar position, if I wished it. But I did notwish it; and, as I was complaining that I could find no work, sheswore that she would get me some through her captain, who was a veryinfluential man. Through him, I did in fact obtain a few dozen jackets to make.
"This work was very poorly paid; but the little I earned was thatmuch less to take from my humble resources. In that way I managedto get through the siege without suffering too much.
"After the armistice, unfortunately, M. Van Klopen had not yetreturned. I was unable to procure any work; my resources wereexhausted; and I would have starved during the Commune, but formy old friend, who several times brought me a little money, andsome provisions. Her captain was now a colonel, and was about tobecome a member of the government; at least, so she assured me. The entrance of the troops into Paris put an end to her dream. One night she came to me livid with fright. She supposed herselfgravely compromised, and begged me to hide her. For four daysshe remained with me. On the fifth, just as we were sitting downto dinner, my room was invaded by a number of police-agents, whoshowed us an order of arrest, and commanded us to follow them. My friend sank down upon a chair, stupid with fright. But Iretained my presence of mind, and persuaded one of the agents togo and notify my friend the justice. He happened luckily to be athome, and at once hastened to my assistance. He could do nothing,however, for the moment; the agents having positive orders to takeus straight to Versailles.
" "'Well,' said he, 'I shall accompany you.' From the very first steps he took the next morning, he discoveredthat my position was indeed grave. But he also and very clearlyrecognized a new device of the enemy to bring about my destruction.
"The information filed against me stated that I had remained in theservice of the Commune to the last moment; that I had been seenbehind the barricades with a gun in my hand; and that I had formedone of a band of vile incendiaries. This infamous scheme hadevidently been suggested by my relations with my friend from theBatignolles, who was still more terribly compromised than shethought, the poor girl; her colonel having been captured, andconvicted of pillage and murder, and herself charged with complicity.
"Isolated as I was, without resources, and without relatives, Iwould certainly have perished, but for the devoted efforts of myfriend the justice, whose official position gave him accesseverywhere, and enabled him to reach my judges. He succeeded indemonstrating my entire innocence; and after forty-eight hours' detention, which seemed an age to me, I was set at liberty. At the door; I found the man who had just saved me. He was waitingfor me, but would not suffer me to express the gratitude with whichmy heart overflowed.
" "'You will thank me,' he said, 'when I have deserved it better. Ihave done nothing as yet that any honest man wouldn't have done inmy place. What I wish is to discover what interests you arethreatening without knowing it, and which must be considerable, ifI may judge by the passion and the tenacity of those who arepursuing you. What I desire to do is to lay hands upon the cowardlyrascals in whose way you seem to stand.' I shook my head.
" "'You will not succeed,' I said to him. 'Who knows? I've done harder things than that in my life.'
"And taking a large envelope from his pocket,This,' he said, 'is the letter which caused your arrest. I haveexamined it attentively; and I am certain that the handwriting isnot disguised. That's something to start with, and may enable meto verify my suspicions, should any occur to my mind. In the meantime, return quietly to Paris, resume your ordinary occupations,answer vaguely any questions that may be asked about this matter,and above all, never mention my name. Remain at the Hotel desFolies: it is in my district, in my legitimate sphere of action;besides, the proprietors are in a position where they dare notdisobey my orders. Never come to my office, unless something graveand unforeseen should occur. Our chances of success would beseriously compromised, if they could suspect the interest I takein your welfare. Keep your eyes open on every thing that is goingon around you, and, if you notice any thing suspicious, write to me.
I will myself organize a secret surveillance around you. If I canbag one of the rascals who are watching you, that's all I want.'
"'And now,' added this good man, 'good-by. Patience and courage.' Unfortunately he had not thought of offering me a little money: Ihad not dared to ask him for any, and I had but eight sous left.
"It was on foot, therefore, that I was compelled to return to Paris.
"Mme. Fortin received me with open arms. With me returned the hopeof recovering the hundred and odd francs which I owed her, andwhich she had given up for lost. Moreover, she had excellent newsfor me. M. Van Kiopen had sent for me during my absence, requestingme to call at his shop. Tired as I was, I went to see him at once. found him very much downcast by the poor prospects of business. Still he was determined to go on, and offered to employ me, not aswork-woman, as heretofore, but to try on garments for customers, ata salary of one hundred and twenty francs a month. I was not in aposition to be very particular. I accepted; and there I am still. Every morning, when I get to the shop, I take off this simplecostume, and I put on a sort of livery that belongs to M. Van Klopen,- wide skirts, and a black silk dress.
" "Then whenever a customer comes who wants a cloak, a mantle, orsome other 'wrapping,' I step up and put on the garment, that thepurchaser may see how it looks. I have to walk, to turn around,sit down, etc. It is absurdly ridiculous, often humiliating; andmany a time, during the first days, I felt tempted to give backto M. Van Klopen his black silk dress. But the conjectures of my friend the peace-officer were constantlyagitating my brain. Since I thought I had discovered a mystery inmy existence, I indulged in all sorts of fancies, and was momentarilyexpecting some extraordinary occurrence, some compensation of destiny.
"and I remained.
But I was not yet at the end of my troubles.Since she had been speaking of M. Van Klopen, Mlle. Lucienne seemedto have lost her tone of haughty assurance and imperturbablecoolness; and it was with a look of mingled confusion and sadnessthat she went on.
"What I was doing at Van Klopen's was exceedingly painful to me;and yet he very soon asked me to do something more painful still. Gradually Paris was filling up again. The hotels had re-opened;foreigners were pouring in; and the Bois Boulogne was resumingits wonted animation. Still but few orders came in, and those fordresses of the utmost simplicity, of dark color and plain material,on which it was hard to make twenty-five per cent profit. VanKiopen was disconsolate. He kept speaking to me of the good olddays, when some of his customers spent as much as thirty thousandfrancs a month for dresses and trifles, until one day,'You are the only one,' he told me, 'who can help me out justnow. You are really good looking; and I am sure that in full dress,spread over the cushions of a handsome carriage, you would createquite a sensation, and that all the rest of the women would bejealous of you, and would wish to look like you. There needs butone, you know, to give the good example.'""Maxence started up suddenly, and, striking his head with hand,""Ah, I understand now!"" he exclaimed.
"I thought that Van Klopen was jesting. went on the young girl.
"But he had never been more in earnest; and, to prove it, hecommenced explaining to me what he wanted. He proposed to get upfor me some of those costumes which are sure to attract attention;and two or three times a week he would send me a fine carriage, andI would go and show myself in the Bois. I felt disgusted at the proposition.
" "'Never!' I said. Why not?'
" "'Because I respect myself too much to make a living advertisementof myself.' He shrugged his shoulders.
" "'You are wrong,' he said. 'You are not rich, and I would give youtwenty francs for each ride. At the rate of eight rides a month, itwould be one hundred and sixty francs added to your wages. Besides,' he added with a wink, ' it would be an excellent opportunity to makeyour fortune. Pretty as you are, who knows but what some millionairemight take a fancy to you!' I felt indignant.
" "For that reason alone, if for no other,' I exclaimed, I refuse.' 'You are a little fool,' he replied. 'If you do not accept, youcease being in my employment. Reflect!'
" "My mind was already made up, and I was thinking of looking out forsome other occupation, when I received a note from my friend thepeace-officer, requesting me to call at his office. I did so, and, after kindly inviting me to a seat,""Well,' he said, 'what is there new?'
"Nothing. I have noticed no one watching me'
"He looked annoyed. 'My agents have not detected any thing, either,' he grumbled.
"'And yet it is evident that your enemies cannot have given it upso. They are sharp ones: if they keep quiet, it is because theyare preparing some good trick. What it is I must and shall findout. Already I have an idea which would be an excellent one, if Icould discover some way of throwing you among what is called goodsociety.'
"I explained to him, that, being employed at Van Klopen's, I had anopportunity to see there many ladies of the best society. That is not enough,' he said.
" "Then M. Van Klopen's propositions came back to my mind, and Istated them to him. 'Just the thing!' he exclaimed, starting upon his chair: 'a manifestproof that luck is with us. You must accept.'
" "I felt bound to tell him my objections, which reflection had muchincreased. 'I know but too well,' I said, 'what must happen if I accept thisodious duty. Before I have been four times to the Bois, I shall benoticed, and every one will imagine that they know for what purposeI come there. I shall be assailed with vile offers. True, I have nofears for myself. I shall always be better guarded by my pride thanby the most watchful of parents. But my reputation will be lost.'
" "I failed to convince him. 'I know very well that you are an honest girl,' he said to me; 'but,for that very reason, what do you care what all these people willthink, whom you do not know? Your future is at stake. I repeat it,you must accept.'
" "'If you command me to do so,' I said. Yes, I command you; and I'll explain to you why.''
"For the first time, Mlle. Lucienne manifested some reticence, andomitted to repeat the explanations of the peace-officer. And,after a few moments' pause,"You know the rest, neighbor," she said, "since you have seen meyourself in that inept and ridiculous role of living advertisement,of fashionable lay-figure; and the result has been just as Iexpected. Can you find any one who believes in my honesty ofpurpose? You have heard Mme. Fortin to-night? Yourself, neighbor- what did you take me for? And yet you should have noticedsomething of my suffering and my humiliation the day that you werewatching me so closely in the Bois de Boulogne.""What!" exclaimed Maxence with a start, "you know?""Have I not just told you that I always fear being watched andfollowed, and that I am always on the lookout? Yes, I know thatyou tried to discover the secret of my rides."Maxence tried to excuse himself.
That will do for the present, she uttered. "You wish to be myfriend, you say? Now that you know my whole life almost as wellas I do myself, reflect, and to-morrow you will tell me the resultof your thoughts."Whereupon she went out.
For about a minute Maxence remained stupefied at this suddendenouement; and, when he had recovered his presence of mind and hisvoice, Mlle. Lucienne had disappeared, and he could hear her boltingher door, and striking a match against the wall.
He might also have thought that he was awaking from a dream, had henot had, to attest the reality, the vague perfume which filled hisroom, and the light shawl, which Mlle. Lucienne wore as she came in,and which she had forgotten, on a chair.
The night was almost ended: six o'clock had just struck. Still hedid not feel in the least sleepy. His head was heavy, his templesthrobbing, his eyes smarting. Opening his window, he leaned out tobreathe the morning air. The day was dawning pale and cold. Afurtive and livid light glanced along the damp walls of the narrowcourt of the Hotel des Folies, as at the bottom of a well. Alreadyarose those confused noises which announce the waking of Paris, andabove which can be heard the sonorous rolling of the milkmen's carts,the loud slamming of doors, and the sharp sound of hurrying steps onthe hard pavement.
But soon Maxence felt a chill coming over him. He closed the window,threw some wood in the chimney, and stretched himself on his chair,his feet towards the fire. It was a most serious event which hadjust occurred in his existence; and, as much as he could, heendeavored to measure its bearings, and to calculate its consequencesin the future.
He kept thinking of the story of that strange girl, her haughtyfrankness when unrolling certain phases of her life, of herwonderful impassibility, and of the implacable contempt for humanitywhich her every word betrayed.. Where had she learned that dignity,so simple and so noble, that measured speech, that admirable respectof herself, which had enabled her to pass through so much filthwithout receiving a stain?.
What a woman! he thought.
Before knowing her, he loved her. Now he was convulsed by one ofthose exclusive passions which master the whole being. Already hefelt himself so much under the charm, subjugated, dominated,fascinated; he understood so well that he was going to cease beinghis own master; that his free will was about escaping from him;that he would be in Mlle. Lucienne's hands like wax under themodeler's fingers; he saw himself so thoroughly at the discretionof an energy superior to his own, that he was almost frightened.
It's my whole future that I am going to risk, he thought.
And there was no middle path. Either he must fly at once, withoutwaiting for Mlle. Lucienne to awake, fly without looking behind, orelse stay, and then accept all the chances of an incurable passionfor a woman who, perhaps, might never care for him. And he remainedwavering, like the traveler who finds himself at the intersectionof two roads, and, knowing that one leads to the goal, and the otherto an abyss, hesitates which to take.
With this difference, however, that if the traveler errs, anddiscovers his error, he is always free to retrace his steps; whereasman, in life, can never return to his starting-point. Every step hetakes is final; and if he has erred, if he has taken the fatal road,there is no remedy.
Well, no matter! exclaimed Maxence. "It shall not be said thatthrough cowardice I have allowed that happiness to escape whichpasses within my reach. I shall stay." And at once he began toexamine what reasonably he might expect; for there was no mistakingMlle. Lucienne's intentions. When she had said, "Do you wish to befriends?" she had meant exactly that, and nothing else, - friends,and only friends.
And yet, thought Maxence, "if I had not inspired her with a realinterest, would she have so wholly confided unto me? She is notignorant of the fact that I love her; and she knows life too wellto suppose that I will cease to love her when she has allowed me acertain amount of intimacy."His heart filled with hope at the idea.
My mistress," he thought, "never, evidently, but my wife. Why not?"But the very next moment he became a prey to the bitterestdiscouragement. He thought that perhaps Mlle. Lucienne might havesome capital interest in thus making a confidant of him. She hadnot told him the explanation given her by the peace-officer. Hadshe not, perhaps, succeeded in lifting a corner of the veil whichcovered the secret of her birth? Was she on the track of herenemies? and had she discovered the motive of their animosity?
Is it possible, thought Maxence, "that I should be but one of thepowers in the game she is playing? How do I know, that, if she wins,she will not cast me off?"In the midst of these thoughts, he had gradually fallen asleep,murmuring to the last the name of Lucienne.
The creaking of his opening door woke him up suddenly. He startedto his feet, and met Mlle. Lucienne coming in.
How is this? said she. "You did not go to bed?""You recommended me to reflect," he replied. "I've been reflecting."He looked at his watch: it was twelve o'clock.
Which, however, he added, "did not keep me from going to sleep."All the doubts that besieged him at the moment when he had beenovercome by sleep now came back to his mind with painful vividness.
And not only have I been sleeping, he went on, "but I have beendreaming too."Mlle. Lucienne fixed upon him her great black eyes.
Can you tell me your dream? she asked.
He hesitated. Had he had but one minute to reflect, perhaps hewould not have spoken; but he was taken unawares.
I dreamed, he replied, "that we were friends in the noblest andpurest acceptance of that word. Intelligence, heart, will, all thatI am, and all that I can, - I laid every thing at your feet. Youaccepted the most entire devotion the most respectful and the mosttender that man is capable of. Yes, we were friends indeed; andupon a glimpse of love, never expressed, I planned a whole futureof love." He stopped.
Well? she asked.
Well, when my hopes seemed on the point of being realized, ithappened that the mystery of your birth was suddenly revealed toyou. You found a noble, powerful, and wealthy family. You resumedthe illustrious name of which you had been robbed; your enemies werecrushed; and your rights were restored to you. It was no longerVan Klopen's hired carriage that stopped in front of the Hotel desFolies, but a carriage bearing a gorgeous coat of arms. Thatcarriage was yours; and it came to take you to your own residencein the Faubourg St. Germain, or to your ancestral manor."And yourself? inquired the girl.
Maxence repressed one of those nervous spasms which frequently breakout in tears, and, with a gloomy look,"I," he answered, "standing on the edge of the pavement, I waitedfor a word or a look from you. You had forgotten my very existence.
Your coachman whipped his horses; they started at a gallop; and soonI lost sight of you. And then a voice, the inexorable voice of fate,cried to me, 'Never more shalt thou see her!'"With a superb gesture Mlle. Lucienne drew herself up.
It is not with your heart, I trust, that you judgeme, M. Maxence Favoral, she uttered.
He trembled lest he had offended her.
I beseech you, he began.
But she went on in a voice vibrating with emotion,"I am not of those who basely deny their past. Your dream willnever be realized. Those things are only seen on the stage. Ifit did realize itself, however, if the carriage with thecoat-of-arms did come to the door, the companion of the evil days,the friend who offered me his month's salary to pay my debt, wouldhave a seat by my side."That was more happiness than Maxence would have dared to hope for.
He tried, in order to express his gratitude, to find some of thosewords which always seem to be lacking at the most critical moments.
But he was suffocating; and the tears, accumulated by so manysuccessive emotions, were rising to his eyes.
With a passionate impulse, he seized Mlle. Lucienne's hand, and,taking it to his lips, he covered it with kisses. Gently butresolutely she withdrew her hand, and, fixing upon him her beautifulclear gaze,"Friends," she uttered.
Her accent alone would have been sufficient to dissipate thepresumptuous illusions of Maxence, had he had any. But he had none.
Friends only, he replied, "until the day when you shall be my wife.
You cannot forbid me to hope. You love no one?""No one.""Well since we are going to tread the path of life, let me thinkthat we may find love at some turn of the road."She made no answer. And thus was sealed between them a treaty offriendship, to which they were to remain so strictly faithful, thatthe word "love" never once rose to their lips.
In appearance there was no change in their mode of life.
Every morning, at seven o'clock, Mlle. Lucienne went to M. VanKlopen's, and an hour later Maxence started for his office. Theyreturned home at night, and spent their evenings together by thefireside.
But what was easy to foresee now took place.
Weak and undecided by nature, Maxence began very soon to feel theinfluence of the obstinate and energetic character of the girl.
She infused, as it were, in his veins, a warmer and more generousblood. Gradually she imbued him with her ideas, and from her ownwill gave him one.
He had told her in all sincerity his history, the miseries of hishome, M. Favoral's parsimony and exaggerated severity, his mother'sresigned timidity, and Mlle. Gilberte's resolute nature.
He had concealed nothing of his past life, of his errors and hisfollies, confessing even the worst of his actions; as, for instance,having abused his mother's and sister's affection to extort fromthem all the money they earned.
He had admitted to her that it was only with great reluctance andunder pressure of necessity, that he worked at all; that he was farfrom being rich; that although he took his dinner with his parents,his salary barely sufficed for his wants; and that he had debts.
He hoped, however, he added, that it would not be always thus, andthat, sooner or later, he would see the termination of all thismisery and privation; for his father had at least fifty thousandfrancs a year and some day he must be rich.
Far from smiling, Mlle. Lucienne frowned at such a prospect.
Ah! your father is a millionaire, is he? she interrupted. "Well,I understand now how, at twenty-five, after refusing all thepositions which have been offered to you, you have no position. Yourelied on your father, instead of relying on yourself. Judging thathe worked hard enough for two, you bravely folded your arms, waitingfor the fortune which he is amassing, and which you seem to consideryours."Such morality seemed a little steep to Maxence. "I think," he began,"that, if one is the son of a rich man -""One has the right to be useless, I suppose?" added the girl.
"I do not mean that; but -""There is no but about it. And the proof that your views are wrong,is that they have brought you where you are, and deprived you of yourown free will. To place one's self at the mercy of another, be thatother your own father, is always silly; and one is always at themercy of the man from whom he expects money that he has not earned. Your father would never have been so harsh, had he not believed thatyou could not do without him.He wanted to discuss: she stopped him.
"Do you wish the proof that you are at M. Favoral's mercy? she said.
"Very well. You spoke of marrying me.""Ah, if you were willing!""Very well. Go and speak of it to your father.""I suppose -""You don't suppose any thing at all: you are absolutely certain thathe will refuse you his consent.""I could do without it.""I admit that you could. But do you know what he would do then? He would arrange things in such a way that you would never get acentime of his fortune.Maxence had never thought of that.
"Therefore, the young girl went on gayly, "though there is as yetno question of marriage, learn to secure your independence; thatis, the means of living. And to that effect let us work."It was from that moment, that Mme. Favoral had noticed in her sonthe change that had surprised her so much.
Under the inspiration, under the impulsion, of Mlle. Lucienne,Maxence had been suddenly taken with a zeal for work, and a desireto earn money, of which he could not have been suspected.
He was no longer late at his office, and had not, at the end of eachmonth, ten or fifteen francs' fines to pay.
Every morning, as soon as she was up, Mlle. Lucienne came to knockat his door. "Come, get up!" she cried to him.
And quick he jumped out of bed and dressed, so that he might bidher good-morning before she left.
In the evening, the last mouthful of his dinner was hardly swallowed,before he began copying the documents which he procured from M.
Chapelain's successor.
And often he worked quite late in the night whilst by his side Mlle.
Lucienne applied herself to some work of embroidery.
The girl was the cashier of the association; and she administeredthe common capital with such skillful and such scrupulous economy,that Maxence soon succeeded in paying off his creditors.
Do you know, she was saying at the end of December, "that, betweenus, we have earned over six hundred francs this month?"On Sundays only, after a week of which not a minute had been lost,they indulged in some little recreation.
If the weather was not too bad, they went out together, dined insome modest restaurant, and finished the day at the theatre.
Having thus a common existence, both young, free, and having theirrooms divided only by a narrow passage it was difficult that peopleshould believe in the innocence of their intercourse. Theproprietors of the Hotel des Folies believed nothing of the kind;and they were not alone in that opinion.
Mlle. Lucienne having continued to show herself in the Bois on theafternoons when the weather was fine, the number of fools who annoyedher with their attentions had greatly increased. Among the mostobstinate could be numbered M. Costeclar, who was pleased todeclare, upon his word of honor, that he had lost his sleep, andhis taste for business, since the day when, together with M. SaintPavin, he had first seen Mlle. Lucienne.
The efforts of his valet, and the letters which he had written,having proved useless, M. Costeclar had made up his mind to act inperson; and gallantly he had come to put himself on guard in frontof the Hotel des Folies.
Great was his surprise, when he saw Mlle. Lucienne coming out armin arm with Maxence; and greater still was his spite.
That girl is a fool, he thought, "to prefer to me a fellow whohas not two hundred francs a month to spend. But never mind! Helaughs best who laughs last."And, as he was a man fertile in expedients, he went the next dayto take a walk in the neighborhood of the Mutual Credit; and, havingmet M. Favoral by chance, he told him how his son Maxence was ruininghimself for a young lady whose toilets were a scandal, insinuatingdelicately that it was his duty, as the head of the family, to put astop to such a thing.
This was precisely the time when Maxence was endeavoring to obtaina situation in the office of the Mutual Credit.
It is true that the idea was not original with him, and that he hadeven vehemently rejected it, when, for the first time, Mlle.
Lucienne had suggested it.
What! had he exclaimed, "be employed in the same establishment asmy father? Suffer at the office the same intolerable despotism asat home? I'd rather break stones on the roads."But Mlle. Lucienne was not the girl to give up so easily a projectconceived and carefully matured by herself.
She returned to the charge with that infinite art of women, whounderstand so marvelously well how to turn a position which theycannot carry in front. She kept the matter so well before him, shespoke of it so often and so much, on every occasion, and under allpretexts, that he ended by persuading himself that it was the onlyreasonable and practical thing he could do, the only way in whichhe had any chance of making his fortune; and so, one eveningovercoming his last hesitations,"I am going to speak about it to my father," he said to Mlle.
Lucienne.
But whether he had been influenced by M. Costeclar's insinuations,or for some other reason, M. Favoral had rejected indignantly hisson's request, saying that it was impossible to trust a young manwho was ruining himself for the sake of a miserable creature.
Maxence had become crimson with rage on hearing the woman spoken ofthus, whom he loved to madness, and who, far from ruining him, wasmaking him.
He returned to the Hotel des Folies in an indescribable state ofexasperation.
There's the result, he said to Mlle. Lucienne, "of the step whichyou have urged me so strongly to take."She seemed neither surprised nor irritated.
Very well, she replied simply.
But Maxence could not resign himself so quietly to such a crueldisappointment; and, not having the slightest suspicion ofCosteclar's doings,"And such is," he added, "the result of all the gossip of thesestupid shop-keepers who run to see you every time you go out inthe carriage.
The girl shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. "I expected it,"she said, "the day when I accepted M. Van Klopen's offers.""Everybody believes that you are my mistress.""What matters it, since it is not so?"Maxence did not dare to confess that this was precisely what madehim doubly angry; and he shuddered at the thought of the ridiculethat would certainly be heaped upon him, if the true state of thecase was known.
We ought to move, he suggested.
"What's the use? Wherever we should go, it would be the same thing. Besides, I don't want to leave this neighborhood.""And I am too much your friend not to tell you, that your reputationin it is absolutely lost.I have no accounts to render to any one.""""Except to your friend the commissary of police, however.""A pale smile flitted upon her lips. ""Ah!"" she uttered, ""he knowsthe truth.""""You have seen him again, then?""""Several times.""""Since we have known each other?""""Yes.""""And you never told me anything about it?""""I did not think it necessary.""Maxence insisted no more; but, by the sharp pang that he felt, herealized how dear Mlle. Lucienne had become to him.
"She has secrets from me, thought he, - "from me who would deem ita crime to have any from her."What secrets? Had she concealed from him that she was pursuing anobject which had become, as it were, that of her whole life. Hadshe not told him, that with the assistance of her friend thepeace-officer, who had now become commissary of police of thedistrict, she hoped to penetrate the mystery of her birth, and torevenge herself on the villains, who, three times, had attempted todo away with her?
She had never mentioned her projects again; but it was evident thatshe had not abandoned them, for she would at the same time havegiven up her rides to the bois, which were to her an abominabletorment.
But passion can neither reason nor discuss.
She mistrusts me, who would give my life for hers repeated Maxence.
And the idea was so painful to him, that he resolved to clear hisdoubts at any cost, preferring the worst misery to the anxiety whichwas gnawing at his heart.
And as soon as he found himself alone with Mlle. Lucienne, arminghimself with all his courage, and looking her straight in the eyes,"You never speak to me any more of your enemies?" he said.
She doubtless understood what was passing within him.
It's because I don't hear any thing of them myself, she answeredgently.
Then you have given up your purpose?Not at all.""What are your hopes, then, and what are your prospects?""Extraordinary as it may seem to you, I must confess that I knownothing about it. My friend the commissary has his plan, I amcertain; and he is following it with an indefatigable obstinacy.
I am but an instrument in his hands. I never do any thing withoutconsulting him; and what he advises me to do I do."Maxence started upon his chair.
Was it he, then, he said in a tone of bitter irony, "who suggestedto you the idea of our fraternal association?"A frown appeared upon the girl's countenance. She evidently felthurt by the tone of this species of interrogatory.
At least he did not disapprove of it, she replied.
But that answer was just evasive enough to excite Maxence's anxiety.
Was it from him too, he went on "that came the lovely idea ofhaving me enter the Mutual Credit?""Yes, it was from him.""For what purpose?""He did not explain.""Why did you not tell me?""Because he requested me not to do so."From being red at the start, Maxence had now become very pale.
And so, he resumed, "it is that man, that police-agent, who isthe real arbiter of my fate; and if to-morrow he commanded you tobreak off with me -"Mlle. Lucienne drew herself up.
Enough! she interrupted in a brief tone, enough! There is notin my whole existence a single act which would give to my bitterestenemy the right to suspect my loyalty; and now you accuse me ofthe basest treason. What have you to reproach me with? Have Inot been faithful to the pact sworn between us. Have I not alwaysbeen for you the best of comrades and the most devoted of friends?
I remained silent, because the man in whom I have the fullestconfidence requested me to do so; but he knew, that, if youquestioned me, I would speak. Did you question me? And now whatmore do you want? That I should stoop to quiet the suspicions ofyour morbid mind? That I do not mean to do."She was not, perhaps, entirely right; but Maxence was certainlywrong. He acknowledged it, wept, implored her pardon, which wasgranted; and this explanation only served to rivet more closelythe fetters that bound him.
It is true, that, availing himself of the permission that had beengranted him, he kept himself constantly informed of Mlle. Lucienne'sdoings. He learnt from her that her friend the commissary had helda most minute investigation at Louveciennes, and that the footmanwho went to the bois with her was now, in reality, a detective.
And at last, one day,"My friend the commissary," she said, "thinks he is on the righttrack now."
Such was the exact situation of Maxence and Mlle. Lucienne on thateventful Saturday evening in the month of April, 1872, when thepolice came to arrest M. Vincent Favoral, on the charge ofembezzlement and forgery.
It will be remembered, how, at his mother's request, Maxence hadspent that night in the Rue St. Gilles, and how, the next morning,unable any longer to resist his eager desire to see Mlle. Lucienne,he had started for the Hotel des Folies, leaving his sister aloneat home.
He retired to his room, as she had requested him, and, sinkingupon his old arm-chair in a fit of the deepest distress,"She is singing," he murmured: "Mme. Fortin has not told her anything."And at the same moment Mlle. Lucienne had resumed her song, thewords of which reached him like a bitter raillery,"Hope! 0 sweet, deceiving word!
Mad indeed is he,Who does think he can trust thee,And take thy coin can afford.
Over his door every oneWill hang thee to his sorrow,Then saying of days begone,'Cash to-day, credit to-morrow!'
'Tis very nice to run;But to have is better fun!""What will she say," thought Maxence, "when she learns the horribletruth?"And he felt a cold perspiration starting on his temples when heremembered Mlle. Lucienne's pride, and that honor has her only faith,the safety-plank to which she had desperately clung in the midst ofthe storms of her life. What if she should leave him, now that thename he bore was disgraced!
A rapid and light step on the landing drew him from his gloomythoughts. Almost immediately, the door opened, and Mlle. Luciennecame in.
She must have dressed in haste; for she was just finishing hookingher dress, the simplicity of which seemed studied, so marvelouslydid it set off the elegance of her figure, the splendors of herwaist, and the rare perfections of her shoulders and of her neck.
A look of intense dissatisfaction could be read upon her lovelyfeatures; but, as soon as she had seen Maxence, her countenancechanged.
And, in fact, his look of utter distress, the disorder of hisgarments, his livid paleness, and the sinister look of his eyes,showed plainly enough that a great misfortune had befallen him.
In a voice whose agitation betrayed something more than the anxietyand the sympathy. of a friend,"What is the matter? What has happened?" inquired the girl.
A terrible misfortune, he replied.
He was hesitating: he wished to tell every thing at once, and knewnot how to begin.
I have told you, he said, "that my family was very rich.""Yes.""Well, we have nothing left, absolutely nothing!' She seemed tobreathe more freely, and, in a tone of friendly irony,"And it is the loss of your fortune," she said, "that distressesyou thus?"He raised himself painfully to his feet, and, in a low hoarse voice,"Honor is lost too," he uttered.
Honor?"Yes. My father has stolen: my father has forged!She had become whiter than her collar.
Your father! she stammered.
Yes. For years he has been using the money that was intrusted tohim, until the deficit now amounts to twelve millions."Great heavens!"And, notwithstanding the enormity of that sum, he was reduced,during the latter months, to the most miserable expedients, - goingfrom door to door in the neighborhood, soliciting deposits, untilhe actually basely swindled a poor newspaper-vender out of fivehundred francs."Why, this is madness! And how did you find out?"Last night they came to arrest him. Fortunately we had beennotified; and I helped him to escape through a window of my sister'sroom, which opens on the yard of an adjoining house."And where is he now?"Who knows?"Had he any money?"Everybody thinks that he carries off millions. I do not believeit. He even refused to take the few thousand francs which M. deThaller had brought him to facilitate his flight.Mlle. Lucienne shuddered.
Did you see M. de Thaller? she asked.
"He got to the house a few moment in advance of the commissary ofpolice; and a terrible scene took place between him and my father.""What was he saying?""That my father had ruined him.""And your father?""He stammered incoherent phrases. He was like a man who hasreceived a stunning blow. But we have discovered incredible things. My father, so austere and so parsimonious at home, led a merry lifeelsewhere, spending money without stint. It was for a woman thathe robbed.""And - do you know who that woman is?""No. But I can find out from the writer of the article in thispaper, who says that he knows her. See!Mlle. Lucienne took the paper which Maxence was holding out to her:
"but she hardly condescended to look at it.
But what's your idea now?"I do not believe that my father is innocent; but I believe thatthere are people more guilty than he, - skillful and prudent knaves,who have made use of him as a man of straw, - villains who willquietly digest their share of the millions (the biggest one, ofcourse), while he will be sent to prison.A fugitive blush colored Mlle. Lucienne's cheeks.
That being the case, she interrupted, "what do you expect to do?""Avenge my father, if possible, and discover his accomplices, if hehas any."She held out her hand to him.
That's right, she said. "But how will you go about it?""I don't know yet. At any rate, I must first of all run to thenewspaper office, and get that woman's address."But Mlle. Lucienne stopped him.
No, she uttered: "it isn't there that you must go. You must comewith me to see my friend the commissary."Maxence received this suggestion with a gesture of surprise, almostof terror.
Why, how can you think of such a thing? he exclaimed. "My fatheris fleeing from justice; and you want me to take for my confidant acommissary of police, - the very man whose duty it is to arrest him,if he can find him!"But he interrupted himself for a moment, staring and gaping, as ifthe truth had suddenly flashed upon his mind in dazzling evidence.
For my father has not gone abroad, he went on. "It is in Paristhat he is hiding: I am sure of it. You have seen him?"Mlle. Lucienne really thought that Maxence was losing his mind.
I have seen your father - I? she said.
Yes, last evening. How could I have forgotten it? While you werewaiting for me down stairs, between eleven and half-past eleven amiddle-aged man, thin, wearing a long overcoat, came and asked forme."Yes, I remember."He spoke to you in the yard."That's a fact."What did he tell you?She hesitated for a moment, evidently trying to tax her memory; then,"Nothing," she replied, "that he had not already said before theFortins; that he wanted to see you on important business, and wassorry not to find you in. What surprised me, though, is, that hewas speaking as if he knew me, and knew that I was a friend of yours."Then, striking her forehead," Perhaps you are right," she went on. "Perhaps that man was indeedyour father. Wait a minute. Yes, he seemed quite excited, and atevery moment he looked around towards the door. He said it would beimpossible for him to return, but that he would write to you, andthat probably he would require your assistance and your services.""You see," exclaimed Maxence, almost crazy with subdued excitement,"it was my father. He is going to write; to return, perhaps; and,under the circumstances, to apply to a commissary of police wouldbe sheer folly, almost treason."She shook her head.
So much the more reason, she uttered, "why you should follow myadvice. Have you ever had occasion to repent doing so?""No, but you may be mistaken.""I am not mistaken."She expressed herself in a tone of such absolute-certainty, thatMaxence, in the disorder of his mind, was at a loss to know what toimagine, what to believe.
You must have some reason to urge me thus, he said.
"I have.""Why not tell it to me then?""Because I should have no proofs to furnish you of my assertions. Because I should have to go into details which you would notunderstand. Because, above all, I am following one of thoseinexplicable presentiments which never deceive.It was evident that she was not willing to unveil her whole mind;and yet Maxence felt himself terribly staggered.
"Think of my agony," he said, " if I were to cause my father's arrest.""Would my own be less? Can any misfortune strike you withoutreaching me? Let us reason a little. What were you saying a momentsince? That certainly your father is not as guilty as people think;at any rate, that he is not alone guilty; that he has been but theinstrument of rascals more skillful and more powerful than himself;and that he has had but a small share of the twelve millions?""Such is my absolute conviction.""And that you would like to deliver up to justice the villains whohave benefitted by your father's crime, and who think themselves sureof impunity?"Tears of anger fell from Maxence's eyes.
Do you wish to take away all my courage? he murmured.
No; but I wish to demonstrate to you the necessity of the stepwhich I advise you to take. The end justifies the means; and wehave not the choice of means. Come, 'tis to an honest man and atried friend that I shall take you. Fear nothing. If he remembersthat he is commissary of police, it will be to serve us, not toinjure you. You hesitate? Perhaps at this moment he alreadyknows more than we do ourselves.Maxence took a sudden resolution.
Very well," he said: "let us go."In less than five minutes they were off; and, as they went out, theyhad to disturb Mme. Fortin, who stood at the door, gossiping withtwo or three of the neighboring shop-keepers.
As soon as Maxence and Mlle. Lucienne were out of hearing,"You see that young man," said the honorable proprietress of theHotel des Folies to her interlocutors. "Well, he is the son of thatfamous cashier who has just run off with twelve millions, afterruining a thousand families. It don't seem to trouble him, either;for there he is, going out to spend a pleasant day with his mistress,and to treat her to a fine dinner with the old man's money."Meantime, Maxence and Lucienne reached the commissary's house. Hewas at home; they walked in. And, as soon as they appeared,"I expected you," he said.
He was a man already past middle age, but active and vigorous still.
With his white cravat and long frock-coat, he looked like a notary.
Benign was the expression of his countenance; but the lustre of hislittle gray eyes, and the mobility of his nostrils, showed that itshould not be trusted too far.
Yes, I expected you, he repeated, addressing himself as much toMaxence as to Mlle. Lucienne. "It is the Mutual Credit matter whichbrings you here?"Maxence stepped forward,"I am Vincent Favoral's son, sir," he replied. "I have still mymother and a sister. Our situation is horrible. Mlle. Luciennesuggested that you might be willing to give me some advice; and herewe are."The commissary rang, and, on the bell being answered,"I am at home for no one," he said.
And then turning to Maxence,"Mlle. Lucienne did well to bring you," he said; "for it may be,that, whilst rendering her an important service, I may also renderyou one. But I have no time to lose. Sit down, and tell me allabout it." With the most scrupulous exactness Maxence told thehistory of his family, and the events of the past twenty-four hours.
Not once did the commissary interrupt him; but, when he had done,"Tell me your father's interview with M. de Thaller all over again,"he requested, "and, especially, do not omit any thing that you haveheard or seen, not a word, not a gesture, not a look."And, Maxence having complied,"Now," said the commissary, "repeat every thing your father said atthe moment of going."He did so. The commissary took a few notes, and then,"What were," he inquired, "the relations of your family with theThaller family?""There were none.
What! Neither Mme. nor Mlle. de Thaller ever visited you?"Never."Do you know the Marquis de Tregars?Maxence stared in surprise.
Tregars! he repeated. "It's the first time that I hear thatname."The usual clients of the commissary would have hesitated to recognizehim, so completely had he set aside his professional stiffness, somuch had his freezing reserve given way to the most encouragingkindness.
Now, then, he resumed, "never mind M. de Tregars: let us talk ofthe woman, who, you seem to think, has been the cause of M. Favoral'sruin."On the table before him lay the paper in which Maxence had read inthe morning the terrible article headed: Another Financial Disaster.""I know nothing of that woman," he replied; "but it must be easy tofind out, since the writer of this article pretends to know."The commissary smiled, not having quite as much faith in newspapersas Maxence seemed to have.
Yes, I read that, he said.
We might send to the office of that paper, suggested Mlle. Lucienne.
I have already sent, my child.And, without noticing the surprise of Maxence and of the young girl,he rang the bell, and asked whether his secretary had returned. Thesecretary answered by appearing in person.
Well? inquired the commissary.
I have attended to the matter, sir, he replied. "I saw thereporter who wrote the article in question; and, after beating aboutthe bush for some time, he finally confessed that he knew nothingmore than had been published, and that he had obtained hisinformation from two intimate friends of the cashier, M. Costeclarand M. Saint Pavin.""You should have gone to see those gentlemen.""I did.""Very well. What then?""Unfortunately, M. Costeclar had just gone out. As to M. SaintPavin, I found him at the office of his paper, 'The Financial Pilot.'
He is a coarse and vulgar personage, and received me like apickpocket. I had even a notion to -""Never mind that! Go on.""He was closeted with another gentleman, a banker, named Jottras,of the house of Jottras and Brother. They were both in a terriblerage, swearing like troopers, and saying that the Favoraldefalcation would ruin them; that they had been taken in like fools,but that they were not going to take things so easy, and they werepreparing a crushing article."But he stopped, winking, and pointing to Maxence and Mlle. Lucienne,who were listening as attentively as they could.
Speak, speak! said the commissary. "Fear nothing.""Well," he went on, "M. Saint Pavin and M. Jottras were saying thatM. Favoral was only a poor dupe, but that they would know how tofind the others.""What others?""Ah! they didn't say."The commissary shrugged his shoulders.
What! he exclaimed, "you find yourself in presence of two menfurious to have been duped, who swear and threaten, and you can'tget from them a name that you want? You are not very smart,my dear!"And as the poor secretary, somewhat put out of countenance, lookeddown, and said nothing,"Did you at least ask them," he resumed, "who the woman is to whomthe article refers, and whose existence they have revealed to thereporter?""Of course I did, sir.""And what did they answer?""That they were not spies, and had nothing to say, M. Saint Pavinadded, however, that he had said it without much thought, and onlybecause he had once seen M. Favoral buying a three thousand francsbracelet, and also because it seemed impossible to him that a manshould do away with millions without the aid of a woman."The commissary could not conceal his ill humor.
Of course! he grumbled. "Since Solomon said, 'Look for the woman'
(for it was King Solomon who first said it), every fool thinks itsmart to repeat with a cunning look that most obvious of truths.
What next?""M. Saint Pavin politely invited me to go to - well, not here."The commissary wrote rapidly a few lines, put them in an envelope,which he sealed with his private seal, and handed it to hissecretary, saying,"That will do. Take this to the prefecture yourself." And, afterthe secretary had gone out,"Well, M. Maxence," he said, "you have heard?" Of course he had.
Only Maxence was thinking much less of what he had just heard thanof the strange interest this commissary had taken in his affairs,even before he had seen him.
I think, he stammered, "that it is very unfortunate the womancannot be found."With a gesture full of confidence,"Be easy," said the commissary: "she shall be found. A woman cannotswallow millions at that rate, without attracting attention.
Believe me, we shall find her, unless -"He paused for a moment, and, speaking slowly and emphatically,"Unless," he added, "she should have behind her a very skillful andvery prudent man. Or else that she should be in a situation whereher extravagance could not have created any scandal."Mlle. Lucienne started. She fancied she understood the commissary'sidea, and could catch a glimpse of the truth.
Good heavens! she murmured.
But Maxence didn't notice any thing, his mind being wholly bent uponfollowing the commissary's deductions.
Or unless, he said, "my father should have received almost nothingfor his share of the enormous sums subtracted from the Mutual Credit,in which case he could have given relatively but little to that woman.
M.Saint Pavin himself acknowledges that my father has beenegregiously taken in.""By whom?""Maxence hesitated for a moment.
I think, he said at last, "and several friends of my family (amongwhom M. Chapelain, an old lawyer) think as I do, that it is verystrange that my father should have drawn millions from the MutualCredit without any knowledge of the fact on the part of the manager.""Then, according to you, M. de Thaller must be an accomplice."Maxence made no answer.
Be it so, insisted the commissary. " I admit M. de Thaller'scomplicity; but then we must suppose that he had over your fathersome powerful means of action."An employer always has a great deal of influence over hissubordinates.""An influence sufficiently powerful to make them run the risk ofthe galleys for his benefit! That is not likely. We must try andimagine something else.""I am trying; but I don't find any thing.""And yet it is not all. How do you explain your father's silencewhen M. de Thaller was heaping upon him the most outrageous insults?""My father was stunned, as it were.""And at the moment of escaping, if he did have any accomplices, howis it that he did not mention their names to you, to your mother,or to your sister?""Because, doubtless, he had no proofs of their complicity to offer.""Would you have asked him for any?""0 sir!""Therefore such is not evidently the motive of his silence; and itmight better be attributed to some secret hope that he still hadleft."The commissary now had all the information, which, voluntarily orotherwise, Maxence was able to give him. He rose, and in thekindest tone,"You have come," he said to him, "to ask me for advice. Here it is:
say nothing, and wait. Allow justice and the police to pursue theirwork. Whatever may be your suspicions, hide them. I shall do foryou as I would for Lucienne, whom I love as if she were my ownchild; for it so happens, that, in helping you, I shall help her."He could not help laughing at the astonishment, which at those wordsdepicted itself upon Maxence's face; and gayly,"You don't understand," he added. "Well, never mind. It is notnecessary that you should."
Two o'clock struck as Mlle. Lucienne and Maxence left the officeof the commissary of police, she pensive and agitated, he gloomy andirritated. They reached the Hotel des Folies without exchanging aword. Mme. Fortin was again at the door, speechifying in the midstof a group with indefatigable volubility. Indeed, it was a perfectgodsend for her, the fact of lodging the son of that cashier whohad stolen twelve millions, and had thus suddenly become a celebrity.
Seeing Maxence and Mlle. Lucienne coming, she stepped toward them,and, with her most obsequious smile,"Back already?" she said.
But they made no answer; and, entering the narrow corridor, theyhurried to their fourth story. As he entered his room, Maxencethrew his hat upon his bed with a gesture of impatience; and, afterwalking up and down for a moment, he returned to plant himself infront of Mlle. Lucienne.
Well, he said, "are you satisfied now?"She looked at him with an air of profound commiseration, knowinghis weakness too well to be angry at his injustice.
Of what should I be satisfied? she asked gently.
I have done what you wished me to."You did what reason dictated, my friend."Very well: we won't quarrel about words. I have seen your friendthe commissary. Am I any better off?She shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly.
What did you expect of him, then? she asked. "Did you think thathe could undo what is done? Did you suppose, that, by the solepower of his will, he would make up the deficit in the MutualCredit's cash, and rehabilitate your father?""No, I am not quite mad yet.""Well, then, could he do more than promise you his most ardent anddevoted co-operation?"But he did not allow her to proceed.
And how do I know, he exclaimed, "that he is not trifling with me?
If he was sincere, why his reticence and his enigmas? He pretendsthat I may rely on him, because to serve me is to serve you. Whatdoes that mean? What connection is there between your situation andmine, between your enemies and those of my father? And I - I repliedto all his questions like a simpleton. Poor fool! But the man whodrowns catches at straws; and I am drowning, I am sinking, I amfoundering."He sank upon a chair, and, hiding his face in his hands,"Ah, how I do suffer!" he groaned.
Mlle. Lucienne approached him, and in a severe tone, despite heremotion,"Are you, then, such a coward?" she uttered. "What! at the firstmisfortune that strikes you, - and this is the first real misfortuneof your life, Maxence, - you despair. An obstacle rises, and,instead of gathering all your energy to overcome it, you sit downand weep like a woman. Who, then, is to inspire courage in yourmother and in your sister, if you give up so?"At the sound of these words, uttered by that voice which wasall-powerful over his soul, Maxence looked up.
I thank you, my friend, he said. "I thank you for reminding meof what I owe to my mother and sister. Poor women! They arewondering, doubtless, what has become of me.""You must return to them," interrupted the girl.
He got up resolutely.
I will, he replied. "I should be unworthy of you if I could notraise my own energy to the level of yours."And, having pressed her hand, he left. But it was not by the usualroute that he reached the Rue St. Gilles. He made a long detour, soas not to meet any of his acquaintances.
Here you are at last, said the servant as she opened the door.
Madame was getting very uneasy, I can tell you. She is in theparlor, with Mlle. Gilberte and M. Chapelain.It was so. After his fruitless attempt to reach M. de Thaller, M.
Chapelain had breakfasted there, and had remained, wishing, he said,to see Maxence. And so, as soon as the young man appeared, availinghimself of the privileges of his age and his old intimacy,"How," said he, "dare you leave your mother and sister alone in ahouse where some brutal creditor may come in at any moment?""I was wrong," said Maxence, who preferred to plead guilty ratherthan attempt an explanation.
Don't do it again then, resumed M. Chapelain. "I was waiting foryou to say that I was unable to see M. de Thaller, and that I do notcare to face once more the impudence of his valets. You will,therefore, have to take back the fifteen thousand francs he hadbrought to your father. Place them in his own hands; and don'tgive them up without a receipt."After some further recommendations, he went off, leaving Mme. Favoralalone at last with her children. She was about to call Maxence toaccount for his absence, when Mlle. Gilberte interrupted her.
I have to speak to you, mother, she said with a singularprecipitation, "and to you also, brother."And at once she began telling them of M. Costeclar's strange visit,his inconceivable audacity, and his offensive declarations.
Maxence was fairly stamping with rage.
And I was not here, he exclaimed, "to put him out of the house!"But another was there; and this was just what Mlle. Gilberte wishedto come to. But the avowal was difficult, painful even; and it wasnot without some degree of confusion that she resumed at last,"You have suspected for a long time, mother, that I was hidingsomething from you. When you questioned me, I lied; not that I hadany thing to blush for, but because I feared for you my father'sanger."Her mother and her brother were gazing at her with a look of blankamazement.
Yes, I had a secret, she continued. "Boldly, without consultingany one, trusting the sole inspirations of my heart, I had engagedmy life to a stranger: I had selected the man whose wife I wishedto be."Mme. Favoral raised her hands to heaven.
But this is sheer madness! she said.
Unfortunately, went on the girl, "between that man, my affiancedhusband before God, and myself, rose a terrible obstacle. He waspoor: he thought my father very rich; and he had asked me a delayof three years to conquer a fortune which might enable him to aspireto my hand."She stopped: all the blood in her veins was rushing to her face.
This morning, she said, "at the news of our disaster, he came...
Here? interrupted Maxence.
Yes, brother, here. He arrived at the very moment, when, baselyinsulted by M. Costeclar, I commanded him to withdraw, and, insteadof going, he was walking towards me with outstretched arms."He dared to penetrate here! murmured Mme. Favoral.
Yes, mother: he came in just in time to seize M. Costeclar by hiscoat-collar, and to throw him at my feet, livid with fear, andbegging for mercy. He came, notwithstanding the terrible calamitythat has befallen us. Notwithstanding ruin, and notwithstandingshame, he came to offer me his name, and to tell me, that, in thecourse of the day, he would send a friend of his family to appriseyou of his intentions.Here she was interrupted by the servant, who, throwing open theparlor-door, announced,"The Count de Villegre."If it had occurred to the mind of Mme. Favoral or Maxence that Mlle.
Gilberte might have been the victim of some base intrigue, the mereappearance of the man who now walked in must have been enough todisabuse them.
He was of a rather formidable aspect, with his military bearing, hisbluff manners, his huge white mustache, and the deep scar acrosshis forehead.
But in order to be re-assured, and to feel confident, it was enoughto look at his broad face, at once energetic and debonair, his cleareye, in which shone the loyalty of his soul, and his thick red lips,which had never opened to utter an untruth.
At this moment, however, he was hardly in possession of all hisfaculties.
That valiant man, that old soldier, was timid; and he would havefelt much more at ease under the fire of a battery than in thathumble parlor in the Rue St. Gilles, under the uneasy glance ofMaxence and Mme. Favoral.
Having bowed, having made a little friendly sign to Mlle. Gilberte,he had stopped short, two steps from the door, his hat in his hand.
Eloquence was not his forte. He had prepared himself well inadvance; but though he kept coughing: hum! broum! though he keptrunning his finger around his shirt-collar to facilitate hisdelivery, the beginning of his speech stuck in his throat.
Seeing how urgent it was to come to his assistance,"I was expecting you, sir," said Mlle. Gilberte. With thisencouragement, he advanced towards Mme. Favoral, and, bowing low,"I see that my presence surprises you, madame," he began; "and Imust confess that - hum! - it does not surprise me less than it doesyou. But extraordinary circumstances require exceptional action.
On any other occasion, I would not fall upon you like a bombshell.
But we had no time to waste in ceremonious formalities. I will,therefore, ask your leave to introduce myself: I am General Countde Villegre."Maxence had brought him a chair.
I am ready to hear you, sir, said Mme. Favoral. He sat down, and,with a further effort,"I suppose, madame," he resumed, " that your daughter has explainedto you our singular situation, which, as I had the honor of tellingyou - hum! - is not strictly in accordance with social usage."Mlle. Gilberte interrupted him.
When you came in, general, I was only just beginning to explainthe facts to my mother and brother.The old soldier made a gesture, and a face which showed plainly thathe did not much relish the prospect of a somewhat difficultexplanation - broum! Nevertheless, making up his mind bravely,"It is very simple," he said: "I come in behalf of M. de Tregars."Maxence fairly bounced upon his chair. That was the very name whichhe had just heard mentioned by the commissary of police.
Tregars! he repeated in a tone of immense surprise.
Yes, said M. de Villegre. "Do you know him, by chance?"No, sir, no!""Marius de Tregars is the son of the most honest man I ever knew, ofthe best friend I ever had, - of the Marquis de Tregars, in a word,who died of grief a few years ago, after - hum! - some quiteinexplicable - broum! - reverses of fortune. Marius could not bedearer to me, if he were my own son. He has lost his parents: Ihave no relatives; and I have transferred to him all the feelingsof affection which still remained at the bottom of my old heart.
"And I can say that never was a man more worthy of affection. Iknow him. To the most legitimate pride and the most scrupulousintegrity, he unites a keen and supple mind, and wit enough to getthe better of the toughest rascal. He has no fortune for the reasonthat - hum! - he gave up all he had to certain pretended creditorsof his father. But whenever he wishes to be rich, he shall be; and- broum! - he may be so before long. I know his projects, his hopes,his resources. But, as if feeling that he was treading on dangerous ground, theCount de Villegre stopped short, and, after taking breath for amoment,In short,"" he went on, ""Marius has been unable to see Mlle.
"Gilberte, and to appreciate the rare qualities of her heart,without falling desperately in love with her."Mme. Favoral made a gesture of protest,"Allow me, sir," she began.
But he interrupted her.
I understand you, madame, he resumed. "You wonder how M. deTregars can have seen your daughter, have known her, and haveappreciated her, without your seeing or hearing any thing of it.
Nothing is more simple, and, if I may venture to say - hum! - morenatural."And the worthy old soldier began to explain to Mme. Favoral themeetings in the Place-Royale, his conversations with Marius,intended really for Mlle. Gilberte, and the part he had consentedto play in this little comedy. But he became embarrassed in hissentences, he multiplied his hum! and his broum! in the mostalarming manner; and his explanations explained nothing.
Mlle. Gilberte took pity on him; and, kindly interrupting him, sheherself told her story, and that of Marius.
She told the pledge they had exchanged, how they had seen each othertwice, and how they constantly heard of each other through the veryinnocent and very unconscious Signor Gismondo Pulei.
Maxence and Mme. Favoral were dumbfounded. They would haveabsolutely refused to believe such a story, had it not been told byMlle. Gilberte herself.
Ah, my dear sister! thought Maxence, "who could have suspectedsuch a thing, seeing you always so calm and so meek!""Is it possible," Mme. Favoral was saying to herself; "that I canhave been so blind and so deaf?"As to the Count de Villegre, he would have tried in vain to expressthe gratitude he felt towards Mlle. Gilberte for having spared himthese difficult explanations.
I could not have done half as well myself, by the eternal! hethought, like a man who has no illusions on his own account.
But, as soon as she had done, addressing himself to Mme. Favoral,"Now, madame," he said, "you know all; and you will understandthat the irreparable disaster that strikes you has removed theonly obstacle which had hitherto stood in the way of Marius."He rose, and in a solemn tone, without any hum or broum, this time,"I have the honor, madame," he uttered, "to solicit the hand of Mlle.
Gilberte, your daughter, for my friend Yves-Marius de Genost, Marquisde Tregars."A profound silence followed this speech. But this silence the Countde Villegre doubtless interpreted in his own favor; for, stepping tothe parlor-door, he opened it, and called, "Marius!"Marius de Tregars had foreseen all that had just taken place, andhad so informed the Count de Villegre in advance.
Being given Mme. Favoral's disposition, he knew what could beexpected of her; and he had his own reasons to fear nothing fromMaxence. And, if he mistrusted somewhat the diplomatic talentsof his ambassador, he relied absolutely upon Mlle. Gilberte's energy.
And so confident was he of the correctness of his calculations, thathe had insisted upon accompanying his old friend, so as to be onhand at the critical moment.
When the servant had opened the door to them, he had ordered her tointroduce M. de Villegre, stating that he would himself wait in thedining-room. This arrangement had not seemed entirely natural tothe girl; but so many strange things had happened in the house forthe past twenty-four hours, that she was prepared for any thing.
Besides recognizing Marius as the gentleman who had had a violentaltercation in the morning with M. Costeclar, she did as herequested, and, leaving him alone in the dining-room, went toattend to her duties.
He had taken a seat, impassive in appearance, but in realityagitated by that internal trepidation of which the strongest mencannot free themselves in the decisive moments of their life.
To a certain extent, the prospects of his whole life were to bedecided on the other side of that door which had just closed behindthe Count de Villegre. To the success of his love, other interestswere united, which required immediate success.
And, counting the seconds by the beatings of his heart,"How very slow they are!" he thought.
And so, when the door opened at last, and his old friend called him,he jumped to his feet, and collecting all his coolness andself-possession, he walked in.
Maxence had risen to receive him; but, when he saw him, he steppedback, his eyes glaring in utter surprise.
Ah, great heavens! he muttered in a smothered voice.
But M. de Tregars seemed not to notice his stupor. Quiteself-possessed, notwithstanding his emotion, he cast a rapid glanceover the Count de Villegre, Mme. Favoral and Mlle. Gilberte. Attheir attitude, and at the expression of their countenance, heeasily guessed the point to which things had come.
And, advancing towards Mme. Favoral, he bowed with an amount ofrespect which was certainly not put on.
You have heard the Count de Villegre, madame, he said in aslightly altered tone of voice. " I am awaiting my fate."The poor woman had never before in all her life been so fearfullyperplexed. All these events, which succeeded each other so rapidly,had broken the feeble springs of her soul. She was utterly incapableof collecting her thoughts, or of taking a determination.
At this moment, sir, she stammered, taken unawares, " it would beimpossible for me to answer you. Grant me a few days for reflection.
We have some old friends whom I ought to consult."But Maxence, who had got over his stupor, interrupted her.
Friends mother! he exclaimed. "And who are they? People in ourposition have no friends. What! when we are perishing, a man ofheart holds out his hand to us, and you ask to reflect? To mysister, who bears a name henceforth disgraced, the Marquis deTregar offers his name, and you think of consulting "The poor woman was shaking her head.
I am not the mistress, my son, she murmured; "and your father - "My father! interrupted the young man, - "my father! What rightscan he have over us hereafter?" And without further discussion,without awaiting an answer, he took his sister's hand, and,placing it in M. de Tregar's hand,"Ah! take her, sir," he uttered. "Never, whatever she may do, willshe acquit the debt of eternal gratitude which we this day contracttowards you."A tremor that shook their frames, a long look which they exchanged,betrayed alone the feelings of Marius and Mlle. Gilberte. They hadof life a too cruel experience not to mistrust their joy.
Returning to Mme. Favoral,"You do not understand, madame," he went on, "why I should haveselected for such a step the very moment when an irreparable calamitybefalls you. One word will explain all. Being in a position toserve you, I wished to acquire the right of doing so."Fixing upon him a look in which the gloomiest despair could be read,"Alas!" stammered the poor woman, "what can you do for me, sir? Mylife is ended. I have but one wish left, - that of knowing wheremy husband is hid. It is not for me to judge him. He has not givenme the happiness which I had, perhaps, the right to expect; but heis my husband, he is unhappy: my duty is to join him wherever he maybe, and to share his sufferings."She was interrupted by the servant, who was calling her at theparlor-door, "Madame, madame!""What is the matter?" inquired Maxence.
"I must speak to madame at once. Making an effort to rise and walk, Mme. Favoral went out. She wasgone but a minute; and, when she returned, her agitation had furtherincreased. It is the hand of Providence, perhaps,"" she said. Theothers were all looking at her anxiously. She took a seat, and,addressing herself more especially to M. de Tregars,""This is what happens,"" she said in a feeble voice. ""M. Favoralwas in the habit of always changing his coat as soon as he came home.
"As usual, he did so last evening. When they came to arrest him, heforgot to change again, and went off with the coat he had on. Theother remained hanging in the room, where the girl took it just nowto brush it, and put it away; and this portfolio, which my husbandalways carries with him, fell from its pocket."It was an old Russia leather portfolio, which had once been red, butwhich time and use had turned black. It was full of papers.
Perhaps, indeed, exclaimed Maxence, "we may find some informationthere."He opened it, and had already taken out three-fourths of its contentswithout finding any thing of any consequence, when suddenly heuttered an exclamation. He had just opened an anonymous note,evidently written in a disguised hand, and at one glance had read,"I cannot understand your negligence. You should get through thatVan Klopen matter. There is the danger.""What is that note?" inquired M. de Tregars.
Maxence handed it to him.
See! said he, "but you will not understand the immense interestit has for me."But having read it,"You are mistaken," said Marius. "I understand perfectly; and I'llprove it to you."The next moment, Maxence took out of the portfolio, and read aloud,the following bill, dated two days before.
Sold to - - two leather trunks with safety locks at 220 francs each;say, francs 440.M.de Tregars started.
At last, he said, "here is doubtless one end of the thread whichwill guide us to the truth through this labyrinth of iniquities."And, tapping gently on Maxence's shoulders,"We must talk," he said, "and at length. To-morrow, before you goto M. de Thaller's with his fifteen thousand francs, call and seeme: I shall expect you. We are now engaged upon a common work; andsomething tells me, that, before long, we shall know what has becomeof the Mutual Credit's millions."
The End