That valiant man, that old soldier, was timid; and he would have felt much more at ease under the fire of a battery than in that humble parlor in the Rue St. Gilles, under the uneasy glance of Maxence 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 in advance; but though he kept coughing: hum! broum! though he kept running his finger around his shirt-collar to facilitate his delivery, 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 this encouragement, he advanced towards Mme. Favoral, and, bowing low,
“I see that my presence surprises you, madame,” he began; “and I must confess that–hum!–it does not surprise me less than it does you. 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 Count de 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 explained to you our singular situation, which, as I had the honor of telling you–hum!–is not strictly in accordance with social usage.”
Mlle. Gilberte interrupted him.
“When you came in, general, I was only just beginning to explain the facts to my mother and brother.”
The old soldier made a gesture, and a face which showed plainly that he did not much relish the prospect of a somewhat difficult explanation–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 which he 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, of the best friend I ever had,–of the Marquis de Tregars, in a word, who died of grief a few years ago, after–hum!–some quite inexplicable–broum!–reverses of fortune. Marius could not be dearer to me, if he were my own son. He has lost his parents: I have no relatives; and I have transferred to him all the feelings of affection which still remained at the bottom of my old heart.
“And I can say that never was a man more worthy of affection. I know him. To the most legitimate pride and the most scrupulous integrity, he unites a keen and supple mind, and wit enough to get the better of the toughest rascal. He has no fortune for the reason that–hum!–he gave up all he had to certain pretended creditors of 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, the Count de Villegre stopped short, and, after taking breath for a moment,
“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. de Tregars can have seen your daughter, have known her, and have appreciated her, without your seeing or hearing any thing of it. Nothing is more simple, and, if I may venture to say–hum!–more natural.”
And the worthy old soldier began to explain to Mme. Favoral the meetings in the Place-Royale, his conversations with Marius, intended really for Mlle. Gilberte, and the part he had consented to play in this little comedy. But he became embarrassed in his sentences, he multiplied his hum! and his broum! in the most alarming manner; and his explanations explained nothing.
Mlle. Gilberte took pity on him; and, kindly interrupting him, she herself told her story, and that of Marius.
She told the pledge they had exchanged, how they had seen each other twice, and how they constantly heard of each other through the very innocent and very unconscious Signor Gismondo Pulei.
Maxence and Mme. Favoral were dumbfounded. They would have absolutely refused to believe such a story, had it not been told by Mlle. Gilberte herself.
“Ah, my dear sister!” thought Maxence, “who could have suspected such a thing, seeing you always so calm and so meek!”
“Is it possible,” Mme. Favoral was saying to herself; “that I can have been so blind and so deaf?”
As to the Count de Villegre, he would have tried in vain to express the gratitude he felt towards Mlle. Gilberte for having spared him these difficult explanations.
“I could not have done half as well myself, by the eternal!” he thought, 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 understand that the irreparable disaster that strikes you has removed the only 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, Marquis de Tregars.”
A profound silence followed this speech. But this silence the Count de Villegre doubtless interpreted in his own favor; for, stepping to the parlor-door, he opened it, and called, “Marius!”
Marius de Tregars had foreseen all that had just taken place, and had so informed the Count de Villegre in advance.
Being given Mme. Favoral’s disposition, he knew what could be expected of her; and he had his own reasons to fear nothing from Maxence. And, if he mistrusted somewhat the diplomatic talents of his ambassador, he relied absolutely upon Mlle. Gilberte’s energy.
And so confident was he of the correctness of his calculations, that he had insisted upon accompanying his old friend, so as to be on hand at the critical moment.
When the servant had opened the door to them, he had ordered her to introduce M. de Villegre, stating that he would himself wait in the dining-room. This arrangement had not seemed entirely natural to the girl; but so many strange things had happened in the house for the past twenty-four hours, that she was prepared for any thing.
Besides recognizing Marius as the gentleman who had had a violent altercation in the morning with M. Costeclar, she did as he requested, and, leaving him alone in the dining-room, went to attend to her duties.
He had taken a seat, impassive in appearance, but in reality agitated by that internal trepidation of which the strongest men cannot free themselves in the decisive moments of their life.
To a certain extent, the prospects of his whole life were to be decided on the other side of that door which had just closed behind the Count de Villegre. To the success of his love, other interests were 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 and self-possession, he walked in.
Maxence had risen to receive him; but, when he saw him, he stepped back, 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. Quite self-possessed, notwithstanding his emotion, he cast a rapid glance over the Count de Villegre, Mme. Favoral and Mlle. Gilberte. At their attitude, and at the expression of their countenance, he easily guessed the point to which things had come.
And, advancing towards Mme. Favoral, he bowed with an amount of respect which was certainly not put on.
“You have heard the Count de Villegre, madame,” he said in a slightly altered tone of voice. “I am awaiting my fate.”
The poor woman had never before in all her life been so fearfully perplexed. All these events, which succeeded each other so rapidly, had broken the feeble springs of her soul. She was utterly incapable of collecting her thoughts, or of taking a determination.
“At this moment, sir,” she stammered, taken unawares, “it would be impossible 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 our position have no friends. What! when we are perishing, a man of heart holds out his hand to us, and you ask to reflect? To my sister, who bears a name henceforth disgraced, the Marquis de Tregars 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 rights can 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 Tregars’ hand,
“Ah! take her, sir,” he uttered. “Never, whatever she may do, will she acquit the debt of eternal gratitude which we this day contract towards you.”
A tremor that shook their frames, a long look which they exchanged, betrayed alone the feelings of Marius and Mlle. Gilberte. They had of 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 have selected for such a step the very moment when an irreparable calamity befalls you. One word will explain all. Being in a position to serve 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? My life is ended. I have but one wish left,–that of knowing where my husband is hid. It is not for me to judge him. He has not given me the happiness which I had, perhaps, the right to expect; but he is my husband, he is unhappy: my duty is to join him wherever he may be, and to share his sufferings.”
She was interrupted by the servant, who was calling her at the parlor-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 was gone but a minute; and, when she returned, her agitation had further increased. “It is the hand of Providence, perhaps,” she said. The others 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. Favoral was 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, he forgot to change again, and went off with the coat he had on. The other remained hanging in the room, where the girl took it just now to brush it, and put it away; and this portfolio, which my husband always carries with him, fell from its pocket.”
It was an old Russia leather portfolio, which had once been red, but which time and use had turned black. It was full of papers.
“Perhaps, indeed,” exclaimed Maxence, “we may find some information there.”
He opened it, and had already taken out three-fourths of its contents without finding any thing of any consequence, when suddenly he uttered 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 that Van 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 interest it has for me.”
But having read it,
“You are mistaken,” said Marius. “I understand perfectly; and I’ll prove 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 which will 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 go to M. de Thaller’s with his fifteen thousand francs, call and see me: I shall expect you. We are now engaged upon a common work; and something tells me, that, before long, we shall know what has become of the Mutual Credit’s millions.”
PART II.
FISHING IN TROUBLED WATERS.
I
“When I think,” said Coleridge, “that every morning, in Paris alone, thirty thousand fellows wake up, and rise with the fixed and settled idea of appropriating other people’s money, it is with renewed wonder that every night, when I go home, I find my purse still in my pocket.”
And yet it is not those who simply aim to steal your portemonnaie who are either the most dishonest or the most formidable.
To stand at the corner of some dark street, and rush upon the first man that comes along, demanding, “Your money or your life,” is but a poor business, devoid of all prestige, and long since given up to chivalrous natures.
A man must be something worse than a simpleton to still ply his trade on the high-roads, exposed to all sorts of annoyances on the part of the gendarmes, when manufacturing and financial enterprises offer such a magnificently fertile field to the activity of imaginative people.
And, in order to thoroughly understand the mode of proceeding in this particular field, it is sufficient to open from time to time a copy of “The Police Gazette,” and to read some trial, like that, for instance, of one Lefurteux, ex-president of the Company for the Drainage and Improvement of the Orne Swamps.
This took place less than a month ago in one of the police-courts.
The Judge to the Accused–Your profession?
M. Lefurteux–President of the company.
Question–Before that what were you doing?
Answer–I speculated at the bourse.
Q–You had no means?
A–I beg your pardon: I was making money.
Q–And it was under such circumstances that you had the audacity to organize a company with a capital stock of three million of francs, divided in shares of five hundred francs?
A–Having discovered an idea, I did not suppose that I was forbidden to work it up.
Q–What do you call an idea?
A–The idea of draining swamps, and making them productive.
Q–What swamps? Yours never had any existence, except in your prospectus.
A–I expected to buy them as soon as my capital was paid in.
Q–And in the mean time you promised ten per cent to your stockholders.
A–That’s the least that draining operations ever pay.
Q–You have advertised?
A–Of course.
Q–To what extent?
A–To the extent of about sixty thousand francs.
Q–Where did you get the money?
A–I commenced with ten thousand francs, which a friend of mine had lent me; then I used the funds as they came in.
Q–In other words, you made use of the money of your first dupes to attract others?
A–Many people thought it was a good thing.
Q–Who? Those to whom you sent your prospectus with a plan of your pretended swamps?
A–Excuse me. Others too.
Q–How much money did you ever receive?
A–About six hundred thousand francs, as the expert has stated.
Q–And you have spent the whole of the money?
A–Permit me? I have never applied to my personal wants anything beyond the salary which was allowed me by the By-laws.
Q–How is it, then, that, when you were arrested, there were only twelve hundred and fifty francs found in your safe, and that amount had been sent you through the post-office that very morning? What has become of the rest?
A–The rest has been spent for the good of the company.
Q–Of course! You had a carriage?
A–It was allowed to me by Article 27 of the By-laws.
Q–For the good of the company too, I suppose.
A–Certainly. I was compelled to make a certain display. The head of an important company must endeavor to inspire confidence.
The Judge, with an Ironical Look–Was it also to inspire confidence that you had a mistress, for whom you spent considerable sums of money?
The Accused, in a Tone of Perfect Candor–Yes, sir.
After a pause of a few moments, the judge resumes,
Q–Your offices were magnificent. They must have cost you a great deal to furnish.
A–On the contrary, sir, almost nothing. The furniture was all hired. You can examine the upholsterer.
The upholsterer is sent for, and in answer to the judge’s questions,
“What M. Lefurteux has stated,” he says, “is true. My specialty is to hire office-fixtures for financial and other companies. I furnish every thing, from the book-keepers’ desks to the furniture for the president’s private room: from the iron safe to the servant’s livery. In twenty-four hours, every thing is ready, and the subscribers can come. As soon as a company is organized, like the one in question, the officers call on me, and, according to the magnitude of the capital required, I furnish a more or less costly establishment. I have a good deal of experience, and I know just what’s wanted. When M. Lefurteux came to see me, I gauged his operation at a glance. Three millions of capital, swamps in the Orne, shares of five hundred francs, small subscribers, anxious and noisy.
“‘Very well,’ I said to him, ‘it’s a six-months’ job. Don’t go into useless expenses. Take reps for your private office: that’s good enough.'”
The Judge, in a tone of Profound Surprise–You told him that?
The Upholsterer, in the Simple Accent of an Honest Man–Exactly as I am telling your Honor. He followed my advice; and I sent him red hot the furniture and fixtures which had been used by the River Fishery Company, whose president had just been sent to prison for three years.
When, after such revelations, renewed from week to week, with instructive variations, purchasers may still be found for the shares of the Tiffla Mines, the Bretoneche Lands, and the Forests of Formanoid, is it to be wondered that the Mutual Credit Company found numerous subscribers?
It had been admirably started at that propitious hour of the December Coup d’Etat, when the first ideas of mutuality were beginning to penetrate the financial world.
It had lacked neither capital nor powerful patronage at the start, and had been at once admitted to the honor of being quoted at the bourse.
Beginning business ostensibly as an accommodation bank for manufacturers and merchants, the Mutual Credit had had, for a number of years, a well-determined specialty.
But gradually it had enlarged the circle of its operations, altered its by-laws, changed its board of directors; and at the end the original subscribers would have been not a little embarrassed to tell what was the nature of its business, and from what sources it drew its profits.
All they knew was, that it always paid respectable dividends; that their manager, M. de Thaller, was personally very rich; and that they were willing to trust him to steer clear of the code.
There were some, of course, who did not view things in quite so favorable a light; who suggested that the dividends were suspiciously large; that M. de Thaller spent too much money on his house, his wife, his daughter, and his mistress.
One thing is certain, that the shares of the Mutual Credit Society were much above par, and were quoted at 580 francs on that Saturday, when, after the closing of the bourse, the rumor had spread that the cashier, Vincent Favoral, had run off with twelve millions.
“What a haul!” thought, not without a feeling of envy, more than one broker, who, for merely one-twelfth of that amount would have gayly crossed the frontier. It was almost an event in Paris.
Although such adventures are frequent enough, and not taken much notice of, in the present instance, the magnitude of the amount more than made up for the vulgarity of the act.
Favoral was generally pronounced a very smart man; and some persons declared, that to take twelve millions could hardly be called stealing.
The first question asked was,
“Is Thaller in the operation? Was he in collusion with his cashier?”
“That’s the whole question.”
“If he was, then the Mutual Credit is better off than ever: otherwise, it is gone under.”
“Thaller is pretty smart.”
“That Favoral was perhaps more so still.”
This uncertainty kept up the price for about half an hour. But soon the most disastrous news began to spread, brought, no one knew whence or by whom; and there was an irresistible panic.
From 425, at which price it had maintained itself for a time, the Mutual Credit fell suddenly to 300, then 200, and finally to 150 francs.
Some friends of M. de Thaller, M. Costeclar, for instance, had endeavored to keep up the market; but they had soon recognized the futility of their efforts, and then they had bravely commenced doing like the rest.
The next day was Sunday. From the early morning, it was reported, with the most circumstantial details, that the Baron de Thaller had been arrested.
But in the evening this had been contradicted by people who had gone to the races, and who had met there Mme. de Thaller and her daughter, more brilliant than ever, very lively, and very talkative. To the persons who went to speak to them,
“My husband was unable to come,” said the baroness. “He is busy with two of his clerks, looking over that poor Favoral’s accounts. It seems that they are in the most inconceivable confusion. Who would ever have thought such a thing of a man who lived on bread and nuts? But he operated at the bourse; and he had organized, under a false name, a sort of bank, in which he has very foolishly sunk large sums of money.”
And with a smile, as if all danger had been luckily averted,
“Fortunately,” she added, “the damage is not as great as has been reported, and this time, again, we shall get off with a good fright.”
But the speeches of the baroness were hardly sufficient to quiet the anxiety of the people who felt in their coat-pockets the worthless certificates of Mutual Credit stock.
And the next day, Monday, as early as eight o’clock, they began to arrive in crowds to demand of M. de Thaller some sort of an explanation.
They were there, at least a hundred, huddled together in the vestibule, on the stairs, and on the first landing, a prey to the most painful emotion and the most violent excitement; for they had been refused admittance.
To all those who insisted upon going in, a tall servant in livery, standing before the door, replied invariably, “The office is not open, M. de Thaller has not yet come.”
Whereupon they uttered such terrible threats and such loud imprecations, that the frightened concierge had run, and hid himself at the very bottom of his lodge.
No one can imagine to what epileptic contortions the loss of money can drive an assemblage of men, who has not seen a meeting of shareholders on the morrow of a great disaster, with their clinched fists, their convulsed faces, their glaring eyes, and foaming lips.
They felt indignant at what had once been their delight. They laid the blame of their ruin upon the splendor of the house, the sumptuousness of the stairs, the candelabras of the vestibule, the carpets, the chairs, every thing.
“And it is our money too,” they cried, “that has paid for all that!”
Standing upon a bench, a little short man was exciting transports of indignation by describing the magnificence of the Baron de Thaller’s residence, where he had once had some dealings.
He had counted five carriages in the carriage-house, fifteen horses in the stables, and Heaven knows how many servants.
He had never been inside the apartments, but he had visited the kitchen; and he declared that he had been dazzled by the number and brightness of the saucepans, ranged in order of size over the furnace.
Gathered in a group under the vestibule, the most sensible deplored their rash confidence.
“That’s the way,” concluded one, “with all these adventurous affairs.”
“That’s a fact. There’s nothing, after all, like government bonds.”
“Or a first mortgage on good property, with subrogation of the wife’s rights.”
But what exasperated them all was not to be admitted to the presence of M. de Thaller, and to see that servant mounting guard before the door.
“What impudence,” they growled, “to leave us on the stairs!–we who are the masters, after all.”
“Who knows where M. de Thaller may be?”
“He is hiding, of course.”
“No matter: I will see him,” clamored a big fat man, with a brick-colored face, “if I shouldn’t stir from here for a week.”
“You’ll see nothing at all,” giggled his neighbor. “Do you suppose they don’t have back-stairs and private entrances in this infernal shop?”
“Ah! if I believed any thing of the kind,” exclaimed the big man in a voice trembling with passion. “I’d soon break in some of these doors: it isn’t so hard, after all.”
Already he was gazing at the servant with an alarming air, when an old gentleman with a discreet look, stepped up to him, and inquired,
“Excuse me, sir: how many shares have you?”
“Three,” answered the man with the brick-colored face.
The other sighed.
“I have two hundred and fifty,” he said. “That’s why, being at least as interested as yourself in not losing every thing, I beg of you to indulge in no violent proceedings.”
There was no need of further speaking.
The door which the servant was guarding flew open. A clerk appeared, and made sign that he wished to speak.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “M. de Thaller has just come; but he is just now engaged with the examining judge.”
Shouts having drowned his voice, he withdrew precipitately.
“If the law gets its finger in,” murmured the discreet gentleman, “good-by!”
“That’s a fact,” said another. “But we will have the precious advantage of hearing that dear baron condemned to one year’s imprisonment, and a fine of fifty francs. That’s the regular rate. He wouldn’t get off so cheap, if he had stolen a loaf of bread from a baker.”
“Do you believe that story about the judge?” interrupted rudely the big man.
They had to believe it, when they saw him appear, followed by a commissary of police and a porter, carrying on his back a load of books and papers. They stood aside to let them pass; but there was no time to make any comments, as another clerk appeared immediately who said,
“M. de Thaller is at your command, gentlemen. Please walk in.”
There was then a terrible jamming and pushing to see who would get first into the directors’ room, which stood wide open.
M. de Thaller was standing against the mantel-piece, neither paler nor more excited than usual, but like a man who feels sure of himself and of his means of action. As soon as silence was restored,
“First of all, gentlemen,” he began, “I must tell you that the board of directors is about to meet, and that a general meeting of the stockholders will be called.”
Not a murmur. As at the touch of a magician’s wand, the dispositions of the shareholders seemed to have changed.
“I have nothing new to inform you of,” he went on. “What happened is a misfortune, but not a disaster. The thing to do was to save the company; and I had first thought of calling for funds.”
“Well,” said two or three timid voices, “If it was absolutely necessary–“
“But there is no need of it.”
“Ah, ah!”
“And I can manage to carry every thing through by adding to our reserve fund my own personal fortune.”
This time the hurrahs and the bravos drowned the voice.
M. de Thaller received them like a man who deserves them, and, more slowly,
“Honor commanded it,” he continued. “I confess it, gentlemen, the wretch who has so basely deceived us had my entire confidence. You will understand my apparent blindness when you know with what infernal skill he managed.”
Loud imprecations burst on all sides against Vincent Favoral. But the president of the Mutual Credit proceeded,
“For the present, all I have to ask of you is to keep cool, and continue to give me your confidence.”
“Yes, yes!”
“The panic of night before last was but a stock-gambling manoeuvre, organized by rival establishments, who were in hopes of taking our clients away from us. They will be disappointed, gentlemen. We will triumphantly demonstrate our soundness; and we shall come out of this trial more powerful than ever.”
It was all over. M. de Thaller understood his business. They offered him a vote of thanks. A smile was beaming upon the same faces that were a moment before contracted with rage.
One stockholder alone did not seem to share the general enthusiasm: he was no other than our old friend, M. Chapelain, the ex-lawyer.
“That fellow, Thaller, is just capable of getting himself out of the scrape,” he grumbled. “I must tell Maxence.”
II
We have every species of courage in France, and to a superior degree, except that of braving public opinion. Few men would have dared, like Marius de Tregars, to offer their name to the daughter of a wretch charged with embezzlement and forgery, and that at the very moment when the scandal of the crime was at its height. But, when Marius judged a thing good and just, he did it without troubling himself in the least about what others would think. And so his mere presence in the Rue. St. Gilles had brought back hope to its inmates. Of his designs he had said but a word,–“I have the means of helping you: I mean, by marrying Gilberte, to acquire the right of doing so.”
But that word had been enough. Mme. Favoral and Maxence had understood that the man who spoke thus was one of those cool and resolute men whom nothing disconcerts or discourages, and who knows how to make the best of the most perilous situations.
And, when he had retired with the Count de Villegre,
“I don’t know what he will do,” said Mlle. Gilberte to her mother and her brother: “but he will certainly do something; and, if it is humanly possible to succeed, he will succeed.”
And how proudly she spoke thus! The assistance of Marius was the justification of her conduct. She trembled with joy at the thought that it would, perhaps, be to the man whom she had alone and boldly selected, that her family would owe their salvation. Shaking his head, and making allusion to events of which he kept the secret,
“I really believe,” approved Maxence, “that, to reach the enemies of our father, M. de Tregars possesses some powerful means; and what they are we will doubtless soon know, since I have an appointment with him for to-morrow morning.”
It came at last, that morrow, which he had awaited with an impatience that neither his mother nor his sister could suspect. And towards half-past nine he was ready to go out, when M. Chapelain came in. Still irritated by the scenes he had just witnessed at the Mutual Credit office, the old lawyer had a most lugubrious countenance.
“I bring bad news,” he began. “I have just seen the Baron de Thaller.”
He had said so much the day before about having nothing more to do with it, that Maxence could not repress a gesture of surprise.
“Oh! it isn’t alone that I saw him,” added M. Chapelain, “but together with at least a hundred stockholders of the Mutual Credit.”
“They are going to do something, then?”
“No: they only came near doing something. You should have seen them this morning! They were furious; they threatened to break every thing; they wanted M. de Thaller’s blood. It was terrible. But M. de Thaller condescended to receive them; and they became at once as meek as lambs. It is perfectly simple. What do you suppose stockholders can do, no matter how exasperated they may be, when their manager tells them?
“‘Well, yes, it’s a fact you have been robbed, and your money is in great jeopardy; but if you make any fuss, if you complain thus, all is sure to be lost.’ Of course, the stockholders keep quiet. It is a well-known fact that a business which has to be liquidated through the courts is gone; and swindled stockholders fear the law almost as much as the swindling manager. A single fact will make the situation clearer to you. Less than an hour ago, M. de Thaller’s stockholders, offered him money to make up the loss.”
And, after a moment of silence,
“But this is not all. Justice has interfered; and M. de Thaller spent the morning with an examining-magistrate.”
“Well?”
“Well, I have enough experience to affirm that you must not rely any more upon justice than upon the stockholders. Unless there are proofs so evident that they are not likely to exist, M. de Thaller will not be disturbed.”
“Oh!”
“Why? Because, my dear, in all those big financial operations, justice, as much as possible, remains blind. Not through corruption or any guilty connivance, but through considerations of public interest. If the manager was prosecuted he would be condemned to a few years’ imprisonment; but his stockholders would at the same time be condemned to lose what they have left; so that the victims would be more severely punished than the swindler. And so, powerless, justice does not interfere. And that’s what accounts for the impudence and impunity of all these high-flown rascals who go about with their heads high, their pockets filled with other people’s money, and half a dozen decorations at their button-hole.”
“And what then?” asked Maxence.
“Then it is evident that your father is lost. Whether or not he did have accomplices, he will be alone sacrificed. A scapegoat is needed to be slaughtered on the altar of credit. Well, they will give that much satisfaction to the swindled stockholders. The twelve millions will be lost; but the shares of the Mutual Credit will go up, and public morality will be safe.”
Somewhat moved by the old lawyer’s tone,
“What do you advise me to do, then?” inquired Maxence.
“The very reverse of what, on the first impulse, I advised you to do. That’s why I have come. I told you yesterday, ‘Make a row, act, scream. It is impossible that your father be alone guilty; attack M. de Thaller.’ To-day, after mature deliberation, I say, ‘Keep quiet, hide yourself, let the scandal drop.'”
A bitter smile contracted Maxence’s lips.
“It is not very brave advice you are giving me there,” he said.
“It is a friend’s advice,–the advice of a man who knows life better than yourself. Poor young man, you are not aware of the peril of certain struggles. All knaves are in league and sustain each other. To attack one is to attack them all. You have no idea of the occult influences of which a man can dispose who handles millions, and who, in exchange for a favor, has always a bonus to offer, or a good operation to propose. If at least I could see any chance of success! But you have not one. You never can reach M. de Thaller, henceforth backed by his stockholders. You will only succeed in making an enemy whose hostility will weigh upon your whole life.”
“What does it matter?”
M. Chapelain shrugged his shoulders.
“If you were alone,” he went on, “I would say as you do, ‘What does it matter?’ But you are no longer alone: you have your mother and sister to take care of. You must think of food before thinking of vengeance. How much a month do you earn? Two hundred francs! It is not much for three persons. I would never suggest that you should solicit M. de Thaller’s protection; but it would be well, perhaps, to let him know that he has nothing to fear from you. Why shouldn’t you do so when you take his fifteen thousand francs back to him? If, as every thing indicates, he has been your father’s accomplice, he will certainly be touched by the distress of your family, and, if he has any heart left, he will manage to make you find, without appearing to have any thing to do with it, a situation better suited to your wants. I know that such a step must be very painful; but I repeat it, my dear child, you can no longer think of yourself alone; and what one would not do for himself, one does for a mother and a sister.”
Maxence said nothing. Not that he was in any way affected by the worthy old lawyer’s speech; but he was asking himself whether or not he should confide to him the events which in the past twenty-four hours had so suddenly modified the situation. He did not feel authorized to do so.
Marius de Tregars had not bound him to secrecy; but an indiscretion might have fatal consequences. And, after a moment of thought,
“I am obliged to you, sir,” he replied evasively, “for the interest you have manifested in our welfare; and we shall always greatly prize your advice. But for the present you must allow me to leave you with my mother and sister. I have an appointment with–a friend.”
And, without waiting for an answer, he slipped M. de Thaller’s fifteen thousand francs in his pocket, and hurried out. It was not to M. de Tregars that he went first, however, but to the Hotel des Folies.
“Mlle. Lucienne has just come home with a big bundle,” said Mme. Fortin to Maxence, with her pleasantest smile, as soon as she had seen him emerge from the shades of the corridor.
For the past twenty-four hours, the worthy hostess had been watching for her guest, in the hopes of obtaining some information which she might communicate to the neighbors. Without even condescending to answer, a piece of rudeness at which she felt much hurt, he crossed the narrow court of the hotel at a bound, and started up stairs.
Mlle. Lucienne’s room was open. He walked in, and, still out of breath from his rapid ascension,
“I am glad to find you in,” he exclaimed. The young girl was busy, arranging upon her bed a dress of very light colored silk, trimmed with ruches and lace, an overdress to match, and a bonnet of wonderful shape, loaded with the most brilliant feathers and flowers.
“You see what brings me here,” she replied. “I came home to dress. At two o’clock the carriage is coming to take me to the bois, where I am to exhibit this costume, certainly the most ridiculous that Van Klopen has yet made me wear.”
A smile flitted upon Maxence’s lips.
“Who knows,” said he, “if this is not the last time you will have to perform this odious task? Ah, my friend! what events have taken place since I last saw you!”
“Fortunate ones?”
“You will judge for yourself.”
He closed the door carefully, and, returning to Mlle. Lucienne,
“Do you know the Marquis de Tregars?” he asked.
“No more than you do. It was yesterday, at the commissary of police, that I first heard his name.”
“Well, before a month, M. de Tregars will be Mlle. Gilberte Favoral’s husband.”
“Is it possible?” exclaimed Mlle. Lucienne with a look of extreme surprise.
But, instead of answering,
“You told me,” resumed Maxence, “that once, in a day of supreme distress, you had applied to Mme. de Thaller for assistance, whereas you were actually entitled to an indemnity for having been run over and seriously hurt by her carriage.”
“That is true.”
“Whilst you were in the vestibule, waiting for an answer to your letter, which a servant had taken up stairs, M. de Thaller came in; and, when he saw you, he could not repress a gesture of surprise, almost of terror.”
“That is true too.”
“This behavior of M. de Thaller always remained an enigma to you.”
“An inexplicable one.”
“Well, I think that I can explain it to you now.”
“You?”
Lowering his voice; for he knew that at the Hotel des Folies there was always to fear some indiscreet ear.
“Yes, I,” he answered; “and for the reason that yesterday, when M. de Tregars appeared in my mother’s parlor, I could not suppress an exclamation of surprise, for the reason, Lucienne, that, between Marius de Tregars and yourself, there is a resemblance with which it is impossible not to be struck.”
Mlle. Lucienne had become very pale.
“What do you suppose, then?” she asked.
“I believe, my friend, that we are very near penetrating at once the mystery of your birth and the secret of the hatred that has pursued you since the day when you first set your foot in M. de Thaller’s house.”
Admirably self-possessed as Mlle. Lucienne usually was, the quivering of her lips betrayed at this moment the intensity of her emotion.
After more than a minute of profound meditation,
“The commissary of police,” she said, “has never told me his hopes, except in vague terms. He has told me enough, however, to make me think that he has already had suspicions similar to yours.”
“Of course! Would he otherwise have questioned me on the subject of M. de Tregars?”
Mlle. Lucienne shook her head.
“And yet,” she said, “even after your explanation, it is in vain that I seek why and how I can so far disturb M. de Thaller’s security that he wishes to do away with me.”
Maxence made a gesture of superb indifference. “I confess,” he said, “that I don’t see it either. But what matters it? Without being able to explain why, I feel that the Baron de Thaller is the common enemy, yours, mine, my father’s, and M. de Tregars’. And something tells me, that, with M. de Tregars’ help, we shall triumph. You would share my confidence, Lucienne, if you knew him. There is a man! and my sister has made no vulgar choice. If he has told my mother that he has the means of serving her, it is because he certainly has.”
He stopped, and, after a moment of silence, “Perhaps,” he went on, “the commissary of police might readily understand what I only dimly suspect; but, until further orders, we are forbidden to have recourse to him. It is not my own secret that I have just told you; and, if I have confided it to you, it is because I feel that it is a great piece of good fortune for us; and there is no joy for me, that you do not share.”
Mlle. Lucienne wanted to ask many more particulars. But, looking at his watch,
“Half-past ten!” he exclaimed, “and M. de Tregars waiting for me.”
And he started off, repeating once more to the young girl,
“I will see you to-night: until then, good hope and good courage.”
In the court, two ill-looking men were talking with the Fortins. But it happened often to the Fortins to talk with ill-looking men: so he took no notice of them, ran out to the Boulevard, and jumping into a cab,
“Rue Lafitte 70,” he cried to the driver, “I pay the trip,–three francs.”
When Marius de Tregars had finally determined to compel the bold rascals who had swindled his father to disgorge, he had taken in the Rue Lafitte a small, plainly-furnished apartment on the entresol, a fit dwelling for the man of action, the tent in which he takes shelter on the eve of battle; and he had to wait upon him an old family servant, whom he had found out of place, and who had for him that unquestioning and obstinate devotion peculiar to Breton servants.
It was this excellent man who came at the first stroke of the bell to open the door. And, as soon as Maxence had told him his name,
“Ah!” he exclaimed, “my master has been expecting you with a terrible impatience.”
It was so true, that M. de Tregars himself appeared at the same moment, and, leading Maxence into the little room which he used as a study,
“Do you know,” he said whilst shaking him cordially by the hand, “that you are almost an hour behind time?”
Maxence had, among others the detestable fault, sure indication of a weak nature, of being never willing to be in the wrong, and of having always an excuse ready. On this occasion, the excuse was too tempting to allow it to escape; and quick he began telling how he had been detained by M. Chapelain, and how he had heard from the old lawyer what had taken place at the Mutual Credit office.
“I know the scene already,” said M. de Tregars. And, fixing upon Maxence a look of friendly raillery,
“Only,” he added, “I attributed your want of punctuality to another reason, a very pretty one this time, a brunette.”
A purple cloud spread over Maxence’s cheeks.
“What!” he stammered, “you know?”
“I thought you must have been in haste to go and tell a person of your acquaintance why, when you saw me yesterday, you uttered an exclamation of surprise.”
This time Maxence lost all countenance.
“What,” he said, “you know too?”
M. de Tregars smiled.
“I know a great many things, my dear M. Maxence,” he replied; “and yet, as I do not wish to be suspected of witchcraft, I will tell you where all my science comes from. At the time when your house was closed to me, after seeking for a long time some means of hearing from your sister, I discovered at last that she had for her music-teacher an old Italian, the Signor Gismondo Pulei. I applied to him for lessons, and became his pupil. But, in the beginning, he kept looking at me with singular persistence. I inquired the reason; and he told me that he had once had for a neighbor, at the Batignolles, a young working-girl, who resembled me prodigiously. I paid no attention to this circumstance, and had, in fact, completely forgotten it; when, quite lately, Gismondo told me that he had just seen his former neighbor again, and, what’s more, arm in arm with you, and that you both entered together the Hotel des Folies. As he insisted again upon that famous resemblance, I determined to see for myself. I watched, and I stated, _de visa_, that my old Italian was not quite wrong, and that I had, perhaps, just found the weapon I was looking for.”
His eyes staring, and his mouth gaping, Maxence looked like a man fallen from the clouds.
“Ah, you did watch!” he said.
M. de Tregars snapped his fingers with a gesture of indifference.
“It is certain,” he replied, “that, for a month past, I have been doing a singular business. But it is not by remaining on my chair, preaching against the corruption of the age, that I can attain my object. The end justifies the means. Honest men are very silly, I think, to allow the rascals to get the better of them under the sentimental pretext that they cannot condescend to make use of their weapons.”
But an honorable scruple was tormenting Maxence.
“And you think yourself well-informed, sir?” he inquired. “You know Lucienne?”
“Enough to know that she is not what she seems to be, and what almost any other would have been in her place; enough to be certain, that, if she shows herself two or three times a week riding around the lake, it is not for her pleasure; enough, also, to be persuaded, that, despite appearances, she is not your mistress, and that, far from having disturbed your life, and compromised your prospects, she set you back into the right road, at the moment, perhaps, when you were about to branch off into the wrong path.”
Marius de Tregars was assuming fantastic proportions in the mind of Maxence.
“How did you manage,” he stammered, “thus to find out the truth?”
“With time and money, every thing is possible.”
“But you must have had grave reasons to take so much trouble about Lucienne.”
“Very grave ones, indeed.”
“You know that she was basely forsaken when quite a child?”
“Perfectly.”
“And that she was brought up through charity?”
“By some poor gardeners at Louveciennes: yes, I know all that.”
Maxence was trembling with joy. It seemed to him that his most dazzling hopes were about to be realized. Seizing the hands of Marius de Tregars,
“Ah, you know Lucienne’s family!” he exclaimed. But M. de Tregars shook his head.
“I have suspicions,” he answered; “but, up to this time, I have suspicions only, I assure you.”
“But that family does exist; since they have already, at three different times, attempted to get rid of the poor girl.”
“I think as you do; but we must have proofs: and we shall find some. You may rest assured of that.”
Here he was interrupted by the noise of the opening door.
The old servant came in, and advancing to the centre of the room with a mysterious look,
“Madame la Baronne de Thaller,” he said in a low voice.
Marius de Tregars started violently.
“Where?” he asked.
“She is down stairs in her carriage,” replied the servant. “Her footman is here, asking whether monsieur is at home, and whether she can come up.”
“Can she possibly have heard any thing?” murmured M. de Tregars with a deep frown. And, after a moment of reflection,
“So much the more reason to see her,” he added quickly. “Let her come. Request her to do me the honor of coming up stairs.”
This last incident completely upset all Maxence’s ideas. He no longer knew what to imagine.
“Quick,” said M. de Tregars to him: “quick, disappear; and, whatever you may hear, not a word!”
And he pushed him into his bedroom, which was divided from the study by a mere tapestry curtain. It was time; for already in the next room could be heard a great rustling of silk and starched petticoats. Mme. de Thaller appeared.
She was still the same coarsely beautiful woman, who, sixteen years before, had sat at Mme. Favoral’s table. Time had passed without scarcely touching her with the tip of his wing. Her flesh had retained its dazzling whiteness; her hair, of a bluish black, its marvelous opulence; her lips, their carmine hue; her eyes, their lustre. Her figure only had become heavier, her features less delicate; and her neck and throat had lost their undulations, and the purity of their outlines.
But neither the years, nor the millions, nor the intimacy of the most fashionable women, had been able to give her those qualities which cannot be acquired,–grace, distinction, and taste.
If there was a woman accustomed to dress, it was she: a splendid dry-goods store could have been set up with the silks and the velvets, the satins and cashmeres, the muslins, the laces, and all the known tissues, that had passed over her shoulders.
Her elegance was quoted and copied. And yet there was about her always and under all circumstances, an indescribable flavor of the _parvenue_. Her gestures had remained trivial; her voice, common and vulgar.
Throwing herself into an arm-chair, and bursting into a loud laugh,
“Confess, my dear marquis,” she said, “that you are terribly astonished to see me thus drop upon you, without warning, at eleven o’clock in the morning.”
“I feel, above all, terribly flattered,” replied M. de Tregars, smiling.
With a rapid glance she was surveying the little study, the modest furniture, the papers piled on the desk, as if she had hoped that the dwelling would reveal to her something of the master’s ideas and projects.
“I was just coming from Van Klopen’s,” she resumed; “and passing before your house, I took a fancy to come in and stir you up; and here I am.”
M. de Tregars was too much a man of the world, and of the best world, to allow his features to betray the secret of his impressions; and yet, to any one who had known him well, a certain contraction of the eyelids would have revealed a serious annoyance and an intense anxiety.
“How is the baron?” he inquired.
“As sound as an oak,” answered Mme. de Thaller, “notwithstanding all the cares and the troubles, which you can well imagine. By the way, you know what has happened to us?”
“I read in the papers that the cashier of the Mutual Credit had disappeared.”
“And it is but too true. That wretch Favoral has gone off with an enormous amount of money.”
“Twelve millions, I heard.”
“Something like it. A man who had the reputation of a saint too; a puritan. Trust people’s faces after that! I never liked him, I confess. But M. de Thaller had a perfect fancy for him; and, when he had spoken of his Favoral, there was nothing more to say. Any way, he has cleared out, leaving his family without means. A very interesting family, it seems, too,–a wife who is goodness itself, and a charming daughter: at least, so says Costeclar, who is very much in love with her.”
M. de Tregars’ countenance remained perfectly indifferent, like that of a man who is hearing about persons and things in which he does not take the slightest interest.
Mme. de Thaller noticed this.
“But it isn’t to tell you all this,” she went on, “that I came up. It is an interested motive brought me. We have, some of my friends and myself, organized a lottery–a work of charity, my dear marquis, and quite patriotic–for the benefit of the Alsatians, I have lots of tickets to dispose of; and I’ve thought of you to help me out.”
More smiling than ever,
“I am at your orders, madame,” answered Marius, “but, in mercy, spare me.”
She took out some tickets from a small shell pocket-book.
“Twenty, at ten francs,” she said. “It isn’t too much, is it?”
“It is a great deal for my modest resources.”
She pocketed the ten napoleons which he handed her, and, in a tone of ironical compassion,
“Are you so very poor, then?” she asked.
“Why, I am neither banker nor broker, you know.”
She had risen, and was smoothing the folds of her dress.
“Well, my dear marquis,” she resumed, “it is certainly not me who will pity you. When a man of your age, and with your name, remains poor, it is his own fault. Are there no rich heiresses?”
“I confess that I haven’t tried to find one yet.” She looked at him straight in the eyes, and then suddenly bursting out laughing,
“Look around you,” she said, “and I am sure you’ll not be long discovering a beautiful young girl, very blonde, who would be delighted to become Marquise de Tregars, and who would bring in her apron a dowry of twelve or fifteen hundred thousand francs in good securities,–securities which the Favorals can’t carry off. Think well, and then come to see us. You know that M. de Thaller is very fond of you; and, after all the trouble we have been having, you owe us a visit.”
Whereupon she went out, M. de Tregars going down to escort her to her carriage. But as he came up,
“Attention!” he cried to Maxence; “for it’s very evident that the Thallers have wind of something.”
III
It was a revelation, that visit of Mme. de Thaller’s; and there was no need of very much perspicacity to guess her anxiety beneath her bursts of laughter, and to understand that it was a bargain she had come to propose. It was evident, therefore, that Marius de Tregars held within his hands the principal threads of that complicated intrigue which had just culminated in that robbery of twelve millions. But would he be able to make use of them? What were his designs, and his means of action? That is what Maxence could not in any way conjecture.
He had no time to ask questions.
“Come,” said M. Tregars, whose agitation was manifest,–“come, let us breakfast: we have not a moment to lose.”
And, whilst his servant was bringing in his modest meal,
“I am expecting M. d’Escajoul,” he said. “Show him in as soon as he comes.”
Retired as he had lived from the financial world, Maxence had yet heard the name of Octave d’Escajoul.
Who has not seen him, happy and smiling, his eye bright, and his lip ruddy, notwithstanding his fifty years, walking on the sunny side of the Boulevard, with his royal blue jacket and his eternal white vest? He is passionately fond of everything that tends to make life pleasant and easy; dines at Bignon’s, or the Cafe Anglais; plays baccarat at the club with extraordinary luck; has the most comfortable apartment and the most elegant coupe in all Paris. With all this, he is pleased to declare that he is the happiest of men, and is certainly one of the most popular; for he cannot walk three blocks on the Boulevard without lifting his hat at least fifty times, and shaking hands twice as often.
And when any one asks, “What does he do?” the invariable answer is, “Why he operates.”
To explain what sort of operations, would not be, perhaps, very easy. In the world of rogues, there are some rogues more formidable and more skillful than the rest, who always manage to escape the hand of the law. They are not such fools as to operate in person,–not they! They content themselves with watching their friends and comrades. If a good haul is made, at once they appear and claim their share. And, as they always threaten to inform, there is no help for it but to let them pocket the clearest of the profit.
Well, in a more elevated sphere, in the world of speculation, it is precisely that lucrative and honorable industry which M. d’Escajoul carries on. Thoroughly master of his ground, possessing a superior scent and an imperturbable patience, always awake, and continually on the watch, he never operates unless he is sure to win.
And the day when the manager of some company has violated his charter or stretched the law a little too far, he may be sure to see M. d’Escajoul appear, and ask for some little–advantages, and proffer, in exchange, the most thorough discretion, and even his kind offices.
Two or three of his friends have heard him say,
“Who would dare to blame me? It’s very moral, what I am doing.”
Such is the man who came in, smiling, just as Maxence and Marius de Tregars had sat down at the table. M. de Tregars rose to receive him.
“You will breakfast with us?” he said.
“Thank you,” answered M. d’Escajoul. “I breakfasted precisely at eleven, as usual. Punctuality is a politeness which a man owes to his stomach. But I will accept with pleasure a drop of that old Cognac which you offered me the other evening.”
He took a seat; and the valet brought him a glass, which he set on the edge of the table. Then,
“I have just seen our man,” he said.
Maxence understood that he was referring to M. de Thaller.
“Well?” inquired M. de Tregars.
“Impossible to get any thing out of him. I turned him over and over, every way. Nothing!”
“Indeed!”
“It’s so; and you know if I understand the business. But what can you say to a man who answers you all the time, ‘The matter is in the hands of the law; experts have been named; I have nothing to fear from the most minute investigations’?”
By the look which Marius de Tregars kept riveted upon M. d’Escajoul, it was easy to see that his confidence in him was not without limits. He felt it, and, with an air of injured innocence,
“Do you suspect me, by chance,” he said, “to have allowed myself to be hoodwinked by Thaller?”
And as M. de Tregars said nothing, which was the most eloquent of answers,
“Upon my word,” he insisted, “you are wrong to doubt me. Was it you who came after me? No. It was I, who, hearing through Marcolet the history of your fortune, came to tell you, ‘Do you want to know a way of swamping Thaller?’ And the reasons I had to wish that Thaller might be swamped: I have them still. He trifled with me, he ‘sold’ me, and he must suffer for it; for, if it came to be known that I could be taken in with impunity, it would be all over with my credit.”
After a moment of silence,
“Do you believe, then,” asked M. de Tregars, “that M. de Thaller is innocent?”
“Perhaps.”
“That would be curious.”
“Or else his measures are so well taken that he has absolutely nothing to fear. If Favoral takes everything upon himself, what can they say to the other? If they have acted in collusion, the thing has been prepared for a long time; and, before commencing to fish, they must have troubled the water so well, that justice will be unable to see anything in it.”
“And you see no one who could help us?”
“Favoral–“
To Maxence’s great surprise, M. de Tregars shrugged his shoulders.
“That one is gone,” he said; “and, were he at hand, it is quite evident that if he was in collusion with M. de Thaller, he would not speak.”
“Of course.”
“That being the case, what can we do?”
“Wait.”
M. de Tregars made a gesture of discouragement.
“I might as well give up the fight, then,” he said, “and try to compromise.”
“Why so? We don’t know what may happen. Keep quiet, be patient; I am here, and I am looking out for squalls.”
He got up and prepared to leave.
“You have more experience than I have,” said M. de Tregars; “and, since that’s your opinion—-“
M. d’Escajoul had resumed all his good humor.
“Very well, then, it’s understood,” he said, pressing M. de Tregars’ hand. “I am watching for both of us; and if I see a chance, I come at once, and you act.”
But the outer door had hardly closed, when suddenly the countenance of Marius de Tregars changed. Shaking the hand which M. d’Escajoul had just touched,–“Pouah!” he said with a look of thorough disgust,–“pouah!”
And noticing Maxence’s look of utter surprise,
“Don’t you understand,” he said, “that this old rascal has been sent to me by Thaller to feel my intentions, and mislead me by false information? I had scented him, fortunately; and, if either one of us is dupe of the other, I have every reason to believe that it will not be me.”
They had finished their breakfast. M. de Tregars called his servant.
“Have you been for a carriage?” he asked.
“It is at the door, sir.”
“Well, then, come along.”
Maxence had the good sense not to over-estimate himself. Perfectly convinced that he could accomplish nothing alone, he was firmly resolved to trust blindly to Marius de Tregars.
He followed him, therefore; and it was only after the carriage had started, that he ventured to ask,
“Where are we going?”
“Didn’t you hear me,” replied M. de Tregars, “order the driver to take us to the court-house?”
“I beg your pardon; but what I wish to know is, what we are going to do there?”
“You are going, my dear friend, to ask an audience of the judge who has your father’s case in charge, and deposit into his hands the fifteen thousand francs you have in your pocket.”
“What! You wish me to–“
“I think it better to place that money into the hands of justice, which will appreciate the step, than into those of M. de Thaller, who would not breathe a word about it. We are in a position where nothing should be neglected; and that money may prove an indication.”
But they had arrived. M. de Tregars guided Maxence through the labyrinth of corridors of the building, until he came to a long gallery, at the entrance of which an usher was seated reading a newspaper.
“M. Barban d’Avranchel?” inquired M. de Tregars.
“He is in his office,” replied the usher.
“Please ask him if he would receive an important deposition in the Favoral case.”
The usher rose somewhat reluctantly, and, while he was gone,
“You will go in alone,” said M. de Tregars to Maxence. “I shall not appear; and it is important that my name should not even be pronounced. But, above all, try and remember even the most insignificant words of the judge; for, upon what he tells you, I shall regulate my conduct.”
The usher returned.
“M. d’Avranchel will receive you,” he said. And, leading Maxence to the extremity of the gallery, he opened a small door, and pushed him in, saying at the same time,
“That is it, sir: walk in.”
It was a small room, with a low ceiling, and poorly furnished. The faded curtains and threadbare carpet showed plainly that more than one judge had occupied it, and that legions of accused criminals had passed through it. In front of a table, two men–one old, the judge; the other young, the clerk–were signing and classifying papers. These papers related to the Favoral case, and were all indorsed in large letters: Mutual Credit Company.
As soon as Maxence appeared, the judge rose, and, after measuring him with a clear and cold look:
“Who are you?” he interrogated.
In a somewhat husky voice, Maxence stated his name and surname.
“Ah! you are Vincent Favoral’s son,” interrupted the judge. “And it was you who helped him escape through the window? I was going to send you a summons this very day; but, since you are here, so much the better. You have something important to communicate, I have been told.”
Very few people, even among the most strictly honest, can overcome a certain unpleasant feeling when, having crossed the threshold of the palace of justice, they find themselves in presence of a judge. More than almost any one else, Maxence was likely to be accessible to that vague and inexplicable feeling; and it was with an effort that he answered,
“On Saturday evening, the Baron de Thaller called at our house a few minutes before the commissary. After loading my father with reproaches, he invited him to leave the country; and, in order to facilitate his flight, he handed him these fifteen thousand francs. My father declined to accept them; and, at the moment of parting, he recommended to me particularly to return them to M. de Thaller. I thought it best to return them to you, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because I wished the fact known to you of the money having been offered and refused.”
M. Barban d’Avranchel was quietly stroking his whiskers, once of a bright red, but now almost entirely white.
“Is this an insinuation against the manager of the Mutual Credit?” he asked.
Maxence looked straight at him; and, in a tone which affirmed precisely the reverse,
“I accuse no one,” he said.
“I must tell you,” resumed the judge, “that M. de Thaller has himself informed me of this circumstance. When he called at your house, he was ignorant, as yet, of the extent of the embezzlements, and was in hopes of being able to hush up the affair. That’s why he wished his cashier to start for Belgium. This system of helping criminals to escape the just punishment of their crimes is to be bitterly deplored; but it is quite the habit of your financial magnates, who prefer sending some poor devil of an employe to hang himself abroad than run the risk of compromising their credit by confessing that they have been robbed.”
Maxence might have had a great deal to say; but M. de Tregars had recommended him the most extreme reserve. He remained silent.
“On the other hand,” resumed the judge, “the refusal to accept the money so generously offered does not speak in favor of Vincent Favoral. He was well aware, when he left, that it would require a great deal of money to reach the frontier, escape pursuit, and hide himself abroad; and, if he refused the fifteen thousand francs, it must have been because he was well provided for already.”
Tears of shame and rage started from Maxence’s eyes. “I am certain, sir,” he exclaimed, “that my father went off without a sou.”
“What has become of the millions, then?” he asked coldly.
Maxence hesitated. Why not mention his suspicions? He dared not.
“My father speculated at the bourse,” he stammered. “And he led a scandalous conduct, keeping up, away from home, a style of living which must have absorbed immense sums.”
“We knew nothing of it, sir; and our first suspicions were aroused by what the commissary of police told us.”
The judge insisted no more; and in a tone which indicated that his question was a mere matter of form, and he attached but little importance to the answer,
“You have no news from your father?” he asked.
“None whatever.”
“And you have no idea where he has gone?”
“None in the least.”
M. d’Avranchel had already resumed his seat at the table, and was again busy with his papers.
“You may retire,” he said. “You will be notified if I need you.”
Maxence felt much discouraged when he joined M. de Tregars at the entrance of the gallery.
“The judge is convinced of M. de Thaller’s entire innocence,” he said.
But as soon as he had narrated, with a fidelity that did honor to his memory, all that had just occurred,
“Nothing is lost yet,” declared M. de Tregars. And, taking from his pocket the bill for two trunks, which had been found in M. Favoral’s portfolio,
“There,” he said, “we shall know our fate.”
IV
M. de Tregars and Maxence were in luck. They had a good driver and a fair horse; and in twenty minutes they were at the trunk store. As soon as the cab stopped,
“Well,” exclaimed M. de Tregars, “I suppose it has to be done.”
And, with the look of a man who has made up his mind to do something which is extremely repugnant to him, he jumped out, and, followed by Maxence, entered the shop.
It was a modest establishment; and the people who kept it, husband and wife, seeing two customers coming in, rushed to meet them, with that welcoming smile which blossoms upon the lips of every Parisian shopkeeper.
“What will you have, gentlemen?”
And, with wonderful volubility, they went on enumerating every article which they had for sale in their shop,–from the “indispensable-necessary,” containing seventy-seven pieces of solid silver, and costing four thousand francs, down to the humblest carpet-bag at thirty-nine cents.
But Marius de Tregars interrupted them as soon as he could get an opportunity, and, showing them their bill,
“It was here, wasn’t it,” he inquired, “that the two trunks were bought which are charged in this bill?”
“Yes, sir,” answered simultaneously both husband and wife.
“When were they delivered?”
“Our porter went to deliver them, less than two hours after they were bought.”
“Where?”
By this time the shopkeepers were beginning to exchange uneasy looks.
“Why do you ask?” inquired the woman in a tone which indicated that she had the settled intention not to answer, unless for good and valid reason.
To obtain the simplest information is not always as easy as might be supposed. The suspicion of the Parisian tradesman is easily aroused; and, as his head is stuffed with stories of spies and robbers, as soon as he is questioned he becomes as dumb as an oyster.
But M. de Tregars had foreseen the difficulty:
“I beg you to believe, madame,” he went on, “that my questions are not dictated by an idle curiosity. Here are the facts. A relative of ours, a man of a certain age, of whom we are very fond, and whose head is a little weak, left his home some forty-eight hours since. We are looking for him, and we are in hopes, if we find these trunks, to find him at the same time.”
With furtive glances, the husband and wife were tacitly consulting each other.
“The fact is,” they said, “we wouldn’t like, under any consideration, to commit an indiscretion which might result to the prejudice of a customer.”
“Fear nothing,” said M. de Tregars with a reassuring gesture. “If we have not had recourse to the police, it’s because, you know, it isn’t pleasant to have the police interfere in one’s affairs. If you have any objections to answer me, however, I must, of course, apply to the commissary.”
The argument proved decisive.
“If that’s the case,” replied the woman, “I am ready to tell all I know.”
“Well, then, madame, what do you know?”
“These two trunks were bought on Friday afternoon last, by a man of a certain age, tall, very thin, with a stern countenance, and wearing a long frock coat.”
“No more doubt,” murmured Maxence. “It was he.”
“And now,” the woman went on, “that you have just told me that your relative was a little weak in the head, I remember that this gentleman had a strange sort of way about him, and that he kept walking about the store as if he had fleas on his legs. And awful particular he was too! Nothing was handsome enough and strong enough for him; and he was anxious about the safety-locks, as he had, he said, many objects of value, papers, and securities, to put away.”
“And where did he tell you to send the two trunks?”
“Rue du Cirque, to Mme.–wait a minute, I have the name at the end of my tongue.”
“You must have it on your books, too,” remarked M. de Tregars.
The husband was already looking over his blotter.
“April 26, 1872,” he said. “26, here it is: ‘Two leather trunks, patent safety-locks: Mme. Zelie Cadelle, 49 Rue du Cirque.'”
Without too much affectation, M. de Tregars had drawn near to the shopkeeper, and was looking over his shoulder.
“What is that,” he asked, “written there, below the address?”
“That, sir, is the direction left by the customer ‘Mark on each end of the trunks, in large letters, “Rio de Janeiro.”‘”
Maxence could not suppress an exclamation. “Oh!”
But the tradesman mistook him; and, seizing this magnificent opportunity to display his knowledge,
“Rio de Janeiro is the capital of Brazil,” he said in a tone of importance. “And your relative evidently intended to go there; and, if he has not changed his mind, I doubt whether you can overtake him; for the Brazilian steamer was to have sailed yesterday from Havre.”
Whatever may have been his intentions, M. de Tregars remained perfectly calm.
“If that’s the case,” he said to the shopkeepers, “I think I had better give up the chase. I am much obliged to you, however, for your information.”
But, once out again,
“Do you really believe,” inquired Maxence, “that my father has left France?”
M. de Tregars shook his head.
“I will give you my opinion,” he uttered, “after I have investigated matters in the Rue du Cirque.”
They drove there in a few minutes; and, the cab having stopped at the entrance of the street, they walked on foot in front of No. 49. It was a small cottage, only one story in height, built between a sanded court-yard and a garden, whose tall trees showed above the roof. At the windows could be seen curtains of light-colored silk, –a sure indication of the presence of a young and pretty woman.
For a few minutes Marius de Tregars remained in observation; but, as nothing stirred,
“We must find out something, somehow,” he exclaimed impatiently.
And noticing a large grocery store bearing No. 62, he directed his steps towards it, still accompanied by Maxence.
It was the hour of the day when customers are rare. Standing in the centre of the shop, the grocer, a big fat man with an air of importance, was overseeing his men, who were busy putting things in order.
M. de Tregars took him aside, and with an accent of mystery,
“I am,” he said, “a clerk with M. Drayton, the jeweler in the Rue de la Paix; and I come to ask you one of those little favors which tradespeople owe to each other.”
A frown appeared on the fat man’s countenance. He thought, perhaps, that M. Drayton’s clerks were rather too stylish-looking; or else, perhaps, he felt apprehensive of one of those numerous petty swindles of which shopkeepers are constantly the victims.
“What is it?” said he. “Speak!”
“I am on my way,” spoke M. de Tregars, “to deliver a ring which a lady purchased of us yesterday. She is not a regular customer, and has given us no references. If she doesn’t pay, shall I leave the ring? My employer told me, ‘Consult some prominent tradesman of the neighborhood, and follow his advice.'”
Prominent tradesman! Delicately tickled vanity was dancing in the grocer’s eyes.
“What is the name of the lady?” he inquired.
“Mme. Zelie Cadelle.”
The grocer burst out laughing.
“In that case, my boy,” he said, tapping familiarly the shoulder of the so-called clerk, “whether she pays or not, you can deliver the article.”
The familiarity was not, perhaps, very much to the taste of the Marquis de Tregars. No matter.
“She is rich, then, that lady?” he said.
“Personally no. But she is protected by an old fool, who allows her all her fancies.”
“Indeed!”
“It is scandalous; and you cannot form an idea of the amount of money that is spent in that house. Horses, carriages, servants, dresses, balls, dinners, card-playing all night, a perpetual carnival: it must be ruinous!”
M. de Tregars never winced.
“And the old man who pays?” he asked; “do you know him?”
“I have seen him pass,–a tall, lean, old fellow, who doesn’t look very rich, either. But excuse me: here is a customer I must wait upon.”
Having walked out into the street,
“We must separate now,” declared M. de Tregars to Maxence.
“What! You wish to–“
“Go and wait for me in that cafe yonder, at the corner of the street. I must see that Zelie Cadelle and speak to her.”
And without suffering an objection on the part of Maxence, he walked resolutely up to the cottage-gate, and rang vigorously.
At the sound of the bell, one of those servants stepped out into the yard, who seem manufactured on purpose, heaven knows where, for the special service of young ladies who keep house,–a tall rascal with sallow complexion and straight hair, a cynical eye, and a low, impudent smile.
“What do you wish, sir?” he inquired through the grating.
“That you should open the door, first,” uttered M. de Tregars, with such a look and such an accent, that the other obeyed at once.
“And now,” he added, “go and announce me to Mme. Zelie Cadelle.”
“Madame is out,” replied the valet.
And noticing that M. de Tregars shrugged his shoulders,
“Upon my word,” he said, “she has gone to the bois with one of her friends. If you won’t believe me, ask my comrades there.”
And he pointed out two other servants of the same pattern as himself, who were silting at a table in the carriage-house, playing cards, and drinking.
But M. de Tregars did not mean to be imposed upon. He felt certain that the man was lying. Instead, therefore, of discussing,
“I want you to take me to your mistress,” he ordered, in a tone that admitted of no objection; “or else I’ll find my way to her alone.”
It was evident that he would do just as he said, by force if needs be. The valet saw this, and, after hesitating a moment longer,
“Come along, then,” he said, “since you insist so much. We’ll talk to the chambermaid.”
And, having led M. de Tregars into the vestibule, he called out, “Mam’selle Amanda!”
A woman at once made her appearance who was a worthy mate for the valet. She must have been about forty, and the most alarming duplicity could be read upon her features, deeply pitted by the small-pox. She wore a pretentious dress, an apron like a stage-servant, and a cap profusely decorated with flowers and ribbons.
“Here is a gentleman,” said the valet, “who insists upon seeing madame. You fix it with him.”
Better than her fellow servant, Mlle. Amanda could judge with whom