XI.
Having almost reached the goal, Chupin slackened his pace. He approachedthe shop very cautiously and peered inside, deeming it prudent toreconnoitre a little before he went in. And certainly there was nothingto prevent a prolonged scrutiny. The night was very dark, the quaydeserted. No one was to be seen; not a sound broke the stillness. Thedarkness, the surroundings, and the silence were sinister enough to makeeven Chupin shudder, though he was usually as thoroughly at home in theloneliest and most dangerous by-ways of Paris as an honest man ofthe middle classes would be in the different apartments of his modesthousehold. "That scoundrel's wife must have less than a hundred thousanda year if she takes up her abode here!" thought Chupin.
And, in fact, nothing could be more repulsive than the tenement in whichMadame Paul had installed herself. It was but one story high, and builtof clay, and it had fallen to ruin to such an extent that it had beenfound necessary to prop it up with timber, and to nail some old boardsover the yawning fissures in the walls. "If I lived here, I certainlyshouldn't feel quite at ease on a windy day," continued Chupin, sottovoce.
The shop itself was of a fair size, but most wretched in itsappointments, and disgustingly dirty. The floor was covered with thatblack and glutinous coal-dust which forms the soil of the Quai de laSeine. An auctioneer would have sold the entire stock and fixtures fora few shillings. Four stone jars, and a couple of pairs of scales, afew odd tumblers, filled with pipes and packets of cigarettes, somewine-glasses, and three or four labelled bottles, five or six boxes ofcigars, and as many packages of musty tobacco, constituted the entirestock in trade.
As Chupin compared this vile den with the viscount's luxurious abode,his blood fairly boiled in his veins. "He ought to be shot for this, iffor nothing else," he muttered through his set teeth. "To let his wifedie of starvation here!" For it was M. de Coralth's wife who kept thisshop. Chupin, who had seen her years before, recognized her now as shesat behind her counter, although she was cruelly changed. "That's her,"he murmured. "That's certainly Mademoiselle Flavie."
He had used her maiden name in speaking of her. Poor woman! She wasundoubtedly still young--but sorrow, regret, and privations, daysspent in hard work to earn a miserable subsistence, and nights spent inweeping, had made her old, haggard, and wrinkled before her time. Ofher once remarkable beauty naught remained but her hair, which was stillmagnificent, though it was in wild disorder, and looked as if it had notbeen touched by a comb for weeks; and her big black eyes, which gleamedwith the phosphorescent and destructive brilliancy of fever. Everythingabout her person bespoke terrible reverses, borne without dignity. Evenif she had struggled at first, it was easy to see that she struggledno longer. Her attire--her torn and soiled silk dress, and her dirtycap--revealed thorough indolence, and that morbid indifference which attimes follows great misfortunes with weak natures.
"Such is life," thought Chupin, philosophically. "Here's a girl who wasbrought up like a queen and allowed to have her own way in everything!If any one had predicted this in those days, how she would have sneered!I can see her now as she looked that day when I met her driving her grayponies. If people didn't clear the road it was so much the worse forthem! In those times Paris was like some great shop where she couldselect whatever she chose. She said: 'I want this,' and she got it. Shesaw a handsome young fellow and wanted him for her husband; her father,who could refuse her nothing, consented, and now behold the result!"
He had lingered longer at the window than he had meant to do, perhapsbecause he could see that the young woman was talking with some personin a back room, the door of which stood open. Chupin tried to find outwho this person was, but he did not succeed; and he was about to go inwhen suddenly he saw Madame Paul rise from her seat and say a few wordswith an air of displeasure. And this time her eyes, instead of turningto the open door, were fixed on a part of the shop directly oppositeher. "Is there some one there as well, then?" Chupin wondered.
He changed his post of observation, and, by standing on tiptoe, hesucceeded in distinguishing a puny little boy, some three or four yearsold, and clad in rags, who was playing with the remnants of a toy-horse.The sight of this child increased Chupin's indignation. "So there's achild?" he growled. "The rascal not only deserts his wife, but he leaveshis child to starve! We may as well make a note of that: and when wesettle up our accounts, he shall pay dearly for his villainy." With thisthreat he brusquely entered the shop.
"What do you wish, sir?" asked the woman.
"Nothing; I bring you a letter, madame."
"A letter for me! You must be mistaken."
"Excuse me; aren't you Madame Paul?"
"Yes."
"Then this is for you." And he handed her the missive which Florent hadconfided to his care.
Madame Paul took hold of it with some hesitation, eying the messengersuspiciously meanwhile; but, on seeing the handwriting, she uttereda cry of surprise. And, turning toward the open door, she called, "M.Mouchon! M. Mouchon! It's from him--it's from my husband; from Paul.Come, come!"
A bald-headed, corpulent man, who looked some fifty years of age, nowtimidly emerged from the room behind the shop with a cap in his hand."Ah, well! my dear child," he said, in an oily voice, "what was Itelling you just now? Everything comes to those who know how to wait."
However she had already broken the seal, and she was now reading theletter eagerly, clapping her hands with delight as she finished itsperusal. "He consents!" she exclaimed. "He's frightened--he begs me towait a little--look--read!"
But M. Mouchon could not read without his spectacles, and he lost atleast two minutes in searching his pockets before he found them. Andwhen they were adjusted, the light was so dim that it took him at leastthree minutes more to decipher the missive. Chupin had spent thistime in scrutinizing--in appraising the man, as it were. "What is thisvenerable gentleman doing here?" he thought. "He's a middle class man,that's evident from his linen. He's married--there's a wedding-ringon his finger; he has a daughter, for the ends of his necktie areembroidered. He lives in the neighborhood, for, well dressed as he is,he wears a cap. But what was he doing there in that back room in thedark?"
Meanwhile M. Mouchon had finished reading the letter. "What did I tellyou?" he said complacently.
"Yes, you were right!" answered Madame Paul as she took up the letterand read it again with her eyes sparkling with joy. "And now what shallI do?" she asked. "Wait, shall I not?"
"No, no!" exclaimed the elderly gentleman, in evident dismay. "You muststrike the iron while it's hot."
"But he promises me----"
"To promise and to keep one's promises are two different things."
"He wants a reply."
"Tell him----" But he stopped short, calling her attention with agesture to the messenger, whose eyes were glittering with intensecuriosity.
She understood. So filling a glass with some liquor, she placed itbefore Chupin, and offered him a cigar, saying: "Take a seat--here'ssomething to keep you from feeling impatient while you wait here."Thereupon she followed the old gentleman into the adjoining room, andclosed the door.
Even if Chupin had not possessed the precocious penetration he owed tohis life of adventure, the young woman and the old gentleman had saidenough to enable him to form a correct estimate of the situation. He wascertain now that he knew the contents of the letter as perfectly as ifhe had read it. M. de Coralth's anger, and his order to make haste, wereboth explained. Moreover, Chupin distinctly saw what connection therewas between the letter to the baroness and the letter to Madame Paul. Heunderstood that one was the natural consequence of the other. Desertedby her husband, Madame Paul had at last become weary of poverty andprivations. She had instituted a search for her husband, and, havingfound him, she had written to him in this style: "I consent to abstainfrom interfering with you, but only on conditions that you provide meansof subsistence for me, your lawfully wedded wife, and for your child. Ifyou refuse, I shall urge my claims, and ruin you. The scandal won't beof much use to me
, it's true, but at least I shall no longer be obligedto endure the torture of knowing that you are surrounded by every luxurywhile I am dying of starvation."
Yes, she had evidently written that. It might not be the precise text;but no doubt it was the purport of her letter. On receiving it, Coralthhad become alarmed. He knew only too well that if his wife made herselfknown and revealed his past, it would be all over with him. But he hadno money. Charming young men like the Viscount de Coralth never haveany money on hand. So, in this emergency, the dashing young fellow hadwritten to his wife imploring her to have patience, and to the baroness,entreating, or rather commanding her to advance him a certain sum atonce.
This was no doubt the case, and yet there was one circumstance whichpuzzled Chupin exceedingly. In former years, he had heard it assertedthat Mademoiselle Flavie was the very personification of pride, and thatshe adored her husband even to madness. Had this great love vanished?Had poverty and sorrow broken her spirit to such a degree that she waswilling to stoop to such shameful concessions! If she were acquaintedwith her husband's present life, how did it happen that she did notprefer starvation, or the alms-house and a pauper's grave to hisassistance? Chupin could understand how, in a moment of passion,she might be driven to denounce her husband in the presence of hisfashionable acquaintances, how she might be impelled to ruin him so asto avenge herself; but he could not possibly understand how she couldconsent to profit by the ignominy of the man she loved. "The planisn't hers," said Chupin to himself, after a moment's reflection. "It'sprobably the work of that stout old gentleman."
There was a means of verifying his suspicions, for on returning into theadjoining room, Madame Paul had not taken her son with her. He was stillsitting on the muddy floor of the shop, playing with his dilapidatedhorse. Chupin called him. "Come here, my little fellow," said he.
The child rose, and timidly approached, his eyes dilating with distrustand astonishment. The poor boy's repulsive uncleanliness was a terriblecharge against the mother. Did she no longer love her own offspring? Theuntidiness of sorrow and poverty has its bounds. A long time must havepassed since the child's face and hands had been washed, and his soiledclothes were literally falling to rags. Still, he was a handsome littlefellow, and seemed fairly intelligent, in spite of his bashfulness.He was very light-haired, and in features he was extremely like M. deCoralth. Chupin took him on his knees, and, after looking to see if thedoor communicating with the inner room were securely closed, he asked:"What's your name, little chap?"
"Paul."
"Do you know your father?"
"No."
"Doesn't your mother ever talk to you about him?"
"Oh, yes!"
"And what does she say?"
"That he's rich--very rich."
"And what else?"
The child did not reply; perhaps his mother had forbidden him tosay anything on the subject--perhaps that instinct which precedesintelligence, just as the dawn precedes daylight, warned him to beprudent with a stranger. "Doesn't your papa ever come to see you?"insisted Chupin.
"Never."
"Why?"
"Mamma is very poor."
"And wouldn't you like to go and see him?"
"I don't know. But he'll come some day, and take us away with him to alarge house. We shall be all right, then; and he will give us a deal ofmoney and pretty dresses, and I shall have plenty of toys."
Satisfied on this point, Chupin, pushed his investigations farther."And do you know this old gentleman who is with your mamma in the otherroom?"
"Oh, yes!--that's Mouchon."
"And who's Mouchon?"
"He's the gentleman who owns that beautiful garden at the corner of theRue Riquet, where there are such splendid grapes. I'm going with him toget some."
"Does he often come to see you?"
"Every evening. He always has goodies in his pocket for mamma and me."
"Why does he sit in that back room without any light?"
"Oh, he says that the customers mustn't see him."
It would have been an abominable act to continue this examination, andmake this child the innocent accuser of his own mother. Chupin feltconscience-smitten even now. So he kissed the cleanest spot he couldfind on the boy's face, and set him on the floor again, saying, "Go andplay."
The child had revealed his mother's character with cruel precision. Whathad she told him about his father? That he was rich, and that, in casehe returned, he would give them plenty of money and fine clothes. Thewoman's nature stood revealed in all its deformity. Chupin had goodcause to feel proud of his discernment--all his suppositions hadbeen confirmed. He had read Mouchon's character at a glance. He hadrecognized him as one of those wily evil-minded men who employ theirleisure to the profit of their depravity--one of those patient,cold-blooded hypocrites who make poverty their purveyor, and whosepassion is prodigal only in advice. "So he's paying his court to MadamePaul," thought Chupin. "Isn't it shameful? The old villain! he might atleast give her enough to eat!"
So far his preoccupation had made him forget his wine and his cigar. Heemptied the glass at a single draught, but it proved far more difficultto light the cigar. "Zounds! this is a non-combustible," he growled."When I arrive at smoking ten sous cigars, I sha'n't come here to buythem."
However, with the help of several matches and a great deal of drawing,he had almost succeeded, when the door opened, and Madame Paulreappeared with a letter in her hand. She seemed greatly agitated; heranxiety was unmistakable. "I can't decide," she was saying to Mouchon,whose figure Chupin could only dimly distinguish in the darkness. "No,I can't. If I send this letter, I must forever renounce all hope of myhusband's return. Whatever happens, he will never forgive me."
"He can't treat you worse than he does now, at all events," replied theold gentleman. "Besides, a gloved cat has never caught a mouse yet."
"He'll hate me."
"The man who wants his dog to love him, beats it; and, besides, when thewine is drawn, one must drink it."
This singular logic seemed to decide her. She handed the letter toChupin, and drawing a franc from her pocket she offered it to him. "Thisis for your trouble," she said.
He involuntarily held out his hand to take the money, but quicklywithdrew it, exclaiming: "No, thank you; keep it. I've been paidalready." And, thereupon, he left the shop.
Chupin's mother--his poor good mother, as he called her--would certainlyhave felt proud and delighted at her son's disinterestedness. Thatvery morning, he had refused the ten francs a day that M. Fortunat hadoffered him, and this evening he declined the twenty sous proffered himby Madame Paul. This was apparently a trifle, and yet in reality it wassomething marvellous, unprecedented, on the part of this poor lad, who,having neither trade nor profession, was obliged to earn his daily breadthrough the medium of those chance opportunities which the lower classesof Paris are continually seeking. As he returned to the Rue de Flandres,he muttered: "Take twenty sous from that poor creature, who hasn't hadenough to satisfy her hunger for heaven knows how long! That would bealtogether unworthy of a man."
It is only just to say that money had never given him a feeling ofsatisfaction at all comparable with that which he now experienced.He was impressed, too, with a sense of vastly-increased importance onthinking that all the faculties, and all the energy he had once employedin the service of evil, were now consecrated to the service of good. Bybecoming the instrument of Pascal Ferailleur's salvation he would, insome measure, atone for the crime he had committed years before.
Chupin's mind was so busily occupied with these thoughts that he reachedthe Rue d'Anjou and M. de Coralth's house almost before he was aware ofit. To his great surprise, the concierge and his wife were not alone.Florent was there, taking coffee with them. The valet had divestedhimself of his borrowed finery, and had donned his red waistcoat again.He seemed to be in a savage humor; and his anger was not at all strangeunder the circumstances. There was but a step from M. de Coralth's houseto the baroness's residence, but fatalitie
s may attend even a step! Thebaroness, on receiving the letter from her maid, had sent a message toFlorent requesting him to wait, as she desired to speak with him! andshe had been so inconsiderate as to keep him waiting for more than anhour, so that he had missed his appointment with the charming ladies hehad spoken of. In his despair he had returned home to seek consolationin the society of his friend the concierge. "Have you the answer?" heasked.
"Yes, here it is," replied Chupin, and Florent had just slipped theletter into his pocket, and was engaged in counting out the thirtysous which he had promised his messenger, when the familiar cry, "Open,please," was heard outside.
M. de Coralth had returned. He sprang to the ground as soon as thecarriage entered the courtyard, and on perceiving his servant, heexclaimed: "Have you executed my commissions?"
"They have been executed, monsieur."
"Did you see the baroness?"
"She made me wait two hours to tell me that the viscount need not beworried in the least; that she would certainly be able to comply withhis request to-morrow."
M. de Coralth seemed to breathe more freely. "And the other party?" heinquired.
"Gave me this for monsieur."
The viscount seized the missive, with an eager hand, tore it open, readit at one glance, and flew into such a paroxysm of passion that hequite forgot those around him, and began to tear the letter, and uttera string of oaths which would have astonished a cab-driver. But suddenlyrealizing his imprudence, he mastered his rage, and exclaimed, with aforced laugh: "Ah! these women! they are enough to drive one mad!" Anddeeming this a sufficient explanation, he added, addressing Florent."Come and undress me; I must be up early to-morrow morning."
This remark was not lost upon Chupin, and at seven o'clock the nextmorning he mounted guard at M. de Coralth's door. All through the day hefollowed the viscount about, first to the Marquis de Valorsay's, thento the office of a business agent, then to M. Wilkie's, then, in theafternoon, to Baroness Trigault's, and finally, in the evening, tothe house of Madame d'Argeles. Here, by making himself useful to theservants, by his zeal in opening and shutting the doors of the carriagesthat left the house, he succeeded in gathering some informationconcerning the frightful scene which had taken place between the motherand the son. He perceived M. Wilkie leave the house with his clothes indisorder, and subsequently he saw the viscount emerge. He followedhim, first to the house of the Marquis de Valorsay, and afterward to M.Wilkie's rooms, where he remained till nearly daybreak.
Thus, when Chupin presented himself in M. Fortunat's office at twoo'clock on the Tuesday afternoon, he felt that he held every possibleclue to the shameful intrigue which would ruin the viscount as soon asit was made public.
M. Fortunat knew that his agent was shrewd, but he had not done justiceto his abilities; and it was, indeed, with something very like envy thathe listened to Chupin's clear and circumstantial report. "I have notbeen as successful," he remarked, when Chupin's story was ended. But hehad not time to explain how or why, for just as he was about to do so,Madame Dodelin appeared, and announced that the young lady he expectedwas there. "Let her come in!" exclaimed M. Fortunat, eagerly--"let hercome in!"
Mademoiselle Marguerite had not been compelled to resort to anysubterfuge to make her escape from Madame de Fondege's house. TheGeneral had decamped early in the morning to try his horses and hiscarriages, announcing, moreover, that he would breakfast at the club.And as soon as her breakfast was concluded, Madame de Fondege hadhurried off to her dressmaker's, warning the household that she wouldnot return before dinner-time. A little while later, Madame Leon hadsuddenly remembered that her noble relative would certainly be expectinga visit from her, and so she dressed herself in haste, and went off,first to Dr. Jodon's and thence to the Marquis de Valorsay's.
Thus, Mademoiselle Marguerite had been able to make her escape withoutattracting any one's attention, and she would be able to remain away asmany hours as she chose, since the servants would not know how long shehad been absent even if they saw her when she returned. An empty cab waspassing as she left the house, so she hailed it and got in. The step shewas about to take cost her a terrible effort. It was a difficult taskfor her, a girl naturally so reserved, to confide in a stranger, andopen to him her maidenly heart, filled with love for Pascal Ferailleur!Still, she was much calmer than she had been on the previous evening,when she called on the photographer for a facsimile of M. de Valorsay'sletter. Several circumstances combined to reassure her. M. Fortunatknew her already, since he was the agent whom the Count de Chalussehad employed to carry on the investigations which had resulted in herdiscovery at the foundling asylum. A vague presentiment told her thatthis man was better acquainted with her past life than she was herself,and that he could, if he chose, tell her her mother's name--the name ofthe woman whom the count so dreaded, and who had so pitilessly desertedher. However, her heart beat more quickly, and she felt that she wasturning pale when, at Madame Dodelin's invitation, she at last enteredM. Fortunat's private office. She took in the room and its occupantswith a single glance. The handsome appointments of the office surprisedher, for she had expected to see a den. The agent's polite manner andrather elegant appearance disconcerted her, for she had expected tomeet a coarse and illiterate boor; and finally, Victor Chupin, who wasstanding twisting his cap near the fireplace, attired in a blouse anda pair of ragged trousers, fairly alarmed her. Still, no sign of heragitation was perceptible on her countenance. Not a muscle of herbeautiful, proud face moved--her glance remained clear and haughty, andshe exclaimed in a ringing voice: "I am the late Count de Chalusse'sward, Mademoiselle Marguerite. You have received my letter, I suppose?"
M. Fortunat bowed with all the grace of manner he was wont to display inthe circles where he went wife-hunting, and with a somewhat pretentiousgesture he advanced an arm-chair, and asked his visitor to sit down."Your letter reached me, mademoiselle," he replied, "and I was expectingyou--flattered and honored beyond expression by your confidence. Mydoor, indeed, was closed to any one but you."
Marguerite took the proffered seat, and there was a moment's silence.M. Fortunat found it difficult to believe that this beautiful, imposingyoung girl could be the poor little apprentice whom he had seen inthe book-bindery, years before, clad in a coarse serge frock, withdishevelled hair covered with scraps of paper. In the meantime,Marguerite was regretting the necessity of confiding in this man, forthe more she looked at him, the more she was convinced that he wasnot an honest, straightforward person; and she would infinitely havepreferred a cynical scoundrel to this plausible and polite gentleman,whom she strongly suspected of being a hypocrite. She remained silent,waiting for M. Fortunat to dismiss the young man in the blouse, whosepresence she could not explain, and who stood in a sort of mute ecstasy,staring at her with eyes expressive of the most intense surprise andthe liveliest admiration. But weary at last of this fruitless delay, sheexclaimed: "I have come, monsieur, to confer with you respecting certainmatters which require the most profound secrecy."
Chupin understood her, for he blushed to the tips of his ears, andstarted as if to leave the room. But his employer detained him with agesture.
"Remain, Victor," he said kindly, and, turning to MademoiselleMarguerite, he added: "You have no indiscretion to fear from this worthyfellow, mademoiselle. He knows everything, and he has already beenactively at work--and with the best result--on your behalf."
"I don't understand you, sir," replied the girl.
M. Fortunat smiled sweetly. "I have already taken your business in hand,mademoiselle," said he. "An hour after the receipt of your letter Ibegan the campaign."
"But I had not told you----"
"What you wished of me--that's true. But I allowed myself tosuspect----"
"Ah!"
"I fancied I might conclude that you wished the help of my experienceand poor ability in clearing an innocent man who has been vilelyslandered, M. Pascal Ferailleur."
Marguerite sprang to her feet, at once agitated and alarmed. "How didyou
know this?" she exclaimed.
M. Fortunat had left his arm-chair, and was now leaning against themantel-shelf, in what he considered a most becoming and awe-inspiringattitude, with his thumb in the armhole of his waistcoat. "Ah! nothingcould be more simple," he answered, in much the same tone as a conquerormight assume to explain his feat. "It is part of my profession topenetrate the intentions of persons who deign to honor me with theirconfidence. So my surmises are correct; at least you have not said thecontrary?"
She had said nothing. When her first surprise was over, she vainlyendeavored to find a plausible explanation of M. Fortunat's acquaintancewith her affairs, for she was not at all deceived by his pretendedperspicacity. Meanwhile, delighted by the supposed effect he hadproduced, he recklessly continued: "Reserve your amazement for what Iam about to disclose, for I have made several important discoveries. Itmust have been your good angel who inspired you with the idea of comingto me. You would have shuddered if you had realized the dangers thatthreatened you. But now you have nothing to fear; I am watching. I amhere, and I hold in my hand all the threads of the abominable intriguefor ruining you. For it is you, your person, and your fortune thatare imperilled. It was solely on your account that M. Ferailleur wasattacked. And I can tell you the names of the scoundrels who ruined him.The crime originated with the person who had the most powerful interestin the matter--the Marquis de Valorsay. His agent was a scoundrel who isgenerally known as the Viscount de Coralth; but Chupin here can tell youhis real name and his shameful past. You preferred M. Ferailleur, henceit was necessary to put him out of the way. M. de Chalusse had promisedyour hand to the Marquis de Valorsay. This marriage was Valorsay's onlyresource--the plank that might save the drowning man. People fancy he isrich; but he is ruined. Yes, ruined completely, irretrievably. He was insuch desperate straits that he had almost determined to blow his brainsout before the hope of marrying you entered his mind."
"Ah!" thought Chupin, "my employer is well under way."
This was indeed the case. The name of Valorsay was quite sufficientto set all M. Fortunat's bile in motion. All thought of his ex-clientirritated him beyond endurance. Unfortunately for him, however, hisanger in the present instance had ruined his plans. He had intended totake Mademoiselle Marguerite by surprise, to work upon her imagination,to make her talk without saying anything himself, and to remain masterof the situation. But on the contrary he had revealed everything; andhe did not discover this until it was too late to retrieve his blunder."How the Marquis de Valorsay has kept his head above water is a wonderto me," he continued. "His creditors have been threatening to sue himfor more than six months. How he has been able to keep them quiet sinceM. de Chalusse's death, I cannot understand. However, this much iscertain, mademoiselle: the marquis has not renounced his intention ofbecoming your husband; and to attain that object he won't hesitate toemploy any means that may promise to prove effectual."
Completely mistress of herself, Mademoiselle Marguerite listened with animpassive face. "I know all this," she replied, in a frigid tone.
"What! you know----"
"Yes; but there is one thing that baffles my powers of comprehension. Mydowry was the only temptation to M. de Valorsay, was it not? Why does hestill wish to marry me, now that I have no fortune?"
M. Fortunat had gradually lost all his advantage. "I have asked myselfthe same question," he replied, "and I think I have found an answer. Ibelieve that the marquis has in his possession a letter, or a will, or adocument of some sort, written by M. de Chalusse--in fact an instrumentin which the count acknowledges you as his daughter, and whichconsequently establishes; your right to his property."
"And the marquis could urge this claim if he became my husband?"
"Certainly he could."
M. Fortunat explained M. de Valorsay's conduct exactly as the oldmagistrate had done. However, Mademoiselle Marguerite discreetlyrefrained from committing herself. The great interest that M. Fortunatseemed to take in her affairs aroused her distrust; and she decidedto do what he had attempted in vain--that is, allow him to do all thetalking, and to conceal all that she knew herself. "Perhaps you areright," she remarked, "but it is necessary to prove the truth of yourassertion."
"I can prove that Valorsay hasn't a shilling, and that he has lived fora year by expedients which render him liable to arrest and prosecutionat any time. I can prove that he deceived M. de Chalusse as to hisfinancial position. I can prove that he conspired with M. de Coralth toruin your lover. Wouldn't this be something?"
She smiled in a way that was exceedingly irritating to his vanity, andin a tone of good-natured incredulity, she remarked: "It is easy to SAYthese things."
"And to do them," rejoined M. Fortunat, quickly. "I never promise what Icannot perform. A man should never touch a pen when he is meditating anyevil act. Of course, no one is fool enough to write down his infamy indetail. But a man cannot always be on the qui vive. There will be a wordin one letter, a sentence in another, an allusion in a third. And bycombining these words, phrases, and allusions, one may finally discoverthe truth."
He suddenly checked himself, warned of his fresh imprudence by theexpression on Mademoiselle Marguerite's face. She drew back, and lookinghim full in the eyes, she exclaimed: "Then you have been in M. deValorsay's confidence, sir? Would you be willing to swear that you neverhelped him in his designs?"
A silent and ignored witness of this scene, Victor Chupin was secretlydelighted. "Hit!" he thought--"hit just in the bull's-eye. Zounds!there's a woman for you! She has beaten the guv'nor on every point."
M. Fortunat was so taken by surprise that he made no attempt to denyhis guilt. "I confess that I acted as M. de Valorsay's adviser for sometime," he replied, "and he frequently spoke to me of his intention ofmarrying a rich wife in order to retrieve his shattered fortunes. Uponmy word, I see nothing so very bad about that! It is not a strictlyhonest proceeding, perhaps, but it is done every day. What is marriagein this age? Merely a business transaction, is it not? Perhaps it wouldbe more correct to say that it is a transaction in which one persontries to cheat the other. The fathers-in-law are deceived, or thehusband, or the wife, and sometimes all of them together. But when Idiscovered this scheme for mining M. Ferailleur, I cried 'halt!' Myconscience revolted at that. Dishonor an innocent man! It was base,cowardly, outrageous! And not being able to prevent this infamous act, Iswore that I would avenge it."
Would Mademoiselle Marguerite accept this explanation? Chupin feared so,and accordingly turning quickly to his employer, he remarked: "Tosay nothing of the fact that this fine gentleman has swindled yououtrageously, shrewd as you are--cheating you out of the forty thousandfrancs you lent him, and which he was to pay you eighty thousand for."
M. Fortunat cast a withering look at his clerk, but the mischief wasdone: denial was useless. He seemed fated to blunder in this affair."Well, yes," he declared, "it's true. Valorsay HAS defrauded me, and Ihave sworn to have my revenge. I won't rest until I see him ruined."
Mademoiselle Marguerite was partially reassured, for she understoodhis zeal now. Her scorn for the man was only increased; but she wasconvinced that he would serve her faithfully. "I like this much better,"said she. "It is better to have no concealment. You desire M. deValorsay's ruin. I desire the rehabilitation of M. Ferailleur. So ourinterests are in common. But before acting in this matter, we must knowM. Ferailleur's wishes."
"They cannot be considered."
"And why?"
"Because no one knows what has become of him. When the desire forrevenge first took possession of me, I at once thought of him. Iprocured his address, and went to the Rue d'Ulm. But he had gone away.The very day after his misfortune, M. Ferailleur sold his furniture andwent away with his mother."
"I am aware of that, and I have come to ask you to search for him. Todiscover his hiding-place will be only child's play to you."
"Do you suppose I haven't thought of this?" replied M. Fortunat. "Why, Ispent all day yesterday searching for him. By questioning the peoplein
the neighborhood I finally succeeded in ascertaining that MadameFerailleur left her home in a cab several hours after her son, and tooka very large quantity of baggage with her. Well, do you know where shedrove? To the Western railway station. I am sure of this, and I know shetold a porter there that her destination was London. M. Ferailleur isnow en route for America, and we shall never hear of him again!"
Mademoiselle Marguerite shook her head. "You are mistaken, sir," saidshe.
"There can be no mistake about what I have just told you."
"I don't question the result of your investigations, but appearances aredeceitful. I thoroughly understand M. Ferailleur's character, and he isnot the man to be crushed by an infamous calumny. He may seem to fly, hemay disappear, he may conceal himself for a time, but it is only tomake his vengeance more certain. What! Pascal, who is energy itself, whopossesses an iron will, and invincible determination, would he renouncehis honor, his future, and the woman he loves without a struggle? If hehad felt that his case was hopeless, he would have destroyed himself,and as he has not done so, he is not without hope. He has not leftParis; I am sure of it."
M. Fortunat was not convinced. In his opinion this was only sentimentand rubbish. Still there was one person present who was deeply impressedby the confidence of this young girl, who was the most beautifulcreature he had ever seen, and whose devotion and energy filled hisheart with admiration, and this person was Chupin. He stepped forwardwith his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, and in a feeling voice heexclaimed: "I understand your idea! Yes, M. Ferailleur is in Paris. AndI shall be unworthy of the name of Chupin, if I don't find him for youin less than a fortnight!"