VII.
It was not enough to tell M. Wilkie the secret of his birth. He mustbe taught how to utilize the knowledge. The Viscount de Coralthdevoted himself to this task, and burdened Wilkie with such a host ofinjunctions, that it was quite evident he had but a poor opinion of hispupil's sagacity. "That woman d'Argeles," he thought, "is as sharp assteel. She will deceive this young idiot completely, if I don't warnhim."
So he did warn him; and Wilkie was instructed exactly what to do andsay, how to answer any questions, and what position to take up accordingto circumstances. Moreover, he was especially enjoined to distrusttears, and not to let himself be put out of countenance by haughty airs.The Viscount spent at least an hour in giving explanations and advice,to the great disgust of M. Wilkie, who, feeling that he was beingtreated like a child, somewhat testily declared that he was no fool, andthat he knew how to take care of himself as well as any one else. Still,this did not prevent M. de Coralth from persisting in his instructionsuntil he was persuaded that he had prepared his pupil for all possibleemergencies. He then rose to depart. "That's all, I think," he remarked,with a shade of uneasiness. "I've traced the plan--you must execute it,and keep cool, or the game's lost."
His companion rose proudly. "If it fails, it won't be from any fault ofmine," he answered with unmistakable petulance.
"Lose no time."
"There's no danger of that."
"And understand, that whatever happens, my name is not to be mentioned."
"Yes, yes."
"If there should be any new revelations, I will inform you."
"At the club?"
"Yes, but don't be uneasy; the affair is as good as concluded."
"I hope so, indeed."
Wilkie gave a sigh of relief as he saw his visitor depart. He wished tobe alone, so as to brood over the delights that the future had in storefor him. He was no longer to be limited to a paltry allowance of twentythousand francs! No more debts, no more ungratified longings. He wouldhave millions at his disposal! He seemed to see them, to hold them, tofeel them gliding in golden waves between his fingers! What horses hewould have! what carriages! what mistresses! And a gleam of envy thathe had detected in M. de Coralth's eyes put the finishing touch to hisbliss. To be envied by this brilliant viscount, his model and his ideal,what happiness it was!
The reputation that Madame d'Argeles bore had at first cast a shadowover his joy; but this shadow had soon vanished. He was troubled by nofoolish prejudices, and personally he cared little or nothing for hismother's reputation. The prejudices of society must, of course, beconsidered. But nonsense! society has no prejudices nowadays whenmillionaires are concerned, and asks no questions respecting theirparents. Society only requires passports of the indigent. Besides, nomatter what Madame d'Argeles might have done, she was none the less aChalusse, the descendant of one of the most aristocratic families inFrance.
Such were Wilkie's meditations while he was engaged in dressing himselfwith more than usual care. He had been quite shocked by the suggestionthat Madame d'Argeles might try to deny him, and he wished to appearbefore her in the most advantageous light. His toilette was consequentlya lengthy operation. However, shortly after twelve o'clock he was ready.He cast a last admiring glance at himself in the mirror, twirled hismustaches, and departed on his mission. He even went on foot, which wasa concession to what he considered M. de Coralth's absurd ideas. Theaspect of the Hotel d'Argeles, in the Rue de Berry, impressed himfavorably, but, at the same time, it somewhat disturbed his superbassurance. "Everything is very stylish here," he muttered.
A couple of servants--the concierge and Job--were standing at the doorengaged in conversation. M. Wilkie approached them, and in his mostimposing manner, but not without a slight tremble in his voice,requested to see Madame d'Argeles. "Madame is in the country," repliedthe concierge; "she will not return before this evening. If monsieurwill leave his card.""Oh! that's quite unnecessary. I shall be passing again."
This, too, was in obedience to the instructions of M. de Coralth, whohad advised him not to send in his name, but to gain admission intoMadame d'Argeles's presence as speedily as possible, without giving hertime to prepare herself for the interview; and Wilkie had ultimatelydecided that these precautions might not prove as superfluous as he hadat first supposed. But this first mishap annoyed him extremely. Whatshould he do? how should he kill time till the evening? A cab waspassing. He hired it for a drive to the Bois, whence he returned to theboulevards, played a game of billiards with one of the co-proprietorsof Pompier de Nanterre, and finally dined at the Cafe Riche, devoting asmuch time as possible to the operation. He was finishing his coffee whenthe clock struck eight. He caught up his hat, drew on his gloves, andhastened to the Hotel d'Argeles again.
"Madame has not yet returned," said the concierge, who knew that hismistress had only just risen from her bed, "but I don't think it will belong. And if monsieur wishes--"
"No," replied M. Wilkie brusquely, and he was going off in a furiouspassion, when, on crossing the street, he chanced to turn his head andnotice that the reception rooms were brilliantly lighted up. "Ah! Ithink that a very shabby trick!" grumbled the intelligent youth. "Theywon't succeed in playing that game on me again. Why, she's there now!"
It occurred to him that Madame d'Argeles had perhaps described him toher servants, and had given them strict orders not to admit him."I'll find out if that is the case, even if I have to wait here untilto-morrow morning," he thought, angrily. However, he had not been onguard very long, when he saw a brougham stop in front of the mansion,whereupon the gate opened, as if by enchantment. The vehicle entered thecourtyard, deposited its occupants, and drove away. A second carriagesoon appeared, then a third, and then five or six in quick succession."And does she think I'll wear out my shoe-leather here, while everybodyelse is allowed to enter?" he grumbled. "Never!--I've an idea." And,without giving himself time for further deliberation, he returned to hisrooms, arrayed himself in evening-dress, and sent for his carriage. "Youwill drive to No.--in the Rue de Berry," he said. "There is a soireethere, and you can drive directly into the courtyard." The coachmanobeyed, and M. Wilkie realized that his idea was really an excellentone.
As soon as he alighted, the doors were thrown open, and he ascendeda handsome staircase, heavily carpeted, and adorned with flowers. Twoliveried footmen were standing at the door of the drawing-room, and oneof them advanced to relieve Wilkie of his overcoat, but his serviceswere declined. "I don't wish to go in," said the young man roughly."I wish to speak with Madame d'Argeles in private. She is expectingme--inform her. Here is my card."
The servant was hesitating, when Job, suspecting some mystery perhaps,approached. "Take in the gentleman's card," he said, with an air ofauthority; and, opening the door of a small room on the left-hand sideof the staircase, he invited Wilkie to enter, saying, "If monsieur willbe kind enough to take a seat, I will summon madame at once."
M. Wilkie sank into an arm-chair, considerably overcome. The air ofluxury that pervaded the entire establishment, the liveried servants,the lights and flowers, all impressed him much more deeply than he wouldhave been willing to confess. And in spite of his affected arrogance,he felt that the superb assurance which was the dominant trait in hischaracter was deserting him. In his breast, moreover, in the place wherephysiologists locate the heart, he felt certain extraordinary movementswhich strongly resembled palpitations. For the first time it occurredto him that this woman, whose peace he had come to destroy, was not onlythe heiress of the Count de Chalusse's millions, but also his mother,that is to say, the good fairy whose protection had followed himeverywhere since he entered the world. The thought that he was about tocommit an atrocious act entered his mind, but he drove it away. It wastoo late now to draw back, or even to reflect.
Suddenly a door opposite the one by which he had entered opened, andMadame d'Argeles appeared on the threshold. She was no longer the womanwhose anguish and terror had alarmed her guests. During the brief momentof respite which fate
had granted her, she had summoned all her energyand courage, and had mastered her despair. She felt that her salvationdepended upon her calmness, and she had succeeded in appearing calm,haughty, and disdainful--as impassive as if she had been a statue. "Wasit you, sir, who sent me this card?" she inquired.
Greatly disconcerted, M. Wilkie could only bow and stammer out an almostunintelligible answer. "Excuse me! I am much grieved, upon my word! Idisturb you, perhaps----"
"You are Monsieur Wilkie!" interrupted Madame d'Argeles, in a tone ofmingled irony and disdain.
"Yes," he replied, drawling out the name affectedly, "I am M. Wilkie."
"Did you desire to speak with me?" inquired Madame d'Argeles, dryly.
"In fact--yes. I should like----"
"Very well. I will listen to you, although your visit is mostinopportune, for I have eighty guests or more in my drawing-room. Still,speak!"
It was very easy to say "speak," but unfortunately for M. Wilkie hecould not articulate a syllable. His tongue was as stiff, and as dry, asif it had been paralyzed. He nervously passed and repassed his fingersbetween his neck and his collar, but although this gave full play to hiscravat, his words did not leave his throat any more readily. For he hadimagined that Madame d'Argeles would be like other women he had known,but not at all. He found her to be an extremely proud and awe-inspiringcreature, who, to use his own vocabulary, SQUELCHED him completely. "Iwished to say to you," he repeated, "I wished to say to you----" Butthe words he was seeking would not come; and, so at last, angry withhimself, he exclaimed: "Ah! you know as well as I, why I have come. Doyou dare to pretend that you don't know?"
She looked at him with admirably feigned astonishment, glanceddespairingly at the ceiling, shrugged her shoulders, and replied: "Mostcertainly I don't know--unless indeed it be a wager."
"A wager!" M. Wilkie wondered if he were not the victim of somepractical joke, and if there were not a crowd of listeners hiddensomewhere, who, after enjoying his discomfiture, would suddenly maketheir appearance, holding their sides. This fear restored his presenceof mind. "Well, then," he replied, huskily, "this is my reason. I knownothing respecting my parents. This morning, a man with whom you arewell acquainted, assured me that I was--your son. I was completelystunned at first, but after a while I recovered sufficiently to callhere, and found that you had gone out."
He was interrupted by a nervous laugh from Madame d'Argeles. For she washeroic enough to laugh, although death was in her heart, and althoughthe nails of her clinched hands were embedded deep in her quiveringflesh. "And you believed him, monsieur?" she exclaimed. "Really, this istoo absurd! I--your mother! Why, look at me----"
He was doing nothing else, he was watching her with all the powers ofpenetration he possessed. Madame d'Argeles's laugh had an unnaturalring that awakened his suspicions. All Coralth's recommendations buzzedconfusedly in his ears, and he judged that the moment had come "to dothe sentimental," as he would have expressed it. So he lowered his head,and in an aggrieved tone, exclaimed: "Ah! you think it very amusing, Idon't. Do you realize how wretched it makes one to live as utterly aloneas a leper, without a soul to love or care for you? Other young men havea mother, sisters, relatives. I have no one! Ah! if---- But I only havefriends while my money lasts." He wiped his eyes, dry as they were, withhis handkerchief, and in a still more pathetic tone, resumed: "Not thatI want for anything; I receive a very handsome allowance. But when myrelatives have given me the wherewithal to keep me from starving, theyimagine their duty is fulfilled. I think this very hard. I didn't comeinto the world at my own request, did I? I didn't ask to be born. IfI was such an annoyance to them when I came into existence, why didn'tthey throw me into the river? Then they would have been well rid of me,and I should be out of my misery!"
He stopped short, struck dumb with amazement, for Madame d'Argeles hadthrown herself on her knees at his feet. "Have mercy!" she faltered;"Wilkie; my son, forgive me!" Alas! the unfortunate woman had failed inplaying a part which was too difficult for a mother's heart. "You havesuffered cruelly, my son," she continued; "but I--I--Ah! you can'tconceive the frightful agony it costs a mother to separate from herchild! But you were not deserted, Wilkie; don't say that. Have you notfelt my love in the air around you? YOU forgotten? Know, then, that foryears and years I have seen you every day, and that all my thoughts andall my hopes are centered in you alone! Wilkie!"
She dragged herself toward him with her hands clasped in an agony ofsupplication, while he recoiled, frightened by this outburst ofpassion, and utterly amazed by his easily won victory. The poor womanmisunderstood this movement. "Great God!" she exclaimed, "he spurns me;he loathes me. Ah! I knew it would be so. Oh! why did you come? Whatinfamous wretch sent you here? Name him, Wilkie! Do you understand, now,why I concealed myself from you? I dreaded the day when I should blushbefore you, before my own son. And yet it was for your sake. Death wouldhave been a rest, a welcome release for me. But your breath was ebbingaway, your poor little arms no longer had strength to clasp me round theneck. And then I cried: 'Perish my soul and body, if only my child canbe saved!' I believed such a sacrifice permissible in a mother. I ampunished for it as if it were a crime. I thought you would be happy, myWilkie. I said to myself that you, my pride and joy, would move freelyand proudly far above me and my shame. I accepted ignominy, so that yourhonor might be preserved intact. I knew the horrors of abject poverty,and I wished to save my son from it. I would have licked up the verymire in your pathway to save you from a stain. I renounced all hope formyself, and I consecrated all that was noble and generous in my natureto you. Oh! I will discover the vile coward who sent you here, whobetrayed my secret. I will discover him and I will have my revenge! Youwere never to know this, Wilkie. In parting from you, I took a solemnoath never to see you again, and to die without the supreme consolationof feeling your lips upon my forehead."
She could not continue; sobs choked her utterance. And for more than aminute the silence was so profound that one could hear the sound of lowconversation in the hall outside, the exclamations of the players asthey greeted each unexpected turn of luck, and occasionally a cry of"Banco!" or "I stake one hundred louis!" Standing silent and motionlessnear the window, Wilkie gazed with consternation at Madame d'Argeles,his mother, who was crouching in the middle of the room with her facehidden in her hands, and sobbing as if her heart would break. He wouldwillingly have given his third share in Pompier de Nanterre to havemade his escape. The strangeness of the scene appalled him. It wasnot emotion that he felt, but an instinctive fear mingled withcommiseration. And he was not only ill at ease, but he was angrywith himself for what he secretly styled his weakness. "Women areincomprehensible," he thought. "It would be so easy to explain thingsquietly and properly, but they must always cry and have a sort ofmelodrama."
Suddenly the sound of footsteps near the door roused him from hisstupor. He shuddered at the thought that some one might come in. Hehated the very idea of ridicule. So summoning all his courage he wenttoward Madame d'Argeles, and, raising her from the floor, he exclaimed:"Don't cry so. You grieve me, upon my word! Pray get up. Some one iscoming. Do you hear me? Some one is coming." Thereupon, as she offeredno resistance, he half led, half carried her to an arm-chair, intowhich she sank heavily. "Now she is going to faint!" thought Wilkie,in despair. What should he do? Call for help? He dared not. However,necessity inspired him. He knelt at Madame d'Argeles's feet, and gentlysaid: "Come, come, be reasonable! Why do you give way like this? I don'treproach you!"
Slowly, with an air of humility which was indescribably touching,she took her hands from her face, and for the first time raised hertear-stained eyes to her son's. "Wilkie," she murmured.
"Madame!"
She heaved a deep sigh, and in a half-stifled voice:
"MADAME!" she repeated. "Will you not call me mother?"
"Yes, of course--certainly. But--only you know it will take me some timeto acquire the habit. I shall do so, of course; but I shall have to getused to it, you know."
; "True, very true!--but tell me it is not mere pity that leads you tomake this promise? If you should hate me--if you should curse me--howshould I bear it! Ah! when a woman reaches the years of understandingone should never cease repeating to her: 'Take care! Your son will betwenty some day, and you will have to meet his searching gaze. Youwill have to render an account of your honor to him!' My God! If womenthought of this, they would never sin. To be reduced to such a state ofabject misery that one dares not lift one's head before one's own son!Alas! Wilkie, I know only too well that you cannot help despising me."
"No, indeed. Not at all! What an idea!"
"Tell me that you forgive me!"
"I do, upon my word I do."
Poor woman, her face brightened. She so longed to believe him! And herson was beside her, so near that she felt his breath upon her cheek. Itwas he indeed. Had they ever been separated? She almost doubted it, shehad lived so near him in thought. It was with a sort of ecstasy that shelooked at him. There was a world of entreaty in her eyes; they seemedto be begging a caress; she raised her quivering lips to his, but he didnot observe it. For a long time she hesitated, fearing he might spurnher; but at last, yielding to a supreme impulse, she threw her armsaround his neck, drew him toward her, and pressed him to her heart ina close embrace. "My son! my son!" she repeated; "to have you with meagain, after all these years!"
Unfortunately, no whirlwind of passion was capable of carrying M. Wilkiebeyond himself. His emotion was now spent and his mind had regainedits usual indifference. He flattered himself that he was a man ofmettle--and he remained as cold as ice beneath his mother's kisses.Indeed, he barely tolerated them; and if he did allow her to embracehim, it was only because he did not know how to refuse. "Will she neverhave done?" he thought. "This is a pretty state of things! I must bevery attractive. How Costard and Serpillon would laugh if they sawme now." Costard and Serpillon were his intimate friends, theco-proprietors of the famous steeplechaser.
In her rapture, however, Madame d'Argeles did not observe the peculiarexpression on her son's face. She had compelled him to take a chairopposite her, and, with nervous volubility, she continued: "If I don'tdeny myself the happiness of embracing you again, it is because I havenot broken the vow I took never to make myself known to you. When Ientered this room, I was firmly resolved to convince you, no matter how,that you had been deceived. God knows that it was not my fault if I didnot succeed. There are some sacrifices that are above human strength."
M. Wilkie deigned to smile. "Oh! yes, I saw your little game," he said,with a knowing air. "But I had been well posted, and besides, it is notvery easy to fool me."
Madame d'Argeles did not even hear him. "Perhaps destiny is weary ofafflicting us," she continued; "perhaps a new life is about to begin.Through you, Wilkie. I can again be happy. I, who for years have livedwithout even hope. But will you have courage to forget?"
"What?"
She hung her head, and in an almost inaudible voice replied, "The past,Wilkie."
But with an air of the greatest indifference, he snapped his fingers,and exclaimed: "Nonsense! What is past is past. Such things are soonforgotten. Paris has known many such cases. You are my mother; I carevery little for public opinion. I begin by pleasing myself, and Iconsult other people afterward; and when they are dissatisfied, I tellthem to mind their own business."
The poor woman listened to these words with a joy bordering on rapture.One might have supposed that the strangeness of her son's expressionswould have surprised her--have enlightened her in regard to his truecharacter--but no. She only saw and understood one thing--that he had nointention of casting her off, but was indeed ready to devote himself toher. "My God!" she faltered, "is this really true? Will you allow meto remain with you? Oh, don't reply rashly! Consider well, before youpromise to make such a sacrifice. Think how much sorrow and pain it willcost you."
"I have considered. It is decided--mother."
She sprang up, wild with hope and enthusiasm. "Then we are saved!"she cried. "Blessed be he who betrayed my secret! And I doubted yourcourage, my Wilkie! At last I can escape from this hell! This very nightwe will fly from this house, without one backward glance. I will neverset foot in these rooms again--the detested gamblers who are sittinghere shall never see me again. From this moment Lia d'Argeles is dead."
M. Wilkie positively felt like a man who had just fallen from theclouds. "What, fly?" he stammered. "Where shall we go, then?"
"To a country where we are unknown, Wilkie--to a land where you will nothave to blush for your mother."
"But--"
"Trust yourself to me, my son. I know a pleasant village near Londonwhere we can find a refuge. My connections in England are such that youneed not fear the obstacles one generally meets with among foreigners.M. Patterson, who manages a large manufacturing establishment, will, Iknow, be happy to be of service to us--but we shall not be indebted toany one for long, now that you have resolved to work."
On hearing these words, M. Wilkie sprang up in dismay. "Excuse me,"he said, "I don't understand you. You propose to set me to work in M.Patterson's factory? Well, to tell the truth, that doesn't suit me atall."
It was impossible to mistake M. Wilkie's manner, his tone, or gesture.They revealed him in his true character. Madame d'Argeles saw herterrible mistake at once. The bandage fell from her eyes. She had takenher dreams for realities, and the desires of her own heart for those ofher son. She rose, trembling with sorrow and with indignation. "Wilkie!"she exclaimed, "Wilkie, wretched boy! what did you dare to hope?"
And, without giving him time to reply, she continued: "Then it was onlyidle curiosity that brought you here. You wished to know the sourceof the money which you spend like water. Very well, you may seefor yourself. This is a gambling house; one of those establishmentsfrequented by distinguished personages, which the police ignore, orwhich they cannot suppress. The hubbub you hear is made by the players.Men are ruined here. Some poor wretches have blown their brains out onleaving the house; others have parted with the last vestige of honorhere. And the business pays me well. One louis out of every hundred thatchange hands falls to my share. This is the source of your wealth, myson."
This anger, which succeeded such deep grief--this outburst of disdain,following such abject humility--considerably astonished M. Wilkie."Allow me to ask----" he began.
But he was not allowed a hearing. "Fool!" continued Madame d'Argeles,"did nothing warn you that in coming here you would deprive yourselfforever of the income you received? Did no inward voice tell you thatall would be changed when you compelled me, Lia d'Argeles, to say,'Well, yes, it is true; you are my son?' So long as you did not knowwho and what I was, I had a mother's right to watch over you. I couldhelp you without disgracing you, without despising you. But now that youknow me, and know what I am, I can do nothing more for you--nothing! Iwould rather let you starve than succor you, for I would rather see youdead than dishonored by my money."
"But--"
"What! would you still consent to receive the allowance I have made you,even if I consented to continue it?"
Had a viper raised its head in M. Wilkie's path he would not haverecoiled more quickly. "Never!" he exclaimed. "Ah, no! What do you takeme for?"
This repugnance was sincere; there could be no doubt of that, and itseemed to give Madame d'Argeles a ray of hope. "I have misjudged him,"she thought. "Poor Wilkie! Evil advice has led him astray; but he is notbad at heart. In that case, my poor child," she said aloud, "you mustsee that a new life is about to commence for you. What do you intend todo? How will you gain a livelihood? People must have food, and clothes,and a roof to shelter them. These things cost money. And where willyou obtain it--you who rebel at the very word work? Ah! if I had onlylistened to M. Patterson. He was not blind like myself. He was alwaystelling me that I was spoiling you, and ruining your future by givingyou so much money. Do you know that you have spent more than fiftythousand francs during the past two years? How have you squandered them?Have you been to the law
-school a dozen times? No. But you can be seenat the races, at the opera, in the fashionable restaurants, and at everyplace of amusement where a young man can squander money. And who areyour associates? Dissipated and heartless idlers, grooms, gamblers, andabandoned women."
A sneer from M. Wilkie interrupted her. To think that any one shoulddare to attack his friends, his tastes, and his pleasures. Such a thingwas not to be tolerated. "This is astonishing--astonishing, upon myword!" said he. "You moralizing! that's really too good! I should like afew minutes to laugh; it is too ridiculous!"
Was he really conscious of the cruelty of his ironical words? The blowwas so terrible that Madame d'Argeles staggered beneath it. She wasprepared for anything and everything except this insult from her son.Still, she accepted it without rebellion, although it was in a tone ofheart-broken anguish that she replied: "Perhaps I have no right to tellyou the truth. I hope the future will prove that I am wrong. However,you are without resources, and you have no profession. Pray Heaven thatyou may never know what it is to be hungry and to have no bread."
For some time already the ingenious young man had shown unmistakablesigns of impatience. This gloomy prediction irritated him beyondendurance.
"All this is empty talk," he interrupted. "I don't mean to work, forit's not at all in my line. Still, I don't expect to want for anything!That's plain enough, I hope."
Madame d'Argeles did not wince. "What do you mean to do then?" sheasked, coldly. "I don't understand you."
He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Are we to keep up this farce forever?" he petulantly exclaimed. "It doesn't take with me. You know whatI mean as well as I do. Why do you talk to me about dying of starvation?What about the fortune?"
"What fortune?"
"Eh? why, my uncle's, of course! Your brother's, the Count de Chalusse."
Now M. Wilkie's visit, manner, assurance, wheedling, and contradictionswere all explained. That maternal confidence which is so strong in thehearts of mothers vanished from Madame d'Argeles's for ever. The depthsof selfishness and cunning she discerned in Wilkie's mind appalled her.She now understood why he had declared himself ready to brave publicopinion--why he had proved willing to accept his share of the pastignominy. It was not his mother's, but the Count de Chalusse's estatethat he claimed. "Ah! so you've heard of that," she said, in a toneof bitter irony. And then, remembering M. Isidore Fortunat, she asked:"Some one has sold you this valuable secret. How much have you promisedto pay him in case of success?"
Although Wilkie prided himself on being very clever, he did not pretendto be a diplomatist, and, indeed, he was greatly disconcerted by thisquestion; still, recovering himself, he replied: "It doesn't matter howI obtained the information--whether I paid for it, or whether it costme nothing--but I know that you are a Chalusse, and that you arethe heiress of the count's property, which is valued at eight or tenmillions of francs. Do you deny it?"
Madame d'Argeles sadly shook her head. "I deny nothing," she replied,"but I am about to tell you something which will destroy all your plansand extinguish your hopes. I am resolved, understand, and my resolutionis irrevocable, never to assert my rights. To receive this fortune, Ishould be obliged to confess that Lia d'Argeles is a Chalusse--and thatis a confession which no consideration whatever will wring from me."
She imagined that this declaration would silence and discomfit Wilkie,but she was mistaken. If he had been obliged to depend upon himself hewould perhaps have been conquered by it; but he was armed with weaponswhich had been furnished by the cunning viscount. So he shrugged hisshoulders, and coolly replied: "In that case we should remain poor, andthe government would take possession of our millions. One moment. Ihave something to say in this matter. You may renounce your claim, but Ishall not renounce mine. I am your son, and I shall claim the property."
"Even if I entreated you on my knees not to do so?"
"Yes."
Madame d'Argeles's eyes flashed. "Very well. I will show you that thisestate can never be yours. By what right will you lay claim to it?Because you are my son? But I will deny that you are. I will declareupon oath that you are nothing to me, and that I don't even know you."
But even this did not daunt Wilkie. He drew from his pocket a scrapof paper, and flourishing it triumphantly, he exclaimed: "It wouldbe extremely cruel on your part to deny me, but I foresaw such acontingency, and here is my answer, copied from the civil code: 'Article341. Inquiry as to maternity allowed, etc., etc.'"
What the exact bearing of Wilkie's threat might be Madame d'Argeles didnot know. But she felt that this Article 341 would no doubt destroy herlast hope; for the person who had chosen this weapon from the code toplace it in Wilkie's hand must have chosen it carefully. She understoodthe situation perfectly. With her experience of life, she could not failto understand the despicable part Wilkie was playing. And though it wasnot her son who had conceived this odious plot, it was more than enoughto know that he had consented to carry it into execution. Should she tryto persuade Wilkie to abandon this shameful scheme? She might have doneso if she had not been so horrified by the utter want of principle whichshe had discovered in his character. But, under the circumstances, sherealized that any effort in this direction would prove unavailing. Soit was purely from a sense of duty and to prevent her conscience fromreproaching her that she exclaimed: "So you will apply to the courts inorder to constrain me to acknowledge you as my son?"
"If you are not reasonable----"
"That is to say, you care nothing for the scandal that will be createdby such a course. In order to prove yourself a member of the Chalussefamily you will begin by disgracing the name and dragging it through themire."
Wilkie had no wish to prolong this discussion. So much talk about anaffair, which, in his opinion, at least, was an extremely simple one,seemed to him utterly ridiculous, and irritated him beyond endurance."It strikes me this is much ado about nothing," he remarked. "One wouldsuppose, to hear you talk, that you were the greatest criminal in theworld. Goodness is all very well in its way, but there is such a thingas having too much of it! Break loose from this life to-morrow, assumeyour rightful name, install yourself at the Hotel de Chalusse, and ina week from now no one will remember that you were once known as Liad'Argeles. I wager one hundred louis on it. Why, if people attempted torake up the past life of their acquaintances, they should have far toomuch to do. Folks do not trouble themselves as to whether a person hasdone this or that; the essential thing is to have plenty of money. Andif any fool speaks slightingly of you, you can reply: 'I have an incomeof five hundred thousand francs,' and he'll say no more."
Madame d'Argeles listened, speechless with horror and disgust. Was itreally her son who was speaking in this style, and to her of all peoplein the world? M. Wilkie misunderstood her silence. He had an excellentopinion of himself, but he was rather surprised at the effect of hiseloquence. "Besides, I'm tired of vegetating, and having only one name,"he continued. "I want to be on the move. Even with the small allowanceI've had, I have gained a very good position in society; and if I hadplenty of money I should be the most stylish man in Paris. The count'sestate belongs to me, and so I must have it--in fact, I will have it.So believe me when I tell you that it will be much better for you if youacknowledge me without any fuss! Now, will you do so? No? Once, twice,three times? Is it still no? Very well then; to-morrow, then, you mayexpect an official notice. I wish you good-evening."
He bowed; he was really going, for his hand was already on thedoor-knob. But Madame d'Argeles detained him with a gesture. "One wordmore," she said, in a voice hoarse with emotion.
He scarcely deigned to come back, and he made no attempt to conceal hisimpatience. "Well, what is it?" he asked, hastily.
"I wish to give you a bit of parting advice. The court will undoubtedlydecide in your favor; I shall be placed in possession of my brother'sestate; but neither you nor I will have the disposal of these millions."
"Why?"
"Because, though this fortune belongs to me, the control
of it belongsto your father."
M. Wilkie was thunderstruck. "To my father?" he exclaimed. "Impossible!"
"It is so, however; and you would not have been ignorant of the fact, ifyour greed for money had not made you forget to question me. You believeyourself an illegitimate child. Wilkie, you are mistaken. You are mylegitimate child. I am a married woman----"
"Bah!"
"And my husband--your father--is not dead. If he is not here now,threatening our safety, it is because I have succeeded in eluding him.He lost all trace of us eighteen years ago. Since then he has beenconstantly striving to discover us, but in vain. He is still watching,you may be sure of that; and as soon as there is any talk of a law-suitrespecting the Chalusse property, you will see him appear, armed withhis rights. He is the head of the family--your master and mine. Ah! thisseems to disturb you. You will find him full of insatiable greed forwealth, a greed which has been whetted by twenty years' waiting. You mayyet see the day when you will regret the paltry twenty thousand francs ayear formerly given you by your poor mother."
Wilkie's face was whiter than his shirt. "You are deceiving me," hestammered.
"To-morrow I will show you my marriage certificate."
"Why not this evening?"
"Because it is locked up in a room which is now full of people."
"And what was my father's name?"
"Arthur Gordon--he is an American."
"Then my name is Wilkie Gordon?"
"Yes."
"And---is my father rich?" he inquired.
"No."
"What does he do?"
"Everything that a man can do when he has a taste for luxury and ahorror for work."
This reply was so explicit in its brevity, and implied so many terribleaccusations, that Wilkie was dismayed. "The devil!" he exclaimed, "andwhere does he live!"
"He lives at Baden or Homburg in the summer; in Paris or at Monaco inthe winter."
"Oh! oh! oh!" ejaculated Wilkie, in three different tones. He knewwhat he had to expect from such a father as that. Anger now followedstupor--one of those terrible, white rages which stir the bile and notthe blood. He saw his hopes and his cherished visions fade. Luxury andnotoriety, high-stepping horses, yellow-haired mistresses, all vanished.He pictured himself reduced to a mere pittance, and held in check anddomineered over by a brutal father. "Ah! I understand your game," hehissed through his set teeth. "If you would only quietly assert yourrights, everything could be arranged privately, and I should have timeto put the property out of my father's reach before he could claim it.Instead of doing that--as you hate me--you compel me to make the affairpublic, so that my father will hear of it and defraud me of everything.But you won't play this trick on me. You are going to write at once, andmake known your claim to your brother's estate."
"No."
"Ah! you won't? You refuse----" He approached threateningly, andcaught hold of her arm. "Take care!" he vociferated; "take care! Do notinfuriate me beyond endurance----"
As cold and rigid as marble, Madame d'Argeles faced him with theundaunted glance of a martyr whose spirit no violence can subdue. "Youwill obtain nothing from me," she said, firmly; "nothing, nothing,nothing!"
Maddened with rage and disappointment, M. Wilkie dared to lift his handas if about to strike her. But at this moment the door was flung open,and a man sprang upon him. It was Baron Trigault.
Like the other guests, the baron had seen the terrible effect producedupon Madame d'Argeles by a simple visiting card. But he had thisadvantage over the others: he thought he could divine and explain thereason of this sudden, seemingly incomprehensible terror. "The poorwoman has been betrayed," he thought; "her son is here!" Still, whilethe other players crowded around their hostess, he did not leave thecard-table. He was sitting opposite M. de Coralth, and he had seen thedashing viscount start and change color. His suspicions were instantlyaroused, and he wished to verify them. He therefore pretended to be morethan ever absorbed in the cards, and swore lustily at the deserters whohad broken up the game. "Come back, gentleman, come back," he cried,angrily. "We are wasting precious time. While you have been triflingthere, I might have gained--or lost--a hundred louis."
He was nevertheless greatly alarmed, and the prolonged absence of Madamed'Argeles increased his fears each moment. At the end of an hour hecould restrain himself no longer. So taking advantage of a heavy loss,he rose from the table, swearing that the beastly turmoil of a fewmoments before had changed the luck. Then passing into the adjoiningdrawing-room, he managed to make his escape unobserved. "Where ismadame?" he inquired of the first servant he met.
"In the little sitting-room."
"Alone?"
"No; a young gentleman is with her."
The baron no longer doubted the correctness of his conjectures, and hisdisquietude increased. Quickly, and as if he had been in his own house,he hastened to the door of the little sitting-room and listened. At thatmoment rage was imparting a truly frightful intonation to M. Wilkie'svoice. The baron really felt alarmed. He stooped, applied his eye to thekeyhole, and seeing M. Wilkie with his hand uplifted, he burst open thedoor and went in. He arrived only just in time to fell Wilkie tothe floor, and save Madame d'Argeles from that most terrible ofhumiliations: the degradation of being struck by her own son. "Ah, yourascal!" cried the worthy baron, transported with indignation, "youbeggarly rascal! you brigand! Is this the way you treat an unfortunatewoman who has sacrificed herself for you--your mother? You try to strikeyour mother, when you ought to kiss her very footprints!"
As livid as if his blood had been suddenly turned to gall--withquivering lips and eyes starting from their sockets--M. Wilkie rose,with difficulty, to his feet, at the same time rubbing his left elbowwhich had struck against the corner of a piece of furniture, in hisfall. "Scoundrel! You brutal scoundrel!" he growled, ferociously. Andthen, retreating a step: "Who gave you permission to come in here?" headded. "Who are you? By what right do you meddle with my affairs?"
"By the right that every honest man possesses to chastise a cowardlyrascal."
M. Wilkie shook his fist at the baron. "You are a coward yourself," heretorted. "You had better learn who you are talking to! You must mendyour manners a little, you old----"
The word he uttered was so vile that no man could fail to resent it,much less the baron, who was already frantic with passion. His facedturned as purple as if he were stricken with apoplexy, and such furiousrage gleamed in his eyes that Madame d'Argeles was frightened. Shefeared she should see her son butchered before her very eyes, andshe extended her arms as if to protect him. "Jacques," she saidbeseechingly, "Jacques!"
This was the name which was indelibly impressed upon Wilkie'smemory--the name he had heard when he was but a child. Jacques--thatwas the name of the man who had brought him cakes and toys in thecomfortable rooms where he had remained only a few days. He understood,or at least he thought he understood, everything. "Ah, ha!" heexclaimed, with a laugh that was at once both ferocious and idiotic."This is very fine--monsieur is the lover. He has the say here--he--"
He did not have time to finish his sentence, for quick as thoughtthe baron caught him by the collar, lifted him from the ground withirresistible strength, and flung him on his knees at Madame d'Argeles'sfeet, exclaiming: "Ask her pardon, you vile wretch! Ask her pardon,or----" "Or" meant the baron's clinched fist descending like asledge-hammer on M. Wilkie's head.
The worthy youth was frightened--so terribly frightened that his teethchattered. "Pardon!" he faltered.
"Louder--speak up better than that. Your mother must answer you!"
Alas! the poor woman could no longer hear. She had endured so muchduring the past hour that her strength was exhausted, and she had fallenback in her arm-chair in a deep swoon. The baron waited for a moment,and seeing that her eyes remained obstinately closed, he exclaimed:"This is your work, wretch!"
And lifting him again, as easily as if he had been a child, he set himon his feet, saying in a calmer tone, but in one that admitted of n
oreply: "Arrange your clothes and go."
This advice was not unnecessary. Baron Trigault had a powerful hand;and M. Wilkie's attire was decidedly the worse for the encounter. Hehad lost his cravat, his shirt-front was crumpled and torn, and hiswaistcoat--one of those that open to the waist and are fastened by asingle button--hung down in the most dejected manner. He obeyed thebaron's order without a word, but not without considerable difficulty,for his hands trembled like a leaf. When he had finished, the baronexclaimed: "Now be off; and never set foot here again--understandme--never set foot here again, never!"
M. Wilkie made no reply until he reached the door leading into the hall.But when he had opened it, he suddenly regained his powers of speech."I'm not afraid of you," he cried, with frantic violence. "You havetaken advantage of your superior strength--you are a coward. But thisshall not end here. No!--you shall answer for it. I shall find youraddress, and to-morrow you will receive a visit from my friends M.Costard and M. Serpillon. I am the insulted party--and I choose swords!"
A frightful oath from the baron somewhat hastened M. Wilkie's exit. Hewent out into the hall, and holding the door open, in a way that wouldenable him to close it at the shortest notice, he shouted back, so as tobe heard by all the servants: "Yes; I will have satisfaction. I will notstand such treatment. Is it any fault of mine that Madame d'Argeles is aChalusse, and that she wishes to defraud me of my fortune. To-morrow, Icall you all to witness, there will be a lawyer here. You don't frightenme. Here is my card!" And actually, before he closed the door, he threwone of his cards into the middle of the room.
The baron did not trouble himself to pick it up; his attention wasdevoted to Madame d'Argeles. She was lying back in her arm-chair, white,motionless and rigid, to all appearance dead. What should the barondo? He did not wish to call the servants; they had heard too muchalready--but he had almost decided to do so, when his eyes fell upon atiny aquarium, in a corner of the room. He dipped his handkerchief init; and alternately bathed Madame d'Argeles's temples and chafed herhands. It was not long before the cold water revived her. She trembled,a convulsive shudder shook her from head to foot, and at last she openedher eyes, murmuring: "Wilkie!"
"I have sent him away," replied the baron.
Poor woman! with returning life came the consciousness of the terriblereality. "He is my son!" she moaned, "my son, my Wilkie!" Then with adespairing gesture she pressed her hands to her forehead as if to calmits throbbings. "And I believed that my sin was expiated," she pursued."I thought I had been sufficiently punished. Fool that I was! This is mychastisement, Jacques. Ah! women like me have no right to be mothers!"
A burning tear coursed down the baron's cheek; but he concealed hisemotion as well as he could, and said, in a tone of assumed gayety:"Nonsense! Wilkie is young--he will mend his ways! We were allridiculous when we were twenty. We have all caused our mothers manyanxious nights. Time will set everything to rights, and put some ballastin this young madcap's brains. Besides, your friend Patterson doesn'tseem to me quite free from blame. In knowledge of books, he may havebeen unequalled; but as a guardian for youth, he must have been theworst of fools. After keeping your son on a short allowance for years,he suddenly gorges him with oats--or I should say, money--lets himloose; and then seems surprised because the boy is guilty of acts offolly. It would be a miracle if he were not. So take courage, and hopefor the best, my dear Lia."
She shook her head despondingly. "Do you suppose that my heart hasn'tpleaded for him?" she said. "I am his mother; I can never cease to lovehim, whatever he may do. Even now I am ready to give a drop of blood foreach tear I can save him. But I am not blind; I have read his nature.Wilkie has no heart."
"Ah! my dear friend, how do you know what shameful advice he may havereceived before coming to you?"
Madame d'Argeles half rose, and said, in an agitated voice: "What! youtry to make me believe that? 'Advice!' Then he must have found a manwho said to him: 'Go to the house of this unfortunate woman who gave youbirth, and order her to publish her dishonor and yours. If she refuses,insult and beat her! 'You know, even better than I, baron, that thisis impossible. In the vilest natures, and when every other honorablefeeling has been lost, love for one's mother survives. Even convictsdeprive themselves of their wine, and sell their rations, in order tosend a trifle now and then to their mothers--while he----"
She paused, not because she shrunk from what she was about to say, butbecause she was exhausted and out of breath. She rested for a moment,and then resumed in a calmer tone: "Besides, the person who sent himhere had counselled coolness and prudence. I discovered this at once.It was only toward the close of the interview, and after an unexpectedrevelation from me, that he lost all control over himself. The thoughtthat he would lose my brother's millions crazed him. Oh! that fatal andaccursed money! Wilkie's adviser wished him to employ legal means toobtain an acknowledgment of his parentage; and he had copied from theCode a clause which is applicable to this case. By this one circumstanceI am convinced that his adviser is a man of experience in suchmatters--in other words, the business agent----"
"What business agent?" inquired the baron.
"The person who called here the other day, M. Isidore Fortunat. Ah! whydidn't I not bribe him to hold his peace?"
The baron had entirely forgotten the existence of Victor Chupin'shonorable employer. "You are mistaken, Lia," he replied. "M. Fortunathas had no hand in this."
"Then who could have betrayed my secret?"
"Why, your former ally, the rascal for whose sake you allowed PascalFerailleur to be sacrificed--the Viscount de Coralth!"
The bare supposition of such treachery on the viscount's part brought aflush of indignant anger to Madame d'Argeles's cheek. "Ah! if I thoughtthat!" she exclaimed. And then, remembering what reasons the baron hadfor hating M. de Coralth, she murmured: "No! Your animosity misleadsyou--he wouldn't dare!"
The baron read her thoughts. "So you are persuaded that it is personalvengeance that I am pursuing?" said he. "You think that fear of ridiculeand public odium prevents me from striking M. de Coralth in my own name,and that I am endeavoring to find some other excuse to crush him. Thismight have been so once; but it is not the case now. When I promisedM. Ferailleur to do all in my power to save the young girl he loves,Mademoiselle Marguerite, my wife's daughter, I renounced all thought ofself, all my former plans. And why should you doubt Coralth's treachery?You, yourself, promised me to unmask HIM. If he has betrayed YOU, mypoor Lia, he has only been a little in advance of you."
She hung her head and made no reply. She had forgotten this.
"Besides," continued the baron, "you ought to know that when I make sucha statement I have some better foundation for it than mere conjecture.It was to some purpose that I watched M. de Coralth during your absence.When the servant handed you that card he turned extremely pale. Why?Because he knew whose card it was. After you left the room his handstrembled like leaves, and his mind was no longer occupied with the game.He--who is usually such a cautious player--risked his money recklessly.When the cards came to him he did still worse; and though luck favoredhim, he made the strangest blunders, and lost. His agitation andpreoccupation were so marked as to attract attention; and oneacquaintance laughingly inquired if he were ill, while another jestinglyremarked that he had dined and wined a little too much. The traitorwas evidently on coals of fire. I could see the perspiration on hisforehead, and each time the door opened or shut, he changed color, as ifhe expected to see you and Wilkie enter. A dozen times I surprised himlistening eagerly, as if by dint of attention, or by the magnetic forceof his will, he hoped to hear what you and your son were saying. With asingle word I could have wrung a confession from him."
This explanation was so plausible that Madame d'Argeles felt halfconvinced. "Ah! if you had only spoken that word!" she murmured. Thebaron smiled a crafty and malicious smile, which would have chilledM. de Coralth's very blood if he had chanced to see it. "I am not sostupid!" he replied. "We mustn't frighten the fish till we are quit
eready. Our net is the Chalusse estate, and Coralth and Valorsay willenter it of their own accord. It is not my plan, but M. Ferailleur's.There's a man for you! and if Mademoiselle Marguerite is worthy of himthey will make a noble pair. Without suspecting it, your son has perhapsrendered us an important service this evening--"
"Alas!" faltered Madame d'Argeles, "I am none the less ruined--the nameof Chalusse is none the less dishonored!"
She wanted to return to the drawing-room; but she was compelled torelinquish this idea. The expression of her face betrayed too plainlythe terrible ordeal she had passed through. The servants had heardM. Wilkie's parting words; and news of this sort flies about withthe rapidity of lightning. That very night, indeed, it was currentlyreported at the clubs that there would be no more card-playing at thed'Argeles establishment, as that lady was a Chalusse, and consequentlythe aunt of the beautiful young girl whom M. and Madame de Fondege hadtaken under their protection.