CHAPTER XXXV.
"EVERY MAN TO HIS OWN PLACE."
Obedient to the wishes of M. Lecoq, Andre resigned himself to a lengthysojourn at the Hospital de Beaujon, and had even the courage to affectthat state of profound indifference that had deceived Mascarin. Thepretended sick man in the next bed to his told him all that had takenplace, but the days seemed to be interminable, and he was beginningto lose patience, when one morning he received a letter which causeda gleam of joy to pass through his heart. "All is right," wrote Lecoq."Danger is at an end. Ask the house surgeon for leave to quit thehospital. Dress yourself smartly. You will find me waiting at thedoors.--L."
Andre was not quite convalescent, for he might have to wear his arm in asling for many weeks longer; but these considerations did not deter him.He now dressed himself in a suit which he had sent for to his rooms, andabout nine o'clock he left the hospital.
He stood upon the steps inhaling deep draughts of the fresh air, andthen began to wonder where the strange personage was to whom he owedhis life. While he was deliberating what to do, an open carriage drew upbefore the door of the hospital.
"You have come at last," exclaimed Andre, rushing up to the gentlemanwho alighted from it. "I was getting quite anxious."
"I am about five minutes late," returned Lecoq; "but I was detained,"and then, as Andre began to pour out his thanks, he added, "Get into thecarriage; I have a great deal to say to you."
Andre obeyed, and as he did so, he detected something strange in theexpression of his companion's face.
"What!" remarked Lecoq, "do you see by my face that I have something totell you? You are getting quite a keen observer. Well, I have, indeed,for I have passed the night going through Mascarin's papers, and I havejust gone through a painful scene--I may say, one of the most painfulthat I have ever witnessed. The intellect of Mascarin," said he, "hasgiven way under the tremendous pressure put upon it. The ruling passionof the villain's life was his love for his daughter. He imagines thatFlavia and Paul are without a franc and in want of bread; he thinks thathe continually hears his daughter crying to him for help. Then, onhis knees, he entreats the warder to let him out, if only for a day,swearing that he will return as soon as he has succored his child. Then,when his prayer is refused, he bursts into a frenzied rage and tears athis door, howling like an infuriated animal; and this state may last tothe end of his life, and every minute in it be a space of intolerabletorture. Doctor Hortebise is dead; but the poison upon which he reliedbetrayed him, and he suffered agonies for twenty-four hours. Catenacwill fight to the bitter end, but the proofs are against him, andhe will be convicted of infanticide. In Rigal's papers I have foundevidence against Perpignan, Verminet and Van Klopen, who will allcertainly hear something about penal servitude. Nothing has been settledyet about Toto Chupin, for it must be remembered that he came and gavehimself up."
"And what about Croisenois?"
"His Company will be treated like any other attempt to extort money byswindling, and the Marquis will be sent to prison for two months, andthe money paid for shares returned to the dupes, and that, I think, isall that I have to tell you, except that by to-morrow M. Gandelu willreceive back the bills to which his son affixed a forged signature. Andnow," continued Lecoq, after a short pause, "the time has come for me totell you why, at our first interview, I saluted you as the heir of theDuke de Champdoce. I had guessed your history, but it was only lastnight I heard all the details."
Then the detective gave a brief but concise account of the manuscriptthat Paul had read aloud. He did not tell much, however, but passedlightly over the acts of the Duke de Champdoce and Madame de Mussidan,for he did not wish Andre to cease to respect either his father or themother of Sabine. The story was just concluded as the carriage drew upat the corner of the Rue de Matignon.
"Get down here," said Lecoq, "and mind and don't hurt your arm."
Andre obeyed mechanically.
"And now," went on Lecoq, "listen to me. The Count and Countess deMussidan expect you to breakfast and here is the note they handed tome for you. Come back to your studio by four o'clock, and I willthen introduce you to your father; but till then, remember, absolutesilence."
Andre was completely bewildered with his unexpected happiness. He walkedinstinctively to the Hotel de Mussidan and rang the bell. The intensecivility of the footmen removed any misgivings that he might have left,and, as he entered the dining-room, he darted back, for face to facewith him was the portrait of Sabine which he had himself painted. Atthat moment the Count came forward to meet him with extended hands.
"Diana," said he to his wife, "this is our daughter's future husband."He then took Sabine's hand, which he laid in Andre's.
The young artist hardly dared raise his eyes to Sabine's face; when hedid so, his heart grew very sad, for the poor girl was but a shadow ofher former self.
"You have suffered terribly," said he tenderly.
"Yes," answered she, "and I should have died had it lasted much longer."
Andre had the greatest difficulty in refraining from telling his secretto his beloved, and it was with even more difficulty that he torehimself away at half-past three.
He had not been five minutes in his studio when there was a knock atthe door, and Lecoq entered, followed by an elderly gentleman ofaristocratic and haughty appearance. It was the Duke of Champdoce.
"This gentleman," said the Duke, with a gesture of his hand towardsLecoq, "will have told you that certain circumstances rendered itexpedient, according to my ideas, that I should not acknowledge you asmy heir, but my son. The fault that I then committed has been cruellyexpiated. I am not forty-eight; look at me."
The Duke looked at least sixty.
"My sins," continued the Duke, "still pursue me. To-day, in spite of allmy desires, I cannot claim you as my legitimate son, for the law onlypermits me to give you my name and fortune by exercising the right ofadoption."
Andre made no reply, and the Duke went on with evident hesitation,--
"You can certainly institute proceedings against me for the recovery ofyour rights, but--"
"Ah!" interrupted the young man, "really, what sort of person do youthink I am? Do you believe me capable of dishonoring your name before Iassumed it?"
The Duke drew a deep breath of relief. Andre's manner had checkedand restrained him, for it was frigid and glacial to a degree. What adifference there was between the haughty mien of Andre and the gushingeffusiveness of Paul!
"Will you permit me," asked Andre, "to address a few words to you?"
"A few words?"
"Yes. I do not like to use the word 'conditions,' but I think that youwill understand what I mean. My daily toil for bread gave me neither themeans nor the leisure which I required to cultivate my art, for that isa profession that I could never give up."
"You will be certainly your own master."
Andre paused, as if to reflect.
"This is not all I had to say," he continued at last. "I love and amloved by a pure and beautiful girl; our marriage is arranged, and Ithink--"
"I think," broke in the Duke, "that you could not love any one who wasnot a fit bride for a member of our family."
"But I did not belong to this family yesterday. Be at ease, however, forshe is worthy of a Champdoce. I am engaged to Sabine de Mussidan."
A deadly paleness overspread the Duke's face as he heard this name.
"Never," said he. "Never; I would rather see you dead at my feet."
"And I would gladly suffer ten thousand deaths than give her up."
"Suppose I refuse my consent? Suppose that I forbid----"
"You have no claim to exercise paternal authority over me; this canonly be purchased by years of tender care. Duke de Champdoce, I owe younothing. Leave me to myself, as you have hitherto done, and all will besimplified."
The Duke reflected. Must he give up his son, who had been restored tohim by such a series of almost miraculous chances, or must he see himmarried to Diana's daughter? Either alterna
tive appeared to him to beequally disagreeable.
"I will not yield on the point," said he. "Besides, the Countess wouldnever give her consent. She hates me as much as I hate her."
M. Lecoq, who had up to this moment looked on in silence, now thought ittime to interpose.
"I think," remarked he blandly, "that I shall have no difficulty inobtaining the consent of Madame de Mussidan."
The Duke, at these words, threw open his arms.
"Come, my son!" said he. "All shall be as you desire."
That night, Marie, Duchess de Champdoce, experienced happiness for thefirst time in the affection and caresses of a son who had been solong lost to her, and seemed to throw off the heavy burden that had soheavily pressed her down beneath its own weight.
When Madame de Mussidan heard that Andre was Norbert's son, she declaredthat nothing could induce her to give her consent to his marriage withher daughter; but among Mascarin's papers Lecoq had discovered thepacket containing the compromising correspondence between the Duke deChampdoce and herself. The detective handed this over to her, and, inher gratitude, she promised to give up all further opposition to thematch.
Lecoq always denied that this act came under the head of blackmailing.
Andre and Sabine took up their residence after marriage at the Chateaude Mussidan, which had been magnificently restored and decorated. Theyseldom leave it, for they love it for its vicinity to the leafy groves,in which they first learned that they had given their hearts to eachother. And Andre frequently points out the unfinished work on thebalcony, which was the occasion of his first visit to the Chateau deMussidan. He says that he will complete it as soon as he has time, butit is doubtful whether he will ever find leisure to do this for a longtime, for before the new year comes there is every chance of there beinga baptism at the little chapel at Bevron.
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