XVII.
M. Isidore Fortunat was not the man to go to sleep over a plan when itwas once formed. Whenever he said to himself, "I'll do this, or that,"he did it as soon as possible--that very evening, rather than the nextday. Having sworn that he would find out Madame d'Argeles's son, theheir to the Count de Chalusse's millions, it did not take him longto decide which of his agents he would select to assist him in thisdifficult task. Thus his first care, on returning home, was to ask hisbookkeeper for Victor Chupin's address.
"He lives in the Faubourg Saint-Denis," replied the bookkeeper, "atNo.--."
"Very well," muttered M. Fortunat; "I'll go there as soon as I haveeaten my dinner." And, indeed, as soon as he had swallowed his coffee,he requested Madame Dodelin to bring him his overcoat, and half an hourlater he reached the door of the house where his clerk resided.
The house was one of those huge, ungainly structures, large enoughto shelter the population of a small village, with three or fourcourtyards, as many staircases as there are letters in the alphabet,and a concierge who seldom remembers the names of the tenants except onquarter-days when he goes to collect the rent, and at New Year, when heexpects a gratuity. But, by one of those lucky chances made expresslyfor M. Fortunat, the porter did recollect Chupin, knew him and waskindly disposed toward him, and so he told the visitor exactly how andwhere to find him. It was very simple. He had only to cross the firstcourtyard, take staircase D, on the left-hand side, ascend to the sixthfloor, go straight ahead, etc., etc.
Thanks to this unusual civility, M. Fortunat did not lose his way morethan five times before reaching the door upon which was fastened a bitof pasteboard bearing Victor Chupin's name. Noticing that a bell-ropehung beside the door, M. Fortunat pulled it, whereupon there was atinkling, and a voice called out, "Come in!" He complied, and foundhimself in a small and cheaply furnished room, which was, however,radiant with the cleanliness which is in itself a luxury. The waxedfloor shone like a mirror; the furniture was brilliantly polished, andthe counterpane and curtains of the bed were as white as snow. Whatfirst attracted the agent's attention was the number of superfluousarticles scattered about the apartment--some plaster statuettes oneither side of a gilt clock, an etagere crowded with knickknacks, andfive or six passable engravings. When he entered, Victor Chupin wassitting, in his shirt-sleeves, at a little table, where, by the light ofa small lamp, and with a zeal that brought a flush to his cheeks, he wascopying, in a very fair hand a page from a French dictionary. Near thebed, in the shade, sat a poorly but neatly clad woman about forty yearsof age, who was knitting industriously with some long wooden needles.
"M. Victor Chupin?" inquired M. Fortunat.
The sound of his voice made the young man spring to his feet. He quicklylifted the shade from his lamp, and, without attempting to conceal hisastonishment, exclaimed: "M'sieur Fortunat!--at this hour! Where'sthe fire?" Then, in a grave manner that contrasted strangely withhis accustomed levity: "Mother," said he, "this is one of my patrons,M'sieur Fortunat--you know--the gentleman whom I collect for."
The knitter rose, bowed respectfully, and said: "I hope, sir, that youare pleased with my son, and that he's honest."
"Certainly, madame," replied the agent; "certainly. Victor is one of mybest and most reliable clerks."
"Then I'm content," said the woman, reseating herself.
Chupin also seemed delighted "This is my good mother, sir," said he."She's almost blind now; but, in less than six months she will be ableto stand at her window and see a pin in the middle of the street, sothe physician who is treating her eyes promised me; then we shall beall right again. But take a seat, sir. May we venture to offer youanything?"
Although his clerk had more than once alluded to his responsibilities,M. Fortunat was amazed. He marvelled at the perfume of honesty whichexhaled from these poor people, at the dignity of this humble woman, andat the protecting and respectful affection evinced by her son--a youngman, whose usual tone of voice and general behavior had seemed toindicate that he was decidedly a scapegrace. "Thanks, Victor," hereplied, "I won't take any refreshment. I've just left the dinner-table.I've come to give you my instructions respecting a very important andvery urgent matter."
Chupin at once understood that his employer wished for a privateinterview. Accordingly, he took up the lamp, opened a door, and, in thepompous tone of a rich banker who is inviting some important personageto enter his private room, he said: "Will you be kind enough to stepinto my chamber, m'sieur?"
The room which Chupin so emphatically denominated his "chamber" was atiny nook, extraordinarily clean, it is true, but scantily furnishedwith a small iron bedstead, a trunk, and a chair. He offered the chairto his visitor, placed the lamp on the trunk, and seated himself on thebed, saying as he did so: "This is scarcely on so grand a scale as yourestablishment, m'sieur; but I am going to ask the landlord to gild thewindow of my snuff-box."
M. Fortunat was positively touched. He held out his hand to his clerkand exclaimed: "You're a worthy fellow, Chupin."
"Nonsense, m'sieur, one does what one can; but, zounds! how hard it isto make money honestly! If my good mother could only see, she wouldhelp me famously, for there is no one like her for work! But you see onecan't become a millionaire by knitting!"
"Doesn't your father live with you?"
Chupin's eyes gleamed angrily. "Ah! don't speak of that man to me,m'sieur!" he exclaimed, "or I shall hurt somebody." And then, as if hefelt it necessary to explain and excuse his vindictive exclamation, headded: "My father, Polyte Chupin, is a good-for-nothing scamp. And yethe's had his opportunities. First, he was fortunate enough to find awife like my mother, who is honesty itself--so much so that she wascalled Toinon the Virtuous when she was young. She idolized him, andnearly killed herself by working to earn money for him. And yet heabused her so much, and made her weep so much, that she has becomeblind. But that's not all. One morning there came to him--I don't knowwhence or how--enough money for him to have lived like a gentleman. Ibelieve it was a munificent reward for some service he had rendered agreat nobleman at the time when my grandmother, who is now dead, kept adramshop called the Poivriere. Any other man would have treasured thatmoney, but not he. What he did was to carouse day and night, and all thewhile my poor mother was working her fingers to the bone to earn foodfor me. She never saw a penny of all his money; and, indeed, once whenshe asked him to pay the rent, he beat her so cruelly that she was laidup in bed for a week. However, monsieur, you can very readily understandthat when a man leads that kind of life, he speedily comes to the end ofhis banking account. So my father was soon without a penny in his purse,and then he was obliged to work in order to get something to eat, andthis didn't suit him at all. But when he didn't know where to find acrust he remembered us; he sought us out, and found us. Once I lent hima hundred sous; the next day he came for forty more, and the next forthree francs; then for five francs again. And so it was every day: 'Giveme this, or give me that!' At last I said, 'Enough of this, the bank'sclosed!' Then, what do you think he did? He watched the house until hesaw me go out; then he came in with a second-hand furniture-dealer,and tried to sell everything, pretending that he was the master. Andmy poor, dear mother would have allowed him to do it. Fortunately, Ihappened to come in again. Let him sell my furniture? Not I. I wouldsooner have been chopped in pieces! I went and complained to thecommissary of police, who made my father leave the house, and since thenwe've lived in peace."
Certainly this was more than sufficient to explain and excuse VictorChupin's indignation. And yet he had prudently withheld the most seriousand important cause of his dislike. What he refrained from tellingwas that years before, when he was still a mere child, without will ordiscernment, his father had taken him from his mother, and had startedhim down that terrible descent, which inevitably leads one to prison orthe gallows, unless there be an almost miraculous interposition on one'sbehalf. This miracle had occurred in Chupin's case; but he did not boastof it.
"Come, come!" said M. Fortun
at, "don't worry too much about it. Afather's a father after all, and yours will undoubtedly reform by andby."
He said this as he would have said anything else, out of politeness andfor the sake of testifying a friendly interest; but he really cared nomore for this information concerning the Chupin family than the grandTurk. His first emotion had quickly vanished; and he was beginning tofind these confidential disclosures rather wearisome. "Let us get backto business," he remarked; "that is to say, to Casimir. What did you dowith the fool after my departure?"
"First, monsieur, I sobered him; which was no easy task. The greedyidiot had converted himself into a wine-cask! At last, however, when hecould talk as well as you and I, and walk straight, I took him back tothe Hotel de Chalusse."
"That was right. But didn't you have some business to transact withhim?"
"That's been arranged, monsieur; the agreement has been signed. Thecount will have the best of funerals--the finest hearse out, with sixhorses, twenty-four mourning coaches--a grand display, in fact. It willbe worth seeing."
M. Fortunat smiled graciously. "That ought to bring you a handsomecommission," he said, benignly.
Employed by the job, Chupin was the master of his own time, free toutilize his intelligence and industry as he chose, but M. Fortunat didnot like his subordinates to make any money except through him. Hencehis approval, in the present instance, was so remarkable that itawakened Chupin's suspicions. "I shall make a few sous, probably," hemodestly replied, "a trifle to aid my good mother in keeping the potboiling."
"So much the better, my boy," said M. Fortunat. "I like to see moneygained by those who make a good use of it. And to prove this, I'mabout to employ you in an affair which will pay you handsomely if youprosecute it successfully."
Chupin's eyes brightened at first but grew dark a moment afterward, fordelight had been quickly followed by a feeling of distrust. He thoughtit exceedingly strange that an employer should take the trouble to climbto a sixth floor merely for the purpose of conferring a favor on hisclerk. There must be something behind all this; and so it behove him tokeep his eyes open. However, he knew how to conceal his real feelings;and it was with a joyous air that he exclaimed: "Eh! What? Money? Now?What must I do to earn it?"
"Oh! a mere trifle," replied the agent; "almost nothing, indeed." Anddrawing his chair nearer to the bed on which his employee was seated,he added: "But first, one question, Victor. By the way in which a womanlooks at a young man in the street, at the theatre or anywhere--wouldyou know if she were watching her son?"
Chupin shrugged his shoulders. "What a question!" he retorted."Nonsense! monsieur, it would be impossible to deceive me. I should onlyhave to remember my mother's eyes when I return home in the evening.Poor woman! although she's half blind, she sees me--and if you wishto make her happy, you've only to tell her I'm the handsomest and mostamiable youth in Paris."
M. Fortunat could not refrain from rubbing his hands, so delighted washe to see his idea so perfectly understood and so admirably expressed."Good!" he declared; "very good! That's intelligence, if I am any judge.I have not been deceived in you, Victor."
Victor was on fire with curiosity. "What am I to do, monsieur?" he askedeagerly.
"This: you must follow a woman whom I shall point out to you, follow hereverywhere without once losing sight of her, and so skilfully as not tolet her suspect it. You must watch her every glance, and when her eyestell you that she is looking at her son, your task will be nearly over.You will then only have to follow this son, and find out his name andaddress, what he does, and how he lives. I don't know if I explain whatI mean very clearly."
This doubt was awakened in M. Fortunat's mind by Chupin's features,which were expressive of lively astonishment and discontent. "Excuse me,monsieur," he said, at last, "I do not understand at all."
"It's very simple, however. The lady in question has a son about twenty.I know it--I'm sure of it. But she denies it; she conceals the fact, andhe doesn't even know her. She secretly watches over him, however--sheprovides him with money, and every day she finds some way of seeing him.Now, it is to my interest to find this son."
Chupin's mobile face became actually threatening in its expression; hefrowned darkly, and his lips quivered. Still this did not prevent M.Fortunat from adding, with the assurance of a man who does not evensuspect the possibility of a refusal: "Now, when shall we set about ourtask?"
"Never!" cried Chupin, violently; and, rising, he continued: "No! Iwouldn't let my good mother eat bread earned in that way--it wouldstrangle her! Turn spy! I? Thanks--some one else may have the job!" Hehad become as red as a turkey-cock, and such was his indignation that heforgot his accustomed reserve and the caution with which he had so farconcealed his antecedents. "I know this game--I've tried it!" he wenton, vehemently. "One might as well take one's ticket to prison by adirect road. I should be there now if it hadn't been for Monsieur Andre.I was thirsting for gold, and, like the brigand that I was, I shouldhave killed the man; but in revenge he drew me from the mire and placedmy feet on solid ground once more. And now, shall I go back to my viletricks again? Why, I'd rather cut my leg off! I'm to hunt down this poorwoman--I'm to discover her secret so that you may extort money from her,am I? No, not I! I should like to be rich, and I shall be rich; but I'llmake my money honestly. I hope to touch my hundred-franc pieces withoutbeing obliged to wash my hands afterward. So, a very good evening toyour establishment."
M. Fortunat was amazed, and at the same time much annoyed, to findhimself forsaken on account of such a trifle. He feared, too, thatChupin might let his tongue wag if he left his employment. So, since hehad confided this project to Chupin, he was determined that Chupin aloneshould carry it into execution. Assuming his most severe and injuredmanner, he sternly exclaimed: "I think you have lost your senses."His demeanor and intonation were so perfectly cool that Chupin seemedslightly abashed. "It seems that you think me capable of urging you tocommit some dangerous and dishonorable act," continued M. Fortunat.
"Why--no--m'sieur--I assure you."
There was such evident hesitation in the utterance of this "no" that theagent at once resumed: "Come, you are not ignorant of the fact thatin addition to my business as a collector, I give my attention to thediscovery of the heirs of unclaimed estates? You are aware of this?Very well then: pray tell me how I am to find them without searching forthem? If I wish this lady to be watched, it is only in view of reachinga poor lad who is likely to be defrauded of the wealth that rightfullybelongs to him. And when I give you a chance to make forty or fiftyfrancs in a couple of days, you receive my proposition in this style!You are an ingrate and a fool, Victor!"
Chupin's nature combined, in a remarkable degree, the vices andpeculiarities of the dweller in the Paris faubourgs, who is born old,but who, when aged in years, still remains a gamin. In his youth he hadseen many strange things, and acquired a knowledge of life that wouldhave put the experience of a philosopher to shame. But he was not fit tocope with M. Fortunat, who had an immense advantage over him, by reasonof his position of employer, as well as by his fortune and education.So Chupin was both bewildered and disconcerted by the cool arguments hispatron brought forward; and what most effectually allayed his suspicionswas the small compensation offered for the work--merely forty or fiftyfrancs. "Small potatoes, upon my word!" he thought. "Just the price ofan honest service; he would have offered more for a piece of rascality."So, after considering a moment, he said, aloud: "Very well; I'm yourman, m'sieur."
M. Fortunat was secretly laughing at the success of his ruse. Havingcome with the intention of offering his agent a handsome sum, he wasagreeably surprised to find that Chupin's scruples would enable him tosave his money. "If I hadn't found you engaged in study, Victor," hesaid, "I should have thought you had been drinking. What venomous insectstung you so suddenly? Haven't I confided similar undertakings to youtwenty times since you have been in my employment? Who ransacked Paristo find certain debtors who were concealing themselves? Who discoveredthe Vantrassons f
or me? Victor Chupin. Very well. Then allow me to saythat I see nothing in this case in any way differing from the others,nor can I understand why this should be wrong, if the others were not."
Chupin could only have answered this remark by saying that there hadbeen no mystery about the previous affairs, that they had not beenproposed to him late at night at his own home, and that he had actedopenly, as a person who represents a creditor has a recognized rightto act. But, though he felt that there WAS a difference in the presentcase, it would have been very difficult for him to explain in what thisdifference consisted. Hence, in his most resolute tone: "I'm only afool, m'sieur," he declared; "but I shall know how to make amends for myfolly."
"That means you have recovered your senses," said M. Fortunat,ironically. "Really, that's fortunate. But let me give you one bitof advice: watch yourself, and learn to bridle your tongue. You won'talways find me in such a good humor as I am this evening."
So saying, he rose, passed out into the adjoining room, bowed civillyto his clerk's mother, and went off. His last words, as he crossed thethreshold, were, "So I shall rely upon you. Be at the office to-morrow alittle before noon."
"It's agreed m'sieur."
The blind woman had risen, and had bowed respectfully; but, as soon asshe was alone with her son, she asked: "What is this business he bidsyou undertake in such a high and mighty tone?"
"Oh! an every-day matter, mother."
The old woman shook her head. "Why were you talking so loud then?" sheinquired. "Weren't you quarrelling? It must be something very grave whenit's necessary to conceal it from me. I couldn't see your employer'sface, my son; but I heard his voice, and it didn't please me. It isn'tthe voice of an honest, straightforward man. Take care, Toto, and don'tallow yourself to be cajoled--be prudent."
However, it was quite unnecessary to recommend prudence to VictorChupin. He had promised his assistance, but not without a mentalreservation. "No need to see danger till it comes," he had said tohimself. "If the thing proves to be of questionable propriety after all,then good-evening; I desert."
It remains to know what he meant by questionable propriety; the meaningof the expression is rather vague. He had returned in all honesty andsincerity of purpose to an honest life, and nothing in the world wouldhave induced him, avaricious though he was, to commit an act that waspositively wrong. Only the line that separates good from evil was notvery clearly defined in his mind. This was due in a great measure to hiseducation, and to the fact that it had been long before he realized thatpolice regulations do not constitute the highest moral law. It was duealso to chance, and, since he had no decided calling, to the necessityof depending for a livelihood upon the many strange professions whichimpecunious and untrained individuals, both of the higher and lowerclasses, adopt in Paris.
However, on the following morning he arrayed himself in his bestapparel, and at exactly half-past eleven o'clock he rang at hisemployer's door. M. Fortunat had made quick work with his clients thatmorning, and was ready, dressed to go out. He took up his hat and saidonly the one word, "Come." The place where the agent conducted hisclerk was the wine-shop in the Rue de Berry, where he had made inquiriesrespecting Madame d'Argeles the evening before; and on arriving there,he generously offered him a breakfast. Before entering, however, hepointed out Madame d'Argeles's pretty house on the opposite side of thestreet, and said to him: "The woman whom you are to follow, and whoseson you are to discover, will emerge from that house."
At that moment, after a night passed in meditating upon his mother'sprophetic warnings, Chupin was again beset by the same scruples whichhad so greatly disturbed him on the previous evening. However, theysoon vanished when he heard the wine-vendor, in reply to M. Fortunat'sskilful questions, begin to relate all he knew concerning Madame Liad'Argeles, and the scandalous doings at her house. The seeker after lostheirs and his clerk were served at a little table near the door;and while they partook of the classical beef-steak and; potatoes--M.Fortunat eating daintily, and Chupin bolting his food with the appetiteof a ship-wrecked mariner--they watched the house opposite.
Madame d'Argeles received on Saturdays, and, as Chupin remarked, "therewas a regular procession of visitors."
Standing beside M. Fortunat, and flattered by the attention which sucha well-dressed gentleman paid to his chatter, the landlord of the housementioned the names of all the visitors he knew. And he knew a goodnumber of them, for the coachmen came to his shop for refreshments whentheir masters were spending the night in play at Madame d'Argeles'shouse. So he was able to name the Viscount de Coralth, who dashed up tothe door in a two-horse phaeton, as well as Baron Trigault, who came onfoot, for exercise, puffing and blowing like a seal. The wine-vendor,moreover, told his customers that Madame d'Argeles never went out beforehalf-past two or three o'clock, and then always in a carriage--a pieceof information which must have troubled Chupin; for, as soon as thelandlord had left them to serve some other customers, he leant forwardand said to M. Fortunat: "Did you hear that? How is it possible to tracka person who's in a carriage?"
"By following in another vehicle, of course."
"Certainly, m'sieur; that's as clear as daylight. But that isn't thequestion. The point is this: How can one watch the face of a person whoturns her back to you? I must see this woman's face to know whom shelooks at, and how."
This objection, grave as it appeared, did not seem to disturb M.Fortunat. "Don't worry about that, Victor," he replied. "Under suchcircumstances, a mother wouldn't try to see her son from a rapidlymoving carriage. She will undoubtedly alight, and contrive some means ofpassing and repassing him--of touching him, if possible. Your task willonly consist in following her closely enough to be on the ground as soonas she is. Confine your efforts to that; and if you fail to-day,you'll succeed to-morrow or the day after--the essential thing is to bepatient."
He did better than to preach patience--he practised it. The hours woreaway, and yet he did not stir from his post, though nothing could havebeen more disagreeable to him than to remain on exhibition, as it were,at the door of a wine-shop. At last, at a little before three o'clock,the gates over the way turned upon their hinges, and a dark-bluevictoria, in which a woman was seated, rolled forth into the street."Look!" said M. Fortunat, eagerly. "There she is!"