Dr. Hortebise was the first to arrive. It was a terrible thing for him to get up so early; but for Mascarin’s sake he consented even to this inconvenience. When he passed through the office, the room was full of clients; but this did not prevent the doctor from noticing the negligence of Beaumarchef’s costume.
“Aha!” remarked the doctor, “on the drunk again, I am afraid.”
“M. Mascarin is within,” answered the badgered clerk, endeavoring to put on an air of dignity; “and M. Tantaine is with him.”
A brilliant idea flashed across the doctor’s mind, but it was with an air of gravity that he said,—
“I shall be charmed to meet that most worthy old gentleman.”
When, however, he entered the inner sanctum, he found Mascarin alone, occupied in sorting the eternal pieces of pasteboard.
“Well, what news?” asked he.
“There is none that I know of.”
“What, have you not seen Paul?”
“No.”
“Will he be here?”
“Certainly.”
Mascarin was often laconic, but he seldom gave such short answers as this.
“What is the matter?” asked the doctor. “Your greeting is quite funereal. Are you not well?”
“I am merely preoccupied, and that is excusable on the eve of the battle we are about to fight,” returned Mascarin.
He only, however, told a portion of the truth; for there was more in the background, which he did not wish to confide to his friend. Toto Chupin’s revolt had disquieted him. Let there be but a single flaw in the axletree, and one day it will snap in twain; and Mascarin wanted to eliminate this flaw.
“Pooh!” remarked the doctor, playing with his locket, “we shall succeed. What have we to fear, after all,—opposition on Paul’s part?”
“Paul may resent a little,” answered Mascarin disdainfully; “but I have decided that he shall be present at our meeting of to-day. It will be a stormy one, so be prepared. We might give him his medicine in minims, but I prefer the whole dose at once.”
“The deuce you do! Suppose he should be frightened, and make off with our secret.”
“He won’t make off,” replied Mascarin in a tone which froze his listener’s blood. “He can’t escape from us any more than the cockchafer can from the string that a child has fastened to it. Do you not understand weak natures like his? He is the glove, I the strong hand beneath it.”
The doctor did not argue this point, but merely murmured,—
“Let us hope that it is so.”
“Should we have any opposition,” resumed Mascarin, “it will come from Catenac. I may be able to force him into co-operation with us, but his heart will not be in the enterprise.”
“Do you propose to bring Catenac into this affair?” asked Hortebise in great surprise.
“Assuredly.”
“Why have you changed your plan?”
“Simply because I have recognized the fact that, if we dispensed with his services, we should be entirely at the mercy of a shrewd man of business, because——”
He broke off, listened for a moment, and then said,—
“Hush! I can hear his footstep.”
A dry cough was heard outside, and in another moment Catenac entered the room.
Nature, or profound dissimulation, had gifted Catenac with an exterior which made every one, when first introduced to him, exclaim, “This is an honest and trustworthy man.” Catenac always looked his clients boldly in the face. His voice was pleasant, and had a certain ring of joviality in it, and his manner was one of those easy ones which always insure popularity. He was looked upon as a shrewd lawyer; but yet he did not shine in court. He must therefore, to make those thirty thousand francs a year which he was credited with doing, have some special line of business. He assayed rather risky matters, which might bring both parties into the clutches of the criminal law, or, at any rate, leave them with a taint upon both their names. A sensational lawsuit is begun, and the public eagerly await the result; suddenly the whole thing collapses, for Catenac has acted as mediator. He has even settled the disputes of murderers quarreling over their booty. But he has even gone farther than this. More than once he has said of himself, “I have passed through the vilest masses of corruption.” In his office in the Rue Jacob he has heard whispered conferences which were enough to bring down the roof above his head. Of course this was the most lucrative business that passed into Catenac’s hands. The client conceals nothing from his attorney, and he belongs to him as absolutely as the sick man belongs to his physician or the penitent to his confessor.
“Well, my dear Baptiste,” said he, “here I am; you summoned me, and I am obedient to the call.”
“Sit down,” replied Mascarin gravely.
“Thanks, my friend, many thanks, a thousand thanks; but I am much hurried; indeed I have not a moment to spare. I have matters on my hands of life and death.”
“But for all that,” remarked Hortebise, “you can sit down for a moment. Baptiste has something to say to you which is as important as any of your matters can be.”
With a frank and genial smile Catenac obeyed; but in his heart were anger and an abject feeling of alarm.
“What is it that is so important?” asked he.
Mascarin had risen and locked the door. When he had resumed his seat he said,—
“The facts are very simple. Hortebise and I have decided to put our great plan into execution, which we have as yet only discussed generally with you. We have the Marquis de Croisenois with us.”
“My dear sir,” broke in the lawyer.
“Wait a little; we must have your assistance, and——”
Catenac rose from his seat. “That is enough,” said he. “You have made a very great mistake if it is on this matter that you have sent for me; I told you this before.”
He was turning away, and looking for his hat, proposed to beat a retreat; but Dr. Hortebise stood between him and the door, gazing upon him with no friendly expression of countenance. Catenac was not a man to be easily alarmed, but the doctor’s appearance was so threatening, and the smile upon Mascarin’s lips was of so deadly a character, that he stood still, positively frightened into immobility.
“What do you mean?” stammered he; “what is it you say now?”
“First,” replied the doctor, speaking slowly and distinctly,—“first, we wish that you should listen to us when we speak to you.”
“I am listening.”
“Then sit down again, and hear what Baptiste has to say.”
The command Catenac had over his countenance was so great that it was impossible to see to what conclusion he had arrived from the words and manner of his confederates.
“Then let Baptiste explain himself,” said he.
“Before entering into matters completely,” said he coolly, “I first want to ask our dear friend and associate if he is prepared to act with us?”
“Why should there be any doubt on that point?” asked the lawyer. “Do all my repeated assurances count as nothing?”
“We do not want promises now; what we do want is good faith and real co-operation.”
“Can it be that you—”
“I ought to inform you,” continued Mascarin, unheeding the interruption, “that we have every prospect of success; and, if we carry the matter through, we shall certainly have a million apiece.”
Hortebise had not the calm patience of his confederate, and exclaimed,—
“You understand it well enough. Say Yes or No.”
Catenac was in the agonies of indecision, and for fully a minute made no reply.
“No, then!” he broke out in a manner which betrayed his intense agitation. “After due consideration, and having carefully weighed the chances for and against, I answer you decidedly, No.”
Mascarin and Hortebise evidently expected this reply, and exchanged glances.
“Permit me to explain,” said Catenac, “what you consider as a cowardly withdrawal upon my part—”
“Call it treachery.”
“I will not quibble about words. I wish to be perfectly straightforward with you.”
“I am glad to hear it,” sneered the doctor, “though that is not your usual form.”
“And yet I do not think that I have ever concealed my real opinion from you. It is fully ten years ago since I spoke to you of the necessity of breaking up this association. Can you recall what I said? I said only our extreme need and griping poverty justified our acts. They are now inexcusable.”
“You talked very freely of your scruples,” observed Mascarin.
“You remember my words then?”
“Yes, and I remember too that those inner scruples never hindered you from drawing your share of the profits.”
“That is to say,” burst in the doctor, “you repudiated the work, but shared the booty. You wished to play the game without staking anything.”
Catenac was in no way disconcerted at this trenchant argument.
“Quite true,” said he, “I always received my share; but I have done quite as much as you in putting the agency in its present prosperous condition. Does it not work smoothly like a perfect piece of mechanism? Have we not succeeded in nearly all our schemes? The income comes in monthly with extreme regularity, and I, according to my rights, have received one-third. If you desire to throw up this perilous means of livelihood, say so, and I will not oppose it.”
“You are really too good,” sneered the doctor, with a look of menace in his glance.
“Nor,” continued Catenac, “will I oppose you if you prefer to let matters stand as they are; but if you start on fresh enterprises, and embark on the tempestuous sea of danger, then I put down my foot and very boldly ‘halt.’ I will not take another step with you. I can see by the looks of both of you that you think me a fool and a coward. Heaven grant that the future may not show you only too plainly that I have been in the right. Think over this. For twenty years fortune has favored us, but, believe me, it is never wise to tempt her too far, for it is well known that at some time or other she always turns.”
“Your imagery is really charming,” remarked Hortebise sarcastically.
“Good, I have nothing else to say but to repeat my warning:reflect. Grand as your hopes and expectations may be, they are as nothing to the perils that you will encounter.”
This cold flood of eloquence was more than the doctor could bear.
“It is all very well for you,” exclaimed he, “to reason like this, for you are a rich man.”
“I have enough to live on, I allow; for in addition to the income derived from my profession, I have saved two hundred thousand francs; and if you can be induced to renounce your projects, I will divide this sum with you. You have only to think.”
Mascarin, who had taken no part in the dispute, now judged it time to interfere.
“And so,” said he, turning to Catenac, “you have only two hundred thousand francs?”
“That or thereabouts.”
“And you offer to divide this sum with us. Really we ought to be deeply grateful to you, but——”
Mascarin paused for a moment; then settling his spectacles more firmly, he went on,—
“But even if you were to give us what you propose, you would still have eleven hundred thousand francs remaining!”
Catenac burst into a pleasant laugh. “You are jesting,” said he.
“I can prove the correctness of my assertion;” and as he spoke, Mascarin unlocked a drawer, and taking a small notebook from it, turned over the pages, and leaving it open at a certain place, handed it to the lawyer.
“There,” said he, “that is made up to December last, and shows precisely how you stand financially. Twice, then, you have increased your funds. These deposits you will find in an addenda at the end of the book.”
Catenac started to his feet; all his calmness had now disappeared.
“Yes,” he said, “I have just the sum you name; and I, for that very reason, refuse to have anything further to do with your schemes. I have an income of sixty thousand francs; that is to say, sixty thousand good reasons for receiving no further risks. You envy me my good fortune, but did we not all start penniless? I have taken care of my money, while you have squandered yours. Hortebise has lost his patients, while I have increased the number of my clients; and now you want me to tread the dangerous road again. Not I; go your way, and leave me to go home.”
Again he took up his hat, but a wave of the hand from Mascarin detained him.
“Suppose,” said he coldly, “that I told you that your assistance was necessary to me.”
“I should say so much the worse for you.”
“But suppose I insist?”
“And how can you insist? We are both in the same boat, and sink or swim together.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“So certain that I repeat from this day I wash my hands of you.”
“I am afraid you are in error.”
“How so?”
“Because for twelve months past; I have given food and shelter to a girl of the name of Clarisse. Do you by any chance know her?”
At the mention of this name, the lawyer started, as a man starts who, walking peacefully along, suddenly sees a deadly serpent coiled across his path.
“Clarisse,” stammered he, “how did you know of her? who told you?”
But the sarcastic sneer upon the lips of his two confederates wounded his pride so deeply, that in an instant he recovered his self-possession.
“I am getting foolish,” said he, “to ask these men how they learned my secret. Do they not always work by infamous and underhand means?”
“You see I know all,” remarked Mascarin, “for I foresaw the day would come when you would wish to sever our connection, and even give us up to justice, if you could do so with safety to yourself. I therefore took my precautions. One thing, however, I was not prepared for, and that was, that a man of your intelligence should have played so paltry a game, and even twelve months back thought of betraying us. It is almost incredible. Do you ever read theGazette des Tribunaux? I saw in its pages yesterday a story nearly similar to your own. Shall I tell it to you? A lawyer who concealed his vices beneath a mantle of joviality and candor, brought up from the country a pretty, innocent girl to act as servant in his house. This lawyer occupied his leisure time in leading the poor child astray, and the moment at last came when the consequences of her weakness were too apparent. The lawyer was half beside himself at the approaching scandal. What would the neighbors say? Well, to cut the story short, the infant was suppressed,—you understand, suppressed, and the mother turned into the street.”
“Baptiste, have mercy!”
“It was a most imprudent act, for such things always leak out somehow. You have a gardener at your house at Champigny, and suppose the idea seized upon this worthy man to dig up the ground round the wall at the end of the garden.”
“That is enough,” said Catenac, piteously. “I give in.”
Mascarin adjusted his spectacles, as he always did in important moments.
“You give in, do you? Not a bit. Even now you are endeavoring to find a means of parrying my home thrusts.”
“But I declare to you——”
“Do not be alarmed; dig as deeply as he might, your gardener would discover nothing.”
The lawyer uttered a stifled exclamation of rage as he perceived the pit into which he had fallen.
“He would find nothing,” resumed Mascarin, “and yet the story is all true. Last January, on a bitterly cold night, you dug a hole, and in it deposited the body of a new-born infant wrapped in a shawl. And what shawl? Why the very one that you purchased at theBon Marche, when you were making yourself agreeable to Clarisse. The shopman who sold it to you has identified it, and is ready to give evidence when called upon. You may look for that shawl, Catenac, but you will not find it.”
“Have you got that shawl?” asked Catenac hoarsely.
“Am I a fool?” asked Mascarin contemptuously. “Tantaine has it; butIknow where the body is, and will keep the information to myself. Do not be alarmed; act fairly, and you are safe; but make one treacherous move, and you will read in the next day’s papers a paragraph something to this effect: ‘Yesterday some workmen, engaged in excavations near so-and-so, discovered the body of a new-born infant. Every effort is being made to discover the author of the crime.’ You know me, and that I work promptly. To the shawl I have added a handkerchief and a few other articles belonging to Clarisse, which will render it an easy matter to fix the guilt on you.”
Catenac was absolutely stunned, and had lost all power of defending himself. The few incoherent words that he uttered showed his state of utter despair.
“You have killed me,” gasped he, “just as the prize, that I have been looking for for twenty years, was in my grasp.”
“Work does a man no harm,” remarked the doctor sententiously.
There was, however, little time to lose; the Marquis de Croisenois and Paul might be expected to arrive at any moment, and Mascarin hastened to restore a certain amount of calmness to his prostrate antagonist.
“You make as much noise as if we were going to hand you over to the executioner on the spot. Do you think that we are such a pair of fools as to risk all these hazards without some almost certain chance of success? Hortebise was as much startled as yourself when I first spoke to him of this affair, but I explained everything fully to him, and now he is quite enthusiastic in the matter. Of course you can lay aside all fear, and, as a man of the world, will bear no malice against those who have simply played a better game than yourself.”
“Go on,” said Catenac, forcing a smile, “I am listening.”
Mascarin made a short pause.
“What we want of you,” answered he, “will not compromise you in the slightest degree. I wish you to draw up a document, the particulars of which I will give you presently, and you will outwardly have no connection with the matter.”
“Very good.”
“But there is more yet. The Duke of Champdoce has placed a difficult task in your hands. You are engaged in a secret on his behalf.”
“You know that also?”
“I know everything that may be made subservient to our ends. I also know that instead of coming direct to me you went to the very man that we have every reason to dread, that fellow Perpignan, who is nearly as sharp as we are.”
“Go on,” returned Catenac impatiently. “What do you expect from me on this point?”
“Not much; you must only come to me first, and report any discovery you may have made, and never give any information to the Duke without first consulting us.”
“I agree.”
The contending parties seemed to have arrived at an amicable termination, and Dr. Hortebise smiled complacently.
“Now,” said he, “shall we not confess, after all, that there was no use in making such a fuss?”
“I allow that I was in the wrong,” answered Catenac meekly; and, extending his hands to his two associates with an oily smile, he said: “Let us forget and forgive.”
Was he to be trusted? Mascarin and the doctor exchanged glances of suspicion. A moment afterward a knock came to the door, and Paul entered, making a timid bow to his two patrons.
“My dear boy,” said Mascarin, “let me present you to one of my oldest and best friends.” Then, turning to Catenac, he added: “I wish to ask you to help and assist my young friend here. Paul Violaine is a good fellow, who has neither father nor mother, and whom we are trying to help on in his journey through life.”
The lawyer started as he caught the strange, meaning smile which accompanied these words.
“Great heavens!” said he, “why did you not speak sooner?”
Catenac at once divined Mascarin’s project, and understood the allusion to the Duke de Champdoce.
The Marquis de Croisenois was never punctual. He had received a note asking him to call on Mascarin at eleven o’clock, and twelve had struck some time before he made his appearance. Faultlessly gloved, his glass firmly fixed in his eye, and a light walking cane in his hand, and with that air of half-veiled insolence that is sometimes affected by certain persons who wish the world to believe that they are of great importance, the Marquis de Croisenois entered the room.
At the age of twenty-five Henry de Croisenois affected the airs and manners of a lad of twenty, and so found many who looked upon his escapades with lenient eyes, ascribing them to the follies of youth. Under this youthful mask, however he concealed a most astute and cunning intellect, and had more than once got the better of the women with whom he had had dealings. His fortune was terribly involved, because he had insisted on living at the same rate as men who had ten times his income. Forming one of the recklessly extravagant band of which the Duke de Saumeine was the head, Croisenois, too, kept his racehorses, which was certainly the quickest way to wreck the most princely fortune. The Marquis had found out this, and was utterly involved, when Mascarin extended a helping hand to him, to which he clung with all the energy of a drowning man.
Whatever Henry de Croisenois’ anxieties may have been on the day in question, he did not allow a symptom of them to appear, and on his entrance negligently drawled, “I have kept you waiting, I fear; but really my time is not my own. I am quite at your service now, and will wait until these gentlemen have finished their business with you.” And as he concluded, he again placed the cigar which he had removed while saying these words, to his lips.
His manner was very insolent, and yet the amiable Mascarin did not seem offended, although he loathed the scent of tobacco.
“We had begun to despair of seeing you, Marquis,” answered he politely. “I say so, because these gentlemen are here to meet you. Permit me to introduce to you, Dr. Hortebise, M. Catenac of the Parisian bar, and our secretary,” pointing as he spoke, to Paul.
As soon as Croisenois had taken his seat, Mascarin went straight to the point, as a bullet to the target. “I do not intend,” began he, “to leave you in doubt for a moment. Beatings about the bush would be absurd among persons like ourselves.”
At finding himself thus classed with the other persons present, the Marquis gave a little start, and then drawled out, “You flatter me, really.”
“I may tell you, Marquis,” resumed Mascarin, “that your marriage has been definitely arranged by myself and my associates. All you have to do is to get the young lady’s consent; for that of the Count and Countess has already been secured.”
“There will be no difficulty in that,” lisped the Marquis. “I will promise her the best horsed carriage in the Bois, a box at the opera, unlimited credit at Van Klopen’s, and perfect freedom. There will be no difficulty, I assure you. Of course, however, I must be presented by some one who holds a good position in society.”
“Would the Viscountess de Bois Arden suit you?”
“No one better; she is a relation of the Count de Mussidan.”
“Good; then when you wish, Madame de Bois Arden will introduce you as a suitor for the young lady’s hand, and praise you up to the skies.”
The Marquis looked very jubilant at hearing this. “All right,” cried he; “then that decides the matter.”
Paul wondered whether he was awake or dreaming. He too had been promised a rich wife, and here was another man who was being provided for in the same manner. “These people,” muttered he, “seem to keep a matrimonial agency as well as a servants’ registry office!”
“All that is left, then,” said the Marquis, “is to arrange the—shall I call it the commission?”
“I was about to come to that,” returned Mascarin.
“Well, I will give you a fourth of the dowry, and on the day of my marriage will hand you a cheque for that amount.”
Paul now imagined that he saw how matters worked. “If I marry Flavia,” thought he, “I shall have to share her dowry with these highly respectable gentlemen.”
The offer made by the Marquis did not, however, seem to please Mascarin. “That is not what we want,” said he.
“No,—well, must I give you more? Say how much.”
Mascarin shook his head.
“Well then, I will give you a third; it is not worth while to give you more.”
“No, no; I would not take half, nor even the whole of the dowry. You may keep that as well as what you owe us.”
“Well, but tell me what youdowant.”
“I will do so,” answered Mascarin, adjusting his spectacles carefully; “but before doing so, I feel that I must give you a short account of the rise and progress of this association.”
At this statement Hortebise and Catenac sprang to their feet in surprise and terror. “Are you mad?” said they at length, with one voice.
Mascarin shrugged his shoulders.
“Not yet,” answered he gently, “and I beg that you will permit me to go on.”
“But surely we have some voice in the matter,” faltered Catenac.
“That is enough,” exclaimed Mascarin angrily, “Am not I the head of this association? Do you think,” he continued in tones of deep sarcasm, “that we cannot speak openly before the Marquis?”
Hortebise and the lawyer resignedly resumed their seats. Croisenois thought that a word from him might reassure them.
“Among honest men—” began he.
“We are not honest men,” interrupted Mascarin. “Sir,” added he in a severe tone, “nor are you either.”
This plain speaking brought a bright flush to the face of the Marquis, who had half a mind to be angry, but policy restrained him, and he affected to look on the matter as a joke. “Your joke is a little personal,” said he.
But Mascarin took no heed of his remark. “Listen to me,” said he, “for we have no time to waste, and do you,” he added, turning to Paul, “pay the greatest attention.”
A moment of perfect silence ensued, broken only by the hum of voices in the outer office.
“Marquis,” said Mascarin, whose whole face blazed with a gleam of conscious power, “twenty-five years ago I and my associates were young and in a very different position. We were honest then, and all the illusions of youth were in full force; we had faith and hope. We all then tenanted a wretched garret in the Rue de la Harpe, and loved each other like brothers.”
“That was long, long ago,” murmured Hortebise.
“Yes,” rejoined Mascarin; “and yet the effluxion of times does not hinder me from seeing things as they then were, and my heart aches as I compare the hopes of those days with the realities of the present. Then, Marquis, we were poor, miserably poor, and yet we all had vague hopes of future greatness.”
Croisenois endeavored to conceal a sneer; the story was not a very interesting one.
“As I said before, each one of us anticipated a brilliant career. Catenac had gained a prize by his ‘Treatise on the Transfer of Real Estate,’ and Hortebise had written a pamphlet regarding which the great Orfila had testified approval. Nor was I without my successes. Hortebise had unluckily quarrelled with his family. Catenac’s relatives were poor, and I, well, I had no family. I stood alone. We were literally starving, and I was the only one earning money. I prepared pupils for the military colleges, but as I only earned twenty-five sous a day by cramming a dull boy’s brain with algebra and geometry, that was not enough to feed us all. Well, to cut a long story short, the day came when we had not a coin among us. I forgot to tell you that I was devotedly attached to a young girl who was dying of consumption, and who had neither food nor fuel. What could I do? I knew not. Half mad, I rushed from the house, asking myself if I had better plead for charity or take the money I required by force from the first passer-by. I wandered along the quays, half inclined to confide my sorrow to the Seine, when suddenly I remembered it was a holiday at the Polytechnic School, and that if I went to theCafé Semblonor the Palais Royal, I should most likely meet with some of my old pupils, who could perhaps lend me a few sous. Five francs perhaps, Marquis,—that is a very small sum, but in that day it meant the life of my dear Marie and of my two friends. Have you ever been hungry, M. de Croisenois?”
De Croisenois started; he had never suffered from hunger, but how could he tell what the future might bring? for his resources were so nearly exhausted, that even to-morrow he might be compelled to discard his fictitious splendor and sink into the abyss of poverty.
“When I reached theCafé Semblon,” continued Mascarin, “I could not see a single pupil, and the waiter to whom I addressed my inquiries looked at me with the utmost contempt, for my clothes were in tatters; but at length he condescended to inform me that the young gentlemen had been and gone, but that they would return. I said that I would wait for them. The man asked me if I would take anything, and when I replied in the negative, contemptuously pointed to a chair in a distant corner, where I patiently took my seat. I had sat for some time, when suddenly a young man entered thecafé, whose face, were I to live for a century, I shall never forget. He was perfectly livid, his features rigid, and his eyes wild and full of anguish. He was evidently in intense agony of mind or body. Evidently, however, it was not poverty that was oppressing him, for as he cast himself upon a sofa, all the waiters rushed forward to receive his orders. In a voice that was almost unintelligible, he asked for a bottle of brandy, and pen, ink, and paper. In some mysterious manner, the sight of this suffering brought balm to my aching heart. The order of the young man was soon executed, and pouring out a tumbler of brandy, he took a deep draught. The effect was instantaneous, he turned crimson, and for a moment almost fell back insensible. I kept my eyes on him, for a voice within me kept crying out that there was some mysterious link connecting this man and myself, and that his life was in some manner interwoven with mine, and that the influence he would exercise over me would be for evil. So strongly did this idea become rooted, that I should have left thecafé, had not my curiosity been so great. In the meantime the stranger had recovered himself, and seizing a pen, scrawled a few lines on a sheet of paper. Evidently he was not satisfied with his composition, for after reading it over, he lit a match and burnt the paper. He drank more brandy, and wrote a second letter, which, too, proved a failure, for he tore it to fragments, which he thrust into his waistcoat pocket. Again he commenced, using greater care. It was plain that he had forgotten where he was, for he gesticulated, uttered a broken sentence or two and evidently believed that he was in his own house. His last letter seemed to satisfy him, and he recopied it with care. He closed and directed it; then, tearing the original into pieces, he flung it under the table; then calling the waiter, he said, ‘Here are twenty francs; take this letter to the address on the envelope. Bring the answer to my house; here is my card.’ The man ran out of the room, and the nobleman, only waiting to pay his bill, followed almost immediately. The morsels of white paper beneath the table had a strange fascination for me; I longed to gather them up, to put them together, and to learn the secret of the strange drama that had been acted before me. But, as I have told you, then I was honest and virtuous, and the meanness of such an act revolted all my instincts; and I should have overcome this temptation, had it not been for one of those trifling incidents which too often form the turning-point of a life. A draught from a suddenly opened door caught one of these morsels of paper, and wafted it to my feet. I stooped and picked it up, and read on it the ominous words, ‘blow out my brains!’ I had not been mistaken, then, and was face to face with some coming tragedy. Having once yielded, I made no further efforts at self-control. The waiters were running about; no one paid any attention to me; and creeping to the place that the unknown had occupied, I obtained possession of two more scraps of paper. Upon one I read, ‘shame and horror!’ upon the other, ‘one hundred thousand francs by to-night.’ The meaning of these few words were as clear as daylight to me; but for all that, I managed to collect every atom of the torn paper, and piecing them together, read this:—
“‘CHARLES,—‘I must have one hundred thousand francs to-night, and you are the only one to whom I can apply. The shame and horror of my position are too much for me. Can you send it me in two hours? As you act, so I regulate my conduct. I am either saved, or I blow out my brains.’
“You are probably surprised, Marquis, at the accuracy of my memory, and even now I can see this scrawl as distinctly as if it were before me. At the end of this scrawl was a signature, one of the best known commercial names, which, in common with other financial houses, was struggling against a panic on the Bourse. My discovery disturbed me very much. I forgot all my miseries, and thought only of his. Were not our positions entirely similar? But by degrees a hideous temptation began to creep into my heart, and, as the minutes passed by, assume more vivid color and more tangible reality. Why should I not profit by this stolen secret? I went to the desk and asked for some wafers and a Directory. Then, returning, I fastened the torn fragments upon a clean sheet of paper, discovered the address of the writer, and then left thecafé. The house was situated in the Rue Chaussee d’Autin. For fully half an hour I paced up and down before his magnificent dwelling-place. Was he alive? Had the reply of Charles been in the affirmative? I decided at last to venture, and rang the bell. A liveried domestic appeared at my summons, and said that his master did not receive visitors at that hour; besides, he was at dinner. I was exasperated at the man’s insolence, and replied hotly, ‘If you want to save your master from a terrible misfortune, go and tell him that a man has brought him the rough draft of the letter he wrote a little time back at theCafé Semblon.’ The man obeyed me without a word, no doubt impressed by the earnestness of my manner. My message must have caused intense consternation, for in a moment the footman reappeared, and, in an obsequious manner, said, ‘Follow at once, sir; my master is waiting for you.’ He led me into a large room, magnificently furnished as a library, and in the centre of this room stood the man of theCafé Semblon. His face was deadly pale, and his eyes blazed with fury. I was so agitated that I could hardly speak.
“‘You have picked up the scraps of paper I threw away?’ exclaimed he.
“I nodded, and showed him the fragments fastened on to the sheet of note-paper.
“‘How much do you want for that?’ asked he. ‘I will give you a thousand francs.’
“I declare to you, gentlemen, that up to this time I had no intention of making money by the secret. My intention in going had been simply to say, ‘I bring you this paper, of which some one else might have taken an undue advantage. I have done you a service; lend me a hundred francs.’ This is what I meant to say, but his behavior irritated me, and I answered,—
“‘No, I want two thousand francs.’
“He opened a drawer, drew out a bundle of banknotes, and threw them in my face.
“‘Pay yourself, you villain!’ said he.
“I can, I fear, never make you understand what I felt at this undeserved insult. I was not myself, and Heaven knows that I was not responsible for any crime that I might have committed in the frenzy of the moment, and I was nearly doing so. That man will, perhaps, never see death so near him, save at his last hour. On his writing table lay one of those Catalan daggers, which he evidently used as a paper-cutter. I snatched it up, and was about to strike, when the recollection of Marie dying of cold and starvation occurred to me. I dashed the knife to the ground, and rushed from the house in a state bordering on insanity. I went into that house an honest man, and left it a degraded scoundrel. But I must finish. When I reached the street, the two banknotes which I had taken from the packet seemed to burn me like coals of fire. I hastened to a money-changer, and got coin for them. I think, from my demeanor, he must have thought that I was insane. With my plunder weighing me down, I regained our wretched garret in the Rue de la Harpe. Catenac and Hortebise were waiting for me with the utmost anxiety. You remember that day, my friends. Marquis, my story is especially intended for you. As soon as I entered the room, my friends ran up to me, delighted at seeing me return in safety, but I thrust them aside.
“‘Let me alone!’ cried I; ‘I am no longer fit to take an honest man’s hand; but we have money, money!’ And I threw the bags upon the table. One of them burst, and a flood of silver coins rolled to every part of the room.
“Marie started from her chair with upraised hands. ‘Money!’ she repeated, ‘money! we shall have food, and I won’t die.’
“My friends, Marquis, were not as they are now, and they started back in horror, fearing that I had committed some crime.
“‘No,’ said I, ‘I have committed no crime, not one, at least, that will bring me within the reach of the strong arm of the law. This money is the price of our honor, but no one will know that fact but ourselves.’
“Marquis, there was no sleeping in the garret all that night; but when daylight peered through the broken windows, it beamed on a table covered with empty bottles, and round it were seated three men, who, having cast aside all honorable scruples, had sworn that they would arrive at wealth and prosperity by any means, no matter how foul and treacherous they might be. That is all.”