As he left Mlle. Lucienne’s room,
“There is nothing more to keep me at the Hotel des Folies,” said the commissary of police to Maxence. “Every thing possible will be done, and well done, by M. de Tregars. I am going home, therefore; and I am going to take you with me. I have a great deal to do and you’ll help me.”
That was not exactly true; but he feared, on the part of Maxence, some imprudence which might compromise the success of M. de Tregars’ mission.
He was trying to think of every thing to leave as little as possible to chance; like a man who has seen the best combined plans fail for want of a trifling precaution.
Once in the yard, he opened the door of the lodge where the honorable Fortins, man and wife, were deliberating, and exchanging their conjectures, instead of going to bed. For they were wonderfully puzzled by all those events that succeeded each other, and anxious about all these goings and comings.
“I am going home,” the commissary said to them; “but, before that, listen to my instructions. You will allow no one, you understand, —no one who is not known to you, to go up to Mlle. Lucienne’s room. And remember that I will admit of no excuse, and that you must not come and tell me afterwards, ‘It isn’t our fault, we can’t see everybody that comes in,’ and all that sort of nonsense.”
He was speaking in that harsh and imperious tone of which police-agents have the secret, when they are addressing people who have, by their conduct, placed themselves under their dependence.
“We are going to close our front-door,” replied the estimable hotel-keepers. “We will comply strictly with your orders.”
“I trust so; because, if you should disobey me, I should hear it, and the result would be a serious trouble to you. Besides your hotel being unmercifully closed up, you would find yourselves implicated in a very bad piece of business.”
The most ardent curiosity could be read in Mme. Fortin’s little eyes.
“I understood at once,” she began, “that something extraordinary was going on.”
But the commissary interrupted her,
“I have not done yet. It may be that to-night or to-morrow some one will call and inquire how Mlle. Lucienne is.”
“And then?”
“You will answer that she is as bad as possible; and that she has neither spoken a word, nor recovered her senses, since the accident; and that she will certainly not live through the day.”
The effort which Mme. Fortin made to remain silent gave, better than any thing else, an idea of the terror with which the commissary inspired her.
“That is not all,” he went on. “As soon as the person in question has started off, you will follow him, without affectation, as far as the street-door, and you will point him out with your finger, here, like that, to one of my agents, who will happen to be on the Boulevard.”
“And suppose he should not be there?”
“He shall be there. You can make yourself easy on that score.”
The looks of distress which the honorable hotel-keepers were exchanging did not announce a very tranquil conscience.
“In other words, here we are under surveillance,” said M. Fortin with a groan. “What have we done to be thus mistrusted?”
To reply to him would have been a task more long than difficult.
“Do as I tell you,” insisted the commissary harshly, “and don’t mind the rest, and, meantime, good-night.”
He was right in trusting implicitly to his agent’s punctuality; for, as soon as he came out of the Hotel des Folies, a man passed by him, and without seeming to address him, or even to recognize him, said in a whisper,
“What news?”
“Nothing,” he replied, “except that the Fortins are notified. The trap is well set. Keep your eyes open now, and spot any one who comes to ask about Mlle. Lucienne.”
And he hurried on, still followed by Maxence, who walked along like a body without soul, tortured by the most frightful anguish.
As he had been away the whole evening, four or five persons were waiting for him at his office on matters of current business. He despatched them in less than no time; after which, addressing himself to an agent on duty,
“This evening,” he said, “at about nine o’clock, in a restaurant on the Boulevard, a quarrel took place. A person tried to pick a quarrel with another.
“You will proceed at once to that restaurant; you will get the particulars of what took place; and you will ascertain exactly who this man is, his name, his profession, and his residence.”
Like a man accustomed to such errands,
“Can I have a description of him?” inquired the agent.
“Yes. He is a man past middle age, military bearing, heavy mustache, ribbons in his buttonhole.”
“Yes, I see: one of your regular fighting fellows.”
“Very well. Go then. I shall not retire before your return. Ah, I forgot; find out what they thought to-night on the ‘street’ about the Mutual Credit affair, and what they said of the arrest of one Saint Pavin, editor of ‘The Financial Pilot,’ and of a banker named Jottras.”
“Can I take a carriage?”
“Do so.”
The agent started; and he was not fairly out of the house, when the commissary, opening a door which gave into a small study, called, “Felix!”
It was his secretary, a man of about thirty, blonde, with a gentle and timid countenance, having, with his long coat, somewhat the appearance of a theological student. He appeared immediately.
“You call me, sir?”
“My dear Felix,” replied the commissary, “I have seen you, sometimes, imitate very nicely all sorts of hand-writings.”
The secretary blushed very much, no doubt on account of Maxence, who was sitting by the side of his employer. He was a very honest fellow; but there are certain little talents of which people do not like to boast; and the talent of imitating the writing of others is of the number, for the reason, that, fatally and at once, it suggests the idea of forgery.
“It was only for fun that I used to do that, sir,” he stammered.
“Would you be here if it had been otherwise?” said the commissary. “Only this time it is not for fun, but to do me a favor that I wish you to try again.”
And, taking out of his pocket the letter taken by M. de Tregars from the man in the restaurant,
“Examine this writing,” he said, “and see whether you feel capable of imitating it tolerably well.”
Spreading the letter under the full light of the lamp, the secretary spent at least two minutes examining it with the minute attention of an expert. And at the same time he was muttering,
“Not at all convenient, this. Hard writing to imitate. Not a salient feature, not a characteristic sign! Nothing to strike the eye, or attract attention. It must be some old lawyer’s clerk who wrote this.”
In spite of his anxiety of mind, the commissary smiled.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if you had guessed right.”
Thus encouraged,
“At any rate,” Felix declared, “I am going to try.”
He took a pen, and, after trying a dozen times,
“How is this?” he asked, holding out a sheet of paper.
The commissary carefully compared the original with the copy.
“It is not perfect,” he murmured; “but at night, with the imagination excited by a great peril—Besides, we must risk something.”
“If I had a few hours to practise!”
“But you have not. Come, take up your pen, and write as well as you can, in that same hand, what I am going to tell you.”
And after a moment’s thought, he dictated as follows:
“All goes well. T. drawn into a quarrel, is to fight in the morning with swords. But our man, whom I cannot leave, refuses to go ahead, unless he is paid two thousand francs before the duel. I have not the amount. Please hand it to the bearer, who has orders to wait for you.”
The commissary, leaning over his secretary’s shoulder, was following his hand, and, the last word being written,
“Perfect!” he exclaimed. “Now quick, the address: Mme. la Baronne de Thaller, Rue de le Pepiniere.”
There are professions which extinguish, in those who exercise them, all curiosity. It is with the most complete indifference, and without asking a question, that the secretary had done what he had been requested.
“Now, my dear Felix,” resumed the commissary, “you will please get yourself up as near as possible like a restaurant-waiter, and take this letter to its address.”
“At this hour!”
“Yes. The Baroness de Thaller is out to a ball. You will tell the servants that you are bringing her an answer concerning an important matter. They know nothing about it; but they will allow you to wait for their mistress in the porter’s lodge. As soon as she comes in, you will hand her the letter, stating that two gentlemen who are taking supper in your restaurant are waiting for the answer. It may be that she will exclaim that you are a scoundrel, that she does not know what it means: in that case, we shall have been anticipated, and you must get away as fast as you can. But the chances are, that she will give you two thousand francs; and then you must so manage, that she will be seen plainly when she does it. Is it all understood?”
“Perfectly.”
“Go ahead, then, and do not lose a minute. I shall wait.”
Away from Mlle. Lucienne, Maxence had gradually been recalled to the strangeness of the situation; and it was with a mingled feeling of curiosity and surprise that he observed the commissary acting and bustling about.
The good man had found again all the activity of his youth, together with that fever of hope and that impatience of success, which usually disappear with age.
He was going over the whole of the case again,—his first meeting with Mlle. Lucienne, the various attempts upon her life; and he had just taken out of the file the letter of information which had been intrusted to him, in order to compare the writing with that of the letter taken from his adversary by M. de Tregars, when the latter came in all out of breath.
“Zelie has spoken!” he said.
And, at once addressing Maxence,
“You, my dear friend,” he resumed, “you must run to the Hotel des Folies.”
“Is Lucienne worse?”
“No. Lucienne is getting on well enough. Zelie has spoken; but there is no certainty, that, after due reflection, she will not repent, and go and give the alarm. You will return, therefore, and you will not lose sight of her until I call for her in the morning. If she wishes to go out, you must prevent her.”
The commissary had understood the importance of the precaution.
“You must prevent her,” he added, “even by force; and I authorize you, if need be, to call upon the agent whom I have placed on duty, watching the Hotel des Folies, and to whom I am going to send word immediately.”
Maxence started off on a run.
“Poor fellow!” murmured Marius, “I know where your father is. What are we going to learn now?”
He had scarcely had time to communicate the information he had received from Mme. Cadelle, when the first of the commissary’s emissaries made his appearance.
“The commission is done,” he said, in that confident tone of a man who thinks he has successfully accomplished a difficult task.
“You know the name of the individual who sought a quarrel with M. de Tregars?”
“His name is Corvi. He is well known in all the tables d’hote, where there are women, and where they deal a healthy little game after dinner. I know him well too. He is a bad fellow, who passes himself off for a former superior officer in the Italian army.”
“His address?”
“He lives at Rue de la Michodiere, in a furnished house. I went there. The porter told me that my man had just gone out with an ill-looking individual, and that they must be in a little Café on the corner of the next street. I ran there, and found my two fellows drinking beer.”
“Won’t they give us the slip?”
“No danger of that: I have got them fixed.”
“How is that?”
“It is an idea of mine. I just thought, ‘Suppose they put off?’ And at once I went to notify some policemen, and I returned to station myself near the Café. It was just closing up. My two fellows came out: I picked a quarrel with them; and now they are in the station-house, well recommended.”
The commissary knit his brows.
“That’s almost too much zeal,” he murmured. “Well, what’s done is done. Did you make any inquiries about the Saint Pavin and Jottras matter?”
“I had no time, it was too late. You forget, perhaps, sir, that it is nearly two o’clock.”
Just as he got through, the secretary who had been sent to the Rue de la Pepiniere came in.
“Well?” inquired the commissary, not without evident anxiety.
“I waited for Mme. de Thaller over an hour,” he said. “When she came home, I gave her the letter. She read it; and, in presence of a number of her servants, she handed me these two thousand francs.”
At the sight of the bank notes, the commissary jumped to his feet.
“Now we have it!” he exclaimed. “Here is the proof that we wanted.”
It was after four o’clock when M. de Tregars was at last permitted to return home. He had minutely, and at length, arranged every thing with the commissary: he had endeavored to anticipate every eventuality. His line of conduct was perfectly well marked out, and he carried with him the certainty that on the day which was about to dawn the strange game that he was playing must be finally won or lost. When he reached home,
“At last, here you are, sir!” exclaimed his faithful servant.
It was doubtless anxiety that had kept up the old man all night; but so absorbed was Marius’s mind, that he scarcely noticed the fact.
“Did any one call in my absence?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. A gentleman called during the evening, M. Costeclar, who appeared very much vexed not to find you in. He stated that he came on a very important matter that you would know all about: and he requested me to ask you to wait for him to-morrow, that is to-day, by twelve o’clock.”
Was M. Costeclar sent by M. de Thaller? Had the manager of the Mutual Credit changed his mind? and had he decided to accept the conditions which he had at first rejected? In that case, it was too late. It was no longer in the power of any human being to suspend the action of justice. Without giving any further thought to that visit,
“I am worn out with fatigue,” said M. de Tregars, “and I am going to lie down. At eight o’clock precisely you will call me.”
But it was in vain that he tried to find a short respite in sleep. For forty-eight hours his mind had been taxed beyond measure, his nerves had been wrought up to an almost intolerable degree of exaltation.
As soon as he closed his eyes, it was with a merciless precision that his imagination presented to him all the events which had taken place since that afternoon in the Place-Royale when he had ventured to declare his love to Mlle. Gilberte. Who could have told him then, that he would engage in that struggle, the issue of which must certainly be some abominable scandal in which his name would be mixed? Who could have told him, that gradually, and by the very force of circumstances, he would be led to overcome his repugnance, and to rival the ruses and the tortuous combinations of the wretches he was trying to reach?
But he was not of those who, once engaged, regret, hesitate, and draw back. His conscience reproached him for nothing. It was for justice and right that he was battling; and Mlle. Gilberte was the prize that would reward him.
Eight o’clock struck; and his servant came in.
“Run for a cab,” he said: “I’ll be ready in a moment.”
He was ready, in fact, when the old servant returned; and, as he had in his pocket some of those arguments that lend wings to the poorest cab-horses, in less than ten minutes he had reached the Hotel des Folies.
“How is Mlle. Lucienne?” he inquired first of all of the worthy hostess.
The intervention of the commissary of police had made M. Fortin and his wife more supple than gloves, and more gentle than doves.
“The poor dear child is much better,” answered Mme. Fortin; “and the doctor, who has just left, now feels sure of her recovery. But there is a row up there.”
“A row?”
“Yes. That lady whom my husband went after last night insists upon going out; and M. Maxence won’t let her: so that they are quarreling up there. Just listen.”
The loud noise of a violent altercation could be heard distinctly. M. de Tregars started up stairs, and on the second-story landing he found Maxence holding on obstinately to the railing, whilst Mme. Zelie Cadelle, redder than a peony, was trying to induce him to let her pass, treating him at the same time to some of the choicest epithets of her well-stocked repertory. Catching sight of Marius,
“Is it you,” she cried, “who gave orders to keep me here against my wishes? By what right? Am I your prisoner?”
To irritate her would have been imprudent.
“Why did you wish to leave,” said M. de Tregars gently, “at the very moment when you knew that I was to call for you?”
But she interrupted him, and, shrugging her shoulders,
“Why don’t you tell the truth?” she said. “You were afraid to trust me.”
“Oh!”
“You are wrong! What I promise to do I do. I only wanted to go home to dress. Can I go in the street in this costume?”
And she was spreading out her wrapper, all faded and stained.
“I have a carriage below,” said Marius. “No one will see us.”
Doubtless she understood that it was useless to hesitate.
“As you please,” she said.
M. de Tregars took Maxence aside, and in a hurried whisper,
“You must,” said he, “go at once to the Rue St. Gilles, and in my name request your sister to accompany you. You will take a closed carriage, and you’ll go and wait in the Rue St. Lazare, opposite No. 25. It may be that Mlle. Gilberte’s assistance will become indispensable to me. And, as Lucienne must not be left alone, you will request Mme. Fortin to go and stay with her.”
And, without waiting for an answer,
“Let us go,” he said to Mme. Cadelle.
They started but the young woman was far from being in her usual spirits. It was clear that she was regretting bitterly having gone so far, and not having been able to get away at the last moment. As the carriage went on, she became paler and a frown appeared upon her face.
“No matter,” she began: “it’s a nasty thing I am doing there.”
“Do you repent then, assisting me to punish your friend’s assassins?” said M. de Tregars.
She shook her head.
“I know very well that old Vincent is a scoundrel,” she said; “but he had trusted me, and I am betraying him.”
“You are mistaken, madame. To furnish me the means of speaking to M. Favoral is not to betray him; and I shall do every thing in my power to enable him to escape the police, and make his way abroad.”
“What a joke!”
“It is the exact truth: I give you my word of honor.” She seemed to feel easier; and, when the carriage turned into the Rue St. Lazare, “Let us stop a moment,” she said.
“Why?”
“So that I can buy old Vincent’s breakfast. He can’t go out to eat, of course; and so I have to take all his meals to him.”
Marius’s mistrust was far from being dissipated; and yet he did not think it prudent to refuse, promising himself, however, not to lose sight of Mme. Zelie. He followed her, therefore, to the baker’s and the butcher’s; and when she had done her marketing, he entered with her the house of modest appearance where she had her apartment.
They were already going up stairs, when the porter ran out of his lodge.
“Madame!” he said, “madame!”
Mme. Cadelle stopped.
“What is the matter?”
“A letter for you.”
“For me?”
“Here it is. A lady brought it less than five minutes ago. Really, she looked annoyed not to find you in. But she is going to come back. She knew you were to be here this morning.”
M. de Tregars had also stopped.
“What kind of a looking person was this lady?” he asked.
“Dressed all in black, with a thick veil on her face.”
“All right. I thank you.”
The porter returned to his lodge. Mme. Zelie broke the seal. The first envelope contained another, upon which she spelt, for she did not read very fluently, “To be handed to M. Vincent.”
“Some one knows that he is hiding here,” she said in a tone of utter surprise. “Who can it be?”
“Who? Why, the woman whose reputation M. Favoral was so anxious to spare when he put you in the Rue du Cirque house.”
There was nothing that irritated the young woman so much as this idea.
“You are right,” she said. “What a fool he made of me; the old rascal! But never mind. I am going to pay him for it now.”
Nevertheless when she reached her story, the third, and at the moment of slipping the key into the keyhole, she again seemed perplexed.
“If some misfortune should happen,” she sighed.
“What are you afraid of?”
“Old Vincent has got all sorts of arms in there. He has sworn to me that the first person who forced his way into the apartments, he would kill him like a dog. Suppose he should fire at us?”
She was afraid, terribly afraid: she was livid, and her teeth chattered.
“Let me go first,” suggested M. de Tregars.
“No. Only, if you were a good fellow, you would do what I am going to ask you. Say, will you?”
“If it can be done.”
“Oh, certainly! Here is the thing. We’ll go in together; but you must not make any noise. There is a large closet with glass doors, from which every thing can be heard and seen that goes on in the large room. You’ll get in there. I’ll go ahead, and draw out old Vincent into the parlor and at the right moment, v’lan! you appear.”
It was after all, quite reasonable.
“Agreed!” said Marius.
“Then,” she said, “every thing will go on right. The entrance of the closet with the glass doors is on the right as you go in. Come along now, and walk easy.”
And she opened the door.
The apartment was exactly as described by Mme. Cadelle. In the dark and narrow ante-chamber, three doors opened,—on the left, that of the dining-room; in the centre, that of a parlor and bedroom which communicated; on the right, that of the closet. M. de Tregars slipped in noiselessly through the latter, and at once recognized that Mme. Zelie had not deceived him, and that he would see and hear every thing that went on in the parlor. He saw the young woman walk into it. She laid her provisions down upon the table, and called,
“Vincent!”
The former cashier of the Mutual Credit appeared at once, coming out of the bedroom.
He was so changed, that his wife and children would have hesitated in recognizing him. He had cut off his beard, pulled out almost the whole of his thick eye-brows, and covered his rough and straight hair under a brown curly wig. He wore patent-leather boots, wide pantaloons, and one of those short jackets of rough material, and with broad sleeves which French elegance has borrowed from English stable-boys. He tried to appear calm, careless, and playful; but the contraction of his lips betrayed a horrible anguish, and his look had the strange mobility of the wild beasts’ eye, when, almost at bay, they stop for a moment, listening to the barking of the hounds.
“I was beginning to fear that you would disappoint me,” he said to Mme. Zelie.
“It took me some time to buy your breakfast.”
“And is that all that kept you?”
“The porter detained me too, to hand me a letter, in which I found one for you. Here it is.”
“A letter!” exclaimed Vincent Favoral.
And, snatching it from her, he tore off the envelope. But he had scarcely looked over it, when he crushed it in his hand, exclaiming,
“It is monstrous! It is a mean, infamous treason!” He was interrupted by a violent ringing of the door-bell.
“Who can it be?” stammered Mme. Cadelle.
“I know who it is,” replied the former cashier. “Open, open quick.”
She obeyed; and almost at once a woman walked into the parlor, wearing a cheap, black woolen dress. With a sudden gesture, she threw off her veil; and M. de Tregars recognized the Baroness de Thaller.
“Leave us!” she said to Mme. Zelie, in a tone which one would hardly dare to assume towards a bar-maid.
The other felt indignant.
“What, what!” she began. “I am in my own house here.”
“Leave us!” repeated M. Favoral with a threatening gesture. “Go, go!”
She went out but only to take refuge by the side of M. de Tregars.
“You hear how they treat me,” she said in a hoarse voice.
He made no answer. All his attention was centred upon the parlor. The Baroness de Thaller and the former cashier were standing opposite each other, like two adversaries about to fight a duel.
“I have just read your letter,” began Vincent Favoral.
Coldly the baroness said, “Ah!”
“It is a joke, I suppose.”
“Not at all.”
“You refuse to go with me?”
“Positively.”
“And yet it was all agreed upon. I have acted wholly under your urgent, pressing advice. How many times have you repeated to me that to live with your husband had become an intolerable torment to you! How many times have you sworn to me that you wished to be mine alone, begging me to procure a large sum of money, and to fly with you!”
“I was in earnest at the time. I have discovered, at the last moment, that it would be impossible for me thus to abandon my country, my daughter, my friends.”
“We can take Cesarine with us.”
“Do not insist.”
He was looking at her with a stupid, gloomy gaze.
“Then,” he stammered, “those tears, those prayers, those oaths!”
“I have reflected.”
“It is not possible! If you spoke the truth, you would not be here.”
“I am here to make you understand that we must give up projects which cannot be realized. There are some social conventionalities which cannot be torn up.” As if he scarcely understood what she said, he repeated,
“Social conventionalities!”
And suddenly falling at Mme. de Thaller’s feet, his head thrown back, and his hands clasped together,
“You lie!” he said. “Confess that you lie, and that it is a final trial which you are imposing upon me. Or else have you, then, never loved me? That’s impossible! I would not believe you if you were to say so. A woman who does not love a man cannot be to him what you have been to me: she does not give herself up thus so joyously and so completely. Have you, then, forgotten every thing? Is it possible that you do not remember those divine evenings in the Rue de Cirque?—those nights, the mere thought of which fires my brain, and consumes my blood.”
He was horrible to look at, horrible and ridiculous at the same time. As he wished to take Mme. de Thaller’s hands, she stepped back, and he followed her, dragging himself on his knees.
“Where could you find,” he continued, “a man to worship you like me, with an ardent, absolute, blind, mad passion? With what can you reproach me? Have I not sacrificed to you without a murmur every thing that a man can sacrifice here below,—fortune, family, honor, —to supply your extravagance, to anticipate your slightest fancies, to give you gold to scatter by the handful? Did I not leave my own family struggling with poverty? I would have snatched bread from my children’s mouths in order to purchase roses to scatter under your footsteps. And for years did ever a word from me betray the secret of our love? What have I not endured? You deceived me. I knew it, and I said nothing. Upon a word from you I stepped aside before him whom your caprice made happy for a day. You told me, ‘Steal!’ and I stole. You told me, ‘Kill!’ and I tried to kill.”
“Fly. A man who has twelve hundred thousand francs in gold, bank-notes, and good securities, can always get along.”
“And my wife and children?”
“Maxence is old enough to help his mother. Gilberte will find a husband: depend upon it. Besides, what’s to prevent you from sending them money?”
“They would refuse it.”
“You will always be a fool, my dear!”
To Vincent Favoral’s first stupor and miserable weakness now succeeded a terrible passion. All the blood had left his face: his eyes was flashing.
“Then,” he resumed, “all is really over?”
“Of course.”
“Then I have been duped like the rest,—like that poor Marquis de Tregars, whom you had made mad also. But he, at least saved his honor; whereas I—And I have no excuse; for I should have known. I knew that you were but the bait which the Baron de Thaller held out to his victims.”
He waited for an answer; but she maintained a contemptuous silence.
“Then you think,” he said with a threatening laugh, “that it will all end that way?”
“What can you do?”
“There is such a thing as justice, I imagine, and judges too. I can give myself up, and reveal every thing.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“That would be throwing yourself into the wolf’s mouth for nothing,” she said. “You know better than any one else that my precautions are well enough taken to defy any thing you can do or say. I have nothing to fear.”
“Are you quite sure of that?”
“Trust to me,” she said with a smile of perfect security.
The former cashier of the Mutual Credit made a terrible gesture; but, checking himself at once, he seized one of the baroness’s hands. She withdrew it quickly, however, and, in an accent of insurmountable disgust,
“Enough, enough!” she said.
In the adjoining closet Marius de Tregars could feel Mme. Zelie Cadelle shuddering by his side.
“What a wretch that woman is!” she murmured; “and he—what a base coward!”
The former cashier remained prostrated, striking the floor with his head.
“And you would forsake me,” he groaned, “when we are united by a past such as ours! How could you replace me? Where would you find a slave so devoted to your every wish?”
The baroness was getting impatient.
“Stop!” she interrupted,—“stop these demonstrations as useless as ridiculous.”
This time he did start up, as if lashed with a whip and, double locking the door which communicated with the ante-chamber, he put the key in his pocket; and, with a step as stiff and mechanical as that of an automaton, he disappeared in the sleeping-room.
“He is going for a weapon,” whispered Mme. Cadelle.
It was also what Marius thought.
“Run down quick,” he said to Mme. Zelie. “In a cab standing opposite No. 25, you will find Mlle. Gilberte Favoral waiting. Let her come at once.”
And, rushing into the parlor,
“Fly!” he said to Mme. Thaller.
But she was as petrified by this apparition.
“M. de Tregars!”
“Yes, yes, me. But hurry and go!”
And he pushed her into the closet.
It was but time. Vincent Favoral reappeared upon the threshold of the bedroom. But, if it was a weapon he had gone for, it was not for the one which Marius and Mme. Cadelle supposed. It was a bundle of papers which he held in his hand. Seeing M. de Tregars there, instead of Mme. de Thaller, an exclamation of terror and surprise rose to his lips. He understood vaguely what must have taken place; that the man who stood there must have been concealed in the glass closet, and that he had assisted the baroness to escape.
“Ah, the miserable wretch!” he stammered with a tongue made thick by passion, “the infamous wretch! She has betrayed me; she has surrendered me. I am lost!”
Mastering the most terrible emotion he had ever felt,
“No, no! you shall not be surrendered,” uttered M. de Tregars.
Collecting all the energy that the devouring passion which had blasted his existence had left him, the former cashier of the Mutual Credit took one or two steps forward.
“Who are you, then?” he asked.
“Do you not know me? I am the son of that unfortunate Marquis de Tregars of whom you spoke a moment since. I am Lucienne’s brother.”
Like a man who has received a stunning blow, Vincent Favoral sank heavily upon a chair.
“He knows all,” he groaned.
“Yes, all!”
“You must hate me mortally.”
“I pity you.”
The old cashier had reached that point when all the faculties, after being strained to their utmost limits, suddenly break down, when the strongest man gives up, and weeps like a child.
“Ah, I am the most wretched of villains!” he exclaimed.
He had hid his face in his hands; and in one second,—as it happens, they say, to the dying on the threshold of eternity,—he reviewed his entire existence.
“And yet,” he said, “I had not the soul of a villain. I wanted to get rich; but honestly, by labor, and by rigid economy. And I should have succeeded. I had a hundred and fifty thousand francs of my own when I met the Baron de Thaller. Alas! why did I meet him? ‘Twas he who first gave me to understand that it was stupid to work and save, when, at the bourse, with moderate luck, one might become a millionaire in six months.”
He stopped, shook his head, and suddenly,
“Do you know the Baron de Thaller?” he asked. And, without giving Marius time to answer,
“He is a German,” he went on, “a Prussian. His father was a cab-driver in Berlin, and his mother waiting-maid in a brewery. At the age of eighteen, he was compelled to leave his country, owing to some petty swindle, and came to take up his residence in Paris. He found employment in the office of a stock-broker, and was living very poorly, when he made the acquaintance of a young laundress named Affrays, who had for a lover a very wealthy gentleman, the Marquis de Tregars, whose weakness was to pass himself off for a poor clerk. Affrays and Thaller were well calculated to agree. They did agree, and formed an association,—she contributing her beauty; he, his genius for intrigue; both, their corruption and their vices. Soon after they met, she gave birth to a child, a daughter; whom she intrusted to some poor gardeners at Louveciennes, with the firm and settled intention to leave her there forever. And yet it was upon this daughter, whom they firmly hoped never to see again, that the two accomplices were building their fortune.
“It was in the name of that daughter that Affrays wrung considerable sums from the Marquis de Tregars. As soon as Thaller and she found themselves in possession of six hundred thousand francs, they dismissed the marquis, and got married. Already, at that time, Thaller had taken the title of baron, and lived in some style. But his first speculations were not successful. The revolution of 1848 finished his ruin, and he was about being expelled from the bourse, when he found me on his way,—I, poor fool, who was going about everywhere, asking how I could advantageously invest my hundred and fifty thousand francs.”
He was speaking in a hoarse voice, shaking his clinched fist in the air, doubtless at the Baron de Thaller.
“Unfortunately,” he resumed, “it was only much later that I discovered all this. At the moment, M. de Thaller dazzled me. His friends, Saint Pavin and the bankers Jottras, proclaimed him the smartest and the most honest man in France. Still I would not have given my money, if it had not been for the baroness. The first time that I was introduced to her, and that she fixed upon me her great black eyes, I felt myself moved to the deepest recesses of my soul. In order to see her again, I invited her, together with her husband and her husband’s friends, to dine with me, by the side of my wife and children. She came. Her husband made me sign every thing he pleased; but, as she went off, she pressed my hand.”
He was still shuddering at the recollection of it, the poor fellow!
“The next day,” he went on, “I handed to Thaller all I had in the world; and, in exchange, he gave me the position of cashier in the Mutual Credit, which he had just founded. He treated me like an inferior, and did not admit me to visit his family. But I didn’t care: the baroness had permitted me to see her again, and almost every afternoon I met her at the Tuileries; and I had made bold to tell her that I loved her to desperation. At last, one evening, she consented to make an appointment with me for the second following day, in an apartment which I had rented.
“The day before I was to meet her, and whilst I was beside myself with joy, the Baron de Thaller requested me to assist him, by means of certain irregular entries, to conceal a deficit arising from unsuccessful speculations. How could I refuse a man, whom, as I thought, I was about to deceive grossly! I did as he wished. The next day Mme. de Thaller became my mistress; and I was a lost man.”
Was he trying to exculpate himself? Was he merely yielding to that imperious sentiment, more powerful than the will or the reason, which impels the criminal to reveal the secret which oppresses him?
“From that day,” he went on, “began for me the torment of that double existence which I underwent for years. I had given to my mistress all I had in the world; and she was insatiable. She wanted money always, any way, and in heaps. She made me buy the house in the Rue du Cirque for our meetings; and, between the demands of the husband and those of the wife, I was almost insane. I drew from the funds of the Mutual Credit as from an inexhaustible mine; and, as I foresaw that some day must come when all would be discovered, I always carried about me a loaded revolver, with which to blow out my brains when they came to arrest me.”
And he showed to Marius the handle of a revolver protruding from his pocket.
“And if only she had been faithful to me!” he continued, becoming more and more animated. “But what have I not endured! When the Marquis de Tregars returned to Paris, and they set about defrauding him of his fortune, she did not hesitate a moment to become his mistress again. She used to tell me, ‘What a fool you are! all I want is his money. I love no one but you.’ But after his death she took others. She made use of our house in the Rue du Cirque for purposes of dissipation for herself and her daughter Cesarine. And I—miserable coward that I was!—I suffered all, so much did I tremble to lose her, so much did I fear to be weaned from the semblance of love with which she paid my fearful sacrifices. And now she would betray me, forsake me! For every thing that has taken place was suggested by her in order to procure a sum wherewith to fly to America. It was she who imagined the wretched comedy which I played, so as to throw upon myself the whole responsibility. M. de Thaller has had millions for his share: I have only had twelve hundred thousand francs.”
Violent nervous shudders shook his frame: his face became purple. He drew himself up, and, brandishing the letters which he held in his hand,
“But all is not over!” he exclaimed. “There are proofs which neither the baron nor his wife know that I have. I have the proof of the infamous swindle of which the Marquis de Tregars was the victim. I have the proof of the farce got up by M. de Thaller and myself to defraud the stockholders of the Mutual Credit!”
“What do you hope for?”
He was laughing a stupid laugh.
“I? I shall go and hide myself in some suburb of Paris, and write to Affrays to come. She knows that I have twelve hundred thousand francs. She will come; and she will keep coming as long as I have any money. And when I have no more:—”
He stopped short, starting back, his arms outstretched as if to repel a terrifying apparition. Mlle. Gilberte had just appeared at the door.
“My daughter!” stammered the wretch. “Gilberte!”
“The Marquise de Tregars,” uttered Marius.
An inexpressible look of terror and anguish convulsed the features of Vincent Favoral: he guessed that it was the end.
“What do you want with me?” he stammered.
“The money that you have stolen, father,” replied the girl in an inexorable tone of voice,—“the twelve hundred thousand francs which you have here, then the proofs which are in your hands, and, finally your weapons.”
He was trembling from head to foot.
“Take away my money!” he said. “Why, that would be compelling me to give myself up! Do you wish to see me in prison?”
“The disgrace would fall back upon your children, sir,” said M. de Tregars. “We shall, on the contrary, do every thing in the world to enable you to evade the pursuit of the police.”
“Well, yes, then. But to-morrow I must write to Affrays: I must see her!”
“You have lost your mind, father,” said Mlle. Gilberte. “Come, do as I ask you.”
He drew himself up to his full height.
“And suppose I refuse?”
But it was the last effort of his will. He yielded, though not without an agonizing struggle and gave up to his daughter the money, the proofs and the arms. And as she was walking away, leaning on M. de Tregars’ arm,
“But send me your mother, at least,” he begged. “She will understand me: she will not be without pity. She is my wife: let her come quick. I will not, I can not remain alone.”
It was with convulsive haste that the Baroness de Thaller went over the distance that separated the Rue St. Lazare from the Rue de la Pepiniere. The sudden intervention of M. de Tregars had upset all her ideas. The most sinister presentiments agitated her mind. In the courtyard of her residence, all the servants, gathered in a group, were talking. They did not take the trouble to stand aside to let her pass; and she even noticed some smiles and ironical gigglings. This was a terrible blow to her. What was the matter? What had they heard? In the magnificent vestibule, a man was sitting as she came in. It was the same suspicious character that Marius de Tregars had seen in the grand parlor, in close conference with the baroness.
“Bad news,” he said with a sheepish look.
“What?”
“That little Lucienne must have her soul riveted to her body. She is only wounded; and she’ll get over it.”
“Never mind Lucienne. What about M. de Tregars?”
“Oh! he is another sharp one. Instead of taking up our man’s provocation, he collared him, and took away from him the note I had sent him.”
Mme. de Thaller started violently.
“What is the meaning, then,” she asked, “of your letter of last night, in which you requested me to hand two thousand francs to the bearer?”
The man became pale as death.
“You received a letter from me,” he stammered, “last night?”
“Yes, from you; and I gave the money.”
The man struck his forehead.
“I understand it all!” he exclaimed.
“What?”
“They wanted proofs. They imitated my handwriting, and you swallowed the bait. That’s the reason why I spent the night in the station-house; and, if they let me go this morning, it was to find out where I’d go. I have been followed, they are shadowing me. We are gone up, Mme. le Baronne.Sauve qui peut!”
And he ran out.
More agitated than ever Mme. de Thaller went up stairs. In the little red-and-gold parlor, the Baron de Thaller and Mlle. Cesarine were waiting for her. Stretched upon an arm-chair, her legs crossed, the tip of her boot on a level with her eye, Mlle. Cesarine, with a look of ironical curiosity, was watching her father, who, livid and trembling with nervous excitement, was walking up and down, like a wild beast in his cage. As soon as the baroness appeared,
“Things are going badly,” said her husband, “very badly. Our game is devilishly compromised.”
“You think so?”
“I am but too sure of it. Such a well-combined stroke too! But every thing is against us. In presence of the examining magistrate, Jottras held out well; but Saint Pavin spoke. That dirty rascal was not satisfied with the share allotted to him. On the information furnished by him, Costeclar was arrested this morning. And Costeclar knows all, since he has been your confidant, Vincent Favoral’s, and my own. When a man has, like him, two or three forgeries in his record, he is sure to speak. He will speak. Perhaps he has already done so, since the police has taken possession of Latterman’s office, with whom I had organized the panic and the tumble in the Mutual Credit stock. What can we do to ward off this blow?”
With a surer glance than her husband, Mme. de Thaller had measured the situation.
“Do not try to ward it off,” she replied: “It would be useless.”
“Because?”
“Because M. de Tregars has found Vincent Favoral; because, at this very moment, they are together, arranging their plans.”
The baron made a terrible gesture.
“Ah, thunder and lightning!” he exclaimed. “I always told you that this stupid fool, Favoral, would cause our ruin. It was so easy for you to find an occasion for him to blow his brains out.”
“Was it so difficult for you to accept M. de Tregars’ offers?”
“It was you who made me refuse.”
“Was it me, too, who was so anxious to get rid of Lucienne?”
For years, Mlle. Cesarine had not seemed so amused; and, in a half whisper, she was humming the famous tune, from “The Pearl of Poutoise,”
“Happy accord! Happy couple!”
M. de Thaller, beside himself, was advancing to seize the baroness: she was drawing back, knowing him, perhaps to be capable of any thing, when suddenly there was a violent knocking at the door.
“In the name of the law!”
It was a commissary of police.
And, whilst surrounded by agents, they were taken to a cab.
* * *
“Orphan on both sides!” exclaimed Mlle. Cesarine, “I am free, then. Now we’ll have some fun!”
At that very moment, M. de Tregars and Mlle. Gilberte reached the Rue St. Gilles.
Hearing that her husband had been found,
“I must see him!” exclaimed Mme. Favoral.
And, in spite of any thing they could tell her, she threw a shawl over her shoulders, and started with Mlle. Gilberte.
When they had entered Mme. Zelie’s apartment, of which they had a key, they found in the parlor, with his back towards them, Vincent Favoral sitting at the table, leaning forward, and apparently writing. Mme. Favoral approached on tiptoe, and over her husband’s shoulder she read what he had just written,
“Affrays, my beloved, eternally-adored mistress, will you forgive me? The money that I was keeping for you, my darling, the proofs which will crush your husband—they have taken every thing from me, basely, by force. And it is my daughter—”
He had stopped there. Surprised at his immobility, Mme. Favoral called,
“Vincent!”
He made no answer. She pushed him with her finger. He rolled to the ground. He was dead.
Three months later the great Mutual Credit suit was tried before the Sixth Court. The scandal was great; but public curiosity was strangely disappointed. As in most of these financial affairs, justice, whilst exposing the most audacious frauds, was not able to unravel the true secret.
She managed, at least, to lay hands upon every thing that the Baron de Thaller had hoped to save. That worthy was condemned to five years’ prison; M. Costeclar got off with three years; and M. Jottras with two. M. Saint Pavin was acquitted.
Arrested for subornation of murder, the former Marquise de Javelle the Baroness de Thaller, was released for want of proper proof. But, implicated in the suit against her husband, she lost three-fourths of her fortune, and is now living with her daughter, whose début is announced at the Bouffes-Parisiens, or at the Delassements-Comiques.
Already, before that time, Mlle. Lucienne, completely restored, had married Maxence Favoral.
Of the five hundred thousand francs which were returned to her, she applied three hundred thousand to discharge the debts of her father-in-law, and with the rest she induced her husband to emigrate to America. Paris had become odious to both.
Marius and Mlle. Gilberte, who has now become Marquise de Tregars, have taken up their residence at the Chateau de Tregars, three leagues from Quimper. They have been followed in their retreat by Mme. Favoral and by General Count de Villegre.
The greater portion of his father’s fortune, Marius had applied to pay off all the personal creditors of the former cashier of the Mutual Credit, all the trades-people, and also M. Chapelain, old man Desormeaux, and M. and Mme. Desclavettes.
All that is left to the Marquis and Marquise de Tregars is some twenty thousand francs a year, and if they ever lose them, it will not be at the bourse.
The Mutual Credit is quoted at 467.25!