“You don’t understand,” he added. “Well, never mind. It is not necessary that you should.”
Two o’clock struck as Mlle. Lucienne and Maxence left the office of the commissary of police, she pensive and agitated, he gloomy and irritated. They reached the Hotel des Folies without exchanging a word. Mme. Fortin was again at the door, speechifying in the midst of a group with indefatigable volubility. Indeed, it was a perfect godsend for her, the fact of lodging the son of that cashier who had stolen twelve millions, and had thus suddenly become a celebrity. Seeing Maxence and Mlle. Lucienne coming, she stepped toward them, and, with her most obsequious smile,
“Back already?” she said.
But they made no answer; and, entering the narrow corridor, they hurried to their fourth story. As he entered his room, Maxence threw his hat upon his bed with a gesture of impatience; and, after walking up and down for a moment, he returned to plant himself in front of Mlle. Lucienne.
“Well,” he said, “are you satisfied now?”
She looked at him with an air of profound commiseration, knowing his weakness too well to be angry at his injustice.
“Of what should I be satisfied?” she asked gently.
“I have done what you wished me to.”
“You did what reason dictated, my friend.”
“Very well: we won’t quarrel about words. I have seen your friend the commissary. Am I any better off?”
She shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly.
“What did you expect of him, then?” she asked. “Did you think that he could undo what is done? Did you suppose, that, by the sole power of his will, he would make up the deficit in the Mutual Credit’s cash, and rehabilitate your father?”
“No, I am not quite mad yet.”
“Well, then, could he do more than promise you his most ardent and devoted co-operation?”
But he did not allow her to proceed.
“And how do I know,” he exclaimed, “that he is not trifling with me? If he was sincere, why his reticence and his enigmas? He pretends that I may rely on him, because to serve me is to serve you. What does that mean? What connection is there between your situation and mine, between your enemies and those of my father? And I—I replied to all his questions like a simpleton. Poor fool! But the man who drowns catches at straws; and I am drowning, I am sinking, I am foundering.”
He sank upon a chair, and, hiding his face in his hands,
“Ah, how I do suffer!” he groaned.
Mlle. Lucienne approached him, and in a severe tone, despite her emotion,
“Are you, then, such a coward?” she uttered. “What! at the first misfortune that strikes you,—and this is the first real misfortune of your life, Maxence,—you despair. An obstacle rises, and, instead of gathering all your energy to overcome it, you sit down and weep like a woman. Who, then, is to inspire courage in your mother and in your sister, if you give up so?”
At the sound of these words, uttered by that voice which was all-powerful over his soul, Maxence looked up.
“I thank you, my friend,” he said. “I thank you for reminding me of what I owe to my mother and sister. Poor women! They are wondering, doubtless, what has become of me.”
“You must return to them,” interrupted the girl.
He got up resolutely.
“I will,” he replied. “I should be unworthy of you if I could not raise my own energy to the level of yours.”
And, having pressed her hand, he left. But it was not by the usual route that he reached the Rue St. Gilles. He made a long detour, so as not to meet any of his acquaintances.
“Here you are at last,” said the servant as she opened the door. “Madame was getting very uneasy, I can tell you. She is in the parlor, with Mlle. Gilberte and M. Chapelain.”
It was so. After his fruitless attempt to reach M. de Thaller, M. Chapelain had breakfasted there, and had remained, wishing, he said, to see Maxence. And so, as soon as the young man appeared, availing himself of the privileges of his age and his old intimacy,
“How,” said he, “dare you leave your mother and sister alone in a house where some brutal creditor may come in at any moment?”
“I was wrong,” said Maxence, who preferred to plead guilty rather than attempt an explanation.
“Don’t do it again then,” resumed M. Chapelain. “I was waiting for you to say that I was unable to see M. de Thaller, and that I do not care to face once more the impudence of his valets. You will, therefore, have to take back the fifteen thousand francs he had brought to your father. Place them in his own hands; and don’t give them up without a receipt.”
After some further recommendations, he went off, leaving Mme. Favoral alone at last with her children. She was about to call Maxence to account for his absence, when Mlle. Gilberte interrupted her.
“I have to speak to you, mother,” she said with a singular precipitation, “and to you also, brother.”
And at once she began telling them of M. Costeclar’s strange visit, his inconceivable audacity, and his offensive declarations.
Maxence was fairly stamping with rage.
“And I was not here,” he exclaimed, “to put him out of the house!”
But another was there; and this was just what Mlle. Gilberte wished to come to. But the avowal was difficult, painful even; and it was not without some degree of confusion that she resumed at last,
“You have suspected for a long time, mother, that I was hiding something from you. When you questioned me, I lied; not that I had any thing to blush for, but because I feared for you my father’s anger.”
Her mother and her brother were gazing at her with a look of blank amazement.
“Yes, I had a secret,” she continued. “Boldly, without consulting any one, trusting the sole inspirations of my heart, I had engaged my life to a stranger: I had selected the man whose wife I wished to be.”
Mme. Favoral raised her hands to heaven.
“But this is sheer madness!” she said.
“Unfortunately,” went on the girl, “between that man, my affianced husband before God, and myself, rose a terrible obstacle. He was poor: he thought my father very rich; and he had asked me a delay of three years to conquer a fortune which might enable him to aspire to my hand.”
She stopped: all the blood in her veins was rushing to her face.
“This morning,” she said, “at the news of our disaster, he came . . .”
“Here?” interrupted Maxence.
“Yes, brother, here. He arrived at the very moment, when, basely insulted by M. Costeclar, I commanded him to withdraw, and, instead of going, he was walking towards me with outstretched arms.”
“He dared to penetrate here!” murmured Mme. Favoral.
“Yes, mother: he came in just in time to seize M. Costeclar by his coat-collar, and to throw him at my feet, livid with fear, and begging for mercy. He came, notwithstanding the terrible calamity that has befallen us. Notwithstanding ruin, and notwithstanding shame, he came to offer me his name, and to tell me, that, in the course of the day, he would send a friend of his family to apprise you of his intentions.”
Here she was interrupted by the servant, who, throwing open the parlor-door, announced,
“The Count de Villegre.”
If it had occurred to the mind of Mme. Favoral or Maxence that Mlle. Gilberte might have been the victim of some base intrigue, the mere appearance of the man who now walked in must have been enough to disabuse them.
He was of a rather formidable aspect, with his military bearing, his bluff manners, his huge white mustache, and the deep scar across his forehead.
But in order to be re-assured, and to feel confident, it was enough to look at his broad face, at once energetic and debonair, his clear eye, in which shone the loyalty of his soul, and his thick red lips, which had never opened to utter an untruth.
At this moment, however, he was hardly in possession of all his faculties.
That valiant man, that old soldier, was timid; and he would have felt much more at ease under the fire of a battery than in that humble parlor in the Rue St. Gilles, under the uneasy glance of Maxence and Mme. Favoral.
Having bowed, having made a little friendly sign to Mlle. Gilberte, he had stopped short, two steps from the door, his hat in his hand.
Eloquence was not his forte. He had prepared himself well in advance; but though he kept coughing: hum! broum! though he kept running his finger around his shirt-collar to facilitate his delivery, the beginning of his speech stuck in his throat.
Seeing how urgent it was to come to his assistance,
“I was expecting you, sir,” said Mlle. Gilberte. With this encouragement, he advanced towards Mme. Favoral, and, bowing low,
“I see that my presence surprises you, madame,” he began; “and I must confess that—hum!—it does not surprise me less than it does you. But extraordinary circumstances require exceptional action. On any other occasion, I would not fall upon you like a bombshell. But we had no time to waste in ceremonious formalities. I will, therefore, ask your leave to introduce myself: I am General Count de Villegre.”
Maxence had brought him a chair.
“I am ready to hear you, sir,” said Mme. Favoral. He sat down, and, with a further effort,
“I suppose, madame,” he resumed, “that your daughter has explained to you our singular situation, which, as I had the honor of telling you—hum!—is not strictly in accordance with social usage.”
Mlle. Gilberte interrupted him.
“When you came in, general, I was only just beginning to explain the facts to my mother and brother.”
The old soldier made a gesture, and a face which showed plainly that he did not much relish the prospect of a somewhat difficult explanation—broum! Nevertheless, making up his mind bravely,
“It is very simple,” he said: “I come in behalf of M. de Tregars.”
Maxence fairly bounced upon his chair. That was the very name which he had just heard mentioned by the commissary of police.
“Tregars!” he repeated in a tone of immense surprise.
“Yes,” said M. de Villegre. “Do you know him, by chance?”
“No, sir, no!”
“Marius de Tregars is the son of the most honest man I ever knew, of the best friend I ever had,—of the Marquis de Tregars, in a word, who died of grief a few years ago, after—hum!—some quite inexplicable—broum!—reverses of fortune. Marius could not be dearer to me, if he were my own son. He has lost his parents: I have no relatives; and I have transferred to him all the feelings of affection which still remained at the bottom of my old heart.
“And I can say that never was a man more worthy of affection. I know him. To the most legitimate pride and the most scrupulous integrity, he unites a keen and supple mind, and wit enough to get the better of the toughest rascal. He has no fortune for the reason that—hum!—he gave up all he had to certain pretended creditors of his father. But whenever he wishes to be rich, he shall be; and —broum!—he may be so before long. I know his projects, his hopes, his resources.”
But, as if feeling that he was treading on dangerous ground, the Count de Villegre stopped short, and, after taking breath for a moment,
“In short,” he went on, “Marius has been unable to see Mlle. Gilberte, and to appreciate the rare qualities of her heart, without falling desperately in love with her.”
Mme. Favoral made a gesture of protest,
“Allow me, sir,” she began.
But he interrupted her.
“I understand you, madame,” he resumed. “You wonder how M. de Tregars can have seen your daughter, have known her, and have appreciated her, without your seeing or hearing any thing of it. Nothing is more simple, and, if I may venture to say—hum!—more natural.”
And the worthy old soldier began to explain to Mme. Favoral the meetings in the Place-Royale, his conversations with Marius, intended really for Mlle. Gilberte, and the part he had consented to play in this little comedy. But he became embarrassed in his sentences, he multiplied his hum! and his broum! in the most alarming manner; and his explanations explained nothing.
Mlle. Gilberte took pity on him; and, kindly interrupting him, she herself told her story, and that of Marius.
She told the pledge they had exchanged, how they had seen each other twice, and how they constantly heard of each other through the very innocent and very unconscious Signor Gismondo Pulei.
Maxence and Mme. Favoral were dumbfounded. They would have absolutely refused to believe such a story, had it not been told by Mlle. Gilberte herself.
“Ah, my dear sister!” thought Maxence, “who could have suspected such a thing, seeing you always so calm and so meek!”
“Is it possible,” Mme. Favoral was saying to herself; “that I can have been so blind and so deaf?”
As to the Count de Villegre, he would have tried in vain to express the gratitude he felt towards Mlle. Gilberte for having spared him these difficult explanations.
“I could not have done half as well myself, by the eternal!” he thought, like a man who has no illusions on his own account.
But, as soon as she had done, addressing himself to Mme. Favoral,
“Now, madame,” he said, “you know all; and you will understand that the irreparable disaster that strikes you has removed the only obstacle which had hitherto stood in the way of Marius.”
He rose, and in a solemn tone, without any hum or broum, this time,
“I have the honor, madame,” he uttered, “to solicit the hand of Mlle. Gilberte, your daughter, for my friend Yves-Marius de Genost, Marquis de Tregars.”
A profound silence followed this speech. But this silence the Count de Villegre doubtless interpreted in his own favor; for, stepping to the parlor-door, he opened it, and called, “Marius!”
Marius de Tregars had foreseen all that had just taken place, and had so informed the Count de Villegre in advance.
Being given Mme. Favoral’s disposition, he knew what could be expected of her; and he had his own reasons to fear nothing from Maxence. And, if he mistrusted somewhat the diplomatic talents of his ambassador, he relied absolutely upon Mlle. Gilberte’s energy.
And so confident was he of the correctness of his calculations, that he had insisted upon accompanying his old friend, so as to be on hand at the critical moment.
When the servant had opened the door to them, he had ordered her to introduce M. de Villegre, stating that he would himself wait in the dining-room. This arrangement had not seemed entirely natural to the girl; but so many strange things had happened in the house for the past twenty-four hours, that she was prepared for any thing.
Besides recognizing Marius as the gentleman who had had a violent altercation in the morning with M. Costeclar, she did as he requested, and, leaving him alone in the dining-room, went to attend to her duties.
He had taken a seat, impassive in appearance, but in reality agitated by that internal trepidation of which the strongest men cannot free themselves in the decisive moments of their life.
To a certain extent, the prospects of his whole life were to be decided on the other side of that door which had just closed behind the Count de Villegre. To the success of his love, other interests were united, which required immediate success.
And, counting the seconds by the beatings of his heart,
“How very slow they are!” he thought.
And so, when the door opened at last, and his old friend called him, he jumped to his feet, and collecting all his coolness and self-possession, he walked in.
Maxence had risen to receive him; but, when he saw him, he stepped back, his eyes glaring in utter surprise.
“Ah, great heavens!” he muttered in a smothered voice.
But M. de Tregars seemed not to notice his stupor. Quite self-possessed, notwithstanding his emotion, he cast a rapid glance over the Count de Villegre, Mme. Favoral and Mlle. Gilberte. At their attitude, and at the expression of their countenance, he easily guessed the point to which things had come.
And, advancing towards Mme. Favoral, he bowed with an amount of respect which was certainly not put on.
“You have heard the Count de Villegre, madame,” he said in a slightly altered tone of voice. “I am awaiting my fate.”
The poor woman had never before in all her life been so fearfully perplexed. All these events, which succeeded each other so rapidly, had broken the feeble springs of her soul. She was utterly incapable of collecting her thoughts, or of taking a determination.
“At this moment, sir,” she stammered, taken unawares, “it would be impossible for me to answer you. Grant me a few days for reflection. We have some old friends whom I ought to consult.”
But Maxence, who had got over his stupor, interrupted her.
“Friends, mother!” he exclaimed. “And who are they? People in our position have no friends. What! when we are perishing, a man of heart holds out his hand to us, and you ask to reflect? To my sister, who bears a name henceforth disgraced, the Marquis de Tregars offers his name, and you think of consulting.”
The poor woman was shaking her head.
“I am not the mistress, my son,” she murmured; “and your father—”
“My father!” interrupted the young man,—“my father! What rights can he have over us hereafter?” And without further discussion, without awaiting an answer, he took his sister’s hand, and, placing it in M. de Tregars’ hand,
“Ah! take her, sir,” he uttered. “Never, whatever she may do, will she acquit the debt of eternal gratitude which we this day contract towards you.”
A tremor that shook their frames, a long look which they exchanged, betrayed alone the feelings of Marius and Mlle. Gilberte. They had of life a too cruel experience not to mistrust their joy.
Returning to Mme. Favoral,
“You do not understand, madame,” he went on, “why I should have selected for such a step the very moment when an irreparable calamity befalls you. One word will explain all. Being in a position to serve you, I wished to acquire the right of doing so.”
Fixing upon him a look in which the gloomiest despair could be read,
“Alas!” stammered the poor woman, “what can you do for me, sir? My life is ended. I have but one wish left,—that of knowing where my husband is hid. It is not for me to judge him. He has not given me the happiness which I had, perhaps, the right to expect; but he is my husband, he is unhappy: my duty is to join him wherever he may be, and to share his sufferings.”
She was interrupted by the servant, who was calling her at the parlor-door, “Madame, madame!”
“What is the matter?” inquired Maxence.
“I must speak to madame at once.”
Making an effort to rise and walk, Mme. Favoral went out. She was gone but a minute; and, when she returned, her agitation had further increased. “It is the hand of Providence, perhaps,” she said. The others were all looking at her anxiously. She took a seat, and, addressing herself more especially to M. de Tregars,
“This is what happens,” she said in a feeble voice. “M. Favoral was in the habit of always changing his coat as soon as he came home. As usual, he did so last evening. When they came to arrest him, he forgot to change again, and went off with the coat he had on. The other remained hanging in the room, where the girl took it just now to brush it, and put it away; and this portfolio, which my husband always carries with him, fell from its pocket.”
It was an old Russia leather portfolio, which had once been red, but which time and use had turned black. It was full of papers.
“Perhaps, indeed,” exclaimed Maxence, “we may find some information there.”
He opened it, and had already taken out three-fourths of its contents without finding any thing of any consequence, when suddenly he uttered an exclamation. He had just opened an anonymous note, evidently written in a disguised hand, and at one glance had read,
“I cannot understand your negligence. You should get through that Van Klopen matter. There is the danger.”
“What is that note?” inquired M. de Tregars.
Maxence handed it to him.
“See!” said he, “but you will not understand the immense interest it has for me.”
But having read it,
“You are mistaken,” said Marius. “I understand perfectly; and I’ll prove it to you.”
The next moment, Maxence took out of the portfolio, and read aloud, the following bill, dated two days before.
“Sold to —— two leather trunks with safety locks at 220 francs each; say, francs 440.”
M. de Tregars started.
“At last,” he said, “here is doubtless one end of the thread which will guide us to the truth through this labyrinth of iniquities.”
And, tapping gently on Maxence’s shoulders,
“We must talk,” he said, “and at length. To-morrow, before you go to M. de Thaller’s with his fifteen thousand francs, call and see me: I shall expect you. We are now engaged upon a common work; and something tells me, that, before long, we shall know what has become of the Mutual Credit’s millions.”
“When I think,” said Coleridge, “that every morning, in Paris alone, thirty thousand fellows wake up, and rise with the fixed and settled idea of appropriating other people’s money, it is with renewed wonder that every night, when I go home, I find my purse still in my pocket.”
And yet it is not those who simply aim to steal your portemonnaie who are either the most dishonest or the most formidable.
To stand at the corner of some dark street, and rush upon the first man that comes along, demanding, “Your money or your life,” is but a poor business, devoid of all prestige, and long since given up to chivalrous natures.
A man must be something worse than a simpleton to still ply his trade on the high-roads, exposed to all sorts of annoyances on the part of the gendarmes, when manufacturing and financial enterprises offer such a magnificently fertile field to the activity of imaginative people.
And, in order to thoroughly understand the mode of proceeding in this particular field, it is sufficient to open from time to time a copy of “The Police Gazette,” and to read some trial, like that, for instance, of one Lefurteux, ex-president of the Company for the Drainage and Improvement of the Orne Swamps.
This took place less than a month ago in one of the police-courts.
The Judge to the Accused—Your profession?
M. Lefurteux—President of the company.
Question—Before that what were you doing?
Answer—I speculated at the bourse.
Q—You had no means?
A—I beg your pardon: I was making money.
Q—And it was under such circumstances that you had the audacity to organize a company with a capital stock of three million of francs, divided in shares of five hundred francs?
A—Having discovered an idea, I did not suppose that I was forbidden to work it up.
Q—What do you call an idea?
A—The idea of draining swamps, and making them productive.
Q—What swamps? Yours never had any existence, except in your prospectus.
A—I expected to buy them as soon as my capital was paid in.
Q—And in the mean time you promised ten per cent to your stockholders.
A—That’s the least that draining operations ever pay.
Q—You have advertised?
A—Of course.
Q—To what extent?
A—To the extent of about sixty thousand francs.
Q—Where did you get the money?
A—I commenced with ten thousand francs, which a friend of mine had lent me; then I used the funds as they came in.
Q—In other words, you made use of the money of your first dupes to attract others?
A—Many people thought it was a good thing.
Q—Who? Those to whom you sent your prospectus with a plan of your pretended swamps?
A—Excuse me. Others too.
Q—How much money did you ever receive?
A—About six hundred thousand francs, as the expert has stated.
Q—And you have spent the whole of the money?
A—Permit me? I have never applied to my personal wants anything beyond the salary which was allowed me by the By-laws.
Q—How is it, then, that, when you were arrested, there were only twelve hundred and fifty francs found in your safe, and that amount had been sent you through the post-office that very morning? What has become of the rest?
A—The rest has been spent for the good of the company.
Q—Of course! You had a carriage?
A—It was allowed to me by Article 27 of the By-laws.
Q—For the good of the company too, I suppose.
A—Certainly. I was compelled to make a certain display. The head of an important company must endeavor to inspire confidence.
The Judge, with an Ironical Look—Was it also to inspire confidence that you had a mistress, for whom you spent considerable sums of money?
The Accused, in a Tone of Perfect Candor—Yes, sir.
After a pause of a few moments, the judge resumes,
Q—Your offices were magnificent. They must have cost you a great deal to furnish.
A—On the contrary, sir, almost nothing. The furniture was all hired. You can examine the upholsterer.
The upholsterer is sent for, and in answer to the judge’s questions,
“What M. Lefurteux has stated,” he says, “is true. My specialty is to hire office-fixtures for financial and other companies. I furnish every thing, from the book-keepers’ desks to the furniture for the president’s private room: from the iron safe to the servant’s livery. In twenty-four hours, every thing is ready, and the subscribers can come. As soon as a company is organized, like the one in question, the officers call on me, and, according to the magnitude of the capital required, I furnish a more or less costly establishment. I have a good deal of experience, and I know just what’s wanted. When M. Lefurteux came to see me, I gauged his operation at a glance. Three millions of capital, swamps in the Orne, shares of five hundred francs, small subscribers, anxious and noisy.
“‘Very well,’ I said to him, ‘it’s a six-months’ job. Don’t go into useless expenses. Take reps for your private office: that’s good enough.’”
The Judge, in a tone of Profound Surprise—You told him that?
The Upholsterer, in the Simple Accent of an Honest Man—Exactly as I am telling your Honor. He followed my advice; and I sent him red hot the furniture and fixtures which had been used by the River Fishery Company, whose president had just been sent to prison for three years.
When, after such revelations, renewed from week to week, with instructive variations, purchasers may still be found for the shares of the Tiffla Mines, the Bretoneche Lands, and the Forests of Formanoid, is it to be wondered that the Mutual Credit Company found numerous subscribers?
It had been admirably started at that propitious hour of the December Coup d’Etat, when the first ideas of mutuality were beginning to penetrate the financial world.
It had lacked neither capital nor powerful patronage at the start, and had been at once admitted to the honor of being quoted at the bourse.
Beginning business ostensibly as an accommodation bank for manufacturers and merchants, the Mutual Credit had had, for a number of years, a well-determined specialty.
But gradually it had enlarged the circle of its operations, altered its by-laws, changed its board of directors; and at the end the original subscribers would have been not a little embarrassed to tell what was the nature of its business, and from what sources it drew its profits.
All they knew was, that it always paid respectable dividends; that their manager, M. de Thaller, was personally very rich; and that they were willing to trust him to steer clear of the code.
There were some, of course, who did not view things in quite so favorable a light; who suggested that the dividends were suspiciously large; that M. de Thaller spent too much money on his house, his wife, his daughter, and his mistress.
One thing is certain, that the shares of the Mutual Credit Society were much above par, and were quoted at 580 francs on that Saturday, when, after the closing of the bourse, the rumor had spread that the cashier, Vincent Favoral, had run off with twelve millions.
“What a haul!” thought, not without a feeling of envy, more than one broker, who, for merely one-twelfth of that amount would have gayly crossed the frontier. It was almost an event in Paris.
Although such adventures are frequent enough, and not taken much notice of, in the present instance, the magnitude of the amount more than made up for the vulgarity of the act.
Favoral was generally pronounced a very smart man; and some persons declared, that to take twelve millions could hardly be called stealing.
The first question asked was,
“Is Thaller in the operation? Was he in collusion with his cashier?”
“That’s the whole question.”
“If he was, then the Mutual Credit is better off than ever: otherwise, it is gone under.”
“Thaller is pretty smart.”
“That Favoral was perhaps more so still.”
This uncertainty kept up the price for about half an hour. But soon the most disastrous news began to spread, brought, no one knew whence or by whom; and there was an irresistible panic.
From 425, at which price it had maintained itself for a time, the Mutual Credit fell suddenly to 300, then 200, and finally to 150 francs.
Some friends of M. de Thaller, M. Costeclar, for instance, had endeavored to keep up the market; but they had soon recognized the futility of their efforts, and then they had bravely commenced doing like the rest.
The next day was Sunday. From the early morning, it was reported, with the most circumstantial details, that the Baron de Thaller had been arrested.
But in the evening this had been contradicted by people who had gone to the races, and who had met there Mme. de Thaller and her daughter, more brilliant than ever, very lively, and very talkative. To the persons who went to speak to them,
“My husband was unable to come,” said the baroness. “He is busy with two of his clerks, looking over that poor Favoral’s accounts. It seems that they are in the most inconceivable confusion. Who would ever have thought such a thing of a man who lived on bread and nuts? But he operated at the bourse; and he had organized, under a false name, a sort of bank, in which he has very foolishly sunk large sums of money.”
And with a smile, as if all danger had been luckily averted,
“Fortunately,” she added, “the damage is not as great as has been reported, and this time, again, we shall get off with a good fright.”
But the speeches of the baroness were hardly sufficient to quiet the anxiety of the people who felt in their coat-pockets the worthless certificates of Mutual Credit stock.
And the next day, Monday, as early as eight o’clock, they began to arrive in crowds to demand of M. de Thaller some sort of an explanation.
They were there, at least a hundred, huddled together in the vestibule, on the stairs, and on the first landing, a prey to the most painful emotion and the most violent excitement; for they had been refused admittance.
To all those who insisted upon going in, a tall servant in livery, standing before the door, replied invariably, “The office is not open, M. de Thaller has not yet come.”
Whereupon they uttered such terrible threats and such loud imprecations, that the frightened concierge had run, and hid himself at the very bottom of his lodge.
No one can imagine to what epileptic contortions the loss of money can drive an assemblage of men, who has not seen a meeting of shareholders on the morrow of a great disaster, with their clinched fists, their convulsed faces, their glaring eyes, and foaming lips.
They felt indignant at what had once been their delight. They laid the blame of their ruin upon the splendor of the house, the sumptuousness of the stairs, the candelabras of the vestibule, the carpets, the chairs, every thing.
“And it is our money too,” they cried, “that has paid for all that!”
Standing upon a bench, a little short man was exciting transports of indignation by describing the magnificence of the Baron de Thaller’s residence, where he had once had some dealings.
He had counted five carriages in the carriage-house, fifteen horses in the stables, and Heaven knows how many servants.
He had never been inside the apartments, but he had visited the kitchen; and he declared that he had been dazzled by the number and brightness of the saucepans, ranged in order of size over the furnace.
Gathered in a group under the vestibule, the most sensible deplored their rash confidence.
“That’s the way,” concluded one, “with all these adventurous affairs.”
“That’s a fact. There’s nothing, after all, like government bonds.”
“Or a first mortgage on good property, with subrogation of the wife’s rights.”
But what exasperated them all was not to be admitted to the presence of M. de Thaller, and to see that servant mounting guard before the door.
“What impudence,” they growled, “to leave us on the stairs!—we who are the masters, after all.”
“Who knows where M. de Thaller may be?”
“He is hiding, of course.”
“No matter: I will see him,” clamored a big fat man, with a brick-colored face, “if I shouldn’t stir from here for a week.”
“You’ll see nothing at all,” giggled his neighbor. “Do you suppose they don’t have back-stairs and private entrances in this infernal shop?”
“Ah! if I believed any thing of the kind,” exclaimed the big man in a voice trembling with passion. “I’d soon break in some of these doors: it isn’t so hard, after all.”
Already he was gazing at the servant with an alarming air, when an old gentleman with a discreet look, stepped up to him, and inquired,
“Excuse me, sir: how many shares have you?”
“Three,” answered the man with the brick-colored face.
The other sighed.
“I have two hundred and fifty,” he said. “That’s why, being at least as interested as yourself in not losing every thing, I beg of you to indulge in no violent proceedings.”
There was no need of further speaking.
The door which the servant was guarding flew open. A clerk appeared, and made sign that he wished to speak.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “M. de Thaller has just come; but he is just now engaged with the examining judge.”
Shouts having drowned his voice, he withdrew precipitately.
“If the law gets its finger in,” murmured the discreet gentleman, “good-by!”
“That’s a fact,” said another. “But we will have the precious advantage of hearing that dear baron condemned to one year’s imprisonment, and a fine of fifty francs. That’s the regular rate. He wouldn’t get off so cheap, if he had stolen a loaf of bread from a baker.”
“Do you believe that story about the judge?” interrupted rudely the big man.
They had to believe it, when they saw him appear, followed by a commissary of police and a porter, carrying on his back a load of books and papers. They stood aside to let them pass; but there was no time to make any comments, as another clerk appeared immediately who said,
“M. de Thaller is at your command, gentlemen. Please walk in.”
There was then a terrible jamming and pushing to see who would get first into the directors’ room, which stood wide open.
M. de Thaller was standing against the mantel-piece, neither paler nor more excited than usual, but like a man who feels sure of himself and of his means of action. As soon as silence was restored,
“First of all, gentlemen,” he began, “I must tell you that the board of directors is about to meet, and that a general meeting of the stockholders will be called.”
Not a murmur. As at the touch of a magician’s wand, the dispositions of the shareholders seemed to have changed.
“I have nothing new to inform you of,” he went on. “What happened is a misfortune, but not a disaster. The thing to do was to save the company; and I had first thought of calling for funds.”
“Well,” said two or three timid voices, “If it was absolutely necessary—”
“But there is no need of it.”
“Ah, ah!”
“And I can manage to carry every thing through by adding to our reserve fund my own personal fortune.”
This time the hurrahs and the bravos drowned the voice.
M. de Thaller received them like a man who deserves them, and, more slowly,
“Honor commanded it,” he continued. “I confess it, gentlemen, the wretch who has so basely deceived us had my entire confidence. You will understand my apparent blindness when you know with what infernal skill he managed.”
Loud imprecations burst on all sides against Vincent Favoral. But the president of the Mutual Credit proceeded,
“For the present, all I have to ask of you is to keep cool, and continue to give me your confidence.”
“Yes, yes!”
“The panic of night before last was but a stock-gambling manoeuvre, organized by rival establishments, who were in hopes of taking our clients away from us. They will be disappointed, gentlemen. We will triumphantly demonstrate our soundness; and we shall come out of this trial more powerful than ever.”
It was all over. M. de Thaller understood his business. They offered him a vote of thanks. A smile was beaming upon the same faces that were a moment before contracted with rage.
One stockholder alone did not seem to share the general enthusiasm: he was no other than our old friend, M. Chapelain, the ex-lawyer.
“That fellow, Thaller, is just capable of getting himself out of the scrape,” he grumbled. “I must tell Maxence.”
We have every species of courage in France, and to a superior degree, except that of braving public opinion. Few men would have dared, like Marius de Tregars, to offer their name to the daughter of a wretch charged with embezzlement and forgery, and that at the very moment when the scandal of the crime was at its height. But, when Marius judged a thing good and just, he did it without troubling himself in the least about what others would think. And so his mere presence in the Rue. St. Gilles had brought back hope to its inmates. Of his designs he had said but a word,—“I have the means of helping you: I mean, by marrying Gilberte, to acquire the right of doing so.”
But that word had been enough. Mme. Favoral and Maxence had understood that the man who spoke thus was one of those cool and resolute men whom nothing disconcerts or discourages, and who knows how to make the best of the most perilous situations.
And, when he had retired with the Count de Villegre,
“I don’t know what he will do,” said Mlle. Gilberte to her mother and her brother: “but he will certainly do something; and, if it is humanly possible to succeed, he will succeed.”
And how proudly she spoke thus! The assistance of Marius was the justification of her conduct. She trembled with joy at the thought that it would, perhaps, be to the man whom she had alone and boldly selected, that her family would owe their salvation. Shaking his head, and making allusion to events of which he kept the secret,
“I really believe,” approved Maxence, “that, to reach the enemies of our father, M. de Tregars possesses some powerful means; and what they are we will doubtless soon know, since I have an appointment with him for to-morrow morning.”
It came at last, that morrow, which he had awaited with an impatience that neither his mother nor his sister could suspect. And towards half-past nine he was ready to go out, when M. Chapelain came in. Still irritated by the scenes he had just witnessed at the Mutual Credit office, the old lawyer had a most lugubrious countenance.
“I bring bad news,” he began. “I have just seen the Baron de Thaller.”
He had said so much the day before about having nothing more to do with it, that Maxence could not repress a gesture of surprise.
“Oh! it isn’t alone that I saw him,” added M. Chapelain, “but together with at least a hundred stockholders of the Mutual Credit.”
“They are going to do something, then?”
“No: they only came near doing something. You should have seen them this morning! They were furious; they threatened to break every thing; they wanted M. de Thaller’s blood. It was terrible. But M. de Thaller condescended to receive them; and they became at once as meek as lambs. It is perfectly simple. What do you suppose stockholders can do, no matter how exasperated they may be, when their manager tells them?
“‘Well, yes, it’s a fact you have been robbed, and your money is in great jeopardy; but if you make any fuss, if you complain thus, all is sure to be lost.’ Of course, the stockholders keep quiet. It is a well-known fact that a business which has to be liquidated through the courts is gone; and swindled stockholders fear the law almost as much as the swindling manager. A single fact will make the situation clearer to you. Less than an hour ago, M. de Thaller’s stockholders, offered him money to make up the loss.”
And, after a moment of silence,
“But this is not all. Justice has interfered; and M. de Thaller spent the morning with an examining-magistrate.”
“Well?”
“Well, I have enough experience to affirm that you must not rely any more upon justice than upon the stockholders. Unless there are proofs so evident that they are not likely to exist, M. de Thaller will not be disturbed.”
“Oh!”
“Why? Because, my dear, in all those big financial operations, justice, as much as possible, remains blind. Not through corruption or any guilty connivance, but through considerations of public interest. If the manager was prosecuted he would be condemned to a few years’ imprisonment; but his stockholders would at the same time be condemned to lose what they have left; so that the victims would be more severely punished than the swindler. And so, powerless, justice does not interfere. And that’s what accounts for the impudence and impunity of all these high-flown rascals who go about with their heads high, their pockets filled with other people’s money, and half a dozen decorations at their button-hole.”
“And what then?” asked Maxence.
“Then it is evident that your father is lost. Whether or not he did have accomplices, he will be alone sacrificed. A scapegoat is needed to be slaughtered on the altar of credit. Well, they will give that much satisfaction to the swindled stockholders. The twelve millions will be lost; but the shares of the Mutual Credit will go up, and public morality will be safe.”
Somewhat moved by the old lawyer’s tone,
“What do you advise me to do, then?” inquired Maxence.
“The very reverse of what, on the first impulse, I advised you to do. That’s why I have come. I told you yesterday, ‘Make a row, act, scream. It is impossible that your father be alone guilty; attack M. de Thaller.’ To-day, after mature deliberation, I say, ‘Keep quiet, hide yourself, let the scandal drop.’”
A bitter smile contracted Maxence’s lips.
“It is not very brave advice you are giving me there,” he said.
“It is a friend’s advice,—the advice of a man who knows life better than yourself. Poor young man, you are not aware of the peril of certain struggles. All knaves are in league and sustain each other. To attack one is to attack them all. You have no idea of the occult influences of which a man can dispose who handles millions, and who, in exchange for a favor, has always a bonus to offer, or a good operation to propose. If at least I could see any chance of success! But you have not one. You never can reach M. de Thaller, henceforth backed by his stockholders. You will only succeed in making an enemy whose hostility will weigh upon your whole life.”
“What does it matter?”
M. Chapelain shrugged his shoulders.
“If you were alone,” he went on, “I would say as you do, ‘What does it matter?’ But you are no longer alone: you have your mother and sister to take care of. You must think of food before thinking of vengeance. How much a month do you earn? Two hundred francs! It is not much for three persons. I would never suggest that you should solicit M. de Thaller’s protection; but it would be well, perhaps, to let him know that he has nothing to fear from you. Why shouldn’t you do so when you take his fifteen thousand francs back to him? If, as every thing indicates, he has been your father’s accomplice, he will certainly be touched by the distress of your family, and, if he has any heart left, he will manage to make you find, without appearing to have any thing to do with it, a situation better suited to your wants. I know that such a step must be very painful; but I repeat it, my dear child, you can no longer think of yourself alone; and what one would not do for himself, one does for a mother and a sister.”
Maxence said nothing. Not that he was in any way affected by the worthy old lawyer’s speech; but he was asking himself whether or not he should confide to him the events which in the past twenty-four hours had so suddenly modified the situation. He did not feel authorized to do so.
Marius de Tregars had not bound him to secrecy; but an indiscretion might have fatal consequences. And, after a moment of thought,
“I am obliged to you, sir,” he replied evasively, “for the interest you have manifested in our welfare; and we shall always greatly prize your advice. But for the present you must allow me to leave you with my mother and sister. I have an appointment with—a friend.”
And, without waiting for an answer, he slipped M. de Thaller’s fifteen thousand francs in his pocket, and hurried out. It was not to M. de Tregars that he went first, however, but to the Hotel des Folies.
“Mlle. Lucienne has just come home with a big bundle,” said Mme. Fortin to Maxence, with her pleasantest smile, as soon as she had seen him emerge from the shades of the corridor.
For the past twenty-four hours, the worthy hostess had been watching for her guest, in the hopes of obtaining some information which she might communicate to the neighbors. Without even condescending to answer, a piece of rudeness at which she felt much hurt, he crossed the narrow court of the hotel at a bound, and started up stairs.
Mlle. Lucienne’s room was open. He walked in, and, still out of breath from his rapid ascension,
“I am glad to find you in,” he exclaimed. The young girl was busy, arranging upon her bed a dress of very light colored silk, trimmed with ruches and lace, an overdress to match, and a bonnet of wonderful shape, loaded with the most brilliant feathers and flowers.
“You see what brings me here,” she replied. “I came home to dress. At two o’clock the carriage is coming to take me to the bois, where I am to exhibit this costume, certainly the most ridiculous that Van Klopen has yet made me wear.”
A smile flitted upon Maxence’s lips.
“Who knows,” said he, “if this is not the last time you will have to perform this odious task? Ah, my friend! what events have taken place since I last saw you!”
“Fortunate ones?”
“You will judge for yourself.”
He closed the door carefully, and, returning to Mlle. Lucienne,
“Do you know the Marquis de Tregars?” he asked.
“No more than you do. It was yesterday, at the commissary of police, that I first heard his name.”
“Well, before a month, M. de Tregars will be Mlle. Gilberte Favoral’s husband.”
“Is it possible?” exclaimed Mlle. Lucienne with a look of extreme surprise.
But, instead of answering,
“You told me,” resumed Maxence, “that once, in a day of supreme distress, you had applied to Mme. de Thaller for assistance, whereas you were actually entitled to an indemnity for having been run over and seriously hurt by her carriage.”
“That is true.”
“Whilst you were in the vestibule, waiting for an answer to your letter, which a servant had taken up stairs, M. de Thaller came in; and, when he saw you, he could not repress a gesture of surprise, almost of terror.”
“That is true too.”
“This behavior of M. de Thaller always remained an enigma to you.”
“An inexplicable one.”
“Well, I think that I can explain it to you now.”
“You?”
Lowering his voice; for he knew that at the Hotel des Folies there was always to fear some indiscreet ear.
“Yes, I,” he answered; “and for the reason that yesterday, when M. de Tregars appeared in my mother’s parlor, I could not suppress an exclamation of surprise, for the reason, Lucienne, that, between Marius de Tregars and yourself, there is a resemblance with which it is impossible not to be struck.”
Mlle. Lucienne had become very pale.
“What do you suppose, then?” she asked.
“I believe, my friend, that we are very near penetrating at once the mystery of your birth and the secret of the hatred that has pursued you since the day when you first set your foot in M. de Thaller’s house.”
Admirably self-possessed as Mlle. Lucienne usually was, the quivering of her lips betrayed at this moment the intensity of her emotion.
After more than a minute of profound meditation,
“The commissary of police,” she said, “has never told me his hopes, except in vague terms. He has told me enough, however, to make me think that he has already had suspicions similar to yours.”
“Of course! Would he otherwise have questioned me on the subject of M. de Tregars?”
Mlle. Lucienne shook her head.
“And yet,” she said, “even after your explanation, it is in vain that I seek why and how I can so far disturb M. de Thaller’s security that he wishes to do away with me.”
Maxence made a gesture of superb indifference. “I confess,” he said, “that I don’t see it either. But what matters it? Without being able to explain why, I feel that the Baron de Thaller is the common enemy, yours, mine, my father’s, and M. de Tregars’. And something tells me, that, with M. de Tregars’ help, we shall triumph. You would share my confidence, Lucienne, if you knew him. There is a man! and my sister has made no vulgar choice. If he has told my mother that he has the means of serving her, it is because he certainly has.”
He stopped, and, after a moment of silence, “Perhaps,” he went on, “the commissary of police might readily understand what I only dimly suspect; but, until further orders, we are forbidden to have recourse to him. It is not my own secret that I have just told you; and, if I have confided it to you, it is because I feel that it is a great piece of good fortune for us; and there is no joy for me, that you do not share.”
Mlle. Lucienne wanted to ask many more particulars. But, looking at his watch,
“Half-past ten!” he exclaimed, “and M. de Tregars waiting for me.”
And he started off, repeating once more to the young girl,
“I will see you to-night: until then, good hope and good courage.”
In the court, two ill-looking men were talking with the Fortins. But it happened often to the Fortins to talk with ill-looking men: so he took no notice of them, ran out to the Boulevard, and jumping into a cab,
“Rue Lafitte 70,” he cried to the driver, “I pay the trip,—three francs.”
When Marius de Tregars had finally determined to compel the bold rascals who had swindled his father to disgorge, he had taken in the Rue Lafitte a small, plainly-furnished apartment on the entresol, a fit dwelling for the man of action, the tent in which he takes shelter on the eve of battle; and he had to wait upon him an old family servant, whom he had found out of place, and who had for him that unquestioning and obstinate devotion peculiar to Breton servants.
It was this excellent man who came at the first stroke of the bell to open the door. And, as soon as Maxence had told him his name,
“Ah!” he exclaimed, “my master has been expecting you with a terrible impatience.”
It was so true, that M. de Tregars himself appeared at the same moment, and, leading Maxence into the little room which he used as a study,
“Do you know,” he said whilst shaking him cordially by the hand, “that you are almost an hour behind time?”
Maxence had, among others the detestable fault, sure indication of a weak nature, of being never willing to be in the wrong, and of having always an excuse ready. On this occasion, the excuse was too tempting to allow it to escape; and quick he began telling how he had been detained by M. Chapelain, and how he had heard from the old lawyer what had taken place at the Mutual Credit office.
“I know the scene already,” said M. de Tregars. And, fixing upon Maxence a look of friendly raillery,
“Only,” he added, “I attributed your want of punctuality to another reason, a very pretty one this time, a brunette.”
A purple cloud spread over Maxence’s cheeks.
“What!” he stammered, “you know?”
“I thought you must have been in haste to go and tell a person of your acquaintance why, when you saw me yesterday, you uttered an exclamation of surprise.”
This time Maxence lost all countenance.
“What,” he said, “you know too?”
M. de Tregars smiled.
“I know a great many things, my dear M. Maxence,” he replied; “and yet, as I do not wish to be suspected of witchcraft, I will tell you where all my science comes from. At the time when your house was closed to me, after seeking for a long time some means of hearing from your sister, I discovered at last that she had for her music-teacher an old Italian, the Signor Gismondo Pulei. I applied to him for lessons, and became his pupil. But, in the beginning, he kept looking at me with singular persistence. I inquired the reason; and he told me that he had once had for a neighbor, at the Batignolles, a young working-girl, who resembled me prodigiously. I paid no attention to this circumstance, and had, in fact, completely forgotten it; when, quite lately, Gismondo told me that he had just seen his former neighbor again, and, what’s more, arm in arm with you, and that you both entered together the Hotel des Folies. As he insisted again upon that famous resemblance, I determined to see for myself. I watched, and I stated,de visa, that my old Italian was not quite wrong, and that I had, perhaps, just found the weapon I was looking for.”
His eyes staring, and his mouth gaping, Maxence looked like a man fallen from the clouds.
“Ah, you did watch!” he said.
M. de Tregars snapped his fingers with a gesture of indifference.
“It is certain,” he replied, “that, for a month past, I have been doing a singular business. But it is not by remaining on my chair, preaching against the corruption of the age, that I can attain my object. The end justifies the means. Honest men are very silly, I think, to allow the rascals to get the better of them under the sentimental pretext that they cannot condescend to make use of their weapons.”
But an honorable scruple was tormenting Maxence.
“And you think yourself well-informed, sir?” he inquired. “You know Lucienne?”
“Enough to know that she is not what she seems to be, and what almost any other would have been in her place; enough to be certain, that, if she shows herself two or three times a week riding around the lake, it is not for her pleasure; enough, also, to be persuaded, that, despite appearances, she is not your mistress, and that, far from having disturbed your life, and compromised your prospects, she set you back into the right road, at the moment, perhaps, when you were about to branch off into the wrong path.”
Marius de Tregars was assuming fantastic proportions in the mind of Maxence.
“How did you manage,” he stammered, “thus to find out the truth?”
“With time and money, every thing is possible.”
“But you must have had grave reasons to take so much trouble about Lucienne.”
“Very grave ones, indeed.”
“You know that she was basely forsaken when quite a child?”
“Perfectly.”
“And that she was brought up through charity?”
“By some poor gardeners at Louveciennes: yes, I know all that.”
Maxence was trembling with joy. It seemed to him that his most dazzling hopes were about to be realized. Seizing the hands of Marius de Tregars,