When Mascarin spoke of suppressing the man who stood in his way as easily as if he was alluding to extinguishing a candle, he was not aware that there was one circumstance which considerably enhanced the difficulty of his task, for Andre had been forewarned, and this note of warning had been sounded on the day on which he had received that letter from Sabine, in which she spoke in such despairing terms of her approaching marriage, which she had been compelled to agree to to save the honor of her family. This feeling was strengthened by a long conversation he had had with M. de Breulh-Faverlay and the Viscountess de Bois Arden, in which it was unanimously decided that the Count and Countess de Mussidan were victims of some plot of which Henri de Croisenois was certainly one of the promoters. He had no conception on what side to look for the danger, but he had an instinctive feeling that it was impending. He prepared, therefore, to act on the defensive. It was not only his life that was in danger, but his love and his future happiness. M. de Breulh-Faverlay had also serious apprehensions for the safety of a man for whom he entertained so great a respect and regard.
“I would lay a heavy wager,” said he, “that we have to do with some villainous blackmailers, and the difficulty of the business is, that we must do the work ourselves, for we dare not invite the aid of the police. We have no proof to offer, and the police will not stir a foot on mere suppositions, and we should not earn the thanks of those we are desirous of assisting if we called the attention of the law to certain acts in their past lives; for who can say what the terrible secret is, that some vile wretch holds over the heads of M. and Madame de Mussidan? And it is quite on the cards that the Count and the Countess might be compelled to join the blackmailers and oppose us. We must act with the greatest prudence and caution. Remember, that if you are out at night, you must avoid dark corners, for it would be the easiest thing in the world to put a knife into your back.”
The conclusion that was arrived at, at this interview, was that for the present Andre and De Breulh should cease to see each other so frequently. They felt convinced that a watch had been set on them, and that their intimacy would certainly be notified to De Croisenois; and of course they had every desire to cause him to imagine that they were not acting in any way together. The arrangement, therefore, that they entered into was that each should act from his own point of vantage against Henri de Croisenois, and that when necessary they should meet in the evening to compare notes in a smallcaféin the Champs Elysees, not far from the house in which Andre was at work.
His courage was still as high as ever, but the first symptoms of rashness had vanished. He was a born diplomatist, and fully realized that cunning and treachery must be met by similar weapons. He must not break his engagement to M. Gandelu; but how could he superintend the workmen and keep an eye on Croisenois at the same time? Money was absolutely necessary, and yet he felt a strange disinclination to accept a loan from M. de Breulh. If he were to throw up his work, it would naturally create suspicion.
M. Gandelu had a shrewd head, and Andre, remembering the old man’s kindness to him on all occasions, determined to confide the matter to him, and with this object he called on him the next morning as the clock was striking nine. His surprise was extreme when he saw Gaston de Gandelu in the courtyard. He was just the same looking Gaston, the lover of Madame de Chantemille, to the outward eye, but some grave calamity had evidently entirely changed the inner man. He was smoking his cigar with an air of desperation, and seemed to be utterly weary of the world and its belongings.
At the moment Andre entered the young man caught sight of him.
“Halloo!” said he; “here is my artistic friend. I lay ten to one that you have come to ask my father to do you a favor.”
“You are quite right; is he at home?”
“The governor is in the sulks; he has shut himself up, and will not see me.”
“You are joking.”
“Not I; the old man is a regular despot, and I am sick of everything.”
Noticing that one of the grooms was listening, Gaston had sufficient sense to draw Andre a little on one side.
“Do you know,” asked he, “that the governor has docked my screw and vows that he will advertise himself as not responsible for the debts of yours truly; but I cannot think he will do so, for that would be a regular smash-up for me. You haven’t such a trifle as ten thousand francs about you that you could lend me, have you? I’d give twenty thousand for the accommodation when I came of age.”
“I must say—,” began Andre.
“All right; never mind; I understand. If you had the ready, you wouldn’t be hanging about here; but for all that, I must have the cash. Hang it all, I signed bills to that amount payable to Verminet. Do you know the fellow?”
“Not at all.”
“Where were you dragged up? Why, he is the head of the Mutual Loan Society. The only nuisance is, that to make matters run a bit smooth, I wrote down the wrong name. Do you tumble, eh?”
“But, great heavens! that is forgery,” said Andre, aghast.
“Not a bit, for I always intended to pay; besides, I wanted the money to square Van Klopen. You knowhim, I suppose?”
“No.”
“Well, he is the chap to dress a girl. I had those costumes for Zora from him; but it is out and out the governor’s fault. Why did he drive me to desperation? Yes, it is all the old man’s doing. He wasn’t satisfied with pitching into me, but he collared that poor, helpless lamb and shut her up. She never did him any harm, and I call it a right down cowardly and despicable act to hurt Zora.”
“Zora,” repeated Andre, who did not recognize the name.
“Yes, Zora; you know; you had a feed with us one day.”
“Yes, yes; you mean Rose.”
“That’s it; but I don’t like any one to call her by that ugly, common name. Well, the governor has gone mad about her, and filed a complaint against her of decoying a minor, as if I was a fellow any one could decoy. Well, the end of it was, that she is now in the prison of St. Lazare.”
The tears started to the young man’s eyes as he related this grievance.
“Poor Zora,” he added; “I was never mashed on a woman like I was on her. And then what a splendid form she has! Why, the hairdresser said he had never seen such hair in his life; and she is at St. Lazare. As soon as the police came for her, her first thoughts were of me, and she shrieked out, ‘Poor Gaston will kill himself when he hears of this.’ The cook told me this, and added that her mistress’s sufferings were terrible. And she is at St. Lazare. I tried to see her, but it was no go;” and here the boy’s voice broke into a sob.
“Come,” said Andre, “keep up your spirits.”
“Ah! you shall see if, as soon as I am twenty-one, I don’t marry her. I don’t put all the blame on the old man. He has been advised by his lawyer, a beast by the name of Catenac. Do you knowhim?”
“No.”
“You don’t seem to know any one. Well, I shall send him a challenge to-morrow. I have got my seconds all ready. By the way, would you like to act for me? I can easily get rid of one of the others.”
“I have had no experience in such matters.”
“Ah, then you would be of no use. My seconds must put him into a regular blue funk.”
“In that case—”
“No; I know what you are going to say: you mean that I had best look out for a military swell; but, after all, the matter lies in a nutshell. I am the insulted party, and draw pistols at ten paces. If that frightens him, he will make the governor drop all this rubbish.”
Had his mind not been so much occupied, this rhodomontade on Gaston’s part would have amused Andre very much, but now he asked himself what would be the quickest way to escape from him.
Just at this moment a servant emerged from the house.
“Sir,” said he, addressing Andre, “my master has seen you from his window, and begs that you will go up to him at once.”
“I will be with him immediately,” answered Andre; and, holding out his hand to Gaston, he took leave of him with a few words of encouragement.
When Andre had got rid of the young man, and had been ushered into M. Gandelu’s presence, the change in the gentleman’s appearance struck him with horror. His eyes were red and swollen as if he had been weeping, but as soon as he caught sight of Andre his face brightened, and he welcomed him warmly.
“Oh, it does me good to see you, and I bless the fortunate chance that has brought you here to-day.”
“It is not a very fortunate chance,” answered Andre, as he shook his head sadly.
For the first time Gandelu noticed the air of gravity which marked the young man, and the shade of sorrow upon his brow.
“What ails you, Andre?” asked he.
“A great misfortune is hanging over me.”
“What do you mean?”
“The naked truth and this misfortune may bring death and despair to me.”
“I am your friend, my dear boy,” said the old man, “and would gladly be of service to you. Tell me if I can be of any use?”
“I come to you to-day to ask a favor at your hands.”
“And you thought of the old man, then? I thank you for doing so. Give me your hand; I like to feel the grasp of an honest man’s hand; it warms my heart.”
“It is the secret of my life that I am going to confide to you,” said he, with some solemnity.
M. Gandelu made no reply, but struck his clenched fist upon his breast, as though to show that any secret confided to him would be locked up in the safe security of his heart.
Then Andre hesitated no longer, and, with the exception of giving names, told the whole story of his love, his ambitions, and his hopes, and gave a clear account of how matters stood.
“How can I help you?” asked M. Gandelu.
“Allow me,” said Andre, “to hand over the work with which you have intrusted me to one of my friends. I will retain the responsibility, but will merely act as one of the workmen. This, to a certain extent, will give me my liberty, while at the same time I shall be earning a little money, which is just now of vast importance to me.”
“Is that what you call a favor?”
“Certainly, and a very great one, too.”
Gandelu rose hastily, and, opening an iron safe which stood in one corner of the room, and taking from it a bundle of banknotes, he placed them on the table before Andre with an expressive look, which meant, “Take what you desire.”
The unlooked-for kindness of this man, who forgot all his own sorrows in his anxiety to relieve the necessities of another, affected Andre deeply.
“I do not need money,” began he.
With a wave of his hand Gandelu inspired silence. “Take these twenty thousand francs,” said he, “and then I can tell you why I asked you to come upstairs.”
A refusal would have wounded the old man deeply, and so Andre took the proffered loan.
Gandelu resumed his seat, and remained in gloomy silence for some time.
“My dear boy,” said he, in a voice broken by emotion, “a day or two back you saw something of the trouble that I am laboring under. I have no longer any respect or esteem for that wretched fool, my son, Pierre.”
Andre had already guessed that he had been incensed with reference to something connected with Gaston.
“Your son has behaved very foolishly,” said he; “but remember he is very young.”
A sad smile passed over the old man’s face.
“My son is old in vice,” replied he. “I have thought the matter over only too plainly. Yesterday he declared that he would kill himself. An absurd threat. Up to this time I have been culpably weak, and it is no use now to act in an opposite direction. The unhappy boy is infatuated with a degraded woman named Rose, and I have had her locked up; but I have made up my mind to let her out again, and also to pay his debts. It is weak folly, I allow; but what am I to do? I am his father after all; and while I cannot respect her, I must love him. He has almost broken my heart, but it was his to do as he liked with.”
Andre made no reply, and Gandelu went on.
“I have not deceived myself; my son is ruined. I can but stand by and wait for the end. If this Rose is not everything that is bad, her influence may be of some use to him. But I want some one to undertake these negotiations, and I had hopes, Andre, that you would have been able to do so.”
Andre felt that all his efforts ought to be devoted to the interests of Sabine, but at the same time he could not leave the kind old man to the mercy of others, and by a display of absolute heroism he determined to accede to the broken-hearted father’s desires and briefly told him that he was at his service. Gandelu thanked him warmly, and Andre seating himself at the table, the two men entered into a long discussion as to the best means to be adopted. It was finally decided that Andre should act with freedom and according to his own instincts, and that M. Gandelu should, to actual appearance, remain firm in the course he had entered upon, and should only be induced, by Andre’s intercession, to adopt milder measures. The result justified their anticipations, for Gaston was even more crushed and downcast than Andre had imagined, and it was in an agony of suspense that he awaited the return of the young painter. As soon as he saw him descending the steps he sprang forward to greet him.
“Well,” said he, in a tone of eager inquiry.
“Your father,” returned Andre, “is terribly angry with you, but I hope to be able to induce him to do something for you.”
“Will he set Zora at liberty?”
“Perhaps he will; but first he must have something more from you than promises—he must have stable guarantees.”
At these words Gaston’s face fell. “Guarantees,” answered he sulkily. “Is not my word of honor enough? What sort of guarantees does he require?”
“That I cannot tell you, and you must find out for yourself; but I will do all I can for you.”
Gaston gazed upon Andre in surprise.
“Do you mean to tell me,” asked he, “that you can do pretty well what you like with the governor?”
“Not exactly; but surely you can see that I have a good deal of influence over him. If you want a proof of this, see, here is the money to take up these bills you told me of.”
“What, Verminet’s?”
“I suppose so. I am speaking of those to which you were mad enough to forge another man’s name.”
Foolish as the boy was, this act of his had caused him many a sleepless night, and he had reflected very often how he could possibly escape from the consequence of his act of rashness.
“Give me the money,” cried he.
Andre shook his head, however. “Forgive me,” said he, “but this money does not quit my hand until the bills are handed over to me. Your father’s orders on this point are decided; but the sooner we settle the affair the better.”
“That is too bad; the governor is as sly as a fox; but he must have his own way, I suppose, so come on. Only just wait till I slip on a coat more suitable to my position than this lounging suit.”
He rushed away, and was back again in ten minutes as neat as a new pin, and full of gayety and good spirits.
“We can walk,” said he, putting his arm through Andre’s. “We have to go to the Rue St. Anne.”
Verminet had his office in this street—the office of the Mutual Loan Society, of which he was the managing director. The house, in spite of its grandiloquent title, was of excessively shabby exterior. The Mutual Loan Society was frequented by those who, having lost their credit, wished to obtain a fresh amount, and who, having no money, wanted to borrow some.
Verminet’s plan of financial operations was perfectly simple. A tradesman on the verge of bankruptcy would come to him, Verminet would look into his case and make him sign bills for the sum he required, handing him in exchange bills drawn by other tradesman in quite as serious a predicament as himself, and pocketed a commission of two per cent. upon both the transactions. Verminet obtained clients from the simple fact that an embarrassed tradesman is utterly reckless, cares not what he signs, and will clutch at a straw to keep his head above water. But there were many other transactions carried on at the office of the Mutual Loan Society, for its largest means of income was drawn from even less respectable sources, and it was alleged that many of these bogus bills which are occasionally cashed by some respectable bankers were manufactured there. At any rate, Verminet managed to make money somehow.
Andre, who was gifted with plenty of intelligence, at once judged of the kind of business done by the Mutual Loan Society by the dinginess of the brass plate on the door and the generally dilapidated aspect of the house.
“I don’t like the look of it at all,” said he.
“It does not go in for show,” answered Gaston, affecting an air of wisdom, “but it is deemed handy sometimes. It does all sorts of business that you would never think of. A real downy card is Verminet.”
Andre could easily believe this, for, of course, there could be but one opinion concerning the character of a man who could have induced a mere simpleton like Gaston to affix a forged signature to the bills which he had discounted. He made no remark, however, but entered the house, with the interior arrangements of which Gaston appeared to be perfectly familiar. They passed through a dirty, ill-smelling passage, went across a courtyard, cold and damp as a cell, and ascended a flight of stairs with a grimy balustrade. On the second floor Gaston made a halt before a door upon which several names were painted. They passed through into a large and lofty room. The paper on the walls of this delectable chamber was torn and spotted, and a light railing ran along it, behind which sat two or three clerks, whose chief occupation appeared to be consuming the breakfast which they had brought with them to the office. The heat of the stove, which was burning in one corner of the room, the general mouldiness of the atmosphere, and the smell of the coarse food, were sufficient to turn the stomach of any one coming in from the fresh air.
“Where is M. Verminet?” asked Gaston authoritatively.
“Engaged,” replied one of the clerks, without pausing to empty his mouth before he replied.
“Don’t you talk to me like that. What do I care whether he is engaged or not? Tell him that Gaston de Gandelu desires to see him at once.”
The clerk was evidently impressed by his visitor’s manner, and, taking the card which was handed to him, made his exit through a door at the other end of the room.
Gaston was delighted at this first victory, and glanced at Andre with a triumphant smile.
The clerk came back almost at once. “M. Verminet,” cried he, “has a client with him just now. He begs that you will excuse him for a few minutes, when he will see you;” and evidently anxious to be civil to the gorgeously attired youths before him, he added, “My master is just now engaged with M. de Croisenois.”
“Aha,” cried Gaston; “I will lay you ten to one that the dear Marquis will be delighted to see me.”
Andre started on hearing this name, and his cheek crimsoned. The man whom he most hated in this world; the wretch who, by his possession of some compromising secret, was forcing Sabine into a detested marriage; the villain whom he, M. de Breulh, and Madame de Bois Arden had sworn to overreach, was within a few paces of him, and that now he should see him face to face. Their eyes would meet, and he would hear the tones of the scoundrel’s voice. His rage and agitation were so intense that it was with the utmost difficulty that he concealed it. Luckily for him, Gaston was not paying the slightest attention to his companion; for having, at the clerk’s invitation, taken a chair, he assumed an imposing attitude, which struck the shabby young man behind the railing with the deepest admiration.
“I suppose,” said he, in a loud voice, “that you know my dear friend, the Marquis?”
Andre made some reply, which Gaston interpreted as a negative.
“Really,” said he, “you knownoone, as I told you before. Where have you lived? But you must have heard of him? Henri de Croisenois is one of my most intimate friends. He owes me over fifty louis that I won of him one night at baccarat.”
Andre was now certain that he had estimated Verminet’s character correctly, and the relations of the Marquis de Croisenois with this very equivocal personage assumed a meaning of great significance to him. He felt now that he had gained a clue, a beacon blazed out before him, and he saw his way more clearly into the difficult windings of this labyrinth of iniquity which he knew that he must penetrate before he gained the secret he longed for.
He felt like a child playing the game called “Magic Music,” when, as the seeker nears the hiding place of the article of which he is in search, the strains of the piano swell higher and higher. He now found that the boy whose master he had become, knew, or said he knew, a good deal of this marquis. Why should he not gain some information from him?
“Are you really intimate with the Marquis de Croisenois?” asked he.
“I should rather think I was,” returned Gandelu the younger. “You will see that precious sharp. I know all about him, and who the girl is that he is ruining himself for, but I mustn’t talk about that; mum’s the word, you know.”
At that moment the door opened, and the Marquis appeared, followed by Verminet.
Henri de Croisenois was attired in the most fashionable manner, and formed an utter contrast to the flashy dress of Gaston. He was smoking a cigar, and mechanically tapping his boots with an elegant walking cane. In a moment the features and figure of the Viscount were indelibly photographed upon Andre’s brain. He particularly noticed his eyes, which had in them a half-concealed look of terror, and his face bore the haunted expression of a person who expects some terrible blow to fall upon him at any moment.
At a little distance the Marquis still seemed young, but a closer inspection showed that the man looked even older than he really was, so worn and haggard were his mouth and eyes. Nights at the gaming-table and the anxiety as to where the fresh supplies should come from to furnish the means to prolong his life of debauchery had told heavily upon him. To-day, however, he seemed to be in the best temper imaginable, and in the most cheerful manner he addressed a few words to Verminet, in conclusion of the conversation that had been going on in the inner office.
“It is settled then,” remarked he, “that I am to have nothing more to do with a business with which neither of us has any real concern?”
“Just so,” answered Verminet.
“Very well, then; but remember that any mistake you may make in the other affair will be attended with the most serious results.”
This caution seemed to suggest some new idea to Verminet, for he said something in a low voice to his client at which they both laughed.
Gaston was fidgeting about, very uneasy at the Marquis having paid no attention to him, and he now advanced with a magnificent salutation and a friendly wave of the hand. If the Marquis was charmed at meeting Gandelu, he concealed his delight in a most wonderful manner. He seemed surprised, but not agreeably so; he bent his head, and he extended his gloved hand with a negligent, “Ah, pleased to see you.” Then without taking any more notice of Gaston, he turned on his heel and continued his conversation with Verminet.
“The worst part is over,” said he, “and therefore no time is to be lost. You must see Mascarin and Martin Rigal, the banker, to-day.”
At these words Andre started. Were these people Croisenois’ accomplices? Certainly he had accomplices on the brain just now, and their names remained deeply engraved on the tablets of his memory.
“Tantaine was here this morning,” observed Verminet, “and told me that his master wanted to see me at four this afternoon. Van Klopen will be there also. Shall I say a word to him about your fine friend?”
“‘Pon my soul,” remarked the Marquis, shrugging his shoulders, “I had nearly forgotten her. There will be a tremendous fuss made, for she will be wanting all sorts of things. Speak to Van Klopen certainly, but do not bind yourself. Remember that I do not care a bit for the fair Sara.”
“Quite so; I understand,” answered Verminet; “but keep things quiet, and do not have any open disturbances.”
“Of course not. Good morning,” and with a bow to the managing director and a nod to Gaston, he lunged out of the office, not condescending to take the slightest notice of Andre. Verminet invited Andre and Gaston into his sanctum, and, taking a seat, motioned to them to do the same. Verminet was a decided contrast to his office, which was shabby and dirty, for his dress did his tailor credit, and he appeared to be clean. He was neither old nor young, and carried his years well. He was fresh and plump, wore his whiskers and hair cut in the English fashion, while his sunken eyes had no more expression in them than those of a fish.
Gandelu was in a hurry to begin.
“Let us get to business,” said he. “Last week you lent me some money.”
“Just so. Do you want any more?”
“No; I want to return my bills.”
A cloud passed over Verminet’s face.
“The first does not fall due until the 15th,” remarked he.
“No matter; I have the money with me, and I will pay it on you handing over the bills to me.”
“I can’t do it.”
“And why so, pray?”
“The bills have passed out of my hands.”
Gaston could scarcely credit his ears, nor believe in the truth of this last statement, and was certainly upset, now knowing what to do.
“But,” stammered he, “you promised, when I signed those bills, that they should never go out of your hands.”
“I don’t say I did not; but one can’t always keep to one’s promise. I was forced to part with them. I wanted money, and so had to discount them.”
Andre was not at all surprised, for he had anticipated some such difficulty; and seeing that Gaston had entirely lost his head, he broke in on the conversation.
“Excuse me, sir,” remarked he; “but it seems to me that there are certain circumstances in this case which should have made you keep your promise.”
Verminet stared at him.
“Who have I the honor of speaking to?” asked he, instead of making a direct reply.
“I am a friend of M. de Gandelu’s,” returned Andre, thinking it best not to give any name.
“A confidential friend?”
“Entirely so. He had, I think, ten thousand francs from you.”
“Pardon me, five thousand.”
Andre turned toward his companion in some surprise.
Gaston grew crimson.
“What is the meaning of this?” asked the artist.
“Can’t you see?” whispered Gaston. “I had ten because I wanted the other five for Zora.”
“Oh, indeed,” returned Andre, with a slight uplifting of his eyebrows. “Well, then, M. Verminet, it was five thousand francs that you lent to my young friend here. That was right enough; but what do you say to inducing him to forge a signature?”
“I! I do such a thing?” answered Verminet. “Why, I did not know that the signature was not genuine.”
This insolent denial aroused the unhappy Gaston from his state of stupor.
“This is too much, a deuced deal too much,” cried he. “Did you not yourself tell me that, for your own security, you must insist upon another name in addition to mine? Did you not give me a letter, and say, ‘Write a signature like the one at the bottom of this, it is that of Martin Rigal, the banker in the Rue Montmartre’?”
“An utterly false accusation, without a shadow of proof; and remember that a libel uttered in the presence of a third party is punishable by law.”
“And yet, sir,” continued Andre, “you did not hesitate for a moment in discounting these bills. Have you calculated what terrible results may come of this breach of faith on your part?—what will happen if this forged signature is presented to M. Martin Rigal?”
“Very unlikely. Gandelu is the drawer, Rigal merely the endorser. Bills, when due, are always presented to the drawer,” returned Verminet laconically.
Evidently a trap had been laid for Gaston, but the reason was still buried in obscurity.
“Then,” remarked Andre, “we have but one course to pursue: we must trace those notes to the hands in which they now are, and take them up.”
“Quite right.”
“But to enable us to do so, you must first let us know the name of the party who discounted them.”
“I don’t know; I have forgotten,” answered Verminet, with a careless wave of his hand.
“Then,” returned Andre, in a low, deep voice of concentrated fury, “let me advise you, for your own sake, to make an immediate call upon your powers of memory.”
“Do you threaten me?”
“And if you do not succeed in remembering the name or names, the consequences may be more serious than you seem to anticipate.”
Verminet saw that the young painter was in dangerous earnest, and rose from his chair, but Andre was too quick for him.
“No,” said he, placing his back against the door; “you will not leave this room until you have done what I require.”
For fully ten minutes the men stood gazing at each other. Verminet was green with terror, while Andre’s face, though pale, was firm and determined.
“If the scoundrel makes any resistance,” said he to himself, “I will fling him out of the window.”
“The man is a perfect athlete,” thought Verminet, “and looks as if he would stick at nothing.”
Seeing that he had better give in, the managing director took up a bulky ledger, and began to turn over the leaves with trembling fingers.
Andre saw that he was holding it upside-down.
“There it is,” cried Verminet at last.
“Bills for five thousand francs. Gandelu and Rigal, booked for discount to Van Klopen, ladies’ tailor.”
Andre was silent.
Why was it that Verminet had suggested Rigal’s signature as the one he ought to imitate? And why had he handed the bills over to Van Klopen? Was it mere chance that had arranged it all? He did not believe it, but felt sure that some secret tie united them all together, Verminet, Van Klopen, Rigal, and the Marquis de Croisenois.
“Do you want anything more?” asked the manager of the Mutual Loan Society.
“Are the bills in Van Klopen’s hands?”
“I can’t say.”
“Never mind, he will have to tell me where they are, if he has not got them,” returned Andre.
They left the house, and as soon as they were again in the street Andre took his companion’s arm, and hurried him off in the direction of the Rue de Grammont.
“I don’t want to give this thief, Verminet, time to warn Van Klopen of what has taken place; I had rather fall upon him with the suddenness of an earthquake. Come, let us go to his establishment at once.”
Had Andre known a little more of the man he had to deal with, he would have learned that no one could fall like an earthquake upon Van Klopen. Shut up in the sanctum where he composed the numberless costumes that were the wonder and delight of Paris, Van Klopen made as careful arrangements to secure himself from the interview as the Turk does to guard the approaches to his seraglio; and so Andre and Gandelu were accosted in the entrance hall by his stately footmen, clad in gorgeous liveries, glittering with gold.
“M. van Klopen is of the utmost importance,” asserted Andre.
“Our master is composing.”
Entreaties, threats, and even a bribe of one hundred francs were alike useless; and Andre, seeing that he was about to be checkmated, was half tempted to take the men by the collar and hurl them on one side, but he calmed himself, and, already repenting of his violence at Verminet’s, he determined on a course of submission, and so meekly followed the footmen into the famous waiting-room, styled by Van Klopen his purgatory. The footmen, however, had spoken the truth, for several ladies of the highest rank and standing were awaiting the return of thisarbiter elegantiarum. All of them turned as the young men entered—all save one, who was gazing out of the window, drawing with her pretty fingers on the window panes. Andre recognized her in an instant as Madame de Bois Arden.
“Is it possible?” thought he. “Can the Countess have returned here after what has occurred?”
Gaston felt that five charming pairs of eyes were fixed upon him, and studied to assume his most graceful posture.
After a brief time given to arrangement, Andre grew disgusted.
“I wish that she would look round,” said he to himself. “I think she would feel rather ashamed. I will say a word to her.”
He rose from his chair, and, without thinking how terribly he might compromise the lady, he took up a position at her side. She was, however, intently watching something that was going on in the street, and did not turn her head.
“Madame,” said he.
She started, and, as she turned and recognized Andre, she uttered a little cry of surprise.
“Great heavens! is that you?”
“Yes, it is I.”
“And here? I dare say that my presence in this place surprises you,” she went on, “and that I have a short memory, and no feelings of pride.”
Andre made no reply, and his silence was a sufficient rejoinder to the question.
“You do me a great injustice,” muttered the Countess. “I am here because De Breulh told me that in your interests I ought to pardon Van Klopen, and go to him again as I used to do; so you see, M. Andre, that it is never safe to judge by appearance, and a woman more than anything else.”
“Will you forgive me?” asked Andre earnestly.
The lady interrupted him by a little wave of her hand, invisible to all save to him, which clearly said,—
“Take care; we are not alone.”
She once more turned her eyes towards the street, and he mechanically did the same. By this means their faces were hidden from observation.
“De Breulh,” went on the lady, “has heard a good deal about De Croisenois, and, as no doubt you can guess, but very little to his credit, and quite enough to justify any father in refusing him his daughter’s hand; but in this case it is evident to me that De Mussidan is yielding to a secret pressure. We must ferret out some hidden crime in De Croisenois’ past which will force him to withdraw his proposal.”
“I shall find one,” muttered Andre.
“But remember there is no time to be lost. According to our agreement, I treat him in the most charming manner, and he thinks that I am entirely devoted to his interests, and to-morrow I have arranged to introduce him to the Count and Countess at the Hotel de Mussidan, where the Count and Countess have agreed to receive him.”
Andre started at this news.
“I saw,” continued the lady, “that you were quite right in the opinion you had formed, for in the first place the common danger has almost reconciled the Count and Countess affectionately to each other, though it is notorious that they have always lived in the most unhappy manner. Their faces are careworn and full of anxiety, and they watch every movement of Sabine with eager eyes. I think that they look upon her as a means of safety, but shudder at the sacrifice she is making on their account.”
“And Sabine?”
“Her conduct is perfectly sublime, and she is ready to consummate the sacrifice without a murmur. Her self-sacrificing devotion is perfectly admirable; but what is more admirable still is the way in which she conceals the suffering that she endures from her parents. Noble-hearted girl! she is calm and silent, but she has always been so. She has grown thinner, and perhaps her cheek is a trifle paler, but her forehead was burning and seemed to scorch my lips as I kissed her. With this exception, however, there was nothing else about her that would betray her tortures. Modeste, her maid, told me, moreover, that when night came she seemed utterly worn out, and the poor girl, with tears in her eyes, declared ‘that her dear mistress was killing herself.’”
Andre’s eyes overflowed with tears.
“What have I done to deserve such love?” asked he.
A door suddenly opened, and Andre and the Viscountess turned hastily at the sound. It was Van Klopen who came in, crying, according to his usual custom,—
“Well, and whose turn is it next?”
When, however, he saw Gaston, his face grew white, and it was with a smile that he stepped towards him, motioning back the lady whose turn it was, and who protested loudly against this injustice.
“Ah, M. de Gandelu,” said he, “you have come, I suppose, to bespeak some fresh toilettes for that exquisite creature, Zora de Chantemille?”
“Not to-day,” returned Gaston. “Zora is a little indisposed.”
Andre, however, who had arranged the narrative that he was about to pour into the ears of the famous Van Klopen, was in too much haste to permit of any unnecessary delay.
“We have come here,” said he hurriedly, “upon a matter of some moment. My friend, M. Gaston de Gandelu, is about to leave Paris for some months, and, before doing so, is anxious to settle all outstanding accounts, and retire all his bills, which may not yet have fallen due.”
“Have I any bills of M. de Gandelu?” said Van Klopen slowly. “Ah, yes, I remember that I had some now. Yes, five bills of one thousand francs each, drawn by Gandelu, and accepted by Martin Rigal. I received them from the Mutual Loan Society, but they are no longer in my hands.”
“Is that the case?” murmured Gaston, growing sick with apprehension.
“Yes, I sent them to my cloth merchants at St. Etienne, Rollon and Company.”
Van Klopen was a clever scoundrel, but he sometimes lacked the necessary perception of when he had said enough; and this was proved to-day, for, agitated by the steady gaze that Andre kept upon him, he added,—
“If you do not believe my word, I can show you the acknowledgment that I received from that firm.”
“It is unnecessary,” replied Andre. “Your statement is quite sufficient.”
“I should prefer to let you see the letter.”
“No, thank you,” replied Andre, not for a moment duped by the game that was being played. “Pray take no more trouble. We shall, I presume, find that the bills are at St. Etienne. There is no use in taking any more trouble about them, and we will wait until they arrive at maturity. I have the honor to wish you good morning.”
And with these words he dragged away Gaston, who was actually about to consult Van Klopen as to the most becoming costume for Zora to appear in on leaving the prison of St. Lazare. When they were a few doors from the man-milliner’s, Andre stopped and wrote down the names of Van Klopen’s cloth merchants. Gaston was now quite at his ease.
“I think,” remarked he, “that Van Klopen is a sharp fellow; he knows that I am to be relied on.”
“Where do you think your bills are?”
“At St. Etienne’s, of course.”
The perfect innocence of the boy elicited from Andre a gesture of impatient commiseration.
“Listen to me,” said he, “and see if you can comprehend the awful position in which you have placed yourself.”
“I am listening, my dear fellow; pray go on.”
“You drew these bills through Verminet because Van Klopen would not give you credit.”
“Exactly so.”
“How, then, do you account for the fact that this man, who was at first disinclined to trust you, should without rhyme or reason, offer to supply you now as he did to-day?”
“The deuce! That never struck me. It does seem queer. Does he want to play me a nasty trick? But which of them is it—Verminet or Van Klopen?”
“It is plain to me that the pair of them have entered into a pleasant little plot to blackmail you.”
Young Gandelu did not at all like this turn, and he exclaimed,—
“Blackmail me, indeed! why, I know my way about better than that. They won’t get much out of me, I can tell you.”
Andre shrugged his shoulders.
“Then,” said he, “just tell me what you intend to say to Verminet when he comes to you upon the day your bills fall due, and says to you, ‘Give me one hundred thousand francs for these five little bits of paper, or I go straight to your father with them’?”
“I should say, of course—ah, well, I really do not know what I should say.”
“You could say nothing, except that you had been imposed on in the most infamous way. You would plead for time, and Verminet would give it to you if you would execute a deed insuring him one hundred thousand francs on the day you came of age.”
“A hundred thousand devils are all the rogue would get from me. That’s the way I do things, do you see? If people try and ride roughshod over me, I merely hit out, and then just look out for broken bones. Pay this chap? Not I! I know the governor would make an almighty shine, but I’ll choose that sooner than be had like that.”
He was quite serious but could only put his feelings into the language he usually spoke.
“I think,” answered Andre, “that your father would forgive this imprudence, but that it will be even harder for him to do so than it was to send a doctor to number the hours he had to live. He will forgive you because he is your father, and because he loves you; but Verminet, when he finds that the threat to go to your father does not appall you, will menace you with criminal proceedings.”
“Hulloo!” said Gandelu, stopping short. “I say, that is very poor fun,” gasped he.
“There is no fun in it, for such fun, when brought to the notice of a court of justice, goes by the ugly name of forgery, and forgery means a swinging heavy sentence.”
Gaston turned pale, and trembled from head to foot.
“Tried and sentenced,” faltered he. “No, I don’t believe you, but I hold no honors and will turn up my cards.” He quite forgot that he was in the public street, and was talking at the top of his shrill falsetto voice, and gesticulating violently.
“The poor old governor, I might have made him so happy, and, after all, I have only been a torment to him. Ah, could I but begin once more; but then the cards are dealt, and I must go on with the game, and I have made a nice muddle of the whole thing before I am twenty years of age; but no criminal courts for me, no, the easiest way out of it is a pistol shot, for I am an honest man’s son, and I will not bring more disgrace on him than I have already done.”
“Do you really mean what you say?” asked Andre.
“Of course I do. I can be firm enough sometimes.”
“Then we will not despair yet,” answered the young painter. “I think that we shall be able to settle this ugly business, but you cannot be too cautious. Keep indoors, and remember that I may have urgent need of you at almost any time of day or night.”
“I agree, but remember this, Zora is not to be forgotten.”
“Don’t fret over that; I will call and see her to-morrow. And now, farewell for to-day, as I have not an instant to lose,” and with these words Andre hurried off.
Andre’s reason for haste was that he had caught a few words addressed by Verminet to Croisenois—“I shall see Mascarin at four o’clock.” And he determined to loiter about the Rue St. Anne, and watch the Managing Director when he came out, and so find out who this Mascarin was, who he was certain was mixed up in the plot. He darted down the Rue de Grammont like an arrow from a bow, and as the clock in a neighboring belfry chimed half-past three, he was in the Rue St. Anne. There was a small wine-shop almost opposite to the office of the Mutual Loan Society, and there Andre ensconced himself and made a frugal meal, while he was waiting for Verminet’s appearance, and just as he had finished his light refreshment he saw the man he wanted come out of the office, and crept cautiously after him like a Red Indian on the trail of his enemy.