The Count's Millions Part 12

He was interrupted by Madame Dodelin, the worthy housekeeper, who rushed into the room without knocking, in a terrible state of excitement. "Monsieur!" she exclaimed, in the same tone as if she would have called "Fire!" "here is Monsieur de Valorsay."

M. Fortunat sprang up and turned extremely pale. "What to the devil brings him here?" he anxiously stammered. "Tell him that I've gone out-tell him-"

But it was useless, for the marquis at that very moment entered the room, and the agent could only dismiss his housekeeper and Chupin.

M. de Valorsay seemed to be very angry, and it looked as if he meant to give vent to his pa.s.sion. Indeed, as soon as he was alone with M. Fortunat, he began: "So this is the way you betray your friends, Master Twenty-per-Cent! Why did you deceive me last night about the ten thousand francs you had promised me? Why didn't you tell me the truth? You knew of the misfortune that had befallen M. de Chalusse. I heard of it first scarcely an hour ago through a letter from Madame Leon."

M. Fortunat hesitated somewhat. He was a quiet man, opposed to violence of any kind; and it seemed to him that M. de Valorsay was twisting and turning his cane in a most ominous manner. "I must confess, Monsieur le Marquis," he at last replied, "that I had not the courage to tell you of the dreadful misfortune which had befallen us."

"How-US?"

"Certainly. If you lose the hope of several millions, I also lose the amount I advanced to you, forty thousand francs-my entire fortune. And yet, you see that I don't complain. Do as I do-confess that the game is lost."

The marquis was listening with an air of suppressed wrath; his face was crimson, there was a dark frown on his brow, and his hands were clinched. He was apparently furious with pa.s.sion, but in reality he was perfectly self-possessed. The best proof that can be given of his coolness is that he was carefully studying M. Fortunat's face, and trying to discover the agent's real intentions under his meaningless words. He had expected to find "his dear extortioner" exasperated by his loss, cursing and swearing, and demanding his money-but not at all. He found him more gentle and calm, colder and more reserved than ever; brimful of resignation indeed, and preaching submission to the inevitable. "What can this mean?" he thought, with an anxious heart. "What mischief is the scoundrel plotting now? I'd wager a thousand to one that he's forging some thunderbolt to crush me." And, in a haughty tone, he said aloud: "In a word, you desert me."

With a deprecatory gesture, M. Fortunat exclaimed: "I desert you, Monsieur le Marquis! What have I done that you should think so ill of me? Alas! circ.u.mstances are the only traitors. I shouldn't like to deprive you of the courage you so much need, but, honestly, it would be folly to struggle against destiny. How can you hope to succeed in your plans? Have you not resorted to every possible expedient to prolong your apparently brilliant existence until the present time? Are you not at such a point that you must marry Mademoiselle Marguerite in a month's time, or perish? And now the count's millions are lost! If I might be allowed to give you some advice, I should say, 'The shipwreck is inevitable; think only of saving yourself.' By tact and shrewdness, you might yet save something from your creditors. Compromise with them. And if you need my services, here I am. Go to Nice, and give me a power of attorney to act for you. From the debris of your fortune, I will undertake to guarantee you a competence which would satisfy many an ambitious man."

The marquis laughed sneeringly. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "You would rid yourself of me and recover your forty thousand francs at the same time. A very clever arrangement."

M. Fortunat realized that his client understood him; but what did it matter? "I a.s.sure you--" he began.

But the marquis silenced him with a contemptuous gesture. "Let us stop this nonsense," said he. "We understand each other better than that. I have never made any attempt to deceive you, nor have I ever supposed that I had succeeded in doing so, and pray do me the honor to consider me as shrewd as yourself." And still refusing to listen to the agent, he continued: "If I have come to you, it is only because the case is not so desperate as you suppose. I still hold some valuable cards which you are ignorant of. In your opinion, and every one else's, Mademoiselle Marguerite is ruined. But I know that she is still worth three millions, at the very least."

"Mademoiselle Marguerite?"

"Yes, Monsieur Twenty-per-Cent. Let her become my wife, and the very next day I will place her in possession of an income of a hundred and fifty thousand francs. But she must marry me first; and this scornful maiden will not grant me her hand unless I can convince her of my love and disinterestedness."

"But your rival?"

M. de Valorsay gave a nervous start, but quickly controlled himself. "He no longer exists. Read this day's Figaro, and you will be edified. I have no rival now. If I can only conceal my financial embarra.s.sment a little longer, she is mine. A friendless and homeless girl cannot defend herself long in Paris-especially when she has an adviser like Madame Leon. Oh! I shall win her! I shall have her!-she is a necessity to me. Now you can judge if it would be wise on your part to deprive me of your a.s.sistance. Would you like to know what I want? Simply this-the means to sustain me two or three months longer-some thirty thousand francs. You can procure the money-will you? It would make, in all, seventy thousand francs that I should owe you, and I will promise to pay you two hundred and fifty thousand if I succeed-and I shall succeed! Such profit is worth some risk. Reflect, and decide. But no more subterfuges, if you please. Let your answer be plain yes or no."

Without a second's hesitation, M. Fortunat replied, "No."

The flush on the marquis's face deepened, and his voice became a trifle harsher; but that was all. "Confess, then, that you have resolved to ruin me," he said. "You refuse before you have heard me to the end. Wait, at least, until I have told you my plans, and shown you the solid foundation which my hopes rest upon."

But M. Fortunat had resolved to listen to nothing. He wished for no explanations, so distrustful was he of himself-so much did he fear that his adventurous nature would urge him to incur further risk. He was positively afraid of the Marquis de Valorsay's eloquence; besides, he knew well enough that the person who consents to listen is at least half convinced. "Tell me nothing, monsieur," he hastily answered; "it would be useless. I haven't the money. If I had given you ten thousand francs last night, I should have been compelled to borrow them of M. Prosper Bertomy. And even if I had the money, I should still say 'Impossible.' Every man has his system-his theory, you know. Mine is, never to run after my money. With me, whatever I may lose, I regard it as finally lost; I think no more about it, and turn to something else. So your forty thousand francs have already been entered on my profit and loss account. And yet it would be easy enough for you to repay me, if you would follow my advice and go quietly into bankruptcy."

"Never!" interrupted M. de Valorsay; "never! I do not wish to temporize," he continued. "I will save all, or save nothing. If you refuse me your help, I shall apply elsewhere. I will never give my good friends, who detest me, and whom I cordially hate in return, the delicious joy of seeing the Marquis de Valorsay fall step by step from the high position he has occupied. I will never truckle to the men whom I have eclipsed for fifteen years. No, never! I would rather die, or even commit the greatest crime!"

He suddenly checked himself, a trifle astonished, perhaps, by his own plain-speaking; and, for a moment, he and M. Fortunat looked into each other's eyes, striving to divine their respective secret thoughts.

The marquis was the first to speak. "And so," said he, in a tone which he strove to make persuasive, but which was threatening instead, "it is settled-your decision is final?"

"Final."

"You will not even condescend to listen to my explanation?"

"It would be a loss of time."

On receiving this cruel reply, M. de Valorsay struck the desk such a formidable blow with his clenched fist that several bundles of papers fell to the floor. His anger was not feigned now. "What are you plotting, then?" he exclaimed; "and what do you intend to do? What is your object in betraying me? Take care! It is my life that I am going to defend, and as truly as there is a G.o.d in heaven, I shall defend it well. A man who is determined to blow his brains out if he is defeated, is a terribly dangerous adversary. Woe to you, if I ever find you standing between me and the Count de Chalusse's millions!"

Every drop of blood had fled from M. Fortunat's face, still his mien was composed and dignified. "You do wrong to threaten me," said he. "I don't fear you in the least. If I were your enemy, I should bring suit against you for the forty thousand francs you owe me. I should not obtain my money, of course, but I could shatter the tottering edifice of your fortune by a single blow. Besides, you forget that I possess a copy of our agreement, signed by your own hand, and that I have only to show it to Mademoiselle Marguerite to give her a just opinion of your disinterestedness. Let us sever our connection now, monsieur, and each go his own way without reference to the other. If you should succeed you will repay me."

Victory perched upon the agent's banner, and it was with a feeling of pride that he saw his n.o.ble client depart, white and speechless with rage. "What a rascal that marquis is," he muttered. "I would certainly warn Mademoiselle Marguerite, poor girl, if I were not so much afraid of him."

XIV.

M. Casimir, the deceased Count de Chalusse's valet, was neither better nor worse than most of his fellows. Old men tell us that there formerly existed a race of faithful servants, who considered themselves a part of the family that employed them, and who unhesitatingly embraced its interests and its ideas. At the same time their masters requited their devotion by efficacious protection and provision for the future. But such masters and such servants are nowadays only found in the old melodramas performed at the Ambigu, in "The Emigre," for instance, or in "The Last of the Chateauvieux." At present servants wander from one house to another, looking on their abode as a mere inn where they may find shelter till they are disposed for another journey. And families receive them as transient, and not unfrequently as dangerous, guests, whom it is always wise to treat with distrust. The key of the wine-cellar is not confided to these unreliable inmates; they are intrusted with the charge of little else than the children-a practice which is often productive of terrible results.

M. Casimir was no doubt honest, in the strict sense of the word. He would have scorned to rob his master of a ten-sous piece; and yet he would not have hesitated in the least to defraud him of a hundred francs, if an opportunity had presented itself. Vain and rapacious in disposition, he consoled himself by refusing to obey any one save his employer, by envying him with his whole heart, and by cursing fate for not having made him the Count de Chalusse instead of the Count de Chalusse's servant. As he received high wages, he served pa.s.sably well; but he employed the best part of his energy in watching the count. He scented some great family secret in the household, and he felt angry and humiliated that this secret had not been intrusted to his discretion. And if he had discovered nothing, it was because M. de Chalusse had been caution personified, as Madame Leon had declared.

Thus it happened that when M. Casimir saw Mademoiselle Marguerite and the count searching in the garden for the fragments of a letter destroyed in a paroxysm of rage which he had personally witnessed, his natural curiosity was heightened to such a degree as to become unendurable. He would have given a month's wages, and something over, to have known the contents of that letter, the fragments of which were being so carefully collected by the count. And when he heard M. de Chalusse tell Mademoiselle Marguerite that the most important part of the letter was still lacking, and saw his master relinquish his fruitless search, the worthy valet vowed that he would be more skilful or more fortunate than his master; and after diligent effort, he actually succeeded in recovering five tiny sc.r.a.ps of paper, which had been blown into the shrubbery.

They were covered with delicate handwriting, a lady's unquestionably; but he was utterly unable to extract the slightest meaning from them. Nevertheless, he preserved them with jealous care, and was careful not to say that he had found them. The incoherent words which he had deciphered on these sc.r.a.ps of paper mixed strangely in his brain, and he grew more and more anxious to learn what connection there was between this letter and the count's attack. This explains his extreme readiness to search the count's clothes when Mademoiselle Marguerite told him to look for the key of the escritoire. And fortune favored him, for he not only found the key, but he also discovered the torn fragments of the letter, and having crumpled them up in the palm of his hand, he contrived to slip them into his pocket. Fruitless dexterity! M. Casimir had joined these sc.r.a.ps to the fragments he had found himself, he had read and re-read the epistle, but it told him nothing; or, at least, the information it conveyed was so vague and incomplete that it heightened his curiosity all the more. Once he almost decided to give the letter to Mademoiselle Marguerite, but he resisted this impulse, saying to himself: "Ah, no; I'm not such a fool! It might be of use to her."

And M. Casimir had no desire to be of service to this unhappy girl, who had always treated him with kindness. He hated her, under the pretence that she was not in her proper place, that no one knew who or what she was, and that it was absurd that he-he, Casimir-should be compelled to receive orders from her. The infamous slander which Mademoiselle Marguerite had overheard on her way home from church, "There goes the rich Count de Chalusse's mistress," was M. Casimir's work. He had sworn to be avenged on this haughty creature; and no one can say what he might have attempted, if it had not been for the intervention of the magistrate. Imperatively called to order, M. Casimir consoled himself by the thought that the magistrate had intrusted him with eight thousand francs and the charge of the establishment. Nothing could have pleased him better. First and foremost, it afforded him a magnificent opportunity to display his authority and act the master, and it also enabled him to carry out his compact with Victor Chupin, and repair to the rendezvous which M. Isidore Fortunat had appointed.

Leaving his comrades to watch the magistrate's operations, he sent M. Bourigeau to report the count's death at the district mayor's office, and then lighting a cigar he walked out of the house, and strolled leisurely up the Rue de Courcelles. The place appointed for his meeting with M. Fortunat was on the Boulevard Haussmann, almost opposite Binder's, the famous carriage builder. Although it was rather a wine-shop than a restaurant, a capital breakfast could be obtained there as M. Casimir had ascertained to his satisfaction several times before. "Has no one called for me?" he asked, as he went in.

"No one."

He consulted his watch, and evinced considerable surprise. "Not yet noon!" he exclaimed. "I'm in advance; and as that is the case, give me a gla.s.s of absinthe and a newspaper."

He was obeyed with far more alacrity than his deceased master had ever required him to show, and he forthwith plunged into the report of the doings at the Bourse, with the eagerness of a man who has an all-sufficient reason for his anxiety in a drawer at home. Having emptied one gla.s.s of absinthe, he was about to order a second, when he felt a tap on the shoulder, and on turning round he beheld M. Isidore Fortunat.

In accordance with his wont, the agent was attired in a style of severe elegance-with gloves and boots fitting him to perfection-but an unusually winning smile played upon his lips. "You see I have been waiting for you," exclaimed M. Casimir.

"I am late, it's true," replied M. Fortunat, "but we will do our best to make up for lost time; for, I trust, you will do me the honor of breakfasting with me?"

"Really, I don't know that I ought."

"Yes, yes, you must. They will give us a private room; we must have a talk."

It was certainly not for the pleasure of the thing that M. Fortunat cultivated M. Casimir's acquaintance, and entertained him at breakfast. M. Fortunat, who was a very proud man, considered this connection somewhat beneath his dignity; but at first, circ.u.mstances, and afterward interest, had required him to overcome his repugnance. It was through the Count de Chalusse that he had made M. Casimir's acquaintance. While the count was employing the agent he had frequently sent his valet to him with messages and letters. Naturally, M. Casimir had talked on these occasions, and the agent had listened to him; hence this superficial friendship. Subsequently when the marriage contemplated by the Marquis de Valorsay was in course of preparation, M. Fortunat had profited of the opportunity to make the count's servant his spy; and it had been easy to find a pretext for continuing the acquaintance, as M. Casimir was a speculator, or rather a dabbler in stocks and shares. So, whenever he needed information, M. Fortunat invited M. Casimir to breakfast, knowing the potent influence of a good bottle of wine offered at the right moment. It is needless to say that he exercised uncommon care in the composition of the menu on a day like this when his future course depended, perhaps, on a word more or less.

M. Casimir's eye sparkled as he took his seat at the table opposite his entertainer. The crafty agent had chosen a little room looking out on to the boulevard. Not that it was more s.p.a.cious or elegant than the others, but it was isolated, and this was a very great advantage; for every one knows how unsafe and perfidious are those so-called private rooms which are merely separated from each other by a thin part.i.tion, scarcely thicker than a sheet of paper. It was not long before M. Fortunat had reason to congratulate himself on his foresight, for the breakfast began with a dish of shrimps, and M. Casimir had not finished his twelfth, washed down by a gla.s.s of chablis, before he declared that he could see no impropriety in confiding certain things to a friend.

The events of the morning had completely turned his head; and gratified vanity and good cheer excited him to such a degree that he discoursed with unwonted volubility. With total disregard of prudence, he talked with inexcusable freedom of the Count de Chalusse, and M. de Valorsay, and especially of his enemy, Mademoiselle Marguerite. "For it is she," he exclaimed, rapping on the table with his knife-"it is she who has taken the missing millions! How she did it, no one will ever know, for she has not an equal in craftiness; but it's she who has stolen them, I'm sure of it! I would have taken my oath to that effect before the magistrate, and I would have proved it, too, if he hadn't taken her part because she's pretty-for she is devilishly pretty."

Even if M. Fortunat had wished to put in a word or two, he could have found no opportunity. But his guest's loquacity did not displease him; it gave him an opportunity for reflection. Strange thoughts arose in his mind, and connecting M. Casimir's affirmations with the a.s.surances of the Marquis de Valorsay, he was amazed at the coincidence. "It's very singular!" he thought. "Has this girl really stolen the money? and has the marquis discovered the fact through Madame Leon, and determined to profit by the theft? In that case, I may get my money back, after all! I must look into the matter."

A partridge and a bottle of Pomard followed the shrimps and chablis; and M. Casimir's loquacity increased, and his voice rose higher and higher. He wandered from one absurd story to another, and from slander to slander, until suddenly, and without the slightest warning, he began to speak of the mysterious letter which he considered the undoubted cause of the count's illness.

At the first word respecting this missive, M. Fortunat started violently. "Nonsense!" said he, with an incredulous air. "Why the devil should this letter have had such an influence?"

"I don't know. But it is certain-it had." And, in support of his a.s.sertion, he told M. Fortunat how the count had destroyed the letter almost without reading it, and how he had afterward searched for the fragments, in order to find an address it had contained. "And I'm quite sure," said the valet, "that the count intended to apply to you for the address of the person who wrote the letter."

"Are you sure of that?"

"As sure as I am of drinking Pomard!" exclaimed M. Casimir, draining his gla.s.s.

Rarely had the agent experienced such emotion. He did not doubt but what this missive contained the solution of the mystery. "Were the sc.r.a.ps of this letter found?" he asked.

"I have them," cried the valet, triumphantly. "I have them in my pocket, and, what's more, I have the whole of them!"

This declaration made M. Fortunat turn pale with delight. "Indeed-indeed!" said he; "it must be a strange production."

His companion pursed up his lips disdainfully. "May be so, may be not," he retorted. "It's impossible to understand a word of it. The only thing certain about it is that it was written by a woman."

"Ah!"

"Yes, by a former mistress, undoubtedly. And, naturally, she asks for money for a child. Women of that cla.s.s always do so. They've tried the game with me more than a dozen times, but I'm not so easily caught." And bursting with vanity, he related three or four love affairs in which, according to his own account, he must have played a most ign.o.ble part.

If M. Fortunat's chair had been a gridiron, heated by an excellent fire, he could not have felt more uncomfortable. After pouring out b.u.mper after b.u.mper for his guest, he perceived that he had gone too far, and that it would not be easy to check him. "And this letter?" he interrupted, at last.

"Well?"

"You promised to let me read it."

"That's true-that's quite true; but it would be as well to have some mocha first, would it not? What if we ordered some mocha, eh?"

Coffee was served, and when the waiter had closed the door, M. Casimir drew the letter, the sc.r.a.ps of which were fixed together, from his pocket, and unfolded it, saying: "Attention; I'm going to read."

This did not suit M. Fortunat's fancy. He would infinitely have preferred perusing it himself; but it is impossible to argue with an intoxicated man, and so M. Casimir with a more and more indistinct enunciation read as follows: "'Paris, October 14, 186-.' So the lady lives in Paris, as usual. After this she puts neither 'monsieur,' nor 'my friend,' nor 'dear count,' nothing at all. She begins abruptly: 'Once before, many years ago, I came to you as a suppliant. You were pitiless, and did not even deign to answer me. And yet, as I told you, I was on the verge of a terrible precipice; my brain was reeling, vertigo had seized hold of me. Deserted, I was wandering about Paris, homeless and penniless, and my child was starving!'"

M. Casimir paused to laugh. "That's like all the rest of them," he exclaimed; "that is exactly like all the rest! I've ten such letters in my drawer, even more imperative in their demands. If you'll come home with me after breakfast, I'll show them to you. We'll have a hearty laugh over them!"

"Let us finish this first."

"Of course." And he resumed: "'If I had been alone. I should not have hesitated. I was so wretched that death seemed a refuge to me. But what was to become of my child? Should I kill him, and destroy myself afterward? I thought of doing so, but I lacked the courage. And what I implored you in pity to give me, was rightfully mine. I had only to present myself at your house and demand it. Alas! I did not know that then. I believed myself bound by a solemn oath, and you inspired me with inexpressible terror. And still I could not see my child die of starvation before my very eyes. So I abandoned myself to my fate, and I have sunk so low that I have been obliged to separate from my son. He must not know the shame to which he owes his livelihood. And he is ignorant even of my existence.'"

M. Fortunat was as motionless as if he had been turned to stone. After the information he had obtained respecting the count's past, and after the story told him by Madame Vantra.s.son, he could scarcely doubt. "This letter," he thought, "can only be from Mademoiselle Hermine de Chalusse."

However, M. Casimir resumed his reading: "'If I apply to you again, if from the depth of infamy into which I have fallen, I again call upon you for help, it is because I am at the end of my resources-because, before I die, I must see my son's future a.s.sured. It is not a fortune that I ask for him, but sufficient to live upon, and I expect to receive it from you.'"

Once more the valet paused in his perusal of the letter to remark: "There it is again sufficient to live upon, and I expect to receive it from you!-Excellent! Women are remarkable creatures, upon my word! But listen to the rest! 'It is absolutely necessary that I should see you as soon as possible. Oblige me, therefore, by calling to-morrow, October 15th, at the Hotel de Homburg, in the Rue du Helder. You will ask for Madame Lucy Huntley, and they will conduct you to me. I shall expect you from three o'clock to six. Come. I implore you, come. It is painful to me to add that if I do not hear from you, I am resolved to demand and OBTAIN-no matter what may be the consequences-the means which I have, so far, asked of you on my bended knees and with clasped hands.'"

Having finished the letter, M. Casimir laid it on the table, and poured out a gla.s.sful of brandy, which he drained at a single draught. "And that's all," he remarked. "No signature-not even an initial. It was a so-called respectable woman who wrote that. They never sign their notes, the hussies! for fear of compromising themselves, as I've reason to know." And so saying, he laughed the idiotic laugh of a man who has been drinking immoderately. "If I had time," he resumed, "I should make some inquiries about this Madame Lucy Huntley-a feigned name, evidently. I should like to know-- But what's the matter with you, Monsieur Fortunat? You are as pale as death. Are you ill?"

To tell the truth, the agent did look as if he were indisposed. "Thanks," he stammered. "I'm very well, only I just remembered that some one is waiting for me."

"Who?"

"A client."

"Nonsense!" rejoined the valet; "make some excuse; let him go about his business. Aren't you rich enough? Pour us out another gla.s.s of wine; it will make you all right again."

M. Fortunat complied, but he performed the task so awkwardly, or, rather, so skilfully, that he drew toward him, with his sleeve, the letter which was lying beside M. Casimir's plate. "To your health," said the valet. "To yours," replied M. Fortunat. And in drawing back the arm he had extended to c.h.i.n.k gla.s.ses with his guest, he caused the letter to fall on his knees.

M. Casimir, who had not observed this successful manoeuvre, was trying to light his cigar; and while vainly consuming a large quant.i.ty of matches in the attempt, he exclaimed: "What you just said, my friend, means that you would like to desert me. That won't do, my dear fellow! You are going home with me; and I will read you some love-letters from a woman of the world. Then we will go to Mourloup's, and play a game of billiards. That's the place to enjoy one's self. You'll see Joseph, of the Commarin household, a splendid comedian."

"Very well; but first I must settle the score here."

"Yes, pay."

M. Fortunat rang for his bill. He had obtained more information than he expected; he had the letter in his pocket, and he had now only one desire, to rid himself of M. Casimir. But this was no easy task. Drunken men cling tenaciously to their friends; and M. Fortunat was asking himself what strategy he could employ, when the waiter entered, and said: "There's a very light-complexioned man here, who looks as if he were a huissier's clerk. He wishes to speak with you, gentlemen."

"Ah! it's Chupin!" exclaimed the valet. "He is a friend. Let him come in, and bring us another gla.s.s. 'The more the merrier,' as the saying goes."

What could Chupin want? M. Fortunat had no idea, but he was none the less grateful for his coming, being determined to hand this troublesome Casimir over to his keeping. On entering the room Chupin realized the valet's condition at the first glance, and his face clouded. He bowed politely to M. Fortunat, but addressed Casimir in an extremely discontented tone. "It's three o'clock," said he, "and I've come, as we agreed, to arrange with you about the count's funeral."

These words had the effect of a cold shower-bath on M. Casimir. "Upon my word, I had forgotten-forgotten entirely, upon my word!" And the thought of his condition, and the responsibility he had accepted, coming upon him at the same time, he continued: "Good Heavens! I'm in a nice state! It is all I can do to stand. What will they think at the house? What will they say?"

M. Fortunat had drawn his clerk a little on one side. "Victor," said he, quickly and earnestly, "I must go at once. Everything has been paid for; but in case you need some money for a cab or anything of the sort, here are ten francs. If there's any you don't use, keep it for yourself. I leave this fool in your charge, take care of him."

The sight of the ten-franc piece made Chupin's face brighten a little. "Very well," he replied. "I understand the business. I served my apprenticeship as a 'guardian angel' when my grandmother kept the Poivriere." 2 "Above all, don't let him return home in his present state."

"Have no fears, monsieur, I must talk business with him, and so I shall have him all right in a jiffy." And as M. Fortunat made his escape, Chupin beckoned to the waiter, and said: "Fetch me some very strong coffee, a handful of salt, and a lemon. There's nothing better for bringing a drunken man to his senses."

XV.

M. Fortunat left the restaurant, almost on the run, for he feared that he might be pursued and overtaken by M. Casimir. But after he had gone a couple of hundred paces, he paused, not so much to take breath, as to collect his scattered wits; and though the weather was cold, he seated himself on a bench to reflect.

Never in all his changeful life had he known such intense anxiety and torturing suspense as he had just experienced in that little room in the restaurant. He had longed for positive information and he had obtained it; but it had upset all his plans and annihilated all his hopes. Imagining that the count's heirs had been lost sight of, he had determined to find them and make a bargain with them, before they learned that they were worth their millions. But on the contrary, these heirs were close at hand, watching M. de Chalusse, and knowing their rights so well that they were ready to fight for them. "For it was certainly the count's sister who wrote the letter which I have in my pocket," he murmured. "Not wishing to receive him at her own home, she prudently appointed a meeting at a hotel. But what about this name of Huntley? Is it really hers, or is it only a.s.sumed for the occasion? Is it the name of the man who enticed her from home, or is it the name given to the son from whom she has separated herself?"

But after all what was the use of all these conjectures? There was but one certain and positive thing, and this was that the money he had counted upon had escaped him; and he experienced as acute a pang as if he had lost forty thousand francs a second time. Perhaps, at that moment, he was sorry that he had severed his connection with the marquis. Still, he was not the man to despond, however desperate his plight might appear, without an attempt to better his situation. He knew how many surprising and sudden changes in fortune have been brought about by some apparently trivial action. "I must discover this sister," he said to himself-"I must ascertain her position and her plans. If she has no one to advise her, I will offer my services; and who knows--"

A cab was pa.s.sing; M. Fortunat hailed it, and ordered the Jehu to drive him to the Rue du Helder, No. 43, Hotel de Homburg.