The Count's Millions Part 5

"Taken!"

But as he began to deal the cards, his neighbor sprang up, seized him roughly by the hands and cried: "This time I'm sure of it-you are a thief!"

With a bound, Pascal was on his feet. While his peril had been vague and undetermined, his energy had been paralyzed. But it was restored to him intact when his danger declared itself in all its horror. He pushed away the man who had caught his hands, with such violence that he sent him reeling under a sofa; then he stepped back and surveyed the excited throng with an air of menace and defiance. Useless! Seven or eight players sprang upon him and overpowered him, as if he had been the vilest criminal.

Meanwhile, the executioner, as he had styled himself, had risen to his feet with his cravat untied, and his clothes in wild disorder. "Yes," he said, addressing Pascal, "you are a thief! I saw you slip other cards among those which were handed to you."

"Wretch!" gasped Pascal.

"I saw you-and I am going to prove it." So saying he turned to the mistress of the house, who had dropped into an arm-chair, and imperiously asked, "How many packs have we used?"

"Five."

"Then there ought to be two hundred and sixty cards upon the table."

Thereupon he counted them slowly and with particular care, and he found no fewer than three hundred and seven. "Well, scoundrel!" he cried; "are you still bold enough to deny it?"

Pascal had no desire to deny it. He knew that words would weigh as nothing against this material, tangible, incontrovertible proof. Forty-seven cards had been fraudulently inserted among the others. Certainly not by him! But by whom? Still he, alone, had been the gainer through the deception.

"You see that the coward will not even defend himself!" exclaimed one of the women.

He did not deign to turn his head. What did the insult matter to him? He knew himself to be innocent, and yet he felt that he was sinking to the lowest depths of infamy-he beheld himself disgraced, branded, ruined. And realizing that he must meet facts with facts, he besought G.o.d to grant him an idea, an inspiration, that would unmask the real culprit.

But another person came to his aid. With a boldness which no one would have expected on his part, M. de Coralth placed himself in front of Pascal, and in a voice which betokened more indignation than sorrow, he exclaimed: "This is a terrible mistake, gentlemen. Pascal Ferailleur is my friend; and his past vouches for his present. Go to the Palais de Justice, and make inquiries respecting his character there. They will tell you how utterly impossible it is that this man can be guilty of the ign.o.ble act he is accused of."

No one made any reply. In the opinion of all his listeners, Ferdinand was simply fulfilling a duty which it would have been difficult for him to escape. The old gentleman who had decided the suspension and the resumption of the game, gave audible expression to the prevailing sentiment of the party. He was a portly man, who puffed like a porpoise when he talked, and whom his companions called the baron. "Your words do you honor-really do you honor," he said, addressing Ferdinand-"and no possible blame can attach to you. That your friend is not an honest man is no fault of yours. There is no outward sign to distinguish scoundrels."

Pascal had so far not opened his lips. After struggling for a moment in the hands of his captors, he now stood perfectly motionless, glancing furiously around him as if hoping to discover the coward who had prepared the trap into which he had fallen. For he felt certain that he was the victim of some atrocious conspiracy, though it was impossible for him to divine what motive had actuated his enemies. Suddenly those who were holding him felt him tremble. He raised his head; he fancied he could detect a ray of hope. "Shall I be allowed to speak in my own defence?" he asked.

"Speak!"

He tried to free himself; but those beside him would not relax their hold, so he desisted, and then, in a voice husky with emotion, he exclaimed: "I am innocent! I am the victim of an infamous plot. Who the author of it is I do not know. But there is some one here who must know." Angry exclamations and sneering laughs interrupted him. "Would you condemn me unheard?" he resumed, raising his voice. "Listen to me. About an hour ago, while you were at supper, Madame d'Argeles almost threw herself at my feet as she entreated me to leave this house. Her agitation astonished me. Now I understand it."

The gentleman known as the baron turned toward Madame d'Argeles: "Is what this man says true?"

She was greatly agitated, but she answered: "Yes."

"Why were you so anxious for him to go?"

"I don't know-a presentiment-it seemed to me that something was going to happen."

The least observant of the party could not fail to notice Madame d'Argeles's hesitation and confusion; but even the shrewdest were deceived. They supposed that she had seen the act committed, and had tried to induce the culprit to make his escape, in order to avoid a scandal.

Pascal saw he could expect no a.s.sistance from this source. "M. de Coralth could a.s.sure you," he began.

"Oh, enough of that," interrupted a player. "I myself heard M. de Coralth do his best to persuade you not to play."

So the unfortunate fellow's last and only hope had vanished. Still he made a supreme effort, and addressing Madame d'Argeles: "Madame," he said, in a voice trembling with anguish? "I entreat you, tell what you know. Will you allow an honorable man to be ruined before your very eyes? Will you abandon an innocent man whom you could save by a single word?" But she remained silent; and Pascal staggered as if some one had dealt him a terrible blow. "It is all over!" he muttered.

No one heard him; everybody was listening to the baron, who seemed to be very much put out. "We are wasting precious time with all this," said he. "We should have made at least five rounds while this absurd scene has been going on. We must put an end to it. What are you going to do with this fellow? I am in favor of sending for a commissary of police."

Such was not at all the opinion of the majority of the guests. Four or five of the ladies took flight at the bare suggestion and several men-the most aristocratic of the company-became angry at once. "Are you mad?" said one of them. "Do you want to see us all summoned as witnesses? You have probably forgotten that Garcia affair, and that rumpus at Jenny Fancy's house. A fine thing it would be to see, no one knows how many great names mixed up with those of sharpers and notorious women!"

Naturally of a florid complexion, the baron's face now became scarlet. "So it's fear of scandal that deters you! Zounds, sir! a man's courage should equal his vices. Look at me."

Celebrated for his income of eight hundred thousand francs a year, for his estates in Burgundy, for his pa.s.sion for gaming, his horses, and his cook, the baron wielded a mighty influence. Still, on this occasion he did not carry the day, for it was decided that the "sharper" should be allowed to depart unmolested. "Make him at least return the money," growled a loser; "compel him to disgorge."

"His winnings are there upon the table."

"Don't believe it," cried the baron. "All these scoundrels have secret pockets in which they stow away their plunder. Search him by all means."

"That's it-search him!"

Crushed by this unexpected, undeserved and incomprehensible misfortune, Pascal had almost yielded to his fate. But the shameful cry: "Search him!" kindled terrible wrath in his brain. He shook off his a.s.sailants as a lion shakes off the hounds that have attacked him, and, reaching the fireplace with a single bound, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up a heavy bronze candelabrum and brandished it in the air, crying: "The first who approaches is a dead man!"

He was ready to strike, there was no doubt about it; and such a weapon in the hands of a determined man, becomes positively terrible. The danger seemed so great and so certain that his enemies paused-each encouraging his neighbor with his glance; but no one was inclined to engage in this struggle, by which the victor would merely gain a few bank-notes. "Stand back, and allow me to retire?" said Pascal, imperiously. They still hesitated; but finally made way. And, formidable in his indignation and audacity, he reached the door of the room unmolested, and disappeared.

This superb outburst of outraged honor, this marvellous energy-succeeding, as it did, the most complete mental prostration-and these terrible threats, had proved so prompt and awe-inspiring that no one had thought of cutting off Pascal's retreat. The guests had not recovered from their stupor, but were still standing silent and intimidated when they heard the outer door close after him.

It was a woman who at last broke the spell. "Ah, well!" she exclaimed, in a tone of intense admiration, "that handsome fellow is level-headed!"

"He naturally desired to save his plunder!"

It was the same expression that M. de Coralth had employed; and which had, perhaps, prevented Pascal from yielding to Madame d'Argeles's entreaties. Everybody applauded the sentiment-everybody, the baron excepted. This rich man, whose pa.s.sions had dragged him into the vilest dens of Europe, was thoroughly acquainted with sharpers and scoundrels of every type, from those who ride in their carriages down to the bare-footed vagabond. He knew the thief who grovels at his victim's feet, humbly confessing his crime, the desperate knave who swallows the notes he has stolen, the abject wretch who bares his back to receive the blows he deserves, and the rascal who boldly confronts his accusers and protests his innocence with the indignation of an honest man. But never, in any of these scoundrels, had the baron seen the proud, steadfast glance with which this man had awed his accusers.

With this thought uppermost in his mind he drew the person who had seized Pascal's hands at the card-table a little aside. "Tell me," said he, "did you actually see that young man slip the cards into the pack?"

"No, not exactly. But you know what we agreed at supper? We were sure that he was cheating; and it was necessary to find some pretext for counting the cards."

"What if he shouldn't be guilty, after all?"

"Who else could be guilty then? He was the only winner."

To this terrible argument-the same which had silenced Pascal-the baron made no reply. Indeed his intervention became necessary elsewhere, for the other guests were beginning to talk loudly and excitedly around the pile of gold and bank-notes which Pascal had left on the table. They had counted it, and found it to amount to the sum of thirty-six thousand three hundred and twenty francs; and it was the question of dividing it properly among the losers which was causing all this uproar. Among these guests, who belonged to the highest society-among these judges who had so summarily convicted an innocent man, and suggested the searching of a supposed sharper only a moment before-there were several who unblushingly misrepresented their losses. This was undeniable; for on adding the various amounts that were claimed together a grand total of ninety-one thousand francs was reached. Had this man who had just fled taken the difference between the two sums away with him? A difference amounting almost to fifty-five thousand francs? No, this was impossible; the supposition could not be entertained for a moment. However, the discussion might have taken an unfortunate turn, had it not been for the baron. In all matters relating to cards, his word was law. He quietly said, "It is all right;" and they submitted.

Nevertheless, he absolutely refused to take his share of the money; and after the division, rubbing his hands as if he were delighted to see this disagreeable affair concluded, he exclaimed: "It is only six o'clock; we have still time for a few rounds."

But the other guests, pale, disturbed, and secretly ashamed of themselves, were eager to depart, and in fact they were already hastening to the cloak-room. "At least play a game of ecarte," cried the baron, "a simple game of ecarte, at twenty louis a point."

But no one listened, and he reluctantly prepared to follow his departing friends, who bowed to Madame d'Argeles on the landing, as they filed by, M. de Coralth, who was among the last to retire, had already reached the staircase, and descended two or three steps, when Madame d'Argeles called to him. "Remain," said she; "I want to speak with you."

"You will excuse me," he began; "I--"

But she again bade him "remain" in such an imperious tone that he dared not resist. He reascended the stairs, very much after the manner of a man who is being dragged into a dentist's office, and followed Madame d'Argeles into a small boudoir at the end of the gambling-room. As soon as the door was closed and locked, the mistress of the house turned to her prisoner. "Now you will explain," said she. "It was you who brought M. Pascal Ferailleur here."

"Alas! I know only too well that I ought to beg your forgiveness. However, this affair will cost me dear myself. It has already embroiled me in a difficulty with that fool of a Rochecote, with whom I shall have to fight in less than a couple of hours."

"Where did you make his acquaintance?"

"Whose-Rochecote's?"

Madame d'Argeles's sempiternal smile had altogether disappeared. "I am speaking seriously," said she, with a threatening ring in her voice. "How did you happen to become acquainted with M. Ferailleur?"

"That can be very easily explained. Seven or eight months ago I had need of an advocate's services, and he was recommended to me. He managed my case very cleverly, and we kept up the acquaintance."

"What is his position?"

M. de Coralth's features wore an expression of exceeding weariness as if he greatly longed to go to sleep. He had indeed installed himself in a large arm-chair, in a semi-rec.u.mbent position. "Upon my word, I don't know," he replied. "Pascal had always seemed to be the most irreproachable man in the world-a man you might call a philosopher! He lives in a retired part of the city, near the Pantheon, with his mother, who is a widow, a very respectable woman, always dressed in black. When she opened the door for me, on the occasion of my first visit, I thought some old family portrait had stepped down from its frame to receive me. I judge them to be in comfortable circ.u.mstances. Pascal has the reputation of being a remarkable man, and people supposed he would rise very high in his profession."

"But now he is ruined; his career is finished."

"Certainly! You can be quite sure that by this evening all Paris will know what occurred here last night."

He paused, meeting Madame Argeles's look of withering scorn with a cleverly a.s.sumed air of astonishment. "You are a villain! Monsieur de Coralth," she said, indignantly.

"I-and why?"

"Because it was you who slipped those cards, which made M. Ferailleur win, into the pack; I saw you do it! And yielding to my entreaties, the young fellow was about to leave the house when you, intentionally, prevented him from saving himself. Oh! don't deny it."

M. de Coralth rose in the coolest possible manner. "I deny nothing, my dear lady," he replied, "absolutely nothing. You and I understand each other."

Confounded by his unblushing impudence, Madame d'Argeles remained speechless for a moment. "You confess it!" she cried, at last. "You dare to confess it! Were you not afraid that I might speak and state what I had seen?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "No one would have believed you," he exclaimed.

"Yes, I should have been believed, Monsieur de Coralth, for I could have given proofs. You must have forgotten that I know you, that your past life is no secret to me, that I know who you are, and what dishonored name you hide beneath your borrowed t.i.tle! I could have told my guests that you are married-that you have abandoned your wife and child, leaving them to perish in want and misery-I could have told them where you obtain the thirty or forty thousand francs you spend each year. You must have forgotten that Rose told me everything, Monsieur-Paul!"

She had struck the right place this time, and with such precision that M. de Coralth turned livid, and made a furious gesture, as if he were about to fell her to the ground. "Ah, take care!" he exclaimed; "take care!"

But his rage speedily subsided, and with his usual indifferent manner, and in a bantering tone, he said: "Well, what of that? Do you fancy that the world doesn't already suspect what you could reveal? People have suspected me of being even worse than I am. When you proclaim on the housetops that I am an adventurer, folks will only laugh at you, and I shall be none the worse for it. A matter that would crush a dozen men like Pascal Ferailleur would not injure me in the least. I am accustomed to it. I must have luxury and enjoyment, everything that is pleasant and beautiful-and to procure all this, I do my very best. It is true that I don't derive my income from my estate in Brie; but I have plenty of money, and that is the essential thing. Besides, it is so difficult to earn a livelihood nowadays, and the love of luxury is so intense that no one knows at night what he may do-or, rather, what he won't do-the next day. And last, but not least, the people who ought to be despised are so numerous that contempt is an impossibility. A Parisian who happened to be so absurdly pretentious as to refuse to shake hands with such of his acquaintances as were not irreproachable characters, might walk for hours on the Boulevards without finding an occasion to take his hands out of his pockets."

M. de Coralth talked well enough, and yet, in point of fact, all this was sheer bravado on his part. He knew better than any one else, on what a frail and uncertain basis his brilliant existence was established. Certainly, society does show great indulgence to people of doubtful reputation. It shuts its eyes and refuses to look or listen. But this is all the more reason why it should be pitiless when a person's guilt is positively established. Thus, although he a.s.sumed an air of insolent security, the "viscount" anxiously watched the effect of his words upon Madame d'Argeles. Fortunately for himself, he saw that she was abashed by his cynicism; and so he resumed: "Besides, as our friend, the baron, would say, we are wasting precious time in discussing improbable, and even impossible, suppositions. I was sufficiently well acquainted with your heart and your intelligence, my dear madame, to be sure that you would not speak a word to my disparagement."

"Indeed! What prevented me from doing so?"

"I did; or perhaps I ought rather to say, your own good sense, which closed your mouth when Monsieur Pascal entreated you to speak in his defence. I am ent.i.tled to considerable indulgence, madame, and a great deal ought to be forgiven me. My mother, unfortunately, was an honest woman, who did not furnish me with the means of gratifying every whim."

Madame d'Argeles recoiled as if a serpent had suddenly crossed her path.

"What do you mean?" she faltered.

"You know as well as I do."

"I don't understand you-explain yourself."

With the impatient gesture of a man who finds himself compelled to answer an idle question, and a.s.suming an air of hypocritical commiseration, he replied: "Well, since you insist upon it, I know, in Paris-in the Rue de Helder, to be more exact-a nice young fellow, whose lot I have often envied. He has wanted for nothing since the day he came into the world. At school, he had three times as much money as his richest playfellow. When his studies were finished, a tutor was provided-with his pockets full of gold-to conduct this favored youth to Italy, Egypt, and Greece. He is now studying law; and four times a year, with unvarying punctuality, he receives a letter from London containing five thousand francs. This is all the more remarkable, as this young man has neither a father nor a mother. He is alone in the world with his income of twenty thousand francs. I have heard him say, jestingly, that some good fairy must be watching over him; but I know that he believes himself to be the illegitimate son of some great English n.o.bleman. Sometimes, when he has drunk a little too much, he talks of going in search of my lord, his father."

The effect M. de Coralth had created by these words must have been extremely gratifying to him, for Madame d'Argeles had fallen back in her chair, almost fainting. "So, my dear madame," he continued, "if I ever had any reason to fancy that you intended causing me any trouble, I should go to this charming youth and say: 'My good fellow, you are strangely deceived. Your money doesn't come from the treasure-box of an English peer, but from a small gambling den with which I am very well acquainted, having often had occasion to swell its revenues with my franc-pieces.' And if he mourned his vanished dreams, I should tell him: 'You are wrong; for, if the great n.o.bleman is lost, the good fairy remains. She is none other than your mother, a very worthy person, whose only object in life is your comfort and advancement.' And if he doubted my word, I should bring him to his mother's house some baccarat night; and there would be a scene of recognition worthy of Fargueil's genius."

Any man but M. de Coralth would have had some compa.s.sion, for Madame d'Argeles was evidently suffering agony. "It is as I feared!" she moaned, in a scarcely audible voice.

However, he heard her. "What!" he exclaimed in a tone of intense astonishment; "did you really doubt it? No; I can't believe it; it would be doing injustice to your intelligence and experience. Are people like ourselves obliged to talk in order to understand each other? Should I ever have ventured to do what I have done, in your house, if I had not known the secret of your maternal tenderness, delicacy of feeling, and devotion?"

She was weeping; big tears were rolling down her face, tracing a broad furrow through the powder on her cheeks. "He knows everything!" she murmured; "he knows everything!"

"By the merest chance, I a.s.sure you. As I don't like folks to meddle with my affairs, I never meddle with theirs. As I have just said, it was entirely the work of chance. One April afternoon I came to invite you to a drive in the Bois. I was ushered into this very room where we are sitting now, and found you writing. I said I would wait until you finished your letter; but some one called you, and you hastily left the room. How it was that I happened to approach your writing-table I cannot explain; but I did approach it, and read your unfinished letter. Upon my word it touched me deeply. I can give no better proof of the truth of my a.s.sertion than the fact that I can repeat it, almost word for word, even now. 'DEAR SIR,'-you wrote to your London correspondent-'I send you three thousand francs, in addition to the five thousand for the regular quarterly payment. Forward the money without delay. I fear the poor boy is greatly annoyed by his creditors. Yesterday I had the happiness of seeing him in the Rue de Helder, and I found him looking pale and careworn. When you send him this money, forward at the same time a letter of fatherly advice. It is true, he ought to work and win an honorable position for himself; but think of the dangers and temptation that beset him, alone and friendless, in this corrupt city.' There, my dear lady, your letter ended; but the name and address were given, and it was easy enough to understand it. You remember, perhaps, a little incident that occurred after your return. On perceiving that you had forgotten your letter, you turned pale and glanced at me. 'Have you read it, and do you understand it?' your eyes asked; while mine replied: 'Yes, but I shall be silent.'"

"And I shall be silent too," said Madame d'Argeles.

M. de Coralth took her hand and raised it to his lips. "I knew we should understand each other," he remarked, gravely. "I am not bad at heart, believe me; and if I had possessed money of my own, or a mother like you--"

She averted her face, fearing perhaps that M. de Coralth might read her opinion of him in her eyes; but after a short pause she exclaimed beseechingly: "Now that I am your accomplice, let me entreat you to do all you possibly can to prevent last night's affair from being noised abroad."

"Impossible."

"If not for M. Ferailleur's sake, for the sake of his poor widowed mother."

"Pascal must be put out of the way!"

"Why do you say that? Do you hate him so much then? What has he done to you?"

"To me, personally? Nothing-I even feel actual sympathy for him."

Madame d'Argeles was confounded. "What!" she stammered; "it wasn't on your own account that you did this?"

"Why, no."

She sprang to her feet, and quivering with scorn and indignation, cried: "Ah! then the deed is even more infamous-even more cowardly!" But alarmed by the threatening gleam in M. de Coralth's eyes, she went no further.

"A truce to these disagreeable truths," said he, coldly. "If we expressed our opinions of each other without reserve, in this world, we should soon come to hard words. Do you think I acted for my own pleasure? Suppose some one had seen me when I slipped the cards into the pack. If that had happened, I should have been ruined."

"And you think that no one suspects you?"

"No one. I lost more than a hundred louis myself. If Pascal belonged to our set, people might investigate the matter, perhaps; but to-morrow it will be forgotten."

"And will he have no suspicions?"

"He will have no proofs to offer, in any case."

Madame d'Argeles seemed to resign herself to the inevitable. "I hope you will, at least, tell me on whose behalf you acted," she remarked.

"Impossible," replied M. de Coralth. And, consulting his watch, he added, "But I am forgetting myself; I am forgetting that that idiot of a Rochecote is waiting for a sword-thrust. So go to sleep, my dear lady, and-till we meet again."

She accompanied him so far as the landing. "It is quite certain that he is hastening to the house of M. Ferailleur's enemy," she thought. And, calling her confidential servant, "Quick, Job," she said; "follow M. de Coralth. I want to know where he is going. And, above all, take care that he doesn't see you."