The Count's Millions

by Emile Gaboriau

  VIII.

  The justice of the peace and Mademoiselle Marguerite were at last alonein M. de Chalusse's study. This room, which the count had preferredabove all others, was a spacious, magnificent, but rather gloomyapartment, with lofty walls and dark, richly carved furniture. Itspresent aspect was more than ever solemn and lugubrious, for it gaveone a chill to see the bands of white tape affixed to the locks of thecabinets and bookcases. When the magistrate had installed himself in thecount's arm-chair, and the girl had taken a seat near him, they remainedlooking at each other in silence for a few moments. The magistratewas asking himself how he should begin. Having fathomed MademoiselleMarguerite's extreme sensitiveness and reserve, he said to himself thatif he offended or alarmed her, she would refuse him her confidence, inwhich case he would be powerless to serve her as he wished to do. Hehad, in fact, an almost passionate desire to be of service to her,feeling himself drawn toward her by an inexplicable feeling of sympathy,in which esteem, respect, and admiration alike were blended, though hehad only known her for a few hours. Still, he must make a beginning."Mademoiselle," he said, at last, "I abstained from questioning youbefore the servants--and if I take the liberty of doing so now, itis not, believe me, out of any idle curiosity; moreover, you are notcompelled to answer me. But you are young--and I am an old man; and itis my duty--even if my heart did not urge me to do so--to offer you theaid of my experience----"

  "Speak, monsieur," interrupted Marguerite. "I will answer your questionsfrankly, or else not answer them at all."

  "To resume, then," said he, "I am told that M. de Chalusse has norelatives, near or remote. Is this the truth?"

  "So far as I know--yes, monsieur. Still, I have heard it said that asister of his, Mademoiselle Hermine de Chalusse, abandoned her hometwenty-five or thirty years ago, when she was about my age, and thatshe has never received her share of the enormous fortune left by herparents."

  "And has this sister never given any sign of life?"

  "Never! Still, monsieur, I have promised you to be perfectly frank. Thatletter which the Count de Chalusse received yesterday, that letter whichI regard as the cause of his death--well, I have a presentiment that itcame from his sister. It could only have been written by her or--by thatother person whose letters--and souvenirs--you found in the escritoire."

  "And--this other person--who can she be?" As the young girl made noreply, the magistrate did not insist, but continued: "And you, my child,who are you?"

  She made a gesture of sorrowful resignation, and then, in a voicefaltering with emotion, she answered: "I do not know, monsieur. PerhapsI am the count's daughter. I should be telling an untruth if I said thatwas not my belief. Yes, I believe it, but I have never been certain ofit. Sometimes I have believed, sometimes I have doubted it. On certaindays I have said to myself, 'Yes, it must be so!' and I have longed tothrow my arms around his neck. But at other times I have exclaimed: 'No,it isn't possible!' and I have almost hated him. Besides, he never saida word on the subject--never a decisive word, at least. When I saw himfor the first time, six years ago, I judged by the manner in which heforbade me to call him 'father,' that he would never answer any questionI might ask on the subject."

  If there was a man in the world inaccessible to idle curiosity, it wascertainly this magistrate, whose profession condemned him to listenevery day to family grievances, neighborly quarrels, complaints,accusations, and slander. And yet as he listened to MademoiselleMarguerite, he experienced that strange disquietude which seizes hold ofa person when a puzzling problem is presented. "Allow me to believe thatmany decisive proofs may have escaped your notice on account of yourinexperience," he said.

  But interrupting him with a gesture, she sadly remarked: "You aremistaken; I am not inexperienced."

  He could not help smiling at what he considered her self-conceit. "Poorchild!" said he; "how old are you? Eighteen?"

  She shook her head. "Yes, by my certificate of birth I am only eighteen;but by the sufferings I have endured I am, perhaps, older than you are,monsieur, despite your white hair. Those who have lived such a life asI have, are never young; they are old in suffering, even in theirchildhood. And if by experience you mean lack of confidence, a knowledgeof good and evil, distrust of everything and everybody, mine, young girlthough I be, will no doubt equal yours." She paused, hesitated for amoment, and then continued: "But why should I wait for you to questionme? It is neither sincere nor dignified on my part to do so. The personwho claims counsel owes absolute frankness to his adviser. I will speakto you as if I were communing with my own soul. I will tell you what noperson has ever known--no one, not even Pascal. And believe me, mypast life was full of bitter misery, although you find me here in thissplendid house. But I have nothing to conceal; and if I have cause toblush, it is for others, not for myself."

  Perhaps she was impelled by an irresistible desire to relieve heroverburdened heart, after long years of self-restraint; perhaps sheno longer felt sure of herself, and desired some other advice thanthe dictates of her conscience, in presence of the calamity which hadbefallen her. At all events, too much engrossed in her own thoughts toheed the magistrate's surprise, or hear the words he faltered, she rosefrom her seat, and, with her hands pressed tightly on her throbbingbrow, she began to tell the story of her life.

  "My first recollections," she said, "are of a narrow, cheerlesscourtyard, surrounded by grim and massive walls, so high that I couldscarcely see the top of them. At noontime in summer the sun visited onelittle corner, where there was a stone bench; but in winter it nevershowed itself at all. There were five or six small, scrubby trees, withmoss-grown trunks and feeble branches, which put forth a few yellowleaves at springtime. We were some thirty children who assembled inthis courtyard--children from five to eight years old, all clad alike inbrown dresses, with a little blue handkerchief tied about our shoulders.We all wore blue caps on week-days, and white ones on Sundays, withwoollen stockings, thick shoes, and a black ribbon, with a large metalcross dangling from our necks. Among us moved the good sisters, silentand sad, with their hands crossed in their large sleeves, their faces aswhite as their snowy caps, and their long strings of beads, set offwith numerous copper medals, clanking when they walked like prisoners'chains. As a rule, each face wore the same expression of resignation,unvarying gentleness, and inexhaustible patience. But there were somewho wore it only as one wears a mask--some whose eyes gleamed attimes with passion, and who vented their cold, bitter anger upon usdefenceless children. However, there was one sister, still young andvery fair, whose manner was so gentle and so sad that even I, withmy mere infantile intelligence, felt that she must have some terriblesorrow. During play-time she often took me on her knee and embraced mewith convulsive tenderness, murmuring: 'Dear little one! darling littleone!' Sometimes her endearments were irksome to me, but I never allowedher to see it, for fear of making her still more sad; and in my heart Iwas content and proud to suffer for and with her. Poor sister! I owe herthe only happy hours of my infancy. She was called Sister Calliste. Ido not know what has become of her, but often, when my heart fails me, Ithink of her, and even now I cannot mention her name without tears."

  Mademoiselle Marguerite was indeed weeping--big tears which she made noattempt to conceal were coursing down her cheeks. It cost her a greateffort to continue: "You have already understood, monsieur, what Imyself did not know for several years. I was in a foundling asylum, andI was a foundling myself. I cannot say that we lacked anything; and Ishould be ungrateful if I did not say and feel that these good sisterswere charity personified. But, alas! their hearts had only a certainamount of tenderness to distribute between thirty poor little girls, andso each child's portion was small; the caresses were the same for all,and I longed to be loved differently, to have kind words and caressesfor myself alone. We slept in little white beds with snowy curtains,in a clean, well-ventilated dormitory, in the centre of which stood astatue of the Virgin, who seemed to smile on us all alike. In winter wehad a fire. Our clothes were warm and neat;
our food was excellent.We were taught to read and write, to sew and embroider. There was arecreation hour between all the exercises. Those who were studious andgood were rewarded; and twice a week we were taken into the country fora long walk. It was during one of these excursions that I learned fromthe talk of the passers-by, what we were, and what we were called.Sometimes, in the afternoon, we were visited by elegantly-attiredladies, who were accompanied by their own children, radiant with healthand happiness. The good sisters told us that these were 'pious ladies,'or 'charitable ladies,' whom we must love and respect, and whom we mustnever forget to mention in our prayers. They always brought us toys andcakes. Sometimes the establishment was visited by priests and grave oldgentlemen, whose sternness of manner alarmed us. They peered into everynook and corner, asked questions about everything, assured themselvesthat everything was in its place, and some of them even tasted our soup.They were always satisfied; and the lady superior led them through thebuilding, and bowed to them, exclaiming: 'We love them so much, the poorlittle dears! 'And the gentlemen replied: 'Yes, yes, my dear sister,they are very fortunate.' And the gentlemen were right. Poor laborers'children are often obliged to endure privations which we knew nothingof; they are often obliged to make their supper off a piece of drybread--but, then, the crust is given them by their mother, with a kiss."

  The magistrate, who was extremely ill at ease, had not yet succeeded infinding a syllable to offer in reply. Indeed, Mademoiselle Margueritehad not given him an opportunity to speak, so rapidly had thislong-repressed flood of recollections poured from her lips. When shespoke the word "mother," the magistrate fancied she would show some signof emotion.

  But he was mistaken. On the contrary, her voice became harsher, and aflash of anger, as it were, darted from her eyes.

  "I suffered exceedingly in that asylum," she resumed. "Sister Callisteleft the establishment, and all the surroundings chilled and repelledme. My only few hours of happiness were on Sundays, when we attendedchurch. As the great organ pealed, and as I watched the priestsofficiating at the altar in their gorgeous vestments, I forgot my ownsorrows. It seemed to me that I was ascending on the clouds of incenseto the celestial sphere which the sisters so often talked to us about,and where they said each little girl would find her mother."

  Mademoiselle Marguerite hesitated for an instant, as if she weresomewhat unwilling to give utterance to her thoughts; but at last,forcing herself to continue, she said: "Yes, I suffered exceedingly inthat foundling asylum. Almost all my little companions were spiteful,unattractive in person, sallow, thin, and afflicted with all kinds ofdiseases, as if they were not unfortunate enough in being abandonedby their parents. And--to my shame, monsieur, I must confess it--theseunfortunate little beings inspired me with unconquerable repugnance,with disgust bordering on aversion. I would rather have pressed my lipsto a red-hot iron than to the forehead of one of these children. I didnot reason on the subject, alas! I was only eight or nine years old;but I felt this antipathy in every fibre of my being. The others knew ittoo; and, in revenge, they ironically styled me 'the lady,' and left meseverely alone. But sometimes, during playtime, when the good sisters'backs were turned, the children attacked me, beat me, and scratched myface and tore my clothes. I endured these onslaughts uncomplainingly,for I was conscious that I deserved them. But how many reprimands mytorn clothes cost me! How many times I received only a dry crust for mysupper, after being soundly scolded and called 'little careless.' Butas I was quiet, studious, and industrious, a quicker learner than themajority of my companions, the sisters were fond of me. They said that Iwas a promising girl, and that they would have no difficulty in findingme a nice home with some of the rich and pious ladies who have a sharein managing institutions of this kind. The only fault the sisters foundwith me was that I was sullen. But such was not really the case; I wasonly sad and resigned. Everything around me so depressed and saddened methat I withdrew into myself, and buried all my thoughts and aspirationsdeep in my heart. If I had naturally been a bad child, I scarcely knowwhat would have been the result of this. I have often asked myself thequestion in all sincerity, but I have been unable to reply, for onecannot be an impartial judge respecting one's self. However, this muchis certain, although childhood generally leaves a train of pleasantrecollections in a young girl's life, mine was only fraught with tortureand misery, desperate struggles, and humiliation. I was unwilling tobe confirmed because I did not wish to wear a certain dress, which a'benevolent lady' had presented for the use of the asylum, and which hadbelonged to a little girl of my own age who had died of consumption.The thought of arraying myself in this dress to approach the holy tablefrightened and revolted me as much as if I had been sentenced todrape myself in a winding-sheet. And yet it was the prettiest dress ofall--white muslin beautifully embroidered. It had been ardently covetedby the other children, and had been given to me as a sort of reward ofmerit. And I dared not explain the cause of my unconquerable repugnance.Who would have understood me? I should only have been accused of unduesensitiveness and pride, absurd in one of my humble position. I was thenonly twelve years old; but no one knew the struggle in my mind savethe old priest, my confessor. I could confess everything to him; heunderstood me, and did not reproach me. Still he answered: 'You mustwear this dress, my child, for your pride must be broken. Go--I shallimpose no other penance on you.' I obeyed him, full of superstitiousterror; for it seemed to me that this was a frightful omen which wouldbring me misfortune, my whole life through. And I was confirmed in thedead girl's embroidered dress."

  During the five-and-twenty years that he had held the position ofjustice of the peace, the magistrate had listened to many confessions,wrung from wretched souls by stern necessity, or sorrow, but never hadhis heart been moved as it now was, by this narrative, told with suchuncomplaining anguish, and in a tone of such sincerity. However sheresumed her story. "The confirmation over, our life became as gloomilymonotonous as before; we read the same pious books and did the same workat the same hours as formerly. It seemed to me that I was stifling inthis atmosphere. I gasped for breath, and thought that anything wouldbe preferable to this semblance of existence, which was not real life.I was thinking of applying for the 'good situation,' which had so oftenbeen mentioned to me, when one morning I was summoned into the steward'soffice--a mysterious and frightful place to us children. He himselfwas a stout, dirty man, wearing large blue spectacles and a blacksilk skullcap; and from morning until night, summer and winter, he satwriting at a desk behind a little grating, hung with green curtains.Round the room were ranged the registers, in which our names wererecorded and our appearances described, together with the boxescontaining the articles found upon us, which were carefully preservedto assist in identifying us should occasion arise. I entered this officewith a throbbing heart. In addition to the stout gentleman and theLady Superior, I found there a thin, wiry man, with cunning eyes, and aportly woman, with a coarse but rather good-natured face. The superiorat once informed me that I was in the presence of M. and Madame Greloux,bookbinders, who had come to the asylum in search of two apprentices,and she asked me if I should like to be one of them. Ah! monsieur, itseemed to me that heaven had opened before me and I boldly replied:'Yes.' The gentleman in the black skullcap immediately emerged from hisplace behind the grating to explain my obligations and duties to meat length, especially insisting upon the point, that I ought to begrateful--I, a miserable foundling, reared by public charity--for thegenerosity which this good gentleman and lady showed in offering totake charge of me and employ me in their workshop. I must confess thatI could not clearly realize in what this great generosity which he sohighly praised consisted, nor did I perceive any reason why I should beparticularly grateful. Still, to all the conditions imposed upon me,I answered, 'Yes, yes, yes!' so heartily that Madame Greloux seemedgreatly pleased. 'It is evident that the child will be glad to getaway,' she said to herself. Then the superior began to enumerate theobligations my employers would incur, repeating again and again thatI was one of the ve
ry best girls in the asylum--pious, obedient, andindustrious, reading and writing to perfection, and knowing how to sewand embroider as only those who are taught in such institutions can. Shemade Madame Greloux promise to watch over me as she would have watchedover her own daughter; never to leave me alone; to take me to church,and allow me an occasional Sunday afternoon, so that I might pay a visitto the asylum. The gentleman with the spectacles and the skullcapthen reminded the bookbinder of the duties of an employer toward hisapprentices, and turning to a bookcase behind him, he even took down alarge volume from which he read extract after extract, which I listenedto without understanding a word, though I was quite sure that the bookwas written in French. At last, when the man and his wife had said'Amen' to everything, the gentleman with the spectacles drew up adocument which we all signed in turn. I belonged to a master."

  She paused. Here her childhood ended. But almost immediately sheresumed: "My recollections of these people are not altogetherunpleasant. They were harassed and wearied by their efforts to supporttheir son in a style of living far above their position; but, despitetheir sacrifices, their son had no affection for them, and on thisaccount I pitied them. However, not only was the husband gloomy andquick-tempered, but his wife also was subject to fits of passion, sothat the apprentices often had a hard time of it. Still, between MadameGreloux's tempests of wrath there were occasional gleams of sunshine.After beating us for nothing, she would exclaim, with quite as littlereason, 'Come and kiss me, and don't pout any more. Here are four sous;go and buy yourself some cakes.'"

  The justice started in his arm-chair. Was it, indeed, MademoiselleMarguerite who was speaking, the proud young girl with a queenlikebearing, whose voice rang out like crystal? Was it she indeed, whoimitated the harsh, coarse dialect of the lower classes with suchaccuracy of intonation? Ah! at that moment, as her past life rose sovividly before her, it seemed to her as if she were still in theyears gone by, and she fancied she could still hear the voice of thebookbinder's wife.

  She did not even notice the magistrate's astonishment. "I had left theasylum," she continued, "and that was everything to me. I felt that anew and different life was beginning, and that was enough. I flatteredmyself that I might win a more earnest and sincere affection among thesehonest, industrious toilers, than I had found in the asylum; and to winit and deserve it, I neglected nothing that good-will could suggest, orstrength allow. My patrons no doubt fathomed my desire, and naturallyenough, perhaps unconsciously, they took advantage of my wish to please.I can scarcely blame them. I had entered their home under certainconditions in view of learning a profession; they gradually made metheir servant--it was praiseworthy economy on their part. What I had atfirst done of my own freewill and from a wish to please, at last becamemy daily task, which I was rigidly required to fulfil. Compelled to riselong before any one else in the house, I was expected to have everythingin order by the time the others made their appearance with their eyesstill heavy with sleep. It is true that my benefactors rewarded me aftertheir fashion. On Sundays they took me with them on their excursionsinto the country, so as to give me a rest, they said, after the week'swork. And I followed them along the dusty highways in the hot sunshine,panting, perspiring, and tottering under the weight of a heavy basketof provisions, which were eaten on the grass or in the woods, andthe remnants of which fell to me. Madame Greloux's brother generallyaccompanied us; and his name would have lingered in my memory, even ifit had not been a peculiar one. He was called Vantrasson. He was a tall,robust man, with eyes that made me tremble whenever he fixed them uponme. He was a soldier; intensely proud of his uniform; a great talker,and enchanted with himself. He evidently thought himself irresistible.It was from that man's mouth that I heard the first coarse word at whichmy unsophisticated heart took offence. It was not to be the last one.He finally told me that he had taken a fancy to me, and I was obliged tocomplain to Madame Greloux of her brother's persecutions. But she onlylaughed at me, and said: 'Nonsense! He's merely talking to hear himselftalk.' Yes, that was her answer. And yet she was an honest woman, adevoted wife, and a fond mother. Ah! if she had had a daughter. But witha poor apprentice, who has neither father nor mother, one need notbe over-fastidious. She had made a great many promises to the ladysuperior, but she fancied that the utterance of a few commonplace wordsof warning relieved her of all further obligations. 'And so much theworse for those who allow themselves to be fooled,' she always added inconclusion.

  "Fortunately, my pride, which I had so often been reproached with,shielded me. My condition might be humble, but my spirit was lofty.It was a blessing from God, this pride of mine, for it saved me fromtemptation, while so many fell around me. I slept, with the otherapprentices, in the attic, where we were entirely beyond the control ofthose who should have been our guardians. That is to say, when the day'stoil was over, and the work-shop closed, we were free--abandoned toour own instincts, and the most pernicious influences. And neither eviladvice nor bad example was wanting. The women employed in the binderyin nowise restrained themselves in our presence, and we heard them tellmarvellous stories that dazzled many a poor girl. They did not talk asthey did from any evil design, or out of a spirit of calculation, butfrom pure thoughtlessness, and because they were quite devoid of moralsense. And they never tired of telling us of the pleasures of life, offine dinners at restaurants, gay excursions to Joinville-le-Pont, andmasked balls at Montparnasse or the Elysee Montmartre. Ah! experienceis quickly gained in these work-shops. Sometimes those who went off atnight with ragged dresses and worn-out shoes, returned the next morningin superb toilettes to say that they resigned their situations, as theywere not made for work, and intended to live like ladies. They departedradiant, but often before a month was over they came back, emaciated,hollow-eyed, and despairing, and humbly begged for a little work."

  She paused, so crushed by the weight of these sad memories as to loseconsciousness of the present. And the judge also remained silent, notdaring to question her. And, besides, what good would it do? What couldshe tell him about these poor little apprentices that he did not knowalready? If he was surprised at anything, it was that this beautifulyoung girl, who had been left alone and defenceless, had possessedsufficient strength of character to escape the horrible dangers thatthreatened her.

  However, it was not long before Mademoiselle Marguerite shook off thetorpor which had stolen over her. "I ought not to boast of my strength,sir," she resumed. "Besides my pride, I had a hope to sustain me--a hopewhich I clung to with the tenacity of despair. I wished to become expertat my profession, for I had learned that skilled workers were always indemand, and could always command good wages. So when my household dutieswere over, I still found time to learn the business, and made such rapidprogress that I astonished even my employer. I knew that I should soonbe able to make five or six francs a day; and this prospect was pleasantenough to make me forget the present, well-nigh intolerable as itsometimes was. During the last winter that I spent with my employers,their orders were so numerous and pressing that they worked on Sundaysas well as on week days, and it was with difficulty that I obtained anhour twice a month to pay a visit to the good sisters who had cared forme in my childhood. I had never failed in this duty, and indeed it hadnow become my only pleasure. My employer's conscience compelled him topay me a trifle occasionally for the additional toil he imposed upon me,and the few francs I thus received I carried to the poor children at theasylum. After living all my life on public charity, I was able togive in my turn; and this thought gratified my pride, and increasedmy importance in my own eyes. I was nearly fifteen, and my term ofapprenticeship had almost expired, when one bright day in March, I sawone of the lay sisters of the asylum enter the work-room. She was in aflutter of excitement; her face was crimson, and she was so breathlessfrom her hurried ascent of the stairs that she gasped rather thansaid to me: 'Quick! come--follow me! Some one is waiting for you!''Who?--where?'--'Make haste! Ah! my dear child, if you only knew----' Ihesitated; but Madame Greloux pushed me toward the doo
r, exclaiming:'Be off, you little stupid!' I followed the sister without thinkingof changing my dress--without even removing the kitchen apron I wore.Downstairs, at the front door, stood the most magnificent carriage I hadever seen in my life. Its rich silk cushions were so beautiful thatI scarcely dared to enter it; and I was all the more intimidated bya footman in gorgeous livery, who respectfully opened the door at ourapproach. 'You must get into the carriage,' said the sister; 'itwas sent for you.' I obeyed her, and before I had recovered from myastonishment we had reached the asylum, and I was ushered into theoffice where the contract which bound me as an apprentice had beensigned. As soon as I entered, the superior took me by the hand and ledme toward a gentleman who was sitting near the window. 'Marguerite,'said she, 'salute Monsieur le Comte de Chalusse.'"