XIII.
Few people have any idea of the great number of estates which, indefault of heirs to claim them, annually revert to the government. Thetreasury derives large sums from this source every year. And this iseasily explained, for nowadays family ties are becoming less and lessbinding. Brothers cease to meet; their children no longer know eachother; and the members of the second generation are as perfect strangersas though they were not united by a bond of consanguinity. The young manwhom love of adventure lures to a far-off country, and the young girlwho marries against her parents' wishes, soon cease to exist for theirrelatives. No one even inquires what has become of them. Those whoremain at home are afraid to ask whether they are prosperous orunfortunate, lest they should be called upon to assist the wanderers.Forgotten themselves, the adventurers in their turn soon forget.If fortune smiles upon them, they are careful not to inform theirrelatives. Poor--they have been cast off; wealthy--they themselves denytheir kindred. Having become rich unaided, they find an egotisticalsatisfaction in spending their money alone in accordance with their ownfancies. Now when a man of this class dies what happens? The servantsand people around him profit of his loneliness and isolation, and thejustice of the peace is only summoned to affix the seals, after theyhave removed all the portable property. An inventory is taken, and aftera few formalities, as no heirs present themselves, the court declaresthe inheritance to be in abeyance, and appoints a trustee.
This trustee's duties are very simple. He manages the property andremits the income to the Treasury until a legal judgment declares theestate the property of the country, regardless of any heirs who maypresent themselves in future.
"If I only had a twentieth part of the money that is lost in this way,my fortune would be made," exclaimed a shrewd man, some thirty yearsago.
The person who spoke was Antoine Vaudore. For six months he secretlynursed the idea, studying it, examining it in all respects, weighing itsadvantages and disadvantages, and at last he decided that it was a goodone. That same year, indeed, assisted by a little capital which hehad obtained no one knew how, he created a new, strange, and untriedprofession to supply a new demand.
Thus Vaudore was the first man who made heir-hunting a profession.As will be generally admitted, it is not a profession that can besuccessfully followed by a craven. It requires the exercise of unusualshrewdness, untiring activity, extraordinary energy and courage, aswell as great tact and varied knowledge. The man who would follow itsuccessfully must possess the boldness of a gambler, the sang-froid of aduelist, the keen perceptive powers and patience of a detective, and theresources and quick wit of the shrewdest attorney.
It is easier to decry the profession than to exercise it. To begin with,the heir-hunter must be posted up with information respecting unclaimedinheritances, and he must have sufficient acquaintance with the legalworld to be able to obtain information from the clerks of the differentcourts, notaries, and so on. When he learns that a man has died withoutany known heirs, his first care is to ascertain the amount of unclaimedproperty, to see if it will pay him to take up the case. If he findsthat the inheritance is a valuable one, he begins operations withoutdelay. He must first ascertain the deceased's full name and age. It iseasy to procure this information; but it is more difficult to discoverthe name of the place where the deceased was born, his profession,what countries he lived in, his tastes and mode of life--in a word,everything that constitutes a complete biography.
However, when he has armed himself with the more indispensable facts,our agent opens the campaign with extreme prudence, for it would beruinous to awake suspicion. It is curious to observe the incomparableaddress which the agent displays in his efforts to learn the particularsof the deceased's life, by consulting his friends, his enemies, hisdebtors, and all who ever knew him, until at last some one is found whosays: "Such and such a man--why, he came from our part of the country.I never knew HIM, but I am acquainted with one of his brothers--with oneof his uncles--or with one of his nephews."
Very often years of constant research, a large outlay of money, andcostly and skilful advertising in all the European journals, arenecessary before this result is reached. And it is only when it has beenattained that the agent can take time to breathe. But now the chancesare greatly in his favor. The worst is over. The portion of his taskwhich depended on chance alone is concluded. The rest is a matter ofskill, tact, and shrewdness. The detective must give place to the craftylawyer. The agent must confer with this heir, who has been discovered atthe cost of so much time and trouble and induce him to bestow a portionof this prospective wealth on the person who is able to establishhis claim. There must be an agreement in writing clearly stating whatproportion--a tenth, a third, or a half--the agent will be entitledto. The negotiation is a very delicate and difficult one, requiringprodigious presence of mind, and an amount of duplicity which would makethe most astute diplomatist turn pale with envy. Occasionally, the heirsuspects the truth, sneers at the proposition, and hurries off to claimthe whole of the inheritance that belongs to him. The agent may then bidhis hopes farewell. He has worked and spent money for nothing.
However, such a misfortune is of rare occurrence. On hearing of theunexpected good fortune that has befallen him, the heir is generallyunsuspicious, and willingly promises to pay the amount demanded of him.A contract is drawn up and signed; and then, but only then, does theagent take his client into his confidence. "You are the relative of sucha person, are you not?" "Yes." "Very well. He is dead, and you are hisheir. Thank Providence, and make haste to claim your money."
As a rule, the heir loyally fulfils his obligation. But sometimesit happens that, when he has obtained undisputed possession of theproperty, he declares that he has been swindled, and refuses to fulfilhis part of the contract. Then the case must go to the courts. It istrue, however, that the judgment of the tribunals generally recalls therefractory client to a sense of gratitude and humility.
Now our friend M. Isidore Fortunat was a hunter of missing heirs.Undoubtedly he often engaged in other business which was a trifle lessrespectable; but heir-hunting was one of the best and most substantialsources of his income. So we can readily understand why he so quicklyleft off lamenting that forty thousand francs lent to the Marquis deValorsay.
Changing his tactics, he said to himself that, even if he had lost thisamount through M. de Chalusse's sudden death, it was much less than hemight obtain if he succeeded in discovering the unknown heirs to so manymillions. And he had some reason to hope that he would be able to doso. Having been employed by M. de Chalusse when the latter wasseeking Mademoiselle Marguerite, M. Fortunat had gained some valuableinformation respecting his client, and the additional particulars whichhe had obtained from Madame Vantrasson elated him to such an extent thatmore than once he exclaimed: "Ah, well! it is, perhaps, a blessing indisguise, after all."
Still, M. Isidore Fortunat slept but little after his stormy interviewwith the Marquis de Valorsay. A loss of forty thousand francs is notlikely to impart a roseate hue to one's dreams--and M. Fortunat prizedhis money as if it had been the very marrow of his bones. By way ofconsolation, he assured himself that he would not merely regain the sum,but triple it; and yet this encouragement did not entirely restorehis peace of mind. The gain was only a possibility, and the loss was acertainty. So he twisted, and turned, and tossed on his bed as if it hadbeen a hot gridiron, exhausting himself in surmises, and preparing hismind for the difficulties which he would be obliged to overcome.
His plan was a simple one, but its execution was fraught withdifficulties. "I must discover M. de Chalusse's sister, if she isstill living--I must discover her children, if she is dead," he said tohimself. It was easy to SAY this; but how was he to do it? How could hehope to find this unfortunate girl, who had abandoned her home thirtyyears previously, to fly, no one knew where, or with whom? How was he togain any idea of the life she had lived, or the fate that had befallenher? At what point on the social scale, and in what country, should hebegin his investigation
s? These daughters of noble houses, who desertthe paternal roof in a moment of madness, generally die most miserablyafter a wretched life. The girl of the lower classes is armed againstmisfortune, and has been trained for the conflict. She can measureand calculate the force of her fall, and regulate and control it to acertain extent. But the others cannot. They have never known privationand hardship, and are, therefore, defenceless. And for the very reasonthat they have been hurled from a great height, they often fall downinto the lowest depths of infamy.
"If morning would only come," sighed M. Isidore Fortunat, as he tossedrestlessly to and fro. "As soon as morning comes I will set to work!"
But just before daybreak he fell asleep; and at nine o'clock he wasstill slumbering so soundly that Madame Dodelin, his housekeeper, hadconsiderable difficulty in waking him. "Your clerks have come," sheexclaimed, shaking him vigorously; "and two clients are waiting for youin the reception-room."
He sprang up, hastily dressed himself, and went into his office. It costhim no little effort to receive his visitors that morning; but it wouldhave been folly to neglect all his other business for the uncertainChalusse affair. The first client who entered was a man still young, ofcommon, even vulgar appearance. Not being acquainted with M. Fortunat,he deemed it proper to introduce himself without delay. "My name isLeplaintre, and I am a coal merchant," said he. "I was recommended tocall on you by my friend Bouscat, who was formerly in the wine trade."
M. Fortunat bowed. "Pray be seated," was his reply. "I remember yourfriend very well. If I am not mistaken I gave him some advice withreference to his third failure."
"Precisely; and it is because I find myself in the same fix as Bouscatthat I have called on you. Business is very bad, and I have notes to alarge amount overdue, so that--"
"You will be obliged to go into bankruptcy."
"Alas! I fear so."
M. Fortunat already knew what his client desired, but it was againsthis principles to meet these propositions more than half way. "Will youstate your case?" said he.
The coal merchant blushed. It was hard to confess the truth; but theeffort had to be made. "This is my case," he replied, at last. "Amongmy creditors I have several enemies, who will refuse me a release. Theywould like to deprive me of everything I possess. And in that case, whatwould become of me? Is it right that I should be compelled to starve?"
"It is a bad outlook."
"It is, indeed, monsieur; and for this reason, I desire--if possible, ifI can do so without danger--for I am an honest man, monsieur--I wish toretain a little property--secretly, of course, not for myself, by anymeans, but I have a young wife and----"
M. Fortunat took compassion on the man's embarrassment. "In short,"he interrupted, "you wish to conceal a part of your capital from yourcreditors?"
On hearing this precise and formal statement of his honorableintentions, the coal-merchant trembled. His feelings of integrity wouldnot have been alarmed by a periphrasis, but this plain speaking shockedhim. "Oh, monsieur!" he protested, "I would rather blow my brains outthan defraud my creditors of a single penny that was rightfully theirs.What I am doing is for their interest, you understand. I shall beginbusiness again under my wife's name; and if I succeed, they shall bepaid--yes, monsieur, every sou, with interest. Ah! if I had only myselfto think of, it would be quite different; but I have two children, twolittle girls, so that----"
"Very well," replied M. Fortunat. "I should suggest to you the sameexpedient as I suggested to your friend Bouscat. But you must gather alittle ready money together before going into bankruptcy."
"I can do that by secretly disposing of a part of my stock, so----"
"In that case, you are saved. Sell it and put the money beyond yourcreditors' reach."
The worthy merchant scratched his ear in evident perplexity."Excuse me," said he. "I had thought of this plan; but it seemed tome--dishonorable--and--also very dangerous. How could I explain thisdecrease in my stock? My creditors hate me. If they suspected anything,they would accuse me of fraud, and perhaps throw me into prison; andthen----"
M. Fortunat shrugged his shoulders. "When I give advice," he roughlyreplied, "I furnish the means of following it without danger. Listento me attentively. Let us suppose, for a moment, that some time ago youpurchased, at a very high figure, a quantity of stocks and shares,which are to-day almost worthless, could not this unfortunate investmentaccount for the absence of the sum which you wish to set aside? Yourcreditors would be obliged to value these securities, not at theirpresent, but at their former value."
"Evidently; but, unfortunately, I do not possess any such securities."
"You can purchase them."
The coal-merchant opened his eyes in astonishment. "Excuse me," hemuttered, "I don't exactly understand you."
He did not understand in the least; but M. Fortunat enlightened him byopening his safe, and displaying an enormous bundle of stocks and shareswhich had flooded the country a few years previously, and ruined a greatmany poor, ignorant fools which were hungering for wealth; among themwere shares in the Tifila Mining Company, the Berchem Coal Mines, theGreenland Fisheries, the Mutual Trust and Loan Association, and so on.There had been a time when each of these securities would have fetchedfive hundred or a thousand francs at the Bourse, but now they were notworth the paper on which they were printed.
"Let us suppose, my dear sir," resumed M. Fortunat, "that you had adrawer full of these securities----"
But the other did not allow him to finish. "I see," he exclaimed; "Isee--I can sell my stock, and put the proceeds in my pocket with perfectsafety. There is enough to represent my capital a thousand times over."
And, in a paroxysm of delight, he added:
"Give me enough of these shares to represent a capital of one hundredand twenty thousand francs; and give me some of each kind. I should likemy creditors to have a variety."
Thereupon M. Fortunat counted out a pile of these worthless securitiesas carefully as if he had been handling bank-notes; and his client atthe same time drew out his pocketbook.
"How much do I owe you?" he inquired.
"Three thousand francs."
The honest merchant bounded from his chair. "Three thousand francs!" herepeated. "You must be jesting. That trash is not worth a louis."
"I would not even give five francs for it," rejoined M. Fortunat,coldly; "but it is true that I don't desire to purchase these shares inmy creditors' interest. With you it is quite a different matter--thistrash, as you very justly call it, will save you at least a hundredthousand francs. I ask only three per cent., which is certainly notdear. Still, you know, I don't force any one to purchase them." And, ina terribly significant tone, he added: "You can undoubtedly buysimilar securities on better terms; but take care you don't arouse yourcreditors' suspicions by applying elsewhere."
"He would betray me, the scoundrel!" thought the merchant. And,realizing that he had fallen into a trap, "Here are three thousandfrancs," he sighed; "but at least, my dear sir, give me good measure,and throw in a few thousand francs more."
The coal-merchant smiled the ghastly smile of a man who sees no way ofescape from imposition, and has, therefore, resolved to submit with thebest grace possible. But M. Fortunat's gravity did not relax. Hegave what he had promised--neither more nor less--in exchange for thebank-notes, and even gravely exclaimed: "See if the amount is correct."
His client pocketed the shares without counting them: but before leavingthe room he made his estimable adviser promise to assist him at thedecisive moment, and help him to prepare one of those clear financialstatements which make creditors say: "This is an honest man who has beenextremely unfortunate."
M. Fortunat was admirably fitted to render this little service; for hedevoted such part of his time as was not spent in hunting for missingheirs to difficult liquidations, and he had indeed made bankruptcya specialty in which he was without a rival. The business was aremunerative one, thanks to the expedient he had revealed to thecoal-merchant--an expedient which is common
enough nowadays, but ofwhich he might almost be called the inventor. It consisted in compellingthe persons who asked for his advice to purchase worthless sharesat whatever price he chose to set upon them, and they were forced tosubmit, under penalty of denunciation and exposure.
The client who followed the coal-merchant proved to be a simplecreature, who had called to ask for some advice respecting a slightdifficulty between himself and his landlord. M. Fortunat speedilydisposed of him, and then, opening the door leading into the outeroffice, he called: "Cashier!"
A shabbily-dressed man, some thirty-five years of age, at once enteredthe private sanctum, carrying a money-bag in one hand and a ledger inthe other.
"How many debtors were visited yesterday?" inquired M. Fortunat.
"Two hundred and thirty-seven."
"What was the amount collected?"
"Eighty-nine francs."
M. Isidore Fortunat's grimace was expressive of satisfaction. "Not bad,"said he, "not at all bad."
Then a singular performance began. M. Fortunat called over the names ofhis debtors, one by one, and the cashier answered each name by readinga memorandum written against it on the margin of a list he held. "Sucha one," said the agent, "and such a one--and such----" Whereupon thecashier replied: "Has paid two francs--was not at home--paid twentysous--would not pay anything."
How did it happen that M. Fortunat had so many debtors? This questioncan be easily answered. In settling bankrupts' estates it was easy forhim to purchase a large number of debts which were considered worthless,at a trifling cost, and he reaped a bountiful harvest on a field whichwould have yielded nothing to another person. It was not because hewas rigorous in his demands; he conquered by patience, gentleness, andpoliteness, but also by unwearying perseverance and tenacity. When hedecided that a debtor was to pay him a certain sum, it was paid. Henever relaxed in his efforts. Every other day some one was sent tovisit the debtor, to follow him, and harass him; he was surrounded byM. Fortunat's agents; they pursued him to his office, shop, orcafe--everywhere, continually, incessantly--and always with the mostperfect urbanity. At last even the most determined succumbed; to escapethis frightful persecution, they, somehow or other, found the money tosatisfy M. Fortunat's claim. Besides Victor Chupin, he had five otheragents whose business it was to visit these poor wretches. A list wasassigned to each man every morning; and when evening came, he made hisreport to the cashier, who in turn reported to his employer. This branchof industry added considerably to the profits of M. Fortunat's otherbusiness, and was the third and last string to his bow.
The report proceeded as usual, but it was quite evident that M.Fortunat's thoughts were elsewhere. He paused each moment to listeneagerly for the slightest sound outside, for before receiving thecoal-merchant he had told Victor Chupin to run to the Rue de Courcellesand ask M. Casimir for news of the Count de Chalusse. He had done thismore than an hour before; and Victor Chupin, who was usually so prompt,had not yet made his appearance.
At last, however, he returned, whereupon M. Fortunat dismissed thecashier, and addressed his messenger: "Well?" he asked.
"He is no longer living. They think he died without a will, and that thepretty young lady will be turned out of the house."
This information agreed so perfectly with M. Fortunat's presentimentsthat he did not even wince, but calmly asked: "Will Casimir keep hisappointment?"
"He told me that he would endeavor to come, and I'd wager a hundred toone that he will be there; he would travel ten leagues to put somethinggood into his stomach."
M. Fortunat's opinion coincided with Chupin's. "Very well," said he."Only you were a long time on the road, Victor."
"That's true, m'sieur; but I had a little matter of my own to attendto--a matter of a hundred francs, if you please."
M. Fortunat knit his brows angrily. "It's only right to attend tobusiness," said he; "but you think too much of money, Victor--altogethertoo much. You are insatiable."
The young man proudly lifted his head, and with an air of importance,replied: "I have so many responsibilities----"
"Responsibilities!--you?"
"Yes, indeed, m'sieur. And why not? My poor, good mother hasn't beenable to work for a year, and who would care for her if I didn't?Certainly not my father, the good-for-nothing scamp, who squandered allthe Duke de Sairmeuse's money without giving us a sou of it. Besides,I'm like other men, I'm anxious to be rich, and enjoy myself. I shouldlike to ride in my carriage like other people do. And whenever a gamin,such as I was once, opened the door for ME, I should put a five-francpiece in his hand----"
He was interrupted by Madame Dodelin, the worthy housekeeper, who rushedinto 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 devilbrings him here?" he anxiously stammered. "Tell him that I've goneout--tell him--"
But it was useless, for the marquis at that very moment entered theroom, and the agent could only dismiss his housekeeper and Chupin.
M. de Valorsay seemed to be very angry, and it looked as if he meantto give vent to his passion. 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 tenthousand 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 ofit first scarcely an hour ago through a letter from Madame Leon."
M. Fortunat hesitated somewhat. He was a quiet man, opposed to violenceof any kind; and it seemed to him that M. de Valorsay was twisting andturning his cane in a most ominous manner. "I must confess, Monsieur leMarquis," he at last replied, "that I had not the courage to tell you ofthe dreadful misfortune which had befallen us."
"How--US?"
"Certainly. If you lose the hope of several millions, I also lose theamount I advanced to you, forty thousand francs--my entire fortune. Andyet, you see that I don't complain. Do as I do--confess that the game islost."
The marquis was listening with an air of suppressed wrath; his facewas crimson, there was a dark frown on his brow, and his hands wereclinched. He was apparently furious with passion, but in reality hewas perfectly self-possessed. The best proof that can be given of hiscoolness is that he was carefully studying M. Fortunat's face, andtrying to discover the agent's real intentions under his meaninglesswords. He had expected to find "his dear extortioner" exasperated by hisloss, cursing and swearing, and demanding his money--but not at all.He found him more gentle and calm, colder and more reserved thanever; brimful of resignation indeed, and preaching submission to theinevitable. "What can this mean?" he thought, with an anxious heart."What mischief is the scoundrel plotting now? I'd wager a thousand toone that he's forging some thunderbolt to crush me." And, in a haughtytone, 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 illof me? Alas! circumstances are the only traitors. I shouldn't like todeprive you of the courage you so much need, but, honestly, it would befolly to struggle against destiny. How can you hope to succeed in yourplans? Have you not resorted to every possible expedient to prolong yourapparently brilliant existence until the present time? Are you not atsuch a point that you must marry Mademoiselle Marguerite in a month'stime, or perish? And now the count's millions are lost! If I mightbe allowed to give you some advice, I should say, 'The shipwreck isinevitable; think only of saving yourself.' By tact and shrewdness, youmight yet save something from your creditors. Compromise with them. Andif you need my services, here I am. Go to Nice, and give me a powerof attorney to act for you. From the debris of your fortune, I willundertake to guarantee you a competence which would satisfy many anambitious man."
The marquis laughed sneeringly. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "You wouldrid yourself of me and recov
er your forty thousand francs at the sametime. A very clever arrangement."
M. Fortunat realized that his client understood him; but what did itmatter? "I assure you----" he began.
But the marquis silenced him with a contemptuous gesture. "Let us stopthis nonsense," said he. "We understand each other better than that.I have never made any attempt to deceive you, nor have I ever supposedthat I had succeeded in doing so, and pray do me the honor to considerme as shrewd as yourself." And still refusing to listen to the agent, hecontinued: "If I have come to you, it is only because the case is not sodesperate as you suppose. I still hold some valuable cards which youare ignorant of. In your opinion, and every one else's, MademoiselleMarguerite 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 verynext day I will place her in possession of an income of a hundred andfifty thousand francs. But she must marry me first; and this scornfulmaiden will not grant me her hand unless I can convince her of my loveand 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 embarrassment alittle longer, she is mine. A friendless and homeless girl cannot defendherself long in Paris--especially when she has an adviser like MadameLeon. 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 yourassistance. Would you like to know what I want? Simply this--the meansto sustain me two or three months longer--some thirty thousand francs.You can procure the money--will you? It would make, in all, seventythousand francs that I should owe you, and I will promise to pay youtwo hundred and fifty thousand if I succeed--and I shall succeed! Suchprofit 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 trifleharsher; but that was all. "Confess, then, that you have resolved toruin 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 solidfoundation which my hopes rest upon."
But M. Fortunat had resolved to listen to nothing. He wished for noexplanations, so distrustful was he of himself--so much did he fearthat his adventurous nature would urge him to incur further risk. He waspositively afraid of the Marquis de Valorsay's eloquence; besides, heknew well enough that the person who consents to listen is at least halfconvinced. "Tell me nothing, monsieur," he hastily answered; "it wouldbe useless. I haven't the money. If I had given you ten thousand francslast night, I should have been compelled to borrow them of M. ProsperBertomy. 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 runafter my money. With me, whatever I may lose, I regard it as finallylost; I think no more about it, and turn to something else. So yourforty thousand francs have already been entered on my profit and lossaccount. And yet it would be easy enough for you to repay me, if youwould follow my advice and go quietly into bankruptcy."
"Never!" interrupted M. de Valorsay; "never! I do not wish totemporize," he continued. "I will save all, or save nothing. If yourefuse me your help, I shall apply elsewhere. I will never give mygood friends, who detest me, and whom I cordially hate in return, thedelicious joy of seeing the Marquis de Valorsay fall step by step fromthe high position he has occupied. I will never truckle to the men whomI have eclipsed for fifteen years. No, never! I would rather die, oreven commit the greatest crime!"
He suddenly checked himself, a trifle astonished, perhaps, by his ownplain-speaking; and, for a moment, he and M. Fortunat looked into eachother's eyes, striving to divine their respective secret thoughts.
The marquis was the first to speak. "And so," said he, in a tone whichhe strove to make persuasive, but which was threatening instead, "it issettled--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 aformidable blow with his clenched fist that several bundles of papersfell to the floor. His anger was not feigned now. "What are youplotting, then?" he exclaimed; "and what do you intend to do? What isyour object in betraying me? Take care! It is my life that I am goingto defend, and as truly as there is a God in heaven, I shall defend itwell. 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 youstanding between me and the Count de Chalusse's millions!"
Every drop of blood had fled from M. Fortunat's face, still his mien wascomposed and dignified. "You do wrong to threaten me," said he. "I don'tfear you in the least. If I were your enemy, I should bring suit againstyou for the forty thousand francs you owe me. I should not obtain mymoney, of course, but I could shatter the tottering edifice of yourfortune by a single blow. Besides, you forget that I possess a copy ofour agreement, signed by your own hand, and that I have only to showit to Mademoiselle Marguerite to give her a just opinion of yourdisinterestedness. Let us sever our connection now, monsieur, and eachgo his own way without reference to the other. If you should succeed youwill repay me."
Victory perched upon the agent's banner, and it was with a feeling ofpride that he saw his noble client depart, white and speechless withrage. "What a rascal that marquis is," he muttered. "I would certainlywarn Mademoiselle Marguerite, poor girl, if I were not so much afraid ofhim."
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