XIX.
"Ah! this is a bad job!" growled Chupin. "Go, go, and never stop!"
What exasperated him even more than his want of sleep was the thoughtthat his good mother must be waiting for him at home in an agony ofanxiety; for since his reformation he had become remarkably regular inhis habits. What should he do? "Go home," said Reason; "it will be easyenough to find this Wilkie again. There can be little doubt that helives at No. 48, in the Rue du Helder." "Remain," whispered Avarice;"and, since you have accomplished so much, finish your work. M. Fortunatwon't pay for conjectures, but for a certainty."
Love of money carried the day; so, weaving an interminable chaplet ofoaths, he followed the party until they entered Brebant's restaurant,one of the best known establishments which remain open at night-time. Itwas nearly two o'clock in the morning now; the boulevard was silent anddeserted, and yet this restaurant was brilliantly lighted from top tobottom, and snatches of song and shouts of laughter, with the clatterof knives and forks and the clink of glasses, could be heard through thehalf opened windows.
"Eight dozen Marennes for No. 6," shouted a waiter to the man who openedoysters near the restaurant door.
On hearing this order, Chupin shook his clenched fist at the stars. "Thewretches!" he muttered through his set teeth; "bad luck to them! Thoseoysters are for their mouths, plainly enough, for there are eight ofthem in all, counting those yellow-haired women. They will, no doubt,remain at table until six o'clock in the morning. And they call thisenjoying themselves. And meanwhile, poor little Chupin must wear out hisshoe-leather on the pavement. Ah! they shall pay for this!"
It ought to have been some consolation to him to see that he was notalone in his misery, for in front of the restaurant stood a dozen cabswith sleepy drivers, who were waiting for chance to send them one ofthose half-intoxicated passengers who refuse to pay more than fifteensous for their fare, but give their Jehu a gratuity of a louis. Allthese vehicles belonged to the peculiar category known as "nightcabs"--dilapidated conveyances with soiled, ragged linings, and drawn byhalf-starved, jaded horses.
However, Chupin neither thought of these vehicles, nor of the poorhorses, nor, indeed, of the drivers themselves. His wrath had beensucceeded by philosophical resignation; he accepted with good grace whathe could not avoid. As the night air had become very cool, he turned upthe collar of his overcoat, and began to pace to and fro on the pavementin front of the restaurant. He had made a hundred turns perhaps, passingthe events of the day in review, when suddenly such a strange andstartling idea flashed across his mind that he stood motionless, lostin astonishment. Reflecting on the manner in which M. Wilkie and theViscount de Coralth had behaved during the evening, a singular suspicionassailed him. While M. Wilkie gradually lost his wits, M. de Coralthhad become remarkably cold and reserved. He had seemed to oppose all M.Wilkie's propositions; but he had agreed to them at last, so that hisobjections had produced much the same effect as a stimulant. It seemedthen as if M. de Coralth had some strange interest in wishing to gainascendency over his friend. At least such was Chupin's opinion. "Oh,oh!" he murmured. "What if HE should be working up the same littlescheme? What if he were acquainted with Madame Lia d'Argeles? What if heknew that there's a fortune waiting for a claimant? I shouldn't at allbe surprised if I found that he wanted to cook his bread in our oven.But father Fortunat wouldn't be pleased with the news. Ah! no--hewouldn't even smile----"
While carrying on this little conversation with himself, he stood justin front of the restaurant, looking up into the air, when all of asudden a window was thrown noisily open, and the figures of two menbecame plainly visible. They were engaged in a friendly struggle; one ofthem seemed to be trying to seize hold of something which the other hadin his hand, and which he refused to part with. One of these men was M.Wilkie as Chupin at once perceived. "Good!" he said to himself; "this isthe beginning of the end!"
As he spoke, M. Wilkie's hat fell on the window-sill, slipped off, anddropped on to the pavement below. With a natural impulse Chupin pickedit up, and he was turning it over and over in his hands, when M. Wilkieleant out of the window and shouted in a voice that was thick with wine:"Halloo! Eh, there! Who picked up my hat? Honesty shall be rewarded. Aglass of champagne and a cigar for the fellow who'll bring it me in roomNo. 6."
Chupin hesitated. By going up, he might, perhaps, compromise the successof his mission. But on the other hand his curiosity was aroused, andhe very much wished to see, with his own eyes, how these young men wereamusing themselves. Besides, he would have an opportunity of examiningthis handsome viscount, whom he was certain he had met before, though hecould not tell when or where. In the meantime, M. Wilkie had perceivedhim.
"Come, you simpleton!" he cried; "make haste. You can't be verythirsty."
The thought of the viscount decided Chupin. Entering the restaurantand climbing the staircase, he had just reached the landing when apale-looking man, who had a smoothly-shaven face and was dressed inblack, barred his way and asked: "What do you want?"
"M'sieur, here's a hat which fell from one of your windows and----"
"All right, hand it here."
But Chupin did not seem to hear this order. He was beginning a longexplanation, when a curtain near by was pushed aside, and M. Wilkiecalled out: "Philippe! eh, Philippe!--bring me the man who picked up myhat."
"Ah!" said Chupin, "you see, m'sieur, that he asks for me."
"Very well," said Philippe. "Go on, then." And raising the portiere hepushed Chupin into room No. 6.
It was a small, square apartment, with a very low ceiling. Thetemperature was like that of a furnace, and the glare of the gaslightsalmost blinded one. The supper was over, but the table had not yet beencleared, and plates full of leavings showed that the guests had fairlyexhausted their appetites. Still, with the exception of M. Wilkie, everyone present seemed to be terribly bored. In one corner, with her headresting on a piano, sat one of the yellow-haired damsels, fast asleep,while, beside the window, M. de Coralth was smoking with his elbowspropped upon the table. The four other young men were looking onphlegmatically. "Ah! here's my hat," exclaimed M. Wilkie, as soon asChupin appeared. "Wait and receive your promised reward." Andthereupon he rang the bell, crying at the top of his voice: "Henry,you sleepy-head--a clean glass and some more of the widow Cliquot'schampagne!"
Several bottles were standing upon the table, only half empty, andone of M. Wilkie's friends called his attention to this fact, but heshrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "You must take me for a fool," hesaid, contemptuously. "A man doesn't drink stale wine when he has theprospect of such an inheritance as is coming to me."
"Wilkie!" interrupted M. de Coralth, quickly; "Wilkie!"
But he was too late; Chupin had heard and understood everything. Hisconjectures had proved correct. M. Wilkie knew his right to the estate;M. Fortunat had been forestalled by the viscount, and would merelyhave his labor for his pains. "No chance for the guv'nor!" thought theagent's emissary. "And what a blow after the De Valorsay affair! It'senough to give him the jaundice!"
For a youth of his age, Chupin controlled his feelings admirably; butthe revelation came so suddenly that he had started despite himself, andchanged color a trifle. M. de Coralth saw this; and, though he was farfrom suspecting the truth, his long repressed anger burst forth. He roseabruptly, took up a bottle, and filling the nearest glass, he rudelyexclaimed: "Come, drink that--make haste--and clear out!"
Victor Chupin must have become very sensitive since his conversion. Informer times he was not wont to be so susceptible as to lose his temperwhen some one chanced to address him in a rather peremptory manner, orto offer him wine out of the first available glass. But M. de Coralthinspired him with one of those inexplicable aversions which cannot berestrained "Eh! tell me if it's because we've drank champagne togetherbefore that you talk to me like that?" the young fellow retorted,savagely.
It was only a random shot, but it reached home. The viscount seemedtouched to the quick. "You hear that, Wilkie," said
he. "This will teachyou that the time of your compatriot, Lord Seymour, has passed by. Thegood-humored race of plebeians who respectfully submitted to the blowswith which noblemen honored them after drinking, has died out. Thisought to cure you of your unfortunate habit of placing yourself on termsof equality with all the vagabonds you meet."
Chupin's hair fairly bristled with anger. "What! what!" he exclaimed;"I'll teach you to call me a vagabond, you scoundrel!"
His gesture, his attitude, and his eyes were so expressive of defianceand menace that two of the guests sprang up and caught him by the arm."Go, go," they said.
But he freed himself from their grasp. "Go!" he replied. "Never! Hecalled me a vagabond. Am I to pocket the insult quietly and walk offwith it? You can scarcely expect that. First, I demand an apology."
This was asking too much of the Viscount de Coralth. "Let the foolalone," he remarked, with affected coolness, "and ring for the waitersto kick him out."
It did not require this new insult to put Chupin in a furious passion."Come on!" he exclaimed. "Ah, ha! Where's the fellow who'll turn me out?Let him come. I'll teach him a lesson!" And as he spoke he squared hisshoulders, inflated his chest, and threw the weight of his entire bodyon his left leg, after the most approved method of sparring-masters.
"Go, go!" insisted Wilkie's friends.
"Yes, I'll go with pleasure, but your friend must go, too. Is he a man?Then let him come, and we'll settle this outside." And seeing that theywere again trying to seize him: "Hands off!" he thundered, "or I'llstrike. You were not obliged to invite me here. It isn't my business tofurnish amusement to parties who've drunk too much wine. And whyshould you despise me? It's true I haven't any money while you haveplenty--that I work and you carouse. Still that's no reason whyyou should scorn me. Besides, those who are poor in the morning aresometimes rich in the evening. Every dog has his day. I have an ideathat I shall have some coin when yours is all gone. Then it will bemy turn to laugh; and as I'm a good-natured fellow, I will give you myhalf-smoked cigars."
M. Wilkie seemed delighted. He had climbed on to the piano and seatedhimself, with his feet on the keyboard; and there, as on a judgmentseat, he listened and applauded, alternately taking Chupin's part, andthen the viscount's. "Bravo, gamin!" or, "Give it to him, Coralth!" heshouted in turn.
This irritated the viscount exceedingly. "I see that we shall be obligedto call in the police to settle the affair," he said, sneeringly.
"The police!" roared Chupin. "Ah! that won't do, you scamp--" But hisvoice died away in his throat, and he stood motionless, speechless, withhis arm raised as if he were about to strike, and his eyes dilated withastonishment.
For a change of expression in M. de Coralth's face had enlightened him;and he suddenly recollected when and under what circumstances he hadknown this so-called viscount. He remembered, too, the name he had bornewhen he first met him. "Oh!" he stammered; "oh! oh!"
However, the effect of this discovery was to dispel his anger, or ratherto restore his calmness, and, addressing M. de Coralth, he exclaimed:"Don't be angry at what I've said, m'sieur; it was only a jest--Iknow that there's a wide difference between a poor devil like me and aviscount like you--I haven't a sou, you see, and that maddens me. ButI'm not so very bad-looking, fortunately, and I'm always hoping thatthe daughter of some rich banker will fall in love with me and marry me.Some people have such luck, you know. If I meet with any you may be sureI shall pass myself off as the lost child of some great personage--ofa duke, for instance--and if the real son exists, and troubles me, whyI'll quietly put him out of the way, if possible."
With but one exception the persons present did not understand a singleword of this apparent nonsense; and indeed the yellow-haired damselsstared at the speaker in amazement. Still it was evident that each ofthese words had a meaning, and a terrible meaning for M. de Coralth.Accustomed for years to control his features, he remained apparentlyunmoved--he even smiled; but a close observer could have detectedanguish in his eyes, and he had become very pale. At last, unable toendure the scene any longer, he drew a hundred-franc bank-note fromhis pocketbook, crumpled it in his hand and threw it at Chupin, saying:"That's a very pretty story you are telling, my boy; but we've hadenough of it. Take your pay and leave us."
Unfortunately, the note struck Chupin full in the face. He uttered ahoarse cry of rage, and, by the way in which he seized and brandished anempty bottle, it might have been imagined that M. de Coralth was aboutto have his head broken. But no. Thanks to a supreme effort of will,Chupin conquered this mad fury; and, dropping the bottle, he remarkedto the young women who were uttering panic-stricken shrieks: "Be quiet;don't you see that I was only in fun."
But even M. Wilkie had found the fun a little rough, and even dangerous.Several of the young fellows present sprang up, with the evidentintention of pushing Chupin out of the room, but he checked them witha gesture. "Don't disturb yourselves, gentlemen," he said. "I'm going,only let me find the bank-note which this gentleman threw at me."
"That's quite proper," replied M. Wilkie, approvingly; "look for it."
Chupin did so, and at last found it lying almost under the piano. "Now,"he remarked, "I should like a cigar."
A score or so were lying in a dish. He gravely selected one of themand coolly cut off the end of it before placing it in his mouth.Those around watched him with an air of profound astonishment, notunderstanding this ironical calmness following so closely upon such astorm of passion. Then he, Victor Chupin, who had, it seems to me, butone aim in life--to become rich--Victor Chupin, who loved money aboveanything else, and had stifled all other passions in his soul--he whooften worked two whole days to earn five francs--he who did not disdainto claim his five sous when he went to hire a cab for his employer--he,Chupin, twisted the bank-note in his fingers, lit it at the gas, andused it to light his cigar.
"Ah! he's crazy!" murmured the yellow-haired damsels, with despair intheir voices.
But M. Wilkie was enthusiastic. "There's form!" said he. "Fine form andno mistake!"
But Chupin did not even deign to turn his head. He opened the door, andstanding on the threshold, he bowed to M. de Coralth with an ironicalsmile. "Until we meet again, Monsieur Paul," said he. "And kindlyremember me to Madame Paul, if you please."
If the others had been less astonished, they would have no doubt haveremarked the prodigious effect of this name upon their brilliant friend.He became ghastly pale and fell back in his chair. Then, suddenly,he bounded up as if he wished to attack his enemy. But pursuit seemedlikely to yield no result, for Chupin was already on the boulevard.
It was daybreak. Paris was waking up; the bakers were standing at theirdoors, and boys in their shirt-sleeves, with their eyes swollen withsleep, were taking down the shutters of the wine-shops. A cloud of dust,raised by the street-sweepers, hung in the distance; the rag-pickerswandered about, peering among the rubbish; the noisy milk-carts joltedalong at a gallop, and workmen were proceeding to their daily toil,with hunches of bread in their hands. The morning air was very chilly;nevertheless, Chupin seated himself on a bench across the boulevard, ata spot where he could watch the entrance of the restaurant withoutbeing seen. He had just experienced one of those sudden shocks which sodisturb the mind, that one becomes insensible to outward circumstances,whatever they may be. He had recognized in the so-called Viscount deCoralth, the man whom he had hated above all others in the world,or, rather, the only man whom he hated, for his was not a bad heart.Impressionable to excess like a true child of the faubourgs, he had theParisian's strange mobility of feeling. If his anger was kindled bya trifle, the merest nothing usually sufficed to extinguish it. Butmatters were different respecting this handsome viscount! "God! how Ihate him!" he hissed through his set teeth. "God! how I hate him!"
For once, years before, as he had confessed to M. Fortunat, Chupin hadbeen guilty of a cowardly and abominable act, which had nearly costa man his life. And this crime, if it had been successful, would havebenefited the very fellow who concealed his sin
ful, shameful pastunder the high-sounding name of Coralth. How was it that Chupin had notrecognized him at once? Because he had worked for this fellow withoutknowing him, receiving his orders through the miserable wretches whopandered to his vices. He had only seen him personally once or twice,and had never spoken to him. Later--too late--he discovered whatvile intrigue it was that he had served. And when he became sincerelyrepentant he loathed this Coralth who had caused his crime.
Nor was this all. The recognition of Coralth had inspired him withremorse. It had aroused in the recesses of his conscience a threateningvoice which cried: "What are you doing here? You are acting as a spy fora man you distrust, and whose real designs you are ignorant of. It wasin this way you began before. Have you forgotten what it led to? Haveyou not sin enough already upon your conscience? Blood enough upon yourhands? It is folly to pretend that one may serve as a tool for villains,and still remain an honest man!"
It was this voice which had given Chupin the courage to light his cigarwith the bank-note. And this voice still tortured him, as seated on thebench he now tried to review the situation. Where, indeed, was he? Withrare good luck he had discovered the son whom Madame Lia d'Argeles hadso long and successfully concealed. But contrary to all expectations,this young fellow already knew of the inheritance which he was entitledto. M. de Coralth had already achieved what M. Fortunat had meant to do;and so the plan was a failure, and it was useless to persist in it.
This would have ended the matter if Chupin had not chanced to knowthe Viscount de Coralth's shameful past. And this knowledge changedeverything, for it gave him the power to interfere in a most effectualmanner. Armed with this secret, he could bestow the victory on M.Fortunat, and force M. de Coralth to capitulate. And he could do thisall the more easily, as he was sure that Coralth had not recognizedhim, and that he was perhaps ignorant of his very existence. Chupin hadallowed himself to be carried away by a sudden impulse of anger whichhe regretted; he had made an ironical illusion to his enemy's past life,but after all this had done no particular harm. So nothing prevented himfrom lending M. Fortunat his assistance, and thus killing two birds withone stone. He could have his revenge on Coralth, and at the same timeinsure his patron a large fee, of which he could claim a considerableshare for himself. But no! The idea of deriving any profit whatever fromthis affair inspired him with a feeling of disgust--honor triumphed overhis naturally crafty and avaricious nature. It seemed to him that anymoney made in this way would soil his fingers; for he realized theremust be some deep villainy under all this plotting and planning; he wassure of it, since Coralth was mixed up in the affair. "I will servemy guv'nor for nothing," he decided. "When a man is avenged, he's wellpaid."
Chupin decided upon this course because he could think of no betterplan. Still, if he had been master of events he would have actedotherwise. He would have quietly presented the government with thisinheritance which he found M. Wilkie so unworthy of. "The devil onlyknows what he'll do with it," he thought. "He'll squander it as myfather squandered the fortune that was given him. It is only fools whomeet with such luck as that."
However, his meditations did not prevent him from keeping a close watchover the restaurant, for it was of the utmost importance that M. Wilkieshould not escape him. It was now broad daylight, and customers wereleaving the establishment; for, after passing what is generally concededto be a joyous night, they felt the need of returning home to rest andsleep. Chupin watched them as they emerged. There were some who came outwith drooping heads, mumbling incoherent phrases; while others who wereequally intoxicated, but more nervous, evinced considerable animation,and sang snatches of songs, or jested loudly with the street-sweepers asthey passed on. The more sober, surprised by the sunlight, and blushingat themselves, slunk hastily and quietly away. There was one man,moreover, whom the waiters were obliged to carry to his cab, for hecould no longer stand on his feet.
At last Chupin saw the individual clad in black whom Wilkie hadaddressed as Philippe, and who had endeavored to prevent him fromentering the restaurant, come out, and walk rapidly away. He was warmlyclad in a thick overcoat, but he shivered, and his pale, wan facebetrayed the man who is a martyr to the pleasures of others--the man whois condemned to be up all night and sleep only in the daytime--the manwho can tell you how much folly and beastliness lurk in the depths ofthe wine-cup, and who knows exactly how many yawns are expressed by theverb "to amuse one's self." Chupin was beginning to feel uneasy. "Can M.Wilkie and his friends have made their escape?" he wondered.
But at that very moment they made their appearance. They lingered awhileon the pavement to chat, and Chupin had an opportunity of observingthe effect of their night's dissipation on their faces. The brilliantsunlight made their eyes blink, and the cold sent purple blotches totheir bloated cheeks. As for the young women with yellow hair, theyappeared as they really were--hideous. They entered the only cab thatremained, the most dilapidated one of all, and the driver of whichhad no little difficulty in setting his horse in motion; whereupon thegentlemen went off on foot.
Many persons would have been vexed and even humiliated by the necessityof appearing at this hour on the boulevard in disorderly attire, whichplainly indicated that they had spent the night in debauchery. Butwith the exception of the Viscount de Coralth, who was evidently out ofhumor, the party seemed delighted with themselves, as it was easy tosee by the way they met the glances of the passers-by. They consideredthemselves first-class form--they were producing an effect--they wereastonishing people. And what more could they desire?
One thing is certain--they were irritating Chupin terribly. He wasfollowing them on the opposite side of the boulevard, at some littledistance in the rear, for he was afraid of being recognized. "Thewretches!" he growled. "One couldn't draw a pint of manly blood from theveins of all six of them. Ah, if they knew how I hate them!"
But he had not long to nurse his wrath. On reaching the Rue Drouot,two of the gentlemen left the party, and two more went down the RueLepelletier. M. Wilkie and the viscount were left to walk down theboulevard alone. They linked their arms and carried on an animatedconversation until they reached the Rue du Helder, where they shookhands and separated. What had they said at parting? What agreement hadbeen made between them? Chupin would willingly have given a hundred sousfrom his private purse to have known. He would have given as much moreto have been able to double himself, in order to pursue the viscount,who had started off in the direction of the Madeleine, without having togive up watching and following his friend. But the days of miracles areover. So Chupin sighed, and, following Wilkie, he soon saw him enterNo. 48 of the Rue du Helder. The concierge, who was at the door busilyengaged in polishing the bell-handle, bowed respectfully. "So there itis!" grumbled Chupin. "I knew he lived there--I knew it by the way thatMadame d'Argeles looked at the windows yesterday evening. Poor woman!Ah! her son's a fine fellow and no mistake!"
His compassion for the unhappy mother seemed to recall him to a senseof duty. "Scoundrel that I am!" he exclaimed, striking his forehead withhis clenched fist. "Why, I'm forgetting my own good mother!" And as histask was now ended, he started off on the run, taking the shortest cutto the Faubourg Saint-Denis. "Poor mother!" he said to himself as hetore along, "what a night she must have had! She must have cried hereyes out!"
He spoke the truth. The poor woman had passed a night of agony--countingthe hours, and trembling each time the door of the house opened,announcing some tenant's return. And as morning approached, her anxietyincreased. "For her son would not have allowed her to remain in suchsuspense," she said to herself, "unless he had met with some accident orencountered some of his former friends--those detestable scamps who hadtried to make him as vile as themselves." Perhaps he had met his father,Polyte Chupin, the man whom she still loved in spite of everything,because he was her husband, but whom she judged, and whom indeed sheknew, to be capable of any crime. And of all misfortunes, it was anaccident, even a fatal accident, that she dreaded least. In her heroicsoul the voice of honor spoke
even more loudly than the imperiousinstinct of maternity; and she would rather have found her son lyingdead on the marble slabs of the Morgue than seated in the dock at theAssize Court.
Her poor eyes were weary of weeping when she at last recognized Victor'sfamiliar step approaching down the passage. She hastily opened the door,and as soon as she FELT that he was near her, for she could not see him,she asked: "Where have you spent the night? Where have you come from?What has happened?"
His only answer was to fling his arms round her neck, following alikethe impulse of his heart and the advice of experience, which told himthat this would be the best explanation he could give. Still it did notprevent him from trying to justify himself, although he was careful notto confess the truth, for he dreaded his mother's censure, knowing wellenough that she would be less indulgent than his own conscience.
"I believe you, my son," said the good woman, gravely; "you wouldn'tdeceive me, I'm sure." And she added: "What reassured me, when youkissed me, was that you hadn't been drinking."
Chupin did not speak a word; this confidence made him strangely uneasy."May I be hung," he thought, "if after this I ever do anything that Ican't confess to this poor good woman!"
But he hadn't time for sentimental reflections. He had gone too farto draw back, and it was necessary for him to report the result of hisresearches as soon as possible. Accordingly, he hastily ate a morsel,for he was faint with hunger, and started out again, promising to returnto dinner. He was in all the greater haste as it was Sunday. M. Fortunatwas in the habit of passing these days in the country, and Chupin fearedhe might fail to see him if he was not expeditious in his movements. Andwhile running to the Place de la Bourse, he carefully prepared the storyhe meant to relate, deeply impressed by the wisdom of the popular maximwhich says: "It is not always well to tell the whole truth." Ought heto describe the scene at the restaurant, mention Coralth, and say thatthere was nothing more to be done respecting M. Wilkie? After maturedeliberation he decided in the negative. If he revealed everything, M.Fortunat might become discouraged and abandon the affair. It would bebetter to let him discover the truth himself, and profit by his anger toindicate a means of vengeance.
It happened that M. Fortunat had decided not to go to the countrythat Sunday. He had slept later than usual, and was still in hisdressing-gown when Chupin made his appearance. He uttered a joyful cryon seeing his emissary, feeling assured that he must be the bearerof good news, since he came so early. "You have succeeded, then?" heexclaimed.
"Yes, monsieur."
"You have discovered Madame d'Argeles's son?"
"I have him."
"Ah! I knew that you were a clever fellow. Quick, tell me everything.But no, wait a moment."
He rang the bell, and Madame Dodelin at once made her appearance. "Putanother plate on the table," said the agent. "M. Chupin will breakfastwith me--and serve us at once. You agree, don't you, Victor? It's teno'clock; I'm hungry; and we can talk better over a bottle of wine."
This was a great honor; and it gave Chupin a fitting idea of the valueof the service he had rendered. He was not too much elated, however;though he felt very sorry that he had eaten before he came. On his side,M. Fortunat by no means regretted having conferred this favor on hisclerk, for the story which the latter related, caused him intensedelight. "Very good!--well done," he exclaimed every other minute. "Icould not have done better myself. You shall be abundantly rewarded,Victor, if this affair is successful." And at this thought hissatisfaction overflowed in a complacent monologue: "Why shouldn't itsucceed?" he asked himself. "Could anything be more simple and certain?I can make any demand I please--one, two, three hundred thousand francs.Ah, it was a good thing that the Count de Chalusse died! Now, I canforgive Valorsay. Let him keep my forty thousand francs; he's quitewelcome to them! Let him marry Mademoiselle Marguerite; I wish thema large and flourishing family! And Madame d'Argeles, too, has mybenediction!"
He was so confident his fortune was made that at noon he could restrainhimself no longer. He hired a cab and accompanied by Chupin he set outfor M. Wilkie's abode, declaring that he would wake that young gentlemanup if needs be, but at all events he must see him without delay. When hereached the Rue du Helder, he told Chupin to wait in the cab, and thenentering the house, he asked: "Monsieur Wilkie?"
"On the second floor, the door to the right," replied the concierge.
M. Fortunat ascended the stairs very slowly, for he felt the necessityof regaining all his composure, and it was not until he had broughthimself to a proper frame of mind that he rang the bell. A smallservant, M. Wilkie's fag, who took his revenge in robbing his employermost outrageously, came to the door, and began by declaring that hismaster was out of town. But M. Fortunat understood how to force doorsopen, and his manoeuvres succeeded so well that he was finally allowedto enter a small sitting-room, while the servant went off, saying: "Iwill go and inform monsieur."
Instead of wasting time in congratulating himself on this firstachievement the agent began to inspect the room in which he foundhimself, as well as another apartment, the door of which stood open. Forhe was of the opinion that a dwelling-place indicates the character ofits inmate, as surely as a shell indicates the form of the creature thatinhabits it. M. Wilkie was comfortably lodged; but his rooms weremost pretentiously ornamented. They were indeed decorated in morethan doubtful taste. There were very few books lying about, but costlyriding-whips, spurs, rifles, cartridge-boxes, and all the paraphernaliaof a fashionable sporting man, were here in abundance.
The only pictures on the wall were a few portraits of celebrated horses,which foreshadowed the fact that M. Wilkie must have, at least, aneighth share in some well-known racer. After this inspection, M.Fortunat smiled complacently. "This young fellow has expensive tastes,"he thought. "It will be very easy to manage him."
However his reflections were interrupted by the return of the servant,who exclaimed: "My master is in the dining-room, and if monsieur willenter----"
The heir-hunter did enter, and found himself face to face with M.Wilkie, who was partaking of a cup of chocolate. He was not only up,but he was dressed to go out--dressed in such a style that he would havebeen taken for a respectable groom. A couple of hours' sleep had madehim himself again; and he had regained the arrogance of manner which wasthe distinguishing trait of his character, and a sure sign that he wasin prosperous circumstances. As his unknown visitor entered he lookedup, and bruskly asked: "What do you want?"
"I called on business, monsieur."
"Ah, well! this isn't a favorable moment. I must be at Vincennes for theraces. I'm interested in a horse. So, you understand----"
M. Fortunat was secretly amused by M. Wilkie's nonchalance. "The youngfellow won't be in so much of a hurry when he learns my business," hethought. And he replied aloud: "I can explain what brings me in a fewwords, monsieur."
"Proceed, then."
M. Fortunat began by closing the door which had been intentionally leftopen by the servant; and then, returning to M. Wilkie's side, he beganwith an air of the greatest mystery: "What would you give a shrewdman if he suddenly placed you in undisputed possession of an immensefortune--of a million--two millions, perhaps?"
He had prepared this little effect most carefully, and he fully expectedto see Wilkie fall on his knees before him. But not at all; the younggentleman's face never moved a muscle; and it was in the calmestpossible tone, and with his mouth half full that he replied: "I knowthe rest. You come, don't you, to sell me the secret of an unclaimedinheritance, which belongs to me? Very well, you have come too late."
If the ceiling had fallen and crushed M. Fortunat there and then hewould, mentally at least, have not been in a more pitiable condition. Hestood silent, motionless, utterly confounded, with his mouth wide open,and such an expression of consternation in his eyes that M. Wilkieburst into a hearty laugh. Still the agent struggled against fate, andultimately faltered: "Let me explain--permit me----"
"Oh, it would be useless. I know my rights. I have
already arranged witha party to prosecute my claims; the agreement will be signed on the dayafter to-morrow."
"With whom?"
"Ah, excuse me; that's my affair."
He had finished his chocolate, and he now poured out a glass ofice-water, drank it, wiped his mouth, and rose from the table. "You willexcuse me, my dear sir, if I leave you," he remarked. "As I said before,I am going to Vincennes. I have staked a thousand louis on 'Pompier deNanterre,' my horse, and my friends have ventured ten times as much. Whoknows what may happen if I'm not there at the start?" And then, ignoringM. Fortunat as completely as if he had not existed, M. Wilkie exclaimed:"Toby, you fool! where are you? Is my carriage below? Quick, bring me mycane, my gloves, and my glasses. Take down that basket of champagne. Runand put on your new livery. Make haste, you little beast, I shall be toolate."
M. Fortunat left the room. The frightful anger that had followed hisidiotic stupor sent his blood rushing madly to his brain. A purple mistswam before his eyes; there was a loud ringing in his ears, and witheach pulsation of his heart his head seemed to receive a blow froma heavy hammer. His feelings were so terrible that he was reallyfrightened. "Am I about to have an attack of apoplexy?" he wondered.And, as every surrounding object seemed to whirl around him, the veryfloor itself apparently rising and falling under his feet, he remainedon the landing waiting for this horrible vertigo to subside and doinghis best to reason with himself. It was fully five minutes before hedared to risk the descent; and even when he reached the street, hisfeatures were so frightfully distorted that Chupin trembled.
He sprang out, assisted his employer into the cab, and bade the driverreturn to the Place de la Bourse. It was really pitiful to see thedespair which had succeeded M. Fortunat's joyful confidence. "This isthe end of everything," he groaned. "I'm robbed, despoiled, ruined! Andsuch a sure thing as it seemed. These misfortunes happen to no one butme! Some one in advance of me! Some one else will capture the prize! Oh,if I knew the wretch, if I only knew him!"
"One moment," interrupted Chupin; "I think know the man."
M. Fortunat gave a violent start. "Impossible!" he exclaimed.
"Excuse me, monsieur--it must be a vile rascal named Coralth."
It was a bellow rather than a cry of rage that escaped M. Fortunat'slips. To a man of his experience, only a glimmer of light was requiredto reveal the whole situation. "Ah! I understand!--I see!" he exclaimed."Yes, you are right, Victor; it's he--Coralth--Valorsay's tool! Coralthwas the traitor who, in obedience to Valorsay's orders, ruined theman who loved Mademoiselle Marguerite. The deed was done at Madamed'Argeles's house. So Coralth knows her, and knows her secret. It's hewho has outwitted me." He reflected for a moment, and then, in a verydifferent tone, he said: "I shall never see a penny of the count'smillions, and my forty thousand francs are gone forever; but, as Heavenhears me, I will have some satisfaction for my money. Ah!--so Coralthand Valorsay combine to ruin me! Very well!--since this is the case,I shall espouse the cause of Mademoiselle Marguerite and of theunfortunate man they've ruined. Ah, my cherubs, you don't know Fortunatyet! Now well see if the innocent don't get the best of you, and if theydon't unmask you. I shall do my best, since you have forced me to doit--and gratis too!"
Chupin was radiant; his vengeance was assured. "And I, monsieur," saidhe, "will give you some information about this Coralth. First of all,the scoundrel's married and his wife keeps a tobacco-shop somewhere nearthe Route d'Asnieres. I'll find her for you--see if I don't."
The sudden stopping of the vehicle which had reached the Place de laBourse, cut his words short. M. Fortunat ordered him to pay thedriver, while he himself rushed upstairs, eager to arrange his plan ofcampaign--to use his own expression. In his absence a commissionaire hadbrought a letter for him which Madame Dodelin now produced. He broke theseal, and read to his intense surprise: "Monsieur--I am the ward ofthe late Count de Chalusse. I must speak to you. Will you grant me aninterview on Wednesday next, at a quarter-past three o'clock? Yoursrespectfully,
"MARGUERITE."
The Count's Millions Page 19
