The Count's Millions

by Emile Gaboriau

  XX.

  When Mademoiselle Marguerite left the dead count's bedside at teno'clock at night to repair to Pascal Ferailleur's house, she did not yetdespair of the future. Father, friend, rank, security, fortune--she hadlost all these in a single moment--but she could still see a promise ofhappiness in the distance.

  She suffered undoubtedly, and yet she experienced a sort of bitterpleasure at the thought of uniting her life to the man who was asunfortunate as herself, who was slandered as she herself had beenslandered, branded with the most cruel and unjust imputations, and hadneither fortune nor friends. Others might scorn them; but what did theycare for the world's disdain so long as they had the approval of theirconsciences? Would not their mutual esteem suffice since they loved eachother? It seemed to Marguerite that their very misfortunes would bindthem more closely to each other, and cement the bonds of their lovemore strongly. And if it were absolutely necessary for them to leaveFrance--ah, well! they would leave it. To them Fatherland would alwaysbe the spot where they lived together.

  As the cab approached the Rue d'Ulm she pictured Pascal's sorrow, andthe joy and surprise he would feel when she suddenly appeared beforehim, and faltered: "They accuse you--here I am! I know that you areinnocent, and I love you!"

  But the brutal voice of the concierge, informing her of Pascal's secretdeparture, in the most insulting terms, abruptly dispelled her dreams.If Pascal had failed her, everything had failed her. If she had losthim, she had lost her all. The world seemed empty--struggling would befolly--happiness was only an empty name. She indeed longed for death!

  Madame Leon who had a set of formulas adapted to all circumstances,undertook to console her. "Weep, my dear young lady, weep; it will doyou good. Ah! this is certainly a horrible catastrophe. You are young,fortunately, and Time is a great consoler. M. Ferailleur isn't theonly man on earth. Others will love you. There are others who love youalready!"

  "Silence!" interrupted Marguerite, more revolted than if she had hearda libertine whispering shameful proposals in her ear. "Silence! I forbidyou to add another word." To speak of another--what sacrilege! Poorgirl. She was one of those whose life is bound up in one love alone, andif that fails them--it is death!

  The thought that she was utterly alone added to the horror of hersituation. Whom could she depend upon? Not on Madame Leon. Shedistrusted her; she had no confidence whatever in her. Should sheask for the advice of either of her suitors? The Marquis de Valorsayinspired her with unconquerable aversion, and she despised the so-calledGeneral de Fondege. So her only friend, her only protector was astranger, the old justice of the peace who had taken her defence, bycrushing the slander of the servants, and whom she had opened her heartto. But he would soon forget her, she thought; and the future, such asit was presented to her imagination, seemed a terrible one. However, shewas too courageous to remain for long in despair--she struggled againsther sorrow; and the thought that she might, perhaps, reach Pascalthrough M. Fortunat at last occurred to her mind. This hope was her solechance of salvation. She clung to it as a shipwrecked mariner clings tothe plank which is his only hope of life.

  When she returned to the mansion her mind was made up, and she hadregained her usual composure. For ten minutes or so she had been prayingby the count's bedside, when M. Bourigeau, the concierge, appeared andhanded her a letter which had just been brought to the house. It wasaddressed to "Mademoiselle Marguerite de Durtal de Chalusse, at theHotel de Chalusse, Rue de Courcelles."

  Mademoiselle Marguerite blushed. Who was it that addressed her bythis name which she no longer had the right to bear? She studied thehandwriting for a moment, but she did not remember ever having seen itbefore. At last, however, she opened the letter and read: "My dear,dear child." "Dear child!" indeed. What could this mean? Was there anyone in the world sufficiently interested in her welfare, or loving herenough, to address her in this style? She quickly turned the sheet tosee the signature; and when her eyes fell on it she turned pale. "Ah!"she exclaimed, involuntarily, "ah! ah!"

  The letter was signed: "Athenais de Fondege." It had been written bythe General's wife. She resumed her perusal of it, and this is what sheread: "I this instant hear of the cruel loss you have sustained, andalso learn that, for want of testamentary provisions, the poor Count deChalusse leaves you, his idolized daughter, almost without resources. Iwill not attempt to offer you consolation, God alone can assuage certainsorrows. I should come and weep with you if I were not kept in bed byillness. But to-morrow, whatever happens, I shall be with you beforebreakfast. It is at such a time as this, my poor dear afflicted child,that one can tell one's true friends; and we are yours as I hope toprove. The General feels that he should be insulting and betraying thememory of a man who was his dearest friend for thirty years, if he didnot take the count's place, if he did not become your second father.He has offered you our modest home; you have refused. Why? With theauthority conferred upon me by my age and my position as the mother ofa family, I tell you that you ought to accept. What other course can youpossibly think of? Where would you go, my poor, dear child? But we willdiscuss this matter to-morrow. I shall find a way to persuade you tolove us, and to allow yourself to be loved. In MY heart you will fillthe place of the beloved and lamented daughter I have lost--my beautifuland gentle Bathilde. Once more I say farewell until to-morrow--trustingthat you will accept the sympathy and affection of your best friend,

  "ATHENAIS DE FONDEGE."

  Mademoiselle Marguerite was thunderstruck, for the writer of thisepistle was a lady whom she had only met five or six times, who hadnever visited her, and with whom she had scarcely exchanged twentywords. Moreover, she well remembered certain glances with which Madamede Fondege had, on one occasion, tried to crush her--glances so full ofcruel contempt that they had drawn bitter tears of sorrow, shame, andanger, from the poor girl. The count himself had said to her at thetime: "Don't be so childish, Marguerite, as to trouble yourself aboutthis foolish and impudent woman."

  And now this same woman sent her a letter overflowing with sympathy,and claimed her affection and confidence in the tone of an old and triedfriend. Was such a change natural? Not being what is called a credulousperson, Mademoiselle Marguerite was unable to believe it. She divinedthat Madame de Fondege must have had some hidden motive in writing sucha letter--but what motive was it? Alas! she divined this also only toowell. The General, suspecting that she had stolen the missing money, hadimparted his suspicions to his wife; and she, being as avaricious and asunscrupulous as himself, was doing her best to secure the booty for herson. Such a calculation is a common one nowadays. Steal yourself? Fie.never! You would not dare. Besides, you are honest. But it is quite adifferent thing to profit by other people's rascality. Besides, thereare no risks to be encountered.

  On perusing the letter a second time, it seemed to MademoiselleMarguerite that she could hear the General and his wife discussing themeans of obtaining a share of the two millions. She could hear Madame deFondege saying to her husband: "You are a block-head! You frightened thegirl by your precipitancy and roughness. But fortunately, I'm here. Letme manage the affair; and I'll prove that women are far more clever thanmen." And, thereupon, she had seized her pen, and commenced this letter.In Mademoiselle Marguerite's opinion, the epistle betrayed the jointefforts of the pair. She could have sworn that the husband had dictatedthe sentence: "The General feels that he should be insulting andbetraying the memory of a man who was his dearest friend for thirtyyears, if he did not become your second father." On the other hand, thephrase, "I shall find a way to persuade you to love us, and to allowyourself to be loved," was unmistakably the wife's work. The writer'sinsincerity was fully revealed by one passage of the letter. "You willfill the place of the beloved daughter I have lost," wrote Madame deFondege. It is true that she had once had a daughter; but the child haddied of croup when only six months old, and more than twenty-five yearspreviously.

  It was strange, moreover, that this letter had not been sent until teno'clock
in the evening; but, on reflection, Mademoiselle Margueritewas able to explain this circumstance satisfactorily to herself. Beforetaking any decided step, M. and Madame de Fondege had wished to consulttheir son; and they had been unable to see him until late in theevening. However, as soon as the brilliant hussar had approved the noblescheme concocted by his parents, a servant had been dispatched withthe letter. All these surmises were surely very plausible; but itwas difficult to reconcile them with the opinion advanced by themagistrate--that M. de Fondege must know what had become of the missingmillions.

  Mademoiselle Marguerite did not think of this, however. She was losingher presence of mind at thought of the odious suspicions which restedon her, suspicions which she had seemed to read in the eyes of all whoapproached her, from Dr. Jodon to the Marquis de Valorsay. It is truethat the magistrate had taken her defence; he had silenced the servants,but would that suffice? Would she not remain branded by an abominableaccusation? And even the consciousness of her innocence did not reassureher, for Pascal's case warned her that innocence is not a sufficientsafeguard against slander.

  Could she hope to escape when he had succumbed? She could tell by theagony that was torturing her own heart, how much he must have suffered.Where was he now? Beyond the frontiers of France? They had told her so,but she did not, could not believe it. Knowing him as she knew him, itseemed to her impossible that he had accepted his fate so quickly andwithout a struggle. A secret presentiment told her that his absence wasonly feigned, that he was only biding his time, and that M. Fortunatwould not have far to go in search of him. It was in M. de Chalusse'sbedroom that she thus reflected, but a few steps from the bed on whichreposed all that was mortal of the man whose weakness had made her lifeone long martyrdom, whose want of foresight had ruined her future, butwhom she had not the heart to censure. She was standing in front of thewindow with her burning forehead resting against the glass. At that verymoment Pascal was waiting, seated on the curbstone opposite the mansion.At that very moment he was watching the shadow on the window-curtain,wondering if it were not Marguerite's. If the night had been clear shemight have discerned the motionless watcher in the street below, anddivined that it was Pascal. But how could she suspect his presence? Howcould she suspect that he had hastened to the Rue de Courcelles as shehad hastened to the Rue d'Ulm?

  It was almost midnight when a slight noise, a sound of stealthyfootsteps, made her turn. Madame Leon was leaving the room, and a momentlater Marguerite heard the house-door leading into the garden open andshut again. There was nothing extraordinary about such an occurrence,and yet a strange misgiving assailed her. Why, she could not explain;but many trivial circumstances, suddenly invested with a new andalarming significance, recurred to her mind. She remembered that MadameLeon had been restless and nervous all the evening. The housekeeper,who was usually so inactive, who lounged in her arm-chair for hourstogether, had been moving uneasily about, going up and down stairs atleast a dozen times, and continually glancing at her watch or the clock.Twice, moreover, had the concierge come to tell her that some onewished to see her. "Where can she be going now, at midnight?" thoughtMademoiselle Marguerite; "she who is usually so timid?"

  At first, the girl resisted her desire to solve the question; hersuspicions seemed absurd to her, and, besides, it was distasteful toher to play the spy. Still, she listened, waiting to hear Madame Leonre-enter the house. But more than a quarter of an hour elapsed, and yetthe door did not open or close again. Either Madame Leon had not leftthe house at all, or else she was still outside. "This is very strange!"thought Mademoiselle Marguerite. "Was I mistaken? I must convincemyself." And, obeying a mysterious influence, stronger than her ownwill, she left the room and went down the stairs. She had reached thehall, when the garden door suddenly opened, and Madame Leon came in. Thelights in the hall were burning brightly, so that it was easy to observethe housekeeper's manner and countenance. She was panting for breath,like a person who had been running. She was very pale, and her dress wasdisordered. Her cap-strings were untied, and her cap had slipped fromher head and was hanging over her shoulders. "What is the matter withyou?" asked Mademoiselle Marguerite in astonishment. "Where have youbeen?"

  On seeing the girl Madame Leon recoiled. Should she fly off or remain?She hesitated for an instant; and it was easy to read her hesitation inher eyes. She decided to remain; but it was with a constrained smileand in an unnatural voice that she replied: "Why do you speak to me likethat, my dear young lady? One might suppose you were angry with me. Youmust know very well that I've been in the garden!"

  "At this hour of the night?"

  "MON DIEU! yes--and not for pleasure, I assure you--not by anymeans--I--I----" She was evidently seeking for some excuse; and, fora moment or two, she stammered forth one incoherent sentence afteranother, trying to gain time and imploring Heaven to grant her aninspiration.

  "Well?" insisted Mademoiselle Marguerite, impatiently. "Why did you goout?"

  "Ah! I--I--thought I heard Mirza barking in the garden. I thought shehad been forgotten in all the confusion, and that the poor creature hadbeen shut out, so I summoned all my courage, and----"

  Mirza was an old spaniel that M. de Chalusse had been very fond of, andthe animal's caprices were respected by all the inmates of the house.

  "That's very strange," remarked Mademoiselle Marguerite, "for when yourose to leave the room, half an hour ago, Mirza was sleeping at yourfeet."

  "What--really--is it possible?"

  "It's certain."

  But the worthy woman had already recovered her self-possession and heraccustomed loquacity at the same time. "Ah! my dear young lady," shesaid, bravely, "I'm in such sorrow that I'm losing my senses completely.Still, it was only from the kindest of motives that I ventured into thegarden, and I had scarcely entered it before I saw something white runaway from me--I felt sure it was Mirza--and so I ran after it. ButI could find nothing. I called 'Mirza! Mirza!' and still nothing. Isearched under all the trees, and yet I could not find her. It was asdark as pitch, and suddenly a terrible fear seized hold of me--such aterrible fright that I really believe I called for help, and I ran backto the house half crazed."

  Any one hearing her would have sworn that she was telling the truth.But, unfortunately, her earlier manner had proved her guilt.

  Mademoiselle Marguerite was not deceived when she said to herself: "Iam on the track of some abominable act." However, she had sufficientself-control to conceal her suspicions; and she pretended to beperfectly satisfied with the explanation which the house-keeper hadconcocted. "Ah, my dear Leon, you are altogether too timid; it'sabsurd," she said, kindly.

  The housekeeper hung her head. "I know that I make myself ridiculous,"she said, humbly. "But how can I help it? When a person's frightened,she can't reason. And that white object which I saw, as plainly as Isee you, what could it have been?" And, convinced that her fable wasbelieved, she grew bolder, and ventured to add: "Oh, my dear young lady,I shall tremble all night if the garden isn't searched. Pray send theservants out to look. There are so many thieves and rascals in Paris!"

  Under any other circumstances Mademoiselle Marguerite would have refusedto listen to this ridiculous request; but, determined to repay thehypocrite in her own coin, she replied. "Very well; it shall be done."And calling M. Casimir and Bourigeau, the concierge, she ordered them totake a lantern and explore the garden carefully.

  They obeyed, though with rather bad grace, not being particularlycourageous, either of them, and, of course, they found nothing.

  "No matter," said Madame Leon, "I feel safe now." And she did indeedfeel more tranquil in mind. "I had a lucky escape!" she said to herself."What would have become of me, if Mademoiselle Marguerite had discoveredthe truth?"

  But the housekeeper congratulated herself on her victory too soon.Mademoiselle Marguerite not only suspected her of treason, but she wasendeavoring to procure proofs of it. She felt certain that the plausiblehousekeeper had deceived her, and cruelly wronged her as well. But whatshe could not un
derstand was, how Madame Leon had been able to do so.She had spent a long time in fruitless conjectures, when suddenly sheremembered the little garden gate. "The deceitful creature must haveused that gate," she thought.

  It was easy for her to verify her suspicion. The little gate had notbeen exactly condemned, but many months had elapsed since it had beenused; so it would be a very simple matter to ascertain whether it hadbeen recently opened or not. "And I will know for certain before an hourhas passed," said Mademoiselle Marguerite to herself.

  Having come to this conclusion, she feigned sleep, keeping a sharp watchover Madame Leon from between her half-closed eyelids. The housekeeper,after twisting uneasily in her arm-chair, at last became quiet again;and it was soon evident that she was sleeping soundly. ThereuponMademoiselle Marguerite rose to her feet and stole noiselessly from theroom downstairs into the garden. She had provided herself with a candleand some matches, and as soon as she struck a light, she saw that hersurmises were correct. The little gate had just been opened and closedagain. The cobwebs round about the bolts were torn and broken; the rustwhich had filled the keyhole had been removed, and on the dust coveringthe lock the impress of a hand could be detected. "And I have confidedmy most precious secrets to this wicked woman!" thought MademoiselleMarguerite. "Fool that I was!"

  Already thoroughly convinced, she extinguished her candle. Still, havingdiscovered so much, she wished to pursue her investigation to the end,and so she opened the little gate. The ground outside had been soakedby the recent rains, and had not yet dried, and by the light ofthe neighboring street-lamp, she plainly distinguished a number ofwell-defined footprints on the muddy soil. An experienced observer wouldhave realized by the disposition of these footprints that something likea struggle had taken place here; but Mademoiselle Marguerite was notsufficiently expert for that. She only understood what a child wouldhave understood--that two people had been standing here for some time.Poor girl! She had not seen Pascal when he was sitting in front of themansion some hours before! And now no presentiment warned her that thesefootprints were his. In her opinion, the man who had been talking withMadame Leon was either M. de Fondege, or the Marquis de Valorsay--thatis to say, Madame Leon was hired to watch her and to render an accountof all she said and did.

  Her first impulse was to denounce and dismiss this miserable hypocrite;but as she was returning to the house, an idea which an old diplomatistneed not have been ashamed of entered her mind. She said to herselfthat as Madame Leon was unmasked she was no longer to be feared; sowhy should she be sent away? "A known spy can undoubtedly be made a mostvaluable auxiliary. Why shouldn't I make use of this wicked woman?"thought Mademoiselle Marguerite. "I can conceal from her what I don'twish her to know, and with a little skill I can make her carry to heremployers such information as will serve my plans. By watching her, Ishall soon discover my enemy; and who knows if, by this means, I may notsucceed in finding an explanation of the fatality that pursues me?"

  When Mademoiselle Marguerite returned to her place beside the count'sbedside, she had calmly and irrevocably made up her mind. She wouldnot only retain Madame Leon in her service, but she would display evengreater confidence in her than before. Such a course was most repugnantto Marguerite's loyal, truthful nature; but reason whispered to her thatin fighting with villains, it is often necessary to use their weapons;and she had her honor, her life, and her future to defend. A strange andbut imperfectly defined suspicion had entered her mind. To-night, forthe first time, she thought she could discover a mysterious connectionbetween Pascal's misfortunes and her own. Was it mere chance which hadstruck them at the same time, and in much the same manner? Who wouldhave profited by the abominable crime which had dishonored her lover,had it not been for M. de Chalusse's death and her own firmness?Evidently the Marquis de Valorsay, for whom Pascal's flight had left thefield clear.

  All these thoughts were well calculated to drive away sleep; but thepoor girl was only twenty, and it was the second night she had watchedby the count's bedside. Thus at last fatigue overcame her, and she fellasleep.

  In the morning, about seven o'clock, Madame Leon was obliged to shakeher to rouse her from the kind of lethargy into which she had fallen."Mademoiselle," said the housekeeper, in her honeyed voice; "dearmademoiselle, wake up at once!"

  "What is the matter? What is it?"

  "Ah! how can I explain? My dear young lady, the undertaker's men havecome to make arrangements for the ceremony."

  Those in charge of the last rites had indeed arrived, and their heavytread could be heard in the hall and in the courtyard. M. Casimir, whowas bursting with self-sufficiency, hurried here, there? and everywhere,indicating, with an imperious gesture, where he wished the blackhangings, embroidered with silver and emblazoned with the De Chalussearms, to be suspended. As the magistrate had given him carte-blanche,he deemed it proper, as he remarked to Concierge Bourigeau, to haveeverything done in grand style. But he took good care not to reveal thefact that he had exacted a very handsome commission from all the peoplehe employed. The hundred francs derived from Chupin had only whetted hisappetite for more. At all events, he had certainly spared no pains inview of having everything as magnificent as possible; and it was notuntil he considered the display thoroughly satisfactory that he went towarn Mademoiselle Marguerite. "I come to beg mademoiselle to retire toher own room," he said.

  "Retire--why?"

  He did not reply by words, but pointed to the bed on which the body waslying, and the poor girl realized that the moment of eternal separationhad come. She rose, and dragged herself to the bedside. Death hadnow effaced all traces of the count's last agony. His face wore itsaccustomed expression again, and it might have been fancied that he wasasleep. For a long time Mademoiselle Marguerite stood looking at him, asif to engrave the features she would never behold again upon her memory."Mademoiselle," insisted M. Casimir; "mademoiselle, do not remain here."

  She heard him, and summoning all her strength, she leaned over thebed, kissed M. de Chalusse, and went away. But she was too late, for inpassing through the hall she encountered the undertakers, who carried ontheir shoulders a long metallic case enclosed in two oaken ones. And shehad scarcely reached her own room before a smell of resin told her thatthe men were closing the coffin which contained all that was mortal ofM. de Chalusse, her father.

  So, none of those terrible details, which so increase one's grief, werespared her. But she had already suffered so much that she had reacheda state of gloomy apathy, almost insensibility; and the exercise of herfaculties was virtually suspended. Whiter than marble, she fell, ratherthan seated herself, on a chair, scarcely perceiving Madame Leon, whohad followed her.

  The worthy housekeeper was greatly excited, and not without cause. Asthere were no relations, it had been decided that M. de Fondege, thecount's oldest friend, should do the honors of the mansion to thepersons invited to attend the funeral; and he had sworn that he would beunder arms at daybreak, and that they might positively depend upon him.But the hour fixed for the ceremony was approaching, several persons hadalready arrived, and yet M. de Fondege had not put in an appearance."It is incomprehensible," exclaimed Madame Leon. "The General is usuallypunctuality personified. He must have met with some accident." Andin her anxiety she stationed herself at the window, whence she couldcommand a view of the courtyard, carefully scrutinizing every fresharrival.

  At last, about half-past nine o'clock, she suddenly exclaimed: "Here heis! Do you hear, mademoiselle, here's the General!"

  A moment later, indeed, there was a gentle rap at the door, and M. deFondege entered. "Ah, I'm late!" he exclaimed; "but, dash it all! it'snot my fault!" And, struck by Mademoiselle Marguerite's immobility, headvanced and took her hand. "And you, my dear little one, what is thematter with you?" he asked. "Have you been ill? You are frightfullypale."

  She succeeded in shaking off the torpor which was stealing over her, andreplied in a faint voice; "I am not ill, monsieur."

  "So much the better, my dear child, so much th
e better. It is our littleheart that is suffering, is it not? Yes--yes--I understand. But your oldfriends will console you. You received my wife's letter, did you not?Ah, well! what she told you, she will do--she will do it. And to proveit, in spite of her illness, she followed me--in fact, she is here!"

  XXI.

  Mademoiselle Marguerite sprang to her feet, quivering with indignation.Her eyes sparkled and her lips trembled as she threw back her head witha superb gesture of scorn, which loosened her beautiful dark hair, andcaused it to fall in rippling masses over her shoulders. "Ah! Madame deFondege is here!" she repeated, in a tone of crushing contempt--"Madamede Fondege, your wife, here!"

  It seemed to her an impossibility to receive the hypocrite who hadwritten the letter of the previous evening--the accomplice of thescoundrels who took advantage of her wretchedness and isolation. Herheart revolted at the thought of meeting this woman, who had neitherconscience nor shame, who could stoop so low as to intrigue for themillions which she fancied had been stolen. Mademoiselle Marguerite wasabout to forbid her to enter, or to retire herself, when the thoughtof her determination to act stealthily restrained her. She instantlyrealized her imprudence, and, mastering herself with a great effort,she murmured: "Madame de Fondege is too kind! How can I ever express mygratitude?"

  Madame de Fondege must have heard this, for at the same moment sheentered the room. She was short, and very stout--a faded blonde, withher complexion spoilt by a multitude of freckles. She had very largehands, broad, thick feet, and a shrill voice; and the vulgarity of herappearance was all the more noticeable on account of her pretensions toelegance. For although her father had been a wood-merchant, sheboasted of her exalted birth, and endeavored to impress people withthe magnificence of her style of living, though her fortune wasproblematical, and her household conducted in the most frugal style.Her attire suggested a continual conflict between elegance andeconomy--between real poverty and feigned prodigality. She worea corsage and overskirt of black satin; but the upper part of theunderskirt, which was not visible, was made of lute-string costingthirty sous a yard, and her laces were Chantilly only in appearance.Still, her love of finery had never carried her so far as shop-lifting,or induced her to part with her honor for gewgaws--irregularities whichare so common nowadays, even among wives and mothers of families, thatpeople are no longer astonished to hear of them.

  No--Madame de Fondege was a faithful wife, in the strict and legal senseof the word. But how she revenged herself! She was "virtuous;" but sodangerously virtuous that one might have supposed she was so against herwill, and that she bitterly regretted it. She ruled her husband with arod of iron. And he who was so terrible in appearance, he who twirledhis ferocious mustaches in such a threatening manner, he who sworehorribly enough to make an old hussar blush, became more submissivethan a child, and more timid than a lamb when he was beside his wife.He trembled when she turned her pale blue eyes upon him in a certainfashion. And woe to him if he ventured to rebel. She suppressed hispocket-money, and during these penitential seasons he was reduced to thenecessity of asking his friends to lend him twenty-franc pieces, whichhe generally forgot to return.

  Madame de Fondege was, as a rule, most imperious, envious, and spitefulin disposition; but on coming to the Hotel de Chalusse she had providedherself with any amount of sweetness and sensibility, and when sheentered the room, she held her handkerchief to her lips as if to stifleher sobs. The General led her toward Mademoiselle Marguerite, and, in asemi-solemn, semi-sentimental tone, he exclaimed: "Dear Athenais, thisis the daughter of my best and oldest friend. I know your heart--I knowthat she will find in you a second mother."

  Mademoiselle Marguerite stood speechless and rigid. Persuaded thatMadame de Fondege was about to throw her arms round her neck and kissher, she was imposing the most terrible constraint upon herself, inorder to conceal her horror and aversion. But she was unnecessarilyalarmed. The hypocrisy of the General's wife was superior to thatof Madame Leon. Madame de Fondege contented herself with pressingMademoiselle Marguerite's hands and faltering: "What a misfortune! Soyoung--so sudden! It is frightful!" And, as she received no reply,she added, with an air of sorrowful dignity: "I dare not ask your fullconfidence, my dear unfortunate child. Confidence can be born only oflong acquaintance and mutual esteem. But you will learn to know me. Youwill give me that sweet name of mother when I shall have deserved it."

  Standing at a little distance off, the General listened with the air ofa man who has a profound respect for his wife's ability. "Now the ice isbroken," he thought, "it will be strange if Athenais doesn't do whatevershe pleases with that little savage."

  His hopes were so brightly reflected upon his countenance, that MadameLeon, who was furtively watching him, became alarmed. "Ah! what do thesepeople want?" she said to herself; "and what do all these endearmentsmean? Upon my word, I must warn my patron at once." And, fancying thatno one noticed her, she slipped quietly and noiselessly from the room.

  But Mademoiselle Marguerite was on the watch. Determined to fathom theplotting that was going on around her, and frustrate it, she realizedthat everything depended upon her watchfulness and her ability toprofit even by the most futile incidents. She had noticed the General'striumphant smile, and the look of anxiety that had suddenly cloudedMadame Leon's face. So, without troubling herself about "theproprieties," she asked M. and Madame de Fondege to excuse her for asecond, and darted alter the housekeeper. Ah! she did not need to gofar. Leaning over the banisters, she saw Madame Leon and the Marquisde Valorsay in earnest conversation in the hall below; the marquis asphlegmatic and as haughty as usual, but the house-keeper fairly excited.Marguerite at once understood that as Madame Leon knew that the marquiswas among the funeral guests, she had gone to warn him of Madamede Fondege's presence. This trivial circumstance proved that M. deFondege's interests were opposed to those of M. de Valorsay; that theymust, therefore, hate each other, and that, with a little patience andskill, she might utilize them, one against the other. It also provedthat Madame Leon was the Marquis de Valorsay's paid spy and that he musttherefore have long been aware of Pascal's existence. But she lacked thetime to follow out this train of thought. Her absence might awaken theFondeges' suspicions; and her success depended on letting them supposethat she was their dupe. She therefore returned to them as soon aspossible, excusing herself for her abrupt departure as well as shecould; but she was not accustomed to deceive, and her embarrassmentmight have betrayed her had it not been for the General, who fortunatelyinterrupted her by saying: "I, too, must excuse myself, my dear child;but Madame de Fondege will remain with you. I must fulfil a sacredduty. They are waiting for me downstairs, and they are no doubt becomingimpatient. It is the first time in my life that I was ever behind time."

  The General was right in losing no more time. At least a hundred andfifty guests had assembled in the reception-rooms on the ground floor,and they were beginning to think it very strange that they should bekept waiting in this style. And yet curiosity somewhat tempered theirimpatience. Some of the strange circumstances attending the count'sdeath had been noised abroad; and some well-informed persons declaredthat a fabulous sum of money had been stolen by a young girl. Itis true, they did not think this embezzlement a positive crime. Itcertainly proved that the young lady in question possessed a strong anddetermined character; and many of the proudest among the guests wouldgladly have taken the place of De Valorsay, who, it was rumored, wasabout to marry the pretty thief and her millions.

  The person who was most disturbed by the delay was the master of theceremonies. Arrayed in his best uniform, his thin legs encased in blacksilk stockings, his mantle thrown gracefully over his shoulders, and hiscocked hat under his arm, he was looking anxiously about for some one inthe assembled crowd to whom he could give the signal for departure. Hewas already talking of starting off when M. de Fondege appeared. Thefriends of M. de Chalusse who were to hold the cords of the pall cameforward. There was a moment's confusion, then the hearse started, andthe whole cortege filed out
of the courtyard.

  Deep silence followed, so deep that the noise made in closing theheavy gates came upon one with startling effect. "Ah!" moaned Madame deFondege, "it is over."

  Marguerite's only reply was a despairing gesture. It would have beenimpossible for her to articulate a syllable--her tears were choking her.What would she not have given to be alone at this moment--to havebeen able to abandon herself without constraint to her emotions! Alas!prudence condemned her to play a part even now. The thought of herfuture and her honor lent her strength to submit to the deceitfulconsolations of a woman whom she knew to be a dangerous enemy. And theGeneral's wife was by no means sparing of her consolatory phrases; infact, it was only after a long homily on the uncertainty of life belowthat she ventured to approach the subject of her letter of the previousevening. "For it is necessary to face the inevitable," she pursued. "Thetroublesome realities of life have no respect for our grief. So it iswith you, my dear child; you would find a bitter pleasure in giving ventto your sorrow, but you are compelled to think of your future. As M. deChalusse has no heirs, this house will be closed--you can remain here nolonger."

  "I know it, madame."

  "Where will you go?"

  "Alas! I don't know."

  Madame de Fondege raised her handkerchief to her eyes as if to wipe afurtive tear away, and then, almost roughly, she exclaimed: "I must tellyou the truth, my child. Listen to me. I see only two courses for youto adopt. Either to ask the protection of some respectable family, or toenter a convent. This is your only hope of safety."

  Mademoiselle Marguerite bowed her head, without replying. To learn theplans which the General's wife had formed she must let her disclosethem. However, the girl's silence seemed to make Madame de Fondegeuncomfortable, and at last she resumed: "Is it possible that you thinkof braving the perils of life alone? I cannot believe it! It would bemadness. Young, beautiful, and attractive as you are, it is impossiblefor you to live unprotected. Even if you had sufficient strength ofcharacter to lead a pure and honest life, the world would none the lessrefuse you its esteem. Mere prejudice, you say? You are quite right; butit is nevertheless true that a young girl who braves public opinion islost."

  It was easy to see by Madame de Fondege's earnestness that she fearedMademoiselle Marguerite would avail herself of this opportunity ofrecovering her liberty. "What shall I do, then?" asked the girl.

  "There is the convent."

  "But I love life."

  "Then ask the protection of some respectable family."

  "The idea of being in any one's charge is disagreeable to me."

  Strange to say, Madame de Fondege did not protest, did not speak of herown house. She was too proud for that. Having once offered hospitality,she thought it would arouse suspicion if she insisted. So she contentedherself with enumerating the arguments for and against the twopropositions, remarking from time to time: "Come, you must decide! Don'twait until the last moment!"

  Mademoiselle Marguerite had already decided but before announcingher decision she wished to confer with the only friend she had in theworld--the old justice of the peace. On the previous evening he had saidto her: "Farewell until to-morrow," and knowing that his work in thehouse had not been concluded, she was extremely surprised that he hadnot yet put in an appearance.

  While conversing with Madame de Fondege she had dexterously avoidedcompromising herself in any way when suddenly a servant appeared andannounced the magistrate's arrival. He entered the room, with his usualbenevolent smile upon his lips, but his searching eyes were never oncetaken off Madame de Fondege's face. He bowed, made a few polite remarks,and then addressing Marguerite, he said: "I must speak with you,mademoiselle, at once. You may tell madame, however, that you willcertainly return in less than a quarter of an hour."

  Marguerite followed him, and when they were alone in the count's studyand the doors had been carefully closed, the magistrate exclaimed: "Ihave been thinking a great deal of you, my child, a great deal; andit seems to me that I can explain certain things which worried youyesterday. But first of all, what has happened since I left you?"

  Briefly, but with remarkable precision, Marguerite recounted the variousincidents which had occurred--her useless journey to the Rue d'Ulm,Madame Leon's strange midnight ramble and conversation with the Marquisde Valorsay, Madame de Fondege's letter, and lastly, her visit and allthat she had said.

  The magistrate listened with his eyes fixed on his ring "This is veryserious, very serious," he said at last. "Perhaps you are right. PerhapsM. Ferailleur is innocent. And yet, why should he abscond? why should heleave the country?"

  "Ah! monsieur, Pascal's flight is only feigned. He is inParis--concealed somewhere--I'm sure of it; and I know a man who willfind him for me. Only one thing puzzles me--his silence. To disappearwithout a word, without giving me any sign of life----"

  The magistrate interrupted her by a gesture. "I see nothing surprisingin that since your companion is the Marquis de Valorsay's spy. How doyou know that she has not intercepted or destroyed some letter from M.Pascal?"

  Mademoiselle Marguerite turned pale. "Great Heavens! how blind I havebeen!" she exclaimed. "I did not think of that. Oh, the wretch! if onecould only question her and make her confess her crime. It is horribleto think that if I wish to arrive at the truth, I must remain with herand treat her in the future just as I have treated her till now."

  But the magistrate was not the man to wander from the subject he wasinvestigating. "Let us return to Madame de Fondege," said he. "Sheis extremely unwilling to see you go out into the world alone.Why?--through affection? No. Why, then? This is what we must ascertain.Secondly, she seems indifferent as to whether you accept her hospitalityor enter a convent."

  "She seems to prefer that I should enter a convent."

  "Very well. What conclusion can we draw from that? Simply, that theFondege family don't particularly care about keeping you with them, ormarrying you to their son. If they don't desire this, it is because theyare perfectly sure that the missing money was not taken by you. Now, letme ask, how can they be so certain? Simply because they know where themissing millions are--and if they know----"

  "Ah! monsieur, it is because they've stolen them!"

  The magistrate was silent. He had turned the bezel of his ring inside, asure sign of stormy weather, so his clerk would have said--and though hehad his features under excellent control he could not entirely concealsome signs of a severe mental conflict he was undergoing. "Well, yes,my child," he said, at last. "Yes, it is my conviction that the Fondegespossess the millions you saw in the count's escritoire, and which wehave been unable to find. How they obtained possession of the money Ican't conceive--but they have it, or else logic is no longer logic."He paused again for a moment, and then he resumed, more slowly: "Inacquainting you with my opinion on this subject, I have given you, ayoung girl, almost a child, a proof of esteem and confidence which,it seems to me, few men are worthy of; for I may be deceived, and amagistrate ought not to accuse a person unless he is absolutely certainof his guilt. So you must forget what I have just told you, MademoiselleMarguerite."

  She looked at him with an air of utter astonishment. "You advise me toforget," she murmured, "you wish me to forget."

  "Yes; you must conceal these suspicions in the deepest recesses of yourheart, until the time comes when you have sufficient proof to convictthe culprits. It is true that it will be a difficult task to collectsuch proofs; but it is not impossible, with the aid of time, whichdivulges so many crimes. And you may count upon me; I will give you thebenefit of all my influence and experience. It shall never be said thatI allowed a defenceless girl to be crushed while I saw any chance ofsaving her."

  Tears came to Mademoiselle Marguerite's eyes. So the world was notcomposed entirely of scoundrels! "Ah! how kind you are, monsieur," shesaid; "how kind you are!"

  "To be sure!" he interrupted, in a benevolent tone. "But, my child,you must help yourself. Remember this: if the Fondeges suspect oursuspicions, all is lost. Rep
eat this to yourself at every moment in theday--and be discreet, impenetrable; for people with unclean consciencesand hands are always distrustful of others."

  There was no necessity to say anything more on this point; and so, witha sudden change of tone he asked: "Have you any plan?"

  She felt that she could, and ought, to confide everything to thisworthy old man, and so rising to her feet, with a look of energy anddetermination on her face, she replied in a firm voice: "My decisionis taken, monsieur, subject, of course, to your approval. In the firstplace I shall keep Madame Leon with me, in whatever capacity she likes,it doesn't matter what. Through her I shall no doubt be able to watchthe Marquis de Valorsay, and perhaps eventually discover his hopes andhis aim. In the second place, I shall accept the hospitality offered meby the General and his wife. With them, I shall be in the very centre ofthe intrigue, and in a position to collect proofs of their infamy."

  The magistrate gave vent to an exclamation of delight. "You are a bravegirl, Mademoiselle Marguerite," he said, "and at the same time a prudentone. Yes; that is the proper course to pursue."

  Nothing now remained save to make arrangements for her departure. Shepossessed some very handsome diamonds and other costly jewels; shouldshe keep them? "They are undoubtedly mine," said she; "but after theinfamous accusations levelled at me, I can't consent to take them awaywith me. They are worth a very handsome amount. I shall leave them withyou, monsieur. If the courts restore them to me later--well--I shalltake them--and not without pleasure, I frankly confess." Then as themagistrate questioned her anxiously as to her resources, she replied:"Oh! I'm not without money. M. de Chalusse was generosity itself, and mytastes are very simple. From the money he gave me for my clothes I savedmore than eight thousand francs in less than six months. That is morethan sufficient to maintain me for a year."

  The magistrate then explained that when the court took possessionof this immense estate, it would surely allow her a certain sum.For whether the count was her father or not, he was at any rate herofficially appointed guardian, and she would be considered a minor. Andin support of his assertion, he quoted Article 367 of the Civil Code,which says: "In the event of the officially appointed guardian dyingwithout adopting, his ward, the said ward shall be furnished during herminority with the means of subsistence from the said guardian's estate,"etc., etc.

  "An additional reason why I should give up my jewels," said MademoiselleMarguerite.

  The only point that now remained was to decide upon some plan by whichshe could communicate with her friend, the magistrate, without theknowledge of the General or his wife. The magistrate accordinglyexplained a system of correspondence which would defy the closestsurveillance, and then added: "Now, make haste back to your visitor. Whoknows what suspicions your absence may have caused her?"

  But Mademoiselle Marguerite had one more request to make. She had oftenseen in M. de Chalusse's possession a little note-book, in which heentered the names and addresses of the persons with whom he had businesstransactions. M. Fortunat's address must be there, so she asked andobtained permission to examine this note-book, and to her great joy,under the letter "F," she found the entry: "Fortunat (Isidore), No. 28Place de la Bourse." "Ah! I'm sure that I shall find Pascal now!" sheexclaimed. And after once more thanking the magistrate, she returned toher room again.

  Madame de Fondege was awaiting her with feverish impatience. "How longyou stayed!" she cried.

  "I had so many explanations to give, madame."

  "How you are tormented, my poor child!"

  "Oh, shamefully!"

  This furnished Madame de Fondege with another excuse for profferingher advice. But Mademoiselle Marguerite would not allow herself to beconvinced at once. She raised a great many objections, and parleyed fora long time before telling Madame de Fondege that she would be happy toaccept the hospitality which had been offered her. And her consentwas by no means unconditional. She insisted on paying her board, andexpressed the wish to retain the services of Madame Leon to whom she wasso much attached. The worthy housekeeper was present at this conference.For an instant she had feared that Mademoiselle Marguerite suspected hermanoeuvres but her fears were now dispelled, and she even congratulatedherself on her skilfulness. Everything was arranged, and the agreementhad been sealed with a kiss, when the General returned about fouro'clock. "Ah, my dear!" cried his wife, "what happiness! We have adaughter!"

  But even this intelligence was scarcely sufficient to revive herhusband's drooping spirits. He had almost fainted when he heard theearth falling on M. de Chalusse's coffin; and this display of weaknesson the part of a man adorned with such terrible and ferocious mustacheshad excited no little comment. "Yes, it is a great happiness!" he nowreplied. "But thunder and lightning! I never doubted the dear girl'sheart!"

  Still both he and his wife could scarcely conceal their disappointmentwhen the magistrate informed them that their beloved daughter wouldnot take her diamonds. "Dash it!" growled the General. "I recognize herfather in this! What delicacy! almost too much, perhaps!"

  However, when the magistrate informed him that the court wouldundoubtedly order the restitution of the jewels, his face brightenedagain, and he went down to superintend the removal of MademoiselleMarguerite's trunks, which were being loaded on one of the vehicles ofthe establishment.

  Then the moment of departure came. Mademoiselle Marguerite acknowledgedthe parting remarks of the servants, who were secretly delighted to befreed from her presence, and then, before entering the carriage, shecast a long, sad look upon this princely mansion which she had once hadthe right to believe her own, but which she was, alas! now leaving, inall probability, for ever.

  The conclusion of this narrative will be found in the volume called"Baron Trigault's Vengeance."

  [Footnote 1: French gamblers use this expression which they explain by the factthat Charlemagne departed this life with all his possessions intact,having always added to his dominions without ever experiencing aloss. Historically this is no doubt incorrect, but none the less, theexpression prevails in France.--TRANS.]

  [Footnote 2: See "Lecoq the Detective" by Emile Gaboriau]

  [Footnote 3: The body of hired applauders who are employed at most Parisiantheatres to stimulate the enthusiasm of the audience.--Trans.]