IX
On this side, at least, Mademoiselle Marguerite had no very wide fieldof investigation to explore. Her common sense told her that her taskwould merely consist in carefully watching the behavior of the Generaland his wife, in noting their expenditure, and so on. It was a matterof close attention, and of infinitesimal trifles. Nor was she muchencouraged by her first success. It was, perhaps, important; and yetit might be nothing. For she felt that the real difficulties would notbegin until she became morally certain that the General had stolen themillions that were missing from the count's escritoire. Even then itwould remain for her to discover how he had obtained possession ofthis money. And when she had succeeded in doing this, would her task beended? Certainly not. She must obtain sufficient evidence to give herthe right of accusing the General openly, and in the face of every one.She must have material and indisputable proofs before she could say: "Arobbery has been committed. I was accused of it. I was innocent. Here isthe culprit!"
What a long journey must be made before this goal was reached! Nomatter! Now that she had a positive and fixed point of departure, shefelt that she possessed enough energy to sustain her in her endeavorsfor years, if need be. What troubled her most was that she could notlogically explain the conduct of her enemies from the time M. de Fondegehad asked her hand for his son up to the present moment. And first, whyhad they been so audacious or so imprudent as to bring her to their ownhome if they had really stolen one of those immense amounts that aresure to betray their possessors? "They are mad," she thought, "or elsethey must deem me blind, deaf, and more stupid than mortal ever was!"Secondly, why should they be so anxious to marry her to their son,Lieutenant Gustave? This also was a puzzling question. However, she wasfully decided on one point: the suspicions of the Fondege family mustnot be aroused. If they were on their guard, it would be the easiestthing in the world for them to pay their debts quietly, and increasetheir expenditure so imperceptibly that she would not be able to prove asudden acquisition of wealth.
But the events of the next few days dispelled these apprehensions. Thatvery afternoon, although it was Sunday, it became evident that ashower of gold had fallen on the General's abode. The door-bell rangincessantly for several hours, and an interminable procession oftradesmen entered. It looked very much as if M. de Fondege had called ameeting of his creditors. They came in haughty and arrogant, with theirhats upon their heads, and surly of speech, like people who have madeup their minds to accept their loss, but who intend to pay themselves inrudeness. They were ushered into the drawing-room where the General washolding his levee; they remained there from five to ten minutes,and then, bowing low with hat in hand, they retired with radiantcountenances, and an obsequious smile on their lips. So they had beenpaid. And as if to prove to Mademoiselle Marguerite that her suspicionswere correct, she chanced to be present when the livery stable-keeperpresented his bill.
Madame de Fondege received him very haughtily. "Ah! here you are!"she exclaimed, rudely, as soon as he appeared. "So you are the man whoteaches his drivers to insult his customers? That is an excellent way togain patronage. What! I hire a one-horse carriage from you by the month,and because I happen to wish for a two-horse vehicle for a single day,you make me pay the difference. You should demand payment in advance ifyou are so suspicious."
The stable-keeper, who had a bill for nearly four thousand francs inhis pocket, stood listening with the air of a man who is meditating somecrushing reply; but she did not give him time to deliver it. "WhenI have cause to complain of the people I employ, I dismiss them andreplace them by others. Insolence is one of those things that I neverforgive. Give me your bill."
The man, in whose face doubt, fear, and hope had succeeded each other inswift succession, thereupon drew an interminable bill from his pocket.And when he saw the bank-notes, when he saw the bill paid withoutdispute or even examination, he was seized with a wondering respect, andhis voice became sweeter than honey. They say the payment of a bad debtdelights a merchant a thousand times more than the settlement of fiftygood ones. The truth of this assertion became apparent in the presentcase. Mademoiselle Marguerite thought the man was going to beg "Madamela Comtesse to do him the favor to withhold a portion of the smallamount." For the Parisian tradesman is so constituted that veryfrequently it is not necessary to pay him money, but only to show it.
However, this creditor's abnegation did not extend so far; still he didentreat Madame la Comtesse not to leave him on account of a blunder--forit was a blunder--he swore it on his children's heads. His coachman wasonly a fool and a drunkard, who had misunderstood him entirely, and whomhe should ignominiously dismiss on returning to his establishment.But "Madame la Comtesse" was inflexible. She sent the man about hisbusiness, saying, "I never place myself in a position to be treated withdisrespect a second time."
This probably accounted for the fact that Evariste, the footman, who hadbeen so wanting in respect the previous evening, had been sent away thatvery morning. Mademoiselle Marguerite did not see him again. Dinner wasserved by a new servant, who had been sent by an Employment Office, andengaged without a question, no doubt because Evariste's livery fittedhim like a glove. Had the cook also been replaced? MademoiselleMarguerite thought so, though she had no means of convincing herself onthis point. It was certain, however, that the Sunday dinner was utterlyunlike that of the evening before. Quality had replaced quantity, andcare, profusion. It was not necessary to send to the cellar for a bottleof Chateau-Laroze; it made its appearance at the proper moment, warmedto the precise degree of temperature, and seemed quite to the taste ofexcellent Madame Leon.
In twenty-four hours the Fondege family had been raised to suchaffluence that they must have asked themselves if it were possible theyhad ever known the agonies of that life of false appearances and shamluxury which is a thousand times worse than an existence of abjectpoverty. "Is it possible that I am deceived?" Marguerite said toherself, on retiring to her room that evening. For it surprised her thata keen-sighted person like Madame Leon should not have remarked thisrevolution; but the worthy companion merely declared the General and hiswife to be charming people, and did not cease to congratulate her dearyoung lady upon having accepted their hospitality. "I feel quite at homehere," said she; "and though my room is a trifle small, I shall havenothing to wish for when it has been refurnished."
Mademoiselle Marguerite spent a restless and uncomfortable night. Inspite of her reason, in spite of the convincing proofs she had seen, themost disturbing doubts returned. Might she not have judged the situationwith a prejudiced mind? Had the Fondeges really been as reduced incircumstances as she supposed? Like every one who has been unfortunate,she feared illusions, and was extremely distrustful of everythingthat seemed to favor her hopes and wishes. The only thing thatreally encouraged her was the thought that she could consult the oldmagistrate, and that M. de Chalusse's former agent might succeed infinding Pascal Ferailleur. M. Fortunat must have received her letterby this time: he would undoubtedly expect her on Tuesday, and it onlyremained for her to invent some excuse which would give her a couple ofhours' liberty without awakening suspicion.
She rose early the next morning, and had almost completed her toilette,when she heard some one in the passage outside rapping at the door ofMadame Leon's room. "Who's there?" inquired that worthy lady.
It was Justine, Madame de Fondege's maid, who answered in a pert voice,"Here is a letter, madame, which has just been sent up by the concierge.It is addressed to Madame Leon. That is your name, is it not?"
Marguerite staggered as if she had received a heavy blow. "My God! aletter from the Marquis de Valorsay!" she thought.
It was evident that the estimable lady was expecting this missive bythe eagerness with which she sprang out of bed and opened the door.And Marguerite heard her say to the servant in her sweetest voice: "Athousand thanks, my child! Ah! this is a great relief, I have heard frommy brother-in-law at last. I recognize his hand-writing." And then thedoor closed again.
Standing
silent and motionless in the middle of her room, Margueritelistened with that feverish anxiety that excites the perceptivefaculties to the utmost degree. An inward voice, stronger than reason,told her that this letter threatened her happiness, her future, perhapsher life! But how could she convince herself of the truth of thispresentiment? If she had followed her first impulse, she would haverushed into Madame Leon's room and have snatched the letter from herhands. But if she did this, she would betray herself, and prove that shewas not the dupe they supposed her to be, and this supposition on thepart of her enemies constituted her only chance of salvation.
If she could only watch Madame Leon as she read the letter, and gainsome information from the expression of her face; but this seemedimpossible, for the keyhole was blocked up by the key, which had beenleft in the lock on the other side. Suddenly a crack in the partitionattracted her attention, and finding that it extended through the wall,she realized she might watch what was passing in the adjoining room. Soshe approached the spot on tiptoe, and, with bated breath, stooped andlooked in.
In her impatience to learn the contents of her letter, Madame Leonhad not gone back to bed. She had broken the seal, and was reading themissive, standing barefooted in her night-dress, directly opposite thelittle crevice. She read line after line, and word after word, andher knitted brows and compressed lips suggested deep concentration ofthought mingled with discontent. At last she shrugged her shoulders,muttered a few inaudible words, and laid the open letter upon therickety chest of drawers, which, with two chairs and a bed, constitutedthe entire furniture of her apartment.
"My God!" exclaimed Marguerite, with bated breath, "if she would onlyforget it!"
But she did not forget it. She began to dress, and when she had finishedshe read the letter again, and then placed it carefully in one of thedrawers, which she locked, putting the key in her pocket.
"I shall never know, then," thought Marguerite; "no, I shall never know.But I must know--and I will!" she added vehemently.
From that moment a firm determination to obtain that letter tookpossession of her mind; and so deeply was she occupied in seeking forsome means to surmount the difficulties which stood in her way that shedid not say a dozen words during breakfast. "I must be a fool if I can'tfind some way of gaining possession of that letter," she said to herselfagain and again. "I'm sure I could find in it the explanation of theabominable intrigue which Pascal and I are the victims of."
Happily, her preoccupation was not remarked. Each person present was toodeeply engrossed in his or her own concerns to notice the behavior ofthe others. Madame Leon's mind was occupied with the news she had justreceived; and, besides, her attention was considerably attracted by somepartridges garnished with truffles, and a bottle of Chateau-Laroze.For she was rather fond of good living, the dear lady, as she confessedherself, adding that no one is perfect. The General talked of nothingbut a certain pair of horses which he was to look at that afternoon, andwhich he thought of buying--being quite disgusted with job-masters, sohe declared. Besides, he expected to get the animals at a bargain, asthey were the property of a young gentleman who had been led to commitcertain misdemeanors by his love of gambling and his passion for anotorious woman who was addicted with an insatiable desire for jewelry.
As for Madame de Fondege, her head seemed to have been completely turnedby the prospect of the approaching fete at the Countess de Commarin's.She had only a fortnight left to make her preparations. All the eveningbefore, through part of the night, and ever since she had been awakethat morning, she had been racking her brain to arrive at an effectivecombination of colors and materials. And at the cost of a terribleheadache, she had at last conceived one of those toilettes which aresure to make a sensation, and which the newspaper reporters will mentionas noticeable for its "chic." "Picture to yourself," she said, allablaze with enthusiasm, "picture to yourself a robe of tea-flower silk,trimmed with bands of heavy holland-tinted satin, thickly embroideredwith flowers. A wide flounce of Valenciennes at the bottom of the skirt.Over this, I shall wear a tunic of pearl-gray crepe, edged with a fringeof the various shades in the dress, and forming a panier behind."
But how much trouble, time and labor must be expended before such anelaborate chef-d'oeuvre could be completed! How many conferences withthe dressmaker, with the florist, and the embroiderer! How many doubts,how many inevitable mistakes! Ah! there was not a moment to lose! Madamede Fondege, who was dressed to go out, and who had already sent for acarriage, insisted that Mademoiselle Marguerite should accompany her.And certainly, the General's wife deemed the proposal a seductive one.It is a very fashionable amusement to run from one shop to another,even when one cannot, or will not, buy. It is a custom, which somenoble ladies have imported from America, to the despair of the poorshopkeepers. And thus every fine afternoon, the swell shops are filledto overflowing with richly-attired dames and damsels, who ask to see allthe new goods. It is far more amusing than remaining at home. And whenthey return to dinner in the evening, after inspecting hundreds of yardsof silk and satin, they are very well pleased with themselves, for theyhave not lost the day. Nor do the shrewdest always return from theseexpeditions empty-handed. A dozen gloves or a piece of lace can behidden so easily in the folds of a mantle!
And yet, to Madame de Fondege's great surprise, Marguerite declined theinvitation. "I have so many things to put in order," she added, feelingthat an excuse was indispensable.
But Madame Leon, who had not the same reasons as her dear childfor wishing to remain at home, kindly offered her services. She wasacquainted with several of the best shops, she declared, particularlywith the establishment of a dealer in laces, in the Rue de Mulhouse, andthanks to an introduction from her, Madame de Fondege could not fail toconclude a very advantageous bargain there. "Very well," replied Madamede Fondege, "I will take you with me, then; but make haste and dresswhile I put on my bonnet."
They left the breakfast-room at the same time, closely followed byMademoiselle Marguerite, who was disturbed by a hope which she scarcelydared confess to herself. With her forehead resting against the wall,and her eye peering through the tiny crack, she watched her governesschange her dress, throw a shawl over her shoulders, put on her bestbonnet, and, after a glance at the looking-glass, rush from the room,exclaiming: "Here I am, my dear countess. I'm ready."
And a few moments afterward they left the house together.
As the outer door closed after them, Marguerite's brain whirled. If shewere not deceived, Madame Leon had left the key of the drawers in thepocket of the dress she had just taken off. So it was with a wildlythrobbing heart that she opened the communicating door and entered her"companion's" room. She hastily approached the bed on which the dresswas lying, and, with a trembling hand, she began to search for thepocket. Fortune favored her! The key was there. The letter was withinher reach. But she was about to do a deed against which her whole naturerevolted. To steal a key, to force an article of furniture open, andviolate the secret of a private correspondence, these were actions sorepugnant to her sense of honor, and her pride, that for some time shestood irresolute. At last the instinct of self-preservation overpoweredher scruples. Was not her honor, and Pascal's honor also, at stake--aswell as their mutual love and happiness? "It would be folly tohesitate." she murmured. And with a firm hand she placed the key in thelock.
The latter was out of order and the drawer was only opened withdifficulty. But there, on some clothes which Madame Leon had not yetfound time to arrange, Marguerite saw the letter. She eagerly snatchedit up, unfolded it, and read: "Dear Madame Leon--" "Dear me," shemuttered, "here is the name in full. This is an indiscretion which willrender denial difficult." And she resumed her perusal: "Your letter,which I have just received, confirms what my servants had alreadytold me: that twice during my absence--on Saturday evening and Sundaymorning--you called at my house to see me." So Mademoiselle Marguerite'spenetration had served her well. All this talk about anxious relativeshad only been an excuse invented by Madame Leon to enable he
r to absentherself whenever occasion required. "I regret," continued the letter,"that you did not find me at home, for I have instructions of thegreatest importance to give you. We are approaching the decisive moment.I have formed a plan which will completely, and forever, efface allremembrance of that cursed P. F., in case any one condescended to thinkof him after the disgrace we fastened upon him the other evening at thehouse of Madame d'Argeles." P. F.--these initials of course meantPascal Ferailleur. Then he was innocent, and she held an undeniable,irrefutable proof of his innocence in her hands. How coolly andimpudently Valorsay confessed his atrocious crime! "A bold stroke is incontemplation which, if no unfortunate and well-nigh impossible accidentoccur, will throw the girl into my arms." Marguerite shuddered. "Thegirl" referred to her, of course. "Thanks to the assistance of one of myfriends," added the letter "I can place this proud damsel in a perilous,terribly perilous position, from which she cannot possibly extricateherself unaided. But, just as she gives herself up for lost, I shallinterpose. I shall save her; and it will be strange if gratitude doesnot work the necessary miracle in my favor. The plan is certain tosucceed. Still, it will be all the better if the physician who attendedM. de C---- in his last moments, and whom you spoke to me about (Dr.Jodon, if I remember rightly), will consent to lend us a helping hand.What kind of a man is he? If he is accessible to the seductive influenceof a few thousand francs, I shall consider the business as good asconcluded. Your conduct up to the present time has been a chef-d'oeuvre,for which you shall be amply compensated. You have cause to know thatI am not ungrateful. Let the F's continue their intrigues, and evenpretend to favor them. I am not afraid of these people. I understandtheir game perfectly, and know why they wish my little one to marrytheir son. But when they become troublesome, I shall crush them likeglass. In spite of these explanations, which I have just given you foryour guidance, it is very necessary that I should see you. I shall lookfor you on Tuesday afternoon, between three and four o'clock. Above all,don't fail to bring me the desired information respecting Dr. Jodon. Iam, my dear madame, devotedly yours--V." Below ran a postscript whichread as follows: "When you come on Tuesday bring this letter with you.We will burn it together. Don't imagine that I distrust you--but thereis nothing so dangerous as letters."
For some time Marguerite stood, stunned and appalled by the Marquis deValorsay's audacity, and by the language of this letter, which was atonce so obscure and so clear, every line of it threatening her future.The reality surpassed her worst apprehensions, but realizing the gravityof the situation, she shook off the torpor stealing over her. She feltthat every second was precious, and that she must act, and act at once.But what should she do? Simply return the letter to its place, andcontinue to act the role of a dupe, as if nothing had happened? No; thatmust not be. It would be madness not to seize this flagrant proof ofthe Marquis de Valorsay's infamy. But on the other hand, if she keptthe letter, Madame Leon would immediately discover its loss, and anexplanation would be unavoidable. M. de Valorsay would be worsted, butnot annihilated, and the plans which made the physician's interventiona necessity would never be revealed. She thought of hastening to herfriend the old magistrate; but he lived a long way off, and time waspressing. Besides she might not find him at home. Then she thought ofgoing to a notary, to a judge. She would show them the letter, and theycould take a copy of it. But no--this would do no good--the marquiscould still deny it. She was becoming desperate, and was accusingherself of stupidity, when a sudden inspiration illumined her mind,turning night into day, as it were. "Oh, Pascal, we are saved!" sheexclaimed. And without pausing to deliberate any longer, she threw amantle over her shoulders, hastily tied on her bonnet, and hurried fromthe house, without saying a word to any one.
Unfortunately she was not acquainted with this part of Paris, and onreaching the Rue Pigalle she was at a loss for her way. Unwilling towaste any more time, she hastily entered a grocer's shop at the cornerof the Rue Pigalle and the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, and anxiouslyinquired: "Do you know any photographer in this neighborhood, monsieur?"
Her agitation made this question seem so singular that the grocerlooked at her closely for a moment, as if to make sure that she was notjesting. "You have only to go down the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette," hereplied, "and on the left-hand side, at the foot of the hill, you willfind the photographer Carjat."
"Thank you."
The grocer stepped to the door to watch her. "That girl's certainlylight-headed," he thought.
Her demeanor was really so extraordinary that it attracted the attentionof the passers-by. She saw this, and slackening her pace, triedto become more composed. At the spot the grocer had indicated, sheperceived several show frames filled with photographs hanging on eitherside of a broad, open gateway, above which ran the name, "E. Carjat."She went in, and seeing a man standing at the door of an elegantpavilion on the right-hand side of a large courtyard, she approachedhim, and asked for his employer.
"He is here," replied the man. "Does madame come for a photograph?"
"Yes."
"Then will madame be so kind as to pass in. She will not be obliged towait long. There are only four or five persons before her."
Four or five persons! How long would she be obliged to wait?--half anhour--two hours? She had not the slightest idea. But she DID know thatshe had not a second to lose, that Madame Leon might return at anymoment, and find the letter missing; and, to crown all, she rememberednow that she had not even locked the drawer again. "I cannot wait," shesaid, imperiously. "I must speak to M. Carjat at once."
"But----"
"At once, I tell you. Go and tell him that he must come."
Her tone was so commanding, and there was so much authority in herglance, that the servant hesitated no longer. He ushered her into alittle sitting-room, and said, "If madame will take a seat, I will callmonsieur."
She sank on to a chair, for her limbs were failing her. She wasbeginning to realize the strangeness of the step she had taken--to fearthe result it might lead to--and to be astonished at her own boldness.But she had no time to prepare what she wished to say, for a man offive-and-thirty, wearing a mustache and imperial, and clad in a velvetcoat, entered the room, and bowing with an air of surprise, exclaimed:"You desire to speak with me, madame?"
"I have a great favor to ask of you, monsieur."
"Of me?"
She drew M. de Valorsay's letter from her pocket, and, showing it tothe photographer, she said, "I have come to you, monsieur, to ask youto photograph this letter--but at once--before me--and quickly--veryquickly. The honor of two persons is imperilled by each moment I losehere."
Mademoiselle Marguerite's embarrassment was extreme. Her cheeks werecrimson, and she trembled like a leaf. Still her attitude was proud,generous enthusiasm glowed in her dark eyes, and her tone of voicerevealed the serenity of a lofty soul ready to dare anything for a justand noble cause. This striking contrast--this struggle between girlishtimidity and a lover's virgil energy, endowed her with a strange andpowerful charm, which the photographer made no attempt to resist.Unusual as was the request, he did not hesitate. "I am ready to do whatyou desire, madame," he replied, bowing again.
"Oh! monsieur, how can I ever thank you?"
He did not stop to listen to her thanks. Not wishing to return to thereception-room, where five or six clients were impatiently awaitingtheir turn, he called one of his subordinates, and ordered him to bringthe necessary apparatus at once. While he was speaking, MademoiselleMarguerite paused; but, as soon as his instructions were concluded, sheremarked: "Perhaps you are too hasty, sir. You have not allowed me toexplain; and perhaps what I desire is impossible. I came on the impulseof the moment, without any knowledge on the subject. Before you set towork, I must know if what you can do will answer my purpose."
"Speak, madame."
"Will the copy you obtain be precisely like the original in everyparticular?"
"In every particular."
"The writing will be the same--exactly the same?"
&nb
sp; "Absolutely the same."
"So like, that if one of your photographs should be presented to theperson who wrote this letter----"
"He could no more deny his handwriting than he could if some one handedhim the letter itself."
"And the operation will leave no trace on the original?"
"None."
A smile of triumph played upon Mademoiselle Marguerite's lips. It was asshe had thought; the defensive plan which she had suddenly conceived wasa good one. "One more question, sir," she resumed. "I am only a poor,ignorant girl: excuse me, and give me the benefit of your knowledge.This letter will be returned to its author to-morrow, and he will burnit. But afterward, in case of any difficulty--in case of a law-suit--orin case it should be necessary for me to prove certain things which onemight establish by means of this letter, would one of your photographsbe admitted as evidence?"
The photographer did not answer for a moment. Now he understoodMademoiselle Marguerite's motive, and the importance she attached to afacsimile. But this imparted an unexpected gravity to the service he wascalled upon to perform. He therefore wished some time for reflection,and he scrutinized Mademoiselle Marguerite as if he were trying to readher very soul. Was it possible that this young girl, with such a pureand noble brow, and with such frank, honest eyes, could be meditatingany cowardly, dishonorable act? No, he could not believe it. In whom,or in what, could he trust if such a countenance deceived him? "Myfacsimile would certainly be admitted as evidence," he replied at last;"and this would not be the first time that the decision of a court hasdepended on proofs which have been photographed by me."
Meanwhile, his assistant had returned, bringing the necessary apparatuswith him. When all was ready, the photographer asked her, "Will you giveme the letter, madame?"
She hesitated for a second--only for a second. The man's honest, kindlyface told her that he would not betray her, that he would rather giveher assistance. So she handed him the Marquis de Valorsay's letter,saying, with melancholy dignity, "It is my happiness and my future thatI place in your hands--and I have no fears."
He read her thoughts, and understood that she either dared not ask for apledge of secrecy, or else that she thought it unnecessary. He took pityon her, and his last doubt fled. "I shall read this letter, madame,"said he, "but I am the only person who will read it. I give you my wordon that! No one but myself will see the proofs."
Greatly moved, she offered him her hand, and simply said, "Thanks; I ammore than repaid."
To obtain an absolutely perfect facsimile of a letter is a delicateand sometimes lengthy operation. However, at the end of about twentyminutes, the photographer possessed two negatives that promised himperfect proofs. He looked at them with a satisfied air; and thenreturning the letter to Mademoiselle Marguerite, he said, "In less thanthree days the facsimiles will be ready, madame; and if you will tell meto what address I ought to send them----"
She trembled on hearing these words, and quickly answered, "Don't sendthem, sir--keep them carefully. Great heavens! all would be lost if itcame to the knowledge of any one. I will send for them, or come myself."And, feeling the extent of her obligation, she added, "But I will not gowithout introducing myself--I am Mademoiselle Marguerite de Chalusse."And, thereupon, she went off, leaving the photographer surprised at theadventure and dazzled by his strange visitor's beauty.
Rather more than an hour had elapsed since Marguerite left M. deFondege's house. "How time flies!" she murmured, quickening her paceas much as she could without exciting remark--"how time flies!" But,hurried as she was, she stopped and spent five minutes at a shop in theRue Notre Dame de Lorette where she purchased some black ribbon and afew other trifles. How else could she explain and justify her absence,if the servants, who had probably discovered she had gone out, chancedto speak of it?
But her heart throbbed as if it would burst as she ascended theGeneral's staircase, and anxiety checked her breathing as she rang thebell. "What if Madame de Fondege and Madame Leon had returned, andthe abstraction of the letter been discovered!" Fortunately, Madame deFondege required more than an hour to purchase the materials for theelaborate toilette she had dreamt of. The ladies were still out, andMademoiselle Marguerite found everything in the same condition as shehad left it. She carefully placed the letter in the drawer again, lockedit, and put the key in the pocket of Madame Leon's dress. Then shebreathed freely once more; and, for the first time in six days, she feltsomething very like joy in her heart. Now she had no fear of the Marquisde Valorsay. She had him in her power. He would destroy his letter thenext day, and think that he was annihilating all proofs of his infamy.Not so. At the decisive moment, at the very moment of his triumph,she would produce the photograph of this letter, and crush him. Andshe--only a young girl--had outwitted this consummate scoundrel! "Ihave not been unworthy of Pascal," she said to herself, with a flash ofpride.
However, her nature was not one of those weak ones which are becomeintoxicated by the first symptom of success, and then relax in theirefforts. When her excitement had abated a little, she was inclined todisparage rather than to exaggerate the advantage she had gained. Whatshe desired was a complete, startling, incontestable victory. It wasnot enough to prove Valorsay's GUILT--she was resolved to penetrate hisdesigns, to discover why he pursued her so desperately. And, though shefelt that she possessed a formidable weapon of defence, she couldnot drive away her gloomy forebodings when she thought of the threatscontained in the marquis's letter. "Thanks to the assistance of oneof my friends," he wrote, "I can place this proud girl in a perilous,terribly perilous, position, from which she cannot possibly extricateherself unaided."
These words persistently lingered in Mademoiselle Marguerite's mind.What was the danger hanging over her? whence would it come? and in whatform? What abominable machination might she not expect from the villainwho had deliberately dishonored Pascal? How would he attack her? Wouldhe strive to ruin her reputation, or did he intend to forcibly abducther? Would he attempt to decoy her into a trap where she would besubjected to the insults of the vilest wretches? A thousand frightfulmemories of the time when she was an apprentice drove her nearlyfrantic. "I will never go out unarmed," she thought, "and woe to the manwho raises his hand against me!"
The vagueness of the threat increased her fears. No one is courageousenough to confront an unknown, mysterious, and always imminent dangerwithout sometimes faltering. Nor was this all. The marquis was nother only enemy. She had the Fondege family to dread--these dangeroushypocrites, who had taken her to their home so that they might ruinher the more surely. M. de Valorsay wrote that he had no fears of theFondeges--that he understood their little game. What was their littlegame? No doubt they were resolved that she should become their son'swife, even if they were obliged to use force to win her consent. At thisthought a sudden terror seized her soul, so full of peace and hope aninstant before. When she was attacked, would she have time to produceand use the facsimile of Valorsay's letter? "I must reveal my secret toa friend--to a trusty friend--who will avenge me!" she muttered.
Fortunately she had a friend in whom she could safely confide--the oldmagistrate who had given her such proofs of sympathy. She felt that sheneeded the advice of a riper experience than her own, and the thought ofconsulting him at once occurred to her. She was alone; she had no spy tofear; and it would be folly not to profit by the few moments of libertythat remained. So she drew her writing-case from her trunk, and, afterbarricading her door to prevent a surprise, she wrote her friend anaccount of the events which had taken place since their last interview.She told him everything with rare precision and accuracy of detail,sending him a copy of Valorsay's letter, and informing him that, in caseany misfortune befell her, he could obtain the facsimiles from Carjat.She finished her letter, but did not seal it. "If anything should happenbefore I have an opportunity to post it, I will add a postscript," shesaid to herself.
She had made all possible haste, fearing that Madame de Fondege andMadame Leon might return at any moment. But this w
as truly a chimericalapprehension. It was nearly six o'clock when the two shoppers made theirappearance, wearied with the labors of the day, but in fine spirits.Besides purchasing every requisite for that wonderful costume of hers,the General's wife had found some laces of rare beauty, which she hadsecured for the mere trifle of four thousand francs. "It was one ofthose opportunities one ought always to profit by," she said, as shedisplayed her purchase. "Besides, it is the same with lace as withdiamonds, you should purchase them when you can--then you have them.It isn't an outlay--it's an investment." Subtle reasoning that has costmany a husband dear!
On her side, Madame Leon proudly showed her dear young lady a verypretty present which Madame de Fondege had given her. "So money is nolonger lacking in this household," thought Mademoiselle Marguerite, allthe more confirmed in her suspicions.
The General came in a little later, accompanied by a friend, andMarguerite soon discovered that the worthy man had spent the day asprofitably as his wife. He too was quite tired out; and he had reason tobe fatigued. First, he had purchased the horses belonging to the ruinedspendthrift, and he had paid five thousand francs for them, a meretrifle for such animals. Less than an hour after the purchase he hadrefused almost double that amount from a celebrated connoisseur inhorse-flesh, M. de Breulh-Faverlay. This excellent speculation had puthim in such good humor that he had been unable to resist the temptationof purchasing a beautiful saddle-horse, which they let him have for ahundred louis. He had not been foolish, for he was sure that he couldsell the animal again at an advance of a thousand francs whenever hewished to do so. "So," remarked his friend, "if you bought such a horseevery day, you would make three hundred and sixty-five thousand francs ayear."
Was this only a jest--one of those witticisms which people who boastof wonderful bargains must expect to parry, or had the remark a moreserious meaning? Marguerite could not determine. One thing is certain,the General did not lose his temper, but gayly continued his account ofthe way in which he had spent his time. Having purchased the horses, hisnext task was to find a carriage, and he had heard of a barouche whicha Russian prince had ordered but didn't take, so that the builder waswilling to sell it at less than cost price; and to recoup this worthyman, the General had purchased a brougham as well. He had, moreover,hired stabling in the Rue Pigalle, only a few steps from the house, andhe expected a coachman and a groom the following morning.
"And all this will cost us less than the miserable vehicle we have beenhiring by the year," observed Madame de Fondege, gravely. "Oh, I knowwhat I say. I've counted the cost. What with gratuities and extras, itcosts us now fully a thousand francs a month, and three horses and acoachman won't cost you more. And what a difference! I shall no longerbe obliged to blush for the skinny horses the stable-keeper sends me,nor to endure the insolence of his men. The first outlay frightened mea little; but that is made now, and I am delighted. We will save it insomething else."
"In laces, no doubt," thought Mademoiselle Marguerite. She was intenselyexasperated, and on regaining her chamber she said to herself, for thetenth time, "What do they take me for? Do they think me an idiot toflaunt the millions they have stolen from my father--that they havestolen from me--before my eyes in this fashion? A common thief wouldtake care not to excite suspicion by a foolish expenditure of the fruitsof his knavery, but they--they have lost their senses."
Madame Leon was already in bed, and when Mademoiselle Marguerite wassatisfied that she was asleep, she took her letter from her trunk, andadded this post-script: "P. S.--It is impossible to retain the shadow ofa doubt, M. and Madame de Fondege have spent certainly twenty thousandfrancs to-day. This audacity must arise from a conviction that no proofsof the crime they have committed exist. Still they continue to talkto me about their son, Lieutenant Gustave. He will be presented to meto-morrow. To-morrow, also, between three and four, I shall be atthe house of a man who can perhaps discover Pascal's hiding-place forme,--the house of M. Isidore Fortunat. I hope to make my escape easilyenough, for at that same hour, Madame Leon has an appointment with theMarquis de Valorsay."
Baron Trigault's Vengeance Page 9
