IX
Not far from the Palais Royal, in the Rue St. Honore, is the sign of "LaBonne Foi," a small establishment, half cafe and half shop, extensivelypatronized by the people of the neighborhood.
It was in the smoking-room of this modest cafe that Prosper, the dayafter his release, awaited M. Verduret, who had promised to meet him atfour o'clock.
The clock struck four; M. Verduret, who was punctuality itself,appeared. He was more red-faced and self-satisfied, if possible, thanthe day before.
As soon as the servant had left the room to obey his orders, he said toProsper:
"Well, are our commissions executed?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Have you seen the costumer?"
"I gave him your letter, and everything you ordered will be sent to theArchangel to-morrow."
"Very good; you have not lost time, neither have I. I have good news foryou."
The "Bonne Foi" is almost deserted at four o'clock. The hour for coffeeis passed, and the hour for absinthe has not yet come. M. Verduret andProsper could talk at their ease without fear of being overheard bygossiping neighbors.
M. Verduret drew forth his memorandum-book, the precious diary which,like the enchanted book in the fairy-tale, had an answer for everyquestion.
"While awaiting our emissaries whom I appointed to meet here, let usdevote a little time to M. de Lagors."
At this name Prosper did not protest, as he had done the night previous.Like those imperceptible insects which, having once penetrated the rootof a tree, devour it in a single night, suspicion, when it invades ourmind, soon develops itself, and destroys our firmest beliefs.
The visit of Lagors, and Gypsy's torn letter, had filled Prosper withsuspicions which had grown stronger and more settled as time passed.
"Do you know, my dear friend," said M. Verduret, "what part of Francethis devoted friend of yours comes from?"
"He was born at St. Remy, which is also Mme. Fauvel's native town."
"Are you certain of that?"
"Oh, perfectly so, monsieur! He has not only often told me so, but Ihave heard him tell M. Fauvel; and he would talk to Mme. Fauvel by thehour about his mother, who was cousin to Mme. Fauvel, and dearly belovedby her."
"Then you think there is no possible mistake or falsehood about thispart of his story?"
"None in the least, monsieur."
"Well, things are assuming a queer look."
And he began to whistle between his teeth; which, with M. Verduret, wasa sign of intense inward satisfaction.
"What seems so, monsieur?" inquired Prosper.
"What has just happened; what I have been tracing. Parbleu!" heexclaimed, imitating the manner of a showman at a fair, "here isa lovely town, called St. Remy, six thousand inhabitants; charmingboulevards on the site of the old fortifications; handsome hotel;numerous fountains; large charcoal market, silk factories, famoushospital, and so on."
Prosper was on thorns.
"Please be so good, monsieur, as to explain what you----"
"It also contains," continued M. Verduret, "a Roman triumphal arch,which is of unparalleled beauty, and a Greek mausoleum; but no Lagors.St. Remy is the native town of Nostradamus, but not of your friend."
"Yet I have proofs."
"Naturally. But proofs can be fabricated; relatives can be improvised.Your evidence is open to suspicion. My proofs are undeniable, perfectlyauthenticated. While you were pining in prison, I was preparing mybatteries and collecting munition to open fire. I wrote to St. Remy, andreceived answers to my questions."
"Will you let me know what they were?"
"Have patience," said M. Verduret as he turned over the leaves ofhis memoranda. "Ah, here is number one. Bow respectfully to it, 'tisofficial."
He then read:
"'LAGORS.--Very old family, originally from Maillane, settled at St.Remy about a century ago.'"
"I told you so," cried Prosper.
"Pray allow me to finish," said M. Verduret.
"'The last of the Lagors (Jules-Rene-Henri) bearing without warrantthe title of count, married in 1829 Mlle. Rosalie-Clarisse Fontanet,of Tarascon; died December 1848, leaving no male heir, but left twodaughters. The registers make no mention of any person in the districtbearing the name of Lagors.'
"Now what do you think of this information?" queried the fat man with atriumphant smile.
Prosper looked amazed.
"But why did M. Fauvel treat Raoul as his nephew?"
"Ah, you mean as his wife's nephew! Let us examine note number two: itis not official, but it throws a valuable light upon the twenty thousandlivres income of your friend."
"'_Jules-Rene-Henri_ de Lagors, last of his name, died at St. Remy onthe 29th of December, 1848, in a state of great poverty. He at one timewas possessed of a moderate fortune, but invested it in a silk-wormnursery, and lost it all.
"'He had no son, but left two daughters, one of whom is a teacher atAix, and the other married a retail merchant at Orgon. His widow, wholives at Montagnette, is supported entirely by one of her relatives, thewife of a rich banker in Paris. No person of the name of Lagors lives inthe district of Arles.'
"That is all," said M. Verduret; "don't you think it enough?"
"Really, monsieur, I don't know whether I am awake or dreaming."
"You will be awake after a while. Now I wish to remark one thing. Somepeople may assert that the widow Lagors had a child born after herhusband's death. This objection has been destroyed by the age of yourfriend. Raoul is twenty-four, and M. de Lagors has not been dead twentyyears."
"But," said Prosper thoughtfully, "who can Raoul be?"
"I don't know. The fact is, I am more perplexed to find out who he is,than to know whom he is not. There is one man who could give us all theinformation we seek, but he will take good care to keep his mouth shut."
"You mean M. de Clameran?"
"Him, and no one else."
"I have always felt the most inexplicable aversion toward him. Ah, if wecould only get his account in addition to what you already have!"
"I have been furnished with a few notes concerning the Clameran familyby your father, who knew them well; they are brief, but I expect more."
"What did my father tell you?"
"Nothing favorable, you may be sure. I will read you the synopsis ofthis information:
"'Louis de Clameran was born at the Chateau de Clameran, near Tarascon.He had an elder brother named Gaston, who, in consequence of an affrayin which he had the misfortune to kill one man and badly wound another,was compelled to fly the country in 1842. Gaston was an honest, nobleyouth, universally beloved. Louis, on the contrary, was a wicked,despicable fellow, detested by all who knew him.
"'Upon the death of his father, Louis came to Paris, and in less thantwo years had squandered not only his own patrimony, but also the shareof his exiled brother.
"'Ruined and harassed by debt, Louis entered the army, but behaved sodisgracefully that he was dismissed.
"'After leaving the army we lose sight of him; all we can discover is,that he went to England, and thence to a German gambling resort, wherehe became notorious for his scandalous conduct.
"'In 1865 we find him again at Paris. He was in great poverty, and hisassociates were among the most depraved classes.
"'But he suddenly heard of the return of his brother Gaston to Paris.Gaston had made a fortune in Mexico; but being still a young man,and accustomed to a very active life, he purchased, near Orloron, aniron-mill, intending to spend the remainder of his life in working atit. Six months ago he died in the arms of his brother Louis. His deathprovided our De Clameran an immense fortune, and the title of marquis.'"
"Then," said Prosper, "from all this I judge that M. de Clameran wasvery poor when I met him for the first time at M. Fauvel's?"
"Evidently."
"And about that time Lagors arrived from the country?"
"Precisely."
"And about a month after his appearance Madeleine suddenly banishe
d me?"
"Well," exclaimed M. Verduret, "I am glad you are beginning tounderstand the state of affairs."
He was interrupted by the entrance of a stranger.
The new-comer was a dandified-looking coachman, with elegant blackwhiskers, shining boots with fancy tops; buff breeches, and a yellowwaistcoat with red and black stripes.
After cautiously looking around the room, he walked straight up to thetable where M. Verduret sat.
"What is the news, Master Joseph Dubois?" said the stout man eagerly.
"Ah, patron, don't speak of it!" answered the servant: "things aregetting warm."
Prosper concentrated all his attention upon this superb domestic. Hethought he recognized his face. He had certainly somewhere seen thatretreating forehead and those little restless black eyes, but where andwhen he could not remember.
Meanwhile, Master Joseph had taken a seat at a table adjoining theone occupied by M. Verduret and Prosper; and, having called for someabsinthe, was preparing it by holding the water aloft and slowlydropping it in the glass.
"Speak!" said M. Verduret.
"In the first place, patron, I must say that the position of valet andcoachman to M. de Clameran is not a bed of roses."
"Go on: come to the point. You can complain to-morrow."
"Very good. Yesterday my master walked out at two o'clock. I, of course,followed him. Do you know where he went? The thing was as good as afarce. He went to the Archangel to keep the appointment made by 'NinaGypsy.'"
"Well, make haste. They told him she was gone. Then?"
"Then? Ah! he was not at all pleased, I can tell you. He hurried back tothe hotel where the other, M. de Lagors, awaited him. And, upon my soul,I have never heard so much swearing in my life! M. Raoul asked himwhat had happened to put him in such a bad humor. 'Nothing,' replied mymaster, 'except that little devil has run off, and no one knows whereshe is; she has slipped through our fingers.' Then they both appearedto be vexed and uneasy. Lagors asked if she knew anything serious. 'Sheknows nothing but what I told you,' replied Clameran; 'but this nothing,falling in the ear of a man with any suspicions, will be more thanenough to work on.'"
M. Verduret smiled like a man who had his reasons for appreciating attheir just value De Clameran's fears.
"Well, your master is not without sense, after all; don't you think heshowed it by saying that?"
"Yes, patron. Then Lagors exclaimed, 'If it is as serious as that,we must get rid of this little serpent!' But my master shrugged hisshoulders, and laughing loudly said, 'You talk like an idiot; when oneis annoyed by a woman of this sort, one must take measures to get rid ofher administratively.' This idea seemed to amuse them both very much."
"I can understand their being entertained by it," said M. Verduret; "itis an excellent idea; but the misfortune is, it is too late to carry itout. The nothing which made Clameran uneasy has already fallen into aknowing ear."
With breathless curiosity, Prosper listened to this report, every wordof which seemed to throw light upon past events. Now, he thought, heunderstood the fragment of Gypsy's letter. He saw that this Raoul, inwhom he had confided so deeply, was nothing more than a scoundrel. Athousand little circumstances, unnoticed at the time, now recurred tohis mind, and made him wonder how he could have been so blind so long.
Master Joseph Dubois continued his report:
"Yesterday, after dinner, my master decked himself out like abridegroom. I shaved him, curled his hair, and perfumed him with specialcare, after which I drove him to the Rue de Provence to call on Mme.Fauvel."
"What!" exclaimed Prosper, "after the insulting language he used the dayof the robbery, did he dare to visit the house?"
"Yes, monsieur, he not only dared this, but he also stayed there untilmidnight, to my great discomfort; for I got as wet as a rat, waiting forhim."
"How did he look when he came out?" asked M. Verduret.
"Well, he certainly looked less pleased then when he went in. Afterputting away my carriage, and rubbing down my horses, I went to see ifhe wanted anything; I found the door locked, and he swore at me like atrooper, through the key-hole."
And, to assist the digestion of this insult, Master Joseph here gulpeddown a glass of absinthe.
"Is that all?" questioned M. Verduret.
"All that occurred yesterday, patron; but this morning my master roselate, still in a horrible bad humor. At noon Raoul arrived, also ina rage. They at once began to dispute, and such a row! why, the mostabandoned housebreakers and pickpockets would have blushed to hear suchBillingsgate. At one time my master seized the other by the throat andshook him like a reed. But Raoul was too quick for him; he saved himselffrom strangulation by drawing out a sharp-pointed knife, the sight ofwhich made my master drop him in a hurry, I can tell you."
"But what did they say?"
"Ah, there is the rub, patron," said Joseph in a piteous tone; "thescamps spoke English, so I could not understand them. But I am sure theywere disputing about money."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I learned at the Exposition that the word 'argent' means moneyin every language in Europe; and this word they constantly used in theirconversation."
M. Verduret sat with knit brows, talking in an undertone to himself; andProsper, who was watching him, wondered if he was trying to understandand construct the dispute by mere force of reflection.
"When they had done fighting," continued Joseph, "the rascals began totalk in French again; but they only spoke of a fancy ball which is tobe given by some banker. When Raoul was leaving, my master said, 'Sincethis thing is inevitable, and it must take place to-day, you had betterremain at home, at Vesinet, this evening.' Raoul replied, 'Of course.'"
Night was approaching, and the smoking-room was gradually fillingwith men who called for absinthe or bitters, and youths who perchedthemselves up on high stools, and smoked their pipes.
"It is time to go," said M. Verduret; "your master will want you,Joseph; besides, here is someone come for me. I will see you to-morrow."
The new-comer was no other than Cavaillon, more troubled and frightenedthan ever. He looked uneasily around the room, as if he expected thewhole police force to appear, and carry him off to prison.
He did not sit down at M. Verduret's table, but stealthily gave his handto Prosper, and, after assuring himself that no one was observing them,handed M. Verduret a package, saying:
"She found this in a cupboard."
It was a handsomely bound prayer-book. M. Verduret rapidly turned overthe leaves, and soon found the pages from which the words pasted onProsper's letter had been cut.
"I had moral proofs," he said, handing the book to Prosper, "but here ismaterial proof sufficient in itself to save you."
When Prosper looked at the book he turned pale as a ghost. He recognizedthis prayer-book instantly. He had given it to Madeleine in exchange forthe medal.
He opened it, and on the fly-leaf Madeleine had written, "Souvenir ofNotre Dame de Fourvieres, 17 January, 1866."
"This book belongs to Madeleine," he cried.
M. Verduret did not reply, but walked toward a young man dressed like abrewer, who had just entered the room.
He glanced at the note which this person handed to him, and hastenedback to the table, and said, in an agitated tone:
"I think we have got them now!"
Throwing a five-franc piece on the table, and without saying a word toCavaillon, he seized Prosper's arm, and hurried from the room.
"What a fatality!" he said, as he hastened along the street: "we maymiss them. We shall certainly reach the St. Lazare station too late forthe St. Germain train."
"For Heaven's sake, where are you going?" asked Prosper.
"Never mind, we can talk after we start. Hurry!"
Reaching Palais Royal Place, M. Verduret stopped before one of the hacksbelonging to the railway station, and examined the horses at a glance.
"How much for driving us to Vesinet?" he asked of the driver.
"I don't know the road very well that way."
The name of Vesinet was enough for Prosper.
"Well," said the driver, "at this time of night, in such dreadfulweather, it ought to be--twenty-five francs."
"And how much more for driving very rapidly?"
"Bless my soul! Why, monsieur, I leave that to your generosity; but ifyou put it at thirty-five francs--"
"You shall have a hundred," interrupted M. Verduret, "if you overtake acarriage which has half an hour's start of us."
"Tonnerre de Brest!" cried the delighted driver; "jump in quick: we arelosing time!"
And, whipping up his lean horses, he galloped them down the Rue deValois at lightning speed.
Le dossier no. 113. English Page 8
