Le dossier no. 113. English

by Emile Gaboriau

  XVII

  It was not without the most painful suffering and self-condemnation thatMme. Fauvel submitted to the will of the pitiless Marquis of Clameran.

  She had used every argument and entreaty to soften him; but he merelylooked upon her with a triumphant, sneering smile, when she knelt at hisfeet, implored him to be merciful and spare her the shame and remorseof committing another crime. Spare her this torture, and she would grantanything else he wished, give Raoul all she possessed while alive, andinsure him a handsome competency after her death.

  Alas! neither tears nor prayers moved him. Disappointed, and almostdesperate, she sought the intercession of her son.

  Raoul was in a state of furious indignation at the sight of his mother'sdistress, and hastened to demand an apology from Clameran.

  But he had reckoned without his host. He soon returned with downcasteyes, and moodily angry at his own powerlessness, declaring that safetydemanded a complete surrender to the tyrant.

  Now only did the wretched woman fully fathom the abyss into which shewas being dragged, and clearly see the labyrinth of crime of which shewas becoming the victim.

  And all this suffering was the consequence of a fault, an interviewgranted to Gaston. Ever since that fatal day she had been vainlystruggling against the implacable logic of events. Her life had beenspent in trying to overcome the past, and now it had risen to crush her.

  The hardest thing of all to do, the act that most wrung her heart, wasshowing to her husband the forged letter from St. Remy, and saying thatshe expected to see her rich young nephew in a day or two. 'Tis hard todeceive those who trust and love us.

  But words cannot paint the torture she endured on the evening that sheintroduced Raoul to her family, and saw the honest banker cordiallyshake hands with this nephew of whom he had never heard before, andaffectionately say to him:

  "I am not surprised that a rich young fellow like yourself should preferParis to St. Remy, and nothing will give me more pleasure than yourvisit; for I seldom have an opportunity of welcoming a relative of mydear wife, for whose sake I take an interest in everyone coming from St.Remy."

  Raoul exerted his utmost to deserve this warm reception.

  If his early education had been neglected, and he lacked those delicaterefinements of manner and conversation which home influence imparts, hissuperior tact concealed these defects.

  He possessed the happy faculty of reading characters, and adapting hisconversation to the minds of his listeners.

  Before a week had gone by, he was a favorite with M. Fauvel, intimatewith Abel and Lucien, and inseparable from Prosper Bertomy, the cashier,who spent all his evenings with the banker's family.

  Charmed at the favorable impression made by Raoul, Mme. Fauvel recoveredcomparative ease of mind, and at times almost congratulated herselfupon having obeyed the marquis, as she saw all around her contented andhappy. Once more she began to hope that peace had not deserted her, thatGod had forgiven her.

  Alas! she rejoiced too soon.

  Raoul's intimacy with his cousins threw him among a set of rich youngmen, whose extravagance he not only imitated, but surpassed. He dailygrew more dissipated and reckless. Gambling, racing, expensive suppers,made money slip through his fingers like grains of sand.

  This proud young man, whose sensitive delicacy not long since madehim refuse to accept aught save affection from his mother, now neverapproached her without demanding large sums of money.

  At first she gave with pleasure, not stopping to count the rolls ofnotes she would eagerly run to bring him. But as he each time increasedhis demands, until they finally reached a sum far larger than shecould bestow, her eyes were opened to the ruinous effects of her lavishgenerosity.

  This rich woman, whose magnificent diamonds, elegant toilets, andsuperb equipages were the admiration and envy of Paris, now sufferedthe keenest torture. She had no more money to give her son; and whatso pains the female heart as being unable to gratify the wishes of abeloved being?

  Her husband never thought of giving her a fixed sum for the year'sexpenses, or of asking how she disposed of her money. The day after thewedding he gave her a key to his secretary, and told her, that what washis was hers, to use as she thought best. And, ever since, she had beenin the habit of freely taking all the money necessary for keeping up thehospitable, elegant house over which she so gracefully presided; for herown dress, and many charitable purposes that the world never knew of.

  But the fact of her having always been so modest in her personalexpenses that her husband used to jestingly say that he was afraid shewould end by being a miser; and her judicious, well-regulated managementof household expenditures, causing her to spend much the same amounteach year--prevented her now being able to dispose of large sums,without giving rise to embarrassing questions.

  M. Fauvel, the most generous of millionaires, delighted to see hiswife indulge in any extravagance, no matter how foolish; but he wouldnaturally expect to see traces of the money spent, something to show forit.

  The banker might suddenly discover that double the usual amount ofmoney was used in the house; and, if he should ask the cause of thisastonishing outlay, what answer could she give?

  In three months, Raoul had squandered a little fortune. In the firstplace, he was obliged to have bachelor's apartments, prettily furnished,and a handsome outfit from a fashionable tailor, besides the thousandlittle things indispensable to a society man; he must have a bloodedhorse and a coupe. His doting mother felt it her duty to give him theseluxuries, when her other sons were enjoying everything of the sort,besides many other advantages of which her poor Raoul was deprived.But each day the extravagance of his fancies increased, and Mme. Fauvelbegan to be alarmed when his demands far exceeded her ability to gratifythem.

  When she would gently remonstrate, Raoul's beautiful eyes would fillwith tears, and in a sad, humble tone he would say:

  "Alas! you are right to refuse me this gratification. What claim have I?I must not forget that I am only the poor son of Valentine, not the richbanker's child!"

  This touching repentance wrung her heart, so that she always ended bygranting him more than he had asked for. The poor boy had sufferedso much that it was her duty to console him, and atone for her pastneglect.

  She soon discovered that he was jealous and envious of his twobrothers--for, after all, they were his brothers--Abel and Lucien.

  "You never refuse them anything," he would resentfully say: "they werefortunate enough to enter life by the golden gate. Their every wishis gratified; they enjoy wealth, position, home affection, and have asplendid future awaiting them."

  "But what is lacking to your happiness, my son? Have you not everythingthat money can give? and are you not first in my affections?" asked hisdistressed mother.

  "What do I want? Apparently nothing, in reality everything. Do I possessanything legitimately? What right have I to your affection, to thecomforts and luxuries you heap upon me, to the name I bear? Is not mylife an extortion, my very birth a fraud?"

  When Raoul talked in this strain, she would weep, and overwhelm him withcaresses and gifts, until she imagined that every jealous thought wasvanished from his mind.

  As spring approached, she told Raoul she designed him to spend thesummer in the country, near her villa at St. Germain. She wanted to havehim with her all the time, and this was the only way of gratifying herwish. She was surprised to find her proposal readily acquiesced in. Ina few days he told her he had rented a little house at Vesinet, andintended having his furniture moved into it.

  "Then, just think, dear mother, what a happy summer we will spendtogether!" he said, with beaming eyes.

  She was delighted for many reasons, one of which was that the expensesof the prodigal son would necessarily be lessened. Anxiety as to theexhausted state of her finances made her bold enough to chide him at thedinner-table one day for having lost two thousand francs at the racesthat morning.

  "You are severe, my dear," said M. Fauvel with the carelessnes
s of arich man, who considered this sum a mere trifle. "Mamma Lagors won'tobject to footing his bills; mammas are created for the special purposeof paying bills."

  And, not observing that his wife had turned pale at these jocular words,he turned to Raoul, and added:

  "Don't disturb yourself about a small sum like this, my boy; when youwant money, come to me."

  What could Mme. Fauvel say? Had she not followed Clameran's orders, andtold her husband that Raoul was wealthy? She could not go now and tellhim that he would never recover any money which he lent to a pennilessspendthrift.

  Why had she been made to tell this unnecessary lie?

  She suspected the snare laid for her; but now it was too late to escapeit: struggles would only more deeply entangle her in its meshes.

  The banker's offer was soon accepted. That same week Raoul went to hisuncle's bank, and boldly borrowed ten thousand francs.

  When Mme. Fauvel heard of this piece of audacity, she wrung her hands indespair.

  "What can he want with so much money?" she moaned to herself: "whatwicked extravagance is it for?" For some time Clameran had kept awayfrom Mme. Fauvel's house. She decided to write and ask him to come andadvise her as to what steps should be taken to check Raoul.

  She hoped that this energetic, determined man, who was so fully awaketo his duties as a guardian and an uncle, would make Raoul listen toreason, and instantly refund the borrowed money.

  When Clameran heard what his graceless nephew had done, his surprise andanger were unbounded. He expressed so much indignation against Raoul,that Mme. Fauvel was frightened at the storm she had raised, and beganto make excuses for her son.

  While they were discussing the matter, Raoul came in, and a violentaltercation ensued between him and Clameran.

  But the suspicions of Mme. Fauvel were aroused; she watched them, and itseemed to her--could it be possible--that their anger was feigned; that,although they abused and even threatened each other in the bitterestlanguage, their eyes twinkled with amusement.

  She dared not breathe her doubts; but, like a subtle poison whichdisorganizes everything with which it comes in contact, this newsuspicion filled her thoughts, and added to her already intolerablesufferings.

  Yet she never once thought of blaming Raoul; nor for a moment did shefeel displeased with her idolized son. She accused the marquis of takingadvantage of the youthful weakness and inexperience of his nephew.

  She knew that she would have to suffer insolence and extortion from thisman who had her completely in his power; but she could not imagine whatobject he now had in view, for she plainly saw that he was aimingat something more than his nephew's success in life. He constantlyconcealed some plan to benefit himself at her expense; but assuredly herdarling Raoul could not be an accomplice in any plot to harass her.

  Clameran himself soon cleared her mind of all doubts.

  One day, after complaining more bitterly than usual of Raoul, andproving to Mme. Fauvel that it was impossible for this state of affairsto continue much longer, and a catastrophe was inevitable, he would upby saying there was one means of salvation left.

  This was that he, Clameran, must marry Madeleine!

  Mme. Fauvel was prepared for almost any base proposal save this one. Sheknew that his cupidity and insolence stopped at nothing, but never didshe imagine he would have the wild presumption to aspire to Madeleine'shand.

  If she had renounced all hope of happiness for herself, if she consentedto the sacrifice of her own peace of mind, it was because she thus hopedto insure the undisturbed felicity of her household, of her husband,whom she had sinned against.

  This unexpected declaration shocked her, and for a moment she wasspeechless.

  "Do you suppose for an instant, monsieur," she indignantly exclaimed,"that I will consent to any such disgraceful project? SacrificeMadeleine, and to you!"

  "I certainly do suppose so, madame; in fact, I am certain of it," heanswered with cool insolence.

  "What sort of a woman do you think I am, monsieur? Alas, I am toeternally suffer for a fault committed twenty years ago; have I notalready been more than adequately punished? And does it become you tobe constantly reproaching me with my long-past imprudence? You have noright to be thus harassing me, till I dare not say my life is my own!Your power is at an end, and God only knows how deeply I regret havingbeen insane enough to yield to its base sway! So long as I alone wasto be the tool, you found me weak and timid; but, now that you seek theruin of those I love, I rebel against your usurped authority. I havestill a little conscience left, and nothing under heaven will force meto sacrifice my gentle, pure-hearted Madeleine!"

  "May I inquire, madame, why you regard Mlle. Madeleine's becoming theMarchioness of Clameran as a disgrace and a sacrifice?"

  "My niece chose, of her own free will, a husband whom she will shortlymarry. She loves M. Prosper Bertomy."

  The marquis disdainfully shrugged his shoulders.

  "A school-girl love-affair," said he; "she will forget all about it, ifyou wish her to do so."

  "I do not wish it. I wish her to marry him."

  "Listen to me," he replied, in the low, suppressed tone of a man tryingto control himself: "let us not waste time in these idle discussions.Hitherto you have always commenced by protesting against my proposedplans, and in the end acknowledge the good sense and justness of myarguments; now, for once why not yield without going through with thecustomary preliminaries? I ask it as a favor."

  "Never," said Mme. Fauvel, "never will I yield."

  Clameran paid no attention to this interruption, but went on:

  "I insist upon this marriage, mainly on your account, although it willenable me to re-establish my own affairs, as well as yours and Raoul's.Of course you see that the allowance you give your son is insufficientfor his extravagant style of living. The time approaches when, havingnothing more to give him, you will have to encroach upon your husband'smoney-drawer to such an extent that longer concealment will beimpossible. When that day comes what is to be done? Perhaps you havesome feasible plan of escape?"

  Mme. Fauvel shuddered. The dreadful day of discovery could not be faroff, and no earthly way was there to escape it.

  The marquis went on:

  "Assist me now, and, instead of having to make a shameful confession,you will thank me for having saved you. Mlle. Madeleine is rich: herdowry will enable me to supply the deficiency, and spare you all furtheranxiety about Raoul."

  "I would rather be ruined than be saved by such means."

  "But I will not permit you to ruin us all. Remember, madame, that we areassociated in a common cause, the future welfare of Raoul; and, althoughyou have a right to rush upon destruction yourself, you certainly shallnot drag us with you."

  "Cease your importunities," she said, looking him steadily in the eye."I have made up my mind irrevocably."

  "To what?"

  "To do everything and anything to escape your shameful persecution.Oh! you need not smile. I shall throw myself at M. Fauvel's feet, andconfess everything. He is noble-hearted and generous, and, knowing how Ihave suffered, will forgive me."

  "Do you think so?" said Clameran derisively.

  "You mean to say that he will be pitiless, and banish me from his roof.So be it; it will only be what I deserve. There is no torture that Icannot bear, after what I have suffered through you."

  This inconceivable resistance so upset all the marquis's plans that helost all constraint, and, dropping the mask of politeness, appeared inhis true character.

  "Indeed!" he said in a fierce, brutal tone, "so you have decided toconfess to your loving, magnanimous husband! A famous idea! What apity you did not think of it before; it is rather late to try it now.Confessing everything the first day I called on you, you might have beenforgiven. Your husband might have pardoned a youthful fault atoned forby twenty years of irreproachable conduct; for none can deny that youhave been a faithful wife and a good mother. But picture the indignationof your trusting husband when you tell him that t
his pretended nephew,whom you imposed upon his family circle, who sat at his table, whoborrowed his money, is your illegitimate son! M. Fauvel is, no doubt,an excellent, kind-hearted man; but I scarcely think he will pardon adeception of this nature, which betrays such depravity, duplicity, andaudacity."

  All that the angry marquis said was horribly true; yet Mme. Fauvellistened unflinchingly, as if the coarse cruelty of his wordsstrengthened her resolution to have nothing more to do with him, but tothrow herself on her husband's mercy.

  "Upon my soul," he went on, "you must be very much infatuated with thisM. Bertomy! Between the honor of your husband's name, and pleasingthis love-sick cashier, you refuse to hesitate. Well, I suppose he willconsole you. When M. Fauvel divorces you, and Abel and Lucien averttheir faces at your approach, and blush at being your sons, you will beable to say, 'I have made Prosper happy!'"

  "Happen what may, I shall do what is right," said Mme. Fauvel.

  "You shall do what I say!" cried Clameran, threateningly. "Do yousuppose that I will allow your sentimentality to blast all my hopes?I shall tolerate no such folly, madame, I can assure you. Your niece'sfortune is indispensable to us, and, more than that--I love the fairMadeleine, and am determined to marry her."

  The blow once struck, the marquis judged it prudent to await the result.With cool politeness, he continued:

  "I will leave you now, madame, to think the matter over, and you cannotfail to view it in the same light as I do. You had better take myadvice, and consent to this sacrifice of prejudice, as it will be thelast required of you. Think of the honor of your family, and not of yourniece's love-affair. I will return in three days for your answer."

  "Your return is unnecessary, monsieur: I shall tell my husbandeverything to-night."

  If Mme. Fauvel had not been so agitated herself, she would have detectedan expression of alarm upon Clameran's face.

  But this uneasiness was only momentary. With a shrug, which meant, "Justas you please," he said:

  "I think you have sense enough to keep your secret."

  He bowed ceremoniously, and left the room, but slammed the front doorafter him so violently as to prove that his restrained anger burst forthbefore leaving the house.

  Clameran had cause for fear. Mme. Fauvel's determination was notfeigned. She was firm in her resolve to confess.

  "Yes," she cried, with the enthusiasm of a noble resolution, "yes, Iwill tell Andre everything!"

  She believed herself to be alone, but turned around suddenly at thesound of footsteps, and found herself face to face with Madeleine, whowas pale and swollen-eyed with weeping.

  "You must obey this man, aunt," she quietly said.

  Adjoining the parlor was a little card-room separated only by a heavysilk curtain, instead of a door.

  Madeleine was sitting in this little room when the marquis arrived, and,as there was no egress save through the parlor, had remained, and thusoverheard the conversation.

  "Good Heaven!" cried Mme. Fauvel with terror, "do you know----"

  "I know everything, aunt."

  "And you wish me to sacrifice you to this fiend?"

  "I implore you to let me save you from misery."

  "You certainly despise and hate M. de Clameran; how can you think Iwould let you marry him?"

  "I do despise him, aunt, and shall always regard him as the basest ofmen; nevertheless I will marry him."

  Mme. Fauvel was overcome by the magnitude of this devotion.

  "And what is to become of Prosper, my poor child--Prosper, whom youlove?"

  Madeleine stifled a sob, and said in a firm voice:

  "To-morrow I will break off my engagement with M. Bertomy."

  "I will never permit such a wrong," cried Mme. Fauvel. "I will not addto my sins by suffering an innocent girl to bear their penalty."

  The noble girl sadly shook her head, and replied:

  "Neither will I suffer dishonor to fall upon this house, which is myhome, while I have power to prevent it. Am I not indebted to you formore than life? What would I now be had you not taken pity on me? Afactory girl in my native village. You warmly welcomed the poor orphan,and became a mother to her. Is it not to your husband that I owe thefortune which excites the cupidity of this wicked Clameran? Are not Abeland Lucien brothers to me? And now, when the happiness of all who havebeen loving and generous to me is at stake, do you suppose I wouldhesitate? No. I will become the wife of Clameran."

  Then began a struggle of self-sacrifice between Mme. Fauvel and herniece, as to which should be the victim; only the more sublime, becauseeach offered her life to the other, not from any sudden impulse, butdeliberately and willingly.

  But Madeleine carried the day, fired as she was by that holy enthusiasmof sacrifice which is the sustaining element of martyrs.

  "I am responsible to none but myself," said she, well knowing this to bethe most vulnerable point she could attack; "whilst you, dear aunt, areaccountable to your husband and children. Think of the pain and sorrowof M. Fauvel if he should learn the truth; it would kill him."

  The generous girl was right. She knew her uncle's heart.

  After having sacrificed her husband to her mother, Mme. Fauvel was aboutto immolate her husband and children for Raoul.

  As a general thing, a first fault draws many others in its train. As animpalpable flake is the beginning of an avalanche, so an imprudence isoften the prelude to a great crime.

  To false situations there is but one safe issue: truth.

  Mme. Fauvel's resistance grew weaker and more faint, as her niecepointed out the line for her to pursue: the path of wifely duty.

  "But," she faintly argued, "I cannot accept your sacrifice. What sort ofa life will you lead with this man?"

  "We can hope for the best," replied Madeleine with a cheerfulness shewas far from feeling; "he loves me, he says; perhaps he will be kind tome."

  "Ah, if I only knew where to obtain money! It is money that the graspingman wants; money alone will satisfy him."

  "Does he not want it for Raoul? Has not Raoul, by his extravagantfollies, dug an abyss which must be bridged over by money? If I couldonly believe M. de Clameran!"

  Mme. Fauvel looked at her niece with bewildered curiosity.

  What! this inexperienced girl had weighed the matter in its differentlights before deciding upon a surrender; whereas, she, a wife and amother, had blindly yielded to the inspirations of her heart!

  "What do you mean? Madeleine, what do you suspect?"

  "I mean this, aunt: that I do not believe that Clameran has any thoughtof his nephew's welfare. Once in possession of my fortune, he may leaveyou and Raoul to your fates. And there is another dreadful suspicionthat tortures my mind."

  "A suspicion?"

  "Yes, and I would reveal it to you, if I dared; if I did not fear thatyou--"

  "Speak!" insisted Mme. Fauvel. "Alas! misfortune has given me strengthto bear all things. There is nothing worse than has already happened. Iam ready to hear anything."

  Madeleine hesitated; she wished to enlighten her credulous aunt, and yethesitated to distress her.

  "I would like to be certain," she said, "that some secret understandingbetween M. de Clameran and Raoul does not exist. Do you not think theyare acting a part agreed upon for the purpose of extorting money?"

  Love is blind and deaf. Mme. Fauvel would not remember the laughingeyes of the two men, upon the occasion of the pretended quarrel in herpresence. Infatuation had drowned suspicion. She could not, she wouldnot, believe in such hypocrisy. Raoul plot against the mother? Never!

  "It is impossible," she said, "the marquis is really indignant anddistressed at his nephew's mode of life, and he certainly would notcountenance any disgraceful conduct. As to Raoul, he is vain, trifling,and extravagant; but he has a good heart. Prosperity has turned hishead, but he loves me still. Ah, if you could see and hear him, whenI reproach him for his faults, your suspicions would fly to the winds.When he tearfully promises to be more prudent, and never again give metrouble, h
e means to keep his word; but perfidious friends enticehim away, and he commits some piece of folly without thinking of theconsequences."

  Mothers always blame themselves and everyone else for the sins of theirsons. The innocent friends come in for the principal share of censure,each mother's son leading the other astray.

  Madeleine had not the heart to undeceive her aunt.

  "God grant that what you say may be true," she said; "if so, thismarriage will not be useless. We will write to M. de Clameran to-night."

  "Why to-night, Madeleine? We need not hurry so. Let us wait a little;something else might happen to save us."

  These words, this confidence in chance, in a mere nothing, revealedMme. Fauvel's true character, and accounted for her troubles. Timid,hesitating, easily swayed, she never could come to a firm decision, forma resolution, and abide by it, in spite of all arguments brought tobear against it. In the hour of peril she would always shut her eyes andtrust to chance for a relief which never came. Never once did she thinkto ward off trouble by her own exertions.

  Quite different was Madeleine's character. Beneath her gentle timiditylay a strong, self-reliant will. Once decided upon what was right andjust, nothing could change her. If it was her duty to make a sacrifice,it was to be carried out to the letter; no hesitation and sighs forwhat might have been; she shut out all deceitful illusions, and walkedstraight forward without one look back.

  "We had better end the matter at once, dear aunt," she said, in agentle, but firm tone. "Believe me, the reality of misfortune is not aspainful as its apprehension. You cannot bear the shocks of sorrow, anddelusive hopes of happiness, much longer. Do you know what anxiety ofmind has done to you? Have you looked in the mirror during the last fourmonths?"

  She led her aunt up to the glass, and said:

  "Look at yourself."

  Mme. Fauvel was indeed a mere shadow of her former self.

  She had reached the perfidious age when a woman's beauty, like afull-blown rose, fades in a day.

  Four months of trouble had made her an old woman. Sorrow had stamped itsfatal seal upon her brow. Her fair, soft skin was wrinkled, her goldenhair was streaked with silver, and her large, soft eyes had a painfullyfrightened look.

  "Do you not agree with me," continued Madeleine, pityingly, "that peaceof mind is necessary to you? Do you not see that you are a wreck of yourformer self? It is a miracle that M. Fauvel has not noticed this sadchange in you!"

  Mme. Fauvel, who flattered herself that she had displayed wonderfuldissimulation, shook her head.

  "Alas, my poor aunt! you think you concealed your secret from all: youmay have blinded my uncle, but I suspected all along that somethingdreadful was breaking your heart."

  "You suspected what, Madeleine? Not the truth?"

  "No, I was afraid--Oh, pardon an unjust suspicion, my dear aunt, but Iwas wicked enough to suppose----"

  She stopped, too distressed to finish her sentence; then, making apainful effort, she added, as her aunt signed to her to go on:

  "I was afraid that perhaps you loved another man than my uncle; it wasthe only construction that I could put upon your strange conduct."

  Mme. Fauvel buried her face, and groaned. Madeleine's suspicion was, nodoubt, entertained by others.

  "My reputation is gone," she moaned.

  "No, dear aunt, no; do not be alarmed about that. No one has hadoccasion to observe you as I have; it was only a dreadful thought whichpenetrated my mind in spite of my endeavors to dispel it. Have courage:we two can fight the world and silence our enemies. You shall be saved,aunt: only trust in me."

  The Marquis of Clameran was agreeably surprised that evening byreceiving a letter from Mme. Fauvel, saying that she consented toeverything, but must have a little time to carry out the plan.

  Madeleine, she said, could not break off her engagement with M. Bertomyin a day. M. Fauvel would make objections, for he had an affection forProsper, and had tacitly approved of the match. It would be wiser toleave to time the smoothing away of certain obstacles which a suddenattack might render insurmountable.

  A line from Madeleine, at the bottom of the letter, assured him that shefully concurred with her aunt.

  Poor girl! she did not spare herself. The next day she took Prosperaside, and forced from him the fatal promise to shun her in thefuture, and to take upon himself the responsibility of breaking theirengagement.

  He implored Madeleine to at least explain the reason of this banishment,which destroyed all of his hopes for happiness.

  She quietly replied that her peace of mind and honor depended upon hisblind obedience to her will.

  He left her with death in his soul.

  As he went out of the house, the marquis entered.

  Yes, he had the audacity to come in person, to tell Mme. Fauvel that,now he had the promise of herself and Madeleine, he would consent towait awhile.

  He himself saw the necessity of patience, knowing that he was not likedby the banker.

  Having the aunt and niece on his side, or rather in his power, he wascertain of success. He said to himself that the moment would come when adeficit impossible to be paid would force them to hasten the wedding.

  Raoul did all he could to bring matters to a crisis.

  Mme. Fauvel went sooner than usual to her country seat, and Raoul atonce moved into his house at Vesinet. But living in the country did notlessen his expenses.

  Gradually he laid aside all hypocrisy, and now only came to see hismother when he wanted money; and his demands were frequent and moreexorbitant each time.

  As for the marquis, he prudently absented himself, awaiting thepropitious moment.

  At the end of three weeks he met the banker at a friend's, and wasinvited to dinner the next day.

  Twenty people were seated at the table; and, as the dessert was beingserved, the banker suddenly turned to Clameran and said:

  "I have a piece of news for you, monsieur. Have you any relatives ofyour name?"

  "None that I know of, monsieur."

  "I am surprised. About a week ago, I became acquainted with anotherMarquis of Clameran."

  Although so hardened by crime, impudent enough to deny anything,Clameran was so taken aback that he sat with pale face and a blank look,silently staring at M. Fauvel.

  But he soon recovered enough self-control to say hurriedly:

  "Oh, indeed! That is strange. A Clameran may exist; but I cannotunderstand the title of marquis."

  M. Fauvel was not sorry to have the opportunity of annoying a guestwhose aristocratic pretensions had often piqued him.

  "Marquis or not," he replied, "the Clameran in question seems to be ableto do honor to the title."

  "Is he rich?"

  "I have reason to suppose that he is very wealthy. I have been notifiedto collect for him four hundred thousand francs."

  Clameran had a wonderful faculty of self-control; he had so schooledhimself that his face never betrayed what was passing in his mind. Butthis news was so startling, so strange, so pregnant of danger, that hisusual assurance deserted him.

  He detected a peculiar look of irony in the banker's eye.

  The only persons who noticed this sudden change in the marquis's matterwere Madeleine and her aunt. They saw him turn pale, and exchange ameaning look with Raoul.

  "Then I suppose this new marquis is a merchant," said Clameran after amoment's pause.

  "That I don't know. All that I know is, that four hundred thousandfrancs are to be deposited to his account by some ship-owners at Havre,after the sale of the cargo of a Brazilian ship."

  "Then he comes from Brazil?"

  "I do not know, but I can give you his Christian name."

  "I would be obliged."

  M. Fauvel arose from the table, and brought from the next room amemorandum-book, and began to read over the names written in it.

  "Wait a moment," he said, "let me see--the 22nd, no, it was later thanthat. Ah, here it is: Clameran, Gaston. His name is Gaston, monsieur."

&nbs
p; But this time Louis betrayed no emotion or alarm; he had had sufficienttime to recover his self-possession, and nothing could not throw him offhis guard.

  "Gaston?" he queried, carelessly. "I know who he is now. He must be theson of my father's sister, whose husband lived at Havana. I suppose,upon his return to France, he must have taken his mother's name, whichis more sonorous than his father's, that being, if I recollect aright,Moirot or Boirot."

  The banker laid down his memorandum-book, and, resuming his seat, wenton:

  "Boirot or Clameran," said he, "I hope to have the pleasure of invitingyou to dine with him before long. Of the four hundred thousand francswhich I was ordered to collect for him, he only wishes to draw onehundred, and tells me to keep the rest on running account. I judge fromthis that he intends coming to Paris."

  "I shall be delighted to make his acquaintance."

  Clameran broached another topic, and seemed to have entirely forgottenthe news told him by the banker.

  Although apparently engrossed in the conversation of his neighbor at thetable, he closely watched Mme. Fauvel and her niece.

  He saw that they were unable to conceal their agitation, and stealthilyexchanged significant looks.

  Evidently the same terrible idea had crossed their minds.

  Madeleine seemed more nervous and startled than her aunt. When M. Fauveluttered Gaston's name, she saw Raoul begin to draw back in his chair andglance in a frightened manner toward the window, like a detected thieflooking for means of escape.

  Raoul, less experienced than his uncle, was thoroughly discountenanced.He, the original talker, the lion of a dinner-party, never at a lossfor some witty speech, was now perfectly dumb; he sat anxiously watchingLouis.

  At last the dinner ended, and as the guests passed into thedrawing-room, Clameran and Raoul managed to remain last in thedining-room.

  When they were alone, they no longer attempted to conceal their anxiety.

  "It is he!" said Raoul.

  "I have no doubt of it."

  "Then all is lost; we had better make our escape."

  But a bold adventurer like Clameran had no idea of giving up the shiptill forced to do so.

  "Who knows what may happen?" he asked, thoughtfully. "There is hope yet.Why did not that muddle-headed banker tell us where this Clameran is tobe found?"

  Here he uttered a joyful exclamation. He saw M. Fauvel's memorandum-booklying on the table.

  "Watch!" he said to Raoul.

  Seizing the note-book, he hurriedly turned over the leaves, and, in anundertone, read:

  "Gaston, Marquis of Clameran, Oloron, Lower Pyrenees."

  "Well, does finding out his address assist us?" inquired Raoul, eagerly.

  "It may save us: that is all. Let us return to the drawing-room; ourabsence might be observed. Exert yourself to appear unconcerned and gay.You almost betrayed us once by your agitation."

  "The two women suspect something."

  "Well, suppose they do?"

  "The best thing that we can do is escape; the sooner we leave Paris, thebetter."

  "Do you think we should do any better in London? Don't be so easilyfrightened. I am going to plant my batteries, and I warrant they willprove successful."

  They joined the other guests. But, if their conversation had not beenoverheard their movements had been watched.

  Madeleine looked through the half-open door, and saw Clameran consultingher uncle's note-book, and whispering to Raoul. But what benefit wouldshe derive from this proof of the marquis's villany? She knew now thathe was plotting to obtain her fortune, and she would be forced to yieldit to him; that he had squandered his brother's fortune, and was nowfrightened at the prospect of having to account for it. Still this didnot explain Raoul's conduct. Why did he show such fear?

  Two hours later, Clameran was on the road to Vesinet with Raoul,explaining to him his plans.

  "It is my precious brother, and no mistake," he said. "But that need notalarm you so easily, my lovely nephew."

  "Merciful powers! Doesn't the banker expect to see him any day? Is henot liable to pounce down on me to-morrow?"

  "Don't be an idiot!" interrupted Clameran. "Does he know that Fauvelis Valentine's husband? That is what we must find out. If he knows thatlittle fact, we must take to our heels; if he is ignorant of it, ourcase is not desperate."

  "How will you find out?"

  "By simply asking him."

  Raoul exclaimed at his ally's cunning:

  "That is a dangerous thing to do," he said.

  "'Tis not as dangerous as sitting down with our hands folded. And, as torunning away at the first suspicion of alarm, it would be imbecility."

  "Who is going to look for him?"

  "I am."

  "Oh, oh, oh!" exclaimed Raoul in three different tones. Clameran'saudacity confounded him.

  "But what am I going to do?" he inquired after a moment's silence.

  "You will oblige me by remaining here and keeping quiet. I will send youa despatch if there is danger; and then you can decamp."

  As they parted at Raoul's door, Clameran said:

  "Now, remember. Stay here, and during my absence be very intimate atyour devoted mother's. Be the most dutiful of sons. Abuse me as much asyou please to her; and, above all, don't indulge in any folly; make nodemands for money; keep your eyes open. Good-by. To-morrow evening Iwill be at Oloron talking with this new Clameran."