The Count's Millions

  XI.

  The clock on the mantel-shelf struck half-past four. The magistrate andMademoiselle Marguerite could hear stealthy footsteps in the hall, anda rustling near the door. The servants were prowling round about thestudy, wondering what was the reason of this prolonged conference. "Imust see how the clerk is progressing with the inventory." said themagistrate. "Excuse me if I absent myself for a moment; I will soonreturn." And so saying he rose and left the room.

  But it was only a pretext. He really wished to conceal his emotionand regain his composure, for he had been deeply affected by the younggirl's narrative. He also needed time for reflection, for the situationhad become extremely complicated since Mademoiselle Marguerite hadinformed him of the existence of heirs--of those mysterious enemies whohad poisoned the count's peace. These persons would, of course, requireto know what had become of the millions deposited in the escritoire,and who would be held accountable for the missing treasure? MademoiselleMarguerite, unquestionably. Such were the thoughts that flitted throughthe magistrate's mind as he listened to his clerk's report. Nor was thisall; for having solicited Mademoiselle Marguerite's confidence, he mustnow advise her. And this was a matter of some difficulty.

  However, when he returned to the study he was quite self-possessedand impassive again, and he was pleased to see that on her side theunfortunate girl had, to some extent, at least, recovered her wontedcomposure. "Let us now discuss the situation calmly," he began. "I shallconvince you that your prospects are not so frightful as you imagine.But before speaking of the future, will you allow me to refer to thepast?" The girl bowed her consent. "Let us first of all consider thesubject of the missing millions. They were certainly in the escritoirewhen M. de Chalusse replaced the vial; but now they are not to be found,so that the count must have taken them away with him."

  "That thought occurred to me also."

  "Did the treasure form a large package?"

  "Yes, it was large; but it could have been easily concealed under thecloak which M. de Chalusse wore."

  "Very good! What was the time when he left the house?"

  "About five o'clock."

  "When was he brought back?"

  "At about half-past six."

  "Where did the cabman pick him up?"

  "Near the church of Notre Dame de Lorette, so he told me."

  "Do you know the driver's number?"

  "Casimir asked him for it, I believe."

  Had any one inquired the reason of this semi-official examination, themagistrate would have replied that Mademoiselle Marguerite's interestsalone influenced him in the course he was taking. This was quite true;and yet, without being altogether conscious of the fact, he was alsoimpelled by another motive. This affair interested, almost fascinated,him on account of its mysterious surroundings, and influenced by thedesire for arriving at the truth which is inherent in every human heart,he was anxious to solve the riddle. After a few moments' thoughtfulsilence, he remarked: "So the point of departure in our investigation,if there is an investigation, will be this: M. de Chalusse left thehouse with two millions in his possession; and while he was absent, heeither disposed of that enormous sum--or else it was stolen from him."

  Mademoiselle Marguerite shuddered. "Oh! stolen," she faltered.

  "Yes, my child--anything is possible. We must consider the situation inevery possible light. But to continue. Where was M. de Chalusse going?"

  "To the house of a gentleman who would, he thought, be able to furnishthe address given in the letter he had torn up."

  "What was this gentleman's name?"

  "Fortunat."

  The magistrate wrote the name down on his tablets, and then, resuminghis examination, he said: "Now, in reference to this unfortunate letterwhich, in your opinion, was the cause of the count's death, what did itsay?"

  "I don't know, monsieur. It is true that I helped the count incollecting the fragments, but I did not read what was written on them."

  "That is of little account. The main thing is to ascertain who wrotethe letter. You told me that it could only have come from the sister whodisappeared thirty years ago, or else from your mother."

  "That was, and still is, my opinion."

  The magistrate toyed with his ring; and a smile of satisfaction stoleover his face. "Very well!" he exclaimed, "in less than five minutesI shall be able to tell you whether the letter was from your motheror not. My method is perfectly simple. I have only to compare thehandwriting with that of the letters found in the escritoire."

  Mademoiselle Marguerite sprang up, exclaiming: "What a happy idea!"

  But without seeming to notice the girl's surprise, he added: "Where arethe remnants of this letter which you and the count picked up in thegarden?"

  "M. de Chalusse placed them in his pocket."

  "They must be found. Tell the count's valet to look for them."

  The girl rang; but M. Casimir, who was supposed to be engaged in makingpreparations for the funeral, was not in the house. However, anotherservant and Madame Leon offered their services, and certainly displayedthe most laudable zeal, but their search was fruitless; the fragmentsof the letter could not be found. "How unfortunate!" muttered themagistrate, as he watched them turn the pockets of the count's clothesinside out. "What a fatality! That letter would probably have solved themystery."

  Compelled to submit to this disappointment, he returned to the study;but he was evidently discouraged. Although he did not consider themystery insoluble, far from it, he realized that time and researchwould be required to arrive at a solution, and that the affair was quitebeyond his province. One hope alone remained.

  By carefully studying the last words which M. de Chalusse had writtenand spoken he might arrive at the intention which had dictated them.Experience had wonderfully sharpened his penetration, and perhaps hemight discover a hidden meaning which would throw light upon all thisdoubt and uncertainty. Accordingly, he asked Mademoiselle Marguerite forthe paper upon which the count had endeavored to pen his last wishes;and in addition he requested her to write on a card the dying man's lastwords in the order they had been uttered. But on combining the writtenand the spoken words the only result obtained was as follows:--"Myentire fortune--give--friends--against--Marguerite--despoiled--yourmother--take care." These twelve incoherent words revealed the count'sabsorbing and poignant anxiety concerning his fortune and Marguerite'sfuture, and also the fear and aversion with which Marguerite's motherinspired him. But that was all; the sense was not precise enough for anypractical purpose. Certainly the word "give" needed no explanation.It was plain that the count had endeavored to write, "I give my entirefortune." The meaning of the word "despoiled" was also clear. It hadevidently been wrung from the half-unconscious man by the horriblethought that Marguerite--his own daughter, unquestionably--would nothave a penny of all the millions he had intended for her. "Take care"also explained itself. But there were two words which seemed absolutelyincomprehensible to the magistrate, and which he vainly strove toconnect with the others in an intelligible manner. These were the words"friends" and "against," and they were the most legibly written ofall. For the thirtieth time the magistrate was repeating them in anundertone, when a rap came at the door, and almost immediately MadameLeon entered the room.

  "What is it?" inquired Mademoiselle Marguerite.

  Laying a package of letters, addressed to M. de Chalusse, on the desk,the housekeeper replied: "These have just come by the post for thepoor count. Heaven rest his soul!" And then handing a newspaper toMademoiselle Marguerite, she added, in an unctuous tone: "And some oneleft this paper for mademoiselle at the same time."

  "This paper--for me? You must be mistaken."

  "Not at all. I was in the concierge's lodge when the messenger broughtit; and he said it was for Mademoiselle Marguerite, from one of herfriends." And with these words she made one of her very best courtesies,and withdrew.

  The girl had taken the newspaper, and now, with an air of astonishmentand apprehension, she slowly unfolded it. What fi
rst attracted herattention was a paragraph on the first page marked round with red chalk.The paper had evidently been sent in order that she might read thisparticular passage, and accordingly she began to peruse it. "There was agreat sensation and a terrible scandal last evening at the residence ofMadame d'A----, a well known star of the first magnitude----"

  It was the shameful article which described the events that had robbedPascal of his honor. And to make assurance doubly sure, to prevent theleast mistake concerning the printed initials, the coward who sent thepaper had appended the names of the persons mixed up in the affair, atfull length, in pencil. He had written d'Argeles, Pascal Ferailleur,Ferdinand de Coralth, Rochecote. And yet, in spite of these precautions,the girl did not at first seize the full meaning of the article; andshe was obliged to read it over again. But when she finally understoodit--when the horrible truth burst upon her--the paper fell from hernerveless hands, she turned as pale as death, and, gasping for breath,leaned heavily against the wall for support.

  Her features expressed such terrible suffering that the magistratesprang from his chair with a bound. "What has happened?" he eagerlyasked.

  She tried to reply, but finding herself unable to do so, she pointed tothe paper lying upon the floor, and gasped: "There! there!"

  The magistrate understood everything at the first glance; and this man,who had witnessed so much misery--who had been the confidant of so manymartyrs--was filled with consternation at thought of the misfortuneswhich destiny was heaping upon this defenceless girl. He approached her,and led her gently to an arm-chair, upon which she sank, half fainting."Poor child!" he murmured. "The man you had chosen--the man whom youwould have sacrificed everything for--is Pascal Ferailleur, is he not?"

  "Yes, it is he."

  "He is an advocate?"

  "As I have already told you, monsieur."

  "Does he live in the Rue d'Ulm?"

  "Yes."

  The magistrate shook his head sadly. "It is the same," said he. "I alsoknow him, my poor child; and I loved and honored him. Yesterday I shouldhave told you that he was worthy of you. He was above slander. But now,see what depths love of play has brought him to. He is a thief!"

  Mademoiselle Marguerite's weakness vanished. She sprang from herchair, and indignantly faced the magistrate. "It is false!" she cried,vehemently; "and what that paper says is false as well!"

  Had her reason been affected by so many successive blows? It seemedlikely; for, livid a moment before, her face had now turned scarlet. Shetrembled nervously from head to foot, and there was a gleam of insanityin her big black eyes.

  "If she doesn't weep, she is lost," thought the magistrate. And, insteadof encouraging her to hope, he deemed it best to try and destroy what heconsidered a dangerous illusion. "Alas! my poor child," he said sadly,"you must not deceive yourself. The newspapers are often hasty in theirjudgment; but an article like that is only published when proof of itstruth is furnished by witnesses of unimpeachable veracity."

  She shrugged her shoulders as if she were listening to some monstrousabsurdities, and then thoughtfully muttered: "Ah! now Pascal's silenceis explained: now I understand why he has not yet replied to the letterI wrote him last night."

  The magistrate persevered, however, and added: "So, after the articleyou have just read, no one can entertain the shadow of a doubt."

  Mademoiselle Marguerite hastily interrupted him. "But I have not doubtedhim for a second!" she exclaimed. "Doubt Pascal! I doubt Pascal! I wouldsooner doubt myself. I might commit a dishonorable act; I am only apoor, weak, ignorant girl, while he--he----You don't know, then, thathe was my conscience? Before undertaking anything, before deciding uponanything, if ever I felt any doubt, I asked myself, 'What would he do?'And the mere thought of him is sufficient to banish any unworthy ideafrom my heart." Her tone and manner betokened complete and unwaveringconfidence; and her faith imparted an almost sublime expression to herface. "If I was overcome, monsieur," she continued, "it was only becauseI was appalled by the audacity of the accusation. How was it possible tomake Pascal even SEEM to be guilty of a dishonorable act? This is beyondmy powers of comprehension. I am only certain of one thing--that he isinnocent. If the whole world rose to testify against him, it would notshake my faith in him, and even if he confessed that he was guilty Ishould be more likely to believe that he was crazed than culpable!"

  A bitter smile curved her lips, she was beginning to judge the situationmore correctly, and in a calmer tone she resumed: "Moreover, what doescircumstantial evidence prove? Did you not this morning hear all ourservants declaring that I was accountable for M. de Chalusse'smillions? Who knows what might have happened if it had not been for yourintervention? Perhaps, by this time, I should have been in prison."

  "This is not a parallel case, my child."

  "It IS a parallel case, monsieur. Suppose, for one moment, that I hadbeen formally accused--what do you think Pascal would have replied ifpeople had gone to him, and said, 'Marguerite is a thief?' He would havelaughed them to scorn, and have exclaimed, 'Impossible!"'

  The magistrate's mind was made up. In his opinion, Pascal Ferailleur wasguilty. Still it was useless to argue with the girl, for he felt that heshould not be able to convince her. However, he determined, if possible,to ascertain her plans in order to oppose them, if they seemed to him atall dangerous. "Perhaps you are right, my child," he conceded, "still,this unfortunate affair must change all your arrangements."

  "Rather, it modifies them." Surprised by her calmness, he looked at herinquiringly. "An hour ago," she added, "I had resolved to go to Pascaland claim his aid and protection as one claims an undeniable right orthe fulfilment of a solemn promise; but now--"

  "Well?" eagerly asked the magistrate.

  "I am still resolved to go to him--but as an humble suppliant. And Ishall say to him, 'You are suffering, but no sorrow is intolerable whenthere are two to bear the burden; and so, here I am. Everything elsemay fail you--your dearest friends may basely desert you; but here am I.Whatever your plans may be--whether you have decided to leave Europe orto remain in Paris to watch for your hour of vengeance, you will needa faithful, trusty companion--a confidant--and here I am! Wife,friend, sister--I will be which ever you desire. I am yours--yoursunconditionally.'" And as if in reply to a gesture of surprise whichescaped the magistrate, she added: "He is unhappy--I am free--I lovehim!"

  The magistrate was struck dumb with astonishment. He knew that shewould surely do what she said; he had realized that she was one of thosegenerous, heroic women who are capable of any sacrifice for the man theylove--a woman who would never shrink from what she considered to beher duty, who was utterly incapable of weak hesitancy or selfishcalculation.

  "Fortunately, my dear young lady, your devotion will no doubt beuseless," he said at last.

  "And why?"

  "Because M. Ferailleur owes it to you, and, what is more, he owes itto himself, not to accept such a sacrifice." Failing to understand hismeaning, she looked at him inquiringly. "You will forgive me, I trust,"he continued, "if I warn you to prepare for a disappointment. Innocentor guilty, M. Ferailleur is--disgraced. Unless something little short ofa miracle comes to help him, his career is ended. This is one of thosecharges--one of those slanders, if you prefer that term, which a man cannever shake off. So how can you hope that he will consent to link yourdestiny to his?"

  She had not thought of this objection, and it seemed to her a terribleone. Tears came to her dark eyes, and in a despondent voice shemurmured: "God grant that he will not evince such cruel generosity. Theonly great and true misfortune that could strike me now would be to havehim repel me. M. de Chalusse's death leaves me without means--withoutbread; but now I can almost bless my poverty since it enables me to askhim what would become of me if he abandoned me, and who would protect meif he refused to do so. The brilliant career he dreamed of is ended, yousay. Ah, well! I will console him, and though we are unfortunate, wemay yet be happy. Our enemies are triumphant--so be it: we should onlytarnish our honor
by stooping to contend against such villainy. But insome new land, in America, perhaps, we shall be able to find somequiet spot where we can begin a new and better career." It was almostimpossible to believe that it was Mademoiselle Marguerite, usually sohaughtily reserved, who was now speaking with such passionate vehemence.And to whom was she talking in this fashion? To a stranger, whom she sawfor the first time. But she was urged on by circumstances, the influenceof which was stronger than her own will. They had led her to reveal herdearest and most sacred feelings and to display her real nature freefrom any kind of disguise.

  However, the magistrate concealed the emotion and sympathy which filledhis heart and refused to admit that the girl's hopes were likely to berealized. "And if M. Ferailleur refused to accept your sacrifice?" heasked.

  "It is not a sacrifice, monsieur."

  "No matter; but supposing he refused it, what should you do?"

  "What should I do?" she muttered. "I don't know. Still I should haveno difficulty in earning a livelihood. I have been told that I have aremarkable voice. I might, perhaps, go upon the stage."

  The magistrate sprang from his arm-chair. "You become an actress, YOU?"

  "Under such circumstances it would little matter what became of me!"

  "But you don't suspect--you cannot imagine----"

  He was at a loss for words to explain the nature of his objections tosuch a career; and it was Mademoiselle Marguerite who found them forhim. "I suspect that theatrical life is an abominable life for a woman,"she said, gravely; "but I know that there are many noble and chastewomen who have adopted the profession. That is enough for me. My prideis a sufficient protection. It preserved me as an apprentice; it wouldpreserve me as an actress. I might be slandered; but that is not anirremediable misfortune. I despise the world too much to be troubled byits opinion so long as I have the approval of my own conscience. Andwhy should I not become a great artiste if I consecrated all theintelligence, passion, energy, and will I might possess, to my art?"

  Hearing a knock at the door she paused; and a moment later a footmanentered with lights, for night was falling. He was closely followed byanother servant, who said: "Mademoiselle, the Marquis de Valorsay isbelow, and wishes to know if mademoiselle will grant him the honor of aninterview."