The Count's Millions

  XVIII.

  The woman in the carriage was none other than Madame Lia d'Argeles.She was attired in one of those startling costumes which are the ragenowadays, and which impart the same bold and brazen appearance to allwho wear them: so much so, that the most experienced observers areno longer able to distinguish the honest mother of a family from anotorious character. A Dutchman, named Van Klopen, who was originally atailor at Rotterdam, rightfully ascribes the honor of this progress tohimself. One can scarcely explain how it happens that this individual,who calls himself "the dressmaker of the queens of Europe," has becomethe arbiter of Parisian elegance; but it is an undeniable fact thathe does reign over fashion. He decrees the colors that shall be worn,decides whether dresses shall be short or long, whether paniers shallbe adopted or discarded, whether ruches and puffs and flowers shall beallowed, and in what form; and his subjects, the so-called elegant womenof Paris, obey him implicitly.

  Madame d'Argeles would personally have preferred less finery, perhaps,but it would not have done for her to be out of the fashion. She wore animperceptible hat, balanced on an immense pyramidal chignon, from whichescaped a torrent of wavy hair. "What a beautiful woman!" exclaimed thedazzled Chupin, and indeed, seen from this distance, she did not look aday more than thirty-five--an age when beauty possesses all the alluringcharm of the luscious fruit of autumn. She was giving orders for thedrive, and her coachman, with a rose in his buttonhole, listened whilehe reined in the spirited horse. "The weather's superb," added Chupin."She'll no doubt drive round the lakes in the Bois de Boulogne----"

  "Ah, she's off!" interrupted M. Fortunat. "Run, Victor, run! anddon't be miserly as regards carriage hire; all your expenses shall beliberally refunded you."

  Chupin was already far away. Madame d'Argeles's horse went swiftlyenough, but the agent's emissary had the limbs and the endurance of astag, and he kept pace with the victoria without much difficulty. Andas he ran along, his brain was busy. "If I don't take a cab," he said tohimself, "if I follow the woman on foot, I shall have a perfect right topocket the forty-five sous an hour--fifty, counting the gratuity--that acab would cost."

  But on reaching the Champ Elysees, he discovered, to his regret,that this plan was impracticable, for on running down the Avenue del'Imperatrice after the rapidly driven carriage, he could not fail toattract attention. Stifling a sigh of regret, and seeing a cab at astand near by, he hastily hailed it. "Where do you want to go, sir?"inquired the driver.

  "Just follow that blue victoria, in which a handsome lady is seated, mygood fellow."

  The order did not surprise the cabman, but rather the person who gaveit; for in spite of his fine apparel, Chupin did not seem quite theman for such an adventure. "Excuse me," said the Jehu, in a slightlyironical tone, "I----"

  "I said exactly what I mean," retorted Chupin, whose pride was severelywounded. "And no more talk--hurry on, or we shall miss the track."

  This last remark was correct, for if Madame d'Argeles's coachman had notslackened his horse's speed on passing round the Arc de Triomphe, thewoman would have escaped Chupin, for that day at least. However, thiscircumstance gave the cabman an opportunity to overtake the victoria;and after that the two vehicles kept close together as they proceededdown the Avenue de l'Imperatrice. But at the entrance of the Bois deBoulogne Chupin ordered his driver to stop. "Halt!" he exclaimed; "Ishall get out. Pay the extra cab charges for passing beyond the limitsof Paris!--never! I'll crawl on my hands and knees first. Here are fortysous for your fare--and good-evening to you."

  And, as the blue victoria was already some distance in advance, hestarted off at the top of his speed to overtake it. This manoeuvre wasthe result of his meditations while riding along. "What will this finelady do when she gets to the Bois?" he asked himself. "Why, her coachmanwill take his place in the procession, and drive her slowly round andround the lakes. Meantime I can trot along beside her without attractingattention--and it will be good for my health."

  His expectations were realized in every respect. The victoria soonturned to the left, and took its place in the long line of equipageswhich were slowly winding round the lake. Having gained the foot-pathwhich borders the sheet of water, Chupin followed the carriage easilyenough, with his hands in his pockets, and his heart jubilant at thethought that he would gain the sum supposed to have been spent in cabhire, in addition to the compensation which had been promised him. "Thisis a strange way of enjoying one's self," he muttered, as he trottedalong. "There can't be much pleasure in going round and round this lake.If ever I'm rich, I'll find some other way of amusing myself."

  Poor Chupin did not know that people do not go to the Bois to enjoythemselves, but rather to torment others. This broad drive is in realityonly a field for the airing of vanity--a sort of open-air bazaar forthe display of dresses and equipages. People come here to see and tobe seen; and, moreover, this is neutral ground, where so-called honestwomen can meet those notorious characters from whom they are elsewhereseparated by an impassable abyss. What exquisite pleasure it must be tothe dames of society to find themselves beside Jenny Fancy or NinetteSimplon, or any other of those young ladies whom they habituallycall "creatures," but whom they are continually talking of, and whosetoilettes, make-up, and jargon, they assiduously copy!

  However, Chupin indulged in none of these reflections. He was engaged innoting Madame d'Argeles's evident anxiety and restlessness. She lookedeagerly on all sides, sometimes half leaning out of her carriage, andimmediately turning her head whenever she heard the gallop of a horsemanbehind her. She was evidently looking or waiting for some one, but theperson did not make his appearance, and so, growing weary of waiting,after driving three times round the lake, she made a sign to hercoachman, who at once drew out of line, and turned his horse into aside-path. Chupin hastened after the victoria, keeping it in sight untilhe was fortunate enough to meet an empty cab, which he at once hired.Madame d'Argeles's coachman, who had received his orders, now drove downthe Champs Elysees, again crossed the Place de la Concorde, turned intothe boulevards, and stopped short at the corner of the Chaussee d'Antin,where, having tied a thick veil over her face, Madame Lia abruptlyalighted and walked away.

  This was done so quickly that Chupin barely had time to fling two francsto his driver and rush after her. She had already turned round thecorner of the Rue du Helder, and was walking rapidly up the street.It was a little after five o'clock, and dusk was setting in. Madamed'Argeles had taken the side of the street allotted to the unevennumbers. After she had passed the Hotel de Homburg, she slackened herpace, and eagerly scrutinized one of the houses opposite--No. 48. Herexamination lasted but a moment, and seemed to be satisfactory. She thenturned, and rapidly retraced her steps as far as the boulevard, when,crossing the street to the side of the even numbers, she walked up itagain very slowly, stopping before every shop-window.

  Convinced that he had almost reached the goal, Chupin also crossed,and followed closely at her heels. He soon saw her start and resume herrapid gait. A young man was coming toward her so quickly indeed that shehad not time to avoid him, and a collision ensued, whereupon the youngman gave vent to an oath, and hurling an opprobrious epithet in herface, passed on.

  Chupin shuddered. "What if that should be her son?" he thought. Andwhile he pretended to be gazing into a shop window, he stealthilywatched the poor woman. She had paused, and he was so near that hecould almost have touched her. He saw her raise her veil and follow herinsulter with a look which it was impossible to misunderstand. "Oh! oh!It was her son that called her that----" said Chupin to himself, quitehorrified. And without more ado, he hastened after the young man.

  He was between two and four-and-twenty years of age, rather above themedium height, with very light hair and an extremely pale complexion.His slight mustache would have been almost imperceptible if it had notbeen dyed several shades darker than his hair. He was attired with thatstudied carelessness which many consider to be the height of elegance,but which is just the reverse. And his bearing, his must
ache, andhis low hat, tipped rakishly over one ear, gave him an arrogant,pretentious, rowdyish appearance. "Zounds! that fellow doesn't suit myfancy," growled Chupin, as he trotted along. For he was almost runningin his efforts to keep pace with Madame d'Argeles's insulter. Thelatter's haste was soon explained. He was carrying a letter which hewished to have delivered, and no doubt he feared he would not be ableto find a commissionaire. Having discovered one at last, he called him,gave him the missive, and then pursued his way more leisurely.

  He had reached the boulevard, when a florid-faced youth, remarkablyshort and stout, rushed toward him with both hands amicably extended,at the same time crying, loud enough to attract the attention of thepassers-by: "Is it possible that this is my dear Wilkie?"

  "Yes--alive and in the flesh," replied the young man.

  "Well, and what the devil have you been doing with yourself? LastSunday, at the races, I looked for you everywhere, and not a vestigeof Wilkie was to be found. However, you were wise not to go. I am threehundred louis out of pocket. I staked everything on Domingo, the Marquisde Valorsay's horse. I thought I was sure to win--yes, sure. Well,Domingo came in third. Can you understand that? If every one didn't knowthat Valorsay was a millionaire, it might be supposed there had beensome foul play--yes, upon my word--that he had bet against his ownhorse, and forbidden his jockey to win the race." But the speaker didnot really believe this, so he continued, more gayly: "Fortunately,I shall retrieve my losses to-morrow, at Vincennes. Shall we see youthere?"

  "Probably."

  "Then good-by, until to-morrow."

  "Until to-morrow."

  Thereupon they shook hands, and each departed on his way.

  Chupin had not lost a word of this conversation. "Valorsay amillionaire!" he said to himself. "That's good! Ah, well! now I knowmy little gamecock's name, and I also know that he goes to the races.Wilkie that must be an English name; I like the name of d'Argelesbetter. But where the devil is he going now?"

  M. Wilkie had simply paused to replenish his cigar-case at the tobaccooffice of the Grand Hotel; and, after lighting a cigar, he came outagain, and walked up the boulevard in the direction of the FaubourgMontmartre. He was no longer in a hurry now; he strolled along in viewof killing time, displaying his charms, and staring impudently at everywoman who passed. With his shoulders drawn up on a level with his ears,and his chest thrown back, he dragged his feet after him as if hislimbs were half paralyzed; he was indeed doing his best to create theimpression that he was used up, exhausted, broken down by excesses anddissipation. For that is the fashion--the latest fancy--chic!

  "Will you never have done?" growled Chupin.

  "You shall pay for this, you little wretch!" He was so indignant thatthe gamin element in his nature stirred again under his fine broadcloth,and he had a wild longing to throw stones at M. Wilkie. He wouldcertainly have trodden on his heels, and have picked a quarrel with him,had it not been for a fear of failing in his mission, and thereby losinghis promised reward.

  He followed his man closely, for the crowd was very great. Light wascoming on, and the gas was lit on all sides. The weather was very mild,and there was not an unoccupied table in front of the cafes, for it wasnow the absinthe hour. How does it happen that every evening, betweenfive and seven o'clock, every one in Paris who is known--who is somebodyor something--can be found between the Passage de l'Opera and thePassage Jouffroy? Hereabout you may hear all the latest news and gossipof the fashionable world, the last political canards--all the incidentsof Parisian life which will be recorded by the papers on the followingmorning. You may learn the price of stocks, and obtain tips forto-morrow's Bourse; ascertain how much Mademoiselle A's necklace cost,and who gave it to her; with the latest news from Prussia; and the nameof the bank chairman or cashier who has absconded during the day, andthe amount he has taken with him.

  The crowd became more dense as the Faubourg Montmartre was approached,but Wilkie made his way through the throng with the ease of an oldboulevardier. He must have had a large circle of acquaintances, forhe distributed bows right and left, and was spoken to by five or sixpromenaders. He did not pass the Terrasse Jouffroy, but, pausing there,he purchased an evening paper, retraced his steps, and about seveno'clock reached the Cafe Riche, which he entered triumphantly. He didnot even touch the rim of his hat on going in--that would have beenexcessively BAD form; but he called a waiter, in a very loud voice,and imperiously ordered him to serve dinner on a table near the window,where he could see the boulevard--and be seen.

  "And now my little fighting-cock is going to feed," thought Chupin. He,too, was hungry; and he was trying to think of some modest restaurantin the neighborhood, when two young men passed near him and glanced intothe cafe.

  "Look, there's Wilkie!" observed one of them.

  "That's so, upon my word!" responded the other. "And he has money, too;fortune has smiled upon him."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Why, by watching the fellow; one can tell the condition of his purseas correctly as he could himself. If his funds are low, he has his mealsbrought to his room from a cook-shop where he has credit; his mustachedroops despondingly; he is humble even to servility with his friends,and he brushes his hair over his forehead. When he is in averagecircumstances, he dines at Launay's, waxes his mustache, and brushes hishair back from his face. But when he dines at the Cafe Riche, my boy,when he has dyed his mustache, and tips his hat over his ear, anddeports himself in that arrogant fashion, why, he has at least five orsix thousand francs in his pocket, and all is well with him."

  "Where does he get his money from?"

  "Who can tell?"

  "Is he rich?"

  "He must have plenty of money--I lent him ten louis once, and he paid meback."

  "Zounds! He's a very honorable fellow, then." Thereupon the two youngmen laughed, and passed on.

  Chupin had been greatly edified. "Now I know you as well as if I wereyour concierge," he muttered, addressing the unconscious Wilkie; "andwhen I've followed you home, and learned your number, I shall haverichly earned the fifty francs M. Fortunat promised me." As well as hecould judge through the windowpane, M. Wilkie was eating his dinnerwith an excellent appetite. "Ah!" he exclaimed, not without envy, "thesefighting-cocks take good care of their stomachs. He's there for an hourat least, and I shall have time to run and swallow a mouthful myself."

  So saying, Chupin hastened to a small restaurant in a neighboringstreet, and magnificently disbursed the sum of thirty-nine sous. Suchextravagance was unusual on his part, for he had lived very frugallysince he had taken a vow to become rich. Formerly, when he lived fromhand to mouth--to use his own expression--he indulged in cigars and inabsinthe; but now he contented himself with the fare of an anchorite,drank nothing but water, and only smoked when some one gave him a cigar.Nor was this any great privation to him, since he gained a penny byit--and a penny was another grain of sand added to the foundation of hisfuture wealth. However, this evening he indulged in the extravagance ofa glass of wine, deciding in his own mind that he had fairly earned it.

  When he returned to his post in front of the Cafe Riche, M. Wilkie wasno longer alone at his table. He was finishing his coffee in the companyof a man of his own age, who was remarkably good-looking--almost toogood-looking, in fact--and a glance at whom caused Chupin to exclaim:"What! what! I've seen that face somewhere before--". But he racked hisbrain in vain in trying to remember who this newcomer was, in trying toset a name on this face, which was positively annoying in its classicalbeauty, and which he felt convinced had occupied a place among thephantoms of his past. Irritated beyond endurance by what he termed hisstupidity, he was trying to decide whether he should enter the cafe ornot, when he saw M. Wilkie take his bill from the hands of a waiter,glance at it, and throw a louis on the table. His companion had drawnout his pocketbook for the ostensible purpose of paying for the coffeehe had taken; but Wilkie, with a cordial gesture, forbade it, andmade that magnificent, imperious sign to the waiter, which so clearlyimplies: "Take
nothing! All is paid! Keep the change." Thereupon theservant gravely retired, more than ever convinced of the fact thatvanity increases the fabulous total of Parisian gratuities by more thana million francs a year.

  "My gallant youths are coming out," thought Chupin. "I must keep my earsopen." And approaching the door, he dropped on one knee, and pretendedto be engaged in tying his shoestrings. This is one of the thousandexpedients adopted by spies and inquisitive people. And when a man isfoolish enough to tell his secrets in the street, he should at least bewise enough to distrust the people near him who pretend to be absorbedin something else; for in nine cases out of ten these persons arelistening to him, possibly for pay, or possibly from curiosity.

  However, the young men whom Chupin was watching were far from suspectingthat they were under surveillance. M. Wilkie came out first, talkingvery loud, as often happens when a man has just partaken of a gooddinner, and is blessed with an excellent digestion. "Come, Coralth,my good fellow, you won't desert me in this way? I have a box for theVarietes, and you must go with me. We'll see if Silly imitates Theresaas perfectly as they say."

  "But I have an appointment."

  "Oh, well, let it wait. Come, viscount, is it agreed?"

  "Ah, you do with me just as you like."

  "Good! But, first of all let us take a glass of beer to finish ourcigars. And do you know whom you will find in my box?"

  At this moment they passed, and Chupin rose to his feet. "Coralth," hemuttered, "Viscount de Coralth. He's not one of our clients. Let me see,Coralth. This is certainly the first time I have ever heard the name.Can it be that I'm mistaken? Impossible!"

  The more he reflected, the more thoroughly he became convinced of theaccuracy of his first impression, consoling himself with the thoughtthat a name has but a slight significance after all. His preoccupationhad at least the advantage of shortening the time which he spent inpromenading to and fro, while the friends sat outside a cafe smoking anddrinking. It was still M. Wilkie who monopolized the conversation, whilehis companion listened with his elbow resting on the table, occasionallynodding his head in token of approbation. One thing that incensed Chupinwas that they loitered there, when one of them had a ticket for a box atthe theatre in his pocket.

  "Idiots!" he growled; "they'll wait till the play's half over beforethey go in. And then they'll let the doors slam behind them for theexpress purpose of disturbing everybody. Fools, go!"

  As if they had heard the command, they rose suddenly, and an instantafter they entered the Varietes. They entered, but Chupin remained onthe pavement, scratching his head furiously, in accordance with hishabit whenever he wished to develop his powers of imagination. He wastrying to think how he might procure admission to the theatre withoutpaying for it. For several years he had seen every play put upon thestage in Paris, without spending a sou, and he felt that it would beactually degrading to purchase a ticket at the office now. "Pay to see afarce!" he thought. "Not I. I must know some one here--I'll wait for theentr'acte."

  The wisdom of this course became apparent when among those who left thetheatre at the close of the first act he recognized an old acquaintance,who was now working on the claque, [3] and who at once procured hima ticket of admission for nothing. "Well, it is a good thing to havefriends everywhere," he muttered, as he took the seat assigned him.

  It was a very good place they had given him--a seat in the secondgallery commanding an excellent view of the house. The first glancearound told him that his "customers," as he styled them, were in abox exactly opposite. They were now in the company of two damsels instartling toilettes, with exceedingly dishevelled yellow hair, who movedrestlessly about, and giggled and stared, and tried in every possibleway to attract attention. And their stratagem succeeded. However, thisdid not seem to please the Viscount de Coralth, who kept himself as farback in the shade as he possibly could. But young Wilkie was evidentlydelighted, and seemed manifestly proud of the attention which the publicwas compelled to bestow upon his box. He offered himself as much aspossible to the gaze of the audience; moved about, leaned forward, andmade himself fully as conspicuous as his fair companions. Less than everdid Chupin now forgive Wilkie for the insult he had cast in the face ofMadame Lia d'Argeles, who was probably his mother.

  As for the play, M. Fortunat's emissary did not hear twenty words of it.He was so overcome with fatigue that he soon fell asleep. The noise andbustle of each entr'acte aroused him a little, but he did not thoroughlywake up until the close of the performance. His "customers" were stillin their box, and M. Wilkie was gallantly wrapping the ladies in theircloaks and shawls. In the vestibule, he and M. de Coralth were joined byseveral other young men, and the whole party adjourned to a neighboringcafe. "These people are certainly afflicted with an unquenchablethirst," growled Chupin. "I wonder if this is their everyday life?"

  He, too, was thirsty after his hastily eaten dinner; and necessityprevailing over economy, he seated himself at a table outside the cafe,and called for a glass of beer, in which he moistened his parched lipswith a sigh of intense satisfaction. He sipped the beverage slowly, inorder to make it last the longer, but this did not prevent his glassfrom becoming dry long before M. Wilkie and his friends were ready toleave. "It seems to me we are going to stay here all night," he thought,angrily.

  His ill-humor was not strange under the circumstances, for it was oneo'clock in the morning; and after carrying all the tables and chairsround about, inside, a waiter came to ask Chupin to go away. All theother cafes were closing too, and the fastening of bolts or the clankingof shutter chains could be heard on every side. On the pavement stoodgroups of waiters in their shirt-sleeves, stretching and yawning,and inhaling the fresh night air with delight. The boulevard was fastbecoming deserted--the men were going off in little groups, and femaleforms could be seen gliding along in the dark shadow cast by the houses.The police were watching everywhere, with a word of menace ever readyon their lips; and soon the only means of egress from the cafes werethe narrow, low doorways cut in the shutters through which the lastcustomers--the insatiable, who are always ordering one thimbleful moreto finish--passed out.

  It was through a portal of this sort that M. Wilkie and his companionsat last emerged, and on perceiving them, Chupin gave a grunt ofsatisfaction. "At last," he thought, "I can follow the man to his door,take his number, and go home."

  But his joy was short-lived, for M. Wilkie proposed that the whole partyshould go and take supper. M. de Coralth demurred to the idea, but theothers over-ruled his objections, and dragged him away with them.