The Count's Millions

  II.

  M. Isidore Fortunat resided at No. 27 Place de la Bourse, on thethird floor. He had a handsome suite of apartments: a drawing-room, adining-room, a bed-room, a large outer office where his clerksworked, and a private one, which was the sanctuary of his thoughts andmeditations. The whole cost him only six thousand francs a year, a meretrifle as rents go nowadays. His lease entitled him, moreover, to theuse of a room ten feet square, up under the eaves, where he lodged hisservant, Madame Dodelin, a woman of forty-six or thereabouts, who hadmet with reverses of fortune, and who now took such good charge of hisestablishment, that his table--for he ate at home--was truly fit for asybarite.

  Having been established here for five years or more, M. Fortunat wasvery well known in the neighborhood, and, as he paid his rent promptly,and met all his obligations without demur, he was generally respected.Besides, people knew very well from what source M. Fortunat derived hisincome. He gave his attention to contested claims, liquidations, therecovery of legacies, and so on, as was shown by the inscription inlarge letters which figured on the elegant brass plate adorning hisdoor. He must have had a prosperous business, for he employed sixcollectors in addition to the clerks who wrote all day long in hisoffice; and his clients were so numerous that the concierge was oftenheard to complain of the way they ran up and down the stairs, declaringthat it was worse than a procession.

  To be just, we must add that M. Fortunat's appearance, mannersand conduct were of a nature to quiet all suspicions. He was somethirty-eight years of age, extremely methodical in his habits, gentleand refined in his manner, intelligent, very good-looking, and alwaysdressed in perfect taste. He was accused of being, in business matters,as cold, as polished, and as hard as one of the marble slabs of theMorgue; but then, no one was obliged to employ him unless they choseto do so. This much is certain: he did not frequent cafes or places ofamusement. If he went out at all after dinner, it was only to passthe evening at the house of some rich client in the neighborhood. Hedetested the smell of tobacco, and was inclined to be devout--neverfailing to attend eight o'clock mass on Sunday mornings. His housekeepersuspected him of matrimonial designs, and perhaps she was right.

  On the evening that the Count de Chalusse was struck with apoplexy M.Isidore Fortunat had been dining alone and was sipping a cup of tea whenthe door-bell rang, announcing the arrival of a visitor. Madame Dodelinhastened to open the door, and in walked Victor Chupin, breathless fromhis hurried walk. It had not taken him twenty-five minutes to coverthe distance which separates the Rue de Courcelles from the Place de laBourse.

  "You are late, Victor," said M. Fortunat, quietly.

  "That's true, monsieur, but it isn't my fault. Everything was inconfusion down there, and I was obliged to wait."

  "How is that? Why?"

  "The Count de Chalusse was stricken with apoplexy this evening, and heis probably dead by this time."

  M. Fortunat sprang from his chair with a livid face and trembling lips."Stricken with apoplexy!" he exclaimed in a husky voice. "I am ruined!"

  Then, fearing Madame Dodelin's curiosity, he seized the lamp and rushedinto his office, crying to Chupin: "Follow me."

  Chupin obeyed without a word, for he was a shrewd fellow, and knew howto make the best of a trying situation. He was not usually allowedto enter this private room, the floor of which was covered with amagnificent carpet; and so, after carefully closing the door, heremained standing, hat in hand, and looking somewhat intimidated. ButM. Fortunat seemed to have forgotten his presence. After depositing thelamp on the mantel-shelf, he walked several times round and round theroom like a hunted beast seeking for some means of egress.

  "If the count is dead," he muttered, "the Marquis de Valorsay is lost!Farewell to the millions!"

  The blow was so cruel, and so entirely unexpected, that he could not,would not believe in its reality. He walked straight to Chupin, andcaught him by the collar, as if the young fellow had been the causeof this misfortune. "It isn't possible," said he; "the count CANNOTbe dead. You are deceiving me, or they deceived you. You must havemisunderstood--you only wished to give some excuse for your delayperhaps. Speak, say something!"

  As a rule, Chupin was not easily impressed, but he felt almostfrightened by his employer's agitation. "I only repeated what M. Casimirtold me, monsieur," was his reply.

  He then wished to furnish some particulars, but M. Fortunat had alreadyresumed his furious tramp to and fro, giving vent to his wrath anddespair in incoherent exclamations. "Forty thousand francs lost!" heexclaimed. "Forty thousand francs, counted out there on my desk! I seethem yet, counted and placed in the hand of the Marquis de Valorsay inexchange for his signature. My savings for a number of years, and I haveonly a worthless scrap of paper to show for them. That cursed marquis!And he was to come here this evening, and I was to give him ten thousandfrancs more. They are lying there in that drawer. Let him come, thewretch, let him come!"

  Anger had positively brought foam to M. Fortunat's lips, and any oneseeing him then would subsequently have had but little confidence in hiscustomary good-natured air and unctuous politeness. "And yet the marquisis as much to be pitied as I am," he continued. "He loses as much,even more! And such a sure thing it seemed, too! What speculation can afellow engage in after this? And a man must put his money somewhere; hecan't bury it in the ground!"

  Chupin listened with an air of profound commiseration; but it was onlyassumed. He was inwardly jubilant, for his interest in the affair was indirect opposition to that of his employer. Indeed, if M. Fortunat lostforty thousand francs by the Count de Chalusse's death, Chupin expectedto make a hundred francs commission on the funeral.

  "Still, he may have made a will!" pursued M. Fortunat. "But no, I'msure he hasn't. A poor devil who has only a few sous to leave behind himalways takes this precaution. He thinks he may be run over by an omnibusand suddenly killed, and he always writes and signs his last wishes.But millionaires don't think of such things; they believe themselvesimmortal!" He paused to reflect for a moment, for power of reflectionhad returned to him. His excitement had quickly spent itself by reasonof its very violence. "This much is certain," he resumed, slowly, andin a more composed voice, "whether the count has made a will or not,Valorsay will lose the millions he expected from Chalusse. If thereis no will, Mademoiselle Marguerite won't have a sou, and then, goodevening! If there is one, this devil of a girl, suddenly becomingher own mistress, and wealthy into the bargain, will send Monsieur deValorsay about his business, especially if she loves another, as hehimself admits--and in that case, again good evening!"

  M. Fortunat drew out his handkerchief, and, pausing in front of thelooking-glass, wiped the perspiration from his brow, and arranged hisdisordered hair. He was one of those men who may be stunned, but nevercrushed, by a catastrophe. "In conclusion," he muttered, "I must entermy forty thousand francs as an item in the profit and loss account. Itonly remains to be seen if it would not be possible to regain them inthe same affair." He was again master of himself, and never had his mindbeen more clear. He seated himself at his desk, leant his elbows uponit, rested his head on his hands, and remained for some time perfectlymotionless; but there was triumph in his gesture when he at last lookedup again.

  "I am safe," he muttered, so low that Chupin could not hear him. "What afool I was! If there is no will a fourth of the millions shall be mine!Ah, when a man knows his ground, he never need lose the battle! But Imust act quickly," he added, "very quickly." And so speaking, he roseand glanced at the clock. "Nine o'clock," said he. "I must open thecampaign this very evening."

  Motionless in his dark corner, Chupin still retained his commiseratingattitude; but he was so oppressed with curiosity that he could scarcelybreathe. He opened his eyes and ears to the utmost, and watched hisemployer's slightest movements with intense interest.

  Prompt to act when he had once decided upon his course, M. Fortunat nowdrew from his desk a large portfolio, crammed full of letters, receipts,bills, deeds of property, and old parchments. "I
can certainly discoverthe necessary pretext here," he murmured, rummaging through the mass ofpapers. But he did not at once find what he sought, and he was growingimpatient, as could be seen by his feverish haste, when all at once hepaused with a sigh of relief. "At last!"

  He held in his hand a soiled and crumpled note of hand, affixed by apin to a huissier's protest, thus proving conclusively that it had beendishonored. M. Fortunat waved these strips of paper triumphantly, andwith a satisfied air exclaimed: "It is here that I must strike; it ishere--if Casimir hasn't deceived me--that I shall find the indispensableinformation I need."

  He was in such haste that he did not wait to put his portfolio in order.He threw it with the papers it had contained into the drawer of hisdesk again, and, approaching Chupin, he asked, "It was you, was it not,Victor, who obtained that information respecting the solvency of theVantrassons, husband and wife, who let out furnished rooms?"

  "Yes, monsieur, and I gave you the answer: nothing to hope for----"

  "I know; but that doesn't matter. Do you remember their address?"

  "Perfectly. They are now living on the Asnieres Road, beyond thefortifications, on the right hand side."

  "What is the number?"

  Chupin hesitated, reflected for a moment, and then began to scratchhis head furiously, as he was in the habit of doing whenever his memoryfailed him and he wished to recall it to duty. "I'm not sure whether thenumber is eighteen or forty-six," he said, at last; "that is----"

  "Never mind," interrupted M. Fortunat. "If I sent you to the house couldyou find it?"

  "Oh--yes, m'sieur--at once--with my eyes shut. I can see the placeperfectly--a rickety old barrack. There is a tract of unoccupied land onone side, and a kitchen-garden in the rear."

  "Very well; you shall accompany me there."

  Chupin seemed astonished by this strange proposal. "What, m'sieur," saidhe, "do you think of going there at this time of night?"

  "Why not? Shall we find the establishment closed?"

  "No; certainly not. Vantrasson doesn't merely keep furnished rooms; he'sa grocer, and sells liquor too. His place is open until eleven o'clockat least. But if you are going there to present a bill, it's perhapsa little late. If I were in your place, m'sieur, I should waittill to-morrow. It's raining, and the streets are deserted. It's anout-of-the-way place too; and in such cases, a man has been known tosettle his account with whatever came handiest--with a cudgel, or abullet, for instance."

  "Are you afraid?"

  This question seemed so utterly absurd to Chupin that he was not inthe least offended by it; his only answer was a disdainful shrug of theshoulders.

  "Then we will go," remarked M. Fortunat. "While I'm getting ready, goand hire a cab, and see that you get a good horse."

  Chupin was off in an instant, tearing down the staircase like a tempest.There was a cab-stand only a few steps from the house, but he preferredto run to the jobmaster's stables in the Rue Feydeau.

  "Cab, sir!" shouted several men, as they saw him approaching.

  He made no reply, but began to examine the horses with the air of aconnoisseur, until at last he found an animal that suited him. Thereuponhe beckoned to the driver, and going to the little office where a womansat reading: "My five sous, if you please," he said, authoritatively.

  The woman looked at him. Most jobmasters are in the habit of giving fivesous to any servant who comes in search of a cab for his master; andthis was the custom here. But the keeper of the office, who felt surethat Chupin was not a servant, hesitated; and this made the young fellowangry. "Make haste," he cried, imperiously. "If you don't, I shall runto the nearest stand."

  The woman at once threw him five sous, which he pocketed with asatisfied grin. They were his--rightfully his--since he had taken thetrouble to gain them. He then hastily returned to the office to informhis employer that the cab was waiting at the door, and found himselfface to face with a sight which made him open his eyes to their widestextent.

  M. Fortunat had profited by his clerk's absence, not to disguisehimself--that would be saying too much--but to make some changes in hisappearance. He had arrayed himself in a long overcoat, shiny with greaseand wear, and falling below his knees; in place of his elegant satincravat he had knotted a gaudy silk neckerchief about his throat; hisboots were worn, and out of shape; and his hat would have been treatedwith contempt even by a dealer in old clothes. Of the prosperousFortunat, so favorably known round about the Place de la Bourse, naughtremained save his face and his hands. Another Fortunat had taken hisplace, more than needy in aspect--wretched, famished, gaunt with hunger,ready for any desperate deed. And, yet, he seemed at ease in this garb;it yielded to his every movement, as if he had worn it for a long time.The butterfly had become a chrysalis again. Chupin's admiring smile musthave repaid him for his trouble. Since the young clerk evinced approval,M. Fortunat felt sure that Vantrasson would take him for what he wishedto appear--a poor devil of an agent, who was acting on some otherperson's behalf. "Let us start at once," said he.

  But just as he was leaving the ante-room, he remembered an order ofgreat importance which he wished to give. He called Madame Dodelin, andwithout paying the slightest heed to her astonishment at seeing him thusattired: "If the Marquis de Valorsay comes, in my absence," saidhe--"and he WILL come--ask him to wait for me. I shall returnbefore midnight. Don't take him into my office--he can wait in thedrawing-room."

  This last order was certainly unnecessary, since M. Fortunat had closedand double-locked his office door and placed the key carefully in hisown pocket. But perhaps he had forgotten this circumstance. Therewere now no traces of his recent anger and disappointment. He was inexcellent humor; and you might have supposed that he was starting on anenterprise from which he expected to derive both pleasure and profit.

  Chupin was climbing to a place on the box beside the driver when hisemployer bade him take a seat inside the vehicle. They were not long inreaching their destination, for the horse was really a good one, and thedriver had been stimulated by the promise of a magnificent gratuity. Infact, M. Fortunat and his companion reached the Asnieres Road in lessthan forty minutes.

  In obedience to the orders he had received before starting, the cabmandrew up on the right hand side of the road, at about a hundred pacesfrom the city gate, beyond the fortifications. "Well, sir, here you are!Are you satisfied?" he inquired, as he opened the door.

  "Perfectly satisfied," replied M. Fortunat. "Here is your promisedgratuity. Now, you have only to wait for us. Don't stir from this place.Do you understand?"

  But the driver shook his head. "Excuse me," he said, "but if it's allthe same to you, I will station myself over there near the gate. Here,you see, I should be afraid to go to sleep, while over there----"

  "Very well; suit yourself," M. Fortunat replied.

  This precaution on the driver's part convinced him that Chupin had notexaggerated the evil reputation of this quarter of the Parisian suburbs.And, indeed, there was little of a reassuring character in the aspectof this broad road, quite deserted at this hour, and shrouded in thedarkness of a tempestuous night. The rain had ceased falling, but thewind blew with increased violence, twisting the branches off the trees,tearing slates from the roofs, and shaking the street-lamps so furiouslyas to extinguish the gas. They could not see a step before them; the mudwas ankle-deep, and not a person, not a solitary soul was visible.

  "Are we almost there?" M. Fortunat asked every ten paces.

  "Almost there, m'sieur."

  Chupin said this; but to tell the truth, he knew nothing about it.He tried to discover where he was, but did not succeed. Houses werebecoming scanty, and vacant plots of building ground more numerous;it was only with the greatest difficulty that one could occasionallydiscern a light. At last, however, after a quarter of an hour's hardstruggling, Chupin uttered a joyful cry. "Here we are, m'sieur--look!"said he.

  A large building, five stories high, sinister of aspect, and standingquite alone, could just be distinguished in the darkness. I
t was alreadyfalling to pieces, and yet it was not entirely completed. Plainlyenough, the speculator who had undertaken the enterprise had not beenrich enough to complete it. On seeing the many closely pierced windowsof the facade, a passer-by could not fail to divine for what purposethe building had been erected; and in order that no one should remain inignorance of it, this inscription: "Furnished Rooms," figured inletters three feet high, between the third and fourth floors. The insidearrangements could be easily divined: innumerable rooms, all small andinconvenient, and let out at exorbitant rentals.

  However, Victor Chupin's memory had misled him. This establishment wasnot on the right, but on the left-hand side of the road, a perfect mirethrough which M. Fortunat and his companion were obliged to cross. Theireyes having become accustomed to the darkness, they could discern sundrydetails as they approached the building. The ground floor comprisedtwo shops, one of which was closed, but the other was still open, and afaint light gleamed through the soiled red curtains. Over the frontageappeared the shop-keeper's name, Vantrasson, while on either side, insmaller letters, were the words: "Groceries and Provisions--Foreign andFrench Wines." Everything about this den denoted abject poverty and lowdebauchery.

  M. Fortunat certainly did not recoil, but before entering the shophe was not sorry to have an opportunity to reconnoitre. He approachedcautiously, and peered through the window at a place where a rent inthe curtain allowed him some view of the interior. Behind the countera woman who looked some fifty years of age was seated, mending a soileddress by the light of a smoking lamp. She was short and very stout.She seemed literally weighed down, and puffed out by an unwholesomeand unnatural mass of superfluous flesh; and she was as white as if herveins had been filled with water, instead of blood. Her hangingcheeks, her receding forehead, and her thin lips, imparted an alarmingexpression of wickedness and cunning to her countenance. At the fartherend of the store Fortunat could vaguely discern the figure of a manseated on a stool. He seemed to be asleep, for his crossed arms restedon a table, with his head leaning on them.

  "Good luck!" whispered Chupin in his employer's ear; "there is nota customer in the place. Vantrasson and his wife are alone." Thiscircumstance was by no means displeasing to M. Fortunat, as could beseen by his expression of face. "So, m'sieur," continued Chupin, "youneed have no fears. I'll remain here and watch, while you go in."

  M. Fortunat did so. On hearing the door open and shut, the woman laiddown her work. "What can I do for monsieur?" she asked, in a wheedlingvoice.

  M. Fortunat did not reply at once; but he drew the note with whichhe had provided himself from his pocket, and displayed it. "I am ahuissier's clerk," he then exclaimed; "and I called in reference to thislittle matter--a note of hand for five hundred and eighty-three francs,value received in goods, signed Vantrasson, and made payable to theorder of a person named Barutin."

  "An execution!" said the woman, whose voice suddenly soured."Vantrasson, wake up, and come and see about this."

  This summons was unnecessary. On hearing the words "note of hand,"the man had lifted his head; and at the name of Barutin, he rose andapproached with a heavy, uncertain step, as if he had not yet sleptoff his intoxication. He was younger than his wife, tall, with awell-proportioned and athletic form. His features were regular, but theabuse of alcohol and all sorts of excesses had greatly marred them, andtheir present expression was one of ferocious brutishness. "What's thatyou are talking about?" he asked in a harsh, grating voice. "Is it tomock people that you come and ask for money on the 15th of October--rentday? Where have you seen any money left after the landlord has made hisround? Besides, what is this bill? Give it me to look at."

  M. Fortunat was not guilty of such folly; he did not intrust the paperto Vantrasson's hand, but held it a little distance from him, and thenread it aloud.

  When he had finished: "That note fell due eighteen months ago," declaredVantrasson. "It is worth nothing now."

  "You are mistaken--a note of this kind is of value any time within fiveyears after the day it goes to protest."

  "Possibly; but as Barutin has failed, and gone no one knows where, I amreleased----"

  "Another mistake on your part. You owe these five hundred andeighty-three francs to the person who bought this note at Barutin'ssale, and who has given my employer orders to prosecute----"

  The blood had risen to Vantrasson's face. "And what of that? Do yousuppose I've never been sued for debts before? Even the king can't takeanything from a person who possesses nothing; and I own nothing. Myfurniture is all pawned or mortgaged, and my stock is not worth ahundred francs. When your employer finds it useless to waste money inworrying me, he'll let me alone. You can't injure a man like me."

  "Do you really think so?"

  "I'm sure of it."

  "Unfortunately you are again mistaken, for although the holder of thenote doesn't care so very much about obtaining his dues, he'll spend hisown money like water to make trouble for you." And thereupon M. Fortunatbegan to draw a vivid and frightful picture of a poor debtor pursuedby a rich creditor who harassed him, and tortured him, and hounded himeverywhere, until not even a change of clothing was left him.

  Vantrasson rolled his eyes and brandished his formidable fist in themost defiant manner; but his wife was evidently much alarmed. At lastshe could bear it no longer, and rising hastily she led her husband tothe rear of the shop, saying: "Come, I must speak with you."

  He followed her, and they remained for some little time conversingtogether in a low tone, but with excited gestures. When they returned,the woman opened the conversation. "Alas! sir," she said to M. Fortunat,"we have no money just now; business is so very bad, and if youprosecute us, we are lost. What can be done? You look like an honestman; give us your advice."

  M. Fortunat did not reply at once; he was apparently absorbed inthought, but suddenly he exclaimed: "One owes a duty to unfortunatefolks, and I'm going to tell you the exact truth. My employer, who isn'ta bad man at heart, hasn't the slightest desire for revenge. He said tome: 'Go and see these Vantrassons, and if they seem to be worthy people,propose a compromise. If they choose to accept it, I shall be quitesatisfied.'"

  "And what is this compromise?"

  "It is this: you must write an acknowledgment of the debt on a sheet ofstamped paper, together with a promise to pay a little on account eachmonth. In exchange I will give you this note of hand."

  The husband and wife exchanged glances, and it was the woman who said:"We accept."

  But to carry out this arrangement it was necessary to have a sheet ofstamped paper, and the spurious clerk had neglected to provide himselfwith some. This circumstance seemed to annoy him greatly, and you mightalmost have sworn that he regretted the concession he had promised. Didhe think of going? Madame Vantrasson feared so, and turning eagerlyto her husband, she exclaimed: "Run to the tobacco shop in the Rue deLevis; you will find some paper there!"

  He started off at once, and M. Fortunat breathed freely again. He hadcertainly retained his composure admirably during the interview, butmore than once he had fancied that Vantrasson was about to spring onhim, crush him with his brawny hands, tear the note from him, burn it,and then throw him, Fortunat, out into the street, helpless and nearlydead. But now that danger had passed and Madame Vantrasson, fearing hemight tire of waiting, was prodigal in her attentions. She broughthim the only unbroken chair in the establishment, and insisted that heshould partake of some refreshment--a glass of wine at the very least.While rummaging among the bottles, she alternately thanked him andcomplained, declaring she had a right to repine, since she had knownbetter days--but fate had been against her ever since her marriage,though she had little thought she would end her days in such misery,after having been so happy in the Count de Chalusse's household manyyears before.

  To all appearance, M. Fortunat listened with the mere superficialinterest which ordinary politeness requires one to show, but in realityhis heart was filled with intense delight. Coming here without anyclearly-defined plan, circumstanc
es had served him a thousand timesbetter than he could reasonably have hoped. He had preserved hispower over the Vantrassons, had won their confidence, had succeededin obtaining a tete-a-tete with the wife, and to crown all, this womanalluded, of her own accord, to the very subject upon which he waslonging to question her.

  "Ah! if I were only back in the Count's household again," she exclaimed."Six hundred francs a year, and gifts worth double that amount. Thosewere good times for me. But you know how it is--one is never contentwith one's lot, and then the heart is weak----"

  She had not succeeded in finding the sweet wine which she proposed toher guest; so in its place she substituted a mixture of ratafia andbrandy in two large glasses which she placed upon the counter. "Oneevening, to my sorrow," she resumed, "I met Vantrasson at a ball. It wasthe 13th day of the month. I might have known no good would come of it.Ah, you should have seen him at that time, in full uniform. He belongedto the Paris Guards then. All the women were crazy about soldiers, andmy head was turned, too----" Her tone, her gestures, and the compressionof her thin lips, revealed the bitterness of her disappointment and herunavailing regret. "Ah, these handsome men!" she continued; "don'ttalk to me about them! This one had heard of my savings. I had nineteenthousand francs, so he begged me to marry him, and I was fool enoughto consent. Yes, fool--for I was forty, and he was only thirty. I mighthave known it was my money that he wanted, and not me. However, I gaveup my situation, and even purchased a substitute for him, in order thatI might have him all to myself."

  She had gradually warmed with her theme, as she described her confidenceand blind credulity, and then, with a tragic gesture, as if she desiredto drive away these cruel memories, she suddenly seized her glass andemptied it at a draught.

  Chupin, who was still at his post outside, experienced a thrill ofenvy, and involuntarily licked his lips. "A mixed ratafia," he said,longingly. "I shouldn't object to one myself."

  However, this choice compound seemed to inspire Madame Vantrasson withrenewed energy, for, with still greater earnestness, she resumed: "Atfirst, all went well. We employed my savings in purchasing the Hotel desEspagnes, in the Rue Notre Dame des Victoires, and business prospered;there was never a vacant room. But any person who has drank, sir, willdrink again. Vantrasson kept sober for a few months, but gradually hefell into his old habits. He was in such a condition most of the timethat he was scarcely able to ask for food. And if that had been all!But, unfortunately, he was too handsome a man to be a good husband. Onenight he didn't come home, and the next day, when I ventured to reproachhim--very gently, I assure you--he answered me with an oath and a blow.All our happiness was over! Monsieur declared that he was master, andwould do as he liked. He drank and carried away all the wine from thecellar--he took all the money--he remained away for weeks together; andif I complained--more blows!"

  Her voice trembled, and a tear gathered in her eye; but, wiping it awaywith the back of her hand, she resumed: "Vantrasson was always drunk,and I spent my time in crying my very eyes out. Business became verybad, and soon everybody left the house. We were obliged to sell it.We did so, and bought a small cafe. But by the end of the year we lostthat. Fortunately, I still had a little money left, and so I bought astock of groceries in my own name; but in less than six months the stockwas eaten up, and we were cast into the street. What was to be done?Vantrasson drank worse than ever; he demanded money when he knew that Ihad none to give him, and he treated me even more cruelly than before.I lost courage--and yet one must live! Oh, you wouldn't believe it ifI told you how we have lived for the past four years." She did not tellhim, but contented herself with adding, "When you begin to go down hill,there is no such thing as stopping; you roll lower and lower, until youreach the bottom, as we have done. Here we live, no one knows how; wehave to pay our rent each week, and if we are driven from this place, Isee no refuge but the river."

  "If I had been in your position, I should have left my husband," M.Fortunat ventured to remark.

  "Yes--it would have been better, no doubt. People advised me to doso, and I tried. Three or four times I went away, and yet I alwaysreturned--it was stronger than myself. Besides, I'm his wife; I've paiddearly for him; he's mine--I won't yield him to any one else. He beatsme, no doubt; I despise him, I hate him, and yet I----" She poured outpart of a glass of brandy, and swallowed it; then, with a gesture ofrage, she added: "I can't give him up! It's fate! As it is now, it willbe until the end, until he starves, or I----"

  M. Fortunat's countenance wore an expression of profound commiseration.A looker-on would have supposed him interested and sympathetic to thelast degree; but in reality, he was furious. Time was passing, and theconversation was wandering farther and farther from the object of hisvisit. "I am surprised, madame," said he, "that you never applied toyour former employer, the Count de Chalusse."

  "Alas! I did apply to him for assistance several times----"

  "With what result?"

  "The first time I went to him he received me; I told him my troubles,and he gave me bank-notes to the amount of five thousand francs."

  M. Fortunat raised his hands to the ceiling. "Five thousand francs!" herepeated, in a tone of astonishment; "this count must be very rich----"

  "So rich, monsieur, that he doesn't know how much he's worth. He owns,nobody knows how many houses in Paris, chateaux in every part of thecountry, entire villages, forests--his gold comes in by the shovelful."

  The spurious clerk closed his eyes, as if he were dazzled by this visionof wealth.

  "The second time I went to the count's house," resumed MadameVantrasson, "I didn't see him, but he sent me a thousand francs. Thethird and last time they gave me twenty francs at the door, and told methat the count had gone on a journey. I understood that I could hope forno further help from him. Besides, all the servants had been changed.One morning, without any apparent reason, M. de Chalusse dismissed allthe old servants, so they told me. He even sent away the concierge andthe housekeeper."

  "Why didn't you apply to his wife?"

  "M. de Chalusse isn't married. He never has been married."

  From the expression of solicitude upon her guest's features, MadameVantrasson supposed he was racking his brain to discover some mode ofescape from her present difficulties. "If I were in your place," hesaid, "I should try to interest his relatives and family in my case----"

  "The count has no relatives."

  "Impossible!"

  "He hasn't, indeed. During the ten years I was in his service, I heardhim say more than a dozen times that he alone was left of all hisfamily--that all the others were dead. People pretend that this is thereason why he is so immensely rich."

  M. Fortunat's interest was no longer assumed; he was rapidly approachingthe real object of his visit. "No relatives!" he muttered. "Who, then,will inherit his millions when he dies?"

  Madame Vantrasson jerked her head. "Who can say?" she replied."Everything will go to the government, probably, unless---- But no,that's impossible."

  "What's impossible?"

  "Nothing. I was thinking of the count's sister, Mademoiselle Hermine."

  "His sister! Why, you said just now that he had no relatives."

  "It's the same as if he hadn't; no one knows what has become of her,poor creature! Some say that she married; others declare that she died.It's quite a romance."

  M. Isidore Fortunat was literally upon the rack; and to make hissufferings still more horrible, he dared not ask any direct question,nor allow his curiosity to become manifest, for fear of alarming thewoman. "Let me see," said he; "I think--I am sure that I have heard--orthat I have read--I cannot say which--some story about a Mademoiselle deChalusse. It was something terrible, wasn't it?"

  "Terrible, indeed. But what I was speaking of happened a long timeago--twenty-five or twenty-six years ago, at the very least. I was stillin my own part of the country--at Besancon. No one knows the exact truthabout the affair."

  "What! not even you?"

  "Oh! I--that's an entirely different
thing. When I entered the count'sservice, six years later, there was still an old gardener who knew thewhole story, and who told it to me, making me swear that I would neverbetray his confidence."

  Lavish of details as she had been in telling her own story, it wasevident that she was determined to exercise a prudent reserve ineverything connected with the De Chalusse family; and M. Fortunatinwardly cursed this, to him, most unseasonable discretion. But he wasexperienced in these examinations, and he had at his command littletricks for loosening tongues, which even an investigating magistratemight have envied. Without seeming to attach the slightest importance toMadame Vantrasson's narrative, he rose with a startled air, like aman who suddenly realizes that he has forgotten himself. "Zounds!" heexclaimed, "we sit here gossiping, and it's growing late. I really can'twait for your husband. If I remain here any longer, I shall miss thelast omnibus; and I live on the other side of the river, near theLuxembourg."

  "But our agreement, monsieur?"

  "We will draw that up at some future time. I shall be passing again, orI will send one of my colleagues to see you."

  It was Madame Vantrasson's turn to tremble now. She feared, if sheallowed this supposed clerk to go without signing the agreement, thatthe person who came in his stead might not prove so accommodating; andeven if he called again himself, he might not be so kindly disposed."Wait just a moment longer, monsieur," she pleaded; "my husband willsoon be back, and the last omnibus doesn't leave the Rue de Levis untilmidnight."

  "I wouldn't refuse, but this part of the suburbs is so lonely."

  "Vantrasson will see you on your way." And, resolved to detain him atany cost, she poured out a fresh glass of liquor for him, and said:"Where were we? Oh, yes! I was about to tell you Mademoiselle Hermine'sstory."

  Concealing his delight with an assumed air of resignation, M. Fortunatreseated himself, to the intense disgust of Chupin, who was thoroughlytired of waiting outside in the cold.

  "I must tell you," began Madame Vantrasson, "that when this happened--atleast twenty-five years ago--the De Chalusse family lived in the RueSaint-Dominique. They occupied a superb mansion, with extensive grounds,full of splendid trees like those in the Tuileries gardens. MademoiselleHermine, who was then about eighteen or nineteen years old, was,according to all accounts, the prettiest young creature ever seen. Herskin was as white as milk, she had a profusion of golden hair, and hereyes were as blue as forget-me-nots. She was very kind and generous,they say, only, like all the rest of the family, she was very haughtyand obstinate--oh, obstinate enough to allow herself to be roasted aliveover a slow fire rather than yield an inch. That's the count's natureexactly. Having served him, I know something about it, to be sure,and----"

  "Excuse me," interrupted M. Fortunat, who was determined to preventthese digressions, "and Mademoiselle Hermine?"

  "I was coming to her. Although she was very beautiful and immenselyrich, she had no suitors--for it was generally understood that she wasto marry a marquis, whose father was a particular friend of the family.The parents had arranged the matter between them years before, andnothing was wanting but the young lady's consent; but MademoiselleHermine absolutely refused to hear the marquis's name mentioned.

  "They did everything to persuade her to consent to this marriage; theyemployed prayers and threats alike, but they might as well have talkedto a stone. When they asked her why she refused to marry the marquis,she replied, 'Because'--and that was all. In fact, at last she declaredshe would leave home and take refuge in a convent, if they didn't ceaseto torment her. Her relatives were certain there must be some reasonfor her refusal. It isn't natural for a girl to reject a suitor whois young, handsome, rich, and a marquis besides. Her friends suspectedthere was something she wouldn't confess; and M. Raymond swore that hewould watch his sister, and discover her secret."

  "M. Raymond is the present Count de Chalusse, I suppose?" inquired M.Fortunat.

  "Yes, monsieur. Such was the state of matters when, one night, thegardener thought he heard a noise in the pavilion, at the end of thegarden. This pavilion was very large. I have seen it. It containeda sitting-room, a billiard-room, and a large fencing-hall. Naturallyenough, the gardener got up to go and see what was the matter. As heleft the house, he fancied he saw two persons moving about among thetrees. He ran after them, but could find nothing. They had made theirescape through a small gate leading from the garden into the street.When the gardener was telling me this story, he declared again andagain that he had fancied the noise he had heard was made by some ofthe servants trying to leave the house secretly, and for this reasonhe didn't give the alarm. However, he hurried to the pavilion, but onseeing no light there, he went back to bed with an easy mind."

  "And it was Mademoiselle Hermine eloping with a lover?" asked M.Fortunat.

  Madame Vantrasson seemed as disappointed as an actor who has beendeprived of an opportunity of producing a grand effect. "Wait a moment,"she replied, "and you'll see. The night passed, morning came, andthen the breakfast hour. But Mademoiselle Hermine did not make herappearance. Some one was sent to rap at her door--there was no answer.The door was opened--the young lady was not in her room, and the bed hadnot even been disturbed. In a few moments the whole household was inthe wildest commotion; the mother weeping, and the father half wildwith rage and sorrow. Of course, the next thought was of MademoiselleHermine's brother, and he was sent for. But, he, too, was not in hisroom, and his bed had not been touched. The excitement was becomingfrenzy, when it occurred to the gardener to mention what he had heardand seen on the previous night. They hastened to the pavilion, anddiscovered what? Why, M. Raymond stretched upon the ground, stiff, cold,and motionless, weltering in his own blood. One of his rigid hands stillgrasped a sword. They lifted him up, carried him to the house, laid himupon his bed, and sent for a physician. He had received two dangerouswounds; one in the throat, the other in the breast. For more than amonth he hung between life and death, and six weeks elapsed before hehad strength to relate what had happened. He was lighting a cigar at hiswindow when he thought he saw a woman's form flit through the garden.A suspicion that it might be his sister flashed through his mind; so hehastened down, stole noiselessly into the pavilion, and there he foundhis sister and a young man who was absolutely unknown to him. He mighthave killed the intruder, but instead of doing so, he told him theywould fight then and there. Weapons were within reach, and they fought,with the result that Raymond was wounded twice, in quick succession, andfell. His adversary, supposing him dead, thereupon fled from the spot,taking Mademoiselle Hermine with him."

  At this point in her narrative Madame Vantrasson evinced a desire topause and draw a breath, and perhaps partake of some slight refreshment;but M. Fortunat was impatient. The woman's husband might return at anymoment. "And, after that?" he inquired.

  "After that--well--M. Raymond recovered, and in about three months'time he was out again; but the parents, who were old folks, had receivedtheir death-blow. They never rallied from the shock. Perhaps they feltthat it was their own hard-heartedness and obstinacy that had causedtheir daughter's ruin--and remorse is hard to bear. They wanedperceptibly from day to day, and during the following year they wereborne to the cemetery within two months of each other."

  From the spurious clerk's demeanor it was easy to see that he had ceasedthinking about his omnibus, and his hostess felt both reassured andflattered. "And Mademoiselle Hermine?" he inquired, eagerly.

  "Alas! monsieur, no one ever knew where she went, or what became ofher."

  "Didn't they try to find her?"

  "They searched for her everywhere, for I don't know how long; all theablest detectives in France and in foreign countries tried to find her,but not one of them succeeded in discovering the slightest trace of herwhereabouts. M. Raymond promised an enormous sum to the man who wouldfind his sister's betrayer. He wished to kill him, and he sought for himfor years; but all in vain."

  "And did they never receive any tidings of this unfortunate girl?"

  "I was to
ld that they heard from her twice. On the morning followingher flight her parents received a letter, in which she implored theirforgiveness. Five or six months later, she wrote again to say that sheknew her brother was not dead. She confessed that she was a wicked,ungrateful girl--that she had been mad; but she said that her punishmenthad come, and it was terrible. She added that every link was severedbetween herself and her friends, and she hoped they would forget her ascompletely as if she had never existed. She went so far as to say thather children should never know who their mother was, and that never inher life again would she utter the name which she had so disgraced."

  It was the old, sad story of a ruined girl paying for a moment's madnesswith her happiness and all her after life. A terrible drama, no doubt;but one that is of such frequent occurrence that it seems as commonplaceas life itself. Thus any one who was acquainted with M. Isidore Fortunatwould have been surprised to see how greatly he was moved by such atrifle. "Poor girl!" said he, in view of saying something. And then, ina tone of assumed carelessness, he inquired: "Did they never discoverwhat scoundrel carried Mademoiselle de Chalusse away?"

  "Never. Who he was, whence he came, whether he was young or old, how hebecame acquainted with Mademoiselle Hermine--these questions were neveranswered. It was rumored at one time that he was an American, a captainin the navy; but that was only a rumor. To tell the truth, they nevereven discovered his name."

  "What, not even his name?"

  "Not even his name."

  Unable to master his emotion, M. Fortunat had at least the presence ofmind to rise and step back into the darker part of the shop. But hisgesture of disappointment and the muttered oath that fell from his lipsdid not escape Madame Vantrasson. She was startled, and from that momentshe looked upon the supposed clerk with evident distrust. It was notlong before he again resumed his seat nearer the counter, still atrifle pale, perhaps, but apparently calm. Two questions more seemedindispensable to him, and yet either one of them would be sure to arousesuspicion. Nevertheless, he resolved to incur the risk of betrayinghimself. And, after all, what would it matter now? Did he not possessthe information he had wished for, at least as much of it as it was inthis woman's power to impart? "I can scarcely tell you, my dear madame,how much your narrative has interested me," he began. "I can confessnow that I am slightly acquainted with the Count de Chalusse, and that Ihave frequently visited the house in the Rue de Courcelles, where he nowresides."

  "You!" exclaimed the woman, taking a hasty inventory of M. Fortunat'stoilette.

  "Yes, I--on the part of my employer, understand. Each time I've beento visit M. de Chalusse's I've seen a young lady whom I took for hisdaughter there. I was wrong, no doubt, since he isn't a married man--"

  He paused. Astonishment and anger seemed to be almost suffocating hishostess. Without understanding how or why, she felt convinced that shehad been duped; and if she had obeyed her first impulse she would haveattacked M. Isidore then and there. If she restrained this impulse, ifshe made an effort to control herself, it was only because she thoughtshe held a better revenge in reserve.

  "A young lady in the count's house!" she said, thoughtfully. "That'sscarcely possible. I've never seen her; I've never heard her spoken of.How long has she been there?"

  "For six or seven months?"

  "In that case, I can't absolutely deny it. It's two years since I setfoot in the count's house."

  "I fancied this young lady might be the count's niece MademoiselleHermine's daughter."

  Madame Vantrasson shook her head. "Put that fancy out of your head,"she remarked. "The count said that his sister was dead to him from theevening of her flight."

  "Who CAN this young girl be, then?"

  "Bless me! I don't know. What sort of a looking person is she?"

  "Very tall; a brunette."

  "How old is she?"

  "Eighteen or nineteen."

  The woman made a rapid calculation on her fingers. "Nine and four arethirteen," she muttered, "and five are eighteen. Ah, ha!--why not? Imust look into this."

  "What did you say?"

  "Nothing; a little reflection I was making to myself. Do you know thisyoung lady's name?"

  "It's Marguerite."

  The woman's face clouded. "No; it can't be then," she muttered, in ascarcely audible voice.

  M. Fortunat was on coals of fire. It was evident that this frightfulcreature, even if she knew nothing definite, had some idea, some vaguesuspicion of the truth. How could he compel her to speak now that shewas on her guard? He had not time to ascertain, for the door suddenlyopened, and Vantrasson appeared on the threshold. He was scarcely soberwhen he left the shop, but now he was fairly drunk; his heavy shamblehad become a stagger. "Oh, you wretch, you brigand!" howled his wife;"you've been drinking again!"

  He succeeded in maintaining his equilibrium, and, gazing at her with thephlegmatic stare peculiar to intoxicated men, he replied: "Well, whatof that! Can't I have a little pleasure with my friends? I came acrossa couple of men who were just taking their fifteenth glass; why should Irefuse a compliment?"

  "You can't hold yourself up."

  "That's true." And to prove it he tumbled on to a chair.

  A torrent of abuse now flowed from Madame Vantrasson's lips! M.Fortunat only imperfectly distinguished the words "thief," "spy," and"detective;" but he could not mistake the meaning of the looks which shealternately gave her husband and himself. "It's a fortunate thing foryou that my husband is in this condition," her glances plainly implied,"otherwise there would be an explanation, and then we should see--"

  "I've had a lucky escape," thought the spurious clerk. But as mattersstood there was nothing to fear. It was a case where one could show abrave front to the enemy without incurring the slightest danger. "Letyour husband alone," said he. "If he has only brought the paper that hewas sent to fetch, I sha'n't have lost my evening to oblige you."

  Vantrasson had brought not one sheet of stamped paper, but two. A badpen and some muddy ink were produced, and M. Fortunat began to draw upan acknowledgment according to the established formula. However, it wasnecessary to mention the name of the creditor of whom he had spoken, andnot wishing to state his own, he used that of poor Victor Chupin, whowas at that very moment shivering at the door, little suspecting whatliberty was being taken with his cognomen.

  "Chupin!" repeated the vixen, as if to engrave the name on her memory;"Victor Chupin! I should just like to see him," she added, viciously.

  When the document was finished, it became necessary to wake Vantrasson,so that he might sign it. He did so with very good grace, and his wifeappended her signature beside her husband's. Thereupon M. Fortunat gavethem in exchange the note which had served as a pretext for his visit."And above all," he remarked, as he opened the door to go, "don't forgetthat you are to pay something on account each month."

  "Go to the devil, and your account with you!" growled Madame Vantrasson.

  But Fortunat did not hear this. He was already walking down the roadby the side of Chupin, who was saying: "Well, here you are, at last,m'sieur! I thought you had taken a lease of that old barrack. If ever Icome here again, I'll bring a foot-warmer with me."

  But one of those fits of profound abstraction to which determinedseekers after truth are subject had taken possession of M. Fortunat, andmade him oblivious of all surrounding circumstances. His heart had beenfull of hope when he reached the Asnieres Road, but he went away gloomyand despondent; and quite unconscious of the darkness, the mud, and therain, which was again falling, he silently plodded along in the middleof the highway. Chupin was obliged to stop him at the city gate, andremind him that the cab was waiting.

  "That's true," was M. Fortunat's only answer. He entered the vehicle,certainly without knowing it; and as they rolled homeward, the thoughtsthat filled his brain to overflowing found vent in a sort of monologue,of which Chupin now and then caught a few words. "What a piece ofbusiness!" he muttered--"what a piece of business! I've had seven years'experience in such matters, and
yet I've never met with an affairso shrouded in mystery. My forty thousand francs are in a precariouscondition. Certainly I've lost money before through heirs whoseexistence I hadn't even suspected; but by reinstating these same heirsin their rights, I've regained my lost money, and received a handsomereward in addition; but in this case all is darkness; there isn't asingle gleam of light--not the slightest clew. If I could only findthem! But how can I search for people whose names I don't even know--forpeople who have escaped all the inquiries of the police? And where shallI look for them--in Europe, in America? It would be sheer madness! Towhom, then, will the count's millions go?"

  It was only the sudden stoppage of the cab in front of his own door thatrecalled M. Fortunat to the realities of life. "Here are twentyfrancs, Victor," he said to Chupin. "Pay the driver, and keep the restyourself."

  As he spoke, he sprang nimbly to the ground. A handsome brougham, drawnby two horses, was standing before the house. "The Marquis de Valorsay'scarriage," muttered M. Fortunat. "He has been very patient; he haswaited for me--or, rather, he has waited for my ten thousand francs.Well, we shall see."