The Count's Millions

  IV.

  It is in vain that the law has endeavored to shield private life fromprying eyes. The scribes who pander to Parisian curiosity surmount allobstacles and brave every danger. Thanks to the "High Life" reporters,every newspaper reader is aware that twice a week--Mondays andThursdays--Madame Lia d'Argeles holds a reception at her charmingmansion in the Rue de Berry. Her guests find plenty of amusement there.They seldom dance; but card-playing begins at midnight, and a daintysupper is served before the departure of the guests.

  It was on leaving one of these little entertainments that thatunfortunate young man, Jules Chazel, a cashier in a large banking-house,committed suicide by blowing out his brains. The brilliant frequentersof Madame d'Argeles's entertainments considered this act proof ofexceeding bad taste and deplorable weakness on his part. "The fellow wasa coward," they declared. "Why, he had lost hardly a thousand louis!"

  He had lost only that, it is true--a mere trifle as times go. Only themoney was not his; he had taken it from the safe which was confidedto his keeping, expecting, probably, to double the amount in a singlenight. In the morning, when he found himself alone, without a penny, andthe deficit staring him in the face, the voice of conscience cried, "Youare a thief!" and he lost his reason.

  The event created a great sensation at the time, and the Petit Journalpublished a curious story concerning this unfortunate young man'smother. The poor woman--she was a widow--sold all she possessed, eventhe bed on which she slept, and when she had succeeded in gatheringtogether twenty thousand francs--the ransom of her son's honor--shecarried them to the banker by whom her boy had been employed. He tookthem, without even asking the mother if she had enough left to purchaseher dinner that evening; and the fine gentleman, who had won andpocketed Jules Chazel's stolen gold, thought the banker's conductperfectly natural and just. It is true that Madame d'Argeles was indespair during forty-eight hours or so; for the police had begun a sortof investigation, and she feared this might frighten her visitors andempty her drawing-rooms. Not at all, however; on the contrary, she hadgood cause to congratulate herself upon the notoriety she gained throughthis suicide. For five days she was the talk of Paris, and Alfredd'Aunay even published her portrait in the Illustrated Chronicle.

  Still, no one was able to say exactly who Madame Lia d'Argeles was. Whowas she, and whence did she come? How had she lived until she sprang up,full grown, in the sunshine of the fashionable world? Did the splendidmansion in the Rue de Berry really belong to her? Was she as rich as shewas supposed to be? Where had she acquired such manners, the manners ofa thorough woman of the world, with her many accomplishments, as well asher remarkable skill as a musician? Everything connected with her wasa subject of conjecture, even to the name inscribed upon her visitingcards--"Lia d'Argeles."

  But no matter. Her house was always filled to over-flowing; and at thevery moment when the Marquis de Valorsay and M. Fortunat were speakingof her, a dozen coroneted carriages stood before her door, and herrooms were thronged with guests. It was a little past midnight, and thebi-weekly card party had just been made up, when a footman announced,"Monsieur le Vicomte de Coralth! Monsieur Pascal Ferailleur!"

  Few of the players deigned to raise their heads. But one man growled,"Good--two more players!" And four or five young men exclaimed, "Ah!here's Ferdinand! Good evening, my dear fellow!"

  M. de Coralth was very young and remarkably good-looking, almost toogood-looking, indeed; for his handsomeness was somewhat startling andunnatural. He had an exceedingly fair complexion, and large, meltingblack eyes, while a woman might have envied him his wavy brown hairand the exquisite delicacy of his skin. He dressed with great care andtaste, and even coquettishly; his turn-down collar left his firm whitethroat uncovered, and his rose-tinted gloves fitted as perfectly as theskin upon his soft, delicate hands. He bowed familiarly on entering,and with a rather complacent smile on his lips, he approached Madamed'Argeles, who, half reclining in an easy chair near the fire-place,was conversing with two elderly gentlemen of grave and distinguishedbearing. "How late you are, viscount," she remarked carelessly. "Whathave you been doing to-day? I fancied I saw you in the Bois, in theMarquis de Valorsay's dog-cart."

  A slight flush suffused M. de Coralth's cheeks, and to hide it, perhaps,he turned toward the visitor who had entered with him, and drew himtoward Madame d'Argeles, saying, "Allow me, madame, to present to youone of my great friends, M. Pascal Ferailleur, an advocate whose namewill be known to fame some day."

  "Your friends are always welcome at my house, my dear viscount," repliedMadame d'Argeles. And before Pascal had concluded his bow, she avertedher head, and resumed her interrupted conversation.

  The new-comer, however, was worthy of more than that cursory notice. Hewas a young man of five or six-and-twenty, dark-complexioned and tall;each movement of his person was imbued with that natural grace which isthe result of perfect harmony of the muscles, and of more than commonvigor. His features were irregular, but they gave evidence of energy,kindness of heart, and honesty of purpose. A man possessing such aproud, intelligent, and open brow, such a clear, straightforward gaze,and such finely-cut lips, could be no ordinary one. Deserted by hissponsor, who was shaking hands right and left, he seated himself on asofa a little in the background; not because he was embarrassed, butbecause he felt that instinctive distrust of self which frequentlyseizes hold of a person on entering a crowd of strangers. He did hisbest to conceal his curiosity, but nevertheless he looked and listenedwith all his might.

  The salon, was an immense apartment, divided into two rooms by slidingdoors and hangings. When Madame d'Argeles gave a ball, the rooms werethrown into one; but, as a general rule, one room was occupied by thecard-players, and the other served as a refuge for those who wishedto chat. The card-room, into which Pascal had been ushered, was anapartment of noble proportions, furnished in a style of tastefulmagnificence. The tints of the carpet were subdued; there was not toomuch gilding on the cornices; the clock upon the mantel-shelf was chasteand elegant in design. The only thing at all peculiar about the roomand its appointments was a reflector, ingeniously arranged above thechandelier in such a way as to throw the full glare of the candles uponthe card-table which stood directly beneath it. The table itself wasadorned with a rich tapestry cover, but this was visible only atthe corners, for it was covered, in turn, with a green baize clothconsiderably the worse for wear. Madame d'Argeles's guests were probablynot over fifty in number, but they all seemed to belong to the very bestsociety. The majority of them were men of forty or thereabouts; severalwore decorations, and two or three of the eldest were treated withmarked deference. Certain well-known names which Pascal overheardsurprised him greatly. "What! these men here?" he said to himself; "andI--I regarded my visit as a sort of clandestine frolic."

  There were only seven or eight ladies present, none of them beingespecially attractive. Their toilettes were very costly, but in ratherdoubtful taste, and they wore a profusion of diamonds. Pascal noticedthat these ladies were treated with perfect indifference, and that,whenever the gentlemen spoke to them, they assumed an air of politenesswhich was too exaggerated not to be ironical.

  A score of persons were seated at the card-table, and the guests who hadretired into the adjoining salon were silently watching the progress ofthe game, or quietly chatting in the corners of the room. It surprisedhim to note that every one spoke in very low tones; there was somethingvery like respect, even awe, in this subdued murmur. One mighthave supposed that those present were celebrating the rites of somemysterious worship. And is not gaming a species of idolatry, symbolizedby cards, and which has its images, its fetishes, its miracles, itsfanatics, and its martyrs?

  Occasionally, above the accompaniment of whispers, rose the strange andincoherent exclamations of the players: "Here are twenty louis! I takeit--I pass! The play is made! Banco!"

  "What a strange gathering!" thought Pascal Ferailleur. "What singularpeople!" And he turned his attention to the mistress of the house, as ifhe hoped to decipher
the solution of the enigma on her face.

  But Madame Lia d'Argeles defied all analysis. She was one of those womenwhose uncertain age varies according to their mood, between the thirtiesand the fifties; one who did not look over thirty in the evening, butwho would have been charged with being more than fifty the next morning.In her youth she must have been very beautiful, and she was stillgood-looking, though she had grown somewhat stout, and her face hadbecome a trifle heavy, thus marring the symmetry of her very delicatefeatures. A perfect blonde, she had eyes of so clear a blue that theyseemed almost faded. The whiteness of her skin was so unnatural that italmost startled one. It was the dull, lifeless white which suggests anexcessive use of cosmetics and rice powder, and long baths, late hours,and sleep at day-time, in a darkened room. Her face was utterly devoidof expression. One might have fancied that its muscles had becomerelaxed after terrible efforts to feign or to conceal some violentemotions; and there was something melancholy, almost terrifying in theeternal, and perhaps involuntary smile, which curved her lips. She worea dress of black velvet, with slashed sleeves and bodice, a new designof the famous man-milliner, Van Klopen.

  Pascal was engaged in these observations when M. de Coralth, having madehis round, came and sat down on the sofa beside him. "Well, what do youthink of it?" he inquired.

  "Upon my word!" replied the young advocate, "I am infinitely obliged toyou for inviting me to accompany you here. I am intensely amused."

  "Good! My philosopher is captivated."

  "Not captivated, but interested, I confess." Then, in the tone ofgood-humor which was habitual to him, he added: "As for being the sageyou call me, that's all nonsense. And to prove it, I'm going to risk mylouis with the rest."

  M. de Coralth seemed amazed, but a close observer might have detected agleam of triumph in his eyes. "You are going to play--you?"

  "Yes. Why not?"

  "Take care!"

  "Of what, pray? The worst I can do is to lose what I have in mypocket--something over two hundred francs."

  The viscount shook his head thoughtfully. "It isn't that which one hascause to fear. The devil always has a hand in this business, and thefirst time a man plays he's sure to win."

  "And is that a misfortune?"

  "Yes, because the recollection of these first winnings is sure to lureyou back to the gaming-table again. You go back, you lose, you try torecover your money, and that's the end of it--you become a gambler."

  Pascal Ferailleur's smile was the smile of a man who has full confidencein himself. "My brain is not so easily turned, I hope," said he. "I havethe thought of my name, and the fortune I must make, as ballast for it."

  "I beseech you not to play," insisted the viscount. "Listen to me; youdon't know what this passion for play is; the strongest and the coldestnatures succumb--don't play."

  He had raised his voice, as if he intended to be overheard by two guestswho had just approached the sofa. They did indeed hear him. "Can Ibelieve my own eyes and ears!" exclaimed one of them, an elderly man."Can this really be Ferdinand who is trying to shake the allegiance ofthe votaries of our noble lady--the Queen of Spades?"

  M. de Coralth turned quickly round: "Yes, it is indeed I," he answered."I have purchased with my patrimony the right of saying: 'Distrustyourself, and don't do as I've done,' to an inexperienced friend."

  The wisest counsels, given in a certain fashion, never fail to producean effect diametrically opposed to that which they seemingly aim at.M. de Coralth's persistence, and the importance he attached to a meretrifle, could not fail to annoy the most patient man in the world, andin fact his patronizing tone really irritated Pascal. "You are free, myfriend, to do as you please," said he; "but I----"

  "Are you resolved?" interrupted the viscount.

  "Absolutely."

  "So be it, then. You are no longer a child, and I have warned you. Letus play, then." Thereupon they approached the table; room was madefor them, and they seated themselves, Pascal being on M. Ferdinand deCoralth's right-hand side.

  The guests were playing "Baccarat tournant," a game of terrible andinfantile simplicity. There are no such things as skill or combinationpossible in it; science and calculation are useless. Chance alonedecides, and decides with the rapidity of lightning. Amateurs certainlyassert that, with great coolness and long practice, one can, in ameasure at least, avert prolonged ill-luck. Maybe they are right, butit is not conclusively proved. Each person takes the cards in his turn,risks what he chooses, and when his stakes are covered, deals. If hewins, he is free to follow up his vein of good-luck, or to pass thedeal. When he loses, the deal passes at once to the next player on theright.

  A moment sufficed for Pascal Ferailleur to learn the rules of the game.It was already Ferdinand's deal. M. de Coralth staked a hundred francs;the bet was taken; he dealt, lost, and handed the cards to Pascal.

  The play, which had been rather timid at first--since it was necessary,as they say, to try the luck--had now become bolder. Several playershad large piles of gold before them, and the heavy artillery--that is tosay, bank-notes--were beginning to put in appearance. But Pascal had nofalse pride. "I stake a louis!" said he

  The smallness of the sum attracted instant attention, and two or threevoices replied: "Taken!"

  He dealt, and won. "Two louis!" he said again. This wager was alsotaken; he won, and his run of luck was so remarkable that, in awonderfully short space of time, he won six hundred francs.

  "Pass the deal," whispered Ferdinand, and Pascal followed this advice."Not because I desire to keep my winnings," he whispered in M. deCoralth's ear, "but because I wish to have enough to play until the endof the evening without risking anything."

  But such prudence was unnecessary so far as he was concerned. When thedeal came to him again, fortune favored him even more than before.He started with a hundred francs, and doubling them each time in sixsuccessive deals, he won more than three thousand francs.

  "The devil! Monsieur is in luck."--"Zounds! And he is playing for thefirst time."--"That accounts for it. The inexperienced always win."

  Pascal could not fail to hear these comments. The blood mantled overhis cheeks, and, conscious that he was flushing, he, as usually happens,flushed still more. His good fortune embarrassed him, as was evident,and he played most recklessly. Still his good luck did not desert him;and do what he would he won--won continually. In fact, by four o'clockin the morning he had thirty-five thousand francs before him.

  For some time he had been the object of close attention. "Do you knowthis gentleman?" inquired one of the guests.

  "No. He came with Coralth."

  "He is an advocate, I understand."

  And all these whispered doubts and suspicions, these questions fraughtwith an evil significance, these uncharitable replies, grew into amalevolent murmur, which resounded in Pascal's ears and bewilderedhim. He was really becoming most uncomfortable, when Madame d'Argelesapproached the card-table and exclaimed: "This is the third time,gentlemen, that you have been told that supper is ready. What gentlemanwill offer me his arm?"

  There was an evident unwillingness to leave the table, but an oldgentleman who had been losing heavily rose to his feet. "Yes, let us goto supper!" he exclaimed; "perhaps that will change the luck."

  This was a decisive consideration. The room emptied as if by magic; andno one was left at the table but Pascal, who scarcely knew what todo with all the gold piled up before him. He succeeded, however, indistributing it in his pockets, and was about to join the other guestsin the dining-room, when Madame d'Argeles abruptly barred his passage.

  "I desire a word with you, monsieur," she said. Her face still retainedits strange immobility, and the same stereotyped smile played about herlips. And yet her agitation was so evident that Pascal, in spite of hisown uneasiness, noticed it, and was astonished by it.

  "I am at your service, madame," he stammered, bowing.

  She at once took his arm, and led him to the embrasure of a window. "Iam a stranger to you, monsieur," she said,
very hurriedly, and in verylow tones, "and yet I must ask, and you must grant me, a great favor."

  "Speak, madame."

  She hesitated, as if at a loss for words, and then all of a sudden shesaid, eagerly: "You will leave this house at once, without warning anyone, and while the other guests are at supper."

  Pascal's astonishment changed into stupor.

  "Why am I to go?" he asked.

  "Because--but, no; I cannot tell you. Consider it only a caprice on mypart--it is so; but I entreat you, don't refuse me. Do me this favor,and I shall be eternally grateful."

  There was such an agony of supplication in her voice and her attitude,that Pascal was touched. A vague presentiment of some terrible,irreparable misfortune disturbed his own heart. Nevertheless, he sadlyshook his head, and bitterly exclaimed: "You are, perhaps, not awarethat I have just won over thirty thousand francs."

  "Yes, I am aware of it. And this is only another, and still strongerreason why you should protect yourself against possible loss. It is wellto pattern after Charlemagne [1] in this house. The other night, theCount d'Antas quietly made his escape bareheaded. He took a thousandlouis away with him, and left his hat in exchange. The count is a braveman; and far from indulging in blame, every one applauded him the nextday. Come, you have decided, I see--you will go; and to be still moresafe, I will show you out through the servants' hall, then no one canpossibly see you."

  Pascal had almost decided to yield to her entreaties; but this proposedretreat through the back-door was too revolting to his pride to bethought of for a moment. "I will never consent to such a thing," hedeclared. "What would they think of me? Besides I owe them their revengeand I shall give it to them."

  Neither Madame d'Argeles nor Pascal had noticed M. de Coralth, who inthe meantime had stolen into the room on tiptoe, and had been listeningto their conversation, concealed behind the folds of a heavy curtain. Henow suddenly revealed his presence. "Ah! my dear friend," he exclaimed,in a winning tone. "While I honor your scruples, I must say that I thinkmadame is a hundred times right. If I were in your place, if I had wonwhat you have won, I shouldn't hesitate. Others might think what theypleased; you have the money, that is the main thing."

  For the second time, the viscount's intervention decided Pascal. "Ishall remain," he said, resolutely.

  But Madame d'Argeles laid her hand imploringly on his arm. "I entreatyou, monsieur," said she. "Go now, there is still time."

  "Yes, go," said the viscount, approvingly, "it would be a most excellentmove. Retreat and save the cash."

  These words were like the drop which makes the cup overflow. Crimsonwith anger and assailed by the strangest suspicions, Pascal turned fromMadame d'Argeles and hastened into the dining-room. The conversationceased entirely on his arrival there. He could not fail to understandthat he had been the subject of it. A secret instinct warned him thatall the men around him were his enemies--though he knew not why--andthat they were plotting against him. He also perceived that hisslightest movements were watched and commented upon. However he was abrave man; his conscience did not reproach him in the least, and he wasone of those persons who, rather than wait for danger, provoke it.

  So, with an almost defiant air, he seated himself beside a younglady dressed in pink tulle, and began to laugh and chat with her. Hepossessed a ready wit, and what is even better, tact; and for a quarterof an hour astonished those around him by his brilliant sallies.Champagne was flowing freely; and he drank four or five glasses in quicksuccession. Was he really conscious of what he was doing and saying? Hesubsequently declared that he was not, that he acted under the influenceof a sort of hallucination similar to that produced by the inhalation ofcarbonic gas.

  However, the guests did not linger long at the supper-table. "Let us goback!" cried the old gentleman, who had insisted upon the suspension ofthe game; "we are wasting a deal of precious time here!"

  Pascal rose with the others, and in his haste to enter the adjoiningroom he jostled two men who were talking together near the door. "So itis understood," said one of them.

  "Yes, yes, leave it to me; I will act as executioner."

  This word sent all Pascal's blood bounding to his heart. "Who is to beexecuted?" he thought? "I am evidently to be the victim. But what does itall mean?"

  Meanwhile the players at the green table had changed places, and Pascalfound himself seated not on Ferdinand's right, but directly oppositehim, and between two men about his own age--one of them being the personwho had announced his intention of acting as executioner. All eyes werefixed upon the unfortunate advocate when it came his turn to deal. Hestaked two hundred louis, and lost them. There was a slight commotionround the table; and one of the players who had lost most heavily,remarked in an undertone: "Don't look so hard at the gentleman--he won'thave any more luck."

  As Pascal heard this ironical remark, uttered in a tone which made it asinsulting as a blow, a gleam of light darted through his puzzled brain.He suspected at last, what any person less honest than himself wouldhave long before understood. He thought of rising and demanding anapology; but he was stunned, almost overcome by the horrors of hissituation. His ears tingled, and it seemed to him as if the beating ofhis heart were suspended.

  However the game proceeded; but no one paid any attention to it. Thestakes were insignificant, and loss or gain drew no exclamation from anyone. The attention of the entire party was concentrated on Pascal; andhe, with despair in his heart, followed the movements of the cards,which were passing from hand to hand, and fast approaching him again.When they reached him the silence became breathless, menacing, evensinister. The ladies, and the guests who were not playing, approachedand leaned over the table in evident anxiety. "My God!" thought Pascal,"my God, if I can only lose!"

  He was as pale as death; the perspiration trickled down from his hairupon his temples, and his hands trembled so much that he could scarcelyhold the cards. "I will stake four thousand francs," he faltered.

  "I take your bet," answered a voice.

  Alas! the unfortunate fellow's wish was not gratified; he won. Thenin the midst of the wildest confusion, he exclaimed: "Here are eightthousand francs!"

  "Taken!"

  But as he began to deal the cards, his neighbor sprang up, seized himroughly by the hands and cried: "This time I'm sure of it--you are athief!"

  With a bound, Pascal was on his feet. While his peril had been vague andundetermined, his energy had been paralyzed. But it was restored to himintact when his danger declared itself in all its horror. He pushed awaythe man who had caught his hands, with such violence that he sent himreeling under a sofa; then he stepped back and surveyed the excitedthrong with an air of menace and defiance. Useless! Seven or eightplayers sprang upon him and overpowered him, as if he had been thevilest criminal.

  Meanwhile, the executioner, as he had styled himself, had risen to hisfeet with his cravat untied, and his clothes in wild disorder. "Yes,"he said, addressing Pascal, "you are a thief! I saw you slip other cardsamong those which were handed to you."

  "Wretch!" gasped Pascal.

  "I saw you--and I am going to prove it." So saying he turned tothe mistress of the house, who had dropped into an arm-chair, andimperiously asked, "How many packs have we used?"

  "Five."

  "Then there ought to be two hundred and sixty cards upon the table."

  Thereupon he counted them slowly and with particular care, and he foundno fewer than three hundred and seven. "Well, scoundrel!" he cried; "areyou still bold enough to deny it?"

  Pascal had no desire to deny it. He knew that words would weigh asnothing against this material, tangible, incontrovertible proof.Forty-seven cards had been fraudulently inserted among the others.Certainly not by him! But by whom? Still he, alone, had been the gainerthrough the deception.

  "You see that the coward will not even defend himself!" exclaimed one ofthe women.

  He did not deign to turn his head. What did the insult matter to him? Heknew himself to be innocent, and yet he felt
that he was sinking to thelowest depths of infamy--he beheld himself disgraced, branded, ruined.And realizing that he must meet facts with facts, he besought God togrant him an idea, an inspiration, that would unmask the real culprit.

  But another person came to his aid. With a boldness which no one wouldhave expected on his part, M. de Coralth placed himself in front ofPascal, and in a voice which betokened more indignation than sorrow, heexclaimed: "This is a terrible mistake, gentlemen. Pascal Ferailleuris my friend; and his past vouches for his present. Go to the Palais deJustice, and make inquiries respecting his character there. They willtell you how utterly impossible it is that this man can be guilty of theignoble act he is accused of."

  No one made any reply. In the opinion of all his listeners, Ferdinandwas simply fulfilling a duty which it would have been difficult forhim to escape. The old gentleman who had decided the suspension andthe resumption of the game, gave audible expression to the prevailingsentiment of the party. He was a portly man, who puffed like a porpoisewhen he talked, and whom his companions called the baron. "Your words doyou honor--really do you honor," he said, addressing Ferdinand--"and nopossible blame can attach to you. That your friend is not an honestman is no fault of yours. There is no outward sign to distinguishscoundrels."

  Pascal had so far not opened his lips. After struggling for a moment inthe hands of his captors, he now stood perfectly motionless, glancingfuriously around him as if hoping to discover the coward who hadprepared the trap into which he had fallen. For he felt certain that hewas the victim of some atrocious conspiracy, though it was impossiblefor him to divine what motive had actuated his enemies. Suddenly thosewho were holding him felt him tremble. He raised his head; he fanciedhe could detect a ray of hope. "Shall I be allowed to speak in my owndefence?" he asked.

  "Speak!"

  He tried to free himself; but those beside him would not relax theirhold, so he desisted, and then, in a voice husky with emotion, heexclaimed: "I am innocent! I am the victim of an infamous plot. Whothe author of it is I do not know. But there is some one here who mustknow." Angry exclamations and sneering laughs interrupted him. "Wouldyou condemn me unheard?" he resumed, raising his voice. "Listen to me.About an hour ago, while you were at supper, Madame d'Argeles almostthrew herself at my feet as she entreated me to leave this house. Heragitation astonished me. Now I understand it."

  The gentleman known as the baron turned toward Madame d'Argeles: "Iswhat this man says true?"

  She was greatly agitated, but she answered: "Yes."

  "Why were you so anxious for him to go?"

  "I don't know--a presentiment--it seemed to me that something was goingto happen."

  The least observant of the party could not fail to notice Madamed'Argeles's hesitation and confusion; but even the shrewdest weredeceived. They supposed that she had seen the act committed, and hadtried to induce the culprit to make his escape, in order to avoid ascandal.

  Pascal saw he could expect no assistance from this source. "M. deCoralth could assure you," he began.

  "Oh, enough of that," interrupted a player. "I myself heard M. deCoralth do his best to persuade you not to play."

  So the unfortunate fellow's last and only hope had vanished. Still hemade a supreme effort, and addressing Madame d'Argeles: "Madame," hesaid, in a voice trembling with anguish? "I entreat you, tell what youknow. Will you allow an honorable man to be ruined before your veryeyes? Will you abandon an innocent man whom you could save by a singleword?" But she remained silent; and Pascal staggered as if some one haddealt him a terrible blow. "It is all over!" he muttered.

  No one heard him; everybody was listening to the baron, who seemed tobe very much put out. "We are wasting precious time with all this," saidhe. "We should have made at least five rounds while this absurd scenehas been going on. We must put an end to it. What are you going to dowith this fellow? I am in favor of sending for a commissary of police."

  Such was not at all the opinion of the majority of the guests. Fouror five of the ladies took flight at the bare suggestion and severalmen--the most aristocratic of the company--became angry at once. "Areyou mad?" said one of them. "Do you want to see us all summoned aswitnesses? You have probably forgotten that Garcia affair, and thatrumpus at Jenny Fancy's house. A fine thing it would be to see, no oneknows how many great names mixed up with those of sharpers and notoriouswomen!"

  Naturally of a florid complexion, the baron's face now became scarlet."So it's fear of scandal that deters you! Zounds, sir! a man's courageshould equal his vices. Look at me."

  Celebrated for his income of eight hundred thousand francs a year, forhis estates in Burgundy, for his passion for gaming, his horses, and hiscook, the baron wielded a mighty influence. Still, on this occasion hedid not carry the day, for it was decided that the "sharper" shouldbe allowed to depart unmolested. "Make him at least return the money,"growled a loser; "compel him to disgorge."

  "His winnings are there upon the table."

  "Don't believe it," cried the baron. "All these scoundrels have secretpockets in which they stow away their plunder. Search him by all means."

  "That's it--search him!"

  Crushed by this unexpected, undeserved and incomprehensible misfortune,Pascal had almost yielded to his fate. But the shameful cry: "Searchhim!" kindled terrible wrath in his brain. He shook off his assailantsas a lion shakes off the hounds that have attacked him, and, reachingthe fireplace with a single bound, he snatched up a heavy bronzecandelabrum and brandished it in the air, crying: "The first whoapproaches is a dead man!"

  He was ready to strike, there was no doubt about it; and such a weaponin the hands of a determined man, becomes positively terrible. Thedanger seemed so great and so certain that his enemies paused--eachencouraging his neighbor with his glance; but no one was inclined toengage in this struggle, by which the victor would merely gain afew bank-notes. "Stand back, and allow me to retire?" said Pascal,imperiously. They still hesitated; but finally made way. And, formidablein his indignation and audacity, he reached the door of the roomunmolested, and disappeared.

  This superb outburst of outraged honor, this marvellousenergy--succeeding, as it did, the most complete mental prostration--andthese terrible threats, had proved so prompt and awe-inspiring thatno one had thought of cutting off Pascal's retreat. The guests hadnot recovered from their stupor, but were still standing silent andintimidated when they heard the outer door close after him.

  It was a woman who at last broke the spell. "Ah, well!" she exclaimed,in a tone of intense admiration, "that handsome fellow is level-headed!"

  "He naturally desired to save his plunder!"

  It was the same expression that M. de Coralth had employed; and whichhad, perhaps, prevented Pascal from yielding to Madame d'Argeles'sentreaties. Everybody applauded the sentiment--everybody, the baronexcepted. This rich man, whose passions had dragged him into the vilestdens of Europe, was thoroughly acquainted with sharpers and scoundrelsof every type, from those who ride in their carriages down to thebare-footed vagabond. He knew the thief who grovels at his victim'sfeet, humbly confessing his crime, the desperate knave who swallows thenotes he has stolen, the abject wretch who bares his back to receive theblows he deserves, and the rascal who boldly confronts his accusers andprotests his innocence with the indignation of an honest man. But never,in any of these scoundrels, had the baron seen the proud, steadfastglance with which this man had awed his accusers.

  With this thought uppermost in his mind he drew the person who hadseized Pascal's hands at the card-table a little aside. "Tell me," saidhe, "did you actually see that young man slip the cards into the pack?"

  "No, not exactly. But you know what we agreed at supper? We were surethat he was cheating; and it was necessary to find some pretext forcounting the cards."

  "What if he shouldn't be guilty, after all?"

  "Who else could be guilty then? He was the only winner."

  To this terrible argument--the same which had silenced Pascal--the baronmade no reply
. Indeed his intervention became necessary elsewhere, forthe other guests were beginning to talk loudly and excitedly around thepile of gold and bank-notes which Pascal had left on the table. Theyhad counted it, and found it to amount to the sum of thirty-six thousandthree hundred and twenty francs; and it was the question of dividing itproperly among the losers which was causing all this uproar. Among theseguests, who belonged to the highest society--among these judges who hadso summarily convicted an innocent man, and suggested the searching ofa supposed sharper only a moment before--there were several whounblushingly misrepresented their losses. This was undeniable; for onadding the various amounts that were claimed together a grand total ofninety-one thousand francs was reached. Had this man who had just fledtaken the difference between the two sums away with him? A differenceamounting almost to fifty-five thousand francs? No, this was impossible;the supposition could not be entertained for a moment. However, thediscussion might have taken an unfortunate turn, had it not been for thebaron. In all matters relating to cards, his word was law. He quietlysaid, "It is all right;" and they submitted.

  Nevertheless, he absolutely refused to take his share of the money; andafter the division, rubbing his hands as if he were delighted to seethis disagreeable affair concluded, he exclaimed: "It is only sixo'clock; we have still time for a few rounds."

  But the other guests, pale, disturbed, and secretly ashamed ofthemselves, were eager to depart, and in fact they were alreadyhastening to the cloak-room. "At least play a game of ecarte," cried thebaron, "a simple game of ecarte, at twenty louis a point."

  But no one listened, and he reluctantly prepared to follow his departingfriends, who bowed to Madame d'Argeles on the landing, as they filed by,M. de Coralth, who was among the last to retire, had already reachedthe staircase, and descended two or three steps, when Madame d'Argelescalled to him. "Remain," said she; "I want to speak with you."

  "You will excuse me," he began; "I----"

  But she again bade him "remain" in such an imperious tone that he darednot resist. He reascended the stairs, very much after the manner of aman who is being dragged into a dentist's office, and followed Madamed'Argeles into a small boudoir at the end of the gambling-room. As soonas the door was closed and locked, the mistress of the house turned toher prisoner. "Now you will explain," said she. "It was you who broughtM. Pascal Ferailleur here."

  "Alas! I know only too well that I ought to beg your forgiveness.However, this affair will cost me dear myself. It has already embroiledme in a difficulty with that fool of a Rochecote, with whom I shall haveto fight in less than a couple of hours."

  "Where did you make his acquaintance?"

  "Whose--Rochecote's?"

  Madame d'Argeles's sempiternal smile had altogether disappeared. "I amspeaking seriously," said she, with a threatening ring in her voice."How did you happen to become acquainted with M. Ferailleur?"

  "That can be very easily explained. Seven or eight months ago I had needof an advocate's services, and he was recommended to me. He managed mycase very cleverly, and we kept up the acquaintance."

  "What is his position?"

  M. de Coralth's features wore an expression of exceeding weariness as ifhe greatly longed to go to sleep. He had indeed installed himself in alarge arm-chair, in a semi-recumbent position. "Upon my word, Idon't know," he replied. "Pascal had always seemed to be the mostirreproachable man in the world--a man you might call a philosopher! Helives in a retired part of the city, near the Pantheon, with his mother,who is a widow, a very respectable woman, always dressed in black. Whenshe opened the door for me, on the occasion of my first visit, I thoughtsome old family portrait had stepped down from its frame to receiveme. I judge them to be in comfortable circumstances. Pascal has thereputation of being a remarkable man, and people supposed he would risevery high in his profession."

  "But now he is ruined; his career is finished."

  "Certainly! You can be quite sure that by this evening all Paris willknow what occurred here last night."

  He paused, meeting Madame Argeles's look of withering scorn with acleverly assumed air of astonishment. "You are a villain! Monsieur deCoralth," she said, indignantly.

  "I--and why?"

  "Because it was you who slipped those cards, which made M. Ferailleurwin, into the pack; I saw you do it! And yielding to my entreaties,the young fellow was about to leave the house when you, intentionally,prevented him from saving himself. Oh! don't deny it."

  M. de Coralth rose in the coolest possible manner. "I deny nothing, mydear lady," he replied, "absolutely nothing. You and I understand eachother."

  Confounded by his unblushing impudence, Madame d'Argeles remainedspeechless for a moment. "You confess it!" she cried, at last. "You dareto confess it! Were you not afraid that I might speak and state what Ihad seen?"

  He shrugged his shoulders. "No one would have believed you," heexclaimed.

  "Yes, I should have been believed, Monsieur de Coralth, for I could havegiven proofs. You must have forgotten that I know you, that your pastlife is no secret to me, that I know who you are, and what dishonoredname you hide beneath your borrowed title! I could have told my gueststhat you are married--that you have abandoned your wife and child,leaving them to perish in want and misery--I could have told them whereyou obtain the thirty or forty thousand francs you spend each year. Youmust have forgotten that Rose told me everything, Monsieur--Paul!"

  She had struck the right place this time, and with such precision thatM. de Coralth turned livid, and made a furious gesture, as if he wereabout to fell her to the ground. "Ah, take care!" he exclaimed; "takecare!"

  But his rage speedily subsided, and with his usual indifferent manner,and in a bantering tone, he said: "Well, what of that? Do you fancy thatthe world doesn't already suspect what you could reveal? People havesuspected me of being even worse than I am. When you proclaim on thehousetops that I am an adventurer, folks will only laugh at you, and Ishall be none the worse for it. A matter that would crush a dozen menlike Pascal Ferailleur would not injure me in the least. I am accustomedto it. I must have luxury and enjoyment, everything that is pleasant andbeautiful--and to procure all this, I do my very best. It is true thatI don't derive my income from my estate in Brie; but I have plenty ofmoney, and that is the essential thing. Besides, it is so difficult toearn a livelihood nowadays, and the love of luxury is so intense thatno one knows at night what he may do--or, rather, what he won't do--thenext day. And last, but not least, the people who ought to be despisedare so numerous that contempt is an impossibility. A Parisian whohappened to be so absurdly pretentious as to refuse to shake hands withsuch of his acquaintances as were not irreproachable characters, mightwalk for hours on the Boulevards without finding an occasion to take hishands out of his pockets."

  M. de Coralth talked well enough, and yet, in point of fact, all thiswas sheer bravado on his part. He knew better than any one else, on whata frail and uncertain basis his brilliant existence was established.Certainly, society does show great indulgence to people of doubtfulreputation. It shuts its eyes and refuses to look or listen. But this isall the more reason why it should be pitiless when a person's guilt ispositively established. Thus, although he assumed an air of insolentsecurity, the "viscount" anxiously watched the effect of his words uponMadame d'Argeles. Fortunately for himself, he saw that she was abashedby his cynicism; and so he resumed: "Besides, as our friend, the baron,would say, we are wasting precious time in discussing improbable, andeven impossible, suppositions. I was sufficiently well acquainted withyour heart and your intelligence, my dear madame, to be sure that youwould not speak a word to my disparagement."

  "Indeed! What prevented me from doing so?"

  "I did; or perhaps I ought rather to say, your own good sense, whichclosed your mouth when Monsieur Pascal entreated you to speak in hisdefence. I am entitled to considerable indulgence, madame, and a greatdeal ought to be forgiven me. My mother, unfortunately, was an honestwoman, who did not furnish me with the means of gratifying every
whim."

  Madame d'Argeles recoiled as if a serpent had suddenly crossed her path.

  "What do you mean?" she faltered.

  "You know as well as I do."

  "I don't understand you--explain yourself."

  With the impatient gesture of a man who finds himself compelledto answer an idle question, and assuming an air of hypocriticalcommiseration, he replied: "Well, since you insist upon it, I know,in Paris--in the Rue de Helder, to be more exact--a nice young fellow,whose lot I have often envied. He has wanted for nothing since the dayhe came into the world. At school, he had three times as much moneyas his richest playfellow. When his studies were finished, a tutor wasprovided--with his pockets full of gold--to conduct this favored youthto Italy, Egypt, and Greece. He is now studying law; and four timesa year, with unvarying punctuality, he receives a letter from Londoncontaining five thousand francs. This is all the more remarkable, asthis young man has neither a father nor a mother. He is alone in theworld with his income of twenty thousand francs. I have heard him say,jestingly, that some good fairy must be watching over him; but I knowthat he believes himself to be the illegitimate son of some greatEnglish nobleman. Sometimes, when he has drunk a little too much, hetalks of going in search of my lord, his father."

  The effect M. de Coralth had created by these words must have beenextremely gratifying to him, for Madame d'Argeles had fallen back in herchair, almost fainting. "So, my dear madame," he continued, "if I everhad any reason to fancy that you intended causing me any trouble, Ishould go to this charming youth and say: 'My good fellow, you arestrangely deceived. Your money doesn't come from the treasure-box of anEnglish peer, but from a small gambling den with which I am very wellacquainted, having often had occasion to swell its revenues with myfranc-pieces.' And if he mourned his vanished dreams, I should tellhim: 'You are wrong; for, if the great nobleman is lost, the good fairyremains. She is none other than your mother, a very worthy person, whoseonly object in life is your comfort and advancement.' And if he doubtedmy word, I should bring him to his mother's house some baccarat night;and there would be a scene of recognition worthy of Fargueil's genius."

  Any man but M. de Coralth would have had some compassion, for Madamed'Argeles was evidently suffering agony. "It is as I feared!" shemoaned, in a scarcely audible voice.

  However, he heard her. "What!" he exclaimed in a tone of intenseastonishment; "did you really doubt it? No; I can't believe it; it wouldbe doing injustice to your intelligence and experience. Are people likeourselves obliged to talk in order to understand each other? Should Iever have ventured to do what I have done, in your house, if I had notknown the secret of your maternal tenderness, delicacy of feeling, anddevotion?"

  She was weeping; big tears were rolling down her face, tracing a broadfurrow through the powder on her cheeks. "He knows everything!" shemurmured; "he knows everything!"

  "By the merest chance, I assure you. As I don't like folks to meddlewith my affairs, I never meddle with theirs. As I have just said, it wasentirely the work of chance. One April afternoon I came to invite youto a drive in the Bois. I was ushered into this very room where weare sitting now, and found you writing. I said I would wait until youfinished your letter; but some one called you, and you hastily left theroom. How it was that I happened to approach your writing-table I cannotexplain; but I did approach it, and read your unfinished letter. Upon myword it touched me deeply. I can give no better proof of the truth of myassertion than the fact that I can repeat it, almost word for word, evennow. 'DEAR SIR,'--you wrote to your London correspondent--'I send youthree thousand francs, in addition to the five thousand for the regularquarterly payment. Forward the money without delay. I fear the poor boyis greatly annoyed by his creditors. Yesterday I had the happinessof seeing him in the Rue de Helder, and I found him looking pale andcareworn. When you send him this money, forward at the same time aletter of fatherly advice. It is true, he ought to work and win anhonorable position for himself; but think of the dangers and temptationthat beset him, alone and friendless, in this corrupt city.' There, mydear lady, your letter ended; but the name and address were given, andit was easy enough to understand it. You remember, perhaps, a littleincident that occurred after your return. On perceiving that you hadforgotten your letter, you turned pale and glanced at me. 'Have youread it, and do you understand it?' your eyes asked; while mine replied:'Yes, but I shall be silent.'"

  "And I shall be silent too," said Madame d'Argeles.

  M. de Coralth took her hand and raised it to his lips. "I knew we shouldunderstand each other," he remarked, gravely. "I am not bad at heart,believe me; and if I had possessed money of my own, or a mother likeyou----"

  She averted her face, fearing perhaps that M. de Coralth might readher opinion of him in her eyes; but after a short pause she exclaimedbeseechingly: "Now that I am your accomplice, let me entreat you to doall you possibly can to prevent last night's affair from being noisedabroad."

  "Impossible."

  "If not for M. Ferailleur's sake, for the sake of his poor widowedmother."

  "Pascal must be put out of the way!"

  "Why do you say that? Do you hate him so much then? What has he done toyou?"

  "To me, personally? Nothing--I even feel actual sympathy for him."

  Madame d'Argeles was confounded. "What!" she stammered; "it wasn't onyour own account that you did this?"

  "Why, no."

  She sprang to her feet, and quivering with scorn and indignation, cried:"Ah! then the deed is even more infamous--even more cowardly!" Butalarmed by the threatening gleam in M. de Coralth's eyes, she went nofurther.

  "A truce to these disagreeable truths," said he, coldly. "If weexpressed our opinions of each other without reserve, in this world,we should soon come to hard words. Do you think I acted for my ownpleasure? Suppose some one had seen me when I slipped the cards into thepack. If that had happened, I should have been ruined."

  "And you think that no one suspects you?"

  "No one. I lost more than a hundred louis myself. If Pascal belonged toour set, people might investigate the matter, perhaps; but to-morrow itwill be forgotten."

  "And will he have no suspicions?"

  "He will have no proofs to offer, in any case."

  Madame d'Argeles seemed to resign herself to the inevitable. "I hope youwill, at least, tell me on whose behalf you acted," she remarked.

  "Impossible," replied M. de Coralth. And, consulting his watch, headded, "But I am forgetting myself; I am forgetting that that idiot ofa Rochecote is waiting for a sword-thrust. So go to sleep, my dear lady,and--till we meet again."

  She accompanied him so far as the landing. "It is quite certain that heis hastening to the house of M. Ferailleur's enemy," she thought. And,calling her confidential servant, "Quick, Job," she said; "follow M.de Coralth. I want to know where he is going. And, above all, take carethat he doesn't see you."