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

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

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

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

The blood had risen to Vantra.s.son's face. "And what of that? Do you suppose I've never been sued for debts before? Even the king can't take anything from a person who possesses nothing; and I own nothing. My furniture is all p.a.w.ned or mortgaged, and my stock is not worth a hundred francs. When your employer finds it useless to waste money in worrying 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 the note doesn't care so very much about obtaining his dues, he'll spend his own money like water to make trouble for you." And thereupon M. Fortunat began to draw a vivid and frightful picture of a poor debtor pursued by a rich creditor who hara.s.sed him, and tortured him, and hounded him everywhere, until not even a change of clothing was left him.

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

He followed her, and they remained for some little time conversing together 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 you prosecute us, we are lost. What can be done? You look like an honest man; give us your advice."

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

"And what is this compromise?"

"It is this: you must write an acknowledgment of the debt on a sheet of stamped paper, together with a promise to pay a little on account each month. 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 of stamped paper, and the spurious clerk had neglected to provide himself with some. This circ.u.mstance seemed to annoy him greatly, and you might almost have sworn that he regretted the concession he had promised. Did he think of going? Madame Vantra.s.son feared so, and turning eagerly to her husband, she exclaimed: "Run to the tobacco shop in the Rue de Levis; you will find some paper there!"

He started off at once, and M. Fortunat breathed freely again. He had certainly retained his composure admirably during the interview, but more than once he had fancied that Vantra.s.son was about to spring on him, crush him with his brawny hands, tear the note from him, burn it, and then throw him, Fortunat, out into the street, helpless and nearly dead. But now that danger had pa.s.sed and Madame Vantra.s.son, fearing he might tire of waiting, was prodigal in her attentions. She brought him the only unbroken chair in the establishment, and insisted that he should partake of some refreshment-a gla.s.s of wine at the very least. While rummaging among the bottles, she alternately thanked him and complained, declaring she had a right to repine, since she had known better 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 many years before.

To all appearance, M. Fortunat listened with the mere superficial interest which ordinary politeness requires one to show, but in reality his heart was filled with intense delight. Coming here without any clearly-defined plan, circ.u.mstances had served him a thousand times better than he could reasonably have hoped. He had preserved his power over the Vantra.s.sons, had won their confidence, had succeeded in obtaining a tete-a-tete with the wife, and to crown all, this woman alluded, of her own accord, to the very subject upon which he was longing 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. Those were good times for me. But you know how it is-one is never content with one's lot, and then the heart is weak--"

She had not succeeded in finding the sweet wine which she proposed to her guest; so in its place she subst.i.tuted a mixture of ratafia and brandy in two large gla.s.ses which she placed upon the counter. "One evening, to my sorrow," she resumed, "I met Vantra.s.son at a ball. It was the 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 belonged to the Paris Guards then. All the women were crazy about soldiers, and my head was turned, too--" Her tone, her gestures, and the compression of her thin lips, revealed the bitterness of her disappointment and her unavailing regret. "Ah, these handsome men!" she continued; "don't talk to me about them! This one had heard of my savings. I had nineteen thousand francs, so he begged me to marry him, and I was fool enough to consent. Yes, fool-for I was forty, and he was only thirty. I might have known it was my money that he wanted, and not me. However, I gave up my situation, and even purchased a subst.i.tute for him, in order that I might have him all to myself."

She had gradually warmed with her theme, as she described her confidence and blind credulity, and then, with a tragic gesture, as if she desired to drive away these cruel memories, she suddenly seized her gla.s.s and emptied it at a draught.

Chupin, who was still at his post outside, experienced a thrill of envy, 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 Vantra.s.son with renewed energy, for, with still greater earnestness, she resumed: "At first, all went well. We employed my savings in purchasing the Hotel des Espagnes, in the Rue Notre Dame des Victoires, and business prospered; there was never a vacant room. But any person who has drank, sir, will drink again. Vantra.s.son kept sober for a few months, but gradually he fell into his old habits. He was in such a condition most of the time that 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. One night he didn't come home, and the next day, when I ventured to reproach him-very gently, I a.s.sure you-he answered me with an oath and a blow. All our happiness was over! Monsieur declared that he was master, and would do as he liked. He drank and carried away all the wine from the cellar-he took all the money-he remained away for weeks together; and if I complained-more blows!"

Her voice trembled, and a tear gathered in her eye; but, wiping it away with the back of her hand, she resumed: "Vantra.s.son was always drunk, and I spent my time in crying my very eyes out. Business became very bad, 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 lost that. Fortunately, I still had a little money left, and so I bought a stock of groceries in my own name; but in less than six months the stock was eaten up, and we were cast into the street. What was to be done? Vantra.s.son drank worse than ever; he demanded money when he knew that I had 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 if I told you how we have lived for the past four years." She did not tell him, 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 you reach the bottom, as we have done. Here we live, no one knows how; we have to pay our rent each week, and if we are driven from this place, I see 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 do so, and I tried. Three or four times I went away, and yet I always returned-it was stronger than myself. Besides, I'm his wife; I've paid dearly for him; he's mine-I won't yield him to any one else. He beats me, no doubt; I despise him, I hate him, and yet I--" She poured out part of a gla.s.s of brandy, and swallowed it; then, with a gesture of rage, she added: "I can't give him up! It's fate! As it is now, it will be 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 the last degree; but in reality, he was furious. Time was pa.s.sing, and the conversation was wandering farther and farther from the object of his visit. "I am surprised, madame," said he, "that you never applied to your former employer, the Count de Chalusse."

"Alas! I did apply to him for a.s.sistance 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!" he repeated, 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, n.o.body knows how many houses in Paris, chateaux in every part of the country, entire villages, forests-his gold comes in by the shovelful."

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

"The second time I went to the count's house," resumed Madame Vantra.s.son, "I didn't see him, but he sent me a thousand francs. The third and last time they gave me twenty francs at the door, and told me that the count had gone on a journey. I understood that I could hope for no further help from him. Besides, all the servants had been changed. One morning, without any apparent reason, M. de Chalusse dismissed all the old servants, so they told me. He even sent away the concierge and the 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, Madame Vantra.s.son supposed he was racking his brain to discover some mode of escape from her present difficulties. "If I were in your place," he said, "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 heard him say more than a dozen times that he alone was left of all his family-that all the others were dead. People pretend that this is the reason why he is so immensely rich."

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

Madame Vantra.s.son 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 his sufferings still more horrible, he dared not ask any direct question, nor allow his curiosity to become manifest, for fear of alarming the woman. "Let me see," said he; "I think-I am sure that I have heard-or that I have read-I cannot say which-some story about a Mademoiselle de Chalusse. It was something terrible, wasn't it?"

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

"What! not even you?"

"Oh! I-that's an entirely different thing. When I entered the count's service, six years later, there was still an old gardener who knew the whole story, and who told it to me, making me swear that I would never betray his confidence."

Lavish of details as she had been in telling her own story, it was evident that she was determined to exercise a prudent reserve in everything connected with the De Chalusse family; and M. Fortunat inwardly cursed this, to him, most unseasonable discretion. But he was experienced in these examinations, and he had at his command little tricks for loosening tongues, which even an investigating magistrate might have envied. Without seeming to attach the slightest importance to Madame Vantra.s.son's narrative, he rose with a startled air, like a man who suddenly realizes that he has forgotten himself. "Zounds!" he exclaimed, "we sit here gossiping, and it's growing late. I really can't wait for your husband. If I remain here any longer, I shall miss the last omnibus; and I live on the other side of the river, near the Luxembourg."

"But our agreement, monsieur?"

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

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

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

"Vantra.s.son will see you on your way." And, resolved to detain him at any cost, she poured out a fresh gla.s.s of liquor for him, and said: "Where were we? Oh, yes! I was about to tell you Mademoiselle Hermine's story."

Concealing his delight with an a.s.sumed air of resignation, M. Fortunat reseated himself, to the intense disgust of Chupin, who was thoroughly tired of waiting outside in the cold.

"I must tell you," began Madame Vantra.s.son, "that when this happened-at least twenty-five years ago-the De Chalusse family lived in the Rue Saint-Dominique. They occupied a superb mansion, with extensive grounds, full of splendid trees like those in the Tuileries gardens. Mademoiselle Hermine, who was then about eighteen or nineteen years old, was, according to all accounts, the prettiest young creature ever seen. Her skin was as white as milk, she had a profusion of golden hair, and her eyes 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 haughty and obstinate-oh, obstinate enough to allow herself to be roasted alive over a slow fire rather than yield an inch. That's the count's nature exactly. Having served him, I know something about it, to be sure, and--"

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

"I was coming to her. Although she was very beautiful and immensely rich, she had no suitors-for it was generally understood that she was to marry a marquis, whose father was a particular friend of the family. The parents had arranged the matter between them years before, and nothing was wanting but the young lady's consent; but Mademoiselle Hermine absolutely refused to hear the marquis's name mentioned.

"They did everything to persuade her to consent to this marriage; they employed prayers and threats alike, but they might as well have talked to 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 declared she would leave home and take refuge in a convent, if they didn't cease to torment her. Her relatives were certain there must be some reason for her refusal. It isn't natural for a girl to reject a suitor who is young, handsome, rich, and a marquis besides. Her friends suspected there was something she wouldn't confess; and M. Raymond swore that he would 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, the gardener thought he heard a noise in the pavilion, at the end of the garden. This pavilion was very large. I have seen it. It contained a sitting-room, a billiard-room, and a large fencing-hall. Naturally enough, the gardener got up to go and see what was the matter. As he left the house, he fancied he saw two persons moving about among the trees. He ran after them, but could find nothing. They had made their escape through a small gate leading from the garden into the street. When the gardener was telling me this story, he declared again and again that he had fancied the noise he had heard was made by some of the servants trying to leave the house secretly, and for this reason he didn't give the alarm. However, he hurried to the pavilion, but on seeing 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 Vantra.s.son seemed as disappointed as an actor who has been deprived of an opportunity of producing a grand effect. "Wait a moment," she replied, "and you'll see. The night pa.s.sed, morning came, and then the breakfast hour. But Mademoiselle Hermine did not make her appearance. 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 had not even been disturbed. In a few moments the whole household was in the wildest commotion; the mother weeping, and the father half wild with rage and sorrow. Of course, the next thought was of Mademoiselle Hermine's brother, and he was sent for. But, he, too, was not in his room, and his bed had not been touched. The excitement was becoming frenzy, when it occurred to the gardener to mention what he had heard and seen on the previous night. They hastened to the pavilion, and discovered what? Why, M. Raymond stretched upon the ground, stiff, cold, and motionless, weltering in his own blood. One of his rigid hands still grasped a sword. They lifted him up, carried him to the house, laid him upon his bed, and sent for a physician. He had received two dangerous wounds; one in the throat, the other in the breast. For more than a month he hung between life and death, and six weeks elapsed before he had strength to relate what had happened. He was lighting a cigar at his window 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 he hastened down, stole noiselessly into the pavilion, and there he found his sister and a young man who was absolutely unknown to him. He might have killed the intruder, but instead of doing so, he told him they would fight then and there. Weapons were within reach, and they fought, with the result that Raymond was wounded twice, in quick succession, and fell. His adversary, supposing him dead, thereupon fled from the spot, taking Mademoiselle Hermine with him."

At this point in her narrative Madame Vantra.s.son evinced a desire to pause and draw a breath, and perhaps partake of some slight refreshment; but M. Fortunat was impatient. The woman's husband might return at any moment. "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 received their death-blow. They never rallied from the shock. Perhaps they felt that it was their own hard-heartedness and obstinacy that had caused their daughter's ruin-and remorse is hard to bear. They waned perceptibly from day to day, and during the following year they were borne to the cemetery within two months of each other."

From the spurious clerk's demeanor it was easy to see that he had ceased thinking about his omnibus, and his hostess felt both rea.s.sured and flattered. "And Mademoiselle Hermine?" he inquired, eagerly.

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

"Didn't they try to find her?"

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

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

"I was told that they heard from her twice. On the morning following her flight her parents received a letter, in which she implored their forgiveness. Five or six months later, she wrote again to say that she knew her brother was not dead. She confessed that she was a wicked, ungrateful girl-that she had been mad; but she said that her punishment had come, and it was terrible. She added that every link was severed between herself and her friends, and she hoped they would forget her as completely as if she had never existed. She went so far as to say that her children should never know who their mother was, and that never in her 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 madness with her happiness and all her after life. A terrible drama, no doubt; but one that is of such frequent occurrence that it seems as commonplace as life itself. Thus any one who was acquainted with M. Isidore Fortunat would have been surprised to see how greatly he was moved by such a trifle. "Poor girl!" said he, in view of saying something. And then, in a tone of a.s.sumed carelessness, he inquired: "Did they never discover what scoundrel carried Mademoiselle de Chalusse away?"

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

"What, not even his name?"

"Not even his name."

Unable to master his emotion, M. Fortunat had at least the presence of mind to rise and step back into the darker part of the shop. But his gesture of disappointment and the muttered oath that fell from his lips did not escape Madame Vantra.s.son. She was startled, and from that moment she looked upon the supposed clerk with evident distrust. It was not long before he again resumed his seat nearer the counter, still a trifle pale, perhaps, but apparently calm. Two questions more seemed indispensable to him, and yet either one of them would be sure to arouse suspicion. Nevertheless, he resolved to incur the risk of betraying himself. And, after all, what would it matter now? Did he not possess the information he had wished for, at least as much of it as it was in this woman's power to impart? "I can scarcely tell you, my dear madame, how much your narrative has interested me," he began. "I can confess now that I am slightly acquainted with the Count de Chalusse, and that I have frequently visited the house in the Rue de Courcelles, where he now resides."

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

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

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

"A young lady in the count's house!" she said, thoughtfully. "That's scarcely 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 set foot in the count's house."

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

Madame Vantra.s.son shook her head. "Put that fancy out of your head," she remarked. "The count said that his sister was dead to him from the evening 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 are thirteen," she muttered, "and five are eighteen. Ah, ha!-why not? I must look into this."

"What did you say?"

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

"It's Marguerite."

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

M. Fortunat was on coals of fire. It was evident that this frightful creature, even if she knew nothing definite, had some idea, some vague suspicion of the truth. How could he compel her to speak now that she was on her guard? He had not time to ascertain, for the door suddenly opened, and Vantra.s.son appeared on the threshold. He was scarcely sober when he left the shop, but now he was fairly drunk; his heavy shamble had 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 the phlegmatic stare peculiar to intoxicated men, he replied: "Well, what of that! Can't I have a little pleasure with my friends? I came across a couple of men who were just taking their fifteenth gla.s.s; why should I refuse 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 Vantra.s.son's lips! M. Fortunat only imperfectly distinguished the words "thief," "spy," and "detective;" but he could not mistake the meaning of the looks which she alternately gave her husband and himself. "It's a fortunate thing for you that my husband is in this condition," her glances plainly implied, "otherwise there would be an explanation, and then we should see-"