There was such a ring of fury in his voice that the crystals of the candelabra vibrated; and Madame Dodelin, in her kitchen, heard it, and shuddered. "Some one will certainly do M. Fortunat an injury one of these days," she thought.

It was not by any means the first time that M. Fortunat had found himself at variance with clients of a sanguine temperament; but he had always escaped safe and sound, so that, after all, he was not particularly alarmed in the present instance, as was proved by the fact that he was still calm enough to reflect and plan. "In forty-eight hours I shall be certain of the count's fate," he thought; "he will be dead, or he will be in a fair way to recovery-so by promising to give this frenzied man what he desires on the day after to-morrow, I shall incur no risk."

Taking advantage of an opportunity which M. de Valorsay furnished, on pausing to draw breath, he hastily exclaimed, "Really, Monsieur le Marquis, I cannot understand your anger."

"What! scoundrel!"

"Excuse me. Before insulting me, permit me to explain--"

"No explanation-five hundred louis!"

"Have the kindness to allow me to finish. Yes, I know that you are in urgent need of money-not by-and-by, but now. To-day I was unable to procure it, nor can I promise it to-morrow; but on the day after to-morrow, Sat.u.r.day, I shall certainly have it ready for you."

The marquis seemed to be trying to read his agent's very soul. "Are you in earnest?" he asked. "Show your hand. If you don't intend to help me out of my embarra.s.sment, say so."

"Ah, Monsieur le Marquis, am I not as much interested in your success as you yourself can be? Have you not received abundant proofs of my devotion?"

"Then I can rely upon you."

"Absolutely." And seeing a lingering doubt in his client's eyes, M. Fortunat added, "You have my word of honor!"

The clock struck three. The marquis took his hat and started toward the door. But M. Fortunat, in whose heart the word scoundrel was still rankling, stopped him. "Are you going to that lady's house now? What is she called? I've forgotten her name. Ah, yes, I remember now. Madame d'Argeles, isn't she called? It's at her place, I believe, that the reputation of Mademoiselle Marguerite's favored lover is to be ruined."

The marquis turned angrily. "What do you take me for, Master Twenty-per-cent?" he rudely asked. "That is one of those things no well-bred gentleman will do himself. But in Paris people can be found to do any kind of dirty work, if you are willing to pay them for it."

"Then how will you know the result?"

"Why, twenty minutes after the affair is over, M. de Coralth will be at my house. He is there even now, perhaps." And as this subject was anything but pleasant, he hastened away, exclaiming, "Get to bed, my dear extortioner. Au revoir. And, above all, remember your promise."

"My respects, Monsieur le Marquis."

But when the door closed, M. Fortunat's expression immediately changed. "Ah! you insult me!" he muttered sullenly. "You rob me, and you call me a scoundrel into the bargain. You shall pay dearly for it, my fine fellow, no matter what may happen!"

IV.

It is in vain that the law has endeavored to shield private life from prying eyes. The scribes who pander to Parisian curiosity surmount all obstacles and brave every danger. Thanks to the "High Life" reporters, every newspaper reader is aware that twice a week-Mondays and Thursdays-Madame Lia d'Argeles holds a reception at her charming mansion in the Rue de Berry. Her guests find plenty of amus.e.m.e.nt there. They seldom dance; but card-playing begins at midnight, and a dainty supper is served before the departure of the guests.

It was on leaving one of these little entertainments that that unfortunate young man, Jules Chazel, a cashier in a large banking-house, committed suicide by blowing out his brains. The brilliant frequenters of Madame d'Argeles's entertainments considered this act proof of exceeding bad taste and deplorable weakness on his part. "The fellow was a 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 the money was not his; he had taken it from the safe which was confided to his keeping, expecting, probably, to double the amount in a single night. In the morning, when he found himself alone, without a penny, and the deficit staring him in the face, the voice of conscience cried, "You are a thief!" and he lost his reason.

The event created a great sensation at the time, and the Pet.i.t Journal published a curious story concerning this unfortunate young man's mother. The poor woman-she was a widow-sold all she possessed, even the bed on which she slept, and when she had succeeded in gathering together twenty thousand francs-the ransom of her son's honor-she carried them to the banker by whom her boy had been employed. He took them, without even asking the mother if she had enough left to purchase her dinner that evening; and the fine gentleman, who had won and pocketed Jules Chazel's stolen gold, thought the banker's conduct perfectly natural and just. It is true that Madame d'Argeles was in despair during forty-eight hours or so; for the police had begun a sort of investigation, and she feared this might frighten her visitors and empty her drawing-rooms. Not at all, however; on the contrary, she had good cause to congratulate herself upon the notoriety she gained through this suicide. For five days she was the talk of Paris, and Alfred d'Aunay even published her portrait in the Ill.u.s.trated Chronicle.

Still, no one was able to say exactly who Madame Lia d'Argeles was. Who was 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 splendid mansion in the Rue de Berry really belong to her? Was she as rich as she was supposed to be? Where had she acquired such manners, the manners of a thorough woman of the world, with her many accomplishments, as well as her remarkable skill as a musician? Everything connected with her was a subject of conjecture, even to the name inscribed upon her visiting cards-"Lia d'Argeles."

But no matter. Her house was always filled to over-flowing; and at the very moment when the Marquis de Valorsay and M. Fortunat were speaking of her, a dozen coroneted carriages stood before her door, and her rooms were thronged with guests. It was a little past midnight, and the bi-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 too good-looking, indeed; for his handsomeness was somewhat startling and unnatural. He had an exceedingly fair complexion, and large, melting black eyes, while a woman might have envied him his wavy brown hair and the exquisite delicacy of his skin. He dressed with great care and taste, and even coquettishly; his turn-down collar left his firm white throat uncovered, and his rose-tinted gloves fitted as perfectly as the skin upon his soft, delicate hands. He bowed familiarly on entering, and with a rather complacent smile on his lips, he approached Madame d'Argeles, who, half reclining in an easy chair near the fire-place, was conversing with two elderly gentlemen of grave and distinguished bearing. "How late you are, viscount," she remarked carelessly. "What have you been doing to-day? I fancied I saw you in the Bois, in the Marquis 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 him toward Madame d'Argeles, saying, "Allow me, madame, to present to you one of my great friends, M. Pascal Ferailleur, an advocate whose name will be known to fame some day."

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

The new-comer, however, was worthy of more than that cursory notice. He was 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 is the result of perfect harmony of the muscles, and of more than common vigor. His features were irregular, but they gave evidence of energy, kindness of heart, and honesty of purpose. A man possessing such a proud, intelligent, and open brow, such a clear, straightforward gaze, and such finely-cut lips, could be no ordinary one. Deserted by his sponsor, who was shaking hands right and left, he seated himself on a sofa a little in the background; not because he was embarra.s.sed, but because he felt that instinctive distrust of self which frequently seizes hold of a person on entering a crowd of strangers. He did his best to conceal his curiosity, but nevertheless he looked and listened with all his might.

The salon, was an immense apartment, divided into two rooms by sliding doors and hangings. When Madame d'Argeles gave a ball, the rooms were thrown into one; but, as a general rule, one room was occupied by the card-players, and the other served as a refuge for those who wished to chat. The card-room, into which Pascal had been ushered, was an apartment of n.o.ble proportions, furnished in a style of tasteful magnificence. The tints of the carpet were subdued; there was not too much gilding on the cornices; the clock upon the mantel-shelf was chaste and elegant in design. The only thing at all peculiar about the room and its appointments was a reflector, ingeniously arranged above the chandelier in such a way as to throw the full glare of the candles upon the card-table which stood directly beneath it. The table itself was adorned with a rich tapestry cover, but this was visible only at the corners, for it was covered, in turn, with a green baize cloth considerably the worse for wear. Madame d'Argeles's guests were probably not over fifty in number, but they all seemed to belong to the very best society. The majority of them were men of forty or thereabouts; several wore decorations, and two or three of the eldest were treated with marked deference. Certain well-known names which Pascal overheard surprised him greatly. "What! these men here?" he said to himself; "and I-I regarded my visit as a sort of clandestine frolic."

There were only seven or eight ladies present, none of them being especially attractive. Their toilettes were very costly, but in rather doubtful taste, and they wore a profusion of diamonds. Pascal noticed that these ladies were treated with perfect indifference, and that, whenever the gentlemen spoke to them, they a.s.sumed an air of politeness which was too exaggerated not to be ironical.

A score of persons were seated at the card-table, and the guests who had retired into the adjoining salon were silently watching the progress of the game, or quietly chatting in the corners of the room. It surprised him to note that every one spoke in very low tones; there was something very like respect, even awe, in this subdued murmur. One might have supposed that those present were celebrating the rites of some mysterious worship. And is not gaming a species of idolatry, symbolized by cards, and which has its images, its fetishes, its miracles, its fanatics, and its martyrs?

Occasionally, above the accompaniment of whispers, rose the strange and incoherent exclamations of the players: "Here are twenty louis! I take it-I pa.s.s! The play is made! Banco!"

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

But Madame Lia d'Argeles defied all a.n.a.lysis. She was one of those women whose uncertain age varies according to their mood, between the thirties and the fifties; one who did not look over thirty in the evening, but who would have been charged with being more than fifty the next morning. In her youth she must have been very beautiful, and she was still good-looking, though she had grown somewhat stout, and her face had become a trifle heavy, thus marring the symmetry of her very delicate features. A perfect blonde, she had eyes of so clear a blue that they seemed almost faded. The whiteness of her skin was so unnatural that it almost startled one. It was the dull, lifeless white which suggests an excessive use of cosmetics and rice powder, and long baths, late hours, and sleep at day-time, in a darkened room. Her face was utterly devoid of expression. One might have fancied that its muscles had become relaxed after terrible efforts to feign or to conceal some violent emotions; and there was something melancholy, almost terrifying in the eternal, and perhaps involuntary smile, which curved her lips. She wore a dress of black velvet, with slashed sleeves and bodice, a new design of the famous man-milliner, Van Klopen.

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

"Upon my word!" replied the young advocate, "I am infinitely obliged to you 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 of good-humor which was habitual to him, he added: "As for being the sage you call me, that's all nonsense. And to prove it, I'm going to risk my louis with the rest."

M. de Coralth seemed amazed, but a close observer might have detected a gleam 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 my pocket-something over two hundred francs."

The viscount shook his head thoughtfully. "It isn't that which one has cause to fear. The devil always has a hand in this business, and the first 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 lure you back to the gaming-table again. You go back, you lose, you try to recover 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 confidence in himself. "My brain is not so easily turned, I hope," said he. "I have the 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; you don't know what this pa.s.sion for play is; the strongest and the coldest natures succ.u.mb-don't play."

He had raised his voice, as if he intended to be overheard by two guests who had just approached the sofa. They did indeed hear him. "Can I believe my own eyes and ears!" exclaimed one of them, an elderly man. "Can this really be Ferdinand who is trying to shake the allegiance of the votaries of our n.o.ble 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: 'Distrust yourself, and don't do as I've done,' to an inexperienced friend."

The wisest counsels, given in a certain fashion, never fail to produce an effect diametrically opposed to that which they seemingly aim at. M. de Coralth's persistence, and the importance he attached to a mere trifle, could not fail to annoy the most patient man in the world, and in fact his patronizing tone really irritated Pascal. "You are free, my friend, 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. Let us play, then." Thereupon they approached the table; room was made for them, and they seated themselves, Pascal being on M. Ferdinand de Coralth's right-hand side.

The guests were playing "Baccarat tournant," a game of terrible and infantile simplicity. There are no such things as skill or combination possible in it; science and calculation are useless. Chance alone decides, and decides with the rapidity of lightning. Amateurs certainly a.s.sert that, with great coolness and long practice, one can, in a measure at least, avert prolonged ill-luck. Maybe they are right, but it is not conclusively proved. Each person takes the cards in his turn, risks what he chooses, and when his stakes are covered, deals. If he wins, he is free to follow up his vein of good-luck, or to pa.s.s the deal. When he loses, the deal pa.s.ses at once to the next player on the right.

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 players had large piles of gold before them, and the heavy artillery-that is to say, bank-notes-were beginning to put in appearance. But Pascal had no false pride. "I stake a louis!" said he The smallness of the sum attracted instant attention, and two or three voices replied: "Taken!"

He dealt, and won. "Two louis!" he said again. This wager was also taken; he won, and his run of luck was so remarkable that, in a wonderfully short s.p.a.ce of time, he won six hundred francs.

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

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

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

Pascal could not fail to hear these comments. The blood mantled over his cheeks, and, conscious that he was flushing, he, as usually happens, flushed still more. His good fortune embarra.s.sed 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'clock in the morning he had thirty-five thousand francs before him.

For some time he had been the object of close attention. "Do you know this 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 fraught with an evil significance, these uncharitable replies, grew into a malevolent murmur, which resounded in Pascal's ears and bewildered him. He was really becoming most uncomfortable, when Madame d'Argeles approached the card-table and exclaimed: "This is the third time, gentlemen, that you have been told that supper is ready. What gentleman will offer me his arm?"

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

This was a decisive consideration. The room emptied as if by magic; and no one was left at the table but Pascal, who scarcely knew what to do with all the gold piled up before him. He succeeded, however, in distributing it in his pockets, and was about to join the other guests in the dining-room, when Madame d'Argeles abruptly barred his pa.s.sage.

"I desire a word with you, monsieur," she said. Her face still retained its strange immobility, and the same stereotyped smile played about her lips. And yet her agitation was so evident that Pascal, in spite of his own 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. "I am a stranger to you, monsieur," she said, very hurriedly, and in very low 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 she said, eagerly: "You will leave this house at once, without warning any one, 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 my part-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 att.i.tude, that Pascal was touched. A vague presentiment of some terrible, irreparable misfortune disturbed his own heart. Nevertheless, he sadly shook his head, and bitterly exclaimed: "You are, perhaps, not aware that I have just won over thirty thousand francs."

"Yes, I am aware of it. And this is only another, and still stronger reason why you should protect yourself against possible loss. It is well to pattern after Charlemagne 1 in this house. The other night, the Count d'Antas quietly made his escape bareheaded. He took a thousand louis away with him, and left his hat in exchange. The count is a brave man; and far from indulging in blame, every one applauded him the next day. Come, you have decided, I see-you will go; and to be still more safe, I will show you out through the servants' hall, then no one can possibly see you."

Pascal had almost decided to yield to her entreaties; but this proposed retreat through the back-door was too revolting to his pride to be thought of for a moment. "I will never consent to such a thing," he declared. "What would they think of me? Besides I owe them their revenge and I shall give it to them."

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

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

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

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

These words were like the drop which makes the cup overflow. Crimson with anger and a.s.sailed by the strangest suspicions, Pascal turned from Madame d'Argeles and hastened into the dining-room. The conversation ceased entirely on his arrival there. He could not fail to understand that he had been the subject of it. A secret instinct warned him that all the men around him were his enemies-though he knew not why-and that they were plotting against him. He also perceived that his slightest movements were watched and commented upon. However he was a brave man; his conscience did not reproach him in the least, and he was one of those persons who, rather than wait for danger, provoke it.

So, with an almost defiant air, he seated himself beside a young lady dressed in pink tulle, and began to laugh and chat with her. He possessed a ready wit, and what is even better, tact; and for a quarter of an hour astonished those around him by his brilliant sallies. Champagne was flowing freely; and he drank four or five gla.s.ses in quick succession. Was he really conscious of what he was doing and saying? He subsequently declared that he was not, that he acted under the influence of a sort of hallucination similar to that produced by the inhalation of carbonic gas.

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

Pascal rose with the others, and in his haste to enter the adjoining room he jostled two men who were talking together near the door. "So it is 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 be executed?" he thought? "I am evidently to be the victim. But what does it all mean?"

Meanwhile the players at the green table had changed places, and Pascal found himself seated not on Ferdinand's right, but directly opposite him, and between two men about his own age-one of them being the person who had announced his intention of acting as executioner. All eyes were fixed upon the unfortunate advocate when it came his turn to deal. He staked two hundred louis, and lost them. There was a slight commotion round 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't have any more luck."

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

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

He was as pale as death; the perspiration trickled down from his hair upon his temples, and his hands trembled so much that he could scarcely hold 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. Then in the midst of the wildest confusion, he exclaimed: "Here are eight thousand francs!"