"Your mother's intended marriage," said Plancoet, sadly. "That isn't necessary, my boy. She announced it to me this morning. But what about yourself, what have you been doing since I saw you last?--more than six months ago--for our meeting at the door of your mother's house does not count, as you merely said two or three words to me, and then rushed off like a madman."

"Tell you what I have been doing? Being bored to death--that is about all. If you think military life very enjoyable, you are greatly mistaken."

"You doubtless found it very dull while in garrison; but you seem to have been making up for it since your arrival in Paris. Your sister vainly expected you all the morning, and she is very cross with you in consequence."

"We are reconciled. Besides, although I dined at the Lion d'Or yesterday, I shall dine at home this evening."

"At the Lion d'Or!" repeated M. Plancoet, in astonishment. "You dined at the Lion d'Or yesterday?"

"Yes, old fellow. What is there so very astonishing about that? It's a good restaurant. My intended brother-in-law often patronizes it, I'm sure, though he probably goes alone, whereas I was in company with a very pretty woman."

"I don't patronize it often," answered George. "In fact, I have not been there since the day I lunched with my friend Puymirol."

"The gentleman whom Blanche pointed out to me yesterday!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "But she was at that lunch as well. She told me so."

"Yes, there were four of us. She was the only lady."

"And it was the very day of Monsieur Dargental's death. Blanche could talk of nothing else. You may have heard of that gentleman's murder, Plancoet?"

"No--that is to say, yes. It seems to me I did see something about it in the papers," stammered M. Plancoet, with the air of a man suddenly awakening from a dream. "Were you acquainted with him?"

"Not at all, but George, here, knew him well." The friend of the family now looked searchingly at George. "What the deuce is the matter with you to-day?" continued Albert. "You seem to be amazed at everything. Is there anything so very extraordinary in the fact that Caumont should have known that gentleman? His friend Puymirol was also acquainted with him, and so was the lady who dined with me yesterday."

"Speaking of my friend Puymirol," said George, turning to the lieutenant. "I am very uneasy about him, for he didn't return home last night. We live in the same house, you know, No. 14, Rue de Medicis?"

"Oh, he will turn up safely, no doubt. It isn't so strange for a young bachelor to stop out all night in Paris," added Albert, laughing. "By the way, you must bring him to see my mother. She will find a wife for him. But I forgot. She won't have time, as she intends to leave Paris immediately after your wedding."

"Puymirol will be my best man, probably."

"And Plancoet will certainly be one of my sister's witnesses, so that these gentlemen will have an opportunity of making each other's acquaintance. But the prospect does not seem to please you, Roch. You look dreadfully gloomy. Have you anything against the gentleman?"

"I!" exclaimed Plancoet. "Why! this is the first time I ever heard of him."

"Then why do you look so sulky? Ever since you have heard that he is likely to figure at the ceremony, your face has worn the same expression as it a.s.sumes when you see Rochas."

"You must be dreaming, my boy. The truth is, your proposal did not strike me very favourably, as I am much too old to serve as Gabrielle's witness. One of your comrades would be much more suitable. The old bring misfortune with them."

"Nonsense! On the contrary, you are a fetish. We have always prospered since we knew you."

"That isn't the opinion of every one," remarked M. Plancoet, pointedly.

George realised that Madame Verdon was the exception referred to, and he thought it time to conclude the interview. He had seen enough of M.

Plancoet, and it seemed to him that the worthy man stared at him in a rather objectionable manner; besides, he was anxious to find out if Puymirol had returned home. "Excuse me for leaving you now," he said, pleasantly. "But I shall feel very uncomfortable until I see my friend again, and as I hate suspense, I am going to put an end to it by interviewing my doorkeeper."

"Of course," said Albert, "I also must go home if I want to avoid a scene. My mother is just in the humour to scold me, and Gabrielle may side with her, for she must be impatiently waiting to know what I think of you. She will probably subject me to a close examination; still you need have no fears as regards my replies."

"But where are you going, Roch? Will you accompany me home?"

"It's impossible. I have some business to attend to--"

"As usual. The deuce take me, if I can imagine how you occupy your time.

But it is no affair of mine. Good-bye, my dear brother-in-law, I hope to see you again soon."

The two young men exchanged a cordial pressure of the hand, while M.

Plancoet contented himself with bowing to Gabrielle's future husband.

The salute was very pleasant and deferential, but George somehow fancied that M. Plancoet seemed inclined to hold himself a little aloof, and that there was a slight cloud between them.

They separated, and George then hastened to the Rue de Medicis, where he learnt with no little consternation, that Puymirol had given no sign of life. Some serious accident must certainly have happened to him. In fact, it was a much more terrible matter than George supposed.

V.

After his midnight mishap, Puymirol, still suffering from his fall, slowly and gloomily retraced his steps. What should he do with himself?

He was in no humour to go to bed, and the thought occurred to him that he might perhaps still retrieve his losses at the gaming-table. The doors of his own club were closed against him until his outstanding debt was paid, but he knew other places easy of access, for in Paris there are plenty of private gambling-dens to which a man can gain admission by feeing the doorkeeper, as Puymirol was well aware. Thus in his great need, the idea of again trying his luck occurred to him, and he did not lose a moment in carrying it into execution. But, alas, the thirty louis which still remained to him were speedily lost in an establishment of the Chaussee d'Antin; and Puymirol, disheartened and exhausted, left the card-room, and pa.s.sing into an adjoining apartment flung himself upon a sofa. He felt that irresistible longing to sleep which so often follows upon great crises. His eyes closed in spite of all his efforts to keep them open, and in a few moments he fell into a profound slumber which no one at first disturbed, for at the gaming-table players don't trouble themselves about the wounded. He was still sleeping heavily when he was roughly shaken by a footman; and when he opened his eyes in bewilderment he found that it was broad daylight. "What time is it?" he inquired, with a yawn.

"Past eight o'clock," replied the footman sullenly. "All the other gentlemen left a long while ago; and I must set the room in order. This isn't a lodging house."

Puymirol felt strongly inclined to kick the fellow who had so rudely recalled him to the realities of life, but he restrained his wrath, and rose up without a word. He found his hat and overcoat in the cloak-room, and forthwith left the establishment, having decided to return home at once so as to see George and procure the letters, for his late reverses had discouraged him so much that he was now inclined to accept Madame de Les...o...b..t's offer. He accordingly walked towards the boulevard. Paris was already astir; the pa.s.sers-by jostled him on the side walk, and vehicles went rapidly to and fro. As he was hastening past a doorway he narrowly escaped stumbling over a boy who was lying there, more than half asleep. At this, he paused, with a muttered oath, and heard the urchin mumble a few words which he did not at first understand. Our friend was not in the best of humours by any means, and he felt highly incensed with the little fellow, whom he suspected of lying in wait to trip up unwary pa.s.sers-by. "What did you say, you young rascal?" he cried savagely.

"Buy the official list," sleepily responded the lad, rubbing his eyes.

Seizing the little fellow by his coat collar, Puymirol set him on his feet in the twinkling of an eye. "Do you know," said he, "you very nearly broke my neck, and I have a great mind to call a policeman to take you to the station-house? What do you mean by going to sleep on the pavement?"

"It is not my fault, sir," sobbed the boy. "I dared not go home because I hadn't sold all the lists. Mother would have been sure to beat me. So I ran about the streets all the evening until I couldn't stand it any longer, and then I sat down here to rest, and fell asleep. Don't have me arrested, please don't. I am going to set to work again now, and perhaps I shall manage to sell what I've got left."

Puymirol was really kind-hearted, and the sight of the lad's distress so touched him, that he put his hand in his pocket. He found himself richer than he had supposed, for his pocket happened to contain a quant.i.ty of small silver, which had escaped the croupier's rake. "What have you got there?" he asked.

"Why, sir, I'm selling lists of the winning numbers of the Lottery of the Decorative Art Society. They cost only two sous apiece; buy one, sir."

"Well, here are five francs, my lad. You don't look to me as if you had much dinner yesterday. Go and get something to eat, and then go home to bed. You can take the money you have left to your mother, and she won't beat you."

The boy took the money, trying to falter out his thanks; and as Puymirol hastened on, he ran after him, and forced one of the lists of winning numbers into his hand, saying: "Please take it. It may bring you good luck, sir."

In Puymirol's present desperate plight the remark sounded very much like a sarcasm. Still he took the list, and as he went on his way he glanced at it mechanically, and beheld in large figures the number of the ticket which had won the grand prize of one hundred thousand francs.

"Number 115,815!" he murmured. "That is to say, there is now somewhere in Paris, or in the provinces, a fortunate mortal who paid a franc for a sc.r.a.p of paper which he can now exchange for one hundred thousand francs in bank notes. And this lucky fellow is perhaps a millionaire who has more money than he knows what to do with already, whereas if I had one hundred thousand francs I should consider myself independent for life."

So reflecting, Puymirol crumpled the list in his hand, and was about to throw it away, when a new idea flashed through his brain. "Why, I still have those tickets I found in the pocket-book. While I was chasing that rascal last night, I placed them in my waistcoat pocket. What if I should find one of the winning numbers among them? Let me see."

He drew out the little packet of tickets, some two dozen in number, and, stopping short behind a newspaper kiosk, he slowly unfolded them. As he glanced at the topmost ticket he could scarcely believe his eyes, for there was the number--the winning number printed in the centre of it. He read and re-read it, examined it again and again, and compared it, figure by figure, with the list in his other hand; but it was all quite true, he certainly had in his possession No. 115,815, which ent.i.tled its owner to the grand prize. He had nineteen francs in his pocket, nothing in his desk, and one hundred thousand francs between his fingers. The shock was so great and so unexpected, that, proof as he had always considered himself against emotion, he was obliged to lean against the newspaper kiosk for support. His brain reeled. But suddenly a fresh thought occurred to him. "Dash it! the ticket isn't mine! It belonged to Dargental. In fact, it is the only piece of property he left for his heirs, if he has any. I have no right to appropriate it. It would be a theft." Puymirol's face lengthened, but he quickly recovered himself. "A theft, no. I did not steal it; I found it, or rather it was thrown to me, which amounted to the same thing as giving it to me."

This sophistry did not deceive him, however. He had invented it to quiet his conscience; but he realised how shallow it was. Then he thought of consulting Caumont, but he felt a presentiment that George would advise him to give up the ticket; and he did not care for advice which he did not intend to follow. But where and how was this grand prize payable?

Would it only be necessary to show this triumphant No. 115,815 at the lottery office to convert it into bank notes? One of these questions was answered on the back of the ticket. He there read that the office of the Lottery of the Society of Decorative Arts was at the Palais de l'Industrie, in the Champs Elysees, Door No. 4. Puymirol's position was too desperate for him to indulge in much reflection. He made a nervous gesture as if to say: "I must cross the Rubicon," and then he replaced the tickets in his pocket. However, before going to the lottery office, he must set his toilet right. Still, this was easily managed. There were some Turkish baths hard by, and after indulging in the wholesome luxury of Oriental ablutions, he proceeded in due course to a fashionable barber's, where he was shaved, cosmetiqued, and perfumed, so that he would have been presentable anywhere, although he had not changed his linen. These preparations occupied him until eleven o'clock, and then, after partaking of a light breakfast, which exhausted his remaining funds, he hastened to the Palais de l'Industrie. At door No. 4, which seemed to him very like the gate of Paradise, he found a liveried footman talking with two men whom he took for favourites of fortune, who, like himself, had come to receive their money. He explained why he wished to speak to the secretary, and the attendant having gazed at him with admiring envy, told him to walk upstairs. The two persons who had been waiting, followed in his wake, and they all three entered a large ante-room on the first floor. A clerk rose on seeing them, and Puymirol was about to repeat his statement when one of the other fellows hastily approached the clerk, took him aside, and said a few words to him in a low tone; thereupon the clerk immediately opened a side door, and the man pa.s.sed out and disappeared.

Turning to Puymirol, the clerk then inquired what he wanted, and on learning that he had come to cash a winning ticket, he at once opened a door leading into the office proper, where Puymirol found two prepossessing-looking gentlemen. One of them sat in an arm-chair, while the other occupied a stool at the end of the same table, and had a large leather case, such as is employed for the conveyance of doc.u.ments, before him. "To whom have I the honour of speaking?" inquired the gentleman in the arm-chair.

"I am the holder of ticket No. 115,815, which is mentioned as having won one hundred thousand francs at your last drawing."