On hearing M. de Valorsay’s name, Mademoiselle Marguerite and the
magistrate exchanged glances full of wondering conjecture. The girl was
undecided what course to pursue; but the magistrate put an end to her
perplexity. “Ask the marquis to come up,” he said to the servant.
The footman left the room; and, as soon as he had disappeared,
Mademoiselle Marguerite exclaimed: “What, monsieur! after all I have
told you, you still wish me to receive him?”
“It is absolutely necessary that you should do so. You must know what
he wishes and what hope brings him here. Calm yourself, and submit to
necessity.”
In a sort of bewilderment, the girl hastily arranged her disordered
dress, and caught up her wavy hair which had fallen over her shoulders.
“Ah! monsieur,” she remarked, “don’t you understand that he still
believes me to be the count’s heiress? In his eyes, I am still
surrounded by the glamor of the millions which are mine no longer.”
“Hush! here he comes!”
The Marquis de Valorsay was indeed upon the threshold, and a moment
later he entered the room. He was clad with the exquisite taste of
those intelligent gentlemen to whom the color of a pair of trousers is
a momentous matter, and whose ambition is satisfied if they are regarded
as a sovereign authority respecting the cut of a waistcoat. As a rule,
his expression of face merely denoted supreme contentment with himself
and indifference as to others, but now, strange to say, he looked grave
and almost solemn. His right leg--the unfortunate limb which had been
broken when he fell from his horse in Ireland--seemed stiff, and dragged
a trifle more than usual, but this was probably solely due to the
influence of the atmosphere. He bowed to Mademoiselle Marguerite with
every mark of profound respect, and without seeming to notice the
magistrate’s presence.
“You will excuse me, I trust, mademoiselle,” said he, “in having
insisted upon seeing you, so that I might express my deep sympathy. I
have just heard of the terrible misfortune which has befallen you--the
sudden death of your father.”
She drew back as if she were terrified, and repeated: “My father!”
The marquis did not evince the slightest surprise. “I know,” said he, in
a voice which he tried to make as feeling as possible, “I know that
M. de Chalusse kept this fact concealed from you; but he confided his
secret to me.”
“To you?” interrupted the magistrate, who was unable to restrain himself
any longer.
The marquis turned haughtily to this old man dressed in black, and in
the dry tone one uses in speaking to an indiscreet inferior, he replied:
“To me, yes, monsieur; and he acquainted me not only by word of mouth,
but in writing also, with the motives which influenced him, expressing
his fixed intention, not only of recognizing Mademoiselle Marguerite as
his daughter, but also of adopting her in order to insure her undisputed
right to his fortune and his name.”
“Ah!” said the magistrate as if suddenly enlightened; “ah! ah!”
But without noticing this exclamation which was, at least, remarkable
in tone, M. de Valorsay again turned to Mademoiselle Marguerite, and
continued: “Your ignorance on this subject, mademoiselle, convinces
me that your servants have not deceived me in telling me that M. de
Chalusse was struck down without the slightest warning. But they have
told me one thing which I cannot believe. They have told me that the
count made no provision for you, that he left no will, and that--excuse
a liberty which is prompted only by the most respectful interest--and
that, the result of this incomprehensible and culpable neglect is that
you are ruined and almost without means. Can this be possible?”
“It is the exact truth, monsieur,” replied Mademoiselle Marguerite. “I
am reduced to the necessity of working for my daily bread.”
She spoke these words with a sort of satisfaction, expecting that the
marquis would betray his disappointed covetousness by some significant
gesture or exclamation, and she was already prepared to rejoice at his
confusion. But her expectations were not realized. Instead of evincing
the slightest dismay or even regret, M. de Valorsay drew a long breath,
as if a great burden had been lifted from his heart, and his eyes
sparkled with apparent delight. “Then I may venture to speak,” he
exclaimed, with unconcealed satisfaction, “I will speak, mademoiselle,
if you will deign to allow me.”
She looked at him with anxious curiosity, wondering what was to come.
“Speak, monsieur,” she faltered.
“I will obey you, mademoiselle,” he said, bowing again. “But first,
allow me to tell you how great my hopes have been. M. de Chalusse’s
death is an irreparable misfortune for me as for yourself. He had
allowed me, mademoiselle, to aspire to the honor of becoming a suitor
for your hand. If he did not speak to you on the subject, it was only
because he wished to leave you absolutely free, and impose upon me
the difficult task of winning your consent. But between him and me
everything had been arranged in principle, and he was to give a dowry
of three millions of francs to Mademoiselle Marguerite de Chalusse, his
daughter.”
“I am no longer Mademoiselle de Chalusse, Monsieur le Marquis, and I am
no longer the possessor of a fortune.”
He felt the sharp sting of this retort, for the blood rose to his
cheeks, still he did not lose his composure. “If you were still rich,
mademoiselle,” he replied, in the reproachful tone of an honest man who
feels that he is misunderstood, “I should, perhaps, have strength to
keep the sentiments with which you have inspired me a secret in my own
heart; but--” He rose, and with a gesture which was not devoid of
grace, and in a full ringing voice he added: “But you are no longer the
possessor of millions; and so I may tell you, Mademoiselle Marguerite,
that I love you. Will you be my wife?”
The poor girl was obliged to exercise all her powers of self-control to
restrain an exclamation of dismay. It was indeed more than dismay;
she was absolutely terrified by the Marquis de Valorsay’s unexpected
declaration, and she could only falter: “Monsieur! monsieur!”
But with an air of winning frankness he continued: “Need I tell you who
I am, mademoiselle? No; that is unnecessary. The fact that my suit was
approved of by M. de Chalusse is the best recommendation I can offer
you. The pure and stainless name I bear is one of the proudest in
France; and though my fortune may have been somewhat impaired by
youthful folly, it is still more than sufficient to maintain an
establishment in keeping with my rank.”
Mademoiselle Marguerite was still powerless to reply. Her presence of
mind had entirely deserted her, and her tongue seemed to cleave to her
palate. She glanced entreatingly at the old magistrate, as if imploring
his intervention, but he was so absorbed in contemplating his wonderful
ring, that one might have imagined he was oblivious of all that was
going on around him.
“I am aware that I have so far not been fortunate enough to please you,
mademoiselle,” continued the marquis. “M. de Chalusse did not conceal it
from me--I remember, alas! that I advocated in your presence a number
of stupid theories, which must have given you a very poor opinion of me.
But you will forgive me, I trust. My ideas have entirely changed since
I have learned to understand and appreciate your vigorous intellect and
nobility of soul. I thoughtlessly spoke to you in the language which
is usually addressed to young ladies of our rank of life--frivolous
beauties, who are spoiled by vanity and luxury, and who look upon
marriage only as a means of enfranchisement.”
His words were disjointed as if emotion choked his utterance. At times,
it seemed as if he could scarcely command his feelings; and then his
voice became so faint and trembling that it was scarcely intelligible.
However, by allowing him to continue, by listening to what he said,
Mademoiselle Marguerite was encouraging him, even more--virtually
binding herself. She understood that this was the case, and making a
powerful effort, she interrupted him, saying: “I assure you, Monsieur
le Marquis, that I am deeply touched--and grateful--but I am no longer
free.”
“Pray, mademoiselle, pray do not reply to-day. Grant me a little time to
overcome your prejudices.”
She shook her head, and in a firmer voice, replied: “I have no
prejudices; but for some time past already, my future has been decided,
irrevocably decided.”
He seemed thunderstruck, and his manner apparently indicated that the
possibility of a repulse had never entered his mind. His eyes wandered
restlessly from Mademoiselle Marguerite to the countenance of the old
magistrate, who remained as impassive as a sphinx, and at last they
lighted on a newspaper which was lying on the floor at the young girl’s
feet. “Do not deprive me of all hope,” he murmured.
She made no answer, and understanding her silence, he was about to
retire when the door suddenly opened and a servant announced: “Monsieur
de Fondege.”
Mademoiselle Marguerite touched the magistrate on the shoulder to
attract his attention. “This gentleman is M. de Chalusse’s friend whom I
sent for this morning.”
At the same moment a man who looked some sixty years of age entered the
room. He was very tall, and as straight as the letter I, being arrayed
in a long blue frock-coat, while his neck, which was as red and as
wrinkled as that of a turkey-cock, was encased in a very high and stiff
satin cravat. On seeing his ruddy face, his closely cropped hair, his
little eyes twinkling under his bushy eyebrows, and his formidable
mustaches a la Victor Emmanuel, you would have immediately exclaimed:
“That man is an old soldier!”
A great mistake! M. de Fondege had never been in the service, and it was
only in mockery of his somewhat bellicose manners and appearance that
some twenty years previously his friends had dubbed him “the General.”
However, the appellation had clung to him. The nickname had been changed
to a title, and now M. de Fondege was known as “the General” everywhere.
He was invited and announced as “the General.” Many people believed that
he had really been one, and perhaps he fancied so himself, for he had
long been in the habit of inscribing “General A. de Fondege” on his
visiting cards. The nickname had had a decisive influence on his life.
He had endeavored to show himself worthy of it, and the manners he had
at first assumed, eventually became natural ones. He seemed to be the
conventional old soldier--irascible and jovial at the same time; brusk
and kind; at once frank, sensible and brutal; as simple as a child, and
yet as true as steel. He swore the most tremendous oaths in a deep bass
voice, and whenever he talked his arms revolved like the sails of a
windmill. However, Madame de Fondege, who was a very angular lady, with
a sharp nose and very thin lips, assured people that her husband was not
so terrible as he appeared. He was not considered very shrewd, and he
pretended to have an intense dislike for business matters. No one knew
anything precise about his fortune, but he had a great many friends
who invited him to dinner, and they all declared that he was in very
comfortable circumstances.
On entering the study this worthy man did not pay the slightest
attention to the Marquis de Valorsay, although they were intimate
friends. He walked straight up to Mademoiselle Marguerite, caught her in
his long arms, and pressed her to his heart, brushing her face with
his huge mustaches as he pretended to kiss her. “Courage, my dear,” he
growled; “courage. Don’t give way. Follow my example. Look at me!”
So saying he stepped back, and it was really amusing to see the
extraordinary effort he made to combine a soldier’s stoicism with a
friend’s sorrow. “You must wonder at my delay, my dear,” he resumed,
“but it was not my fault. I was at Madame de Rochecote’s when I was
informed that your messenger was at home waiting for me. I returned,
and heard the frightful news. It was a thunderbolt. A friend of thirty
years’ standing! A thousand thunderclaps! I acted as his second when he
fought his first duel. Poor Chalusse! A man as sturdy as an oak, and who
ought to have outlived us all. But it is always so; the best soldiers
always file by first at dress-parade.”
The Marquis de Valorsay had beaten a retreat, the magistrate was hidden
in a dark corner, and Mademoiselle Marguerite, who was accustomed to the
General’s manner, remained silent, being well aware that there was no
chance of putting in a word as long as he had possession of the floor.
“Fortunately, poor Chalusse was a prudent man,” continued M. de Fondege.
“He loved you devotedly, my dear, as his testamentary provisions must
have shown you.”
“His provisions?”
“Yes, most certainly. Surely you don’t mean to try and conceal anything
from one who knows all. Ah! you will be one of the greatest catches in
Europe, and you will have plenty of suitors.”
Mademoiselle Marguerite sadly shook her head. “You are mistaken,
General; the count left no will, and has made no provision whatever for
me.”
M. de Fondege trembled, turned a trifle pale, and in a faltering voice,
exclaimed: “What! You tell me that? Chalusse! A thousand thunderclaps!
It isn’t possible.”
“The count was stricken with apoplexy in a cab. He went out about
five o’clock, on foot, and a little before seven he was brought home
unconscious. Where he had been we don’t know.”
“You don’t know? you don’t know?”
“Alas! no; and he was only able to utter a few incoherent words before
he died.” Thereupon the poor girl began a brief account of what had
taken place during the last four-and-twenty hours. Had she been less
absorbed in her narrative she would have noticed that the General was
not listening to her. He was sitting at the count’s desk and was toying
with the letters which Madame Leon had brought into the room a short
time previously. One of them especially seemed to attract his attention,
to exercise a sort of fascination over him as it were. He looked at
it with hungry eyes, and whenever he touched it, his hand trembled, or
involuntarily clinched. His face, moreover, had become livid; his eyes
twitched nervously; he seemed to have a difficulty in breathing, and big
drops of perspiration trickled down his forehead. If the magistrate were
able to see the General’s face, he must certainly have been of opinion
that a terrible conflict was raging in his mind. The struggle lasted
indeed for fully five minutes, and then suddenly, certain that no one
saw him, he caught up the letter in question and slipped it into his
pocket.
Poor Marguerite was now finishing her story: “You see, monsieur, that,
far from being an heiress, as you suppose, I am homeless and penniless,”
she said.
The General had risen from his chair, and was striding up and down
the room with every token of intense agitation. “It’s true,” he said
apparently unconscious of his words. “She’s ruined--lost--the misfortune
is complete!” Then, suddenly pausing with folded arms in front of
Mademoiselle Marguerite: “What are you going to do?” he asked.
“God will not forsake me, General,” she replied.
He turned on his heel and resumed his promenade, wildly gesticulating
and indulging in a furious monologue which was certainly not very easy
to follow. “Frightful! terrible!” he growled. “The daughter of an old
comrade--zounds!--of a friend of thirty years’ standing--to be left in
such a plight! Never, a thousand thunderclaps!--never! Poor child!--a
heart of gold, and as pretty as an angel! This horrible Paris would
devour her at a single mouthful! It would be a crime--an abomination! It
sha’n’t be!--the old veterans are here, firm as rocks!”
Thereupon, approaching the poor girl again, he exclaimed in a coarse but
seemingly feeling voice: “Mademoiselle Marguerite.”
“General?”
“You are acquainted with my son, Gustave Fondege, are you not?”
“I think I have heard you speak of him to M. de Chalusse several times.”
The General tugged furiously at his mustaches as was his wont whenever
he was perplexed or embarrassed. “My son,” he resumed, “is twenty-seven.
He’s now a lieutenant of hussars, and will soon be promoted to the rank
of captain. He’s a handsome fellow, sure to make his way in the world,
for he’s not wanting in spirit. As I never attempt to hide the truth, I
must confess that he’s a trifle dissipated; but his heart is all right,
and a charming little wife would soon turn him from the error of his
ways, and he’d become the pearl of husbands.” He paused, passed his
forefinger three or four times between his collar and his neck, and
then, in a half-strangled voice, he added: “Mademoiselle Marguerite, I
have the honor to ask for your hand in marriage on behalf of Lieutenant
Gustave de Fondege, my son.”
There was a dangerous gleam of anger in Mademoiselle Marguerite’s eyes,
as she coldly replied: “I am honored by your request, monsieur; but my
future is already decided.”
Some seconds elapsed before M. de Fondege could recover his powers of
speech. “This is a piece of foolishness,” he faltered, at last with
singular agitation. “Let me hope that you will reconsider the matter.
And if Gustave doesn’t please you, we will find some one better. But
under no circumstances will Chalusse’s old comrade ever desert you. I
shall send Madame de Fondege to see you this evening. She’s a good woman
and you will understand each other. Come, answer me, what do you say to
it?”
His persistence irritated the poor girl beyond endurance, and to put
an end to the painful scene, she at last asked: “Would you not like to
look--for the last time--at M. de Chalusse?”
“Ah! yes, certainly--an old friend of thirty years’ standing.” So saying
he advanced toward the door leading into the death-room, but on reaching
the threshold, he cried in sudden terror: “Oh! no, no, I could not.” And
with these words he withdrew or rather he fled from the room down the
stairs.
As long as the General had been there, the magistrate had given no sign
of life. But seated beyond the circle of light cast by the lamps, he
had remained an attentive spectator of the scene, and now that he found
himself once more alone with Mademoiselle Marguerite he came forward,
and leaning against the mantelpiece and looking her full in the face he
exclaimed: “Well, my child?”
The girl trembled like a culprit awaiting sentence of death, and it was
in a hollow voice that she replied: “I understood--”
“What?” insisted the pitiless magistrate.
She raised her beautiful eyes, in which angry tears were still
glittering, and then answered in a voice which quivered with suppressed
passion, “I have fathomed the infamy of those two men who have just left
the house. I understood the insult their apparent generosity conceals.
They had questioned the servants, and had ascertained that two millions
were missing. Ah, the scoundrels! They believe that I have stolen those
millions; and they came to ask me to share the ill-gotten wealth with
them. What an insult! and to think that I am powerless to avenge it! Ah!
the servants’ suspicions were nothing in comparison with this. At
least, they did not ask for a share of the booty as the price of their
silence!”
The magistrate shook his head as if this explanation scarcely satisfied
him. “There is something else, there is certainly something else,” he
repeated. But the doors were still open, so he closed them carefully,
and then returned to the girl he was so desirous of advising. “I wish
to tell you,” he said, “that you have mistaken the motives which induced
these gentlemen to ask for your hand in marriage.”
“Do you believe, then, that you have fathomed them?”
“I could almost swear that I had. Didn’t you remark a great difference
in their manner? Didn’t one of them, the marquis, behave with all
the calmness and composure which are the result of reflection and
calculation? The other, on the contrary, acted most precipitately, as
if he had suddenly come to a determination, and formed a plan on the
impulse of the moment.”
Mademoiselle Marguerite reflected.
“That’s true,” she said, “that’s indeed true. Now I recollect the
difference.”
“And this is my explanation of it,” resumed the magistrate. “‘The
Marquis de Valorsay,’ I said to myself, ‘must have proofs in his
possession that Mademoiselle Marguerite is the count’s daughter--written
and conclusive proofs, that is certain--probably a voluntary admission
of the fact from the father. Who can prove that M. de Valorsay does not
possess this acknowledgment? In fact, he must possess it. He hinted it
himself.’ Accordingly on hearing of the count’s sudden death, he said to
himself, ‘If Marguerite was my wife, and if I could prove her to be M.
de Chalusse’s daughter, I should obtain several millions.’ Whereupon he
consulted his legal adviser who assured him that it would be the best
course he could pursue; and so he came here. You repulsed him, but he
will soon make another assault, you may rest assured of that. And some
day or other he will come to you and say, ‘Whether we marry or not, let
us divide.’”
Mademoiselle Marguerite was amazed. The magistrate’s words seemed to
dispel the mist which had hitherto hidden the truth from view. “Yes,”
she exclaimed, “yes, you are right, monsieur.”
He was silent for a moment, and then he resumed: “I understand M. de
Fondege’s motive less clearly; but still I have some clue. He had not
questioned the servants. That is evident from the fact that on his
arrival here he believed you to be the sole legatee. He was also aware
that M. de Chalusse had taken certain precautions we are ignorant of,
but which he is no doubt fully acquainted with. What you told him about
your poverty amazed him, and he immediately evinced a desire to atone
for the count’s neglect with as much eagerness as if he were the cause
of this negligence himself. And, indeed, judging by the agitation he
displayed when he was imploring you to become his son’s wife, one might
almost imagine that the sight of your misery awakened a remorse which he
was endeavoring to quiet. Now, draw your own conclusions.”
The wretched girl looked questioningly at the magistrate as if she
hesitated to trust the thoughts which his words had awakened in her
mind. “Then you think, monsieur,” she said, with evident reluctance,
“you think, you suppose, that the General is acquainted with the
whereabouts of the missing millions?”
“Quite correct,” answered the magistrate, and then as if he feared that
he had gone too far, he added: “but draw your own conclusions respecting
the matter. You have the whole night before you. We will talk it over
again to-morrow, and if I can be of service to you in any way, I shall
be only too glad.”
“But, monsieur--”
“Oh--to-morrow, to-morrow--I must go to dinner now; besides, my clerk
must be getting terribly impatient.”
The clerk was, indeed, out of temper. Not that he had finished taking
an inventory of the appurtenances of this immense house, but because he
considered that he had done quite enough work for one day. And yet his
discontent was sensibly diminished when he calculated the amount he
would receive for his pains. During the nine years he had held this
office he had never made such an extensive inventory before. He seemed
somewhat dazzled, and as he followed his superior out of the house, he
remarked: “Do you know, monsieur, that as nearly as I can discover the
deceased’s fortune must amount to more than twenty millions--an income
of a million a year! And to think that the poor young lady shouldn’t
have a penny of it. I suspect she’s crying her eyes out.”
But the clerk was mistaken. Mademoiselle Marguerite was then questioning
M. Casimir respecting the arrangements which he had made for the
funeral, and when this sad duty was concluded, she consented to take a
little food standing in front of the sideboard in the dining-room.
Then she went to kneel in the count’s room, where four members of the
parochial clergy were reciting the prayers for the dead.
She was so exhausted with fatigue that she could scarcely speak, and
her eyelids were heavy with sleep. But she had another task to fulfil, a
task which she deemed a sacred duty. She sent a servant for a cab, threw
a shawl over her shoulders, and left the house accompanied by Madame
Leon. The cabman drove as fast as possible to the house where Pascal and
his mother resided in the Rue d’Ulm; but on arriving there, the
front door was found to be closed, and the light in the vestibule was
extinguished. Marguerite was obliged to ring five or six times before
the concierge made his appearance.
“I wish to see Monsieur Ferailleur,” she quietly said.
The man glanced at her scornfully, and then replied: “He no longer lives
here. The landlord doesn’t want any thieves in his house. He’s sold his
rubbish and started for America, with his old witch of a mother.”
So saying he closed the door again, and Marguerite was so overwhelmed by
this last and unexpected misfortune, that she could hardly stagger back
to the vehicle. “Gone!” she murmured; “gone! without a thought of me! Or
does he believe me to be like all the rest? But I will find him again.
That man Fortunat, who ascertained addresses for M. de Chalusse, will
find Pascal for me.”