THE INTERVIEW.
It is impossible to paint the look which Madame de Lucenay and the
father of Florestan exchanged at these terrible words,--"The galleys,
the galleys, my poor dear vicomte!" The comte became deadly pale, and
leant on the back of an armchair, whilst his knees seemed to sink
beneath him. His venerable and respected name,--his name dishonoured by
the man whom he accused of being the fruit of adultery!
The first feeling over, the contracted features of the old man, a
threatening gesture which he made as he advanced towards the adjoining
apartment, betrayed a resolution so alarming that Madame de Lucenay
seized his hand, and said, in an accent of the most perfect conviction:
"He is innocent; I will swear it. Listen in silence."
The comte paused. He wished to believe what the duchess said to him, and
she was entirely persuaded of Florestan's untarnished honour. To obtain
fresh sacrifices from this woman, so blindly generous,--sacrifices which
alone could save him from arrest,--and the prosecution of Jacques
Ferrand, the vicomte had affirmed to Madame de Lucenay that, duped by a
scoundrel from whom he had taken a forged bill in exchange, he ran the
risk of being considered as the forger's accomplice, as having himself
put this bill into circulation. Madame de Lucenay knew that the vicomte
was imprudent, extravagant, reckless; but she never for an instant
supposed him capable, not only of a base or an infamous action, but
even of the slightest indiscretion. Twice lending him considerable sums
under very trying circumstances, she had wished to render him a friendly
service, the vicomte expressly accepting these loans under the condition
that he should return them; for there were persons, he said, who owed
him double that amount; and his style of living made it seem probable.
Besides, Madame de Lucenay, yielding to the impulse of her natural
kindness, had only thought of how she could be useful to Florestan,
without ever reflecting as to whether or not he would ever return the
sums thus advanced. He said so, and she did not doubt him; for,
otherwise, would he have accepted such large amounts? When, then, she
thus answered for Florestan's honour, entreating the old comte to listen
to his son's conversation, the duchess thought that it was a question of
the breach of honour of which the vicomte had declared himself the
victim, and that he must stand forth completely exonerated in the eyes
of his father.
"Again I declare," continued Florestan, in a troubled voice, "this
Petit-Jean is a scamp; he assured me that he had no other bills in his
hands but those which I received from him yesterday and three days
previously. I believed this one was still in circulation, and only due
three months hence, in London, at the house of Adams and Company."
"Yes, yes," said the sarcastic voice of Badinot, "I know, my dear
vicomte, that you had managed the affair very cleverly, so that your
forgeries would not be detected until you were a long way off; but you
tried to 'do' those who were more cunning than yourself."
"And you dare to say that to me, now, rogue as you are," exclaimed
Florestan, furious with anger, "when was it not you yourself who brought
me into contact with the person who negotiated these bills?"
"Now, my dear aristocrat," replied Badinot, coolly, "be cool! You very
skilfully counterfeit commercial signatures; but, although they are so
adroitly done, that is no reason why you should treat your friends with
disagreeable familiarity; and, if you give way to unseemly fits of
temper, I shall leave you, and then you may arrange this matter by
yourself."
"And do you think it possible for a man to be calm in such a position as
that in which I find myself? If what you say be true, if this charge be
to-day preferred at the office of the attorney-general, I am lost!"
"It is really as I tell you, unless you have again recourse to your
charming, blue-eyed Providence."
"Impossible!"
"Then make up your mind to the worst. It is a pity; it was the last
bill; and for five and twenty thousand miserable francs (1,000_l._) to
go and take the air at Toulon is awkward, absurd, foolish! How could a
clever fellow like you allow yourself to be thus taken aback?"
"What can I do? What can I do? Nothing here is my own, and I have not
twenty louis in the world left."
"Your friends?"
"Why, I am in debt to every one who could lend me. Do you think else
that I am such a fool as to have waited until to-day before I applied to
them?"
"True; but, come, let us discuss the matter quietly; that is the best
way of arriving at a reasonable conclusion. Just now, I wish to explain
to you how you had been met by a party more clever than yourself, but
you did not attend to me."
"Well, tell me now, if that will do any good."
"Let us recapitulate. You said to me two months since, 'I have bills on
different banking-houses, at long dates, for a hundred and thirteen
thousand francs (4,520_l._), and, my dear Badinot, I wish you to find me
the means of cashing them.'"
"Well, and then--"
"Listen: I asked you to let me see these bills; a certain something made
me suspect that they were forged, although so admirably done. I did not
suspect, it is true, that you were so expert in calligraphy; but,
employing myself in looking after your fortune when you had no longer
any fortune to look after, I found you were completely done up! I had
arranged the deed by which your horses, your carriages, and the
furniture of this house became the property of Boyer and Edwards. Thus,
then, there was no wonder at my astonishment when I found you in
possession of commercial securities to such a considerable amount, eh?"
"Never mind your astonishment, but come to the point."
"I am close upon it. I have enough experience or timidity not to be very
anxious to mix myself up with affairs of this nature; I therefore
advised you to consult a third party, who, no less clear-sighted than
myself, suspected the trick you desired to play him."
"Impossible! He would not have discounted the bills if he had believed
them forged."
"How much money down did you get for these hundred and thirteen thousand
francs?"
"Twenty-five thousand francs in ready money, and the rest in small debts
to collect."
"And how much of these small debts did you collect?"
"Nothing, as you very well know; they were fictitious; but still he
risked twenty-five thousand francs."
"How green you are, my dear vicomte! Having my commission of a hundred
louis to receive of you if the affair came off, I took very good care
not to say a word to No. 3 as to the real state of your affairs. Thus he
believed you entirely at your ease, and he, moreover, knew how you were
adored by a certain great lady, immensely rich, who would not allow you
to be left in any difficulties, and thus he was quite sure of
recovering at least as much as he advanced. He ran a risk, certainly, of
losing something, but he also ran a chance of gaining very considerably;
and his calculation was correct, for, the other day, you counted out to
him a hundred thousand francs, good and sound, in order to retire the
bill for fifty-eight thousand francs; and, yesterday, thirty thousand
francs for the second; for that he contented himself, it is true, with
the actual amount. How you raised these thirty thousand francs
yesterday, devil fetch me, if I can guess! But you are a wonderful
fellow! You see, now, that, to wind up the account, if Petit-Jean forces
you to pay the last bill of twenty-five thousand francs, he will have
received from you a hundred and fifty-five thousand francs for the
twenty-five thousand which he originally handed to you. So I was quite
right when I said that you had met with a person even more clever than
yourself."
"But why did he say that this last bill which he presents to-day was
negotiated?"
"That you might not take the alarm, he told you also that, except that
of fifty-eight thousand francs, the others were in circulation; the
first being paid, yesterday comes the second, and to-day the third."
"Scoundrel!"
"Listen: every one for himself; but let us talk coolly. This must prove
to you that Petit-Jean (and, between ourselves, I should not be
astonished to find out that, in spite of his sanctity, Jacques Ferrand
went snacks in the speculation), this must prove, I say, that
Petit-Jean, led on by your first payments, speculates on this last bill,
as he has speculated on the others, quite certain that your friends will
not allow you to be handed over to a court of assizes. It is for you to
see whether or not these friendships are yet drained dry, or if there
are yet a few more drops to be squeezed out; for if, in three hours, the
twenty-five thousand francs are not forthcoming, noble vicomte, you
will be in the 'Stone Jug.'"
"Which you keep saying to me--"
"In order that you may thoroughly comprehend me, and agree, perhaps, to
try and draw another feather from the wing of this generous duchess."
"I repeat, it is useless to think of such a thing. Any hope of finding
twenty-five thousand francs in three hours, after the sacrifices she has
already made, would be madness to expect."
"To please you, happy mortal, impossibilities would be attempted!"
"Oh, she has already tried impossibilities; for it was one to borrow a
hundred thousand francs from her husband, and to succeed; but such
phenomena are not expected twice in a lifetime. Now, my dear Badinot, up
to this time you have had no cause to complain of me. I have always been
generous. Try and obtain some delay from this wretch, Petit-Jean. You
know very well I always find a way of recompensing those who serve me;
and when once this last affair is got over I will try again, and you
shall be satisfied."
"Petit-Jean is as inflexible as you are unreasonable."
"I!"
"Try once more to interest your generous friend in your sad fate. Devil
take it! Why not tell her plump all about it; not, as you have already,
that you have been the dupe of forgers, but that you are a forger
yourself?"
"I will never make to her any such confession; it would be to shame
myself for no advantage."
"Do you prefer, then, that she should learn the fact to-morrow by the
_Gazette des Tribunaux_."
"I have three hours before me, and can fly."
"Where can you go without money? But look at the other side of the
matter. This last forged bill retired, you will be again in a splendid
position; you will only have a few debts. Come, promise me that you
will again speak to your duchess. You are such a fellow for the women!
You know how to make yourself interesting in spite of your errors; and,
let the worst come to the worst, they will like you a little the worse,
or not at all; but they will extricate you from your mess. Come, come,
see your lovely and loving friend once more. I will run to Petit-Jean,
and I feel sure I shall get a respite of an hour or two."
"Hell! Must I, then, drink the draught of shame to the very dregs?"
"Come, come, good luck; be tender, passionate, charming. I will run to
Petit-Jean; you will find me there until three o'clock; later than that
will be useless; the attorney-general's office closes at four o'clock."
And M. Badinot left the apartment.
When the door was closed, they heard Florestan exclaim in accents of the
deepest despair: "_Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!_"
During this conversation, which unveiled to the comte the infamy of his
son, and to Madame de Lucenay the infamy of the man she had so blindly
loved, both had remained motionless, scarcely breathing, beneath this
fearful disclosure. It would be impossible to depict the mute eloquence
of the agonising scene which took place between this young lady and the
comte when he had no longer any possible doubt as to Florestan's crime.
Extending his arms to the room in which his son was, the old man smiled
with bitterest sarcasm, casting an overwhelming look on Madame de
Lucenay, which seemed to say, "And this is the man for whom you have
braved all shame,--made every sacrifice! This is he whom you have
reproached me for abandoning?"
The duchess understood the reproach, and, bowing her head, she felt all
the weight of her shame. The lesson was terrible. By degrees, however, a
haughty indignation succeeded to the cruel anxiety which had contracted
the features of Madame de Lucenay. The inexcusable faults of this lady
were at least palliated by the sincerity and disinterestedness of her
love, by the boldness of her devotion and the boundlessness of her
generosity, by the frankness of her character, and by her inexorable
aversion from all that was contemptible and base.
Still too young, too handsome, too _recherche_, to feel the humiliation
of having been merely made a tool of, when once the feeling of love was
suddenly crushed within her, this haughty and decided woman felt no
longer hatred or anger, but instantaneously, and without any transition,
a deadly disgust, an icy disdain, at once destroyed all that affection
hitherto so strong. She was no longer the mistress, unworthily deceived
by her lover, but the lady of high blood and rank detecting a man of her
circle to be a swindler and a forger, and driving him forth. Supposing
that there were even some extenuating circumstances for the ignominy of
Florestan, Madame de Lucenay would not have admitted them; for, in her
estimation, the man who crossed certain bounds of honour, whether from
vice, weakness, or persuasion, no longer had an existence in her eyes,
honourable demeanour being with her a question of existence or
non-existence. The only painful feeling which the duchess experienced
was excited by the terrible effect which this unexpected revelation
produced on her old friend, the comte.
For some moments he seemed neither to see nor hear; his eyes were fixed,
his head bowed, his arms hanging by his side, his face livid as death;
whilst from time to time a convulsive sigh heaved his breast. With such
a man, as resolute as energetic, such a condition was more alarming than
the most violent transports of anger. Madame de Lucenay regarded him
with great uneasiness.
"Courage, my dear friend," she said to him, in a low voice, "for
you,--for me,--for this man,--I know what remains for me to do."
The old man looked steadfastly at her, and then, as if aroused from his
stupor by a violent internal commotion, he raised his head, his features
assumed a menacing appearance, and, forgetting that his son could hear
him, he exclaimed:
"And I, too, for you,--for me,--and for this man,--I know what remains
for me to do."
"Who is there?" inquired Florestan, surprised.
Madame de Lucenay, fearing to find herself in the vicomte's presence,
disappeared by the little door, and descended the secret staircase.
Florestan having again asked who was there, and receiving no reply,
entered the salon. He found the comte there alone. The old man's long
beard had so greatly altered him, and he was so miserably clad, that his
son, who had not seen him for several years, not recognising him at the
moment, advanced towards him with a menacing air.
"What are you doing there? Who are you?"
"The husband of that woman!" replied the comte, pointing to the picture
of Madame de Saint-Remy.
"My father!" exclaimed Florestan, recoiling in alarm, as he recalled the
features of the comte, so long forgotten.
Standing erect, with threatening air, angry look, his forehead scarlet,
the comte looked down upon his son, who, with his head bent down, dared
not raise his eyes towards him. Still, M. de Saint-Remy, for some
motive, made a violent effort to remain calm, and conceal his real
feelings and resentment.
"My father!" said Florestan, half choked. "You were there?"
"I was there."
"You heard, then?"
"All!"
"Ah!" cried the vicomte, in agony, and hiding his face in his hands.
There was a minute's silence. Florestan, at first as much astonished as
annoyed at the unexpected appearance of his father, began to reflect
upon what advantage he could derive from this incident.
"All is not lost," he said to himself; "my father's presence is a stroke
of fate. He knows all; he will not have his name dishonoured. He is not
rich, but he must possess more than twenty-five thousand francs. A
little skill, and I may leave my duchess at peace, and be saved!" Then,
giving to his handsome features an expression of grief and dejection,
moistening his eye with the tears of repentance, assuming his most
touching tone of voice, he exclaimed, clasping his hands with a gesture
of despair:
"Ah, father, I am indeed wretched! After so many years,--to see you--at
such a moment! I must appear to you most culpable; but deign to listen
to me! I beseech you, allow me, not to justify myself, but to explain to
you my conduct! Will you, my father?"
M. de Saint-Remy made no reply; his features remained rigid; but,
seating himself, his chin leaning on the palm of his hand, he
contemplated the vicomte in silence. Had Florestan known the motives
which filled the mind of his father with fury and vengeance, alarmed by
the apparent composure of the comte, he would not, doubtless, have tried
to dupe him. But, ignorant of the suspicions respecting the legitimacy
of his birth, and of his mother's lapse of virtue, he had no doubt of
the success of his deceit, thinking his father, who was very proud of
his name, was capable of making any sacrifice rather than allow it to be
dishonoured.
"My father," resumed Florestan, timidly, "allow me to endeavour, not to
exculpate myself, but to tell you by what a series of involuntary
temptations I have done, in spite of myself,--such--an infamous action."
The vicomte took his father's silence for tacit consent, and continued:
"When I had the misfortune to lose my mother--my poor mother!--I was
alone, without advice or support. Master of a considerable fortune, used
to luxury from my cradle, it became to me a necessity. Ignorant how
difficult it is to earn money, I was immeasurably prodigal.
Unfortunately, my expenses, foolish as they were, were remarkable for
their elegance. By my taste, I eclipsed men ten times richer than
myself. This first success intoxicated me, and I became a man of
extravagance, as one becomes a man of arms, or a statesman. Yes, I liked
luxury, not from vulgar ostentation, but I liked it as a painter loves
his art. Like every artist, I was jealous of my work, and my work was to
me luxury. I sacrificed everything to its perfection. I wished to have
it beautiful and complete in everything, from my stable to my
drawing-room, from my coat to my house. I wished my life to be the
emblem of taste and elegance. In fact, as an artist, I sought the
applause of the mob and the admiration of the elite. This success is
rare, but I acquired it."
As he spake, Florestan's features gradually lost their hypocritical
assumption, and his eyes kindled with enthusiasm. He looked in his
father's face, and, thinking it was somewhat softened, continued:
"Oracle and regulator of the world, my praise or blame were law: I was
quoted, copied, boasted of, admired, and that by the best circle in
Paris, which is to say in Europe--in the world. The women participated
in the general enthusiasm, and the loveliest contended for the pleasure
of being invited to certain fetes which I gave, and everywhere wonder
was expressed at the incomparable elegance and taste displayed at these
fetes, which millionaires could not equal. In fine, I was the monarch of
fashion. This word will tell you all, my father, if you comprehend it."
"I do comprehend it, and I am sure that at the galleys you will invent
some refined elegance in your fashion of wearing your chain that will
become the mode in your gang, and will be called _a la_ Saint-Remy,"
said the old man, with cutting irony, adding, "and Saint-Remy,--that is
my name!" And again he was silent.
Florestan had need of all his self-control to conceal the wound which
this bitter sarcasm inflicted. He continued in a more humble tone:
"Alas! Father, it is not from pride that I revive the recollection of my
success, for, I repeat to you, it is that success which has undone me.
Sought, envied, and flattered, not by interested parasites, but by
persons much superior in position to myself, I no longer calculated my
fortune must be expended in a few years; that I did not heed. Could I
renounce this favourite, dazzling life, in which pleasures succeeded
pleasures, every kind of intoxication to every kind of enchantment? Ah,
if you knew, father, what it is to be hailed as the hero of the day, to
hear the murmur which greets your entrance into the salon, to hear the
women say, 'That is he! There he is!'--oh, if you knew--"
"I know," said the old man, without moving from his attitude,--"I know.
Yes, the other day, in a public place, there was a crowd; suddenly a
murmur was heard, like that which greets you when you enter some place;
then the women's eyes were all turned eagerly on a very handsome young
man, just as they are turned towards you, and they pointed him out to
one another, saying, 'That's he! There he is!' just as if they were
directing attention to you."
"And this man, my father?"
"Was a forger they were conveying to gaol."
"Ah!" exclaimed Florestan, with concentrated rage. Then affecting the
deepest affliction, he added, "My father, you are pitiless,--what shall
I then say to you? I do not seek to deny my errors, I only desire to
explain to you the fatal infatuation which has caused them. Well, then,
even if you should overwhelm me still with your bitterest sarcasms, I
will endeavour to go through with this confession,--I will endeavour to
make you comprehend this feverish excitement which has destroyed me,
because then, perchance, you may pity me,--yes, for there is pity for a
madman, and I was mad! Shutting my eyes, I abandoned myself to the
dazzling whirl into which I was drawn, and drew with me the most
charming women, the most delightful men. How could I check myself? As
easily say to the poet who exhausts himself, and whose genius preys upon
his health, 'Pause in the midst of the inspiration which urges you!' No!
He could not--I could not, abdicate the royalty which I exercised, and
return shamed, ruined, and mocked at, into the unknown mob, giving this
triumph to those who envied me, and whom, until then, I had defied,
controlled, overpowered! No! No! I could not, voluntarily, at least.
"Then came the fatal day, when, for the first time, money failed me. I
was surprised as much as if such a moment never could have arrived. Yet
I had still my horses, my carriages, the furniture of this house. When
my debts were paid there would, perhaps, still remain to me about sixty
thousand francs. What could I do in such misery? It was then, father,
that I made my first step in the path of disgrace; until this time I was
honourable,--I had only spent what belonged to me, but then I began to
incur debts which I had no chance of paying. I sold all I had to two of
my domestics in order to pay my debt to them, and to be enabled to
continue for six months longer, in spite of my creditors, to enjoy the
luxury which intoxicated me.
"To supply my play debts and extravagant outlay I first borrowed of the
Jews, then, to pay the Jews, of my friends, then, to pay my friends, of
my mistresses. These resources exhausted, there was another period of my
life; from an honest man I became a gambler, but, as yet, I was not
criminal--I still hesitated--I desired to take a violent resolution. I
had proved in several duels that I did not fear death. I determined to
kill myself!"
"Ah! Bah! Really?" said the comte, with fierce irony.
"You do not believe me, father?"
"It was too soon or too late!" replied the old man, still unmoved, and
in the same attitude.
Florestan, believing that he had moved his father by speaking to him of
his project for committing suicide, thought it necessary to increase the
effect by a _coup de theatre_. He opened a drawer, took from it a small
bottle of greenish glass, and said to the comte, depositing it on the
table:
"An Italian quack sold me this poison."
"And was this poison for yourself?" said the old man, still having his
chin in the palm of his hand.
Florestan understood the force of the remark, his features expressed
real indignation; for this time he spoke the truth. One day he took it
into his head to kill himself,--an ephemeral fancy! Persons of his stamp
are usually too cowardly to make up their minds calmly, and without
witnesses, to the death which they face as a point of honour in a duel.
He therefore exclaimed, with an accent of truth:
"I have fallen very low, but not so low as that. It was for myself that
I reserved this poison."
"And then were afraid of it?" asked the comte, without changing his
posture.
"I confess I recoiled before this trying extremity,--nothing was yet
desperate. The persons to whom I owed money were rich and could wait. At
my age, and with my connections, I hoped for a moment, if not to repair
my fortunes, at least to acquire for myself an honourable position, an
independence which would have supplied my present situation. Many of my
friends, perhaps less qualified than myself, had made rapid progress in
diplomacy. I had ambition. I had but to make it known, and I was
attached to the legation to Gerolstein. Unfortunately, a few days after
this nomination, a gaming debt, contracted with a man who detested me,
placed me in a cruel dilemma. I had exhausted my last resources. A fatal
idea flashed across my mind. Believing that I was assured of impunity, I
committed an infamous action. You see, my father, I conceal nothing from
you. I avow the ignominy of my conduct,--I do not seek to extenuate
anything. Two alternatives are now before me, and I am equally inclined
to either. The one is to kill myself, and leave your name dishonoured;
for if I do not pay this very day the twenty-five thousand francs, the
accusation is made, and all is made public, and, dead or alive, I am
disgraced. The second is to throw myself into your arms, father, to say
to you, 'Save your son,--save your name from infamy;' and I swear to you
to depart for Africa to-morrow, and die a soldier's death, or return to
you completely restored in reputation. What I say to you, father, is
true,--in face of the extremity which overwhelms me, I have no other
resource. Decide: shall I die covered with shame, or, thanks to you,
live to repair my fault? These are not the threats of a young man. I am
twenty-five; I bear your name, and I have sufficient courage either to
kill myself, or to become a soldier; for I will not go to the galleys."
[Illustration: _Was about to embrace his father._
Etching by Marcel after the drawing by Frank T. Merrill.]
The comte rose from his seat, saying:
"I do not desire to have my name dishonoured."
"Oh, my father!" exclaimed the vicomte, with warmth, and was about to
embrace his father, when the old man, repressing his enthusiasm, said:
"You are expected until three o'clock at the man's house who has the
forged bill?"
"Yes, father, and it is now two o'clock."
"Let us go into your cabinet; give me writing materials."
"They are here, father."
The comte sat down and wrote, with a firm hand:
"I undertake to pay this evening, at ten o'clock, the
twenty-five thousand francs which my son owes.
"COMTE DE SAINT-REMY."
"Your creditor merely wants his money; my guarantee will obtain a
further delay. Let him go to M. Dupont, the banker, at No. 7 in the Rue
Richelieu, and he will assure him of the validity of this promise."
"Oh, my father! How can I ever--"
"Expect me this evening; at ten o'clock I will bring the money. Let your
creditor be here."
"Yes, father, and the day after I will set out for Africa. You shall see
that I am not ungrateful! Then, perhaps, when I am again restored to
honour you will accept my thanks?"
"You owe me nothing. I have said that my name shall not be dishonoured
again; nor shall it be," said M. de Saint-Remy, in reply, taking up his
cane, and moving towards the door.
"My father, at least shake hands with me!" said Florestan.
"Here this evening at ten o'clock," said the comte, refusing his hand.
"Saved!" exclaimed Florestan, joyously,--"saved!" Then he continued,
after a moment's reflection: "Saved--almost--no matter--it is always so.
Perhaps this evening I shall tell him of the other thing. He is in the
vein, and will not allow a first sacrifice to become useless for lack of
a second. Yet why should I tell him? Who will ever know it? Yet, if
nothing should be discovered, I shall keep the money he will give me to
pay this last debt. I had some work to move him. The bitterness of his
sarcasms made me suspicious of his good resolution; but my threat of
suicide, the fear of seeing his name dishonoured, decided him. That was
the way to hit him. No doubt he is not so poor as he appears to be. But
his arrival was indeed a godsend. Now, then, for the man of law!"
He rang the bell, and M. Boyer appeared.
"How was it that you did not inform me that my father was here? Really,
this is most negligent."
"Twice I endeavoured to address your lordship when you came in by the
garden gate with M. Badinot, but your lordship made me a sign with your
hand not to interrupt you. I did not venture to insist. I should be very
much grieved if your lordship should impute negligence to me."
"Very well. Desire Edwards to harness Orion or Ploughboy in the
cabriolet immediately."
M. Boyer made a respectful bow. As he was about to quit the room, some
one knocked. He looked at the vicomte with an inquiring air.
"Come in!" said Florestan.
A second _valet de chambre_ appeared, bearing in his hand a small
silver-gilt waiter. M. Boyer took hold of the waiter with a kind of
jealous haste, and presented it to the vicomte, who took from it a thick
packet, sealed with black wax.
The two servants withdrew discreetly.
Florestan broke open the envelope. It contained twenty-five thousand
francs in treasury bills, but not a word of writing.
"Decidedly," he exclaimed, in a joyful tone, "the day is propitious!
Saved this time, and at this moment completely saved! I will run to the
jeweller; and yet," he added, "perhaps--no--let us wait--he cannot have
any suspicion of me. Twenty-five thousand francs is a pleasant sum to
have by one! _Pardieu!_ I was a fool ever to doubt the luck of my star;
at the moment when it seemed most obscure, has it not burst forth more
brilliant than ever? But where does this money come from? The writing of
the address is unknown to me. Let me examine the seal,--the cipher. Yes,
yes, I cannot mistake; an N and an L,--it is Clotilde! How could she
know? And not a word,--that's strange! How very opportune, though! Ah,
_mon Dieu!_ now I remember. I had an appointment with her this morning.
That Badinot's threats drove it out of my head. I forgot Clotilde. After
having waited for me down-stairs, no doubt she went away; and this is,
unquestionably, a delicate way of making me understand that she fears I
may forget her through some pecuniary embarrassment. Yes, it is an
indirect reproach that I have not applied to her as usual. Good
Clotilde! Always the same,--generous as a queen! What a pity I was ever
driven to ask her,--her still so handsome! I sometimes regret it, but I
only did it in a direful extremity, and on sheer compulsion."
"Your lordship's cabriolet is at the door," said M. Boyer, on entering
the room.
"Who brought this letter?" Florestan inquired.
"I do not know, my lord."
"Well, I will ask below. But tell me, was there no one in the ground
floor?" asked the vicomte, looking significantly at Boyer.
"There is no one there now, my lord."
"I was not mistaken," thought Florestan; "Clotilde waited for me, and is
now gone."
"If your lordship would have the goodness to grant me two minutes," said
Boyer.
"Speak, but be quick!"
"Edwards and myself have learnt that the Duc de Montbrison is desirous
of forming an establishment. If your lordship would but just be so kind
to propose your own ready furnished, with the stable in first-rate
order, it would be a most admirable opportunity for Edwards and myself
to get the whole off our hands, and, perhaps, for your lordship a good
reason for disposing of them."
"_Pardieu!_ Boyer, you are right. As for me, I should prefer such an
arrangement. I will see Montbrison, and speak to him. What are your
terms?"
"Your lordship will easily understand that we are desirous of profiting
as much as possible by your generosity."
"And turn your bargain to the best advantage? Nothing can be plainer!
Let us see,--what's the price?"
"The whole, two hundred and sixty thousand francs (10,400_l._), my
lord."
"And you and Edwards will thus clear--"
"About forty thousand francs (1,600_l._), my lord."
"A very nice sum! But so much the better, for, after all, I am very much
satisfied with you, and, if I had to make my will, I should have
bequeathed that sum to you and Edwards."
And the vicomte went out, first to call on his creditor, then on Madame
de Lucenay, whom he did not suspect of having been present at his
conversation with Badinot.