It was true, as Jean had murmured to himself, that Mme. Leon was by
birth bourgeoise. As for the De Beaudrillarts, all France knew that
they belonged, not only to the noblesse, but to the oldest of the
noblesse. Their name was ancient. The church at Nonceaux, which at one
time stood on the estate, was full of monuments of armed and curled
Barons de Beaudrillart, lying stiffly under fretted canopies; old
documents in the library of Tours carried their names centuries back,
and their beautiful chateau was an object of interest to all the
strangers who come into the neighbourhood.
It is true that, six years ago, before Baron Leon was married, and when
he was about three-and-twenty, these same strangers remarked upon the
bad state of repair into which the chateau had fallen, pointing out that
in many of the rooms, now disused and shut up, the plaster was peeling
from the ceilings and exquisite cornices, and that other parts had
reached a state of absolute ruin; but, whatever pain this decay may have
caused to the owners, it only added to the tranquil picturesque charm
which seemed to cling to the old place. There was a lovely pitch of
roof, and the slate, worn out as it was, had gained a rich depth as
beautiful as that of a rain-cloud, making a perfect setting for the
delicate and fantastic chimneys which sprang lightly into the air. The
chateau was of no great size, nor could it in any way compare with those
grand historic houses of which Touraine is justly proud; but whatever
architect imagined it had been imbued with the same spirit, and had
indulged in the same grace of detail. There was no stiffness,
apparently scarcely an attempt at symmetry; yet it would have been
difficult to detect a flaw in the harmony of form and colour. A light
lantern turret clung to one angle, a wilful little outer staircase ran
up, quite unexpectedly, to a balcony, small ferns pierced the crevices
of the grey stone, where lizards darted in and out, here and there in
spring a rosy cyclamen appeared. The place was never without delight,
whether seen under the warm radiance of the sun, which brought out the
lizards and intensified into sharpness the rich shadow of each bit of
carving, and every golden patch of lichen on the mellow stone, or
clothed with a more restful and sympathetic charm under the soft cloudy
half-lights of a grey day. Behind the chateau rose a low wooded hill,
in front ran a long terrace, which separated it from the flower-beds and
a broad stretch of turf. The kitchen-garden and the pond, where frogs
kept up a turbulent croaking, were on one side.
But the decay which may add a charm to architecture becomes dreary and
unlovely in a garden. Six years ago the turf was uncared for, the
flowers grew untrimmed; it was evident that the fortunes of the family
were at a low ebb. So with the interior. The greater number of rooms
were closed, and only two or three servants remained of the many who had
been there during the lifetime of the Baron Bernard. The Baron Bernard
had been a man of sense and integrity, highly respected in the
neighbourhood--unfortunately, he was drowned in the river at a
comparatively early age, leaving a widow; one son, Leon; two daughters,
Felicie and Claire; and a well-ordered estate.
For a few years this continued, but with Leon grown up came change. He
was a young man with the easiest of tempers, a genuine charm of face and
manner, and the most extravagant tastes. His mother and sisters adored,
and did their best to spoil him. They succeeded admirably. He began to
spend money at the earliest possible age at which a man masters that
easiest of accomplishments, and he denied himself nothing. There had
been savings daring his boyhood; he fancied the sum inexhaustible, and
looked upon it as loose cash intended to be flung away. It was not, it
need hardly he remarked, at Poissy that the money was spent; Paris--
Paris became the one place in the world where he cared to pass his days,
with an occasional flying visit to Poissy, where his intendant was
installed with the impossible task before him of meeting increased
expenditure upon diminishing receipts. M. Georges seldom saw his
employer, and then was put off by good-humoured banter. If he carried
his tale to Mme. de Beaudrillart, she invariably treated him as the one
to blame, and would only repeat that it was natural for a young man to
enjoy himself during the early years of his life. Money must be raised
somehow.
"In that case, madame," said little M. Georges, as firmly as he could,
"portions of the property will have to be sold. Monsieur le baron will
consent?"
She paused, struck with dismay.
"You mean that it is absolutely necessary?"
"I mean that no other course whatever remains--except to borrow."
"Oh, no borrowing!" returned Mme. de Beaudrillart, hastily, and M.
Georges smiled covertly, aware of M. Leon's debts in Paris. She walked
to the window, and came back. "If it must be," she said, reluctantly,
"you had better dispose of some of the outlying property. But permit me
to remark, Monsieur Georges, that it appears to me that perhaps greater
experience might have prevented such a sacrifice."
Experience had, at any rate, taught poor M. Georges the undesirability
of entering upon an argument with Mme. de Beaudrillart. He bowed low,
and retired to write to M. Leon, who sent him an airy letter to the
effect that in years to come it would be easy enough to buy back
whatever their misfortunes required them to part with at the present
moment. Mme. de Beaudrillart, whenever she encountered M. Georges,
looked at him with displeasure; the only person from whom he received
any sympathy was Mlle. Claire, and hers scarcely reached the point of
blaming Leon.
The first piece of property sold soon carried another with it. Rich
vineyards and mills found immediate purchasers, and changed hands
easily. The worst of it was that Poissy was left with land which was
not so profitable, and that the rentals became quickly reduced, while M.
Leon's expend it are did not diminish in the same proportion, for if by
fits and starts he practised a little economy, it was followed by a
reaction, as if he imagined that what he had saved gave him something
more to spend. Debts and mortgages, like venomous spiders, crept over
poor Poissy, and, once having got it in their clutches, held it tight.
They reached this point at last, that nothing remained with which to
satisfy his creditors except the chateau itself; and when the fact
forced itself upon his mind, the shock was sufficiently great to stun
even M. Leon.
He hurried back, and sent for M. Georges. In the crash of disaster he
felt as if he had been purposely kept in ignorance, forgetting the
letters which had seemed to him only the tiresome forebodings of a timid
man. His mother, who refused to blame her son, offered up the intendant
as a scapegoat. If he were not in fault, how could matters have arrived
at their present disastrous condition? For what was he placed there, if
not to preserve the estates! M. Leon winced.
"What I complain of is that the state of affairs should not have been
forced upon me," he said, running his hands through his hair. "Good
heavens! if I had once understood, should I have been such a fool?"
Mlle. Claire, who was very pale, looked up.
"Did not Monsieur Georges entreat you to return, or to appoint to see
him in Paris!"
"Entreat! He should have insisted," cried Mme. de Beaudrillart. "If
Leon had but understood the gravity of the case, or if I had but known!
But Monsieur Georges is a man who lays infinite stress on minute points,
and fails altogether to impress you with what is important."
M. Georges was dismissed; and this was perhaps the only deliberate
harshness Leon ever committed in his life. Then the young baron set
himself to look into his debts, and get together the total sum; it
amounted to more than two hundred thousand francs.
"There is but one thing," said Mme. de Beaudrillart; "you must marry."
But to this Leon, who had not shown himself very scrupulous, objected.
He had no inclination, he said, to marry, and he disliked the idea of
being indebted for Poissy itself to a wife. He would go to Paris, where
it would be hard if he could not, among quick-witted advisers, find some
means of redeeming his fortunes. He went, and, for the first time in
his life, really worked, and with feverish energy. He ran here and
there among his old companions, who were prodigal of sympathy, but
offered little more substantial. It seemed impossible that he should be
unable to raise money when, throughout his prosperous days, it had been
pressed upon him. But his eyes were sufficiently opened to perceive
that the only terms by which he could free himself from present disaster
were ruinous, and would merely serve to postpone the evil day. As the
value of his securities decreased, a more extortionate rate of interest
was demanded. He cursed his own folly, but could see no way out of the
quagmire into which it had plunged him. His friends reiterated Mme. de
Beaudrillart's advice. For the sake of rank, many a girl with a large
fortune would be ready to raise his fallen fortunes; one or two were
even pointed out to him, and their dowries dangled before his eyes. But
he remained obstinate.
When he came to Paris there had been an idea of his seeking some
appointment, by means of which, and the strictest economy at Poissy, the
interest on his debts might be scraped together. Unfortunately, Leon's
ideas of money were large--so large that a little seemed to him as
useless as none. If by one great coup he might gain a considerable
sum--good! But to add franc to franc, and painfully lessen his
obligations by scarcely perceptible payments, was economy from which his
soul revolted, and which, therefore, he contrived to persuade himself
was worthless. It might suit the sordid little nature of a bourgeois
bonhomme, but not that of the owner of Poissy. Something larger must be
attempted, and quickly.
Before Leon's eyes there had floated for some time the possibility of
applying to an old cousin of the family, a certain M. de Cadanet. For
various reasons, it appeared as if he were the very person to assist
him. Rumour credited him with an immense fortune; and, at any rate,
there could be no doubt that he had made more than one successful
speculation, among them that of marrying a rich wife, who died
childless. Rich and solitary, what better person could be found to come
to the rescue of the De Beaudrillarts? And there was an even stronger
reason for counting upon his good-will. In the days when he had not
found prosperity, and was struggling to stand up against more than one
hard buffet dealt by Fortune, Leon's father had given him a helping
hand. Perhaps without him he would have been unable to keep his
footing; certainly the support was of material service, and Leon had
some excuse for thinking that now was the moment for him to return it.
But, unfortunately, the relations between the young man and the old were
already strained. It was not only that Leon's frivolities, Leon's
extravagances, were hateful to the cautions and clear-headed speculator,
who had made his way to wealth by dint of industry and prudence, and set
those virtues beyond all others--there was a third person whose
influence was extremely damaging to the young baron, a certain Charles
Lemaire, who had married a niece of M. de Cadanet's wife. His uncle
credited him with the qualities he loved, and there could be no doubt
that he was cautious, and, when it suited his interests, frugal. He
had, however, as Leon knew very well to his own cost, a passion for
gambling, and at the same time extraordinary luck. When first the two
found themselves at the same table, they were unknown to each other, and
Charles had never got over the disagreeable shock with which he realised
that the handsome young man who lost his money so easily was cousin to
the uncle to whose solitary habits he trusted for non-detection. From
that moment he detested him, and worked to damage his character in the
eyes of M. de Cadanet. His follies--and Heaven knows they were many--
were repeated and exaggerated. Each idle rumour, whether well or ill
founded, reached the old man's ears. Rash and youthful political
utterances were spoken of with sorrowful gravity. One or two laughing
comments upon M. de Cadanet's habits became cruel ridicule. And with
all this M. Charles lost no opportunity of ingratiating himself. He
understood the subtile flattery of asking advice, and of outwardly
following it. He deferred to his uncle in every point. And he
contrived, at last, to make himself so necessary to M. de Cadanet that
if he stayed away he was missed and blamed.
Leon made no attempt to act as a rival. Kind-heartedness and general
good-will inclined him to look in upon the solitary old man, and he went
once or twice to his house. But he was received with coldness and
marked displeasure, and had pleased himself too long to endure what he
disliked. His visits ceased. M. de Cadanet, who claimed attention,
became more incensed. Once or twice he asked Charles where the young
fool kept himself.
"My dear uncle, how should I know? You do not expect me to frequent his
haunts. And it would pain me too much to repeat to you all that I hear.
It is more charitable to shut one's ears, and to hope that the world is
mistaken."
And he pressed his hand on his pocket, where reposed the notes he had
won the night before.
On his part, Leon suspected him of enmity, but would have scorned to
retaliate; and Charles based his own assurance upon knowledge of his
character, and upon the insidious manner in which he had poisoned his
uncle's mind.
Now, however, when the waters were closing over the De Beaudrillarts,
Leon felt that the moment had come for an appeal. Surely gratitude to
the dead man who had helped him would induce M. de Cadanet to step
forward and save his son from ruin. Leon, whose nature was buoyantly
sanguine, made up his mind to a scolding, but saw himself coming away
with the estates saved. As he walked along the streets, sparkling with
crisp sunshine and gaiety, his spirits rose, and the fears and torments
he had been going through fell away. He almost laughed when he thought
of a despairing letter to his mother which he had written the night
before and had with him, and he assured himself that the postscript
which must undoubtedly be added would bring joy to Poissy.
In this hopeful frame of mind he reached M. de Cadanet's house in the
Rue du Bac, a house quiet and somewhat gloomy in appearance. Leon
entered the porte-cochere, and passed the small office of the concierge.
He went quickly up to the first-floor, and, passing through an
austerely furnished suite of rooms, was finally ushered into one smaller
than the others, where, surrounded by books and a few indifferent
pictures, M. de Cadanet sat writing, an old man, short, bent, and with a
skin like yellow ivory.
Leon came in smiling, almost radiant. He had succeeded in persuading
his sanguine self that he had reached the end of his difficulties, and
he had profound faith in the imperturbable good-humour which seldom
failed to charm. He advanced with outstretched hand, coldly received by
his cousin.
"I am ashamed, count, to recall how long it is since I have been to call
on you. Do you forgive me?"
The old man drew himself up.
"I am not aware of having expected the honour of a visit from Monsieur
de Beaudrillart."
"I accept the rebuke," said Leon, smiling frankly. "To tell the truth,
you might have seen me oftener if I had been sure of a welcome. But I
am afraid I have deserved my disgrace."
"Of that no one, monsieur, can judge better than yourself."
"Why monsieur?" said the young man, still smiling. "In old days you
spoke to me as Leon; and you do not forget that we are cousins."
"One does not so easily forget one's misfortunes."
"Misfortunes!" repeated Leon, colouring. The next moment he recovered
himself sufficiently to say good-humouredly, "Pardon me, but was it
always a misfortune, count!"
The old man glanced at him with the first touch of wavering in his face.
"You need not remind me," he said. "I should not now be listening to
you were it not for the remembrance of your father. But you did not
come here merely to pay a visit of ceremony to a cantankerous old
mummy?"
He emphasised the words bitterly, for, according to M. Charles, this
title had been attached to him by Leon. Leon stared and shrugged his
shoulders, unconscious of offence, and only anxious to propitiate his
terrible relative.
"You are right," he said, looking down and speaking more hurriedly. "I
am here because I am in great difficulties, and because I hoped that--
that the remembrance of my father would dispose you to come to the help
of his son."
"And may I ask what has plunged you into difficulties?"
"Oh, my own folly; I don't attempt to deny it--my own folly, helped on
by a dolt of an intendant. If I had had any idea--However, I do not
excuse myself. I have been confoundedly extravagant, and I mean to pull
up short, I assure you. But, after all, other young men have been in
the same position, and, with a helping hand, have managed to scramble
out of it again. I have been up here for a week seeing what I could
do--"
"At the gaming-tables!"
"No, no, I give you my word that is over. I have been trying to
raise--"
"How much!"
"Two hundred thousand francs," said the young man, in a low voice.
"There are money-lenders enough in Paris," remarked M. de Cadanet,
dryly.
"But with the securities I can offer, their terms are ruinous. If I
were to accept them, Poissy would have to go. Judge for yourself
whether this would not break my mother's heart."
"I have not the honour of the acquaintance of Madame de Beaudrillart."
Leon did not answer at once. He was framing a more direct appeal.
"The estate must right itself in time," he said, hopefully, "and if I
could induce you to take the matter into consideration, and to advance
me the money--"
He paused. M. de Cadanet turned towards his writing-table, unlocked a
drawer, and drew out a cheque-book.
"You said, I think, two hundred thousand!" he asked, beginning to fill
it in.
"Two hundred thousand," repeated the young man, joyfully, without an
attempt to conceal the exultation with which he watched the proceeding.
All had gone more easily than his most sanguine expectations had
ventured to suggest, and he was amazed at his own folly in having
hesitated to apply to his rich cousin, whose bark, after all, was worse
than his bite. M. de Cadanet's movements were deliberate in the
extreme. He wrote a cheque, folded it, and sought for an envelope of
the right size. This found, he proceeded to direct it. Leon smiled to
himself. "An unnecessary formality," he thought; "but I had better hold
my tongue, and let him please himself as to his way of doing." It
seemed to him, however, that the moment had come when he might express
his gratitude, and he was beginning to stammer a few words, when M. de
Cadanet put up his hand.
"One moment, monsieur. Allow me to explain. Neither the honour of this
visit nor the particulars with which you have favoured me have taken me
by surprise. I have already given the affairs of Poissy my best
consideration."
Leon nodded cheerfully. This explained.
"And I have arrived at the conclusion that since the Beaudrillart family
has reached the point indicated by you, it must be decreed that it
should pass the remainder of its existence without a chateau. Heaven
forbid that I should attempt to fight against fate!"
The scorn of his words stung like a lash. Leon, bewildered and
astonished, turned white. He murmured something which the old count
interrupted with a sudden outburst of passion.
"What, monsieur! You squander your birthright on miserable follies, you
drag the name you profess to honour into the lowest depths, and then
come to beg--yes, monsieur, I repeat it, to beg--from those whose advice
you have scorned, and whose character you have calumniated! No. I give
you my word--a word which, however strange it may appear to you, has
never yet been broken--that, in whatever straits you find yourself, I
will not so much as lift my little finger to help you, nor fling a penny
to keep you from starving. Understand that, if you had become poor by
honest misfortunes, I would have set you again on your legs. You have
had your chance. I would not trust mere report, though to those who
were acquainted with your habits it appeared only too probable. Close
and searching inquiries have been made, and it is possible that I know
more of your affairs than you know yourself--certainly more than you
have permitted me to hear from you to-day."
Leon sprang to his feet.
"Enough, monsieur!" he cried. "You have a right to refuse assistance,
but none to insult me. If you have employed spies to search into my
private affairs, you have taken an unwarrantable liberty, upon which you
would not have ventured had you been of an age for me to retaliate.
Much of what you say is incomprehensible to me; a little more might
cause me to forget the respect due to your years."
"Spare me theatrical language, monsieur; and, as you have forced
yourself upon me, be good enough to listen to what I have to tell you.
This letter contains an order for two hundred thousand francs."
Against his will, the young man's eyes turned greedily towards it.
"Are you not inclined to add to your accomplishments by robbery and
murder?" sneered M. de Cadanet.
"If I had the chance, I should be glad to get hold of the money," said
the young man, lightly. His anger burned out as quickly as dry straw,
and the other, who had not expected this frank answer, stared and went
on:
"When I gave myself the annoyance of looking into your affairs, I
resolved that, if you came out of the ordeal acquitted, I would apply
the earn to their settlement; if you failed, it should go to--another
person."
Leon laughed. The count, who had not the young man's command of temper,
became furious.
"You laugh, monsieur! Let those laugh who win."
"Exactly," said M. de Beaudrillart, coolly. "And who wins? The
admirable Charles?"
"Yes, monsieur!" thundered the count. "He whom you are pleased to sneer
at as the admirable Charles, and who, if not a Beaudrillart, has shown
himself to be what is better--an honourable man. You follow me?"
"Perfectly. You express yourself with unmistakable clearness. So
Monsieur Charles is to have the money!"
"And will make a worthy use of it. He may find more follow."
"I comprehend," said Leon, still smiling. "Under the circumstances, you
are doubtless anxious to despatch your letter to Monsieur Charles. Can
I post it for you?"
It was M. de Cadanet's turn to laugh--gratingly.
"Permit me to prefer a safer messenger. My cheque is payable to
bearer."
"Then I have the honour to wish you good-day."
"Go. And understand, once for all, that should you apply to me again,
you will not be admitted."
"Do not fear, monsieur. The impression I take with me is not so
agreeable that I should wish to renew it."
And with this last word M. de Beaudrillart found himself outside the
room.
He went slowly down-stairs, the smile still lingering mechanically on
his lips, but something like despair in his heart. So far as he could
see, but one way presented itself out of his troubles, and this would
only affect himself, and leave his mother, whom he loved, with added
misery in her heart. No misfortune would touch her, he knew, so nearly
as his death, and if he had the cowardice to be ready to slip out of his
troubles by self-murder, he had not the cruelty to inflict such anguish
upon her. Besides, another reflection, not so amiable, restrained him.
M. de Cadanet had hinted at coming gifts for M. Charles, and the
thought had flashed upon him with the force of intuition that it was not
improbable, should the mortgages be foreclosed, for the count to get
hold of Poissy and present it to M. Charles. Now, without knowing all
the mischief that he had worked, Leon hated M. Charles. His hate was
not virulent, but it was impulsive; and although he had no proof, he
strongly suspected who had brought an exaggerated report of his follies
to M. de Cadanet's ears. He might have retaliated, but that he would
never stoop to such a course, and he reflected with a laugh that, if
Charles was convicted of gambling, he would be ready with the excuse
that he had gone there to watch himself. But Charles at Poissy!
Charles a successor of the De Beaudrillarts! Leon ground his teeth, and
felt that he must remain alive while a hope of baffling such a disaster
was left.
Again he passed the little room of the concierge. Andre, who was
something of a gourmand, was within at work upon cooking a fish, and
looked up to salute M. Leon. In another moment the high green gates
had closed behind the young baron, and he was walking along the street.
The sun was shining. Paris--the Paris he loved, the Paris which had
proved herself so fatal a rival to Poissy--had never looked more
smiling; there was neither fog nor chill in the air; but everywhere
bright keen colours, people chatting, shops brightly dressed, women in
their white caps, carriages rolling along. Gay, yet with a touch of
hardness. For the first time in his life Leon became conscious of the
hardness.
He knew himself now to be absolutely without resource; turn which way he
would, rack ready wits as he might, no road suggested itself except,
perhaps, marriage. And, strangely enough, as has been said, this man,
who, young as he was, had few ideals left, had this, that he shrank from
mending his broken fortunes by a marriage for money. True, it was
common, almost universal. True, in matters relating to his own ease and
comfort, selfishness generally became paramount. True, this fancy
contradicted other characteristics. The fact remained that he hated the
idea, and refused to entertain it, even in this moment of despair, when
he had entertained others which seemed worse, when he acknowledged that
M. de Cadanet had been rash in letting him see the cheque, and that if
it had been M. Charles who had stood there between it and him--
He took an open letter from his pocket, and groaned as he closed it, so
that a woman who was passing looked round; but seeing only a handsome
young man with a cheek as round as a child's, she smiled and went on.
The letter was addressed to Mme. de Beaudrillart, at Poissy, and had
been brought with him with the hope that an added postscript might have
told of some happy turn of Fortune's wheel. Now it must go as it stood,
messenger of ill-tidings.
"Monsieur le baron has not got far."
Leon looked hastily round; Andre the concierge was by his side. His
first wild thought was that M. de Cadanet had relented and sent after
him, the next moment his eye fell upon a packet of letters which the man
carried, and he was seized with longing to know whether the letter
addressed to M. Charles was among them. His genial manner made him a
favourite with servants.
"Ah, Andre," he said; "you have there monsieur le comte's letters?"
"As monsieur le baron sees."
"Permit me to glance at them. I wish to see whether one of which he
spoke is there."
They were in his hand even before he had finished speaking--four. Yes;
the address to M. Charles Lemaire stared him in the face. The next
moment the concierge had four letters again, but one of the four was
addressed to Mme. de Beaudrillart, at Poissy.
"Thanks, Andre." M. Leon burst into a laugh, and tossed the man a
piece of twenty sous. "Tell monsieur le comte--No; tell him nothing; I
will write."
That evening M. de Cadanet received a letter:
"My Cousin,--I have taken the liberty of borrowing the sum which you had
so thoughtfully prepared for Monsieur Charles. It would have been
better for him if you had accepted my offer to post your letter; as you
declined to trust me, I had no scruple in exchanging it for another
which found itself in my hand at the exact moment. Do not blame your
messenger, who is quite unaware of the transaction. By my writing to
you, you will perceive that I have no intention of denying what I have
done. It is in your power to have me arrested. You know where to find
me, and I will remain in Paris for two days, so as to avoid the pain to
my family of a scandal at Poissy. Permit me, however, to point out that
I have only taken the money as a loan, that it will be returned to you
by instalments, and with interest, though, I fear, slowly, and that you
may find it more advantageous to allow the matter to rest than to ruin
one who, however unworthy, is the son of the man to whom you were
certainly indebted for your prosperity."
It must be owned that this was a strange letter to write and to receive.
The answer that came back was brief:
"Monsieur,--You have confirmed me in my judgment. I preserve your
letter. For the present I hold my hand; when the time arrives I shall
know how to act.
"Martin de Cadanet."