A MELANCHOLY MASHER.
When Mascarin spoke of suppressing the man who stood in his way as
easily as if he was alluding to extinguishing a candle, he was not
aware that there was one circumstance which considerably enhanced the
difficulty of his task, for Andre had been forewarned, and this note of
warning had been sounded on the day on which he had received that
letter from Sabine, in which she spoke in such despairing terms of her
approaching marriage, which she had been compelled to agree to to
save the honor of her family. This feeling was strengthened by a long
conversation he had had with M. de Breulh-Faverlay and the Viscountess
de Bois Arden, in which it was unanimously decided that the Count
and Countess de Mussidan were victims of some plot of which Henri de
Croisenois was certainly one of the promoters. He had no conception on
what side to look for the danger, but he had an instinctive feeling that
it was impending. He prepared, therefore, to act on the defensive. It
was not only his life that was in danger, but his love and his future
happiness. M. de Breulh-Faverlay had also serious apprehensions for the
safety of a man for whom he entertained so great a respect and regard.
“I would lay a heavy wager,” said he, “that we have to do with some
villainous blackmailers, and the difficulty of the business is, that
we must do the work ourselves, for we dare not invite the aid of the
police. We have no proof to offer, and the police will not stir a foot
on mere suppositions, and we should not earn the thanks of those we are
desirous of assisting if we called the attention of the law to certain
acts in their past lives; for who can say what the terrible secret is,
that some vile wretch holds over the heads of M. and Madame de Mussidan?
And it is quite on the cards that the Count and the Countess might be
compelled to join the blackmailers and oppose us. We must act with the
greatest prudence and caution. Remember, that if you are out at night,
you must avoid dark corners, for it would be the easiest thing in the
world to put a knife into your back.”
The conclusion that was arrived at, at this interview, was that for
the present Andre and De Breulh should cease to see each other so
frequently. They felt convinced that a watch had been set on them, and
that their intimacy would certainly be notified to De Croisenois; and of
course they had every desire to cause him to imagine that they were
not acting in any way together. The arrangement, therefore, that they
entered into was that each should act from his own point of vantage
against Henri de Croisenois, and that when necessary they should meet
in the evening to compare notes in a small _café_ in the Champs Elysees,
not far from the house in which Andre was at work.
His courage was still as high as ever, but the first symptoms of
rashness had vanished. He was a born diplomatist, and fully realized
that cunning and treachery must be met by similar weapons. He must not
break his engagement to M. Gandelu; but how could he superintend the
workmen and keep an eye on Croisenois at the same time? Money was
absolutely necessary, and yet he felt a strange disinclination to accept
a loan from M. de Breulh. If he were to throw up his work, it would
naturally create suspicion.
M. Gandelu had a shrewd head, and Andre, remembering the old man’s
kindness to him on all occasions, determined to confide the matter to
him, and with this object he called on him the next morning as the
clock was striking nine. His surprise was extreme when he saw Gaston de
Gandelu in the courtyard. He was just the same looking Gaston, the lover
of Madame de Chantemille, to the outward eye, but some grave calamity
had evidently entirely changed the inner man. He was smoking his cigar
with an air of desperation, and seemed to be utterly weary of the world
and its belongings.
At the moment Andre entered the young man caught sight of him.
“Halloo!” said he; “here is my artistic friend. I lay ten to one that
you have come to ask my father to do you a favor.”
“You are quite right; is he at home?”
“The governor is in the sulks; he has shut himself up, and will not see
me.”
“You are joking.”
“Not I; the old man is a regular despot, and I am sick of everything.”
Noticing that one of the grooms was listening, Gaston had sufficient
sense to draw Andre a little on one side.
“Do you know,” asked he, “that the governor has docked my screw and vows
that he will advertise himself as not responsible for the debts of yours
truly; but I cannot think he will do so, for that would be a regular
smash-up for me. You haven’t such a trifle as ten thousand francs about
you that you could lend me, have you? I’d give twenty thousand for the
accommodation when I came of age.”
“I must say--,” began Andre.
“All right; never mind; I understand. If you had the ready, you wouldn’t
be hanging about here; but for all that, I must have the cash. Hang it
all, I signed bills to that amount payable to Verminet. Do you know the
fellow?”
“Not at all.”
“Where were you dragged up? Why, he is the head of the Mutual Loan
Society. The only nuisance is, that to make matters run a bit smooth, I
wrote down the wrong name. Do you tumble, eh?”
“But, great heavens! that is forgery,” said Andre, aghast.
“Not a bit, for I always intended to pay; besides, I wanted the money to
square Van Klopen. You know _him_, I suppose?”
“No.”
“Well, he is the chap to dress a girl. I had those costumes for Zora
from him; but it is out and out the governor’s fault. Why did he
drive me to desperation? Yes, it is all the old man’s doing. He wasn’t
satisfied with pitching into me, but he collared that poor, helpless
lamb and shut her up. She never did him any harm, and I call it a right
down cowardly and despicable act to hurt Zora.”
“Zora,” repeated Andre, who did not recognize the name.
“Yes, Zora; you know; you had a feed with us one day.”
“Yes, yes; you mean Rose.”
“That’s it; but I don’t like any one to call her by that ugly, common
name. Well, the governor has gone mad about her, and filed a complaint
against her of decoying a minor, as if I was a fellow any one could
decoy. Well, the end of it was, that she is now in the prison of St.
Lazare.”
The tears started to the young man’s eyes as he related this grievance.
“Poor Zora,” he added; “I was never mashed on a woman like I was on her.
And then what a splendid form she has! Why, the hairdresser said he had
never seen such hair in his life; and she is at St. Lazare. As soon as
the police came for her, her first thoughts were of me, and she shrieked
out, ‘Poor Gaston will kill himself when he hears of this.’ The cook
told me this, and added that her mistress’s sufferings were terrible.
And she is at St. Lazare. I tried to see her, but it was no go;” and
here the boy’s voice broke into a sob.
“Come,” said Andre, “keep up your spirits.”
“Ah! you shall see if, as soon as I am twenty-one, I don’t marry her.
I don’t put all the blame on the old man. He has been advised by his
lawyer, a beast by the name of Catenac. Do you know _him_?”
“No.”
“You don’t seem to know any one. Well, I shall send him a challenge
to-morrow. I have got my seconds all ready. By the way, would you like
to act for me? I can easily get rid of one of the others.”
“I have had no experience in such matters.”
“Ah, then you would be of no use. My seconds must put him into a regular
blue funk.”
“In that case--”
“No; I know what you are going to say: you mean that I had best look out
for a military swell; but, after all, the matter lies in a nutshell. I
am the insulted party, and draw pistols at ten paces. If that frightens
him, he will make the governor drop all this rubbish.”
Had his mind not been so much occupied, this rhodomontade on Gaston’s
part would have amused Andre very much, but now he asked himself what
would be the quickest way to escape from him.
Just at this moment a servant emerged from the house.
“Sir,” said he, addressing Andre, “my master has seen you from his
window, and begs that you will go up to him at once.”
“I will be with him immediately,” answered Andre; and, holding out his
hand to Gaston, he took leave of him with a few words of encouragement.