THE VANISHING BILLS.
Had Andre known a little more of the man he had to deal with, he would
have learned that no one could fall like an earthquake upon Van Klopen.
Shut up in the sanctum where he composed the numberless costumes
that were the wonder and delight of Paris, Van Klopen made as careful
arrangements to secure himself from the interview as the Turk does to
guard the approaches to his seraglio; and so Andre and Gandelu were
accosted in the entrance hall by his stately footmen, clad in gorgeous
liveries, glittering with gold.
“M. van Klopen is of the utmost importance,” asserted Andre.
“Our master is composing.”
Entreaties, threats, and even a bribe of one hundred francs were alike
useless; and Andre, seeing that he was about to be checkmated, was half
tempted to take the men by the collar and hurl them on one side, but he
calmed himself, and, already repenting of his violence at Verminet’s, he
determined on a course of submission, and so meekly followed the footmen
into the famous waiting-room, styled by Van Klopen his purgatory.
The footmen, however, had spoken the truth, for several ladies of the
highest rank and standing were awaiting the return of this _arbiter
elegantiarum_. All of them turned as the young men entered--all save
one, who was gazing out of the window, drawing with her pretty fingers
on the window panes. Andre recognized her in an instant as Madame de
Bois Arden.
“Is it possible?” thought he. “Can the Countess have returned here after
what has occurred?”
Gaston felt that five charming pairs of eyes were fixed upon him, and
studied to assume his most graceful posture.
After a brief time given to arrangement, Andre grew disgusted.
“I wish that she would look round,” said he to himself. “I think she
would feel rather ashamed. I will say a word to her.”
He rose from his chair, and, without thinking how terribly he might
compromise the lady, he took up a position at her side. She was,
however, intently watching something that was going on in the street,
and did not turn her head.
“Madame,” said he.
She started, and, as she turned and recognized Andre, she uttered a
little cry of surprise.
“Great heavens! is that you?”
“Yes, it is I.”
“And here? I dare say that my presence in this place surprises you,” she
went on, “and that I have a short memory, and no feelings of pride.”
Andre made no reply, and his silence was a sufficient rejoinder to the
question.
“You do me a great injustice,” muttered the Countess. “I am here because
De Breulh told me that in your interests I ought to pardon Van Klopen,
and go to him again as I used to do; so you see, M. Andre, that it is
never safe to judge by appearance, and a woman more than anything else.”
“Will you forgive me?” asked Andre earnestly.
The lady interrupted him by a little wave of her hand, invisible to all
save to him, which clearly said,--
“Take care; we are not alone.”
She once more turned her eyes towards the street, and he mechanically
did the same. By this means their faces were hidden from observation.
“De Breulh,” went on the lady, “has heard a good deal about De
Croisenois, and, as no doubt you can guess, but very little to his
credit, and quite enough to justify any father in refusing him his
daughter’s hand; but in this case it is evident to me that De Mussidan
is yielding to a secret pressure. We must ferret out some hidden crime
in De Croisenois’ past which will force him to withdraw his proposal.”
“I shall find one,” muttered Andre.
“But remember there is no time to be lost. According to our agreement, I
treat him in the most charming manner, and he thinks that I am entirely
devoted to his interests, and to-morrow I have arranged to introduce him
to the Count and Countess at the Hotel de Mussidan, where the Count and
Countess have agreed to receive him.”
Andre started at this news.
“I saw,” continued the lady, “that you were quite right in the opinion
you had formed, for in the first place the common danger has almost
reconciled the Count and Countess affectionately to each other, though
it is notorious that they have always lived in the most unhappy manner.
Their faces are careworn and full of anxiety, and they watch every
movement of Sabine with eager eyes. I think that they look upon her as
a means of safety, but shudder at the sacrifice she is making on their
account.”
“And Sabine?”
“Her conduct is perfectly sublime, and she is ready to consummate the
sacrifice without a murmur. Her self-sacrificing devotion is perfectly
admirable; but what is more admirable still is the way in which she
conceals the suffering that she endures from her parents. Noble-hearted
girl! she is calm and silent, but she has always been so. She has grown
thinner, and perhaps her cheek is a trifle paler, but her forehead
was burning and seemed to scorch my lips as I kissed her. With this
exception, however, there was nothing else about her that would betray
her tortures. Modeste, her maid, told me, moreover, that when night came
she seemed utterly worn out, and the poor girl, with tears in her eyes,
declared ‘that her dear mistress was killing herself.’”
Andre’s eyes overflowed with tears.
“What have I done to deserve such love?” asked he.
A door suddenly opened, and Andre and the Viscountess turned hastily at
the sound. It was Van Klopen who came in, crying, according to his usual
custom,--
“Well, and whose turn is it next?”
When, however, he saw Gaston, his face grew white, and it was with a
smile that he stepped towards him, motioning back the lady whose turn it
was, and who protested loudly against this injustice.
“Ah, M. de Gandelu,” said he, “you have come, I suppose, to bespeak some
fresh toilettes for that exquisite creature, Zora de Chantemille?”
“Not to-day,” returned Gaston. “Zora is a little indisposed.”
Andre, however, who had arranged the narrative that he was about to pour
into the ears of the famous Van Klopen, was in too much haste to permit
of any unnecessary delay.
“We have come here,” said he hurriedly, “upon a matter of some moment.
My friend, M. Gaston de Gandelu, is about to leave Paris for some
months, and, before doing so, is anxious to settle all outstanding
accounts, and retire all his bills, which may not yet have fallen due.”
“Have I any bills of M. de Gandelu?” said Van Klopen slowly. “Ah, yes,
I remember that I had some now. Yes, five bills of one thousand francs
each, drawn by Gandelu, and accepted by Martin Rigal. I received them
from the Mutual Loan Society, but they are no longer in my hands.”
“Is that the case?” murmured Gaston, growing sick with apprehension.
“Yes, I sent them to my cloth merchants at St. Etienne, Rollon and
Company.”
Van Klopen was a clever scoundrel, but he sometimes lacked the necessary
perception of when he had said enough; and this was proved to-day, for,
agitated by the steady gaze that Andre kept upon him, he added,--
“If you do not believe my word, I can show you the acknowledgment that I
received from that firm.”
“It is unnecessary,” replied Andre. “Your statement is quite
sufficient.”
“I should prefer to let you see the letter.”
“No, thank you,” replied Andre, not for a moment duped by the game that
was being played. “Pray take no more trouble. We shall, I presume, find
that the bills are at St. Etienne. There is no use in taking any more
trouble about them, and we will wait until they arrive at maturity. I
have the honor to wish you good morning.”
And with these words he dragged away Gaston, who was actually about to
consult Van Klopen as to the most becoming costume for Zora to appear in
on leaving the prison of St. Lazare. When they were a few doors from the
man-milliner’s, Andre stopped and wrote down the names of Van Klopen’s
cloth merchants. Gaston was now quite at his ease.
“I think,” remarked he, “that Van Klopen is a sharp fellow; he knows
that I am to be relied on.”
“Where do you think your bills are?”
“At St. Etienne’s, of course.”
The perfect innocence of the boy elicited from Andre a gesture of
impatient commiseration.
“Listen to me,” said he, “and see if you can comprehend the awful
position in which you have placed yourself.”
“I am listening, my dear fellow; pray go on.”
“You drew these bills through Verminet because Van Klopen would not give
you credit.”
“Exactly so.”
“How, then, do you account for the fact that this man, who was at first
disinclined to trust you, should without rhyme or reason, offer to
supply you now as he did to-day?”
“The deuce! That never struck me. It does seem queer. Does he want to
play me a nasty trick? But which of them is it--Verminet or Van Klopen?”
“It is plain to me that the pair of them have entered into a pleasant
little plot to blackmail you.”
Young Gandelu did not at all like this turn, and he exclaimed,--
“Blackmail me, indeed! why, I know my way about better than that. They
won’t get much out of me, I can tell you.”
Andre shrugged his shoulders.
“Then,” said he, “just tell me what you intend to say to Verminet when
he comes to you upon the day your bills fall due, and says to you, ‘Give
me one hundred thousand francs for these five little bits of paper, or I
go straight to your father with them’?”
“I should say, of course--ah, well, I really do not know what I should
say.”
“You could say nothing, except that you had been imposed on in the most
infamous way. You would plead for time, and Verminet would give it to
you if you would execute a deed insuring him one hundred thousand francs
on the day you came of age.”
“A hundred thousand devils are all the rogue would get from me. That’s
the way I do things, do you see? If people try and ride roughshod over
me, I merely hit out, and then just look out for broken bones. Pay this
chap? Not I! I know the governor would make an almighty shine, but I’ll
choose that sooner than be had like that.”
He was quite serious but could only put his feelings into the language
he usually spoke.
“I think,” answered Andre, “that your father would forgive this
imprudence, but that it will be even harder for him to do so than it was
to send a doctor to number the hours he had to live. He will forgive you
because he is your father, and because he loves you; but Verminet, when
he finds that the threat to go to your father does not appall you, will
menace you with criminal proceedings.”
“Hulloo!” said Gandelu, stopping short. “I say, that is very poor fun,”
gasped he.
“There is no fun in it, for such fun, when brought to the notice of a
court of justice, goes by the ugly name of forgery, and forgery means a
swinging heavy sentence.”
Gaston turned pale, and trembled from head to foot.
“Tried and sentenced,” faltered he. “No, I don’t believe you, but I hold
no honors and will turn up my cards.” He quite forgot that he was in the
public street, and was talking at the top of his shrill falsetto voice,
and gesticulating violently.
“The poor old governor, I might have made him so happy, and, after all,
I have only been a torment to him. Ah, could I but begin once more; but
then the cards are dealt, and I must go on with the game, and I have
made a nice muddle of the whole thing before I am twenty years of age;
but no criminal courts for me, no, the easiest way out of it is a pistol
shot, for I am an honest man’s son, and I will not bring more disgrace
on him than I have already done.”
“Do you really mean what you say?” asked Andre.
“Of course I do. I can be firm enough sometimes.”
“Then we will not despair yet,” answered the young painter. “I think
that we shall be able to settle this ugly business, but you cannot be
too cautious. Keep indoors, and remember that I may have urgent need of
you at almost any time of day or night.”
“I agree, but remember this, Zora is not to be forgotten.”
“Don’t fret over that; I will call and see her to-morrow. And now,
farewell for to-day, as I have not an instant to lose,” and with these
words Andre hurried off.
Andre’s reason for haste was that he had caught a few words addressed by
Verminet to Croisenois--“I shall see Mascarin at four o’clock.” And
he determined to loiter about the Rue St. Anne, and watch the Managing
Director when he came out, and so find out who this Mascarin was, who he
was certain was mixed up in the plot. He darted down the Rue de Grammont
like an arrow from a bow, and as the clock in a neighboring belfry
chimed half-past three, he was in the Rue St. Anne. There was a small
wine-shop almost opposite to the office of the Mutual Loan Society,
and there Andre ensconced himself and made a frugal meal, while he was
waiting for Verminet’s appearance, and just as he had finished his light
refreshment he saw the man he wanted come out of the office, and crept
cautiously after him like a Red Indian on the trail of his enemy.