THE TAFILA COPPER MINES, LIMITED.
Paul could not for the life of him imagine why Tantaine had left the
room in apparently so angry a mood. He had certainly spoken of Flavia
in a most improper manner; for the very weakness of which she had been
guilty should have caused him to treat her with tender deference and
respect. He could understand the anger of Hortebise, who was Rigal’s
friend; but what on earth had Tantaine in common with the wealthy banker
and his daughter? Forgetful of the pain which the smallest movement upon
his part produced, Paul sat up in his bed, and listened with intense
eagerness, hoping to catch what was going on in the next room; but he
could hear nothing through the thick walls and the closed door.
“What can they be doing?” asked he. “What fresh plot are they
contriving?”
Daddy Tantaine and Hortebise passed out of the room hastily, but when
they reached the staircase they stood still. The doctor wore the same
smiling expression of face, and he endeavored to calm his companion, who
appeared to be on the verge of desperation.
“Have courage,” whispered he; “what is the use of giving way to passion?
You cannot help this; it is too late now. Besides, even if you could,
you would not, as you know very well, indeed!”
The old man was moving his spectacles, not to wipe his glasses, but his
eyes.
“Ah!” moaned he, “now I can enter into the feelings of M. de Mussidan
when I proved to him that his daughter had a lover. I have been hard and
pitiless, and I am cruelly punished.”
“My old friend, you must not attach too much importance to what you have
heard. Paul is a mere boy, and, of course, a boaster.”
“Paul is a miserably cowardly dog,” answered the old man in a fierce
undertone. “Paul does not love the girl as she loves him; but what he
says is true, only too true, I can feel. Between her father and her
lover she would not hesitate for a moment. Ah! unhappy girl, what a
terrible future lies before her.”
He stopped himself abruptly.
“I cannot speak to her myself,” resumed he; “do you, doctor, strive and
make her have reason.”
Hortebise shrugged his shoulders. “I will see what my powers of oratory
can do,” answered he; “but you are not quite yourself to-day. Remember
that a chance word will betray the secret of our lives.”
“Go at once, and I swear to you that, happen what may, I will be calm.”
The doctor went back into Paul’s room, while Tantaine sat down on the
topmost stair, his face buried in his hands.
Mademoiselle Flavia was just going to Paul, when the doctor again
appeared.
“What, back again?” asked she petulantly. “I thought that you had been
far away by this time.”
“I want to say something to you,” answered he, “and something of a
rather serious nature. You must not elevate those charming eyebrows. I
see you guess what I am going to say, and you are right. I am come to
tell you that this is not the proper place for Mademoiselle Rigal.”
“I know that.”
This unexpected reply, made with the calmest air in the world, utterly
disconcerted the smiling doctor.
“It seems to me----” began he.
“That I ought not to be here; but then, you see, I place duty before
cold, worldly dictates. Paul is very ill, and has no one to take care of
him except his affianced bride; for has not my father given his consent
to our union?”
“Flavia, listen to the experience of a man of the world. The nature
of men is such that they never forgive a woman for compromising her
reputation, even though it be in their own favor. Do you know what
people will say twenty-four hours after your marriage? Why, that you had
been his mistress for weeks before, and that it was only the knowledge
of that fact that inclined your father to consent to the alliance.”
Flavia’s face grew crimson. “Very well,” said she, “I will obey, and
never say again that I was obstinate; but let me say one word to Paul,
and then I will leave him.”
The doctor retired, not guessing that this obedience arose from the
sudden suspicion which had arisen in Flavia’s mind. “It is done,” said
he, as he rejoined Tantaine on the stairs; “let us hasten, for she will
follow us at once.”
By the time that Tantaine got into the street, he seemed to have
recovered a certain amount of his self-command. “We have succeeded,”
said he, “but we shall have to work hard, and this marriage must be
hastened by every means in our power. It can be celebrated now without
any risk, for in twelve hours the only obstacle that stands between that
youth there and the colossal fortune of the Champdoce will have vanished
away.”
Though he had expected something of the kind, the face of the doctor
grew very pale.
“What, Andre?” faltered he.
“Andre is in great danger, doctor, and may not survive to-morrow, and a
portion of the work necessary to this end will be done to-night by our
young friend Toto Chupin.”
“By that young scamp? Why, only the other day you laughed when I
suggested employing him.”
“I shall this time kill two birds with one stone. Once an investigation
is made--let us speak plainly--into Andre’s death, there will be some
inquiry made as to a certain window frame that has been sawed through,
and suspicion will fall upon Toto Chupin, who will have been seen
lurking about the spot. It will be proved that he purchased a saw, and
that he changed just before a note for one thousand francs; he will be
found hiding in a garret in the Hotel de Perou.”
The doctor looked aghast. “Are you mad?” cried he. “Toto will accuse
you.”
“Very likely, but by that time poor old Tantaine will be dead and
buried. Then Mascarin will disappear, our faithful Beaumarchef will be
in the United States, and we can afford to laugh at the police.”
“It seems like a success,” said the doctor, “but push on for mercy’s
sake; all these delays and fluctuations will make me seriously ill.”
The two worthy associates held this conversation in a doorway, anxious
to be sure that Flavia had kept her promise. In a brief space of time
they saw her come out of the house and move in the direction of her
father’s bank.
“Now,” said Tantaine, “I can go in peace, doctor; farewell for the
present;” and without waiting for a reply he was walking rapidly away
when he was stopped by Beaumarchef, who came up breathless and barred
his passage.
“I was looking for you,” cried he; “the Marquis de Croisenois is in the
office and is swearing at me like anything.”
“Go back to the office and tell the Marquis that the master will soon be
with him;” and thus speaking, Tantaine disappeared down a court by the
side of Martin Rigal’s house.
The Marquis was striding up and down the office, every now and then
discharging a rumbling cannonade of oaths. “Fine business people,”
remarked he, “to make an appointment and then not to keep it!” He
checked himself; for the door of the inner office slowly opened, and
Mascarin appeared on the threshold. “Punctuality,” said he, “does not
consist in coming _before_, but _at_ the time appointed.”
The Marquis was cowed at once, and followed Mascarin into the sanctum
and watched him with curious gaze as the redoubtable head of the
association seemed to be searching for something among the papers on his
desk. When Mascarin had found what he was in search of, he turned and
addressed the Marquis.
“I desired to see you,” said he, “with reference to the great financial
enterprise which you are to launch almost immediately.”
“Yes; I understand that we must discuss it, fully understand it, and
feel our way.”
Mascarin uttered a contemptuous whistle.
“Do you think,” asked he, “that I am the kind of person to stand
and wait while you feel your way? Because if you do, the sooner you
undeceive yourself the better. Things that I take in hand are carried
out like a flash of lightning. You have been playing while I and Catenac
have been working, and nothing remains to be done but to act.”
“Act! What do you mean?”
“I mean that offices have been taken in the Rue Vivienne, that the
articles of association have been drawn up, the directors chosen,
and the Company registered. The printer brought the prospectus here
yesterday; you can begin sending them out to-morrow.”
“But----”
“Read it for yourself,” said Mascarin, handing a printed paper to him.
“Read, and then, perhaps, you will be convinced.”
Croisenois, in a dazed sort of manner, accepted the paper and read it
aloud.
COPPER MINES OF TAFILA, ALGERIA.
Chairman: THE MARQUIS HENRI DE CROISENOIS.
Capital: Four Million Francs.
This company does not appeal to that rash class of speculators who are
willing to incur great risks for the sake of obtaining for a time heavy
dividends.
The shareholders in the Tafila Copper Mining Company, Limited, must not
look for a dividend of more than six, or at the utmost seven, per cent.
“Well,” interrupted Mascarin, “what do you think of this for a
beginning?”
“It seems fair enough,” answered De Croisenois, “but suppose others than
those whose names you have in your black list take shares, what do you
say we are to do then?”
“We should simply decline to allot shares to them, that is all. See the
Article XX. in the Articles of Association. ‘The Board of Directors may
decline to allot shares to applicants without giving any reason for so
doing.’”
“And suppose,” continued the Marquis, “that one of our own people
dispose of his share, may we not find our new shareholder a thorn in our
side?”
“Article XXI. ‘No transfer of stock is valid, unless passed by the Board
of Directors, and recorded in the books of the Company,’” read out
Mascarin.
“And how will the game be brought to a conclusion?”
“Easily enough. You will advertise one morning that two-thirds of the
capital having been unsuccessfully sunk in the enterprise, you are
compelled to apply for a winding-up of the Company under Article XVII.
Six months afterwards you will announce that the liquidation of
the Company has, after all expenses have been paid, left no balance
whatsoever. Then you wash your hands of the whole thing, and the matter
is at an end.”
Croisenois felt that he had no ground to stand upon, but he ventured on
one more objection.
“It seems rather a strange thing to launch this enterprise at the
present moment. May it not interfere with my marriage prospects? and may
not the Count de Mussidan decline to give me his daughter and risk her
dowry in this manner? One moment, I--”
The agent sneered and cut short the tergiversations of the Marquis.
“You mean, I suppose,” said he, “that when once you are safely married
and have received Mademoiselle Sabine’s dowry, you will take leave
of us. Not so, my dear young friend; and if this is your idea, put it
aside, for it is utter nonsense. I should hold you then as I do now.”
The Marquis saw that any further struggle would be of no avail, and gave
in.
* * * * *
That evening, when M. Martin Rigal emerged from his private office, his
daughter Flavia was more than usually demonstrative in her tokens of
affection. “How fondly I love you, my dearest father!” said she, as
she rained kisses on his cheeks. “How good you are to me!” but on this
occasion the banker was too much preoccupied to ask his daughter the
reason for this extreme tenderness on her part.