THE MAN-MILLINER.
Gaston de Gandelu was much surprised at finding that Andre should be
ignorant of the existence of Van Klopen, the best-known man in Paris.
To assure oneself of this, it was only necessary to glance at his
circulars, which were ornamented with the representations of medals won
at all sorts of exhibitions in different quarters of the world, together
with various decorations received from foreign potentates. One had
been presented to him by the Queen of Spain, while he had a diploma
appointing him the supplier to the Court of the Czar. The great Van
Klopen was not an Alsatian, as was generally supposed, but a stout,
handsome Dutchman, who, in the year 1850, had been a tailor in his small
native town, and manufactured in cloth, purchased on credit, the
long waistcoats and miraculous coats worn by the wealthy citizens of
Rotterdam. Van Klopen, however, was not successful in his business, and
was compelled to close his shop and abscond from his creditors. He took
refuge in Paris, where he seemed likely to die of hunger. One day over
a magnificent establishment in the Rue de Grammont appeared a signboard
with the name of Van Klopen, dressmaker, and in the thousands of
handbills distributed with the utmost profusion, he called himself
the “Regenerator of Fashion.” This was an idea that would have never
originated in the brain of the phlegmatic Dutchman, and whence came the
funds to carry on the business? On this point he was discreetly silent.
The enterprise was at first far from a success, for during nearly a
month Paris almost split its sides laughing at the absurd pretensions
of the self-dubbed “Regenerator of Fashion.” Van Klopen bent before the
storm he had aroused, and in due time his advertisements brought him two
customers, who were the first to blow the trumpet of his fame. One was
the Duchess de Suirmeuse, a very great lady indeed, and renowned for her
eccentricities and extravagant manner, while the other was an example of
another class being no less than the celebrated Jennie Fancy, who was
at that time under the protection of the Count de Tremouselle; and
for these two Van Klopen invented such dresses as had never been
seen before. From this moment his success was certain; indeed, it was
stupendous, and Paris resounded with his praises. Now he has achieved a
world-wide reputation, and has nothing to fear from the attacks of his
rivals. He would not execute orders for every one, saying that he must
pick and choose his customers, and he did so, excising the names of
such as he did not think would add to his reputation. Rank and wealth
disputed the honor of being his customers. The haughtiest dames did not
shrink from entrusting to him secrets of form and figure, which they
even hid from their husbands. They endured without shrinking the touch
of his coarse hands as he measured them. He was the rage, and his
showrooms were a species of neutral ground, where women of all circles
of society met and examined each other. The Duchess of --- did not
shrink from being in the same room with the celebrated woman for whom
the Baron de --- had blown out the few brains he possessed. Perhaps the
Duchess thought that by employing the same costumier, she might also
gain some of the venal beauteous attractions. Mademoiselle D---, of the
Gymnase Theatre, who was well known to earn just one thousand francs per
annum, took a delight in astonishing the haughty ladies of fashion by
the reckless extravagance of her orders. Van Klopen, who was a born
diplomatist, distributed his favors between his different customers;
consequently he was termed the most charming and angelic of men. Many
a time had he heard the most aristocratic lips let fall the words, “I
shall die, Van Klopen, if my dress is not ready.” On the evenings of the
most aristocratic balls a long line of carriages blocked up the road in
front of his establishment, and the finest women in Paris crowded the
showrooms for a word of approval from him.
He gave credit to approved customers, and also, it was whispered,
lent money to them. But woe to the woman who permitted herself to be
entrapped in the snare of credit that he laid for her; for the woman who
owed him a bill was practically lost, never knowing to what depths she
might be degraded to obtain the money to settle her account. It was not
surprising that such sudden prosperity should have turned Van Klopen’s
head. He was stout and ruddy, impudent, vain, and cynical. His admirers
said that he was witty.
It was to this man’s establishment that Mascarin conducted Paul after a
sumptuous breakfast at Philipe’s.
It is necessary to give a slight description of Van Klopen’s
establishment. Carpets of the most expensive description covered the
stairs to his door on the first floor, at which stood the liveried
menials resplendent in gold lace and scarlet. As soon as Mascarin made
his appearance, one of these gorgeous creatures hastened to him and
said, “M. Van Klopen is just now engaged with the Princess Korasoff, but
as soon as he hears of your arrival he will manage to get rid of her.
Will you wait for him in his private room?”
But Mascarin answered,--
“We are in no hurry, and may as well wait in the public room with the
other customers. Are there many of them?”
“There are about a dozen ladies, sir.”
“Good; I am sure that they will amuse me.”
And, without wasting any more words, Mascarin opened a door which led
into a magnificent drawing-room, decorated in very florid style. The
paper on the walls almost disappeared beneath a variety of watercolor
sketches, representing ladies in every possible style of costume. Each
picture had an explanatory note beneath it, such as “Costume of Mde.
de C--- for a dinner at the Russian Ambassador’s,” “Ball costume of the
Marchioness de V--- for a ball at the Hotel de Ville,” etc.
Paul, who was a little nervous at finding himself among such splendor,
hesitated in the doorway; but Mascarin seized his young friend by the
arm, and, as he drew him to a settee, whispered in his ear,--
“Keep your eyes about you; the heiress is here.”
The ladies were at first a little surprised at this invasion of the
room by the male element, but Paul’s extreme beauty soon attracted their
attention. The hum of conversation ceased, and Paul’s embarrassment
increased as he found a battery of twelve pairs of eyes directed full
upon him.
Mascarin, however, was quite at his ease, and upon his entrance had made
a graceful though rather old-fashioned bow to the fair inmates of the
room. His coolness was partly due to the contempt he felt for the
human race in general, and also to his colored glasses, which hid the
expression of his countenance. When he saw that Paul still kept his eyes
on the ground, he tapped him gently on the arm.
“Is this the first time you ever saw well-dressed women? Surely you are
not afraid of them. Look to the right,” continued Mascarin, “and you
will see the heiress.”
A young girl, not more than eighteen, was seated near one of the
windows. She was not perhaps so beautiful as Mascarin had described,
but her face was a very striking one nevertheless. She was slight and
good-looking, with the clear complexion of a brunette. Her features
were not perhaps very regular, but her glossy black hair was a beauty
in itself. She had a pair of dark, melting eyes, and her wide, high
forehead showed that she was gifted with great intelligence. There was
an air of restrained voluptuousness about her, and she seemed the very
embodiment of passion.
Paul felt insensibly attracted toward her. Their eyes met, and both
started at the same moment. Paul was fascinated in an instant, and the
girl’s emotion was so evident that she turned aside her head to conceal
it.
The babel had now commenced again, and general attention was being paid
to a lady who was enthusiastically describing the last new costume which
had made its appearance in the Bois de Boulogue.
“It was simply miraculous,” said she; “a real triumph of Van Klopen’s
art. The ladies of a certain class are furious, and Henry de Croisenois
tells me that Jenny Fancy absolutely shed tears of rage. Imagine three
green skirts of different shades, each draped----”
Mascarin, however, only paid attention to Paul and the young girl, and a
sarcastic smile curled his lips.
“What do you think of her?” asked he.
“She is adorable!” answered Paul, enthusiastically.
“And immensely wealthy.”
“I should fall at her feet if she had not a sou.”
Mascarin gave a little cough, and adjusted his glasses.
“Should you, my lad?” said he to himself; “whether your admiration is
for the girl or her money, you are in my grip.”
Then he added, aloud,--
“Would you not like to know her name?”
“Tell me, I entreat you.”
“Flavia.”
Paul was in the seventh heaven, and now boldly turned his eyes on the
girl, forgetting that owing to the numerous mirrors, she could see his
every movement.
The door was at this moment opened quietly, and Van Klopen appeared on
the threshold. He was about forty-four, and too stout for his height.
His red, pimply face had an expression upon it of extreme insolence,
and his accent was thoroughly Dutch. He was dressed in a ruby velvet
dressing-gown, with a cravat with lace ends. A huge cluster-diamond ring
blazed on his coarse, red hand.
“Who is the next one?” asked he, rudely.
The lady who had been talking so volubly rose to her feet, but the
tailor cut her short, for catching sight of Mascarin, he crossed the
room, and greeted him with the utmost cordiality.
“What!” said he; “is it you that I have been keeping waiting? Pray
pardon me. Pray go into my private room; and this gentleman is with you?
Do me the favor, sir, to come with us.”
He was about to follow his guests, when one of the ladies started
forward.
“One word with you, sir, for goodness sake!” cried she.
Van Klopen turned sharply upon her.
“What is the matter?” asked he.
“My bill for three thousand francs falls due to-morrow.”
“Very likely.”
“But I can’t meet it.”
“That is not my affair.”
“I have come to beg you will renew it for two months, or say one month,
on whatever terms you like.”
“In two months,” answered the man brutally, “you will be no more able to
pay than you are to-day. If you can’t pay it, it will be noted.”
“Merciful powers! then my husband will learn all.”
“Just so; that will be what I want; for he will then have to pay me.”
The wretched woman grew deadly pale.
“My husband will pay you,” said she; “but I shall be lost.”
“That is not my lookout. I have partners whose interests I have to
consult.”
“Do not say that, sir! He has paid my debts once, and if he should be
angry and take my children from me--Dear M. Van Klopen, be merciful!”
She wrung her hands, and the tears coursed down her cheeks; but the
tailor was perfectly unmoved.
“When a woman has a family of children, one ought to have in a
needlewoman by the hour.”
She did not desist from her efforts to soften him, and, seizing his
hand, strove to carry it to her lips.
“Ah! I shall never dare to go home,” wailed she; “never have the courage
to tell my husband.”
“If you are afraid of your own husband, go to some one else’s,” said he
roughly; and tearing himself from her, he followed Mascarin and Paul.
“Did you hear that?” asked he, as soon as he had closed the door of his
room with an angry slam. “These things occasionally occur, and are not
particularly pleasant.”
Paul looked on in disgust. If he had possessed three thousand francs, he
would have given them to this unhappy woman, whose sobs he could still
hear in the passage.
“It is most painful,” remarked he.
“My dear sir,” said the tailor, “you attach too much importance to these
hysterical outbursts. If you were in my place, you would soon have to
put their right value on them. As I said before, I have to look after
my own and my partners’ interests. These dear creatures care for nothing
but dress; father, husband, and children are as nothing in comparison.
You cannot imagine what a woman will do in order to get a new dress, in
which to outshine her rival. They only talk of their families when they
are called on to pay up.”
Paul still continued to plead for some money for the poor lady, and the
discussion was getting so warm that Mascarin felt bound to interfere.
“Perhaps,” said he, “you have been a little hard.”
“Pooh,” returned the tailor; “I know my customer; and to-morrow my
account will be settled, and I know very well where the money will come
from. Then she will give me another order, and we shall have the whole
comedy over again. I know what I am about.” And taking Mascarin into
the window, he made some confidential communication, at which they both
laughed heartily.
Paul, not wishing to appear to listen, examined the consulting-room,
as Van Klopen termed it. He saw a great number of large scissors, yard
measures, and patterns of material, and heaps of fashion plates.
By this time the two men had finished their conversation.
“I had,” said Mascarin, as they returned to the fireplace, “I had meant
to glance through the books; but you have so many customers waiting,
that I had better defer doing so.”
“Is that all that hinders you?” returned Van Klopen, carelessly. “Wait a
moment.”
He left the room, and in another moment his voice was heard.
“I am sorry, ladies, very sorry, on my word; but I am busy with my silk
mercer. I shall not be very long.”
“We will wait,” returned the ladies in chorus.
“That is the way,” remarked Van Klopen, as he returned to the
consulting-room. “Be civil to women, and they turn their backs on you;
try and keep them off, and they run after you. If I was to put up ‘no
admittance’ over my door, the street would be blocked up with women.
Business has never been better,” continued the tailor, producing a large
ledger. “Within the last ten days we have had in orders amounting to
eighty-seven thousand francs.”
“Good!” answered Mascarin; “but let us have a look at the column headed
‘Doubtful.’”
“Here you are,” returned the arbiter of fashion, as he turned over
the leaves. “Mademoiselle Virginie Cluhe has ordered five theatrical
costumes, two dinner, and three morning dresses.”
“That is a heavy order.”
“I wanted for that reason to consult you. She doesn’t owe us
much--perhaps a thousand francs or so.”
“That is too much, for I hear that her friend has come to grief. Do not
decline the order, but avoid taking fresh ones.”
Van Klopen made a few mysterious signs in the margin of his ledger.
“On the 6th of this month the Countess de Mussidan gave us an order--a
perfectly plain dress for her daughter. Her account is a very heavy one,
and the Count has warned us that he will not pay it.”
“Never mind that. Go on with the order, put press for payment.”
“On the 7th a new customer came--Mademoiselle Flavia, the daughter of
Martin Rigal, the banker.”
When Paul heard this name, he could not repress a start, of which,
however, Mascarin affected to take no notice.
“My good friend,” said he, turning to Van Klopen, “I confide this young
lady to you; give her your whole stock if she asks for it.”
By the look of surprise which appeared upon the tailor’s face, Paul
could see that Mascarin was not prodigal of such recommendations.
“You shall be obeyed,” said Van Klopen, with a bow.
“On the 8th a young gentleman of the name of Gaston de Gandelu was
introduced by Lupeaux, the jeweller. His father is, I hear, very
wealthy, and he will come into money on attaining his majority, which
is near at hand. He brought with him a lady,” continued the tailor, “and
said her name was Zora de Chantemille, a tremendously pretty girl.”
“That young man is always in my way,” said Mascarin. “I would give
something to get him out of Paris.”
Van Klopen reflected for a moment. “I don’t think that would be
difficult,” remarked he; “that young fellow is capable of any act of
folly for that fair girl.”
“I think so too.”
“Then the matter is easy. I will open an account with him; then, after a
little, I will affect doubts as to his solvency, and ask for a bill;
and we shall then place our young friend in the hands of the Mutual
Loan Society, and M. Verminet will easily persuade him to write his name
across the bottom of a piece of stamped paper. He will bring it to me; I
will accept it, and then we shall have him hard and fast.”
“I should have proposed another course.”
“I see no other way, however,” He suddenly stopped, for a loud noise was
heard in the ante-room, and the sound of voices in loud contention.
“I should like to know,” said Van Klopen, rising to his feet, “who the
impudent scoundrel is, who comes here kicking up a row. I expect that it
is some fool of a husband.”
“Go and see what it is,” suggested Mascarin.
“Not I! My servants are paid to spare me such annoyances.”
Presently the noise ceased.
“And now,” resumed Mascarin, “let us return to our own affairs. Under
the circumstances, your proposal appears to be a good one. How
about writing in another name? A little forgery would make our hands
stronger.” He rose, and taking the tailor into the window recess, again
whispered to him.
During this conversation Paul’s cheek had grown paler and paler, for,
occupied as he was, he could not fail to comprehend something of what
was going on. During the breakfast Mascarin had partially disclosed many
strange secrets, and since then he had been even more enlightened. It
was but too evident to him that his protector was engaged in some dark
and insidious plot, and Paul felt that he was standing over a mine which
might explode at any moment. He now began to fancy that there was
some mysterious link between the woman Schimmel, who was so carefully
watched, and the Marquis de Croisenois, so haughty, and yet on such
intimate terms with the proprietor of the registry office. Then there
was the Countess de Mussidan, Flavia, the rich heiress, and Gaston de
Gandelu, who was to be led into a crime the result of which would be
penal servitude,--all jumbled and mixed up together in one strange
phantasmagoria. Was he, Paul, to be a mere tool in such hands? Toward
what a precipice was he being impelled! Mascarin and Van Klopen were not
friends, as he had at first supposed, but confederates in villainy. Too
late did he begin to see collusion between Mascarin and Tantaine, which
had resulted in his being accused of theft during his absence. But the
web had been woven too securely, and should he struggle to break through
it, he might find himself exposed to even more terrible dangers. He felt
horrified at his position, but with this there was mingled no horror of
the criminality of his associates, for the skilful hand of Mascarin had
unwound and mastered all the bad materials of his nature. He was dazzled
at the glorious future held out before him, and said to himself that a
man like Mascarin, unfettered by law, either human or Divine, would be
most likely to achieve his ends. “I should be in no danger,” mused he to
himself, “if I yield myself up to the impetuous stream which is already
carrying me along, for Mascarin is practised swimmer enough to keep both
my head and his own above water.”
Little did Paul think that every fleeting expression in his countenance
was caught up and treasured by the wily Mascarin; and it was
intentionally that he had permitted Paul to listen to this compromising
conversation. He had decided that very morning, that if Paul was to be a
useful tool, he must be at once set face to face with the grim realities
of the position.
“Now,” said he, “for the really serious reason for my visit. How do we
stand now with regard to the Viscountess Bois Arden?”
Van Klopen gave his shoulders a shrug as he answered, “She is all right.
I have just sent her several most expensive costumes.”
“How much does she owe you?”
“Say twenty-five thousand francs. She has owed us more than that
before.”
“Really?” remarked Mascarin, “that woman has been grossly libelled; she
is vain, frivolous, and fond of admiration, but nothing more. For a
whole fortnight I have been prying into her life, but I can’t hit
upon anything in it to give us a pull over her. The debt may help us,
however. Does her husband know that she has an account with us?”
“Of course he does not; he is most liberal to her, and if he inquired--”
“Then we are all right; we will send in the bill to him.”
“But, my good sir,” urged Van Klopen, “it was only last week that she
paid us a heavy sum on account.”
“The more reason to press her, for she must be hard up.”
Van Klopen would have argued further, but an imperious sign from
Mascarin reduced him to silence.
“Listen to me,” said Mascarin, “and please do not interrupt me. Are you
known to the domestics at the house of the Viscountess?”
“Not at all.”
“Well, then, at three o’clock sharp, the day after to-morrow, call on
her. Her footman will say that Madame has a visitor with her.”
“I will say I will wait.”
“Not at all. You must almost force your way in, and you will find
the Viscountess talking to the Marquis de Croisenois. You know him, I
suppose?”
“By sight--nothing more.”
“That is sufficient. Take no notice of him; but at once present your
bill, and violently insist upon immediate payment.”
“What can you be thinking of? She will have me kicked out of doors.”
“Quite likely; but you must threaten to take the bill to her husband.
She will command you to leave the house, but you will sit down doggedly
and declare that you will not move until you get the money.”
“But that is most unbusinesslike behavior.”
“I quite agree with you; but the Marquis de Croisenois will interfere;
he will throw a pocketbook in your face, exclaiming, ‘There is your
money, you impudent scoundrel!’”
“Then I am to slink away?”
“Yes, but before doing so, you will give a receipt in this
form--‘Received from the Marquis de Croisenois, the sum of so many
francs, in settlement of the account of the Viscountess Bois Arden.’”
“If I could only understand the game,” muttered the puzzled Van Klopen.
“There is no necessity for that now; only act up to your instructions.”
“I will obey, but remember that we shall not only lose her custom, but
that of all her acquaintance.”
Again the same angry sounds were heard in the corridor.
“It is scandalous,” cried a voice. “I have been waiting an hour;
my sword and armor. What, ho, lackeys; hither, I say. Van Klopen is
engaged, is he? Hie to him and say I must see him at once.”
The two accomplices exchanged looks, as though they recognized the
shrill, squeaky voice.
“That is our man,” whispered Mascarin, as the door was violently
flung open, and Gaston de Gandelu burst in. He was dressed even more
extravagantly than usual, and his face was inflamed with rage.
“Here am I,” cried he; “and an awful rage I am in. Why, I have been
waiting twenty minutes. I don’t care a curse for your rules and
regulations.”
The tailor was furious at this intrusion; but as Mascarin was present,
and he felt that he must respect his orders, he by a great effort
controlled himself.
“Had I known, sir,” said he sulkily, “that you were here----”
These few words mollified the gorgeous youth, who at once broke in.
“I accept your apologies,” cried he; “the lackeys remove our arms, the
joust is over. My horses have been standing all this time, and may have
taken cold. Of course you have seen my horses. Splendid animals, are
they not? Zora is in the other room. Quick, fetch her here.”
With these words he rushed into the passage and shouted out, “Zora,
Mademoiselle de Chantemille, my dear one, come hither.”
The renowned tailor was exquisitely uncomfortable at so terrible a scene
in his establishment. He cast an appealing glance at Mascarin, but the
face of the agent seemed carved in marble. As to Paul, he was quite
prepared to accept this young gentleman as a perfect type of the glass
of fashion and the mould of form, and could not forbear pitying him in
his heart. He went across the room to Mascarin.
“Is there no way,” whispered he, “of saving this poor young fellow?”
Mascarin smiled one of those livid smiles which chilled the hearts of
those who knew him thoroughly.
“In fifteen minutes,” said he, “I will put the same question to you,
leaving you to reply to it. Hush, this is the first real test that you
have been subjected to; if you are not strong enough to go through it,
then we had better say farewell. Be firm, for a thunderbolt is about to
fall!”
The manner in which these apparently trivial words were spoken startled
Paul, who, by a strong effort, recovered his self-possession; but,
prepared as he was, it was with the utmost difficulty that he stifled
the expression of rage and surprise that rose to his lips at the sight
of the woman who entered the room. The Madame de Chantemille, the Zora
of the youthful Gandelu, was there, attired in what to his eyes seemed
a most dazzling costume. Rose seemed a little timid as Gandelu almost
dragged her into the room.
“How silly you are!” said he. “What is there to be frightened at? He is
only in a rage with his flunkies for having kept us waiting.”
Zora sank negligently into an easy chair, and the gorgeously attired
youth addressed the all-powerful Van Klopen.
“Well, have you invented a costume that will be worthy of Madame’s
charms?”
For a few moments Van Klopen appeared to be buried in profound
meditation.
“Ah,” said he, raising his hand with a grandiloquent gesture, “I have
it; I can see it all in my mind’s eye.”
“What a man!” murmured Gaston in deep admiration.
“Listen,” resumed the tailor, his eye flashing with the fire of
genius. “First, a walking costume with a polonaise and a cape _a
la pensionnaire_; bodice, sleeves, and underskirt of a brilliant
chestnut----”
He might have continued in this strain for a long time, and Zora would
not have heard a word, for she had caught sight of Paul, and in spite of
all her audacity, she nearly fainted. She was so ill at ease, that
young Gandelu at last perceived it; but not knowing the effect that the
appearance of Paul would necessarily cause, and being also rather dull
of comprehension he could not understand the reason for it.
“Hold hard, Van Klopen, hold hard! the joy has been too much for her,
and I will lay you ten to one that she is going into hysterics.”
Mascarin saw that Paul’s temper might blaze forth at any moment, and
so hastened to put an end to a scene which was as absurd as it was
dangerous.
“Well, Van Klopen, I will say farewell,” said he. “Good morning, madame;
good morning, sir;” and taking Paul by the arm, he led him away by a
private exit which did not necessitate their passing through the great
reception-room.
It was time for him to do so, and not until they were in the street did
the wily Mascarin breathe freely.
“Well, what do you say, now?” asked he.
Paul’s vanity had been so deeply wounded, and the effort that he had
made to restrain himself so powerful, that he could only reply by a
gasp.
“He felt it more than I thought he would,” said Mascarin to himself.
“The fresh air will revive him.”
Paul’s legs bent under him, and he staggered so that Mascarin led him
into a little _café_ hard by, and ordered a glass of cognac, and in a
short time Paul was himself once again.
“You are better now,” observed Mascarin; and then, believing it would be
best to finish his work, he added, “A quarter of an hour ago I promised
that I would ask you to settle what our intentions were to be regarding
M. de Gandelu.”
“That is enough,” broke in Paul, violently.
Mascarin put on his most benevolent smile.
“You see,” remarked he, “how circumstances change ideas. Now you are
getting quite reasonable.”
“Yes, I am reasonable enough now; that is, that I mean to be wealthy.
You have no need to urge me on any more. I am willing to do whatever you
desire, for I will never again endure degradation like that I have gone
through to-day.”
“You have let temper get the better of you,” returned Mascarin, with a
shrug of his shoulders.
“My anger may pass over, but my determination will remain as strong as
ever.”
“Do not decide without thinking the matter well over,” answered the
agent. “To-day you are your own master; but if you give yourself up to
me, you must resign your dearly loved liberty.”
“I am prepared for all.”
Victory had inclined to the side of Mascarin, and he was proportionally
jubilant.
“Good,” said he. “Then Dr. Hortebise shall introduce you to Martin
Rigal, the father of Mademoiselle Flavia, and one week after your
marriage I will give you a duke’s coronet to put on the panels of your
carriage.”