The anxious wearied expression on the man's face almost momentarily
disappeared on obtaining a decisive answer from his comrade, and after a
few moments' silence he grew calmer, and his breathing became more easy.
In obedience to a motion from him, Hugh placed his ear closer, at the
same time passing his arm gently under the sufferer's head.
"A few years ago," he said feebly, "three English students lived in
Paris, on the first floor of a dingy old house in the Quai Montabello,
facing Notre Dame. Their names were Holt, Glanville, and Egerton. They
were--"
"Egerton! I have a friend of that name!"
"Yes, it was he! Like many other hare-brained denizens of the Quartier
Latin, they frequently passed their evenings at the Bal Bullier. One
night while dancing there, Egerton met a young and handsome woman. Her
charms were irresistible, and he fell madly in love with her, young fool
that he was! She was poor when these men first knew her, and,
discovering that she was in the chorus at the Chatelet, they bestowed
upon her the name of `La Petite Hirondelle.' She was a clever woman,
and not to be easily overtaken by adverse fortune. Indeed, hers had
already been an adventurous career, and she had few scruples--"
"What was the woman's name?" asked Hugh anxiously.
"She had many. But--I was telling you. The man with whom she lived was
an expert thief, and she, a _voleuse_ also, was his accomplice, being an
adept at abstracting jewellery from counter-trays in shops she visited
on pretence of making a purchase. The money upon which they had been
living was the proceeds of an extensive plate robbery at a mansion at
Asnieres, which had been perpetrated by this man and a youthful
assistant; the man you know as Adolphe Chavoix."
"Chavoix! Your friend!"
The other nodded. He had spoken in broken sentences, without looking up
and his breath now came with hard laboured gasps in the intervals, as if
speaking and keeping silence were alike a pain to him. The stronger man
felt touched with a reverent pity for the weak one at his side.
Again the swelling in the dying man's throat increased his agony. His
thoughts wandered, and he uttered fierce imprecations with words that
had neither meaning nor context.
"Valerie! Valerie!" he cried in deep guttural tones, after giving vent
to a volley of fearful oaths. "It's you--your accursed treachery that
has brought me to this! I die--I die in horrible torture the death of a
dog, while you laugh, take your ease, and congratulate yourself upon
getting rid of me so easily. _Diable_!" he screamed, making a desperate
but futile effort to raise himself, "Trethowen shall know all--
everything, and if he lives you will--ha, ha! you'll die in greater
degradation than myself. You shall suffer--by Heaven you shall--"
His hands were clenched and his face distorted by an expression of
intense hatred and dogged revenge. He closed his eyes, as if to shape
his thoughts, and lay for some time motionless, while Trethowen, who had
watched the changes of his countenance and listened to the wild
allegations against his wife, whom he thought so pure, sat regarding him
anxiously, awaiting the convict's further revelations.
Egerton and Valerie had met in Paris, he reflected. He had not been
mistaken when jealousy had taken possession of him on that day he found
them together in the studio. This truth cut short his resolution not to
prejudge her without a full knowledge of the facts. It rose suddenly in
his mind and covered every thought with a veil. His resolution broke
down, and he argued with himself against it.
Clutching his arm, Berard turned his fevered eyes again upon him, with
an expression of terrible earnestness.
"I want," he said, articulating with difficulty--"I want to tell you
something more."
"Concerning her?"
Making a gesture in the affirmative, he raised his head and glanced with
eager eyes over the gunwale at the dear, calm sea.
"Water!" he implored piteously. "I--I must have some--some of that. My
throat! Ah! I can't breathe."
Hugh noticed his effort to dip his hand into the sea, and arrested his
arm, exclaiming in a calm voice--
"No, by Heaven! you shan't. That means death. Hope on; we may both
live yet."
"Ah," he replied mechanically, his head sinking slowly back upon his
companion's arm. Presently he resumed, in low, broken tones, sometimes
so feeble that the anxious listener could scarcely catch them. "I told
you that when these students first met this woman she was poor. Cruel
in her coquetry as was her wont by nature, she encouraged the attentions
of Egerton, although his pocket was light as his heart. The artist
adored her, with the same passionate ardour that dozens of men have
done, yourself included--"
"Do you mean that Valerie was a thief's mistress?" he cried in
amazement, as the truth flashed upon him.
"Yes."
"I don't--I can't believe it. How can you prove it? What was this
man's name?" he demanded.
"Victor Berard," and he hesitated for a second. "The unfortunate devil
who afterwards, in order to assist her in a nefarious plot which has
been only too successful, assumed the name of the Comte Lucien
Chaulin-Serviniere!"
"What! You!" cried Trethowen, scarcely believing his ears, and
withdrawing his hand from the prostrate man's head with a feeling of
repulsion. "You were her lover!"
"Yes," he continued, unmoved by his companion's astonishment. "Remember
when Egerton met her he believed she lived at home with her mother, who
kept a little _estaminet_. He told her of his love, and she made
pretence of entertaining true, honest affection for him. It was not
long, however, before he discovered that she was no better than the rest
of the women who sipped _sirops_ at the Bullier. He found that in a
handsome suite of rooms in the Boulevard Haussmann there resided a rich
Englishman, named Nicholson. With this man she had a _liaison_, and
when the artist charged her with it she admitted the truth, telling him
that the Englishman held such power over her that she dare not refuse to
visit him."
"Was that the truth?"
"Judge for yourself by subsequent events. This man Nicholson was a
diamond merchant, and the safe in his rooms frequently contained gems
worth large sums. Egerton fostered a murderous hatred towards this man,
whom he had never seen, but who was the only obstacle to his happiness.
One day he met them both in the Bois, and she introduced him. On
subsequent occasions the two men met, and the artist ingratiated himself
with his rival. Ah!"