After leaving Valentine de la Verberie, Gaston underwent great peril and
difficulty in effecting his escape.
But for the experienced and faithful Menoul, he never would have
succeeded in embarking.
Having left his mother’s jewels with Valentine, his sole fortune
consisted of not quite a thousand francs; and with this paltry sum in
his pocket, the murderer of two men, a fugitive from justice, and with
no prospect of earning a livelihood, he took passage for Valparaiso.
But Menoul was a bold and experienced sailor.
While Gaston remained concealed in a farm-house at Camargue, Menoul went
to Marseilles, and that very evening discovered, from some of his sailor
friends, that a three-masted American vessel was in the roadstead, whose
commander, Captain Warth, a not over-scrupulous Yankee, would be glad to
welcome on board an able-bodied man who would be of assistance to him at
sea.
After visiting the vessel, and finding, during a conversation over
a glass of rum with the captain, that he was quite willing to take a
sailor without disturbing himself about his antecedents, Menoul returned
to Gaston.
“Left to my own choice, monsieur,” he said, “I should have settled this
matter on the spot; but you might object to it.”
“What suits you, suits me,” interrupted Gaston.
“You see, the fact is, you will be obliged to work very hard. A sailor’s
life is not boy’s play. You will not find much pleasure in it. And I
must confess that the ship’s company is not the most moral one I ever
saw. You never would imagine yourself in a Christian company. And the
captain is a regular swaggering bully.”
“I have no choice,” said Gaston. “Let us go on board at once.”
Old Menoul’s suspicions were correct.
Before Gaston had been on board the Tom Jones forty-eight hours, he saw
that chance had cast him among a collection of the most depraved bandits
and cut-throats.
The vessel, which seemed to have recruited at all points of the compass,
possessed a crew composed of every variety of thievish knaves; each
country had contributed a specimen.
But Gaston’s mind was undisturbed as to the character of the people with
whom his lot was cast for several months.
It was only his miserable wounded body, that the vessel was carrying
to a new country. His heart and soul rested in the shady park of La
Verberie, beside his lovely Valentine. He took no note of the men around
him, but lived over again those precious hours of bliss beneath the old
tree on the banks of the Rhone, where his beloved had confided her heart
to his keeping, and sworn to love him forever.
And what would become of her now, poor child, when he was no longer
there to love, console, and defend her?
Happily, he had no time for sad reflections.
His every moment was occupied in learning the rough apprenticeship of a
sailor’s life. All his energies were spent in bearing up under the heavy
burden of labor allotted to him. Being totally unaccustomed to manual
work, he found it difficult to keep pace with the other sailors, and for
the first week or two he was often near fainting at his post, from sheer
fatigue; but indomitable energy kept him up.
This was his salvation. Physical suffering calmed and deadened his
mental agony. The few hours relaxation granted him were spent in heavy
sleep; the instant his weary body touched his bunk, his eyes closed, and
no moment did he have to mourn over the past.
At rare intervals, when the weather was calm, and he was relieved
from his constant occupation of trimming the sails, he would anxiously
question the future, and wonder what he should do when this irksome
voyage was ended.
He had sworn that he would return before the end of three years, rich
enough to satisfy the exactions of Mme. de la Verberie. How should he be
able to keep this boastful promise? Stern reality had convinced him
that his projects could never be realized, except by hard work and
long waiting. What he hoped to accomplish in three years was likely to
require a lifetime.
Judging from the conversation of his companions, he was not now on the
road to fortune.
The Tom Jones set sail for Valparaiso, but certainly went in a
roundabout way to reach her destination.
The real fact was, that Captain Warth proposed visiting the Gulf of
Guinea.
A friend of his, the “Black Prince,” he said, with a loud laugh, was
waiting for him at Badagri, to exchange a cargo of “_ebony_” for some
pipes of rum, and a hundred flint-lock muskets which were on board the
Tom Jones.
Gaston soon saw that he was serving his apprenticeship on a slaver, one
of the many ships sent yearly by the free and philanthropic Americans,
who made immense fortunes by carrying on the slave-trade.
Although this discovery filled Gaston with indignation and shame, he was
prudent enough to conceal his impressions.
His remonstrances, no matter how eloquent, would have made no change in
the opinions of Captain Warth regarding a traffic which brought him
in more than a hundred per cent, in spite of the French and English
cruisers, the damages, sometimes entire loss of cargoes, and many other
risks.
The crew admired Gaston when they learned that he had cut two men into
mince-meat when they were insolent to him; this was the account of
Gaston’s affair, as reported to the captain by old Menoul.
Gaston wisely determined to keep on friendly terms with the villains, as
long as he was in their power. To express disapproval of their conduct
would have incurred the enmity of the whole crew, without bettering his
own situation.
He therefore kept quiet, but swore mentally that he would desert on the
first opportunity.
This opportunity, like everything impatiently longed for, came not.
By the end of three months, Gaston had become so useful and popular that
Captain Warth found him indispensable.
Seeing him so intelligent and agreeable, he liked to have him at his own
table, and would spend hours at cards with him or consulting about
his business matters. The mate of the ship dying, Gaston was chosen to
replace him. In this capacity he made two successful voyages to Guinea,
bringing back a thousand blacks, whom he superintended during a trip of
fifteen hundred leagues, and finally landed them on the coast of Brazil.
When Gaston had been with Captain Warth about three years, the Tom Jones
stopped at Rio Janeiro for a month, to lay in supplies. He now decided
to leave the ship, although he had become somewhat attached to the
friendly captain, who was after all a worthy man, and never would have
engaged in the diabolical traffic of human beings, but for his little
angel daughter’s sake. He said that his child was so good and beautiful,
that she deserved a large fortune. Each time that he sold a black, he
would quiet any faint qualms of conscience by saying, “It is for little
Mary’s good.”
Gaston possessed twelve thousand francs, as his share of the profits,
when he landed at Brazil.
As a proof that the slave-trade was repugnant to his nature, he left the
slaver the moment he possessed a little capital with which to enter some
honest business.
But he was no longer the high-minded, pure-hearted Gaston, who had
so devotedly loved and perilled his life for the little fairy of La
Verberie.
It is useless to deny that evil examples are pernicious to morals.
The most upright characters are unconsciously influenced by bad
surroundings. As the exposure to rain, sun, and sea-air first darkened
and then hardened his skin, so did wicked associates first shock and
then destroy the refinement and purity of Gaston’s mind. His heart
had become as hard and coarse as his sailor hands. He still remembered
Valentine, and sighed for her presence; but she was no longer the sole
object of affection, the one woman in the world to him. Contact with sin
had lowered his standard of women.
The three years, after which he had pledged himself to return, had
passed; perhaps Valentine was expecting him. Before deciding on any
definite project, he wrote to an intimate friend at Beaucaire to learn
what had happened during his long absence. He expressed great anxiety
about his family and neighbors.
He also wrote to his father, asking why he had never answered the many
letters which he had sent to him by returning sailors, who would have
safely forwarded the replies.
At the end of a year, he received an answer from his friend.
The letter almost drove him mad.
It told him that his father was dead; that his brother had left France,
Valentine was lately married, and that he, Gaston, had been sentenced to
ten years’ imprisonment for murder.
Henceforth he was alone in the world; with no country, no family, no
home, and disgraced by a public sentence.
Valentine was married, and he had no object in life! He would hereafter
have faith in no one, since she, Valentine, had cast him off, forgotten
him. What could he expect of others, when she had broken her troth, had
lacked the courage to keep her promise and wait for him?--she, whom he
had so trusted.
In his despair, he almost regretted the Tom Jones. Yes, he sighed for
the wicked slaver crew, his life of excitement and peril. The dangers
and triumphs of those bold pirates whose only care was to heap up money
would have been preferable to his present wretchedness.
But Gaston was not a man to be long cast down.
“Money is the cause of it all!” he said with rage. “If the lack of money
can bring such misery, its possession must bestow intense happiness.
Henceforth I will devote all my energies to getting money.”
He set to work with a greedy activity, which increased each day. He
tried all the many speculations open to adventurers. Alternately he
traded in furs, worked in a mine, and cultivated lands.
Five times he went to bed rich, and waked up ruined; five times, with
the patience of the castor, whose hut is swept away by each returning
tide, he recommenced the foundation of his fortune.
Finally, after long weary years of toil and struggle, he was worth a
million in gold, besides immense tracts of land.
He had often said that he would never leave Brazil, that he wanted to
end his days in Rio. He had forgotten that love for his native land
never dies in the heart of a Frenchman. Now that he was rich, he wished
to die in France.
He made inquiries, and found that the law of limitations would permit
him to return without being disturbed by the authorities. He left his
property in charge of an agent, and embarked for France, taking a large
portion of his fortune with him.
Twenty-three years and four months had elapsed since he fled from home.
On a bright, crisp day in January, 1866, he once again stepped on
French soil. With a sad heart, he stood upon the quays at Bordeaux, and
compared the past with the present.
He had departed a young man, ambitious, hopeful, and beloved; he
returned gray-haired, disappointed, trusting no one.
Gold could not supply the place of affection. He had said that riches
would bring happiness: his wealth was immense, and he was miserable.
His health, too, began to suffer from this sudden change of climate.
Rheumatism confined him to his bed for several months. As soon as
he could sit up, the physicians sent him to the warm baths, where he
recovered his health, but not his spirits. He felt his lonely condition
more terribly in his own country than when in a foreign land.
He determined to divert his mind by engaging in some occupation which
would keep him too busy to think of himself and his disappointment.
Charmed with the beauty of the Pyrenees, and the lovely valley of Aspe,
he resolved to take up his abode there.
An iron-mill was for sale near Oloron, on the borders of the Gara; he
bought it with the intention of utilizing the immense quantity of wood,
which, for want of means of transportation, was being wasted in the
mountains.
He was soon settled comfortably in his new home, and enjoying a busy,
active life.
One evening, as he was ruminating over the past, his servant brought him
a card, and said the gentleman was waiting to see him.
He read the name on the card: _Louis de Clameran_.
Many years had passed since Gaston had experienced such violent
agitation. His blood rushed to his face, and he trembled like a leaf.
The old home affections which he thought dead now sprung up anew in his
heart. A thousand confused memories rushed through his mind. Like one
in a dream, he tottered toward the door, gasping, in a smothered, broken
voice:
“My brother! oh, my brother!”
Hurriedly passing by the frightened servant, he ran downstairs.
In the passage stood a man: it was Louis de Clameran.
Gaston threw his arms around his neck and held him in a close embrace
for some minutes, and then drew him into the room.
Seated close beside him, with his two hands tightly clasped in those of
Louis, Gaston gazed at his brother as a fond mother would gaze at her
son just returned from the battle-field.
There was scarcely any danger and excitement which the mate of the
redoubtable Captain Warth had not experienced; nothing had ever before
caused him to lose his calm presence of mind, to force him to betray
that he had a heart. The sight of this long unseen brother seemed to
have changed his nature; he was like a woman, weeping and laughing at
once.
“And is this really Louis?” he cried. “My dear brother! Why, I should
have recognized you among a thousand; the expression of your face is
just the same; your smile takes me back twenty-three years.”
Louis did indeed smile, just as he smiled on that fatal night when his
horse stumbled, and prevented Gaston’s escape.
He smiled now as if he was perfectly happy at meeting his brother.
And he was much more at ease than he had been a few moments before. He
had exerted all the courage he possessed to venture upon this meeting.
Nothing but pressing necessity would have induced him to face this
brother, who seemed to have risen from the dead to reproach him for his
crimes.
His teeth chattered and he trembled in every limb when he rang Gaston’s
bell, and handed the servant his card, saying:
“Take this to your master.”
The few moments before Gaston’s appearance seemed to be centuries. He
said to himself:
“Perhaps it is not he; if it is he, does he know? Does he suspect
anything? How will he receive me?”
He was so anxious, that when he saw Gaston running downstairs, he felt
like fleeing from the house without speaking to him.
Not knowing the nature of Gaston’s feelings, whether he was hastening
toward him in anger or brotherly love, he stood perfectly motionless.
But one glance at his brother’s face convinced him that he was the same
affectionate, credulous, trusting Gaston of old; and, now that he was
certain that his brother harbored no suspicions, he smilingly received
the demonstrations lavished upon him.
“After all,” continued Gaston, “I am not alone in the world; I shall
have someone to love, someone to care for me.”
Then, as if suddenly struck by a thought, he said:
“Are you married, Louis?”
“No.”
“That is a pity, a great pity. It would so add to my happiness to see
you the husband of a good, affectionate woman, the father of bright,
lovely children! It would be a comfort to have a happy family about me.
I should look upon them all as my own. To live alone, without a loving
wife to share one’s joys and sorrows, is not living at all: it is a sort
of living death. There is no joy equal to having the affection of a true
woman whose happiness is in your keeping. Oh the sadness of having only
one’s self to care for! But what am I saying? Louis, forgive me. I
have you now, and ought not that to be enough? I have a brother, a kind
friend who will be interested in me, and afford me company, instead of
the weariness of solitude.”
“Yes, Gaston, yes: I am your best friend.”
“Of course you are. Being my brother, you are naturally my true friend.
You are not married, you say. Then we will have to do the best we
can, and keep house for ourselves. We will live together like two old
bachelors, as we are, and be as happy as kings; we will lead a gay life,
and enjoy everything that can be enjoyed. I feel twenty years younger
already. The sight of your face renews my youth, and I feel as active
and strong as I did the night I swam across the swollen Rhone. And that
was long, long ago. The struggles, privations, and anxieties endured
since, have been enough to age any man. I feel old, older than my
years.”
“What an idea!” interrupted Louis: “why, you look younger than I do.”
“You are jesting.”
“I swear I think you look the younger.”
“Would you have recognized me?”
“Instantly. You are very little changed.”
And Louis was right. He himself had an old, worn-out, used-up
appearance; while Gaston, in spite of his gray hair and weather-beaten
face, was a robust man, in the full maturity of his prime.
It was a relief to turn from Louis’s restless eyes and crafty smile to
Gaston’s frank, honest face.
“But,” said Gaston, “how did you know that I was living? What kind
chance guided you to my house?”
Louis was prepared for this question. During his eighteen hours’ ride by
the railway, he had arranged all his answers, and had his story ready.
“We must thank Providence for this happy meeting,” he replied. “Three
days ago, a friend of mine returned from the baths, and mentioned that
he had heard that a Marquis of Clameran was near there, in the Pyrenees.
You can imagine my surprise. I instantly supposed that some impostor had
assumed our name. I took the next train, and finally found my way here.”
“Then you did not expect to see me?”
“My dear brother, how could I hope for that? I thought that you were
drowned twenty-three years ago.”
“Drowned! Mlle. de la Verberie certainly told you of my escape? She
promised that she would go herself, the next day, and tell my father of
my safety.”
Louis assumed a distressed look, as if he hesitated to tell a sad truth,
and said, in a regretful tone:
“Alas! she never told us.”
Gaston’s eyes flashed with indignation. He thought that perhaps
Valentine had been glad to get rid of him.
“She did not tell you?” he exclaimed. “Did she have the cruelty to let
you mourn my death? to let my old father die of a broken heart? Ah, she
must have been very fearful of what the world says. She sacrificed me,
then, for the sake of her reputation.”
“But why did you not write to us?” asked Louis.
“I did write as soon as I had an opportunity; and Lafourcade wrote back,
saying that my father was dead, and that you had left the country.”
“I left Clameran because I believed you to be dead.”
After a long silence, Gaston arose, and walked up and down the room as
if to shake off a feeling of sadness; then he said, cheerfully:
“Well, it is of no use to mourn over the past. All the memories in the
world, good or bad, are not worth one slender hope for the future; and
thank God, we have a bright future before us. Let us bury the past, and
enjoy life together.”
Louis was silent. His footing was not sure enough to risk any questions.
“But here I have been talking incessantly for an hour,” said Gaston,
“and I dare say that you have not dined.”
“No, I have not, I confess.”
“Why did you not say so before? I forgot that I had not dined myself.
I will not let you starve, the first day of your arrival. I will make
amends by giving you some splendid old Cape wine.”
He pulled the bell, and ordered the servant to hasten dinner, adding
that it must be an excellent one; and within an hour the two brothers
were seated at a sumptuous repast.
Gaston kept up an uninterrupted stream of questions. He wished to know
all that had happened during his absence.
“What about Clameran?” he abruptly asked.
Louis hesitated a moment. Should he tell the truth, or not?
“I have sold Clameran,” he finally said.
“The chateau too?”
“Yes.”
“You acted as you thought best,” said Gaston sadly; “but it seems to me
that, if I had been in your place, I should have kept the old homestead.
Our ancestors lived there for many generations, and our father lies
buried there.”
Then seeing Louis appear sad and distressed, he quickly added:
“However, it is just as well; it is in the heart that memory dwells, and
not in a pile of old stones. I myself had not the courage to return to
Provence. I could not trust myself to go to Clameran, where I would have
to look into the park of La Verberie. Alas, the only happy moments of my
life were spent there!”
Louis’s countenance immediately cleared. The certainty that Gaston had
not been to Provence relieved his mind of an immense weight.
The next day Louis telegraphed to Raoul:
“Wisdom and prudence. Follow my directions. All goes well. Be sanguine.”
All was going well; and yet Louis, in spite of his skilfully applied
questions, had obtained none of the information which he had come to
obtain.
Gaston was communicative on every subject except the one in which Louis
was interested. Was this silence premeditated, or simply unconscious?
Louis, like all villains, was ever ready to attribute to others the bad
motives by which he himself would be influenced.
Anything was better than this uncertainty; he determined to ask his
brother plainly what his intentions were in regard to money matters.
He thought the dinner-table a favorable opportunity, and began by
saying:
“Do you know, my dear Gaston, that thus far we have discussed every
topic except the most important one?”
“Why do you look so solemn, Louis? What is the grave subject of which
you speak?”
“Our father’s estate. Supposing you to be dead, I inherited, and have
disposed of it.”
“Is that what you call a serious matter?” said Gaston with an amused
smile.
“It certainly is very serious to me; as you have a right to half of the
estate, I must account to you for it. You have--”
“I have,” interrupted Gaston, “a right to ask you never to allude to the
subject again. It is yours by limitation.”
“I cannot accept it upon those terms.”
“But you must. My father only wished to have one of us inherit his
property; we will be carrying out his wishes by not dividing it.”
Seeing that Louis’s face still remained clouded, he went on:
“Ah, I see what annoys you, my dear Louis; you are rich, and think that
I am poor, and too proud to accept anything from you. Is it not so?”
Louis started at this question. How could he reply so as not to commit
himself?
“I am not rich,” he finally said.
“I am delighted to hear it,” cried Gaston. “I wish you were as poor as
Job, so that I might share what I have with you.”
Dinner over, Gaston rose and said:
“Come, I want to visit with you, my--that is, our property. You must see
everything about the place.”
Louis uneasily followed his brother. It seemed to him that Gaston
obstinately shunned anything like an explanation.
Could all this brotherly confidence be assumed to blind him as to his
real plans? Why did Gaston inquire into his brother’s past and future,
without revealing his own? Louis’s suspicions were aroused, and he
regretted his over-hasty seeking of Gaston.
But his calm, smiling face betrayed none of the anxious thoughts which
filled his mind.
He was called upon to praise everything. First he was taken over the
house and servants’ quarters, then to the stable, kennels, and the
vast, beautifully laid-out garden. Across a pretty meadow was the
iron-foundery in full operation. Gaston, with all the enthusiasm of
a new proprietor, explained everything, down to the smallest file and
hammer.
He detailed all his projects; how he intended substituting wood for
coal, and how, besides having plenty to work the forge, he could make
immense profits by felling the forest trees, which had hitherto been
considered impracticable. He would cut a hundred cords of wood that
year.
Louis approved of everything; but only answered in monosyllables, “Ah,
indeed! excellent idea; quite a success.”
His mind was tortured by a new pain; he was paying no attention to
Gaston’s remarks, but enviously comparing all this wealth and prosperity
with his own poverty.
He found Gaston rich, respected, and happy, enjoying the price of his
own labor and industry; whilst he--Never had he so cruelly felt the
misery of his own condition; and he had brought it on himself, which
only made it more aggravating.
After a lapse of twenty-three years, all the envy and hate he had felt
toward Gaston, when they were boys together, revived.
“What do you think of my purchase?” asked Gaston, when the inspection
was over.
“I think you possess, my dear brother, a most splendid piece of
property, and on the loveliest spot in the world. It is enough to excite
the envy of any poor Parisian.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Certainly.”
“Then, my dear Louis,” said Gaston joyfully, “this property is yours, as
well as mine. You like this lovely Bearn more than the dusty streets of
Paris? I am very glad that you prefer the comforts of living on your
own estate, to the glitter and show of a city life. Everything you can
possibly want is here, at your command. And, to employ our time, there
is the foundery. Does my plan suit you?”
Louis was silent. A year ago this proposal would have been eagerly
welcomed. How gladly he would have seized this offer of a comfortable,
luxurious home, after having been buffeted about the world so long! How
delightful it would have been to turn over a new leaf, and become an
honest man!
But he saw with disappointment and rage that he would now be compelled
to decline it.
He was no longer free. He could not leave Paris.
He had become entangled in one of those hazardous plots which are fatal
if neglected, and whose failure generally leads the projector to the
galleys.
Alone, he could easily remain where he was: but he was trammelled with
an accomplice.
“You do not answer me,” said Gaston with surprise; “are there any
obstacles to my plans?”
“None.”
“What is the matter, then?”
“The matter is, my dear brother, that the salary of an office which I
hold in Paris is all that I have to support me.”
“Is that your only objection? Yet you just now wanted to pay me back
half of the family inheritance! Louis, that is unkind; you are not
acting as a brother should.”
Louis hung his head. Gaston was unconsciously telling the truth.
“I should be a burden to you, Gaston.”
“A burden! Why, Louis, you must be mad! Did I not tell you I am very
rich? Do you suppose that you have seen all I possess? This house and
the iron-works do not constitute a fourth of my fortune. Do you think
that I would have risked my twenty years’ savings in an experiment of
this sort? The forge may be a failure; and then what would become of me,
if I had nothing else?
“I have invested money which yields me an income of eighty thousand
francs. Besides, my grants in Brazil have been sold, and my agent has
already deposited four hundred thousand francs to my credit as part
payment.”
Louis trembled with pleasure. He was, at last, to know the extent of the
danger hanging over him. Gaston had finally broached the subject which
had caused him so much anxiety, and he determined that it should now be
explained before their conversation ended.
“Who is your agent?” he asked with assumed indifference.
“My old partner at Rio. He deposited the money at my Paris banker’s.”
“Is this banker a friend of yours?”
“No; I never heard of him until my banker at Pau recommended him to me
as an honest, reliable man; he is immensely wealthy, and stands at the
head of the financiers in Paris. His name is Fauvel, and he lives on the
Rue de Provence.”
Although prepared for hearing almost anything, and determined to betray
no agitation, Louis turned deadly pale.
“Do you know this banker?” asked Gaston.
“Only by reputation.”
“Then we can make his acquaintance together; for I intend accompanying
you to Paris, when you return there to settle up your affairs before
establishing yourself here to superintend the forge.”
At this unexpected announcement of a step which would prove his utter
ruin, Louis was stupefied. In answer to his brother’s questioning look,
he gasped out.
“You are going to Paris?”
“Certainly I am. Why should I not go?”
“There is no reason why.”
“I hate Paris, although I have never been there. But I am called there
by interest, by sacred duties,” he hesitatingly said. “The truth is, I
understand that Mlle. de la Verberie lives in Paris, and I wish to see
her.”
“Ah!”
Gaston was silent and thoughtful for some moments, and then said,
nervously:
“I will tell you, Louis, why I wish to see her. I left our family jewels
in her charge, and I wish to recover them.”
“Do you intend, after a lapse of twenty-three years, to claim these
jewels?”
“Yes--or rather no. I only make the jewels an excuse for seeing her.
I must see her because--because--she is the only woman I ever really
loved!”
“But how will you find her?”
“Oh! that is easy enough. Anyone can tell me the name of her husband,
and then I will go to see her. Perhaps the shortest way to find out,
would be to write to Beaucaire. I will do so to-morrow.”
Louis made no reply.
Men of his character, when brought face to face with imminent danger,
always weigh their words, and say as little as possible, for fear of
committing themselves by some indiscreet remark.
Above all things, Louis was careful to avoid raising any objections
to his brother’s proposed trip to Paris. To oppose the wishes of a
determined man has the effect of making him adhere more closely to them.
Each argument is like striking a nail with a hammer. Knowing this, Louis
changed the conversation, and nothing more during the day was said of
Valentine or Paris.
At night, alone in his room, he brought his cunning mind to bear upon
the difficulties of his situation, and wondered by what means he could
extricate himself.
At first the case seemed hopeless, desperate. During twenty years, Louis
had been at war with society, trusted by none, living upon his wits,
and the credulity of foolish men enabling him to gain an income without
labor; and, though he generally attained his ends, it was not without
great danger and constant dread of detection.
He had been caught at the gaming-table with his hands full of duplicate
cards; he had been tracked all over Europe by the police, and obliged to
fly from city to city under an assumed name; he had sold to cowards his
skilful handling of the sword and pistol; he had been repeatedly thrown
into prison, and always made his escape. He had braved everything, and
feared nothing. He had often conceived and carried out the most criminal
plans, without the slightest hesitation or remorse. And now here he sat,
utterly bewildered, unable to think clearly; his usual impudence and
ready cunning seemed to have deserted him.
Thus driven to the wall, he saw no means of escape, and was almost
tempted to confess all, and throw himself upon his brother’s clemency.
Then he thought that it would be wiser to borrow a large sum from
Gaston, and fly the country.
Vainly did he think over the wicked experiences of the past: none of the
former successful stratagems could be resorted to in the present case.
Fatally, inevitably, he was about to be caught in a trap laid by
himself.
The future was fraught with danger, worse than danger--ruin and
disgrace.
He had to fear the wrath of M. Fauvel, his wife and niece. Gaston would
have speedy vengeance the moment he discovered the truth; and Raoul,
his accomplice, would certainly turn against him, and become his most
implacable enemy.
Was there no possible way of preventing a meeting between Valentine and
Gaston?
None that he could think of.
Their meeting would be his destruction.
Lost in reflection, he paid no attention to the flight of time. Daybreak
still found him sitting at the window with his face buried in his hands,
trying to come to some definite conclusion what he should say and do to
keep Gaston away from Paris.
“It is vain for me to think,” he muttered. “The more I rack my brain,
the more confused it becomes. There is nothing to be done but gain time,
and wait for an opportunity.”
The fall of the horse at Clameran was what Louis called “an
opportunity.”
He closed the window, and, throwing himself upon the bed, was soon in a
sound sleep; being accustomed to danger, it never kept him awake.
At the breakfast-table, his calm, smiling face bore no traces of a
wakeful, anxious night.
He was in a gayer, more talkative mood than usual, and said he would
like to ride over the country, and visit the neighboring towns. Before
leaving the table, he had planned several excursions which were to take
place during the week.
He hoped to keep Gaston so amused and occupied, that he would forget all
about going to Paris in search of Valentine.
He thought that with time, and skilfully put objections, he could
dissuade his brother from seeking out his former love. He relied upon
being able to convince him that this absolutely unnecessary interview
would be painful to both, embarrassing to him, and dangerous to her.
As to the jewels, if Gaston persisted in claiming them, Louis could
safely offer to go and get them for him, as he had only to redeem them
from the pawnbroker.
But his hopes and plans were soon scattered to the winds.
“You know,” said Gaston, “I have written.”
Louis knew well enough to what he alluded, but pretended to be very much
surprised, and said:
“Written? To whom? Where? For what?”
“To Beaucaire, to ask Lafourcade the name of Valentine’s husband.”
“You are still thinking of her?”
“She is never absent from my thoughts.”
“You have not given up your idea of going to see her?”
“Of course not.”
“Alas, Gaston! you forget that she whom you once loved is now the wife
of another, and possibly the mother of a large family. How do you know
that she will consent to see you? Why run the risk of destroying her
domestic happiness, and planting seeds of remorse in your own bosom?”
“I know I am a fool; but my folly is dear to me, and I would not cure it
if I could.”
The quiet determination of Gaston’s tone convinced Louis that all
remonstrances would be unavailing.
Yet he remained the same in his manner and behavior, apparently
engrossed in pleasure parties; but, in reality, his only thought was the
mail. He always managed to be at the door when the postman came, so that
he was the first to receive his brother’s letters.
When he and Gaston were out together at the time of the postman’s visit,
he would hurry into the house first, so as to look over the letters
which were always laid in a card-basket on the hall table.
His watchfulness was at last rewarded.
The following Sunday, among the letters handed to him by the postman,
was one bearing the postmark of Beaucaire.
He quickly slipped it into his pocket; and, although he was on the point
of mounting his horse to ride with Gaston, he said that he must run up
to his room to get something he had forgotten; this was to gratify his
impatient desire to read the letter.
He tore it open, and, seeing “Lafourcade” signed at the bottom of three
closely written pages, hastily devoured the contents.
After reading a detailed account of events entirely uninteresting to
him, Louis came to the following passage relating to Valentine:
“Mlle. de la Verberie’s husband is an eminent banker named Andre Fauvel.
I have not the honor of his acquaintance, but I intend going to see him
shortly. I am anxious to submit to him a project that I have conceived
for the benefit of this part of the country. If he approves of it, I
shall ask him to invest in it, as his name will be of great assistance
to the scheme. I suppose you have no objections to my referring him to
you, should he ask for my indorsers.”
Louis trembled like a man who had just made a narrow escape from death.
He well knew that he would have to fly the country if Gaston received
this letter.
But though the danger was warded off for the while, it might return and
destroy him at any moment.
Gaston would wait a week for an answer, then he would write again;
Lafourcade would instantly reply to express surprise that his first
letter had not been received; all of this correspondence would occupy
about twelve days. In those twelve days Louis would have to think over
some plan for preventing Lafourcade’s visit to Paris; since, the instant
he mentioned the name of Clameran to the banker, everything would be
discovered.
Louis’s meditations were interrupted by Gaston, who called from the
lower passage:
“What are you doing, Louis? I am waiting for you.”
“I am coming now,” he replied.
Hastily thrusting Lafourcade’s letter into his trunk, Louis ran down to
his brother.
He had made up his mind to borrow a large sum from Gaston, and go off to
America; and Raoul might get out of the scrape as best he could.
The only thing which now disturbed him was the sudden failure of the
most skilful combination he had ever conceived; but he was not a man to
fight against destiny, and determined to make the best of the emergency,
and hope for better fortune in his next scheme.
The next day about dusk, while walking along the pretty road leading
from the foundery to Oloron, he commenced a little story which was to
conclude by asking Gaston to lend him two hundred thousand francs.
As they slowly went along arm in arm, about half a mile from the
foundery they met a young laborer who bowed as he passed them.
Louis dropped his brother’s arm, and started back as if he had seen a
ghost.
“What is the matter?” asked Gaston, with astonishment.
“Nothing, except I struck my foot against a stone, and it is very
painful.”
Gaston might have known by the tremulous tones of Louis’s voice that
this was a lie. Louis de Clameran had reason to tremble; in this workman
he recognized Raoul de Lagors.
Instinctive fear paralyzed and overwhelmed him.
The story he had planned for the purpose of obtaining the two hundred
thousand francs was forgotten; his volubility was gone; and he silently
walked along by his brother’s side, like an automaton, totally incapable
of thinking or acting for himself.
He seemed to listen, he did listen; but the words fell upon his ear
unmeaningly; he could not understand what Gaston was saying, and
mechanically answered “yes” or “no,” like one in a dream.
Whilst necessity, absolute necessity, kept him here at Gaston’s side,
his thoughts were all with the young man who had just passed by.
What had brought Raoul to Oloron? What plot was he hatching? Why was he
disguised as a laborer? Why had he not answered the many letters which
Louis had written him from Oloron? He had ascribed this silence to
Raoul’s carelessness, but now he saw it was premeditated. Something
disastrous must have happened at Paris; and Raoul, afraid to commit
himself by writing, had come himself to bring the bad news. Had he come
to say that the game was up, and they must fly?
But, after all, perhaps he was mistaken in supposing this to be his
accomplice. It might be some honest workman bearing a strong resemblance
to Raoul.
If he could only run after this stranger, and speak to him! But no, he
must walk on up to the house with Gaston, quietly, as if nothing had
happened to arouse his anxiety. He felt as if he would go mad if his
brother did not move faster; the uncertainty was becoming intolerable.
His mind filled with these perplexing thoughts, Louis at last reached
the house; and Gaston, to his great relief, said that he was so tired
that he was going directly to bed.
At last he was free!
He lit a cigar, and, telling the servant not to sit up for him, went
out.
He knew that Raoul, if it was Raoul, would be prowling near the house,
waiting for him.
His suspicions were well founded.
He had barely proceeded thirty yards, when a man suddenly sprang from
behind a tree, and stood before him.
The night was clear, and Louis recognized Raoul.
“What is the matter?” he impatiently demanded; “what has happened?”
“Nothing.”
“What! Do you mean to say that nothing has gone wrong in Paris--that no
one is on our track?”
“Not the slightest danger of any sort. And moreover, but for your
inordinate greed of gain, everything would have succeeded admirably; all
was going on well when I left Paris.”
“Then why have you come here?” cried Louis fiercely. “Who gave you
permission to desert your post, when your absence might bring ruin upon
us? What brought you here?”
“That is my business,” said Raoul with cool impertinence.
Louis seized the young man’s wrists, and almost crushed them in his
vicelike grasp.
“Explain this strange conduct of yours,” he said, in a tone of
suppressed rage. “What do you mean by it?”
Without apparent effort Raoul released his hands from their
imprisonment, and jeeringly said:
“Hein! Gently, my friend! I don’t like being roughly treated; and, if
you don’t know how to behave yourself, I have the means of teaching
you.”
At the same time he drew a revolver from his pocket.
“You must and shall explain yourself,” insisted Louis: “if you
don’t----”
“Well, if I don’t? Now, you might just as well spare yourself the
trouble of trying to frighten me. I intend to answer your questions when
I choose; but it certainly won’t be here, in the middle of the road,
with the bright moonlight showing us off to advantage. How do you know
people are not watching us this very minute? Come this way.”
They strode through the fields, regardless of Gaston’s plants, which
were trampled under foot in order to take a short cut.
“Now,” began Raoul, when they were at a safe distance from the road,
“now, my dear uncle, I will tell you what brings me here. I have
received and carefully read your letters. I read them over again. You
wished to be prudent; and the consequence was, that your letters were
unintelligible. Only one thing did I understand clearly: we are in
danger.”
“Only the more reason for your watchfulness and obedience.”
“Very well put: only, before braving danger, my venerable and beloved
uncle, I want to know its extent. I am not a man to retreat in the hour
of peril, but I want to know exactly how much risk I am running.”
“I told you to keep quiet, and follow my directions.”
“But to do this would imply that I have perfect confidence in you, my
dear uncle,” said Raoul, sneeringly.
“And why should you not? What reasons for distrust have you after all
that I have done for you? Who went to London, and rescued you from a
state of privation and ignominy? I did. Who gave you a name and position
when you had neither? I did. And who is working now to maintain your
present life of ease, and insure you a splendid future? I am. And how do
you repay me?”
“Superb, magnificent, inimitable!” said Raoul, with mocking derision.
“But, while on the subject, why don’t you prove that you have sacrificed
yourself for my sake? You did not need me as a tool for carrying out
plans for your own benefit; did you? oh no, not at all! Dear, kind,
generous, disinterested uncle! You ought to have the Montyon prize;
I think I must recommend you as the most deserving person I have ever
met!”
Clameran was so angry at these jeering words that he feared to trust
himself to speak.
“Now, my good uncle,” continued Raoul more seriously, “we had better end
this child’s play, and come to a clear understanding. I follow you here,
because I thoroughly understand your character, and have just as much
confidence in you as you deserve, and not a particle more. If it were
for your advantage to ruin me, you would not hesitate one instant. If
danger threatened us, you would fly alone, and leave your dutiful nephew
to make his escape the best way he could. Oh! don’t look shocked, and
pretend to deny it; your conduct is perfectly natural, and in your place
I would act the same way. Only remember this, that I am not a man to
be trifled with. Now let us cease these unnecessary recriminations, and
come to the point: what is your present plan?”
Louis saw that his accomplice was too shrewd to be deceived, and that
the safest course was to trust all to him, and to pretend that he had
intended doing so all along.
Without any show of anger, he briefly and clearly related all that had
occurred at his brother’s.
He told the truth about everything except the amount of his brother’s
fortune, the importance of which he lessened as much as possible.
“Well,” said Raoul, when the report was ended, “we are in a nice fix.
And do you expect to get out of it?”
“Yes, if you don’t betray me.”
“I wish you to understand, marquis, that I have never betrayed anyone
yet; don’t judge me by yourself, I beg. What steps will you take to get
free of this entanglement?”
“I don’t know; but something will turn up. Oh, don’t be alarmed; I’ll
find some means of escape: so you can return home with your mind at
rest. You run no risk in Paris, and ‘tis the best place for you. I will
stay here to watch Gaston.”
Raoul reflected for some moments, and then said:
“Are you sure I am not in danger at Paris?”
“What are you afraid of? We have Mme. Fauvel so completely in our power
that she would not dare speak a word against you; even if she knew the
whole truth, what no one but you and I know, she would not open her
lips, but be only too glad to hush up matters so as to escape punishment
for her fault from her deceived husband and a censuring world.”
“I know we have a secure hold on her,” said Raoul. “I am not afraid of
her giving any trouble.”
“Who, then?”
“An enemy of your own making, my respected uncle; a most implacable
enemy--Madeleine.”
“Fiddlesticks!” replied Clameran, disdainfully.
“It is very well for you to treat her with contempt,” said Raoul,
gravely; “but I can tell you, you are much mistaken in your estimate of
her character. I have studied her lately, and see that she is devoted to
her aunt, and ready to make any sacrifice to insure her happiness. But
she has no idea of doing anything blindly, of throwing herself away
if she can avoid it. She has promised to marry you. Prosper is
broken-hearted at being discarded, it is true; but he has not given up
hope. You imagine her to be weak and yielding, easily frightened? It’s a
great mistake. She is self-reliant and fearless. More than that, she is
in love, my good uncle; and a woman will defend her lover as a tigress
defends her young. She will fight to the bitter end before marrying
anyone save Prosper.”
“She is worth five hundred thousand francs.”
“So she is; and at five per cent we would each have an income of twelve
thousand five hundred francs. But, for all that, you had better take my
advice, and give up Madeleine.”
“Never; I swear by Heaven!” exclaimed Clameran. “Rich or poor, she shall
be mine! I first wanted her money, but now I want her; I love her for
herself, Raoul!”
Raoul seemed to be amazed at this declaration of his uncle.
He raised his hands, and started back with astonishment.
“Is it possible,” he said, “that you are in love with Madeleine?--you!”
“Yes,” replied Louis, sullenly. “Is there anything so very extraordinary
in it?”
“Oh, no, certainly not! only this sentimental view of the matter
explains your strange behavior. Alas, you love Madeleine! Then, my
venerable uncle, we might as well surrender at once.”
“Why so?”
“Because you know the axiom, ‘When the heart is interested the head is
lost.’ Generals in love always lose their battles. The day is not far
off when your infatuation of Madeleine will make you sell us both for
a smile. And, mark my words, she is shrewd, and watching us as only an
enemy can watch.”
With a forced laugh Clameran interrupted his nephew.
“Just see how you fire up for no cause,” he said; “you must dislike the
charming Madeleine very much, if you abuse her in this way.”
“She will prove to be our ruin: that is all.”
“You might as well be frank, and say you are in love with her yourself.”
“I am only in love with her money,” replied Raoul, with an angry frown.
“Then what are you complaining of? I shall give you half her fortune.
You will have the money without being troubled with the wife; the profit
without the burden.”
“I am not over fifty years old,” said Raoul conceitedly. “I can
appreciate a pretty woman better than you.”
“Enough of that,” interrupted Louis angrily. “The day I relieved your
pressing wants, and brought you to Paris, you promised to follow my
directions, to help me carry out my plan; did you not?”
“Yes; but not the plot you are hatching now! You forget that my liberty,
perhaps my life, is at stake. You may hold the cards, but I must have
the right of advising you.”
It was midnight before the accomplices separated.
“I won’t stand idle,” said Louis. “I agree with you that something must
be done at once. But I can’t decide what it shall be on the spur of the
moment. Meet me here at this hour to-morrow night, and I will have some
plan ready for you.”
“Very good. I will be here.”
“And remember, don’t be imprudent!”
“My costume ought to convince you that I am not anxious to be recognized
by anyone. I left such an ingenious alibi, that I defy anybody to
prove that I have been absent from my house at Vesinet. I even took the
precaution to travel in a third-class car. Well, good-night. I am going
to the inn.”
Raoul went off after these words, apparently unconscious of having
aroused suspicion in the breast of his accomplice.
During his adventurous life, Clameran had transacted “business” with too
many scamps not to know the precise amount of confidence to place in a
man like Raoul.
The old adage, “Honor among thieves,” seldom holds good after the
“stroke.” There is always a quarrel over the division of the spoils.
This distrustful Clameran foresaw a thousand difficulties and
counter-plots to be guarded against in his dealings with Raoul.
“Why,” he pondered, “did the villain assume this disguise? Why this
alibi at Paris? Can he be laying a trap for me? It is true that I have
a hold upon him; but then I am completely at his mercy. Those accursed
letters which I have written to him, while here, are so many proofs
against me. Can he be thinking of cutting loose from me, and making off
with all the profits of our enterprise?”
Louis never once during the night closed his eyes; but by daybreak he
had fully made up his mind how to act, and with feverish impatience
waited for evening to come, to communicate his views with Raoul.
His anxiety made him so restless that the unobserving Gaston finally
noticed it, and asked him what the matter was; if he was sick, or
troubled about anything.
At last evening came, and, at the appointed hour, Louis went to the
field where they had met the night previous, and found Raoul lying on
the grass smoking a fragrant cigar, as if he had no other object in life
except to blow little clouds of smoke in the air, and count the stars in
the clear sky above him.
“Well?” he carelessly said, as Louis approached, “have you decided upon
anything?”
“Yes. I have two projects, either of which would probably accomplish our
object.”
“I am listening.”
Louis was silently thoughtful for a minute, as if arranging his thoughts
so as to present them as clearly and briefly as possible.
“My first plan,” he began, “depends upon your approval. What would you
say, if I proposed to you to renounce the affair altogether?”
“What!”
“Would you consent to disappear, leave France, and return to London, if
I paid you a good round sum?”
“What do you call a good round sum?”
“I will give you a hundred and fifty thousand francs.”
“My respected uncle,” said Raoul with a contemptuous shrug, “I am
distressed to see how little you know me! You try to deceive me, to
outwit me, which is ungenerous and foolish on your part; ungenerous,
because it fails to carry out our agreement; foolish, because as you
know well enough, my power equals yours.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“I am sorry for it. I understand myself, and that is sufficient. Oh!
I understand you, my dear uncle. I have watched you with careful eyes,
which are not to be deceived; I see through you clearly. If you offer me
one hundred and fifty thousand francs, it is because you intend to walk
off with half a million for yourself.”
“You are talking like a fool,” said Clameran with virtuous indignation.
“Not at all; I only judge the future by the past. Of all the large sums
extorted from Mme. Fauvel, often against my wishes, I never received a
tenth part.”
“But you know we have a reserve fund.”
“All very good; but you have the keeping of it, my good uncle. It is
very nice for you, but not so funny for me. If our little plot were
to be discovered to-morrow, you would walk off with the money-box, and
leave your devoted nephew to be sent to prison.”
“Ingrate!” muttered Louis, as if distressed at these undeserved
reproaches of his protege.
“You have hit on the very word I was trying to remember,” cried Raoul:
“‘ingrate’ is the name that just suits you. But we have not time for
this nonsense. I will end the matter by proving how you have been trying
to deceive me.”
“I would like to hear you do so if you can.”
“Very good. In the first place, you told me that your brother only
possessed a modest competency. Now, I learn that Gaston has an income
of at least sixty thousand francs. It is useless for you to deny it; and
how much is this property worth? A hundred thousand crowns. He had four
hundred thousand francs deposited in M. Fauvel’s bank. Total, seven
hundred thousand francs. And, besides all this, the broker in Oloron
has orders to buy up a large amount of stocks and railroad shares, which
will require large cash payments. I have not wasted my day, you see, and
have obtained all the information I came for.”
Raoul’s information was too concise and exact for Louis to deny it.
“You might have sense enough,” Raoul went on, “to know how to manage
your forces if you undertake to be a commander. We had a splendid game
in our hands; and you, who held the cards, have made a perfect muddle of
it.”
“I think--”
“That the game is lost? That is my opinion too, and all through you. You
have no one to blame but yourself.”
“I could not control events.”
“Yes, you could, if you had been shrewd. Fools sit down and wait for an
opportunity; sensible men make one. What did we agree upon in London?
We were to implore my good mother to assist us a little, and, if she
complied with our wishes, we were to be flattering and affectionate in
our devotion to her. And what was the result? At the risk of killing
the golden goose, you have made me torment the poor woman until she is
almost crazy.”
“It was prudent to hasten matters.”
“You think so, do you? Was it also to hasten matters that you took it
into your head to marry Madeleine? That made it necessary to let her
into the secret; and, ever since, she has advised and set her aunt
against us. I would not be surprised if she makes her confess everything
to M. Fauvel, or even inform against us at the police-office.”
“I love Madeleine!”
“You told me that before. And suppose you do love her. You led me into
this piece of business without having studied its various bearings,
without knowing what you were about. No one but an idiot, my beloved
uncle, would go and put his foot into a trap, and then say, ‘If I had
only known about it!’ You should have made it your business to know
everything. You came to me, and said, ‘Your father is dead,’ which was
a lie to start with; perhaps you call it a mistake. He is living; and,
after what we have done, I dare not appear before him. He would have
left me a million, and now I shall not get a sou. He will find his
Valentine, and then good-by.”
“Enough!” angrily interrupted Louis. “If I have made a mistake, I know
how to redeem it. I can save everything yet.”
“You can? How so?”
“That is my secret,” said Louis gloomily.
Louis and Raoul were silent for a minute. And this silence between them,
in this lonely spot, at dead of night, was so horribly significant that
both of them shuddered.
An abominable thought had flashed across their evil minds, and without a
word or look they understood each other.
Louis broke the ominous silence, by abruptly saying:
“Then you refuse to disappear if I pay you a hundred and fifty thousand
francs? Think it over before deciding: it is not too late yet.”
“I have fully thought it over. I know you will not attempt to deceive
me any more. Between certain ease, and the probability of an immense
fortune, I choose the latter at all risks. I will share your success or
your failure. We will swim or sink together.”
“And you will follow my instructions?”
“Blindly.”
Raoul must have been very certain of Louis’s intentions of resorting to
the most dangerous extremities, must have known exactly what he intended
to do; for he did not ask him a single question. Perhaps he dared not.
Perhaps he preferred doubt to shocking certainty, as if he could thus
escape the remorse attendant upon criminal complicity.
“In the first place,” said Louis, “you must at once return to Paris.”
“I will be there in forty-eight hours.”
“You must be very intimate at Mme. Fauvel’s, and keep me informed of
everything that takes place in the family.”
“I understand.”
Louis laid his hand upon Raoul’s shoulder, as if to impress upon his
mind what he was about to say.
“You have a sure means of being restored to your mother’s confidence and
affection, by blaming me for everything that has happened to distress
her. Abuse me constantly. The more odious you render me in her eyes and
those of Madeleine, the better you will serve me. Nothing would please
me more than to be denied admittance to the house when I return to
Paris. You must say that you have quarrelled with me, and that, if I
still come to see you, it is because you cannot prevent it, and you will
never voluntarily have any intercourse with me. That is the scheme; you
can develop it.”
Raoul listened to these strange instructions with astonishment.
“What!” he cried: “you adore Madeleine, and take this means of showing
it? An odd way of carrying on a courtship, I must confess. I will be
shot if I can comprehend.”
“There is no necessity for your comprehending.”
“All right,” said Raoul submissively; “if you say so.”
Then Louis reflected that no one could properly execute a commission
without having at least an idea of its nature.
“Did you ever hear,” he asked Raoul, “of the man who burnt down his
lady-love’s house so as to have the bliss of carrying her out in his
arms?”
“Yes: what of it?”
“At the proper time, I will charge you to set fire, morally, to Mme.
Fauvel’s house; and I will rush in, and save her and her niece. Now,
in the eyes of those women my conduct will appear more magnanimous and
noble in proportion to the contempt and abuse they have heaped upon me.
I gain nothing by patient devotion: I have everything to hope from a
sudden change of tactics. A well-managed stroke will transform a demon
into an angel.”
“Very well, a good idea!” said Raoul approvingly, when his uncle had
finished.
“Then you understand what is to be done?”
“Yes, but will you write to me?”
“Of course; and if anything should happen at Paris----”
“I will telegraph to you.”
“And never lose sight of my rival, the cashier.”
“Prosper? not much danger of our being troubled by him, poor boy! He is
just now my most devoted friend. Trouble has driven him into a path of
life which will soon prove his destruction. Every now and then I pity
him from the bottom of my soul.”
“Pity him as much as you like; but don’t interfere with his
dissipation.”
The two men shook hands, and separated apparently the best friends in
the world; in reality the bitterest enemies.
Raoul would not forgive Louis for having attempted to appropriate all
the booty, and leave him in the lurch, when it was he who had risked the
greatest dangers.
Louis, on his part, was alarmed at the attitude taken by Raoul. Thus far
he had found his nephew tractable, and even blindly obedient; and now
he had suddenly become rebellious and threatening. Instead of ordering
Raoul, he was forced to consult and bargain with him.
What could be more wounding to his vanity and self-conceit than the
reproaches, well founded though they were, to which he had been obliged
to listen, from a mere youth?
As he walked back to his brother’s house, thinking over what had just
occurred, Louis swore that sooner or later he would be revenged, and
that, as soon as he could get rid of Raoul he would do so, and would do
him some great injury.
But, for the present, he was so afraid lest the young villain should
betray him, or thwart his plans in some way, that he wrote to him the
next day, and every succeeding day, full particulars of everything that
happened. Seeing how important it was to restore his shaken confidence,
Louis entered into the most minute details of his plans, and asked
Raoul’s advice about every step he took.
The situation remained the same. The dark cloud remained threateningly
near, but grew no larger.
Gaston seemed to have forgotten that he had written to Beaucaire, and
never mentioned Valentine’s name once.
Like all men accustomed to a busy life, Gaston was miserable except
when occupied, and spent his whole time in the foundery, which seemed to
absorb him entirely.
When he began the experiment of felling the woods, his losses had been
heavy; but he determined to continue the work until it should be equally
beneficial to himself and the neighboring land-owners.
He engaged the services of an intelligent engineer, and thanks to
untiring energy, and the new improvements in machinery, his profits soon
more than equalled his expenses.
“Now that we are doing so well,” said Gaston joyously, “we shall
certainly make twenty-five thousand francs next year.”
Next year! Alas, poor Gaston!
Five days after Raoul’s departure, one Saturday afternoon, Gaston was
suddenly taken ill.
He had a sort of vertigo, and was so dizzy that he was forced to lie
down.
“I know what is the matter,” he said. “I have often been ill in this way
at Rio. A couple of hours’ sleep will cure me. I will go to bed, and you
can send someone to awaken me when dinner is ready, Louis; I shall be
all right by that time.”
But, when the servant came to announce dinner, he found Gaston much
worse. He had a violent headache, a choking sensation in his throat, and
dimness of vision. But his worst symptom was dysphonia; he would try
to articulate one word, and find himself using another. His jaw-bones
became so stiff that it was with the greatest difficulty that he opened
his mouth.
Louis came up to his brother’s room, and urged him to send for the
physician.
“No,” said Gaston, “I won’t have any doctor to make me ill with
all sorts of medicines; I know what is the matter with me, and my
indisposition will be cured by a simple remedy which I have always
used.”
At the same time he ordered Manuel, his old Spanish servant, who had
lived with him for ten years, to prepare him some lemonade.
The next day Gaston appeared to be much better. He ate his breakfast,
and was about to take a walk, when the pains of the previous day
suddenly returned, in a more violent form.
Without consulting his brother, Louis sent to Oloron for Dr. C----,
whose wonderful cures at Eaux Bonnes had won him a wide reputation.
The doctor declared that there was no danger, and merely prescribed a
dose of valerian, and a blister with some grains of morphine sprinkled
on it.
But in the middle of the night, all the symptoms suddenly changed for
the worse. The pain in the head was succeeded by a fearful oppression,
and the sick man suffered torture in trying to get his breath; daybreak
found him still tossing restlessly from pillow to pillow.
When Dr. C---- came early in the morning, he appeared very much
surprised at this change for the worse. He inquired if they had not
administered an overdose of morphine. Manuel said that he had put the
blister on his master, and the doctor’s directions had been accurately
followed.
The doctor, after having examined Gaston, and found his breathing heavy
and irregular, prescribed a heavy dose of sulphate of quinine; he then
retired, saying he would return the next day.
As soon as the doctor had gone, Gaston sent for a friend of his, a
lawyer, to come to him as soon as possible.
“For Heaven’s sake, what do you want with a lawyer?” inquired Louis.
“I want his advice, brother. It is useless to try and deceive ourselves;
I know I am extremely ill. Only timid fools are superstitious about
making their wills; if I defer it any longer, I may be suddenly taken
without having arranged my affairs. I would rather have the lawyer at
once, and then my mind will be at rest.”
Gaston did not think he was about to die, but, knowing the uncertainty
of life, determined to be prepared for the worst; he had too often
imperilled his life, and been face to face with death, to feel any fear
now.
He had made his will while ill at Bordeaux; but, now that he had
found Louis, he wished to leave him all his property, and sent for his
business man to advise as to the best means of disposing of his wealth
for his benefit.
The lawyer was a shrewd, wiry little man, very popular because he had
a faculty for always gaining suits which other attorneys had lost,
or declined to try, because of their groundlessness. Being perfectly
familiar with all the intricacies of the law, nothing delighted him more
than to succeed in eluding some stringent article of the code; and often
he sacrificed large fees for the sake of outwitting his opponent, and
controverting the justness of a decision.
Once aware of his client’s wishes and intentions, he had but one
idea: and that was, to carry them out as inexpensively as possible,
by skilfully evading the heavy costs to be paid by the inheritor of an
estate.
He explained to Gaston that he could, by an act of partnership,
associate Louis in his business enterprises, by signing an
acknowledgment that half of the money invested in these various
concerns, belonged to and had been advanced by his brother; so that, in
the event of Gaston’s death, Louis would only have to pay taxes on half
the fortune.
Gaston eagerly took advantage of this fiction; not that he thought
of the money saved by the transaction if he died, but this would be
a favorable opportunity for sharing his riches with Louis, without
wounding his delicate sensibility.
A deed of partnership between Gaston and Louis de Clameran, for the
working of a cast-iron mill, was drawn up; this deed acknowledged
Louis to have invested five hundred thousand francs as his share of the
capital; therefore half of the iron-works was his in his own right.
When Louis was called in to sign the paper, he violently opposed his
brother’s project.
“Why do you distress me by making these preparations for death, merely
because you are suffering from a slight indisposition? Do you think that
I would consent to accept your wealth during your lifetime? If you die,
I am your heir; if you live, I enjoy your property as if it were my
own. What more can you wish? Pray do not draw up any papers; let things
remain as they are, and turn all your attention to getting well.”
Vain remonstrances. Gaston was not a man to be persuaded from
accomplishing a purpose upon which he had fully set his heart. When,
after mature deliberation, he made a resolution, he always carried it
out in spite of all opposition.
After a long and heroic resistance, which betrayed great nobleness of
character and rare disinterestedness, Louis, urged by the physician,
finally yielded, and signed his name to the papers drawn up by the
lawyer.
It was done. Now he was legally Gaston’s partner, and possessor of half
his fortune. No court of law could deprive him of what had been deeded
with all the legal formalities, even if his brother should change his
mind and try to get back his property.
The strangest sensations now filled Louis’s breast.
He was in a state of delirious excitement often felt by persons suddenly
raised from poverty to affluence.
Whether Gaston lived or died, Louis was the lawful possessor of an
income of twenty-five thousand francs, without counting the eventual
profits of the iron-works.
At no time in his life had he hoped for or dreamed of such wealth. His
wildest wishes were surpassed. What more could he want?
Alas! he wanted the power of enjoying these riches; they had come too
late.
This fortune, fallen from the skies, should have filled his heart with
joy; whereas it only made him melancholy and angry.
This unlooked-for happiness seemed to have been sent by cruel fate as
a punishment for his past sins. What could be more terrible than seeing
this haven of rest open to him, and to be prevented from enjoying it
because of his own vile plottings?
Although his conscience told him that he deserved this misery, he blamed
Gaston entirely for his present torture. Yes, he held Gaston responsible
for the horrible situation in which he found himself.
His letters to Raoul for several days expressed all the fluctuations of
his mind, and revealed glimpses of coming evil.
“I have twenty-five thousand livres a year,” he wrote to him, a few
hours after signing the agreement of partnership; “and I possess in my
own right five hundred thousand francs. One-fourth of this sum would
have made me the happiest of men a year ago. Now it is of no use to me.
All the gold on earth could not remove one of the difficulties of our
situation. Yes, you were right. I have been imprudent; but I pay dear
for my precipitation. We are now going down hill so rapidly that nothing
can save us; we must fall to the very bottom. To attempt stopping half
way would be madness. Rich or poor, I have cause to tremble as long as
there is any risk of a meeting between Gaston and Valentine. How can
they be kept apart? Will my brother renounce his plan of discovering the
whereabouts of this woman whom he so loved?”
No; Gaston would never be turned from his search for his first love, as
he proved by calling for her in the most beseeching tones when he was
suffering his worst paroxysms of pain.
He grew no better. In spite of the most careful nursing his symptoms
changed, but showed no improvement.
Each attack was more violent than the preceding.
Toward the end of the week the pains left his head, and he felt well
enough to get up and partake of a slight nourishment.
But poor Gaston was a mere shadow of his former self. In one week he had
aged ten years. His strong constitution was broken. He, who ten days ago
was boasting of his vigorous health, was now weak and bent like an old
man. He could hardly drag himself along, and shivered in the warm sun as
if he were bloodless.
Leaning on Louis’s arm, he slowly walked down to look at the forge, and,
seating himself before a furnace at full blast, he declared that he felt
very much better, that this intense heat revived him.
His pains were all gone, and he could breathe without difficulty.
His spirits rose, and he turned to the workmen gathered around, and said
cheerfully:
“I was not blessed with a good constitution for nothing, my friends, and
I shall soon be well again.”
When the neighbors called to see him, and insisted that this illness
was entirely owing to change of climate, Gaston replied that he supposed
they were right, and that he would return to Rio as soon as he was well
enough to travel.
What hope this answer roused in Louis’s breast!
“Yes,” he eagerly said, “I will go with you; a trip to Brazil would be
charming! Let us start at once.”
But the next day Gaston had changed his mind.
He told Louis that he felt almost well, and was determined not to leave
France. He proposed going to Paris to consult the best physicians; and
then he would see Valentine.
That night he grew worse.
As his illness increased, he became more surprised and troubled at not
hearing from Beaucaire.
He wrote again in the most pressing terms, and sent the letter by a
courier who was to wait for the answer.
This letter was never received by Lafourcade.
At midnight, Gaston’s sufferings returned with renewed violence, and for
the first time Dr. C---- was uneasy.
A fatal termination seemed inevitable. Gaston’s pain left him in a
measure, but he was growing weaker every moment. His mind wandered,
and his feet were as cold as ice. On the fourteenth day of his illness,
after lying in a stupor for several hours, he revived sufficiently
to ask for a priest, saying that he would follow the example of his
ancestors, and die like a Christian.
The priest left him after half an hour’s interview, and all the workmen
were summoned to receive the farewell greeting of their master.
Gaston spoke a few kind words to them all, saying that he had provided
for them in his will.
After they had gone, he made Louis promise to carry on the iron-works,
embraced him for the last time, and sank back on his pillow in a dying
state.
As the bell tolled for noon he quietly breathed his last, murmuring,
softly, “In three years, Valentine; wait for me.”
Now Louis was in reality Marquis of Clameran, and besides he was a
millionaire.
Two weeks later, having made arrangements with the engineer in charge of
the iron-works to attend to everything during his absence, he took his
seat in the train for Paris.
He had sent the following significant telegram to Raoul the night
previous: “I will see you to-morrow.”