Faithful to the programme laid down by his accomplice, while Louis
watched at Oloron, Raoul remained in Paris with the purpose of
recovering the confidence and affection of Mme. Fauvel, and of lulling
any suspicions which might arise in her breast.
The task was difficult, but not impossible.
Mme. Fauvel had been distressed by Raoul’s wild extravagance, but had
never ceased to love him.
Whatever faults he had committed, whatever future follies he might
indulge in, he would always remain her best-loved child, her first-born,
the living image of her noble, handsome Gaston, the lover of her youth.
She adored her two sons, Lucien and Abel; but she could not overcome an
indulgent weakness for the unfortunate child, torn from her arms the
day of his birth, abandoned to the mercies of hired strangers, and for
twenty years deprived of home influences and a mother’s love.
She blamed herself for Raoul’s misconduct, and accepted the
responsibility of his sins, saying to herself, “It is my fault. But for
me, he would not have been exposed to the temptations of the world.”
Knowing these to be her sentiments, Raoul did not hesitate to take
advantage of them.
Never were more irresistible fascinations employed for the
accomplishment of a wicked object. Beneath an air of innocent
frankness, this precocious scoundrel concealed wonderful astuteness
and penetration. He could at will adorn himself with the confiding
artlessness of youth, so that angels might have yielded to the soft
look of his large dark eyes. There were few women living who could have
resisted the thrilling tones of his sympathetic voice.
During the month of Louis’s absence, Mme. Fauvel was in a state of
comparative happiness.
Never had this mother and wife--this pure, innocent woman, in spite of
her first and only fault--enjoyed such tranquillity. She felt as one
under the influence of enchantment, while revelling in the sunshine of
filial love, which almost bore the character of a lover’s passion;
for Raoul’s devotion was ardent and constant, his manner so tender and
winning, that anyone would have taken him for Mme. Fauvel’s suitor.
As she was still at her country-seat, and M. Fauvel went into the city
every morning at nine o’clock, and did not return till six, she had the
whole of her time to devote to Raoul. When she had spent the morning
with him at his house in Vesinet, she would often bring him home to dine
and spend the evening with her.
All his past faults were forgiven, or rather the whole blame of them was
laid upon Clameran; for, now that he was absent, had not Raoul once more
become her noble, generous, affectionate son, the pride and consolation
of her life?
Raoul enjoyed the life he was leading, and took such an interest in the
part that he was playing, that his acting was perfect. He possessed
the faculty which makes cheats successful, faith in his own impostures.
Sometimes he would stop to think whether he was telling the truth, or
acting a shameful comedy.
His success was wonderful. Even Madeleine, the prudent, distrustful
Madeleine, without being able to shake off her prejudice against the
young adventurer, confessed that perhaps she had been influenced by
appearances, and had judged unjustly.
Raoul not only never asked for money, but even refused it when offered;
saying that, now that his uncle was away, his expenses were but
trifling.
Affairs were in this happy state when Louis arrived from Oloron.
Although now immensely rich, he resolved to make no change in his style
of living, but returned to his apartments at the Hotel du Louvre.
His only outlay was the purchase of a handsome carriage; and this was
driven by Manuel, who consented to enter his service, although Gaston
had left him a handsome little fortune, more than sufficient to support
him comfortably.
Louis’s dream, the height of his ambition, was to be ranked among the
great manufacturers of France.
He was prouder of being called “iron-founder” than of his marquisate.
During his adventurous life, he had met with so many titled gamblers and
cut-throats, that he no longer believed in the prestige of nobility.
It was impossible to distinguish the counterfeit from the genuine. He
thought what was so easily imitated was not worth the having.
Dearly bought experience had taught him that our unromantic century
attaches no value to armorial bearings, unless their possessor is rich
enough to display them upon a splendid coach.
One can be a marquis without a marquisate, but it is impossible to be a
forge-master without owning iron-works.
Louis now thirsted for the homage of the world. All the badly digested
humiliations of the past weighed upon him.
He had suffered so much contempt and scorn from his fellow-men, that he
burned to avenge himself. After a disgraceful youth, he longed to live a
respected and honored old age.
His past career disturbed him little. He was sufficiently acquainted
with the world to know that the noise of his coach-wheels would silence
the jeers of those who knew his former life.
These thoughts fermented in Louis’s brain as he journeyed from Pau to
Paris. He troubled his mind not in the least about Raoul, determined to
use him as a tool so long as he needed his services, and then pay him a
large sum if he would go back to England.
All these plans and thoughts were afterward found noted down in the
diary which he had in his pocket at the time of the journey.
The first interview between the accomplices took place at the Hotel du
Louvre.
Raoul, having a practical turn of mind, said he thought that they both
ought to be contented with the result already obtained, and that it
would be folly to try and grasp anything more.
“What more do we want?” he asked his uncle. “We now possess over a
million; let us divide it and keep quiet. We had better be satisfied
with our good luck, and not tempt Providence.”
But this moderation did not suit Louis.
“I am rich,” he replied, “but I desire more than wealth. I am determined
to marry Madeleine: I swear she shall be my wife! In the first place,
I madly love her, and then, as the nephew of the most eminent banker in
Paris, I at once gain high position and public consideration.”
“I tell you, uncle, your courtship will involve you in great risks.”
“I don’t care if it does. I choose to run them. My intention is to share
my fortune with you; but I will not do so till the day after my wedding.
Madeleine’s fortune will then be yours.”
Raoul was silent. Clameran held the money, and was therefore master of
the situation.
“You don’t seem to anticipate any difficulty in carrying out your
wishes,” he said discontentedly; “how are you to account for your
suddenly acquired fortune? M. Fauvel knows that a Clameran lived at
Oloron, and had money in his bank. You tell him that you never heard of
this person bearing your name, and then, at the end of the month, you
come and say that you have inherited his fortune. People don’t inherit
fortunes from perfect strangers; so you had better trump up some
relationship.”
“You are an innocent youth, nephew; your ingenuousness is amusing.”
“Explain yourself.”
“Certainly. The banker, his wife, and Madeleine must be informed that
the Clameran of Oloron was a natural son of my father, consequently
my brother, born at Hamburg, and recognized during the emigration. Of
course, he wished to leave his fortune to his own family. This is the
story which you must tell Mme. Fauvel to-morrow.”
“That is a bold step to take.”
“How so?”
“Inquiries might be made.”
“Who would make them? The banker would not trouble himself to do so.
What difference is it to him whether I had a brother or not? My title as
heir is legally authenticated; and all he has to do is to pay the money
he holds, and there his business ends.”
“I am not afraid of his giving trouble.”
“Do you think that Mme. Fauvel and her niece will ask any questions? Why
should they? They have no grounds for suspicion. Besides, they cannot
take a step without compromising themselves. If they knew all our
secrets I would not have the least fear of their making revelations.
They have sense enough to know that they had best keep quiet.”
Not finding any other objections to make, Raoul said:
“Very well, then, I obey you; but I am not to call upon Mme. Fauvel for
any more money, am I?”
“And why not, pray?”
“Because, my uncle, you are rich now.”
“Suppose I am rich,” replied Louis, triumphantly; “what is that to you?
Have we not quarrelled about the means of making this money? and did you
not heap abuse upon me until I consider myself justified in refusing you
any assistance whatever? However, I will overlook the past. And, when I
explain my present plan, you will feel ashamed of your former doubts and
suspicion. You will say with me, ‘Success is certain.’”
Louis de Clameran’s scheme was very simple, and therefore unfortunately
presented the strongest chances of success.
“We will go back and look at our balance-sheet. As heretofore, my
brilliant nephew, you seem to have misunderstood my management of this
affair; I will now explain it to you.”
“I am listening.”
“In the first place, I presented myself to Mme. Fauvel, and said not,
‘Your money or your life,’ but ‘Your money or your reputation!’ It was
a rude blow to strike, but effective. As I expected, she was frightened,
and regarded me with the greatest aversion.”
“Aversion is a mild term, uncle.”
“I know that. Then I brought you upon the scene; and, without flattering
you in the least, I must say that your opening act was a perfect
success. I was concealed behind the curtain, and saw your first
interview; it was sublime! She saw you, and loved you: you spoke a few
words and won her heart.”
“And but for you?”
“Let me finish. This was the first act of our comedy. Let us pass to the
second. Your extravagant follies--your grandfather would have said,
your dissoluteness--soon changed our respective situations. Mme. Fauvel,
without ceasing to worship you--you resemble Gaston so closely--was
uneasy about you. She was so frightened that she was forced to come to
me for assistance.”
“Poor woman!”
“I acted my part very well, as you must confess. I was grave, cold,
indignant, and represented the distressed uncle to perfection. I spoke
of the old probity of the Clamerans, and bemoaned that the family honor
should be dragged in the dust by a degenerate descendant. For a
short time I triumphed at your expense; Mme. Fauvel forgot her former
prejudice against me, and soon showed that she esteemed and liked me.”
“That must have been a long time ago.”
Louis paid no attention to this ironical interruption.
“Now we come to the third scene,” he went on to say, “the time when Mme.
Fauvel, having Madeleine for an adviser, judged us at our true value.
Oh! you need not flatter yourself that she did not fear and despise us
both. If she did not hate you, Raoul, it was because a mother’s heart
always forgives a sinful child. A mother can despise and worship her son
at the same time.”
“She has proved it to me in so many touching ways, that!--yes, even I,
hardened as I am--was moved, and felt remorse.”
“Parbleu! I have felt some pangs myself. Where did I leave off? Oh, yes!
Mme. Fauvel was frightened, and Madeleine, bent on sacrificing herself,
had discarded Prosper, and consented to marry me, when the existence
of Gaston was suddenly revealed. And what has happened since? You have
succeeded in convincing Mme. Fauvel that you are pure, and that I am
blacker than hell. She is blinded by your noble qualities, and she and
Madeleine regard me as your evil genius, whose pernicious influence led
you astray.”
“You are right, my venerated uncle; that is precisely the position you
occupy.”
“Very good. Now we come to the fifth act, and our comedy needs entire
change of scenery. We must veer around.”
“Change our tactics?”
“You think it difficult, I suppose? Nothing easier. Listen attentively,
for the future depends upon your skilfulness.”
Raoul leaned back in his chair, with folded arms, as if prepared for
anything, and said:
“I am ready.”
“The first thing for you to do,” said Louis, “is to go to Mme. Fauvel
to-morrow, and tell her the story about my natural brother. She will not
believe you, but that makes no difference. The important thing is, for
you to appear convinced of the truth of what you tell her.”
“Consider me convinced.”
“Five days hence, I will call on M. Fauvel, and confirm the notification
sent him by my notary at Oloron, that the money deposited in the bank
now belongs to me. I will repeat, for his benefit, the story of the
natural brother, and ask him to keep the money until I call for it, as I
have no occasion for it at present. You, who are so distrustful, my good
nephew, may regard this deposit as a guarantee of my sincerity.”
“We will talk of that another time. Go on.”
“Then I will go to Mme. Fauvel, and say, ‘Being very poor, my dear
madame, necessity compelled me to claim your assistance in the support
of my brother’s son, who is also yours. This youth is worthless and
extravagant.’”
“Thanks, my good uncle.”
“‘He has poisoned your life when he should have added to your happiness;
he is a constant anxiety and sorrow to your maternal heart. I have come
to offer my regrets for your past trouble, and to assure you that you
will have no annoyance in the future. I am now rich, and henceforth take
the whole responsibility of Raoul upon myself. I will provide handsomely
for him.’”
“Is that what you call a scheme?”
“Parbleu, you will soon see whether it is. After listening to this
speech, Mme. Fauvel will feel inclined to throw herself in my arms, by
way of expressing her gratitude and joy. She will refrain, however,
on account of her niece. She will ask me to relinquish my claim on
Madeleine’s hand, now that I am rich. I will roundly tell her, No. I
will make this an opportunity for an edifying display of magnanimity and
disinterestedness. I will say, ‘Madame, you have accused me of cupidity.
I am now able to prove your injustice. I have been infatuated, as every
man must be, by the beauty, grace, and intelligence of Mlle. Madeleine;
and--I love her. If she were penniless, my devotion would only be the
more ardent. She has been promised to me, and I must insist upon this
one article of our agreement. This must be the price of my silence. And,
to prove that I am not influenced by her fortune, I give you my sacred
promise, that, the day after the wedding, I will send Raoul a stock
receipt of twenty-five thousand livres per annum.”
Louis expressed himself with such convincing candor, that Raoul, an
artist in knavery, was charmed and astonished.
“Beautifully done,” he cried, clapping his hands with glee. “That last
sentence will create a chasm between Mme. Fauvel and her niece. The
promise of a fortune for me will certainly bring my mother over to our
side.”
“I hope so,” said Louis with pretended modesty. “And I have strong
reasons for hoping so, as I shall be able to furnish the good lady with
excellent arguments for excusing herself in her own eyes. You know when
someone proposes some little--what shall we call it?--transaction to an
honest person, it must be accompanied by justifications sufficient to
quiet all qualms of conscience. I shall prove to Mme. Fauvel and her
niece that Prosper has shamefully deceived them. I shall prove to them
that he is cramped by debts, dissipated, and a reckless gambler, openly
associating with a woman of no character.”
“And very pretty, besides, by Jove! You must not neglect to expatiate
upon the beauty and fascinations of the adorable Gypsy; that will be
your strongest point.”
“Don’t be alarmed; I shall be more eloquent than a popular divine. Then
I will explain to Mme. Fauvel that if she really loves her niece, she
will persuade her to marry, not an insignificant cashier, but a man of
position, a great manufacturer, a marquis, and, more than this, one rich
enough to establish you in the world.”
Raoul was dazzled by this brilliant prospect.
“If you don’t decide her, you will make her waver,” he said.
“Oh! I don’t expect a sudden change. I only intend planting the germ in
her mind; thanks to you, it will develop, flourish, and bear fruit.”
“Thanks to me?”
“Allow me to finish. After making my speeches I shall disappear from the
scene, and your role will commence. Of course your mother will repeat
the conversation to you, and then we can judge of the effect produced.
But remember, you must scorn to receive any assistance from me. You must
swear that you will brave all privation, want, famine even, rather than
accept a cent from a base man whom you hate and despise; a man who--But
you know exactly what you are to say. I can rely upon you for good
acting.”
“No one can surpass me when I am interested in my part. In pathetic
roles I am always a success, when I have had time to prepare myself.”
“I know you are. But this disinterestedness need not prevent you from
resuming your dissipations. You must gamble, bet, and lose more money
than you ever did before. You must increase your demands, and say that
you must have money at all costs. You need not account to me for any
money you can extort from her. All you get is your own to spend as you
please.”
“You don’t say so! If you mean that--”
“You will hurry up matters, I’ll be bound.”
“I can promise you, no time shall be wasted.”
“Now listen to what you are to do, Raoul. Before the end of three
months, you must have exhausted the resources of these two women. You
must force from them every franc they can raise, so that they will be
wholly unable to procure money to supply your increasing demands. In
three months I must find them penniless, absolutely ruined, without even
a jewel left.”
Raoul was startled at the passionate, vindictive tone of Louis’s voice
as he uttered these last words.
“You must hate these women, if you are so determined to make them
miserable,” he said.
“I hate them?” cried Louis. “Can’t you see that I madly love Madeleine,
love her as only a man of my age can love? Is not her image ever in my
mind? Does not the very mention of her name fire my heart, and make me
tremble like a school-boy?”
“Your great devotion does not prevent you planning the destruction of
her present happiness.”
“Necessity compels me to do so. Nothing but the most cruel deceptions
and the bitterest suffering would ever induce her to become my wife, to
take me as the lesser of two evils. The day on which you have led Mme.
Fauvel and her niece to the extreme edge of the precipice, pointed out
its dark depths, and convinced them that they are irretrievably lost, I
shall appear, and rescue them. I will play my part with such grandeur,
such lofty magnanimity, that Madeleine will be touched, will forget her
past enmity, and regard me with favorable eyes. When she finds that it
is her sweet self, and not her money, that I want, she will soften, and
in time yield to my entreaties. No true woman can be indifferent to a
grand passion. I don’t pretend to say that she will love me at first;
but, if she will only consent to be mine, I ask for nothing more; time
will do much, even for a poor devil like myself.”
Raoul was shocked at this cold-blooded perversity of his uncle;
but Clameran showed his immense superiority in wickedness, and the
apprentice admired the master.
“You would certainly succeed, uncle,” he said, “were it not for the
cashier. Between you and Madeleine, Prosper will always stand; if not in
person, certainly in memory.”
Louis smiled scornfully, and, throwing away his cigar, which had died
out, said:
“I don’t mind Prosper, or attach any more importance to him than to that
cigar.”
“But she loves him.”
“So much the worse for him. Six months hence, she will despise him; he
is already morally ruined, and at the proper time I will make an end of
him socially. Do you know whither the road of dissipation leads, my good
nephew? Prosper supports Gypsy, who is extravagant; he gambles, keeps
fast horses, and gives suppers. Now, you gamble yourself, and know how
much money can be squandered in one night; the losses of baccarat
must be paid within twenty-four hours. He has lost heavily, must pay,
and--has charge of a money-safe.”
Raoul protested against this insinuation.
“It is useless to tell me that he is honest, that nothing would induce
him to touch money that does not belong to him. I know better. Parbleu!
I was honest myself until I learned to gamble. Any man with a grain of
sense would have married Madeleine long ago, and sent us flying bag and
baggage. You say she loves him! No one but a coward would be defrauded
of the woman he loved and who loved him. Ah, if I had once felt
Madeleine’s hand tremble in mine, if her rosy lips had once pressed a
kiss upon my brow, the whole world could not take her from me. Woe
to him who dared stand in my path! As it is, Prosper annoys me, and I
intend to suppress him. With your aid I will so cover him with disgrace
and infamy, that Madeleine will drive every thought of him from her
mind, and her love will turn to hate.”
Louis’s tone of rage and vengeance startled Raoul, and made him regard
the affair in a worse light than ever.
“You have given me a shameful, dastardly role to play,” he said after a
long pause.
“My honorable nephew has scruples, I suppose,” said Clameran sneeringly.
“Not exactly scruples; yet I confess--”
“That you want to retreat? Rather too late to sing that tune, my friend.
You wish to enjoy every luxury, have your pockets filled with gold, cut
a fine figure in high society, and remain virtuous. Are you fool enough
to suppose a poor man can be honest? ‘Tis a luxury pertaining to the
wealthy. Did you ever see people such as we draw money from the pure
fount of virtue? We must fish in muddy waters, and then wash ourselves
clean, and enjoy the result of our labor.”
“I have never been rich enough to be honest,” said Raoul humbly; “but
I must say it goes hard with me to torture two defenceless, frightened
women, and ruin the character of a poor devil who regards me as his best
friend. It is a low business!”
This resistance exasperated Louis to the last degree.
“You are the most absurd, ridiculous fool I ever met,” he cried. “An
opportunity occurs for us to make an immense fortune. All we have to
do is to stretch out our hands and take it; when you must needs prove
refractory, like a whimpering baby. Nobody but an ass would refuse to
drink when he is thirsty, because he sees a little mud at the bottom
of the bucket. I suppose you prefer theft on a small scale, stealing by
driblets. And where will your system lead you? To the poor-house or the
police-station. You prefer living from hand to mouth, supported by Mme.
Fauvel, having small sums doled out to you to pay your little gambling
debts.”
“I am neither ambitious nor cruel.”
“And suppose Mme. Fauvel dies to-morrow: what will become of you? Will
you go cringing up to the widower, and implore him to continue your
allowance?”
“Enough said,” cried Raoul, angrily interrupting his uncle. “I never
had any idea of retreating. I made these objections to show you what
infamous work you expect of me, and at the same time prove to you that
without my assistance you can do nothing.”
“I never pretended to the contrary.”
“Then, my noble uncle, we might as well settle what my share is to be.
Oh! it is not worth while for you to indulge in idle protestations. What
will you give me in case of success? and what if we fail?”
“I told you before. I will give you twenty-five thousand livres a year,
and all you can secure between now and my wedding-day.”
“This arrangement suits me very well; but where are your securities?”
This question was discussed a long time before it was satisfactorily
settled by the accomplices, who had every reason to distrust each other.
“What are you afraid of?” asked Clameran.
“Everything,” replied Raoul. “Where am I to obtain justice, if you
deceive me? From this pretty little poniard? No, thank you. I would be
made to pay as dear for your hide, as for that of an honest man.”
Finally, after long debate and much recrimination, the matter was
arranged, and they shook hands before separating.
Alas! Mme. Fauvel and her niece soon felt the evil effects of the
understanding between the villains.
Everything happened as Louis had arranged.
Once more, when Mme. Fauvel had begun to breathe freely, and to hope
that her troubles were over, Raoul’s conduct suddenly changed; he became
more extravagant and dissipated than ever.
Formerly, Mme. Fauvel would have said, “I wonder what he does with all
the money I give him?” Now she saw where it went.
Raoul was reckless in his wickedness; he was intimate with actresses,
openly lavishing money and jewelry upon them; he drove about with four
horses, and bet heavily on every race. Never had he been so exacting
and exorbitant in his demands for money; Mme. Fauvel had the greatest
difficulty in supplying his wants.
He no longer made excuses and apologies for spending so much; instead
of coaxingly entreating, he demanded money as a right, threatening to
betray Mme. Fauvel to her husband if she refused him.
At this rate, all the possessions of Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine soon
disappeared. In one month, all their money had been squandered. Then
they were compelled to resort to the most shameful expedients in the
household expenses. They economized in every possible way, making
purchases on credit, and making tradesmen wait; then they changed
figures in the bills, and even invented accounts of things never bought.
These imaginary costly whims increased so rapidly, that M. Fauvel one
day said, as he signed a large check, “Upon my word, ladies, you will
buy out all the stores, if you keep on this way. But nothing pleases me
better than to see you gratify every wish.”
Poor women! For months they had bought nothing, but had lived upon the
remains of their former splendor, having all their old dresses made
over, to keep up appearances in society.
More clear-sighted than her aunt, Madeleine saw plainly that the day
would soon come when everything would have to be explained.
Although she knew that the sacrifices of the present would avail
nothing in the future, that all this money was being thrown away without
securing her aunt’s peace of mind, yet she was silent. A high-minded
delicacy made her conceal her apprehensions beneath an assumed calmness.
The fact of her sacrificing herself made her refrain from uttering
anything like a complaint or censure. She seemed to forget herself
entirely in her efforts to comfort her aunt.
“As soon as Raoul sees we have nothing more to give,” she would say, “he
will come to his senses, and stop all this extravagance.”
The day came when Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine found it impossible to give
another franc.
The evening previous, Mme. Fauvel had a dinner-party, and with
difficulty scraped together enough money to defray the expenses.
Raoul appeared, and said that he was in the greatest need of money,
being forced to pay a debt of two thousand francs at once.
In vain they implored him to wait a few days, until they could with
propriety ask M. Fauvel for money. He declared that he must have it now,
and that he would not leave the house without it.
“But I have no way of getting it for you,” said Mme. Fauvel desperately;
“you have taken everything from me. I have nothing left but my diamonds:
do you want them? If they can be of use, take them.”
Hardened as the young villain was, he blushed at these words.
He felt pity for this unfortunate woman, who had always been so kind
and indulgent to him, who had so often lavished upon him her maternal
caresses. He felt for the noble girl who was the innocent victim of a
vile plot.
But he was bound by an oath; he knew that a powerful hand would save
these women at the brink of the precipice. More than this, he saw
an immense fortune at the end of his road of crime, and quieted his
conscience by saying that he would redeem his present cruelty by honest
kindness in the future. Once out of the clutches of Clameran, he would
be a better man, and try to return some of the kind affection shown him
by these poor women.
Stifling his better impulses, he said harshly to Mme. Fauvel, “Give me
the jewels; I will take them to the pawnbroker’s.” Mme. Fauvel handed
him a box containing a set of diamonds. It was a present from her
husband the day he became worth a million.
And so pressing was the want of these women who were surrounded by
princely luxury, with their ten servants, beautiful blooded horses, and
jewels which were the admiration of Paris, that they implored him to
bring them some of the money which he would procure on the diamonds, to
meet their daily wants.
He promised, and kept his word.
But they had revealed a new source, a mine to be worked; he took
advantage of it.
One by one, all Mme. Fauvel’s jewels followed the way of the diamonds;
and, when hers were all gone, those of Madeleine were given up.
A recent law-suit, which showed how a young and beautiful woman had
been kept in a state of terror and almost poverty, by a rascal who had
possession of her letters, a sad case which no honest man could read
without blushing for his sex, has revealed to what depths human infamy
can descend.
And such abominable crimes are not so rare as people suppose.
How many men are supported entirely by stolen secrets, from the coachman
who claims ten louis every month of the foolish girl whom he drove to
a rendezvous, to the elegant dandy in light kids, who discovered a
financial swindle, and makes the parties interested buy his silence,
cannot be known.
This is called the extortion of hush-money, the most cowardly and
infamous of crimes, which the law, unfortunately, can rarely overtake
and punish.
“Extortion of hush-money,” said an old prefect of police, “is a trade
which supports at least a thousand scamps in Paris alone. Sometimes
we know the black-mailer and his victim, and yet we can do nothing.
Moreover, if we were to catch the villain in the very act, and hand him
over to justice, the victim, in her fright at the chance of her secret
being discovered, would turn against us.”
It is true, extortion has become a business. Very often it is the
business of loafers, who spend plenty of money, when everyone knows they
have no visible means of support, and of whom people ask, “What do they
live upon?”
The poor victims do not know how easy it would be to rid themselves
of their tyrants. The police are fully capable of faithfully
keeping secrets confided to them. A visit to the Rue de Jerusalem, a
confidential communication with a head of the bureau, who is as silent
as a father confessor, and the affair is arranged, without noise,
without publicity, without anyone ever being the wiser. There are traps
for “master extortioners,” which work well in the hands of the police.
Mme. Fauvel had no defence against the scoundrels who were torturing
her, save prayers and tears; these availed her little.
Sometimes Mme. Fauvel betrayed such heart-broken suffering when Raoul
begged her for money which she had no means of obtaining, that he would
hurry away disgusted at his own brutal conduct, and say to Clameran:
“You must end this dirty business; I cannot stand it any longer. I
will blow any man’s brains out, or fight a crowd of cut-throats, if you
choose; but as to killing by agony and fright these two poor miserable
women, whom I am really fond of, I am not going to do it. You ask for
more than I can do. I am not quite the cowardly hound you take me for.”
Clameran paid no attention to these remonstrances: indeed, he was
prepared for them.
“It is not pleasant, I know,” he replied; “but necessity knows no law.
Have a little more perseverance and patience; we have almost got to the
end.”
The end was nearer than Clameran supposed. Toward the latter part
of November, Mme. Fauvel saw that it was impossible to postpone the
catastrophe any longer, and as a last effort determined to apply to the
marquis for assistance.
She had not seen him since his return from Oloron, except once, when he
came to announce his accession to wealth. At that time, persuaded that
he was the evil genius of Raoul, she had received him very coldly, and
did not invite him to repeat his visit.
She hesitated about speaking to her niece of the step she intended
taking, because she feared violent opposition.
To her great surprise Madeleine warmly approved of it.
Trouble had made her keen-sighted and suspicious. Reflecting on past
events, comparing and weighing every act and speech of Raoul, she was
now convinced that he was Clameran’s tool.
She thought that Raoul was too shrewd to be acting in this shameful way,
ruinously to his own interests, if there were not some secret motive
at the bottom of it all. She saw that this persecution was more feigned
than real.
So thoroughly was she convinced of this, that, had it only concerned
herself alone, she would have firmly resisted the oppression, certain
that the threatened exposure would never take place.
Recalling, with a shudder, certain looks of Clameran, she guessed the
truth, that the object of all this underhand work was to force her to
become his wife.
Determined on making the sacrifice, in spite of her repugnance toward
the man, she wished to have the deed done at once; anything was
preferable to this terrible anxiety, to the life of torture which Raoul
made her lead. She felt that her courage might fail if she waited and
suffered much longer.
“The sooner you see M. de Clameran the better for us, aunt,” she said,
after talking the project over.
The next day Mme. Fauvel called on the marquis at the Hotel du Louvre,
having sent him a note announcing her intended visit.
He received her with cold, studied politeness, like a man who had been
misunderstood and had been unjustly wounded.
After listening to her report of Raoul’s scandalous behavior, he became
very indignant, and swore that he would soon make him repent of his
heartlessness.
But when Mme. Fauvel told of the immense sums of money forced from her,
Clameran seemed confounded, as if he could not believe it.
“The worthless rascal!” he exclaimed, “the idea of his audacity! Why,
during the last four months, I have given him more than twenty thousand
francs, which I would not have done except to prevent him from applying
to you, as he constantly threatened to do.”
Seeing an expression of doubtful surprise upon Mme. Fauvel’s face, Louis
arose, and took from his desk some receipts signed by Raoul. The total
amount was twenty-three thousand five hundred francs.
Mme. Fauvel was shocked and amazed.
“He has obtained forty thousand francs from me,” she faintly said, “so
that altogether he has spent sixty thousand francs in four months.”
“I can’t imagine what he does with it,” said Clameran, “unless he spends
it on actresses.”
“Good heavens! what can these creatures do with all the money lavished
on them?”
“That is a question I cannot answer, madame.”
He appeared to pity Mme. Fauvel sincerely; he promised that he would
at once see Raoul, and reason with him about the shameful life he was
leading; perhaps he could be persuaded to reform. Finally, after many
protestations of friendship, he wound up by placing his fortune at her
disposal.
Although Mme. Fauvel refused his offer, she appreciated the kindness of
it, and on returning home said to Madeleine:
“Perhaps we have mistaken his character; he may be a good man after
all.”
Madeleine sadly shook her head. She had anticipated just what happened.
Clameran’s magnanimity and generosity confirmed her presentiments.
Raoul came to see his uncle, and found him radiant.
“Everything is going on swimmingly, my smart nephew,” said Clameran;
“your receipts acted like a charm. Ah, you are a partner worth having.
I congratulate you upon your success. Forty thousand francs in four
months!”
“Yes,” said Raoul carelessly. “I got about that much from pawnbrokers.”
“Pests! Then you must have a nice little sum laid by.”
“That is my business, uncle, and not yours. Remember our agreement.
I will tell you this much: Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine have turned
everything they could into money; they have nothing left, and I have had
enough of my role.”
“Your role is ended. I forbid you to hereafter ask for a single
centime.”
“What are you about to do? What has happened?”
“The mine is loaded, nephew, and I am awaiting an opportunity to set
fire to it.”
Louis de Clameran relied upon making his rival, Prosper Bertomy, furnish
him this ardently desired opportunity.
He loved Madeleine too passionately to feel aught save the bitterest
hate toward the man whom she had freely chosen, and who still possessed
her heart.
Clameran knew that he could marry her at once if he chose; but in what
way? By holding a sword of terror over her head, and forcing her to be
his. He became frenzied at the idea of possessing her person, while her
heart and soul would always be with Prosper.
Thus he swore that, before marrying, he would so cover Prosper with
shame and ignominy that no honest person would speak to him. He had
first thought of killing him, but, fearing that Madeleine would enshrine
and worship his memory, he determined to disgrace him.
He imagined that there would be no difficulty in ruining the unfortunate
young man. He soon found himself mistaken.
Though Prosper led a life of reckless dissipation, he preserved order
in his disorder. If in a state of miserable entanglement, and obliged to
resort to all sorts of make-shifts to escape his creditors, his caution
prevented the world from knowing it.
Vainly did Raoul, with his pockets full of gold, try to tempt him to
play high; every effort to hasten his ruin failed.
When he played he did not seem to care whether he lost or won; nothing
aroused him from his cold indifference.
His friend Nina Gypsy was extravagant, but her devotion to Prosper
restrained her from going beyond certain limits.
Raoul’s great intimacy with Prosper enabled him to fully understand the
state of his mind; that he was trying to drown his disappointment in
excitement, but had not given up all hope.
“You need not hope to beguile Prosper into committing any piece of
folly,” said Raoul to his uncle; “his head is as cool as a usurer’s. He
never goes beyond a certain degree of dissipation. What object he has in
view I know not. Perhaps, when he has spent his last napoleon, he will
blow his brains out; he certainly never will descend to any dishonorable
act. As to tampering with the money-safe intrusted to his keeping----”
“We must force him on,” replied Clameran, “lead him into extravagances,
make Gypsy call on him for costly finery, lend him plenty of money.”
Raoul shook his head, as if convinced that his efforts would be vain.
“You don’t know Prosper, uncle: we can’t galvanize a dead man. Madeleine
killed him the day she discarded him. He takes no interest in anything
on the face of the earth.”
“We can wait and see.”
They did wait; and, to the great surprise of Mme. Fauvel, Raoul once
more became an affectionate and dutiful son, as he had been during
Clameran’s absence. From reckless extravagance he changed to great
economy. Under pretext of saving money, he remained at Vesinet, although
it was very uncomfortable and disagreeable there in the winter. He
said he wished to expiate his sins in solitude. The truth was, that,
by remaining in the country, he insured his liberty, and escaped his
mother’s visits.
It was about this time that Mme. Fauvel, charmed with the improvement in
Raoul, asked her husband to give him some employment.
M. Fauvel was delighted to please his wife, and at once offered Raoul
the place of corresponding clerk with a salary of five hundred francs a
month.
The appointment pleased Raoul; but, in obedience to Clameran’s command,
he refused it, saying his vocation was not banking.
This refusal so provoked the banker, that he told Raoul, if he was so
idle and lazy, not to call on him for money again, or expect him to do
anything to assist him. Raoul seized this pretext for ostensibly ceasing
his visits.
When he wanted to see his mother, he would come in the afternoon, when
he knew that M. Fauvel would be from home; and he only came often enough
to keep informed of what was going on in the household.
This sudden lull after so many storms appeared ominous to Madeleine.
She was more certain that ever that the plot was now ripe, and would
suddenly burst upon them, without warning. She did not impart her
presentiment to her aunt, but prepared herself for the worst.
“What can they be doing?” Mme. Fauvel would say; “can they have ceased
to persecute us?”
“Yes: what can they be doing?” Madeleine would murmur.
Louis and Raoul gave no signs of life, because, like expert hunters,
they were silently hiding, and watching for a favorable opportunity of
pouncing upon their victims.
Never losing sight of Prosper for a day, Raoul had exhausted every
effort of his fertile mind to compromise his honor, to insnare him into
some inextricable entanglement. But, as he had foreseen, the cashier’s
indifference offered little hope of success.
Clameran began to grow impatient at this delay, and had fully determined
to bring matters to a crisis himself, when one morning, about three
o’clock, he was aroused by Raoul.
He knew that some event of great importance must have happened, to make
his nephew come to his house at this hour of the morning.
“What is the matter?” he anxiously inquired.
“Perhaps nothing; perhaps everything. I have just left Prosper.”
“Well?”
“I had him, Mme. Gypsy, and three other friends to dine with me. After
dinner, I made up a game of baccarat, but Prosper took no interest in
it, although he was quite tipsy.”
“You must be drunk yourself to come here waking me up in the middle
of the night, to hear this idle gabble,” said Louis angrily. “What the
devil do you mean by it?”
“Now, don’t be in a hurry; wait until you hear the rest.”
“Morbleu! speak, then!”
“After the game was over, we went to supper; Prosper became intoxicated,
and betrayed the secret name with which he closes the money-safe.”
At these words Clameran uttered a cry of triumph.
“What was the word?”
“The name of his friend.”
“Gypsy! Yes, that would be five letters.”
Louis was so excited that he jumped out of bed, slipped on his
dressing-gown, and began to stride up and down the chamber.
“Now we have got him!” he said with vindictive satisfaction. “There’s no
chance of escape for him now! Ah, the virtuous cashier won’t touch the
money confided to him: so we must touch it for him. The disgrace will be
just as great, no matter who opens the safe. We have the word; you know
where the key is kept.”
“Yes; when M. Fauvel goes out he always leaves the key in the drawer of
his secretary, in his chamber.”
“Very good. Go and get this key from Mme. Fauvel. If she does not give
it up willingly, use force: so that you get it, that is the point; then
open the safe, and take out every franc it contains. Ah, Master Bertomy,
you shall pay dear for being loved by the woman whom I love!”
For five minutes Clameran indulged in such a tirade of abuse against
Prosper, mingled with rhapsodies of love for Madeleine, that Raoul
thought him almost out of his mind.
“Before crying victory,” he said, “you had better consider the drawbacks
and difficulties. Prosper might change the word to-morrow.”
“Yes, he might; but it is not probable he will; he will forget what he
said while drunk; besides, we can hasten matters.”
“That is not all. M. Fauvel has given orders that no large sum shall be
kept in the safe over-night; before closing the bank everything is sent
to the Bank of France.”
“A large sum will be kept there the night I choose.”
“You think so?”
“I think this: I have a hundred thousand crowns deposited with M.
Fauvel: and if I desire the money to be paid over to me early some
morning, directly the bank is opened, of course the money will be kept
in the safe the previous night.”
“A splendid idea!” cried Raoul admiringly.
It was a good idea; and the plotters spent several hours in studying its
strong and weak points.
Raoul feared that he would never be able to overcome Mme. Fauvel’s
resistance. And, even if she yielded the key, would she not go directly
and confess everything to her husband? She was fond of Prosper, and
would hesitate a long time before sacrificing him.
But Louis felt no uneasiness on this score.
“One sacrifice necessitates another,” he said: “she has made too many
to draw back at the last one. She sacrificed her adopted daughter;
therefore she will sacrifice a young man, who is, after all, a
comparative stranger to her.”
“But madame will never believe any harm of Prosper; she will always have
faith in his honor; therefore--”
“You talk like an idiot, my verdant nephew!”
Before the conversation had ended, the plan seemed feasible. The
scoundrels made all their arrangements, and fixed the day for committing
the crime.
They selected the evening of the 7th of February, because Raoul knew
that M. Fauvel would be at a bank-director’s dinner, and Madeleine was
invited to a party on that evening.
Unless something unforeseen should occur, Raoul knew that he would find
Mme. Fauvel alone at half-past eight o’clock.
“I will ask M. Fauvel this very day,” said Clameran, “to have my money
on hand for Tuesday.”
“That is a very short notice, uncle,” objected Raoul. “You know there
are certain forms to be gone through, and he can claim a longer time
wherein to pay it over.”
“That is true, but our banker is proud of always being prepared to pay
any amount of money, no matter how large; and if I say I am pressed, and
would like to be accommodated on Tuesday, he will make a point of having
it ready for me. Now, you must ask Prosper, as a personal favor to you,
to have the money on hand at the opening of the bank.”
Raoul once more examined the situation, to discover if possible a grain
of sand which might be converted into a mountain at the last moment.
“Prosper and Gypsy are to be at Vesinet this evening,” he said, “but I
cannot ask them anything until I know the banker’s answer. As soon as
you arrange matters with him, send me word by Manuel.”
“I can’t send Manuel, for an excellent reason; he has left me; but I can
send another messenger.”
Louis spoke the truth; Manuel was gone. He had insisted on keeping
Gaston’s old servant in his service, because he thought it imprudent to
leave him at Oloron, where his gossiping might cause trouble.
He soon became annoyed by Manuel’s loyalty, who had shared the perils
and good fortunes of an excellent master for many years; and determined
to rid himself of this last link which constantly reminded him of
Gaston. The evening before, he had persuaded Manuel to return to
Arenys-de-mer, a little port of Catalonia, his native place; and Louis
was looking for another servant.
After breakfasting together, they separated.
Clameran was so elated by the prospect of success, that he lost sight of
the great crime intervening. Raoul was calm, but resolute. The shameful
deed he was about to commit would give him riches, and release him
from a hateful servitude. His one thought was liberty, as Louis’s was
Madeleine.
Everything seemed to progress finely. The banker did not ask for the
notice of time, but promised to pay the money at the specified hour.
Prosper said he would have it ready early in the morning.
The certainty of success made Louis almost wild with joy. He counted the
hours, and the minutes, which passed but too slowly.
“When this affair is ended,” he said to Raoul, “I will reform and be a
model of virtue. No one will dare hint that I have ever indulged in any
sins, great or small.”
But Raoul became more and more sad as the time approached. Reflection
gradually betrayed the blackness of the contemplated crime.
Raoul was bold and determined in the pursuit of his own gratifications
and wickedness; he could smile in the face of his best friend, while
cheating him of his last napoleon at cards; and he could sleep well
after stabbing his enemy in the heart; but he was young.
He was young in sin. Vice had not yet penetrated to his marrow-bones:
corruption had not yet crowded into his soul enough to uproot and
destroy every generous sentiment.
It had not been so very long since he had cherished a few holy beliefs.
The good intentions of his boyhood were not quite obliterated from his
sometimes reproachful memory.
Possessing the daring courage natural to youth, he despised the cowardly
part forced upon him; this dark plot, laid for the destruction of two
helpless women, filled him with horror and disgust. His heart revolted
at the idea of acting the part of Judas toward his mother to betray her
between two kisses.
Disgusted by the cool villainy of Louis, he longed for some unexpected
danger to spring up, some great peril to be braved, so as to excuse
himself in his own eyes, to give him the spirit to carry through
the scheme; for he would like to reap the benefits without doing the
revolting work.
But no; he well knew that he ran no risk, not even that of being
arrested and sent to the galleys. For he was certain that, if M. Fauvel
discovered everything, he would do his best to hush it up, to conceal
every fact connected with the disgraceful story which would implicate
his wife. Although he was careful not to breathe it to Clameran, he felt
a sincere affection for Mme. Fauvel, and was touched by the indulgent
fondness which she so unchangingly lavished upon him. He had been happy
at Vesinet, while his accomplice, or rather his master, was at Oloron.
He would have been glad to lead an honest life, and could not see the
sense of committing a crime when there was no necessity for it. He hated
Clameran for not consenting to let the matter drop, now that he was rich
enough to live in affluence the rest of his life, and who, for the sake
of gratifying a selfish passion, was abusing his power, and endangering
the safety and happiness of so many people. He longed for an opportunity
of thwarting his plots, if it could be done without also ruining
himself.
His resolution, which had been so firm in the beginning, was growing
weaker and weaker as the hours rolled on: as the crisis approached, his
horror of the deed increased.
Seeing this uncertain state of Raoul’s mind, Louis never left him, but
continued to paint for him a dazzling future, position, wealth, and
freedom. Possessing a large fortune, he would be his own master, gratify
his every wish, and make amends to his mother for his present undutiful
conduct. He urged him to take pride in acting his part in this little
comedy, which would soon be over without doing harm to anyone.
He prepared, and forced his accomplice to rehearse, the scene which was
to be enacted at Mme. Fauvel’s, with as much coolness and precision as
if it were to be performed at a public theatre. Louis said that no piece
could be well acted unless the actor was interested and imbued with the
spirit of his role.
But the more urgently Louis pressed upon him the advantages to be
derived from success, the oftener he sounded in his ears the magic
words, “five hundred thousand francs,” the more loudly did Raoul’s
conscience cry out against the sinful deed.
On Monday evening, about six o’clock, Raoul felt so depressed and
miserable, that he had almost made up his mind to refuse to move another
step, and to tell Louis that he must find another tool to carry out his
abominable plot.
“Are you afraid?” asked Clameran, who had anxiously watched these inward
struggles.
“Yes, I am afraid. I am not cursed with your ferocious nature and iron
will. I am the most miserable dog living!”
“Come, cheer up, my boy! You are not yourself to-day. Don’t fail me at
the last minute, when everything depends upon you. Just think that we
have almost finished; one more stroke of our oars, and we are in port.
You are only nervous: come to dinner, and a bottle of Burgundy will soon
set you right.”
They were walking along the boulevard. Clameran insisted upon their
entering a restaurant, and having dinner in a private room.
Vainly did he strive, however, to chase the gloom from Raoul’s pale
face; he sat listening, with a sullen frown, to his friend’s jests about
“swallowing the bitter pill gracefully.”
Urged by Louis, he drank two bottles of wine, in hopes that intoxication
would inspire him with courage to do the deed, which Clameran impressed
upon his mind must and should be done before many more hours had passed
over his head.
But the drunkenness he sought came not; the wine proved false; at the
bottom of the last bottle he found disgust and rage.
The clock struck eight.
“The time has come,” said Louis firmly.
Raoul turned livid; his teeth chattered, and his limbs trembled so that
he was unable to stand on his feet.
“Oh, I cannot do it!” he cried in an agony of terror and rage.
Clameran’s eyes flashed with angry excitement at the prospect of all his
plans being ruined at the last moment. But he dared not give way to his
anger, for fear of exasperating Raoul, whom he knew to be anxious for an
excuse to quarrel; so he quietly pulled the bell-rope. A boy appeared.
“A bottle of port,” he said, “and a bottle of rum.”
When the boy returned with the bottles, Louis filled a goblet with the
two liquors mixed, and handed it to Raoul.
“Drink this,” he said in a tone of command.
Raoul emptied the glass at one draught, and a faint color returned to
his ashy cheeks. He arose, and snatching up his hat, cried fiercely:
“Come along!”
But before he had walked half a square, the factitious energy inspired
by drink deserted him.
He clung to Clameran’s arm, and was almost dragged along in the
direction of the banker’s house, trembling like a criminal on his way to
the scaffold.
“If I can once get him in the house,” thought Louis, “and make him
begin, the excitement of his mother’s opposition will make him carry
it through successfully. The cowardly baby! I would like to wring his
neck!”
Although his breast was filled with these thoughts and fears, he was
careful to conceal them from Raoul, and said soothingly:
“Now, don’t forget our arrangement, and be careful how you enter the
house; everything depends upon your being unconcerned and cool, to avoid
arousing suspicion in the eyes of anyone you may meet. Have you a pistol
in your pocket?”
“Yes, yes! Let me alone!”
It was well that Clameran had accompanied Raoul; for, when he got in
sight of the door, his courage gave way, and he longed to retreat.
“A poor, helpless woman!” he groaned, “and an honest man who pressed my
hand in friendship yesterday, to be cowardly ruined, betrayed by me! Ah,
it is too base! I cannot!”
“Come, don’t be a coward! I thought you had more nerve. Why, you might
as well have remained virtuous and honest; you will never earn your salt
in this sort of business.”
Raoul overcame his weakness, and, silencing the clamors of his
conscience, rushed up the steps, and pulled the bell furiously.
“Is Mme. Fauvel at home?” he inquired of the servant who opened the
door.
“Madame is alone in the sitting-room adjoining her chamber,” was the
reply.
Raoul went upstairs.