“It is not probable that he will do so; but if he should, you must wait
until he comes out again, and continue to follow him. But he won’t enter
the hotel; very likely he will take the cars: but in that event don’t
lose sight of him, no matter if you have to follow him to Siberia. Have
you money with you?”
“I will get some from Mme. Alexandre.”
“Very good. Ah! one more word. If the rascal takes the cars, send
me word. If he beats about the bush until night, be on your guard,
especially in lonely places; the desperado is capable of any enormity.”
“If necessary, must I fire?”
“Don’t be rash; but, if he attacks you, of course defend yourself. Come,
‘tis time you were gone.”
Dubois-Fanferlot went out. Verduret and Prosper resumed their post of
observation.
“Why all this secrecy?” inquired Prosper. “Clameran is charged with ten
times worse crimes than I was ever accused of, and yet my disgrace was
made as public as possible.”
“Don’t you understand,” replied the fat man, “that I wish to separate
the cause of Raoul from that of the marquis? But, sh! look!”
Clameran had left his place near the orange-woman’s stand, and
approached the bridge, where he seemed to be trying to make out some
unexpected object.
“Ah!” said M. Verduret; “he has just discovered our man.”
Clameran’s uneasiness was quite apparent; he walked forward a few steps,
as if intending to cross the bridge; then, suddenly turning around,
rapidly walked in the direction of the Rue St. Jacques.
“He is caught!” cried M. Verduret with delight.
At that moment the door opened, and Mme. Nina Gypsy, _alias_ Palmyre
Chocareille, entered.
Poor Nina! Each day spent in the service of Madeleine seemed to have
aged her a year.
Tears had dimmed the brilliancy of her beautiful black eyes; her rosy
cheeks were pale and hollow, and her merry smile was quite gone.
Poor Gypsy, once so gay and spirited, now crushed beneath the burden of
her sorrows, was the picture of misery.
Prosper thought that, wild with joy at seeing him, and proud of having
so nobly devoted herself to his interest, Nina would throw her arms
around his neck, and say how much she loved him. To his surprise, Nina
scarcely spoke to him. Although his every thought had been devoted to
Madeleine since he discovered the reasons for her cruelty, he was hurt
by Nina’s cold manner.
The girl stood looking at M. Verduret with a mixture of fear and
devotion, like a poor dog that has been cruelly treated by its master.
He, however, was kind and gentle in his manner toward her.
“Well, my dear,” he said encouragingly, “what news do you bring me?”
“Something is going on at the house, monsieur, and I have been trying
to get here to tell you; at last, Mlle. Madeleine made an excuse for
sending me out.”
“You must thank Mlle. Madeleine for her confidence in me. I suppose she
carried out the plan we decided upon?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“She receives the Marquis of Clameran’s visits?”
“Since the marriage has been decided upon, he comes every day, and
mademoiselle receives him with kindness. He seems to be delighted.”
These answers filled Prosper with anger and alarm. The poor young man,
not comprehending the intricate moves of M. Verduret, felt as if he
were being tossed about from pillar to post, and made the tool and
laughing-stock of everybody.
“What!” he cried; “this worthless Marquis of Clameran, an assassin and
a thief, allowed to visit at M. Fauvel’s, and pay his addresses to
Madeleine? Where are the promises, monsieur, which you have made? Have
you merely been amusing yourself by raising my hopes, to dash them--”
“Enough!” interrupted M. Verduret harshly; “you are too green to
understand anything, my friend. If you are incapable of helping
yourself, at least have sense enough to refrain from importuning
those who are working for you. Do you not think you have already done
sufficient mischief?”
Having administered this rebuke, he turned to Gypsy, and said in softer
tones:
“Go on, my child: what have you discovered?”
“Nothing positive, monsieur; but enough to make me nervous, and fearful
of impending danger. I am not certain, but suspect from appearances,
that some dreadful catastrophe is about to happen. It may only be a
presentiment. I cannot get any information from Mme. Fauvel; she refuses
to answer any hints, and moves about like a ghost, never opening her
lips. She seems to be afraid of her niece, and to be trying to conceal
something from her.”
“What about M. Fauvel?”
“I was just about to tell you, monsieur. Some fearful misfortune has
happened to him, you may depend upon it. He wanders about as if he had
lost his mind. Something certainly occurred yesterday; his voice even
is changed. He is so harsh and irritable that mademoiselle and M. Lucien
were wondering what could be the matter with him. He seems to be on the
eve of giving way to a burst of anger; and there is a wild, strange look
about his eyes, especially when he looks at madame. Yesterday evening,
when M. de Clameran was announced, he jumped up, and hurried out of the
room, saying that he had some work to do in his study.”
A triumphant exclamation from M. Verduret interrupted Mme. Gypsy. He was
radiant.
“Hein!” he said to Prosper, forgetting his bad humor of a few minutes
before; “Hein! What did I tell you?”
“He has evidently----”
“Been afraid to give way to his first impulse; of course he has. He is
now seeking for proofs of your assertions. He must have them by this
time. Did the ladies go out yesterday?”
“Yes, a part of the day.”
“What became of M. Fauvel?”
“The ladies took me with them; we left M. Fauvel at home.”
“Not a doubt of it!” cried the fat man; “he looked for proofs, and found
them, too! Your letter told him exactly where to go. Ah, Prosper, that
unfortunate letter gives more trouble than everything else together.”
These words seemed to throw a sudden light on Mme. Gypsy’s mind.
“I understand it now!” she exclaimed. “M. Fauvel knows everything.”
“That is, he thinks he knows everything; and what he has been led to
fear, and thinks he has discovered, is worse than the true state of
affairs.”
“That accounts for the order which M. Cavaillon overheard him give to
his servant-man, Evariste.”
“What order?”
“He told Evariste to bring every letter that came to the house, no
matter to whom addressed, into his study, and hand them to him; saying
that, if this order was disobeyed, he should be instantly discharged.”
“At what time was this order given?” asked M. Verduret.
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“That is what I was afraid of,” cried M. Verduret. “He has clearly made
up his mind what course to pursue, and is keeping quiet so as to
make his vengeance more sure. The question is, Have we still time to
counteract his projects? Have we time to convince him that the anonymous
letter was incorrect in some of its assertions?”
He tried to hit upon some plan for repairing the damage done by
Prosper’s foolish letter.
“Thank you for your information, my dear child,” he said after a long
silence. “I will decide at once what steps to take, for it will never
do to sit quietly and let things go on in this way. Return home without
delay, and be careful of everything you say and do; for M. Fauvel
suspects you of being in the plot. Send me word of anything that
happens, no matter how insignificant it may be.”
Nina, thus dismissed, did not move, but said timidly:
“What about Caldas, monsieur?”
This was the third time during the last fortnight that Prosper had heard
this name, Caldas.
The first time it had been whispered in his ear by a
respectable-looking, middle-aged man, who offered his protection one
day, when passing through the police-office passage.
The second time, the judge of instruction had mentioned it in connection
with Gypsy’s history.
Prosper thought over all the men he had ever been connected with, but
could recall none named Caldas.
The impassable M. Verduret started and trembled at the mention of this
name, but, quickly recovering himself, said:
“I promised to find him for you, and I will keep my promise. Now you
must go; good-morning.”
It was twelve o’clock, and M. Verduret suddenly remembered that he
was hungry. He called Mme. Alexandre, and the beaming hostess of the
Archangel soon placed a tempting breakfast before Prosper and his
friend.
But the savory broiled oysters and flaky biscuit failed to smooth the
perplexed brow of M. Verduret.
To the eager questions and complimentary remarks of Mme. Alexandre, he
answered:
“Chut, chut! let me alone; keep quiet.”
For the first time since he had known the fat man, Prosper saw him
betray anxiety and hesitation.
He remained silent as long as he could, and then uneasily said:
“I am afraid I have embarrassed you very much, monsieur.”
“Yes, you have dreadfully embarrassed me,” replied M. Verduret. “What on
earth to do now, I don’t know! Shall I hasten matters, or keep quiet and
wait for the next move? And I am bound by a sacred promise. Come, we had
better go and advise with the judge of instruction. He can assist me.
Come with me; let us hurry.”