The moment that the Marquis of Clameran perceived that Raoul de Lagors
was the only obstacle between him and Madeleine, he swore that the
obstacle should soon be removed.
That very day he took steps for the accomplishment of his purpose. As
Raoul was walking out to Vesinet about midnight, he was stopped at a
lonely spot, by three men, who asked him what o’clock it was; while
looking at his watch, the ruffians fell upon him suddenly, and but for
Raoul’s wonderful strength and agility, would have left him dead on the
spot.
As it was, he soon, by his skilfully plied blows (for he had become a
proficient in fencing and boxing in England), made his enemies take to
their heels.
He quietly continued his walk home, fully determined to be hereafter
well armed when he went out at night.
He never for an instant suspected his accomplice of having instigated
the assault.
But two days afterward, while sitting in a cafe, a burly, vulgar-looking
man, a stranger to him, interrupted him several times while talking,
and, after making several rough speeches as if trying to provoke a
quarrel, finally threw a card in his face, saying its owner was ready to
grant him satisfaction when and where he pleased.
Raoul rushed toward the man to chastise him on the spot; but his friends
held him back, telling him that it would be much more gentlemanly to run
a sword through his vulgar hide, than have a scuffle in a public place.
“Very well, then: you will hear from me to-morrow,” he said scornfully
to his assailant. “Wait at your hotel until I send two friends to
arrange the matter with you.”
As soon as the stranger had left, Raoul recovered from his excitement,
and began to wonder what could have been the motive for this evidently
premeditated insult.
Picking up the card of the bully, he read:
W. H. B. JACOBSON. Formerly Garibaldian volunteer, Ex-officer of the
army of the South. (Italy, America.)
30, Rue Leonie.
Raoul had seen enough of the world to know that these heroes who cover
their visiting-cards with titles have very little glory elsewhere than
in their own conceit.
Still the insult had been offered in the presence of others; and, no
matter who the offender was, it must be noticed. Early the next morning
Raoul sent two of his friends to make arrangements for a duel. He gave
them M. Jacobson’s address, and told them to report at the Hotel du
Louvre, where he would wait for them.
Having dismissed his friends, Raoul went to find out something about M.
Jacobson; and, being an expert at the business of unravelling plots and
snares, he determined to discover who was at the bottom of this duel
into which he had been decoyed.
The information obtained was not very promising.
M. Jacobson, who lived in a very suspicious-looking little hotel whose
inmates were chiefly women of light character, was described to him as
an eccentric gentleman, whose mode of life was a problem difficult to
solve. No one knew his means of support.
He reigned despotically in the hotel, went out a great deal, never came
in until midnight, and seemed to have no capital to live upon, save his
military titles, and a talent for carrying out whatever was undertaken
for his own benefit.
“That being his character,” thought Raoul, “I cannot see what object he
can have in picking a quarrel with me. What good will it do him to run a
sword through my body? Not the slightest; and, moreover, his pugnacious
conduct is apt to draw the attention of the police, who, from what I
hear, are the last people this warrior would like to have after him.
Therefore he must have some reason for pursuing me; and I must find out
what it is.”
The result of his meditations was, that Raoul, upon his return to the
Hotel du Louvre, did not mention a word of his adventure to Clameran,
whom he found already up.
At half-past eight his seconds arrived.
M. Jacobson had selected the sword, and would fight that very hour, in
the woods of Vincennes.
“Well, come along,” cried Raoul gayly. “I accept the gentleman’s
conditions.”
They found the Garibaldian waiting; and after an interchange of a few
thrusts Raoul was slightly wounded in the right shoulder.
The “Ex-superior officer of the South” wished to continue the combat;
but Raoul’s seconds--brave young men--declared that honor was satisfied,
and that they had no intention of subjecting their friend’s life to
unnecessary hazards.
The ex-officer was forced to admit that this was but fair, and
unwillingly retired from the field. Raoul went home delighted at having
escaped with nothing more serious than a little loss of blood, and
resolved to keep clear of all so-called Garibaldians in the future.
In fact, a night’s reflection had convinced him that Clameran was the
instigator of the two attempts to kill him. Mme. Fauvel having told
him what conditions Madeleine placed on her consent to marriage, Raoul
instantly saw how necessary his removal would be, now that he was an
impediment in the way of Clameran’s success. He recalled a thousand
little remarks and events of the last few days, and, on skilfully
questioning the marquis, had his suspicions changed into certainty.
This conviction that the man whom he had so materially assisted in his
criminal plans was so basely ungrateful as to turn against him, and hire
assassins to murder him in cold blood, inspired in Raoul a resolution to
take speedy vengeance upon his treacherous accomplice, and at the same
time insure his own safety.
This treason seemed monstrous to Raoul. He was as yet not sufficiently
experienced in ruffianism to know that one villain always sacrifices
another to advance his own projects; he was credulous enough to believe
in the adage, “there’s honor among thieves.”
His rage was naturally mingled with fright, well knowing that his life
hung by a thread, when it was threatened by a daring scoundrel like
Clameran.
He had twice miraculously escaped; a third attempt would more than
likely prove fatal.
Knowing his accomplice’s nature, Raoul saw himself surrounded by snares;
he saw death before him in every form; he was equally afraid of going
out, and of remaining at home. He only ventured with the most suspicious
caution into the most public places; he feared poison more than the
assassin’s knife, and imagined that every dish placed before him tasted
of strychnine.
As this life of torture was intolerable, he determined to anticipate a
struggle which he felt must terminate in the death of either Clameran or
himself; and, if he were doomed to die, to be first revenged. If he went
down, Clameran should go too; better kill the devil than be killed by
him.
In his days of poverty, Raoul had often risked his life to obtain a few
guineas, and would not have hesitated to make short work of a person
like Clameran.
But with money prudence had come. He wished to enjoy his four hundred
thousand francs without being compromised by committing a murder which
might be discovered; he therefore began to devise some other means
of getting rid of his dreaded accomplice. Meanwhile, he devoted his
thoughts to some discreet way of thwarting Clameran’s marriage with
Madeleine. He was sure that he would thus strike him to the heart, and
this was at least a satisfaction.
Raoul was persuaded that, by openly siding with Madeleine and her aims,
he could save them from Clameran’s clutches. Having fully resolved upon
this course, he wrote a note to Mme. Fauvel asking for an interview.
The poor woman hastened to Vesinet convinced that some new misfortune
was in store for her.
Her alarm was groundless. She found Raoul more tender and affectionate
than he had ever been. He saw the necessity of reassuring her, and
winning his old place in her forgiving heart, before making his
disclosures.
He succeeded. The poor lady had a smiling and happy air as she sat in an
arm-chair, with Raoul kneeling beside her.
“I have distressed you too long, my dear mother,” he said in his softest
tones, “but I repent sincerely: now listen to my--”
He had not time to say more; the door was violently thrown open, and
Raoul, springing to his feet, was confronted by M. Fauvel.
The banker had a revolver in his hand, and was deadly pale.
It was evident that he was making superhuman efforts to remain calm,
like a judge whose duty it is to justly punish crime.
“Ah,” he said with a horrible laugh, “you look surprised. You did not
expect me? You thought that my imbecile credulity insured your safety.”
Raoul had the courage to place himself before Mme. Fauvel, and to stand
prepared to receive the expected bullet.
“I assure you, uncle,” he began.
“Enough!” interrupted the banker with an angry gesture, “let me hear no
more infamous falsehoods! End this acting, of which I am no longer the
dupe.”
“I swear to you--”
“Spare yourself the trouble of denying anything. I know all. I know who
pawned my wife’s diamonds. I know who committed the robbery for which an
innocent man was arrested and imprisoned.”
Mme. Fauvel, white with terror, fell upon her knees.
At last it had come--the dreadful day had come. Vainly had she added
falsehood to falsehood; vainly had she sacrificed herself and others:
all was discovered.
She saw that all was lost, and wringing her hands she tearfully moaned:
“Pardon, Andre! I beg you, forgive me!”
At these heart-broken tones, the banker shook like a leaf. This voice
brought before him the twenty years of happiness which he had owed
to this woman, who had always been the mistress of his heart, whose
slightest wish had been his law, and who, by a smile or a frown, could
make him the happiest or the most miserable of men. Alas! those days
were over now.
Could this wretched woman crouching at his feet be his beloved
Valentine, the pure, innocent girl whom he had found secluded in the
chateau of La Verberie, who had never loved any other than himself?
Could this be the cherished wife whom he had worshipped for so many
years?
The memory of his lost happiness was too much for the stricken man. He
forgot the present in the past, and was almost melted to forgiveness.
“Unhappy woman,” he murmured, “unhappy woman! What have I done that you
should thus betray me? Ah, my only fault was loving you too deeply,
and letting you see it. One wearies of everything in this world, even
happiness. Did pure domestic joys pall upon you, and weary you, driving
you to seek the excitement of a sinful passion? Were you so tired of the
atmosphere of respect and affection which surrounded you, that you must
needs risk your honor and mine by braving public opinion? Oh, into
what an abyss you have fallen, Valentine! and, oh, my God! if you were
wearied by my constant devotion, had the thought of your children no
power to restrain your evil passions; could you not remain untarnished
for their sake?”