So much philosophy could hardly have been expected of him.
“All my father’s friends are not as indulgent as you are,” said
Maxence,--“M. Desclavettes, for instance.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Yes, last night, about twelve o’clock. He came to ask us to get
father to pay him back, if we should ever see him again.”
“That might be an idea!”
Mlle. Gilberte started.
“What!” said she, “you, too, sir, can imagine that my father has
run away with millions?”
The old lawyer shook his head.
“I believe nothing,” he answered. “Favoral has taken me in so
completely,--me, who had the pretension of being a judge of men,
--that nothing from him, either for good or for evil, could surprise
me hereafter.”
Mme. Favoral was about to offer some objection; but he stopped her
with a gesture.
“And yet,” he went on, “I’d bet that he has gone off with empty
pockets. His recent operations reveal a frightful distress. Had
he had a few thousand francs at his command, would he have extorted
five hundred francs from a poor old woman, a newspaper-vender?
What did he want with the money? Try his luck once more, no doubt.”
He was seated, his elbow upon the arm of the chair, his head resting
upon his hands, thinking; and the contraction of his features
indicated an extraordinary tension of mind.
Suddenly he drew himself up.
“But why,” he exclaimed, “why wander in idle conjectures? What do
we know about Favoral? Nothing. One entire side of his existence
escapes us,--that fantastic side, of which the insane prodigalities
and inconceivable disorders have been revealed to us by the bills
found in his desk. He is certainly guilty; but is he as guilty as
we think? and, above all, is he alone guilty? Was it for himself
alone that he drew all this money? Are the missing millions really
lost? and wouldn’t it be possible to find the biggest share of them
in the pockets of some accomplice? Skilful men do not expose
themselves. They have at their command poor wretches, sacrificed
in advance, and who, in exchange for a few crumbs that are thrown
to them, risk the criminal court, are condemned, and go to prison.”
“That’s just what I was telling my mother and sister, sir,”
interrupted Maxence.
“And that’s what I am telling myself,” continued the old lawyer.
“I have been thinking over and over again of last evening’s scene;
and strange doubts have occurred to my mind. For a man who has
been robbed of a dozen millions, M. de Thaller was remarkably quiet
and self-possessed. Favoral appeared to me singularly calm for a
man charged with embezzlement and forgery. M. de Thaller, as
manager of the Mutual Credit, is really responsible for the stolen
funds, and, as such, should have been anxious to secure the guilty
party, and to produce him. Instead of that, he wished him to go,
and actually brought him the money to enable him to leave. Was he
in hopes of hushing up the affair? Evidently not, since the police
had been notified. On the other hand, Favoral seemed much more
angry than surprised by the occurrence. It was only on the
appearance of the commissary of police that he seems to have lost
his head; and then some very strange things escaped him, which I
cannot understand.”
He was walking at random through the parlor, apparently rather
answering the objections of his own mind than addressing himself to
his interlocutors, who were listening, nevertheless, with all the
attention of which they were capable.
“I don’t know,” he went on. “An old traveler like me to be taken
in thus! Evidently there is under all this one of those diabolical
combinations which time even fails to unravel. We ought to see,
to inquire--”
And then, suddenly stopping in front of Maxence,
“How much did M. de Thaller bring to your father last evening?” he
asked.
“Fifteen thousand francs.”
“Where are they?”
“Put away in mother’s room.”
“When do you expect to take them back to M. de Thaller?”
“To-morrow.”
“Why not to-day?”
“This is Sunday. The offices of the Mutual Credit must be closed.”
“After the occurrences of yesterday, M. de Thaller must be at his
office. Besides, haven’t you his private address?”
“I beg your pardon, I have.”
The old lawyer’s small eyes were shining with unusual brilliancy.
He certainly felt deeply the loss of his money; but the idea that
he had been swindled for the benefit of some clever rascal was
absolutely insupportable to him.
“If we were wise,” he said again, “we’d do this. Mme. Favoral
would take these fifteen thousand francs, and we would go together,
she and I, to see M. de Thaller.”
It was an unexpected good-fortune for Mme. Favoral, that M.
Chapelain should consent to assist her. So, without hesitating,
“The time to dress, sir,” she said, “and I am ready.” She left the
parlor; but as she reached her room, her son joined her.
“I am obliged to go out, dear mother,” he said; “and I shall
probably not be home to breakfast.”
She looked at him with an air of painful surprise. “What,” she said,
“at such a moment!”
“I am expected home.”
“By whom? A woman?” she murmured.
“Well, yes.”
“And it is for that woman’s sake that you want to leave your sister
alone at home?”
“I must, mother, I assure you; and, if you only knew--”
“I do not wish to know, any thing.”
But his resolution had been taken. He went off; and a few moments
later Mme. Favoral and M. Chapelain entered a cab which had been
sent for, and drove to M. de Thaller’s.
Left alone, Mlle. Gilberte had but one thought,--to notify M. de
Tregars, and obtain word from him. Any thing seemed preferable to
the horrible anxiety which oppressed her. She had just commenced
a letter, which she intended to have taken to the Count de Villegre,
when a violent ring of the bell made her start; and almost
immediately the servant came in, saying,
“It is a gentleman who wishes to see you, a friend of monsieur’s,
--M. Costeclar, you know.”
Mlle. Gilberte started to her feet, trembling with excitement.
“That’s too much impudence!” she exclaimed. She was hesitating
whether to refuse him the door, or to see him, and dismiss him
shamefully herself, when she had a sudden inspiration. “What does
he want?” she thought. “Why not see him, and try and find out what
he knows? For he certainly must know the truth.”
But it was no longer time to deliberate. Above the servant’s
shoulder M. Costeclar’s pale and impudent face showed itself.
The girl having stepped to one side, he appeared, hat in hand.
Although it was not yet nine o’clock, his morning toilet was
irreproachably correct. He had already passed through the
hair-dresser’s hands; and his scanty hair was brought forward over
his low fore-head with the usual elaborate care.
He wore a pair of those ridiculous trousers which grow wide from
the knee down, and which were invented by Prussian tailors to hide
their customers’ ugly feet. Under his light-colored overcoat could
be seen a velvet-faced jacket, with a rose in its buttonhole.
Meantime, he remained motionless on the threshold of the door,
trying to smile, and muttering one of those sentences which are
never intended to be finished.
“I beg you to believe, mademoiselle--your mother’s absence--my most
respectful admiration--”
In fact, he was taken aback by the disorder of the girl’s toilet,
--disorder which she had had no time to repair since the clamors
of the creditors had started her from her bed.
She wore a long brown cashmere wrapper, fitting quite close over
the hips setting off the vigorous elegance of her figure, the
maidenly perfections of her waist, and the exquisite contour of
her neck. Gathered up in haste, her thick blonde hair escaped
from beneath the pins, and spread over her shoulders in luminous
cascades. Never had she appeared to M. Costeclar as lovely as at
this moment, when her whole frame was vibrating with suppressed
indignation, her cheeks flushed, her eyes flashing.
“Please come in, sir,” she uttered.
He stepped forward, no longer bowing humbly as formerly, but with
legs outstretched, chest thrown out, with an ill-concealed look of
gratified vanity. “I did not expect the honor of your visit, sir,”
said the young girl.
Passing rapidly his hat and his cane from the right hand into the
left, and then the right hand upon his heart, his eyes raised to
the ceiling, and with all the depth of expression of which he was
capable,
“It is in times of adversity that we know our real friends,
mademoiselle,” he uttered. “Those upon whom we thought we could
rely the most, often, at the first reverse, take flight forever!”
She felt a shiver pass over her. Was this an allusion to Marius?
The other, changing his tone, went on,
“It’s only last night that I heard of poor Favoral’s discomfiture,
at the bourse where I had gone for news. It was the general topic
of conversation. Twelve millions! That’s pretty hard. The Mutual
Credit Society might not be able to stand it. From 580, at which
it was selling before the news, it dropped at once to 300. At nine
o’clock, there were no takers at 180. And yet, if there is nothing
beyond what they say, at 180, I am in.”
Was he forgetting himself, or pretending to?
“But please excuse me, mademoiselle,” he resumed: “that’s not what
I came to tell you. I came to ask if you had any news of our poor
Favoral.”
“We have none, sir.”
“Then it is true: he succeeded in getting away through this window?”
“Yes.”
“And he did not tell you where he meant to take refuge?”
Observing M. Costeclar with all her power of penetration, Mlle.
Gilberte fancied she discovered in him something like a certain
surprise mingled with joy.
“Then Favoral must have left without a sou!”
“They accuse him of having carried away millions, sir; but I would
swear that it is not so.”