“And the old man who pays?” he asked; “do you know him?”
“I have seen him pass,--a tall, lean, old fellow, who doesn’t look
very rich, either. But excuse me: here is a customer I must wait
upon.”
Having walked out into the street,
“We must separate now,” declared M. de Tregars to Maxence.
“What! You wish to--”
“Go and wait for me in that cafe yonder, at the corner of the street.
I must see that Zelie Cadelle and speak to her.”
And without suffering an objection on the part of Maxence, he walked
resolutely up to the cottage-gate, and rang vigorously.
At the sound of the bell, one of those servants stepped out into the
yard, who seem manufactured on purpose, heaven knows where, for the
special service of young ladies who keep house,--a tall rascal with
sallow complexion and straight hair, a cynical eye, and a low,
impudent smile.
“What do you wish, sir?” he inquired through the grating.
“That you should open the door, first,” uttered M. de Tregars, with
such a look and such an accent, that the other obeyed at once.
“And now,” he added, “go and announce me to Mme. Zelie Cadelle.”
“Madame is out,” replied the valet.
And noticing that M. de Tregars shrugged his shoulders,
“Upon my word,” he said, “she has gone to the bois with one of her
friends. If you won’t believe me, ask my comrades there.”
And he pointed out two other servants of the same pattern as himself,
who were silting at a table in the carriage-house, playing cards,
and drinking.
But M. de Tregars did not mean to be imposed upon. He felt certain
that the man was lying. Instead, therefore, of discussing,
“I want you to take me to your mistress,” he ordered, in a tone that
admitted of no objection; “or else I’ll find my way to her alone.”
It was evident that he would do just as he said, by force if needs
be. The valet saw this, and, after hesitating a moment longer,
“Come along, then,” he said, “since you insist so much. We’ll talk
to the chambermaid.”
And, having led M. de Tregars into the vestibule, he called out,
“Mam’selle Amanda!”
A woman at once made her appearance who was a worthy mate for the
valet. She must have been about forty, and the most alarming
duplicity could be read upon her features, deeply pitted by the
small-pox. She wore a pretentious dress, an apron like a
stage-servant, and a cap profusely decorated with flowers and
ribbons.
“Here is a gentleman,” said the valet, “who insists upon seeing
madame. You fix it with him.”
Better than her fellow servant, Mlle. Amanda could judge with whom
she had to deal. A single glance at this obstinate visitor
convinced her that he was not one who can be easily turned off.
Putting on, therefore, her pleasantest smile, thus displaying at
the same time her decayed teeth,
“The fact is that monsieur will very much disturb madame,” she
observed.
“I shall excuse myself.”
“But I’ll be scolded.”
Instead of answering, M. de Tregars took a couple of
twenty-franc-notes out of his pocket, and slipped them into her
hand.
“Please follow me to the parlor, then,” she said with a heavy sigh.
M. de Tregars did so, whilst observing everything around him with
the attentive perspicacity of a deputy sheriff preparing to make
out an inventory.
Being double, the house was much more spacious than could have
been thought from the street, and arranged with that science of
comfort which is the genius of modern architects.
The most lavish luxury was displayed on all sides; not that solid,
quiet, and harmonious luxury which is the result of long years of
opulence, but the coarse, loud, and superficial luxury of the
_parvenu_, who is eager to enjoy quick, and to possess all that he
has craved from others.
The vestibule was a folly, with its exotic plants climbing along
crystal trellises, and its Sevres and China jardinieres filled with
gigantic azaleas. And along the gilt railing of the stairs marble
and bronze statuary was intermingled with masses of growing flowers.
“It must take twenty thousand francs a year to keep up this
conservatory alone,” thought M. de Tregars.
Meantime the old chambermaid opened a satinwood door with silver
lock.
“That’s the parlor,” she said. “Take a seat whilst I go and tell
madame.”
In this parlor everything had been combined to dazzle. Furniture,
carpets, hangings, every thing, was rich, too rich, furiously,
incontestably, obviously rich. The chandelier was a masterpiece,
the clock an original and unique piece of work. The pictures
hanging upon the wall were all signed with the most famous names.
“To judge of the rest by what I have seen,” thought M. de Tregars,
“there must have been at least four or five hundred thousand francs
spent on this house.”
And, although he was shocked by a quantity of details which betrayed
the most absolute lack of taste, he could hardly persuade himself
that the cashier of the Mutual Credit could be the master of this
sumptuous dwelling; and he was asking himself whether he had not
followed the wrong scent, when a circumstance came to put an end to
all his doubts.
Upon the mantlepiece, in a small velvet frame, was Vincent Favoral’s
portrait.
M. de Tregars had been seated for a few minutes, and was collecting
his somewhat scattered thoughts, when a slight grating sound, and
a rustling noise, made him turn around.
Mme. Zelie Cadelle was coming in.
She was a woman of some twenty-five or six, rather tall, lithe, and
well made. Her face was pale and worn; and her heavy dark hair was
scattered over her neck and shoulders. She looked at once sarcastic
and good-natured, impudent and naive, with her sparkling eyes, her
turned-up nose, and wide mouth furnished with teeth, sound and white,
like those of a young dog. She had wasted no time upon her dress;
for she wore a plain blue cashmere wrapper, fastened at the waist
with a sort of silk scarf of similar color.
From the very threshold,
“Dear me!” she exclaimed, “how very singular!”