“That’s nothing yet,” he replied.
“Oh!”
“We have now to say something of Vincent Favoral’s affairs.”
An attorney who is defending the interests of a client is neither
calmer nor cooler than Mme. de Thaller at this moment.
“Do the affairs of my husband’s cashier concern me, then?” she said
with a shade of irony.
“Yes, madame, very much.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“I know it from excellent sources, because, on my return from
Louveciennes, I called in the Rue du Cirque, where I saw one Zelie
Cadelle.”
He thought that the baroness would at least start on hearing that
name. Not at all. With a look of profound astonishment,
“Rue du Cirque,” she repeated, like a person who is making a
prodigious effort of memory,--“Rue du Cirque! Zelie Cadelle!
Really, I do not understand.”
But, from the glance which M. de Tregars cast upon her, she must
have understood that she would not easily draw from him the
particulars which he had resolved not to tell.
“I believe, on the contrary,” he uttered, “that you understand
perfectly.”
“Be it so, if you insist upon it. What do you ask for Favoral?”
“I demand, not for Favoral, but for the stockholders who have been
impudently defrauded, the twelve millions which are missing from
the funds of the Mutual Credit.”
Mme. de Thaller burst out laughing.
“Only that?” she said.
“Yes, only that!”
“Well, then, it seems to me that you should present your reclamations
to M. Favoral himself. You have the right to run after him.”
“It is useless, for the reason that it is not he, the poor fool!
who has carried off the twelve millions.”
“Who is it, then?”
“M. le Baron de Thaller, no doubt.”
With that accent of pity which one takes to reply to an absurd
proposition,--“You are mad, my poor marquis,” said Mme. de Thaller.
“You do not think so.”
“But suppose I should refuse to do any thing more?”
He fixed upon her a glance in which she could read an irrevocable
determination; and slowly,
“I have a perfect horror of scandal,” he replied, “and, as you
perceive, I am trying to arrange every thing quietly between us.
But, if I do not succeed thus, I must appeal to the courts.”
“Where are your proofs?”
“Don’t be afraid: I have proofs to sustain all my allegations.”
The baroness had stretched herself comfortably in her arm-chair.
“May we know them?” she inquired.
Marius was getting somewhat uneasy in presence of Mme. de Thaller’s
imperturbable assurance. What hope had she? Could she see some
means of escape from a situation apparently so desperate? Determined
to prove to her that all was lost, and that she had nothing to do
but to surrender,
“Oh! I know, madame,” he replied, “that you have taken your
precautions. But, when Providence interferes, you see, human
foresight does not amount to much. See, rather, what happens in
regard to your first daughter,--the one you had when you were
still only Marquise de Javelle.”
And briefly he called to her mind the principal incidents of Mlle.
Lucienne’s life from the time that she had left her with the poor
gardeners at Louveciennes, without giving either her name or her
address,--the injury she had received by being run over by Mme. de
Thaller’s carriage; the long letter she had written from the
hospital, begging for assistance; her visit to the house, and her
meeting with the Baron de Thaller; the effort to induce her to
emigrate to America; her arrest by means of false information, and
her escape, thanks to the kind peace-officer; the attempt upon her
as she was going home late one night; and, finally, her imprisonment
after the Commune, among the _petroleuses_, and her release through
the interference of the same honest friend.
And, charging her with the responsibility of all these
infamous acts, he paused for an answer or a protest.
And, as Mme. de Thaller said nothing,
“You are looking at me, madame, and wondering how I have discovered
all that. A single word will explain it all. The peace-officer
who saved your daughter is precisely the same to whom it was once
my good fortune to render a service. By comparing notes, we have
gradually reached the truth,--reached you, madame. Will you
acknowledge now that I have more proofs than are necessary to apply
to the courts?”
Whether she acknowledged it or not, she did not condescend to discuss.
“What then?” she said coldly.
But M. de Tregars was too much on his guard to expose himself, by
continuing to speak thus, to reveal the secret of his designs.
Besides, whilst he was thoroughly satisfied as to the manoeuvres
used to defraud his father he had, as yet, but presumptions on what
concerned Vincent Favoral.
“Permit me not to say another word, madame,” he replied. “I have
told you enough to enable you to judge of the value of my weapons.”
She must have felt that she could not make him change his mind, for
she rose to go.
“That is sufficient,” she uttered. “I shall reflect; and to-morrow
I shall give you an answer.”
She started to go; but M. de Tregars threw himself quickly between
her and the door.
“Excuse me,” he said; “but it is not to-morrow that I want an answer:
it is to-night, this instant!”
Ah, if she could have annihilated him with a look.
“Why, this is violence,” she said in a voice which betrayed the
incredible effort she was making to control herself.
“It is imposed upon me by circumstances, madame.”
“You would be less exacting, if my husband were here.”
He must have been within hearing; for suddenly the door opened, and
he appeared upon the threshold. There are people for whom the
unforeseen does not exist, and whom no event can disconcert. Having
ventured every thing, they expect every thing. Such was the Baron
de Thaller. With a sagacious glance he examined his wife and M. de
Tregars; and in a cordial tone,
“We are quarreling here?” he said.
“I am glad you have come!” exclaimed the baroness.
“What is the matter?”
“The matter is, that M. de Tregars is endeavoring to take an odious
advantage of some incidents of our past life.”
“There’s woman’s exaggeration for you!” he said laughing.
And, holding out his hand to Marius,
“Let me make your peace--for you, my dear marquis,” he said: “that’s
within the province of the husband.” But, instead of taking his
extended hand, M. de Tregars stepped back.
“There is no more peace possible, sir, I am an enemy.”
“An enemy!” he repeated in a tone of surprise which was wonderfully
well assumed, if it was not real.
“Yes,” interrupted the baroness; “and I must speak to you at once,
Frederic. Come: M. de Tregars will wait for you.”
And she led her husband into the adjoining room, not without first
casting upon Marius a look of burning and triumphant hatred.
Left alone, M. de Tregars sat down. Far from annoying him, this
sudden intervention of the manager of the Mutual Credit seemed to
him a stroke of fortune. It spared him an explanation more painful
still than the first, and the unpleasant necessity of having to
confound a villain by proving his infamy to him.
“And besides,” he thought, “when the husband and the wife have
consulted with each other, they will acknowledge that they cannot
resist, and that it is best to surrender.” The deliberation was
brief. In less than ten minutes, M. de Thaller returned alone. He was
pale; and his face expressed well the grief of an honest man who
discovers too late that he has misplaced his confidence.
“My wife has told me all, sir,” he began.