In the Rue St. Gilles the hours were dragging, slow and gloomy.
After Maxence had left to go and meet M. de Tregars, Mme. Favoral
and her daughter had remained alone with M. Chapelain, and had been
compelled to bear the brunt of his wrath, and to hear his
interminable complaints.
He was certainly an excellent man, that old lawyer, and too just to
hold Mlle. Gilberte or her mother responsible for Vincent Favoral’s
acts. He spoke the truth when he assured them that he had for them
a sincere affection, and that they might rely upon his devotion.
But he was losing a hundred and sixty thousand francs; and a man
who loses such a large sum is naturally in bad humor, and not much
disposed to optimism.
The cruellest enemies of the poor women would not have tortured
them so mercilessly as this devoted friend.
He spared them not one sad detail of that meeting at the Mutual
Credit office, from which he had just come. He exaggerated the
proud assurance of the manager, and the confiding simplicity of the
stockholders. “That Baron de Thaller,” he said to them, “is
certainly the most impudent scoundrel and the cleverest rascal I
have ever seen. You’ll see that he’ll get out of it with clean
hands and full pockets. Whether or not he has accomplices, Vincent
will be the scapegoat. We must make up our mind to that.”
His positive intention was to console Mme. Favoral and Gilberte.
Had he sworn to drive them to distraction, he could not have
succeeded better.
“Poor woman!” he said, “what is to become of you? Maxence is a
good and honest fellow, I am sure, but so weak, so thoughtless, so
fond of pleasure! He finds it difficult enough to get along by
himself. Of what assistance will he be to you?”
Then came advice.
Mme. Favoral, he declared, should not hesitate to ask for a
separation, which the tribunal would certainly grant. For want
of this precaution, she would remain all her life under the burden
of her husband’s debts, and constantly exposed to the annoyances of
the creditors.
And always he wound up by saying,
“Who could ever have expected such a thing from Vincent,--a friend
of twenty years’ standing! A hundred and sixty thousand francs!
Who in the world can be trusted hereafter?”
Big tears were rolling slowly down Mme. Favoral’s withered cheeks.
But Mlle. Gilberte was of those for whom the pity of others is the
worst misfortune and the most acute suffering.
Twenty times she was on the point of exclaiming,
“Keep your compassion, sir: we are neither so much to be pitied nor
so much forsaken as you think. Our misfortune has revealed to us a
true friend,--one who does not speak, but acts.”
At last, as twelve o’clock struck, M. Chapelain withdrew, announcing
that he would return the next day to get the news, and to bring
further consolation.
“Thank Heaven, we are alone at last!” said Mlle. Gilberte.
But they had not much peace, for all that.
Great as had been the noise of Vincent Favoral’s disaster, it had
not reached at once all those who had intrusted their savings to him.
All day long, the belated creditors kept coming in; and the scenes
of the morning were renewed on a smaller scale. Then legal summonses
began to pour in, three or four at a time. Mme. Favoral was losing
all courage.
“What disgrace!” she groaned. “Will it always be so hereafter?”
And she exhausted herself in useless conjectures upon the causes of
the catastrophe; and such was the disorder of her mind, that she
knew not what to hope and what to fear, and that from one minute to
another she wished for the most contradictory things.
She would have been glad to hear that her husband was safe out of
the country, and yet she would have deemed herself less miserable,
had she known that he was hid somewhere in Paris.
And obstinately the same questions returned to her lips,
“Where is he now? What is he doing? What is he thinking about?
How can he leave us without news? Is it possible that it is a
woman who has driven him into the precipice? And, if so, who is
that woman?”
Very different were Mlle. Gilberte’s thoughts.
The great calamity that befell her family had brought about the
sudden realization of her hopes. Her father’s disaster had given
her an opportunity to test the man she loved; and she had found
him even superior to all that she could have dared to dream. The
name of Favoral was forever disgraced; but she was going to be
the wife of Marius, Marquise de Tregars.
And, in the candor of her loyal soul, she accused herself of not
taking enough interest in her mother’s grief, and reproached
herself for the quivers of joy which she felt within her.
“Where is Maxence?” asked Mme. Favoral.
“Where is M. de Tregars? Why have they told us nothing of their
projects?”
“They will, no doubt, come home to dinner,” replied Mlle. Gilberte.
So well was she convinced of this, that she had given orders to the
servant to have a somewhat better dinner than usual; and her heart
was beating at the thought of being seated near Marius, between her
mother and her brother.
At about six o’clock, the bell rang violently.
“There he is!” said the young girl, rising to her feet.
But no: it was only the porter, bringing up a summons ordering Mme.
Favoral, under penalty of the law, to appear the next day, at one
o’clock precisely, before the examining judge, Barban d’Avranchel,
at his office in the Palace of Justice.
The poor woman came near fainting.
“What can this judge want with me? It ought to be forbidden to
call a wife to testify against her husband,” she said.
“M. de Tregars will tell you what to answer, mamma,” said Mlle.
Gilberte.
Meantime, seven o’clock came, then eight, and still neither Maxence
nor M. de Tregars had come.
Both mother and daughter were becoming anxious, when at last, a
little before nine, they heard steps in the hall.
Marius de Tregars appeared almost immediately.
He was pale; and his face bore the trace of the crushing fatigues of
the day, of the cares which oppressed him, of the reflections which
had been suggested to his mind by the quarrel of which he had nearly
been the victim a few moments since.
“Maxence is not here?” he asked at once.
“We have not seen him,” answered Mlle. Gilberte.
He seemed so much surprised, that Mme. Favoral was frightened.
“What is the matter again, good God!” she exclaimed.
“Nothing, madame,” said M. de Tregars,--“nothing that should alarm
you. Compelled, about two hours ago, to part from Maxence, I was to
have met him here. Since he has not come, he must have been
detained. I know where; and I will ask your permission to run and
join him.”
He went out; but Mlle. Gilberte followed him in the hall, and,
taking his hand,
“How kind of you!” she began, “and how can we ever sufficiently
thank you?”
He interrupted her.
“You owe me no thanks, my beloved; for, in what I am doing, there
is more selfishness than you think. It is my own cause, more than
yours, that I am defending. Any way, every thing is going on well.”
And, without giving any more explanations, he started again. He
had no doubt that Maxence, after leaving him, had run to the Hotel
des Folies to give to Mlle. Lucienne an account of the day’s work.
And, though somewhat annoyed that he had tarried so long, on second
thought, he was not surprised.
It was, therefore, to the Hotel des Folies that he was going. Now
that he had unmasked his batteries and begun the struggle, he was
not sorry to meet Mlle. Lucienne.
In less than five minutes he had reached the Boulevard du Temple.
In front of the Fortins’ narrow corridor a dozen idlers were
standing, talking.