“This astonishes you!” said the viscount; “and why, pray? Is it because
I ask for a commission?”
“Oh! not at all!”
“It is not perhaps a very gentlemanly proceeding, but it is a sensible
one. Business is business. In the afternoon, when I am in a restaurant,
at the club, or in a lady’s boudoir, I am merely the viscount and the
grand seigneur. All money questions sicken me. I am careless, liberal,
and obliging to a fault. But in the morning I am simply Coralth, a man
of the middle classes who doesn’t pay his bills without examining them,
and who watches his money, because he doesn’t wish to be ruined and end
his brilliant career as a common soldier in some foreign legion.”
M. Wilkie did not allow him to continue. He believed, and his joy was
wild--delirious. “Enough, enough!” he interrupted. “A difficulty between
us! Never! I am yours without reserve! Do you understand me? How much
must you have? Do you wish for it all?”
But the viscount was unmoved. “It is not fitting that I should fix upon
the indemnity which is due to me. I will consult a man of business; and
I will decide upon this point on the day after to-morrow, when I shall
explain everything to you.”
“On the day after to-morrow! You won’t leave me in suspense for
forty-eight hours?”
“It is unavoidable. I have still some important information to procure.
I lost no time in coming to you, so that I might put you on your guard.
If any scoundrel comes to you with proposals, be extremely careful.
Some agents, when they obtain a hold on an estate, leave nothing for the
rightful owner. So don’t treat with any one.”
“Oh, no! You may rest assured I won’t.”
“I should be quieter in mind if I had your promise in writing.”
Without a word, Wilkie darted to a table, and wrote a short contract by
which he bound himself to give M. Ferdinand de Coralth one-half of the
inheritance which the aforesaid Coralth might prove him to be entitled
to. The viscount read the document, placed it in his pocket, and then
said, as he took up his hat:
“Very well. I will see you again on Monday.”
But M. Wilkie’s doubts were beginning to return. “Monday, so be it!”
said he; “but swear that you are not deceiving me.”
“What, do you still doubt me?”
M. Wilkie reflected for a moment; and suddenly a brilliant inspiration
darted through his brain. “If you are speaking the truth, I shall soon
be rich,” said he. “But, in the meantime, life is hard. I haven’t a
penny, and it isn’t a pleasant situation. I have a horse entered for the
race to-morrow, Pompier de Nanterre. You know the animal very well. The
chances are enormously in his favor. So, if it wouldn’t inconvenience
you to lend me fifty louis.”
“Certainly,” interrupted the viscount, cordially. “Certainly; with the
greatest pleasure.”
And drawing a beautiful little notebook from his pocket he took from it
not one, but two bank-notes of a thousand francs, and handed them to M.
Wilkie, saying: “Monsieur believes me now, does he not?”
As will be readily believed, it was not for his own pleasure that M. de
Coralth postponed his confidential disclosures for a couple of days. He
knew Wilkie perfectly well, and felt that it was dangerous to let
him roam about Paris with half of an important secret. Postponement
generally furnishes fate with weapons against oneself. But it was
impossible for the viscount to act otherwise. He had not seen the
Marquis de Valorsay since the Count de Chalusse’s death and he dared not
conclude the contract with Wilkie before he had conferred with him,
for he was completely in the marquis’s power. At the least suspicion of
treason, M. de Valorsay would close his hand, and he, Coralth, would
be crushed like an egg-shell. It was to the house of his formidable
associate that he repaired on leaving M. Wilkie; and in a single breath
he told the marquis all that he knew, and the plans that he had formed.
M. de Valorsay’s astonishment must have been intense when he heard that
Lia d’Argeles was a Chalusse, but he knew how to maintain his composure.
He listened quietly, and when the viscount had completed his story, he
asked: “Why did you wait so long before telling me all this?”
“I didn’t see how it could interest you in the least.”
The marquis looked at him keenly, and then calmly said: “In other words,
you were waiting to see whether it would be most advantageous to you to
be with me or against me.”
“How can you think----”
“I don’t think, I’m sure of it. As long as I was strong support for you,
you were devoted to me. But now I am tottering, and you are ready to
betray me.”
“Excuse me! The step I am about to take----”
“What, haven’t you taken it already?” interrupted the marquis, quickly.
And shrugging his shoulders, he added: “Observe that I don’t reproach
you in the least. Only remember this: we survive or we perish together.”
By the angry gleam in M. de Coralth’s eyes, the marquis must have
realized that his companion was disposed to rebel; still this knowledge
did not seem to disquiet him, for it was in the same icy tone that he
continued: “Besides, your plans, far from conflicting with mine, will
be of service to me. Yes, Madame d’Argeles must lay claim to the count’s
estate. If she hesitates, her son will compel her to urge her claims,
will he not?”
“Oh, you may rest assured of that.”
“And when he becomes rich, will you be able to retain your influence
over him?”
“Rich or poor, I can mould him like wax.”
“Very good. Marguerite was escaping me, but I shall soon have her in
my power. I have a plan. The Fondeges think they can outwit me, but
we shall soon see about that.” The viscount was watching his companion
stealthily; as the latter perceived, and so in a tone of brusque
cordiality, he resumed: “Excuse me for not keeping you to breakfast,
but I must go out immediately--Baron Trigault is waiting for me at his
house. Let us part friends--au revoir--and, above all, keep me well
posted about matters in general.”
M. de Coralth’s temper was already somewhat ruffled when he entered
Valorsay’s house; and he was in a furious passion when he left it.
“So we are to survive or perish together,” he growled. “Thanks for the
preference you display for my society. Is it my fault that the fool
has squandered his fortune? I fancy I’ve had enough of his threats and
airs.”
Still his wrath was not so violent as to make him forget his own
interests. He at once went to inquire if the agreement which M. Wilkie
had just signed would be binding. The lawyer whom he consulted replied
that, at all events, a reasonable compensation would most probably be
granted by the courts, in case of any difficulty; and he suggested
a little plan which was a chef d’oeuvre in its way, at the same time
advising his client to strike the iron while it was hot.
It was not yet noon, and the viscount determined to act upon the
suggestion at once; he now bitterly regretted the delay he had
specified. “I must find Wilkie at once,” he said to himself. But he did
not succeed in meeting him until the evening, when he found him at the
Cafe Riche--and in what a condition too! The two bottles of wine which
the young fool had drank at dinner had gone to his head, and he was
enumerating, in a loud voice, the desires he meant to gratify as soon
as he came into possession of his millions. “What a brute!” thought the
enraged viscount. “If I leave him to himself, no one knows what foolish
thing he may do or say. I must remain with him until he becomes sober
again.”
So he followed him to the theatre, and thence to Brebant’s, where he was
sitting feeling terribly bored, when M. Wilkie conceived the unfortunate
idea of inviting Victor Chupin to come up and take some refreshment. The
scene which followed greatly alarmed the viscount. Who could this young
man be? He did not remember having ever seen him before, and yet the
young scamp was evidently well acquainted with his past life, for he had
cast the name of Paul in his face, as a deadly insult. Surely this was
enough to make the viscount shudder! How did it happen that this young
man had been just on the spot ready to pick up Wilkie’s hat? Was it mere
chance? Certainly not. He could not believe it. Then why was the
fellow there? Evidently to watch somebody. And whom? Why,
him--Coralth--undoubtedly.
In going through life as he had done, a man makes enemies at every step;
and he had an imposing number of foes, whom he only held in check by
his unbounded impudence and his renown as a duellist. Thus it was not
strange if some one had set a snare for him; it was rather a miracle
that he had not fallen into one before. The dangers that threatened him
were so formidable that he was almost tempted to relinquish his attack
on Madame d’Argeles. Was it prudent to incur the risk of making this
woman an enemy? All Sunday he hesitated. It would be very easy to get
out of the scrape. He could concoct some story for Wilkie’s benefit,
and that would be the end of it. But on the other hand, there was the
prospect of netting at least five hundred thousand francs--a fortune--a
competency, and the idea was too tempting to be relinquished.
So on Monday morning, at about ten o’clock, he presented himself at
Wilkie’s house, looking pale with anxiety, and far more solemn in manner
than usual. “Let us say but little, and that to the point,” he remarked
on entering. “The secret I am about to reveal to you will make you rich;
but it might ruin me if it were known that you obtained this information
through me. You will therefore swear, upon your honor as a gentleman,
never to betray me, under any circumstances, or for any reason.”