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THE COUNT'S MILLIONS, 
 
THE GABORIAU & DU BOISGOBEY 
 
 SENSATIONAL NOVELS. 
 
 UNIFORM WITH THE PRESENT VOLUME. 
 
 The Standard says : " The romances of Gaboriau and Da Boisgobey 
 picture the marvellous Lecoq and other wonders of shrewdness, who piece 
 together the elaborate details of the most complicated crimes, as Professor 
 Owen, with the smallest bone as a foundation, could re-construct the most 
 extraordinary animals." 
 
 The following Volumes are already Published: 
 
 IN PERIL OF HIS LIFE. 
 
 THE LEROUGE CASE. 
 
 LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. 2 Vols. 
 
 THE GILDED CLIQUE. 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE'S MONEY. 
 
 THE SLAVES OF PARIS. 2 Vols. 
 
 DOSSIER, NO. 113. 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF ORCIVAL. 
 
 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 2 Vols. 
 
 THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF BATIGNOLLES. 
 
 THE OLD AGE OF LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. 2 Vols. 
 
 INTRIGUES OF A POISONER. 
 
 THE CATASTROPHE. 2 Vols. 
 
 IN THE SERPENTS' COILS. 
 
 THE DAY OF RECKONING. 2 Vols, 
 
 THE SEVERED HAND. 
 
 bertha's SECRET. 
 
 WHO DIED LAST ? 
 
 THE CRIME OF THE OPERA HOUSE. 2 Vols. 
 
 THE MATAPAN AFFAIR. 
 
 To be followed by: 
 
 A FIGHT FOR A FORTUNE. 
 THE GOLDEN PIG. 2 Vols. 
 THE THUMB STROKE. 
 
 Other Volumes a/re in Preparation. 
 
GABOEIAITS SENSATIONAL NOVELS. 
 
 THE 
 
 COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 \oAI 
 
 By EMILE GABORIAU 
 
 IN TWO VOLS. VOL. I. 
 
 TWENTIETH THOUSAND. 
 
 LONDON : 
 7 I ZE TELLY & Co., 2 CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 
 i836. 
 
 i 
 
HENRV MORS= 
 
 STEPHENS 
 
 tytxti): 
 
 COWAN AND CO., STRATHMORE PRINTING WORKS. 
 

 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 PASCAL AND MARGUERITE. 
 
 It was a Thursday evening, the fifteenth of October ; and although only 
 half-past six o'clock, it had been dark for some time already. The weather 
 was cold, and the sky was as black as ink, while the wind blew tem- 
 pestuously, and the rain fell in torrents. 
 
 The servants at the Hdtel de Chalusse, one of the most magnificent 
 mansions in the Rue de Courcelles in Paris, were assembled in the porter's 
 lodge, a little building comprising a couple of rooms standing on the right 
 hand side of the great gateway. Here, as in all large mansions, the 
 " concierge " or porter, M. Bourigeau, was a person of immense importance, 
 always able and disposed to make any one who was inclined to doubt his 
 authority, feel it in cruel fashion. As could be easily seen, he held all the 
 other servants in his power. He could let them absent themselves without 
 leave, if he chose, and conceal all returns late at night after the closing of 
 public balls and wine-shops. Thus, it is needless to say that M. Bourigeau 
 and his wife were treated by their fellow-servants with the most servile 
 adulation. 
 
 The owner of the house was not at home that evening, so that M. Casi- 
 mir, the count's head valet, was serving coffee for the benefit of all the re- 
 tainers. And while the company sipped the fragrant beverage which had 
 been generously tinctured with cognac, provided by the butler, they all 
 united in abusing their common enemy, the master of the house. For the 
 time being, a pert little waiting-maid, with an odious turn-up nose, had the 
 floor. She was addressing her remarks to a big, burly, and rather insolent- 
 looking fellow, who had been added only the evening before to the corps of 
 footmen. "The place is really intolerable," she was saying. "The 
 wages are high, the food of the very best, the livery just such as would 
 show off a good-looking man to the best advantage, and Madame Leon, the 
 houskeeper, who has entire charge of everything, is not too lynx-eyed." 
 
 44 And the work?" 
 
 "A mere nothing. Think, there are eighteen of us to serve only two 
 persons, the count and Mademoiselle Marguerite. But then there is never 
 any pleasure, never any amusement here." 
 
 What ! is one bored then ? " 
 
 " Bored to death. This grand house is worse than a tomb. No recep- 
 tions, no dinners nothing. Would you believe it, I have never seen the 
 reception-rooms ! They are always closed ; and the furniture is dropping 
 
 M3$089 
 
6 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 to pieces under its coverings. There are not three visitors in the course of 
 a month." 
 
 She was evidently incensed, and the new footman seemed to share her 
 indignation. " Why, how is it ? " he exclaimed. "Is the count an owl ? 
 A man who's not yet fifty years old, and who's said to be worth several 
 millions." 
 
 1 Yes, millions ; you may safely say it and perhaps ten, perhaps 
 twenty millions too." 
 
 " Then all the more reason why there should be something going on here. 
 What does he do with himself alone, all the blessed day ? " 
 
 " Nothing. He reads in the library, or wanders about the garden. 
 Sometimes, in the evening, he drives with Mademoiselle Marguerite to the 
 Bois de Boulogne in a closed carriage ; but that seldom happens. Besides, 
 there is no such thing as teasing the poor man. I've been in the house for 
 six months, and I've never heard him say anything but : ' yes ' ; * no ' ; * do 
 this'; 'very well'; 'retire.' You would think these are the only words 
 he knows. Ask M. Casimir if I'm not right." 
 
 " Our guv'nor isn't very gay, that's a fact," responded the valet. 
 
 The footman was listening with a serious air, as if greatly interested in 
 the character of the people whom he was to serve. "And mademoiselle," 
 he asked, ' ' what does she say to such an existence ? " 
 
 ' ' Bless me ! during the six months she has been here, she has never 
 once complained." 
 
 "If she is bored," added M. Casimir, " she conceals it bravely." 
 
 "Naturally enough," sneered the waiting-maid, with an ironical gesture ; 
 ' ' each month that mademoiselle remains here, brings her too much money 
 for her to complain." 
 
 By the laugh that greeted this reply, and by the looks the older servants 
 exchanged, the new-comer must have realized that he had discovered the 
 secret skeleton hidden in every house. "What! what!" he exclaimed, 
 on fire with curiosity ; " is there really anything in that ? To tell the 
 truth, I was inclined to doubt it." 
 
 His companions were evidently about to tell him all they knew, or 
 rather all they thought they knew, when the front door bell rang 
 vigorously. 
 
 "There he comes !" exclaimed the concierge ; "but he's in too much of 
 a hurry ; he'll have to wait a while. " 
 
 He sullenly pulled the cord, however ; the heavy door swayed on its 
 hinges, and a cab-driver, breathless and hatless, burst into the room, 
 crying, " Help ! help ! " 
 
 The servants sprang to their feet. 
 
 "Make haste 1 " continued the driver. "I was bringing a gentleman 
 here you must know him. He's outside, in my vehicle " 
 
 Without pausing to listen any longer, the servants rushed out, and the 
 driver's incoherent explanation at once became intelligible. At the bottom 
 of the cab, a roomy four-wheeler, a man was lying all of a heap, speechless 
 and motionless. He must have fallen forwards, face downwards, and 
 owing to the jolting of the vehicle his head had slipped under the front 
 seat. 
 
 "Poor devil !" muttered M. Casimir, "he must have had a stroke of 
 apoplexy." The valet was peering into the vehicle as he spoke, and his 
 comrades were approaching, when suddenly he drew back, uttering a cry 
 of horror. " Ah, my God ! it is the count 1 " 
 
THE COUNTS MILLIONS. 7 
 
 Whenever there is an accident in Paris, a throng of inquisitive spectators 
 seems to spring up from the very pavement, and indeed more than fifty 
 persons had already congregated round about the vehicle. This circum- 
 stance restored M. Casimir's composure ; or, at least, some portion of it. 
 "You must drive into the courtyard," he said, addressing the cabman. 
 "M. Bourigeau, open the gate, if you please." And then, turning to another 
 servant, he added : 
 
 1 ' And you must make haste and fetch a physician no matter who. Run 
 to the nearest doctor, and don't return until you bring one with you." 
 
 The concierge had opened the gate, but the driver had disappeared ; they 
 called him, and on receiving no reply the valet seized the reins and skil- 
 fully guided the cab through the gateway. 
 
 Having escaped the scrutiny of the crowd, it now remained to remove 
 the count from the vehicle, and this was a difficult task, on account of the 
 singular position of his body ; still, they succeeded at last, by opening both 
 doors of the cab, the three strongest men uniting in their efforts. Then 
 they placed him in a large arm-chair, carried him to his own room, and 
 speedily had him undressed and in bed. 
 
 He had so far given no sign of life ; and as he lay there with his head 
 weighing heavily on the pillow, you might have thought that all was over. 
 His most intimate friend would scarcely have recognised him. His features 
 were swollen and discoloured ; his eyes were closed, and a dark purple 
 circle, looking almost like a terrible bruise, extended round them. A spasm 
 had twisted his lips, and his distorted mouth, which was drawn on one side 
 and hung half open, imparted a most sinister expression to his face. In 
 spite of every precaution, he had been wounded as he was removed from 
 the cab. His forehead had been grazed by a piece of iron, and a tiny 
 stream of blood was trickling down upon his face. However, he still 
 breathed ; and by listening attentively, one could distinguish a faint rat- 
 tling in his throat. 
 
 The servants, who had been so garrulous a few moments before, were 
 silent now. They lingered in the room, exchanging glances of mute con- 
 sternation. Their faces were pale and sad, and there were tears in the 
 eyes of some of them. What was passing in their minds ? Perhaps they 
 were overcome by that unconquerable fear which sudden and unexpected 
 death always provokes. Perhaps they unconsciously loved this master, 
 whose bread they ate. Perhaps their grief was only selfishness, and they 
 were merely wondering what would become of them, where they should 
 find another situation, and if it would prove a good one. Not knowing 
 what to do, they talked together in subdued voices, each suggesting some 
 remedy he had heard spoken of for such cases. The more sensible among 
 them were proposing to go and inform mademoiselle or Madame Leon, 
 whose rooms where on the floor above, when the rustling of a skirt against 
 the door suddenly made them turn. The person whom they called 
 " mademoiselle " was standing on the threshold. 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was a beautiful young girl, about twenty years 
 of age. She was a brunette of medium height, with big gloomy eyes shaded 
 by thick eyebrows. Heavy masses of jet-black hair wreathed her lofty but 
 rather sad and thoughtful forehead. There was something peculiar in her 
 face an expression of concentrated suffering, and a sort of proud resigna- 
 tion, mingled with timidity. 
 
 " What has happened?" she asked, gently. "What is the cause of all the 
 noise I have heard ? I have rung three times and the bell was not answered. " 
 
o THE COUNT S MILLIONS. 
 
 No one ventured to reply, and in her surprise she cast a hasty glance 
 around. From where she stood, she could not see the bed stationed in an 
 alcove ; but she instantly noted the dejected attitude of the servants, the 
 clothing scattered about the floor, and the disorder that pervaded this 
 magnificent but severely furnished chamber, which was only lighted by the 
 lamp which M. Bourigeau, the concierge carried. A sudden dread seized 
 her ; she shuddered, and in a faltering voice she added : " Why are you 
 all here ? Speak, tell me what has happened." 
 
 M. Casimir stepped forward. "A great misfortune, mademoiselle, a 
 terrible misfortune. The count " 
 
 And he paused, frightened by what he was about to say. 
 
 But Mademoiselle Marguerite had understood him. She clasped both 
 hands to her heart, as if she had received a fatal wound, and uttered the 
 single word : "Lost ! " 
 
 The next moment she turned as pale as death, her head drooped, her 
 eyes closed, and she staggered] as if about to fall. Two maids sprang for- 
 ward to support her, but she gently repulsed them, murmuring, ' ' Thanks ! 
 thanks ! I am strong now." 
 
 She was, in fact, sufficiently strong to conquer her weakness. She sum- 
 moned all her resolution, and, paler than a statue, with set teeth and dry, 
 glittering eyes, she approached the alcove. She stood there for a moment 
 perfectly motionless, murmuring a few unintelligible words ; but at last, 
 crushed by her sorrow, she sank upon her knees beside the bed, buried her 
 face in the counterpane and wept. 
 
 Deeply moved by the sight of this despair, the servants held their 
 breath, wondering how it would all end. It ended suddenly. The girl 
 sprang from her knees, as if a gleam of hope had darted through her heart. 
 r A physician ! " she said, eagerly. 
 
 ' ' I have sent for one, mademoiselle," replied M. Casimir. And hearing 
 a voice and a sound of footsteps on the staircase, he added : ' ' And for- 
 tunately, here he comes." 
 
 The doctor entered. He was a young man, although his head was al- 
 most quite bald. He was short, very thin, clean-shaven, and clad in black 
 from head to foot. Without a word, without a bow, he walked straight to 
 the bedside, lifted the unconscious man's eyelids, felt his pulse, and un- 
 covered his chest, applying his ear to i f "This is a serious case," he 
 said at the close of his examination. 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite, who had followed his movements with the 
 most poignant anxiety, could not repress a sob. " But all hope is not lost, 
 is it, monsieur?" she asked in a beseeching voice, with hands clasped in 
 passionate entreaty. " You will save him, will you not you will save 
 him ? " 
 
 " One may always hope for the best." 
 
 This was the doctor's only answer. He had drawn his case of instru- 
 ments from his pocket, and was testing the points of his lancets on the tip 
 of his finger. When he had found one to his liking : "I must ask you, 
 mademoiselle," said he, "to order these women to retire, and to retire 
 yourself. The men will remain to assist me, if I require help." 
 
 She obeyed submissively, but instead of returning to her own room, she 
 remained in the hall, seating herself upon the lower step of the staircase 
 near the door, counting the seconds, and drawing a thousand conjectures 
 from the slightest sound. 
 
 Meanwhile, inside the room, the physician, was proceeding slowly, not 
 
tBB COUNTS MILLIONS. 
 
 from temperament however, but from principle. Dr. Jodon for such was 
 his name was an ambitious man who played a part. Educated by a 
 ' ' prince of science, " more celebrated for the money he gained than for the 
 cures he effected, he copied his master's method, his gestures, and even the 
 inflections of his voice. By casting in people's eyes the same powder as his 
 teacher had employed, he hoped to obtain the same results : a large prac- 
 tice and an immense fortune. In his secret heart he was by no means dis- 
 concerted by his patient's condition ; on the contrary, he did not consider 
 the count's state nearly as precarious as it really was. 
 
 But bleeding and cupping alike failed to bring the sick man to consciousness 
 He remained speechless and motionless ; the only result obtained, was that 
 his breathing became a trifle easier. Finding his endeavours fruitless, the 
 doctor at last declared that all immediate remedies were exhausted, that 
 1 ' the women " might be allowed to return, and that nothing now remained 
 but to wait for the effect of the remedies he was about to prescribe, and 
 which they must procure from the nearest chemist. 
 
 Any other man would have been touched by the agony of entreaty con- 
 tained in the glance that Mademoiselle Marguerite cast upon the physician 
 as she returned into the room ; but it did not affect him in the least. He 
 calmly said, " I cannot give my decision as yet." 
 
 " My God ! " murmured the unhappy girl; "oh, my God, have mercy 
 upon me ! " 
 
 But the doctor, copying his model, had stationed himself near the fire- 
 place, with his elbow leaning on the mantel-shelf, in a graceful, though 
 rather pompous attitude. "Now," he said, addressing his remarks to M. 
 Casimir, " I desire to make a few inquiries. Is this the first time the 
 Count de Chalusse has had such an attack ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir at least since I have been in attendance upon him." 
 
 " Very good. That is a chance in our favour. Tell me have you ever 
 heard him complain of vertigo, or of a buzzing in his ears ? " 
 
 "Never." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite seemed inclined to volunteer some remark, but 
 the doctor imposed silence upon her by a gesture, and continued his 
 examination. "Is the count a great eater?" he inquired. "Does he 
 drink heavily ? " 
 
 " The count is moderation itself, monsieur, and he always takes a great 
 deal of water with his wine." 
 
 The doctor listened with an air of intent thoughtfulness, his head 
 slightly inclined forward, his brow contracted, and his under lip puffed 
 out, while from time to time he stroked his beardless chin. He was copy- 
 ing his master. "The devil !" he said, sotto voce. "There must be some 
 cause for such an attack, however. Nothing in the count's constitution 
 predisposes him to such an accident " Then, suddenly turning towards 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite : " Do you know, mademoiselle, whether the 
 count has experienced any very violent emotion during the past few days ?" 
 
 " Something occurred this very morning, which seemed to annoy him 
 very much. " 
 
 "Ah! now we have it," said the doctor, with the air of an oracle. 
 1 ' Why did you not tell me all this at first ? It will be necessary for you 
 to give me the particulars, mademoiselle. " 
 
 The young girl hesitated. The servants were dazed by the doctor's man- 
 ner ; but Mademoiselle Marguerite was far from sharing their awe and ad- 
 miration. She would have given anything to have had the regular phy- 
 
10 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 sician of the household there instead of him ! As for this coarse examina- 
 tion in the presence of all these servants, and by the bedside of a man who, 
 in spite of his apparent unconsciousness, was, perhaps, able to hear and to 
 comprehend, she looked upon it as a breach of delicacy, even of propriety. 
 
 " It is of the most urgent importance that I should be fully informed of 
 these particulars," repeated the physician peremptorily. 
 
 After such an assertion, further hesitation was out of the question. 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite seemed to collect her thoughts, and then she sadly 
 said : " Just as we sat down to breakfast this morning, a letter was 
 handed to the count. No sooner had his eyes fallen upon it, than he 
 turned as white as his napkin. He rose from hi3 seat and began to walk 
 hastily up and down the dining-room, uttering exclamations of anger and 
 sorrow. I spoke to him, but he did not seem to hear me. However, after 
 a few moments, he resumed his seat at the table, and began to eat " 
 
 "As usual?" 
 
 " He ate more than usual, monsieur. Only I must tell you that it 
 seemed to me he was scarcely conscious of what he was doing. Four or 
 five times he left the table, and then came back again. At last, after 
 quite a struggle, he seemed to come to some decision. He tore the letter 
 to pieces, and threw the pieces out of the window that opens upon the 
 garden." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite expressed herself with the utmost simplicity, 
 and there was certainly nothing particularly extraordinary in her story. 
 Still, those around her listened with breathless curiosity, as though they 
 were expecting some startling revelation, so much does the human mind 
 abhor that which is natural and incline to that which is mysterious. 
 
 Without seeming to notice the effect she had produced, and addressing 
 herself to the physician alone, the girl continued : " After the letter was 
 destroyed, M. de Chalusse seemed himself again. Coffee was served, and 
 he afterwards lighted a cigar as usual. However, he soon let it go out. I 
 dared not disturb him by any remarks ; but suddenly he said tome: ' It's 
 strange, but I feel very uncomfortable. ' A moment passed, without either 
 of us speaking, and then he added : ' I am certainly not well. Will you 
 do me the favour to go to my room for me? Here is the key of my escri- 
 toire ; open it, and on the upper shelf you will find a small bottle which 
 please bring to me.' I noticed with some surprise that M. de Chalusse, 
 who usually speaks very distinctly, stammered and hesitated considerably 
 in making this request, but, unfortunately, I did not think much about it 
 at the time. I did as he requested, and he poured eight or ten drops of the 
 contents of the vial into a glass of water, and swallowed it." 
 
 So intense was Dr. Jodon's interest that he became himself again. He 
 forgot to attitudinize, " And after that ? " he asked, eagerly. 
 
 " After that, M. de Chalusse seemed to feel much better, and 
 retired to his study as usual. 1 fancied that any annoyance the letter 
 had caused him was forgotten ; but I was wrong, for in the afternoon 
 he sent a message, through Madame Leon, requesting me to join him 
 in the garden. I hastened there, very much surprised, for the weather 
 was extremely disagreeable. ' Dear Marguerite,' he said, on seeing me, 
 ' help me to find the fragments of that letter which I flung from the win- 
 dow this morning. I would give half my fortune for an address which it 
 must certainly have contained, but which I quite overlooked in my anger. ' 
 I helped him as he asked. He might have reasonably hoped to succeed, 
 for it was raining when the scraps of paper were thrown out, and instead 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 11 
 
 of flying through the air, they fell directly on to the ground. We 
 succeeded in finding a large number of the scraps, but what M. de Chalusse 
 so particularly wanted was not to be read on any one of them. Several 
 times he spoke of his regret, and cursed his precipitation." 
 
 M. Bourigeau, the concierge, and M. Casimir exchanged a significant 
 smile. They had seen the count searching for the remnants of this letter, 
 and had thought him little better than an idiot. But now everything was 
 explained. 
 
 1 ' I was much grieved at the count's disappointment, " continued Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite, "but suddenly he exclaimed, joyfully: 'That 
 address why, such a person will give it to me what a fool I am ! ' " 
 
 The physician evinced such absorbing interest in this narrative that he 
 forgot to retain his usual impassive attitude. " Such a person ! Who 
 who was this person ? " he inquired eagerly, without apparently realizing 
 the impropriety of his question. 
 
 But the girl felt indignant. She silenced her indiscreet questioner with 
 a haughty glance, and in the dryest possible tone, replied : "I have for- 
 gotten the name. " 
 
 Cut to the quick, the doctor suddenly resumed his master's pose ; but all 
 the same his imperturbable sang-froid was sensibly impaired. "Believe 
 me, mademoiselle, that interest alone a most respectful interest " 
 
 She did not even seem to hear his excuse, but resumed : " I know, how- 
 ever, monsieur, that M. de Chalusse intended applying to the police if he 
 failed to obtain this address from the person in question. After this he 
 appeared to be entirely at ease. At three o'clock he rang for his valet, and 
 ordered dinner two hours earlier than usual. We sat down to table at 
 about half -past four. At five he rose, kissed me gaily, and left the house 
 on foot, telling me that he was confident of success, and that he did not 
 expect to return before midnight. " The poor child's firmness now gave 
 way ; her eyes filled with tears, and it was in a voice choked with sobs 
 that she added, pointing to M. de Chalusse: " But at half -past six they 
 brought him back as you see him now " 
 
 An interval of silence ensued, so deep that one could hear the faint 
 breathing of the unconscious man still lying motionless on his bed. How- 
 ever, the particulars of the attack were yet to be learned ; and it was M. 
 Casimir whom the physician next addressed. " What did the driver who 
 brought your master home say to you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! almost nothing, sir ; not ten words," 
 
 " You must find this man and bring him to me." 
 
 Two servants rushed out in search of him. He could not be far away, 
 for his vehicle was still standing in the courtyard. They found him in a 
 wine-shop near by. Some of the inquisitive spectators who had been dis- 
 appointed in their curiosity by Casimir's thoughtfulness had treated him to 
 some liquor, and in exchange he had told them all he knew about the affair. 
 He had quite recovered from his fright, and was cheerful, even gay. 
 
 11 Come make haste, you are wanted," said the servants. 
 
 He emptied his glass and followed them with very bad grace, muttering 
 and swearing between his set teeth. The doctor, strange to say, was con- 
 siderate enough to go out into the hall to question him ; but no informa- 
 tion of value was gained by the man's answers. He declared that the gentle- 
 man had hired him at twelve o'clock, hoping by this means to extort pay 
 for five hours driving, which, joined to the liberal gratuity he could not 
 fail to obtain, would remunerate him handsomely for his day's work. 
 
12 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 Living is dear, it should be remembered, and a fellow makes as much as he 
 can. 
 
 When the cabby had gone off still growling, although a couple of louis 
 had been placed in his hand, the doctor returned to his patient. He in- 
 voluntarily assumed his accustomed attitude, with crossed arms, a gloomy 
 expression of countenance, and his forehead furrowed as if with thought 
 and anxiety. But this time he was not acting a part. In spite, or rather 
 by reason of, the full explanation that had been given him, he found 
 something suspicious and mysterious in the whole affair. A thousand 
 vague and undefinable suspicions crossed his mind. Was he in presence of 
 a crime ? Certainly, evidently not. But what was the cause then of the 
 mystery and reticence he detected ? Was he upon the track of some lament- 
 able family secret one of those terrible scandals, concealed for a long 
 time, but which at last burst forth with startling effect ? The prospect of 
 being mixed up in such an affair caused him infinite pleasure. It would 
 bring him into notice ; he would be mentioned in the papers ; and his in- 
 creased practice would fill his hands with gold. 
 
 But what could he do to ingratiate himself with these people, impose 
 himself upon them if needs be ? He reflected for some time, and finally 
 what he thought an excellent plan occurred to him. He approached 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite, who was weeping in an arm-chair, and touched 
 her gently on the shoulder. She sprang to her feet at once. " One more 
 question, mademoiselle," said he, imparting as much solemnity to his tone 
 as he could. " Do you know what liquid it was that M. de Chalusse took 
 this morning ? " 
 
 '' Alas 1 no, monsieur." 
 
 "It is very important that I should know. The accuracy of my diag- 
 nosis is dependent upon it. What has become of the vial ? " 
 
 " I think M. de Chalusse replaced it in his escritoire." 
 
 The physician pointed to an article of furniture to the left of the fire- 
 place : "There ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur." 
 
 He deliberated, but at last conquering his hesitation, he said : " Could we 
 not obtain this vial ? " 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite blushed. " I haven't the key," she faltered, 
 in evident embarrassment. 
 
 M. Casimir approached : " It must be in the count's pocket, and if made- 
 moiselle will allow me " 
 
 But she stepped back with outstretched arms as if to protect the escri- 
 toire. " No," she exclaimed, "no the escritoire shall not be touched. I 
 will not permit it " 
 
 " But, mademoiselle," insisted the doctor, " your father " 
 
 " The Count de Chalusse is not my father ! " 
 
 Dr. Jodon was greatly disconcerted by Mademoiselle Marguerite's 
 vehemence. "Ah ! said he, in three different tones, " ah ! ah ! " 
 
 In less than a second, a thousand strange and contradictory suppositions 
 darted through his brain. Who, then, could this girl be, if she were not 
 Mademoiselle de Chalusse ? What right had she in that house ? How was 
 it that she reigned as a sovereign there ? Above all, why this angry out- 
 burst for no other apparent cause than a very natural and exceedingly in- 
 significant request on his part ? 
 
 However, she had regained her self-possession, and it was easy to see by 
 her manner that she was seeking some means of escape from threatened 
 
13 
 
 danger. At last she found it. " Casimir," she said, authoritatively 
 " search M. de Chalusse's pocket for the key of his escritoire." 
 
 Astonished by what he regarded as a new caprice, the valet obej'ed. 
 He gathered up the garments strewn over the floor, and eventually drew a 
 key from one of the waistcoat pockets. Mademoiselle Marguerite took it 
 from him, and then in a determined tone, exclaimed : " A hammer." 
 
 It was brought ; whereupon, to the profound amazement of the physician, 
 she knelt clown beside the fire-place, laid the key upon one of the andirons, 
 and with a heavy blow of the hammer, broke it into fragments. "Now," 
 said she, quietly, "my mind will be at rest. I am certain," she added, 
 turning towards the servants, "that M. de Chalusse would approve what 
 I have done. When he recovers, he will have another key made. " 
 
 The explanation was superfluous. All the servants understood the mo- 
 tive that had influenced her, and were saying to themselves, "Made- 
 moiselle is right. It would not do to touch the escritoire of a dying man. 
 Who knows but what there are millions in it ? If anything were missed, 
 why any of us might be accused. But if the key is destroyed, it will be 
 impossible to suspect any one." 
 
 However, the physician's conjectures were of an entirely different nature. 
 " What can there be in that escritoire which she desires to conceal ? " he 
 thought. 
 
 But there was no excuse for prolonging his visit. Onoe more he ex- 
 amined the sick man, whose condition remained unchanged ; and then, 
 after explaining what was to be done in his absence, he declared that he 
 must leave at once, as he had a number of important visits to make ; he 
 added however, that he would return about midnight. 
 
 " Madame L6on and I will watch over M. de Chalusse," replied Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite ; " that is sufficient assurance, monsieur, that your 
 orders will be obeyed to the letter. Only you will not take offence, I 
 trust, if I ask the count's regular physician to meet you in consultation." 
 
 Such a proposal was anything but pleasing to M. Jodon, who had met 
 with the same misfortune in this aristocratic neighbourhood several times 
 before. When an accident happened, he was summoned because he 
 chanced to be close at hand, but just as he was flattering himself that he 
 had gained a desirable patient, he found himself in presence of some cele- 
 brated physician, who had come from a distance in his carriage. Accus- 
 tomed to such disappointments, he knew how to conceal his dissatisfaction. 
 
 " Were I in your place, mademoiselle, I should do precisely what you 
 suggest," he answered, "and should you think it unnecessary for me to 
 call, I " 
 
 "Oh ! monsieur, on the contrary, I shall certainly expect you." 
 
 " In that case, very well." Thereupon he bowed and left the room. 
 
 But Mademoiselle Marguerite followed him onto the landing. "You 
 know, monsieur," she said, speaking rapidly in an undertone, " that I am 
 not M. de Chalusse's daughter. You may, therefore, tell me the truth. Is 
 his condition hopeless ? " 
 
 "Alarming yes ; hopeless no." 
 
 " But, monsieur, this terrible unconsciousness " 
 
 "It usually follows such an attack as he has been the victim of. Still 
 we may hope that the paralysis will gradually disappear, and the power of 
 motion return after a time." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was listening, pale, agitated, and embarrassed. 
 It was evident that she had a question on her lips which she scarcely dared 
 
14 
 
 to ask. At last, however, summoning all her courage, she exclaimod : 
 "And if M. de Chalusse should not recover, will he die without regaining 
 consciousness without being able to speak ? " 
 
 "I am unable to say, mademoiselle the count's malady is one of those 
 which set at naught all the hypotheses of science." 
 
 She thanked him sadly, sent a servant to summon Madame Leon, and re- 
 turned to the count's room. 
 
 As for the doctor, he said to himself as he went down stairs, "What a 
 strange girl ! Is she afraid that the count will regain consciousness ? or, on 
 the contrary, does she wish him to speak ? Is there any question of a will 
 under all this? What else can it be? What is at stake?" His pre- 
 occupation was so intense that he almost forgot where he was going, and 
 he paused on every step. It was not until the fresh air of the courtyard 
 blew upon his face, reminding him of the realities of life, that the charlatan- 
 esque element in his nature regained the ascendency. " My friend," he 
 said, addressing M. Casimir, who was lighting him out, "you must at 
 once have some straw spread over the street so as to deaden the sound of 
 the vehicles. And to-morrow, you must inform the commissary of police." 
 
 Ten minutes later a thick bed of straw had been strewed across the 
 thoroughfare, and the drivers of passing vehicles involuntarily slackened 
 their speed, for every one in Paris knows what this signifies. M. Casimir 
 personally superintended the work which was intrusted to the grooms, 
 and he was about to return indoors again, when a young man, who had 
 been walking up and down in front of the mansion for more than an hour, 
 hastily approached him. He was a beardless fellow with a strangely 
 wrinkled face, as leaden-tinted as that of a confirmed absinthe-drinker. 
 His general expression was shrewd, and at the same time impudent, and 
 surprising audacity gleamed in his eyes. "What do you want?" asked 
 M. Casimir. 
 
 The young fellow bowed humbly, and replied, " Ah, don't you recognise 
 me, monsieur? I'm Toto excuse me Victor Chupin, employed by M. 
 Isidore Fortunat." 
 
 " Oh, yes. I recollect." 
 
 " I came, in obedience to my employer's orders, to inquire if you had ob- 
 tained the information you promised him ; but seeing that something had 
 happened at your house, I didn't dare go in, but decided to watch for 
 you" 
 
 " And you did quite right, my lad. I have no information to give you 
 ah. yes ! stop ! The Marquis de Valorsay was closeted with the count for 
 two hours yesterday. But what good will that do ? The count has been 
 taken suddenly ill, and he will scarcely live through the night." 
 
 Victor Chupin was thunderstruck. " Impossible ! " he cried. " Is it 
 for hiin that the straw has been strewed in the street? " 
 
 " It's for him." 
 
 "What a lucky fellow ! No one would go to such expense for me ! But 
 I have an idea that my guv'nor will hardly laugh when I tell him this. 
 Still, thank you all the same, m'sieur, and an revoir." He was darting off 
 when a sudden thought detained him. "Excuse me," said he, with con- 
 juror like volubility ; " I was so horrified that I forgot business. Tell me, 
 m'sieur, if the count dies, you'll take charge of the funeral arrangements, 
 won't you? Very well ; a word of advice then. Don't go to the regular 
 undertakers, but come to me : here's my address" proffering a card " I 
 will treat with the undertakers for you, and take charge of everything. It 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 15 
 
 will be much better and far cheaper for you, on account of certain arrange- 
 ments I've made with these parties. Everything, to the very last plume, 
 is warranted to give perfect satisfaction. Each item will be specified in the 
 bill, and can b6 verified during the ceremony, no payment exacted until 
 after delivery. Well, is it understood ?" 
 
 The valet shrugged his shoulders. " Nonsense ! " said he, carelessly ; 
 " what is all that to me?" 
 
 " Ah ! I forgot to mention that there would be a commission of two 
 hundred francs to divide between us." 
 
 " That's a consideration. Give me your card, and rely on me. My com- 
 pliments to M. Fortunat, please." And so saying, he re-entered the house. 
 
 Victor Chupin drew a huge silver watch from his pocket and consulted 
 it. "Five minutes to eight," he growled, "and the guVnor expects me 
 at eight precisely. I shall have to stretch out my legs." 
 
 II. 
 
 M. Isidore Fortunat resided at No. 27 Place de la Bourse, on the third 
 floor. He had a handsome suite of apartments : a drawing-room, a 
 dining-room, a bedroom, a large outer office where his clerks worked, 
 and a private one, which was the sanctuary of his thoughts and medita- 
 tions. The whole cost him only six thousand francs a year, a mere trifle as 
 rents go now-a-days. His lease entitled him, moreover, to the use of a 
 room ten feet square, up under the eaves, where he lodged his servant, 
 Madame Dodelin, a woman of forty-six or thereabouts, who had met with 
 reverses of fortune, and who now took such good charge of his establish- 
 ment, that his table for he ate at home was truly fit for a sybarite. 
 
 Having been established here for five years or more, M. Fortunat was 
 very well known in the neighbourhood, and, as he paid his rent promptly, 
 and met all his obligations without demur, he was generally respected. 
 Besides, people knew very well from what source M. Fortunat derived his 
 income. He gave his attention to contested claims, liquidations, the re- 
 covery of legacies, and so on, as was shown by the inscription in large 
 letters whicli figured on the elegant brass plate adorning his door. He 
 must have had a prosperous business, for he employed six collectors in ad- 
 dition to the clerks who wrote all day long in his office ; and his clients were 
 so numerous that the concierge was often heard to complain of the way they 
 ran up and down the stairs, declaring that it was worse than a procession. 
 
 To be just, we must add that M. Fortunat's appearance, manners and 
 conduct were of a nature to quiet all suspicions. He was some thirty-eight 
 years of age, extremely methodical in his habits, gentle and refined in his 
 manner, intelligent, very good-looking, and always dressed in perfect 
 taste. He was accused of being, in business matters, as cold, as polished, 
 and as hard as one of the marble slabs of the Morgue ; but then, no one 
 was obliged to employ him unless they chose to do so. This much is cer- 
 tain : he did not frequent cafes or places of amusement. If he went out 
 at all after dinner, it was only to pass the evening at the house of some 
 rich client in the neighbourhood. He detested the smell of tobacco, and 
 was inclined to be devout never failing to attend eight o'clock mass on 
 Sunday mornings. His housekeeper suspected him of matrimonial designs, 
 and perhaps she was right. 
 
 On the evening that the Count de Chalu3se was struck with apoplexy M, 
 
16 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 Isidore Fortunat had been dining alone, and was sipping a cup of tea 
 when the door bell rang, announcing the arrival of a visitor. Madame 
 Dod'elin hastened to open the door, and in walked Victor Chupin, breathless 
 from his hurried walk. It had not taken him twenty -five minutes to cover 
 the distance which separates the Rue de Courcelles from the Place de la 
 Bourse. 
 
 "You are late, Victor," said M. Fortunat, quietly. 
 
 " That's true, monsieur, but it isn't my fault. Everything was in con- 
 fusion down there, and I was obliged to wait " 
 
 "How is that? Why?" 
 
 " The Count de Chalusse was stricken with apoplexy this evening, and he 
 is probably dead by this time." 
 
 M. Fortunat sprang from his chair with a livid face and trembling lips. 
 " Stricken with apoplexy ! " he exclaimed in a husky voice. "I am ruined !" 
 
 Then, fearing Madame Dodelin's curiosity, he seized the lamp and 
 rushed into his office, crying to Chupin : " Follow me." 
 
 Chupin obeyed without a word, for he was a shrewd fellow, and knew 
 how to make the best of a trying situation. He was not usually allowed 
 to enter this private room, the floor of which was covered with a magnifi- 
 cent carpet ; and so, after carefully closing the door, he remained standing 
 hat in hand, and looking somewhat intimidated. But M. Fortunat seemed 
 to have forgotten his presence. After depositing the lamp on the mantel- 
 shelf, he walked several times round and round the room like a hunted 
 beast seeking for some means of egress. 
 
 ** If the count is dead," he muttered, " the Marquis de Valorsay is lost ! 
 Farewell to the millions ! " 
 
 The blow was so cruel, and so entirely unexpected, that he could not, 
 would not believe in its reality. He walked straight to Chupin, and 
 caught him by the collar, as if the young fellow had been the cause of this 
 misfortune. "It isn't possible," said he; "the count cannot be dead. 
 You are deceiving me, or they deceived you. You must have misunder- 
 stood you only wished to give some excuse for your delay perhaps. Speak, 
 say something ! " 
 
 As a rule, Chupin was not easily impressed, but he felt almost frightened 
 by his employer's agitation. "I only repeated what M. Casimir told me, 
 monsieur," was his reply. 
 
 He then wished to furnish some particulars, but M. Fortunat had already 
 resumed his furious tramp to and fro, giving vent to his wrath and despair 
 in incoherent exclamations. " Forty thousand francs lost ! " he exclaimed. 
 "Forty thousand francs, counted out there on my desk ! I see them yet, 
 counted and placed in the hand of the Marquis de Valorsay in exchange 
 for his signature. My savings for a number of years, and I have only a 
 worthless scrap of paper to show for them. That cursed marquis ! And 
 he was to come here this evening, and I was to give him ten thousand 
 francs more. They are lying there in that drawer. Let him come, the 
 wretch, let him come ! " 
 
 Anger had positively brought foam to M. Fortunat's lips, and any one 
 seeing him then would subsequently have had but little confidence in his 
 customary good-natured air and unctuous politeness. "And yet the 
 marquis is as much to be pitied as I am," he continued. " He loses as 
 much, even more ! And such a sure thing it seemed, too ! What specula- 
 tion can a fellow engage in after this ? And a man must put his money 
 somewhere ; he can't bury it in the ground ! " 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 17 
 
 Chupin listened with an air of profound commiseration ; but it was only 
 assumed. He was inwardly jubilant, for his interest in the affair was in 
 direct opposition to that of his employer. Indeed, if M. Fortunat lost 
 forty thousand francs by the Count de Chalusse's death, Chupin expected 
 to make a hundred francs commission on the funeral. 
 
 "Still, he may have made a will ! " pursued M. Fortunat. "But no, 
 I'm sure he hasn't. A poor devil who has only a few sous to leave behind 
 him always takes this precaution. He thinks he may be run over by an 
 omnibus and suddenly killed, and he always writes and signs his last 
 wishes. But millionaires don't think of such things ; they believe them- 
 selves immortal ! " He paused to reflect for a moment, for power of reflec- 
 tion had returned to him. His excitement had quickly spent itself by 
 reason of its very violence. " This much is certain," he resumed, slowly, 
 and in a more composed voice, " whether the count has made a will or not, 
 Valorsay will lose the millions he expected from Chalusse. If there is no 
 will, Mademoiselle Marguerite won't have a sou, and then, good evening ! 
 If there is one, this devil of a girl, suddenly becoming her own mistress, 
 and wealthy into the bargain, will send Monsieur de Valorsay about his 
 business, especially if she loves another, as he himself admits and in that 
 case, again good evening ! " 
 
 M. Fortunat drew out his handkerchief, and, pausing in front of the 
 looking-glass, wiped the perspiration from his brow, and arranged his dis- 
 ordered hair, He was one of those men who may be stunned, but never 
 crushed, by a catastrophe. " In conclusion," he muttered, " I must enter 
 my forty thousand francs as an item in the profit and loss account. It 
 only remains to be seen if it would not be possible to regain them in the 
 same affair." He was again master of himself, and never had his mind 
 been more clear. He seated himself at his desk, leant his elbows upon it, 
 rested his head on his hands, and remained for some time perfectly motion- 
 less ; but there was triumph in his gesture when he at last looked up again. 
 
 " I am safe," he muttered, so low that Chupin could not hear him. 
 " What a fool I was ! If there is no will a fourth of the millions shall be 
 mine ! Ah, when a man knows his ground, he never need lose the battle ! 
 But I must act quickly," he added, " very quickly." And so speaking, he 
 rose and glanced at the clock. "Nine o'clock," said he. "I must open 
 the campaign this very evening." 
 
 Motionless in his dark corner, Chupin still retained his commiserating 
 attitude ; but he was so oppressed with curiosity that he could scarcely 
 breathe. He opened his eyes and ears to the utmost, and watched his em- 
 ployer's slightest movements with intense interest. 
 
 Prompt to act when he had once decided upon his course, M. Fortunat 
 now drew from his desk a large portfolio, crammed full of letters, receipts, 
 bills, deeds of property, and old parchments. "I can certainly discover the 
 necessary pretext here," he murmured, rummaging through the mass of 
 papers. But he did not at once find what he sought, and he was growing 
 impatient, as could be seen by his feverish haste, when all at once he 
 paused with a sigh of relief. " At last ! " 
 
 He held in his hand a soiled and crumpled note of hand, affixed by a pin 
 to a huissier's protest, thus proving conclusively that it had been dis- 
 honoured. ^ M. Fortunat waved these strips of paper triumphantly, and 
 with a satisfied air exclaimed : " It is here that I must strike ; it is here 
 if Casimir hasn't deceived me that I shall find the indispensable infor- 
 mation I need." 
 
18 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 He was in such haste that he did not wait to put his portfolio in order. 
 He threw it with the papers it had contained into the drawer of his desk 
 again, and, approaching Chupin, he asked, "It was you, was it not, 
 Victor, who obtained that information respecting the solvency of the Van- 
 trassons, husband and wife, who let out furnished rooms ? " 
 . " Yes, monsieur, and I gave you the answer : nothing to hope for " 
 
 " I know ; but that doesn't matter. Do you remember their address ?" 
 
 " Perfectly. They are now living on the Asnieres Road, beyond the for- 
 tifications, on the right hand side." 
 
 " What is the number ?" 
 
 Chupin hesitated, reflected for a moment, and then began to scratch his 
 head furiously, as he was in the habit of doing whenever his memory failed 
 him and he wished to recall it to duty. " I'm not sure whether the number 
 is eighteen or forty-six," he said, at last ; " that is " 
 
 "Never mind," interrupted M. Fortunat. " If I sent you to the house 
 could you find it ? " 
 
 "Oh yes, m'sieur at once with my eyes shut. lean see the place 
 perfectly a rickety old barrack. There is a tract of unoccupied land on 
 one side, and a kitchen-garden in the rear." 
 
 " Very well ; you shall accompany me there." 
 
 Chupin seemed astonished by this strange proposal. " What m'sieur," 
 said he, " do you think of going there at this time of night ? " 
 
 ' Why not ? Shall we find the establishment closed ? " 
 
 ' ' No ; certainly not. Vantrasson doesn't merely keep furnished rooms ; 
 he's a grocer, and sells liquor too. His place is open until eleven o'clock at 
 least. But if you are going there to present a bill, it's perhaps a little 
 late. If I were in your place, m'sieur, I should wait till to-morrow. It's 
 raining, and the streets are deserted. It's an out-of-the-way place too ; 
 and in such cases, a man has been known to settle his account with what- 
 ever came handiest with a cudgel, or a bullet, for instance." 
 
 1 Are you afraid ? " 
 
 This question seemed so utterly absurd to Chupin that he was not in the 
 least offended by it ; his only answer was a disdainful shrug of the shoulders. 
 
 " Then we will go," remarked M. Fortunat. " While I'm getting ready, 
 go and hire a cab, and see that you get a good horse." 
 
 Chupin was off in an instant, tearing down the staircase like a tempest. 
 There was a cab-stand only a few steps from the house, but he preferred 
 to run to the jobmaster's stables in the Rue Feydeau. 
 
 "Cab, sir 1 " shouted several men, as they saw him approaching. 
 
 He made no reply, but began to examine the horses with the air of a 
 connoisseur, until at last he found an animal that suited him. Thereupon 
 he beckoned to the driver, and going to the little office where a woman sat 
 reading : " My five sous, if you please," he said, authoritatively. 
 
 The woman looked at him. Most jobmasters are in the habit of giving 
 five sous to any servant who comes in search of a cab for his master ; and 
 this was the custom here. But the keeper of the office, who felt sure that 
 Chupin was not a servant, hesitated ; and this made the young fellow 
 angry. " Make haste," he cried, imperiously. "If you don't, I shall run 
 to the nearest stand." 
 
 The woman at once threw him five sous, which he pocketed with a 
 satisfied grin. They were his rightfully his since he had taken the 
 trouble to gain them. He then hastily returned to the office to inform 
 his employer that the cab was waiting at the door, and found himself 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 19 
 
 face to face with a sight which made him open his eyes to their widest 
 extent. 
 
 M. Fortunat had profited by his clerk's absence, not to disguise himself 
 that would be saying too much but to make some changes in his 
 appearance. He had arrayed himself in a long overcoat, shiny with grease 
 and wear, and falling below his knees ; in place of his elegant satin cravat 
 he had knotted a gaudy silk neckerchief about his throat ; his boots were 
 worn, and out of shape ; and his hat would have been treated with con- 
 tempt even by a dealer in old clothes. Of the prosperous Fortunat, so 
 favourably known round about the Place de la Bourse, naught remained 
 save his face and his hands. Another Fortunat had taken his place, more 
 than needy in aspect wretched, famished, gaunt with hunger, ready for 
 any desperate deed. And, yet, he seemed at ease in this garb ; it yielded 
 to his every movement, as if he had worn it for a long time. The butterfly 
 had become a chrysalis again. Chupin's admiring smile must have repaid 
 him for his trouble. Since the young clerk evinced approval, M. Fortunat 
 felt sure that Vantrasson would take him for what he wished to appear a 
 poor devil of an agent, who was acting on some other person's behalf. 
 " Let us start at once," said he. 
 
 But just as he was leaving the ante-room, he remembered an order of 
 great importance which he wished to give. He called Madame Dodelin, 
 and without paying the slightest heed to her astonishment at seeing him 
 thus attired : "If the Marquis de Valorsay comes, in my absence," said he 
 "and he will come ask him to wait for me. I shall return before mid- 
 night. Don't take him into my office he can wait in the drawing-room." 
 
 This last order was certainly unnecessary, since M. Fortunat had closed 
 and double-locked his office-door, and placed the key carefully in his own 
 pocket. But perhaps he had forgotten this circumstance. There were 
 now no traces of his recent anger and disappointment. He was in excellent 
 humour ; and you might have supposed that he was starting on an enterprise 
 from which he expected to derive both pleasure and profit. 
 
 Chupin was climbing to a place on the box beside the driver when his 
 employer bade him take a seat inside the vehicle. They were not long in 
 reaching their destination, for the horse was really a good one, and the 
 driver had been stimulated by the promise of a magnificent gratuity. In 
 fact, M. Fortunat and his companion reached the'Asnieres Road in less than 
 forty minutes. 
 
 In obedience to the orders he had received before starting, the cabman 
 drew up on the right hand side of the road, at about a hundred paces from 
 the city gate, beyond the fortifications. "Well, sir, here you are ! Are 
 you satisfied ? " he inquired, as he opened the door. 
 
 "Perfectly satisfied," replied M. Fortunat. "Here is your promised 
 gratuity. Now, you have only to wait for us. Don't stir from this place. 
 Do you understand ? " 
 
 But the driver shook his head. " Excuse me," he said, " but if it's all 
 the same to you, I will station myself over there near the gate. Here, you 
 see, I should be afraid to go to sleep, while over there " 
 
 "Very well ; suit yourself," M. Fortunat replied. 
 
 This precaution on the driver's part convinced him that Chwpin had not 
 exaggerated the evil reputation of this quarter of the Parisian suburbs 
 And, indeed, there was little of a reassuring character in the aspect of this 
 broad road, quite deserted at this hour, and shrouded in the darkness of a 
 tempestuous night. The rain had ceased falling, but the wind blew witb 
 
20 
 
 increased violence, twisting the branches off the trees, tearing slates from 
 the roofs, and shaking the street-lamps so furiously as to extinguish the 
 gas. They could not see a step before them ; the mud was ankle-deep, and 
 not a person, not a solitary soul was visible. 
 
 " Are we almost there ? " M. Fortunat asked every ten paces. 
 
 " Almost there, m'sieur. " 
 
 Chupin said this ; but to tell the truth, he knew nothing about it. He 
 tried to discover where he was, but did not succeed. Houses were 
 becoming scanty, and vacant plots of building ground more numerous ; it 
 was only with the greatest difficulty that one could occasionally discern a 
 light. At last, however, after a quarter of an hour's hard struggling, 
 Chupin uttered a joyful cry. " Here we are, m'sieur look ! " said he. 
 
 A large building, five storeys high, sinister of aspect, and standing quite 
 alone, could just be distinguished in the darkness. It was already falling 
 to pieces, and yet it was not entirely completed. Plainly enough, the 
 speculator who had undertaken the enterprise had not been rich enough to 
 complete it. On seeing the many closely pierced windows of the facade, a 
 passer-by could not fail to divine for what purpose the building had been 
 erected ; and in order that no one should remain in ignorance of it, this 
 inscription : " Furnished Rooms," figured in letters three feet high, between 
 the third and fourth floors. The inside arrangements could be easily 
 divined : innumerable rooms, all small and inconvenient, and let out at 
 exorbitant rentals. 
 
 However, Victor Chupin's memory had misled him. This establishment 
 was not on the right, but on the left-hand side of the road, a perfect mire 
 through which M. Fortunat and his companion were obliged to cross. 
 Their eyes having become accustomed to the darkness, they could discern 
 sundry details as they approached the building. The ground floor comprised 
 two shops, one of which was closed, but the other was still open, and a faint 
 light gleamed through the soiled red curtains. Over the frontage appeared 
 the shopkeeper's name, Vantrasson, while on either side, in smaller letters, 
 were the words : " Groceries and Provisions Foreign and French Wines." 
 Everything about this den dneoted abject poverty and low debauchery. 
 
 M. Fortunat certainly did not recoil, but before entering the shop he was 
 not sorry to have an opportunity to reconnoitre. He approached cautiously, 
 and peered through the window at a place where a rent in the curtain 
 allowed him some view of the interior. Behind the counter a woman who 
 looked some fifty years of age was seated, mending a soiled dress by the 
 light of a smoking lamp. She was short and very stout. She seemed 
 literally weighed down, and puffed out by an unwholesome and unnatural 
 mass of superfluous flesh ; and she was as white as if her veins had been 
 filled with water, instead of blood. Her hanging cheeks, her receding fore- 
 head, and her thin lips, imparted an alarming expression of wickedness and 
 cunning to her countenance. At the farther end of the store Fortunat 
 could vaguely discern the figure of a man seated on a stool. He seemed to 
 be asleep, for his crossed arms rested on a table, with his head leaning on 
 them. 
 
 ' * Good luck ! " whispered Chupin in his employer's ear ; ' * there is not 
 a customer in the place. Vantrasson and his wife are alone." This circum- 
 stance was by no means displeasing to M. Fortunat, as could be seen by 
 his expression of face. " So, m'sieur," continued Chupin, " you need have 
 no fears. I'll remain here and watch, while you go in." 
 
 M. Fortunat did so. On hearing the door open and shut, the woman 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 21 
 
 laid down her work. " What can I do for monsieur ? " she asked, in a 
 wheedling voice. 
 
 M. Fortunat did not reply at once ; but he drew the note with which he 
 had provided himself from his pocket, and displayed it. "I am a huissier's 
 clerk," he then exclaimed ; " and I called in reference to this little matter 
 a note of hand for five hundred and eighty-three francs, value received in 
 goods, signed Vantrasson, and made payable to the order of a person named 
 Barutin." 
 
 "An execution!" said the woman, whose voice suddenly soured. 
 " Vantrasson, wake up, and come and see about this." 
 
 This summons was unnecessary. On hearing the words " note of hand," 
 the man had lifted his head ; and at the name of Barutin, he rose and 
 approached with a heavy, uncertain step, as if he had not yet slept off his 
 intoxication. He was younger than his wife, tall, with a well-proportioned 
 and athletic form. His features were regular, but the abuse of alcohol and 
 all sorts of excesses had greatly marred them, and their present expression 
 was one of ferocious brutishness. " What's that you are talking about? " 
 he asked in a harsh, grating voice. "Is it to mock people that you come 
 and ask for money on the 15th of October rent day ? Where have you 
 seen any money left after the landlord has made his round ? Besides, what 
 is this bill ? Give it me to look at." 
 
 M. Fortunat was not guilty of such folly ; he did not intrust the paper to 
 Vantrasson's hand, but held it a little distance from him, &pd then read it 
 aloud. 
 
 When he had finished: "That note fell due eighteen months ago," 
 declared Vantrasson. ' It is worth nothing now " 
 
 " You are mistaken a note of this kind is of value any time within five 
 years after the day it goes to protest." 
 
 11 Possibly ; but as Barutin has failed, and gone no one knows where, I 
 am released " 
 
 " Another mistake on your part. You owe these five hundred and eighty- 
 three francs to the person who bought this note at Barutin's sale, and who 
 has given my employer orders to prosecute " 
 
 The blood had risen to Vantrasson's face. "And what of that? Do 
 you suppose I've never been sued for debts before ? Even the king can't 
 take anything from a person who possesses nothing ; and I own nothing. 
 My furniture is all pawned or mortgaged, and my stock is not worth a 
 hundred francs. When your employer finds it useless to waste money in 
 worrying me, he'll let me alone. You can't injure a man like me." 
 
 " Do you really think so ? " 
 
 "I'm sure of it." 
 
 "Unfortunately you are again mistaken, for although the holder of the 
 note doesn't care so very much about obtaining his dues, he'll spend his own 
 money like water to make trouble for you." And thereupon M. Fortunat 
 began to draw a vivid and frightful picture of a poor debtor pursued by a 
 rich creditor who harassed him, and tortured him, and hounded him every- 
 where, until not even a change of clothing was left him. 
 
 Vantrasson rolled his eyes and brandished his formidable fist in the most 
 defiant manner ; but his wife was evidently much alarmed. At last she 
 could bear it no longer, and rising hastily she led her husband to the rear 
 of the shop, saying : " Come, I must speak with you." 
 
 He followed her, and they remained for some little time conversing 
 together in a low tone, but with excited gestures. When they returned, 
 
22 the count's millions. 
 
 the woman opened the conversation. " Alas ! sir," she said to M. Fortunat, 
 " we have no money just now ; business is so very bad, and if you prosecute 
 us, we are lost. What can be done ? You look like an honest man ; give 
 us your advice." 
 
 M. Fortunat did not reply at once ; he was apparently absorbed in 
 thought, but suddenly he exclaimed : " One owes a duty to unfortunate 
 folks, and I'm going to tell you the exact truth. My employer, who isn't 
 a bad man at heart, hasn't the slightest desire for revenge. He said to me : 
 1 Go and see these Vantrassons, and if they seem to be worthy people, pro- 
 pose a compromise. If they choose to accept it, I shall be quite satisfied." 
 
 "And what is this compromise ? " 
 
 " It is this : you must write an acknowledgment of the debt on a sheet 
 of stamped paper, together with a promise to pay a little on account each 
 month. In exchange I will give you this note of hand." 
 
 The husband and wife exchanged glances, and it was the woman who 
 said : " We accept." 
 
 But to carry out this arrangement it was necessary to have a sheet of 
 stamped paper, and the spurious clerk had neglected to provide himself 
 with some. This circumstance seemed to annoy him greatly, and you 
 might almost have sworn that he regretted the concession he had promised. 
 Did he think of going? Madame Vantrasson feared so, and turning 
 eagerly to her husband, she exclaimed : " Run to the tobacco shop in the 
 Rue de Levis ; you will find some paper there ! " 
 
 He started off at once, and M. Fortunat breathed freely again. He had 
 certainly retained his composure admirably during the interview, but more 
 than once he had fancied that Vantrasson was about to spring on him, crush 
 him with his brawny hands, tear the note from him, burn it, and then throw 
 him, Fortunat, out into the street, helpless and nearly dead. But now that 
 danger had passed, and Madame Vantrasson, fearing he might tire of wait- 
 ing, was prodigal in her attentions. She brought him the only unbroken 
 chair in the establishment, and insisted that he should partake of some 
 refreshment a glass of wine at the very least. While rummaging among 
 the bottles, she alternately thanked him and complained, declaring she had 
 a right to repine, since she had known better days but fate had been 
 against her ever since her marriage, though she had little thought she 
 would end her days in such misery, after having been so happy in the 
 Count de Chalusse's household many years before. 
 
 To all appearance, M. Fortunat listened with the mere superficial interest 
 which ordinary politeness requires one to show, but in reality his heart was 
 filled with intense delight. Coming here without any clearly-defined plan, 
 circumstances had served him a thousand times better than he could reason- 
 ably have hoped. He had preserved his power over the Vantrassons, had 
 won their confidence, had succeeded in obtaining a tete-cl-tete with the wife, 
 and to crown all, this woman alluded, of her own accord, to the very subject 
 upon which he was longing to question her. 
 
 1 ' Ah ! if I were only back in the Count's household again, " she ex- 
 claimed. " Six hundred francs a year, and gifts worth double that amount. 
 Those were good times for me. But you know how it is one is never 
 content with one's lot, and then the heart is weak " 
 
 She had not succeeded in finding the sweet wire which she proposed to 
 her guest ; so in its place she substituted a mixture of ratafia and brandy 
 in two large glasses which she placed upon the counter. "One evening, 
 to my sorrow," she resumed, " I met Vantrasson at a ball. It was the 13th 
 
the count's millions. 23 
 
 day of the month. I might have known no good would come of it. Ah, 
 you should have seen him at that time, in full uniform. He belonged to 
 the Paris Guards then. All the women were crazy about soldiers, and my 
 head was turned, too " Her tone, her gestures, and the compression of 
 her thin lips, revealed the bitterness of her disappointment and her unavail- 
 ing regret. . " Ah, these handsome men ! " she continued ; ' ' don't talk to 
 me about them ! This one had heard of my savings. I had nineteen 
 thousand francs, so he begged me to marry him, and I was fool enough to 
 consent. Yes, fool for I was forty, and he was only thirty. I might have 
 known it was my money that he wanted, and not me. However, I gave up 
 my situation, and even purchased a substitute for him, in order that I 
 might have him all to myself. " 
 
 She had gradually warmed with her theme, as she described her con- 
 fidence and blind credulity, and then, with a tragic gesture, as if she 
 desired to drive away these cruel memories, she suddenly seized her glass 
 and emptied it at a draught. 
 
 Chupin, who was still at his post outside, experienced a thrill of envy, 
 and involuntarily licked his lips. " A mixed ratafia," he said, longingly. 
 " I shouldn't object to one myself." 
 
 However, this choice compound seemed to inspire Madame Vantrasson 
 with renewed energy, for, with still greater earnestness, she resumed : " At 
 first, all went well. We employed my savings in purchasing the Hotel des 
 Espagnes, in the Rue Notre Dame des Victoires, and business prospered ; 
 there was never a vacant room. But any person who has drank, sir, will 
 drink again. Vantrasson kept sober for a few months, but gradually he fell 
 into his old habits. He was in such a condition most of the time that he was 
 scarcely able to ask for food. And if that had been all ! But, unfor- 
 tunately, he was too handsome a man to be a good husband. One night 
 he didn't come home, and the next day, when I ventured to reproach him 
 very gently, I assure you he answered me with an oath and a blow. All 
 our happiness was over ! Monsieur declared that he was master, and 
 would do as he liked. He drank and carried away all the wine from the 
 cellar he took all the money he remained away for weeks together ; and 
 if I complained more blows ! " 
 
 Her voice trembled, and a tear gathered in her eye ; but, wiping it away 
 with the back of her hand, she resumed : " Vantrasson was always drunk, 
 and I spent my time in crying my very eyes out. Business became very bad, 
 and soon everybody left the house. We were obliged to sell it. We did so, 
 and bought a small cafe. But by the end of the year we lost that. For- 
 tunately, I still had a little money left, and so I bought a stock of groceries 
 in my own name ; but in less than six months the stock was eaten up, and 
 we were cast into the street. What was to be done ? Vantrasson drank 
 worse than ever ; he demanded money when he knew that I had none to 
 give him, and he treated me even more cruelly than before. I lost courage 
 and yet one must live ! Oh, you wouldn't believe it if I told you how we 
 "iave lived for the past four years." She did not tell him, but contented 
 herself with adding, "When you begin to go down hill, there is no such 
 thing as stopping ; you roll lower and lower, until you reach the bottom, as 
 we have done. Here we live, no one knows how ; we have to pay our rent 
 each week, and if we are driven from this place, I see no refuge but the 
 river." 
 
 "If I had been in your position, I should have left my husband," M. 
 Fortunat ventured to remark. 
 
24 the count's millions. 
 
 " Yes it would have been better, no doubt. People advised me to do so, 
 and I tried. Three or four times I went away, and yet I always returned 
 it was stronger than myself. Besides, I'm his wife ; I've paid dearly for 
 him ; he's mine I won't yield him to anyone else. He beats me, no doubt ; 
 I despise him, I hate him, and yet I " She poured out part of a glass of 
 brandy, and swallowed it; then, with a gesture of rage, she added: "I 
 can o j've him up ! It's fate ! As it is now, it will be until the end, until 
 he starves, or I " 
 
 M. Fortunat's countenance wore an expression of profound commiseration 
 A looker-on would have supposed him interested and sympathetic to the las 
 degree ; but in reality, he was furious. Time was passing, and the conver 
 sation was wandering farther and farther from the object of his visit. " 1 
 am surprised, madame," said he, "that you never applied to your former 
 employer, the Count de Chalusse." 
 
 "Alas ! I did apply to him for assistance several times " 
 
 "With what result?" 
 
 " The first time I went to him he received me ; I told him my troubles, 
 and he gave me bank-notes to the amount of five thousand francs." 
 
 M. Fortunat raised his hands to the ceiling. "Five thousand francs ! " he 
 repeated, in a tone of astonishment ; " this count must be very rich " 
 
 "So rich, monsieur, that he doesn't know how much he's worth. He 
 owns, nobody knows how many houses in Paris, chateaux in every part of 
 the country, entire villages, forests his gold comes in by the shovel-full." 
 
 The spurious clerk closed his eyes, as if he were dazzled by this vision of 
 wealth. 
 
 " The second time I went to the count's house," resumed Madame 
 Vantrasson, "I didn't see him, but he sent me a thousand francs. The 
 third and last time they gave me twenty francs at the door, and told me 
 that the count had gone on a journey. I understood that I could hope for 
 no further help from him. Besides, all the servants had been changed. 
 One morning, without any apparent reason, M. de Chalusse dismissed all 
 the old servants, so they told me. He even sent away the concierge and 
 the housekeeper." 
 
 " Why didn't you apply to his wife ? " 
 
 " M. de Chalusse isn't married. He never has been married." 
 
 From the expression of solicitude upon her guest's features, Madame 
 Vantrasson supposed he was racking his brain to discover some mode of 
 escape from her present difficulties. " If I were in your place," he said, " I 
 should try to interest his relatives and family in my case " 
 
 " The count has no relatives." 
 
 ' ' Impossible ! " 
 
 " He hasn't, indeed. During the ten years I was in his service, I heard 
 him say more than a dozen times that he alone was left of all his family 
 that all the others were dead. People pretend that this is the reason why 
 he is so immensely rich." 
 
 M. Fortunat's interest was no longer assumed ; he was rapidly approach- 
 ing the real object of his visit. " No relatives ! " he muttered. "Who, 
 then, will inherit his millions when he dies ? " 
 
 Madame Vantrasson jerked her head. "Who can say? "she replied. 
 " Everything will go to the government, probably, unless But no, that's 
 impossible. " 
 
 " What's impossible ? " 
 
 "Nothing. I was thinking of the count's sister, Mademoiselle Hermine.* 1 
 
the count's millions. 25 
 
 "His sister ! Why, you said just now that he had no relatives." 
 
 " It's the same as if he hadn't ; no one knows what has become of her, 
 poor creature ! Some say that she married ; others declare that she died. 
 It's quite a romance." 
 
 M. Isidore Fortunat was literally upon the rack ; and to make his suffer- 
 ings still more horrible, he dared not ask any direct question, nor allow his 
 curiosity to become manifest, for fear of alarming the woman. " Let me 
 see," said he ; "I think I am sure that I have heard or that I have read 
 I cannot say which some story about a Mademoiselle de Chalusse. It 
 was something terrible, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " Terrible, indeed. But what I was speaking of happened a long time 
 ago twenty-five or twenty-six years ago, at the very least. I was still in 
 my own part of the country at Besancon. No one knows the exact truth 
 about the affair." 
 
 " What ! not even you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I that's an entirely different thing. When I entered the count's 
 ervice, six years later, there was still an old gardener who knew the whole 
 story, and who told it to me, making me swear that I would never betray 
 his confidence." 
 
 Lavish of details as she had been in telling her own story, it was evident 
 that she was determined to exercise a prudent reserve in everything con- 
 nected with the De Chalusse family ; and M. Fortunat inwardly cursed 
 this, to him, most unseasonable discretion. But he was experienced in these 
 examinations, and he had at his command little tricks for loosening tongues, 
 which even an investigating magistrate might have envied. Without seem- 
 ing to attach the slightest importance to Madame Vantrasson's narrative, 
 he rose with a startled air, like a man who suddenly realises that he has 
 forgotten himself. " Zounds ! " he exclaimed, "we sit here gossiping, and 
 it's growing late. I really can't wait for your husband. If I remain here 
 any longer, I shall miss the last omnibus ; and I live on the other side of 
 the river, near the Luxembourg." 
 
 " But our agreement, monsieur ? " 
 
 " We will draw that up at some future time. I shall be passing again, or 
 I will send one of my colleagues to see you." 
 
 It was Madame Vantrasson's turn to tremble now. She feared, if she 
 allowed this supposed clerk to go without signing the agreement, that the 
 person who came in his stead might not prove so accommodating ; and even 
 if he called again himself, he might not be so kindly disposed. "Wait just 
 a moment longer, monsieur," she pleaded ; " my husband will soon be back, 
 and the last omnibus doesn't leave the Rue de Levis until midnight." 
 
 " I wouldn't refuse, but this part of the suburbs is so lonely." 
 
 " Vantrasson will see you on your way." And resolved to detain him at 
 any cost, she poured out a fresh glass of liquor for him, and said : " Where 
 were we ? Oh, yes ! I was about to tell you Mademoiselle Hermine's story. " 
 
 Concealing his delight with an assumed air of resignation, M. Fortunat 
 reseated himself, to the intense disgust of Chupin, who was thoroughly tired 
 of waiting outside in the cold. 
 
 " I must tell you," began Madame Vantrasson, ' that when this happened 
 at least twenty-five years ago the De Chalusse family lived in the Rue 
 Saint-Dominique. They occupied a superb mansion, with extensive grounds, 
 full of splendid trees like those in the Tuileries gardens. Mademoiselle 
 Hermine, who was then about eighteen or nineteen years old, was, accord- 
 ing to all accounts, the prettiest young creature ever seen. Her skin was 
 
26 the count's millions. 
 
 as white as milk, she had a profusion of golden hair, and her eyes were as 
 blue as forget-me-nots. She was very kind and generous, they say, only, 
 like all the rest of the family, she was very haughty and obstinate oh, 
 obstinate enough to allow herself to be roasted alive over a slow fire rather 
 than yield an inch. That's the count's nature exactly. Having served him, 
 I know something about it, to be sure, and " 
 
 " Excuse me," interrupted M. Fortunat, who was determined to prevent 
 these digressions, "and Mademoiselle Hermine? " 
 
 " I was coming to her. Although she was very beautiful and immensely 
 rich, she had no suitors for it was generally understood that she was to 
 marry a marquis, whose father was a particular friend of the family. The 
 parents had arranged the matter between them years before, and nothing 
 was wanting but the young lady's consent ; but Mademoiselle Hermine 
 absolutely refused to hear the marquis's name mentioned. They did every- 
 thing to persuade her to consent to this marriage ; they employed prayers 
 and threats alike, but they might as well have talked to a stone. When 
 they asked her why she refused to marry the marquis, she replied, ' Because' 
 and that was all. In fact, at last she declared she would leave home and 
 take refuge in a convent, if they didn't cease to torment her. Her relatives 
 were certain there must be some reason for her refusal. It isn't natural for 
 a girl to reject a suitor who is young, handsome, rich, and a marquis besides. 
 Her friends suspected there was something she wouldn't confess ; and M. 
 Raymond swore that he would watch his sister, and discover her secret." 
 
 "M. Raymond is the present Count de Chalusse, I suppose?" inquired 
 M. Fortunat. 
 
 "Yes, monsieur. Such was the state of matters when, one night, the 
 gardener thought he heard a noise in the pavilion, at the end of the garden. 
 This pavilion was very large. I have seen it. It contained a sitting-room, 
 a billiard-room, and a large fencing-hall. Naturally enough, the gardener 
 got up to go and see what was the matter. As he left the house, he fancied 
 he saw two persons moving about among the trees. He ran after them, but 
 could find nothing. They had made their escape through a small gate 
 leading from the garden into the street. When the gardener was telling me 
 this story, he declared again and again that he had fancied the noise he had 
 heard was made by some of the servants trying to leave the house secretly, 
 and for this reason he didn't give the alarm. However, he hurried to the 
 pavilion, but on seeing no light there, he went back to bed with an easy 
 mind." 
 
 "And it was Mademoiselle Hermine eloping with a lover?" asked M. 
 Fortunat. 
 
 Madame Vantrasson seemed as disappointed as an actor who has been 
 deprived of an opportunity of producing a grand effect. ' ' Wait a moment, " 
 she replied, " and you'll see. The night passed, morning came, and then 
 the breakfast hour. But Mademoiselle Hermine did not make her appear- 
 ance. Some one was sent to rap at her door there was no answer. The 
 door was opened the young lady was not in her room, and the bed had not 
 even been disturbed. In a few moments the whole household was in the 
 wildest commotion ; the mother weeping, and the father half wild with 
 rage and sorrow. Of course, the next thought was of Mademoiselle Hermine's 
 brother, and he was sent for. But he, too, was not in his room, and his bed 
 had not been touched. The excitement was becoming frenzy, when it 
 occurred to the gardener to mention what he had heard and seen on the 
 previous night. They hastened to the pavilion, and discovered what T 
 
the count's millions. 27 
 
 Why, M. Raymond stretched upon the ground, stiff, cold, and motionless, 
 weltering in his own blood. One of his rigid hands still grasped a sword. 
 They lifted him up, carried him to the house, laid him upon his bed, and 
 sent for a physician. He had received two dangerous wounds ; one in the 
 throat, the other in the breast. For more than a month he hung between 
 life and death, and six weeks elapsed before he had strength to relate what 
 had happened. He was lighting a cigar at his window when he thought he 
 saw a woman's form flit through the garden. A suspicion that it might be 
 his sister flashed through his mind ; so he hastened down, stole noiselessly 
 into the pavilion, and there he found his sister and a young man who was 
 absolutely unknown to him. He might have killed the intruder, but 
 instead of doing so, he told him they would fight then and there. Weapons 
 were within reach, and they fought, with the result that Raymond was 
 wounded twice, in quick succession, and fell. His adversary, supposing 
 him dead, thereupon fled from the spot, taking Mademoiselle Hermine with 
 him." 
 
 At this point in her narrative Madame Vantrasson evinced a desire to 
 pause and draw a breath, and perhaps partake of some slight refreshment ; 
 out M. Fortunat was impatient. The woman's husband might return at 
 any moment. "And, after that ? " he inquired. 
 
 "After that well M. Raymond recovered, and in about three months' 
 time he was out again ; but the parents, who were old folks, had received 
 their death blow. They never rallied from the shock. Perhaps they felt 
 that it was their own hard-heartedness and obstinacy that had caused their 
 daughter's ruin and remorse is hard to bear. They waned perceptibly 
 from day to day, and during the following year they were borne to the 
 cemetery within two months of each other. " 
 
 From the spurious clerk's demeanour it was easy to see that he had 
 ceased thinking about his omnibus, and his hostess felt both reassured and 
 flattered. " And Mademoiselle Hermine ? " he inquired, eagerly. 
 
 * ' Alas ! monsieur, no one ever knew where she went, or what became of 
 her." 
 
 " Didn't they try to find her ? " 
 
 " They searched for her everywhere, for I don't know how long ; all the 
 ablest detectives in France and in foreign countries tried to find her, but 
 not one of them succeeded in discovering the slightest trace of her where- 
 abouts. M. Raymond promised an enormous sum to the man who would 
 find his sister's betrayer. He wished to kill him, and he sought for him 
 for years ; but all in vain." 
 
 " And did they never receive any tidings of this unfortunate girl ? " 
 
 " I was told that they heard from her twice. On the morning following 
 her flight her parents received a letter, in which she implored their for- 
 giveness. Five or six months later, she wrote again to say that she knew 
 her brother was not dead. She confessed that she was a wicked, ungrate- 
 ful girl that she had been mad ; but she said that her punishment had 
 come, and it was terrible. She added that every link was severed between 
 herself and her friends, and she hoped they would forget her as completely 
 as if she had never existed. She went so far as to say that her children 
 should never know who their mother was, and that never in her life again 
 would she utter the name which she had so disgraced. " 
 
 It was the old, sad story of a ruined girl paying for a moment's madness 
 with her happiness and all her after life. A terrible drama, no doubt ; 
 but one that is of such frequent occurrence that it seems as commonplace 
 
28 the count's millions. 
 
 as life itself. Thus any one who was acquainted with M. Isidore Fortunat 
 would have been surprised to see how greatly he was moved by such a 
 trifle. " Poor girl ! " said he, in view of saying something. And then, in 
 a tone of assumed carelessness, he inquired: "Did they never discover 
 what scoundrel carried Mademoiselle de Chalusse away ? " 
 
 " Never. Who he was, whence he came, whether he was young or old, 
 how he became acquainted with Mademoiselle Hermine these questions 
 were never answered. It was rumoured at one time that he was an 
 American, a captain in the navy ; but that was only a rumour. To tell the 
 truth, they never even discovered his name." 
 
 " What, not even his name ? " 
 
 "Not even his name." 
 
 Unable to master his emotion, M. Fortunat had at least the presence of 
 mind to rise and step back into the darker part of the shop. But his 
 gesture of disappointment and the muttered oath that fell from his lips 
 did not escape Madame Vantrasson. She was startled, and from that 
 moment she looked upon the supposed clerk with evident distrust. It was 
 not long before he again resumed his seat nearer the counter, still a trifle 
 pale, perhaps, but apparently calm. Two questions more seemed indis- 
 pensable to him, and yet either one of them would be sure to arouse sus- 
 picion. Nevertheless, he resolved to incur the risk of betraying himself. 
 And, after all, what would it matter now ? Did he not possess the infor- 
 mation he had wished format least as much of it as it was in this woman's 
 power to impart? "I can scarcely tell you, my dear madame, how much 
 your narrative has interested me," he began. "I can confess now that I 
 am slightly acquainted with the Count de Chalusse, and that I have 
 frequently visited the house in the Rue de Courcelles, where he now 
 resides." 
 
 11 You !" exclaimed the woman, taking a hasty inventory of M. Fortunat's 
 toilette. 
 
 "Yes, I on the part of my employer, understand. Each time I've 
 been to visit M. de Chalusse's I've seen a young lady whom I took for his 
 daughter there. I was wrong, no doubt, since he isn't a married man " 
 
 He paused. Astonishment and anger seemed to be almost suffocating 
 his hostess. Without understanding how or why, she felt convinced that 
 she had been duped ; and if she had obeyed her first impulse she would 
 have attacked M. Isidore then and there. If she restrained this impulse, 
 if she made an effort to control herself, it was only because she thought 
 she held a better revenge in reserve. 
 
 " A young lady in the count's house ! " she said, thoughtfully. "That's 
 scarcely possible. I've never seen her ; I've never heard her spoken of. 
 How long has she been there ? " 
 
 "For six or seven months ?" 
 
 ' ' In that case, I can't absolutely deny it. It's two years since I set foot 
 in the count's house." 
 
 " I fancied this young lady might be the count's niece Mademoiselle 
 Hermine's daughter." 
 
 Madame Vantrasson shook her head. "Put that fancy out of your 
 head, " she remarked. ' The count said that his sister was dead to him 
 from the evening of her flight. " 
 
 " Who can this young girl be, then ? " 
 
 "Bless me 1 I don't know. What sort of a looking person is she ? " 
 
 * ' Very tall ; a brunette. " 
 
T11K COUNT'S MILLIONS. 29 
 
 "How old is she?" 
 
 " Eighteen or uineteen." 
 
 The woman made a rapid calculation on her fingers. "Nine and four 
 are thirteen," she muttered, " and five are eighteen. Ah, ha ! why not ? 
 1 must look into this." 
 
 " What did you say ? " 
 
 "Nothing; a little reflection I was making to myself. Do you know 
 this young lady's name ? " 
 
 4 ' It's Marguerite. " 
 
 The woman's face clouded. " No ; it can't be then," she muttered, in a 
 scarcely audible voice. 
 
 M. Fortunat was on coals of fire. It was evident that this frightful 
 creature, even if she knew nothing definite, had some idea, some vague 
 suspicion of the truth. How could no compel her to speak now that she 
 was on her guard? Ho had not time to ascertain, for the door suddenly 
 opened, and Vantrasson appeared on the threshold. He was scarcely 
 sober when he left the shop, but now he was fairly drunk ; his heavy 
 shamble had become a stagger. " Oh, you wretch, you brigand I " howled 
 his wife ; " you've been drinking again ! " 
 
 Ho succeeded in maintaining his equilibrium, and, gazing at her with 
 the phlegmatic stare peculiar to intoxicated men, he replied : "Well, what 
 of that ! Can't I have a little pleasure with my friends? I came across 
 a couple of men who were just taking their fifteenth glass ; why should I 
 refuse a compliment ? " 
 
 " You can't hold yourself up." 
 
 " That's true." And to prove it he tumbled on to a chair. 
 
 A torrent of abuse now flowed from Madame Vantrasson's lips 1 M. 
 Fortunat only imperfectly distinguished the words "thief," "spy," and 
 "detective;" but he could not mistake the meaning of tho looks which 
 she alternately gave her husband and himself. " It's a fortunate thing for 
 you that my husband is in this condition," her glances plainly implied, 
 " otherwise there would be an explanation, and then we should see ' 
 
 " I've had a lucky escape," thought tho spurious clerk. But as matters 
 stood there was nothing to fear. It was a case where one could show a 
 brave front to the enemy without incurring the slightest danger. "Let 
 your husband alone," said he. " If he has only brought the paper that he 
 was sent to fetch, I shan't have lost my evening to oblige you." 
 
 Vantrasson had brought not one sheet of stamped paper, but two. A 
 bad pen and some muddy ink were produced, and M. Fortunat began to 
 draw up an acknowledgment according to the established formula. How- 
 ever, it was necessary to mention the name of the creditor of whom he had 
 spoken, and not wishing to state his own, he used that of poor Victor Chupin, 
 who was at that vry moment shivering at the door, little suspecting what 
 liberty was \>>;lug taken with his cognomen, 
 
 " Chupin 1 " repeated the vixen, as if to engrave the name on her memory ; 
 " Victor Chupin 1 I should just like to see him," she added, viciously. 
 
 When the document was finished, it became necessary to wake Van- 
 trasson, so that he might sign it. He did so with very good grace, and his 
 wife appended her signature beside her husband's. Thereupon M. Fortunat 
 gave them in exchange the note which had served as a pretext for his visit. 
 r And above all," he remarked, as he opened the door to go, " don't forget 
 that you are to pay something on account each month." 
 
 "Gotothc devil, and your account with you ! " growled Madame Vantrasson. 
 
30 the count's millions. 
 
 But Fortunat did not hear this. He was already walking down the road 
 by the side of Chupin, who was saying : "Well, here you are, at last, 
 m'sieur 1 I thought you had taken a lease of that old barrack. If ever I 
 come here again, I'll bring a foot- warmer with me." 
 
 But one of those fits of profound abstraction to which determined seekers 
 after truth are subject had taken possession of M. Fortunat, and made him 
 oblivious of all surrounding circumstances. His heart had been full of 
 hope when he reached the Asnieres Road, but he went away gloomy and 
 despondent; and quite unconscious of the darkness, the mud, and the 
 rain, which was again falling, he silently plodded along in the middle of 
 the highway. Chupin was obliged to stop him at the city-gate, and remind 
 him that the cab was waiting. 
 
 " That's true," was M. Fortunat's only answer. He entered the vehicle, 
 certainly without knowing it ; and as they rolled homeward, the thoughts 
 that filled his brain to overflowing found vent in a sort of monologue, of 
 which Chupin now and then caught a few words. " What a piece of busi- 
 ness ! " he muttered " what a piece of business ! I've had seven years' 
 experience in such matters, and yet I've never met with an affair so 
 shrouded in mystery. My forty thousand francs are in a precarious con- 
 dition. Certainly I've lost money before through heirs whose existence I 
 hadn't even suspected ; but by reinstating these same heirs in their rights, 
 I've regained my lost money, and received a handsome reward in addition ; 
 but in this case all is darkness ; there isn't a single gleam of light not 
 the slightest clew. If I could only find them ! But how can I search for 
 people whose names I don't even know for people who have escaped all 
 the inquiries of the police ? And where shall I look for them in Europe, 
 in America ? It would be sheer madness ! To whom, then, will the 
 count's millions go ?" 
 
 It was only the sudden stoppage of the cab in front of his own door that 
 recalled M. Fortunat to the realities of life. "Here are twenty franca, 
 Victor," he said to Chupin. " Pay the driver, and keep the rest yourself." 
 
 As he spoke, he sprang nimbly to the ground. A handsome brougham, 
 drawn by two horses, was standing before the house. " The Marquis de 
 Valorsay's carriage," muttered M. Fortunat. " He has been very patient ; 
 lie has waited for me or, rather, he has waited for my ten thousand francs. 
 Well, we shall see." 
 
 III. 
 
 M. Fortunat had scarcely started off on his visit to the Vantrassons when 
 the Marquis de Valorsay reached the Place de la Bourse. 
 
 " Monsieur has gone out," said Madame Dodelin, as she opened the door. 
 
 " You must be mistaken, my good woman." 
 
 "No, no ; my master said you would, perhaps, wait for him." 
 
 "Very well ; I will do so." 
 
 Faithful to the orders she had received, the servant conducted the visitor 
 to the drawing-room, lit the tapers in the candelabra, and retired. " This 
 is very strange !" growled the marquis. "Monsieur Fortunat makes an 
 appointment, Monsieur Fortunat expects me to wait for him ! What will 
 happen next?" However, he drew a newspaper from his pocket, threw 
 himself into an arm-chair, and waited. 
 
 By his habits and tastes, the Marquis de Valorsay belonged to that 
 section of the aristocracy which has coined the term " high life in view of 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 31 
 
 describing its own manners and customs. The matters that engrossed the 
 marquis's frivolous mind were club-life and first performances at the opera 
 and the leading theatres, social duties and visits to the fashionable watering- 
 places, racing and the shooting and hunting seasons, together with his 
 mistress and his tailor. 
 
 He considered that to ride in a steeple-chase was an act of prowess 
 worthy of his ancestors ; and when he galloped past the stand, clad as a 
 jockey, in top-boots and a violet silk jacket, he believed he read admiration 
 in every eye. This was his everyday life, which had been enlivened by a 
 few salient episodes : two duels, an elopement with a married woman, a 
 twenty-six hours seance at the gaming table, and a fall from his horse, while 
 hunting, which nearly cost him his life. These acts of valour had raised 
 him considerably in the estimation of his friends, and procured him a 
 celebrity of which he was not a little proud. The newspaper reporters 
 were constantly mentioning his name, and the sporting journals never failed 
 to chronicle his departure from Paris or his arrival in the city. 
 
 Unfortunately, such a life of busy idleness has its trials and its vicissi- 
 tudes, and M. de Valorsay was a living proof of this. He was only thirty- 
 three, but in spite of the care he expended upon his toilet, he looked at 
 least forty. Wrinkles were beginning to show themselves ; it required all 
 the skill of his valet to conceal the bald spots on his cranium ; and since 
 his fall from his horse, he had been troubled by a slight stiffness in his 
 right leg, which stiffness became perfect lameness in threatening weather. 
 Premature lassitude pervaded his entire person, and when he relaxed in 
 vigilance even his eyes betrayed a distaste for everything weariness, satiety 
 as it were. All the same, however, he bore himself with an undeniable air 
 of distinction, albeit the haughtiness of his manner indicated an exaggerated 
 idea of his own importance. He was indeed in the habit of treating all 
 those whom he considered his inferiors with supercilious sufficiency. 
 
 The clock on M. Fortunat's mantel-shelf at last struck eleven and the 
 marquis rose to his feet with a muttered oath. " This is too much ! " he 
 growled, angrily. 
 
 He looked about for a bell, and seeing none, he was reduced to the dire 
 necessity of opening the door himself, and calling some one. Madame 
 Dodelin answered the summons. " Monsieur said he would return before 
 midnight," she replied : "so he will certainly be here. There is no one 
 like him for punctuality. Won't monsieur have patience a little longer? " 
 
 " Well, I will wait a few moments; but, my good woman, light the fire ; 
 my feet are frozen ! " 
 
 M. Fortunat's drawing-room being used but seldom, was really as frigid 
 as an iceberg ; and to make matters still worse, M. de Valorsay was in 
 evening dress, with only a light overcoat. The servant hesitated for an 
 instant, thinking this visitor difficult to please, and inclined to make him- 
 self very much at home, still she obeyed. 
 
 "I think I ought to go," muttered the marquis. "I really think I 
 ought to go." And yet he remained. Necessity, it should be remembered, 
 effectually quiets the revolts of pride. 
 
 Left an orphan in his early childhood, plaeedin possession of an immense 
 
 fortune at the age of twenty-three, M. de Valorsay had entered life like a 
 
 famished man enters a dining-room. His name entitled him to a high 
 
 osition in the social world ; and he installed himself at table without ask 
 
 g how much the banquet might cost him. It cost him dear, as he dis 
 
 -vered at the end of the first year, on noting that his disbursements had 
 
32 the count's millions. 
 
 considerably exceeded his large income. It was very evident that if he 
 went on in this way, each twelvemonth would deepen an abyss wherein the 
 one hundred and sixty thousand francs a year, left him by his father, would 
 finally be swallowed up. But he had plenty of time to reflect upon this un- 
 pleasant possibility ere it could come to pass ! And, besides, he found his 
 present life so delightful, and he obtained so much gratification for his 
 money, that he was unwilling to make any change. He possessed several 
 fine estates, and he found plenty of men who were only too glad to lend 
 him money on such excellent security. He borrowed timidly at first, but 
 more boldly when he discovered what a mere trifle a mortgage is. More- 
 over, his wants increased in proportion to his vanity. Occupying a certain 
 position in the opinion of his acquaintances, he did not wish to descend from 
 the heights to which they had exalted him ; and the very fact that he had 
 been foolishly extravagant one year made it necessary for him to be guilty 
 of similar folly during the succeeding twelvemonth. He failed to pay his 
 creditors the interest that was due on his loans. They did not ask him for 
 it ; and perhaps he forgot that it was slowly but surely accumulating, and 
 that at the end of a certain number of years the amount of his indebtedness 
 would be doubled. He never thought what the end would be. He became 
 absolutely ignorant of the condition of his affairs, and really arrived at the 
 conclusion that his resources were inexhaustible. He believed this until 
 one day when on going to his lawyer for some money, that gentleman coldly 
 said : " You requested me to obtain one hundred thousand francs for you, 
 Monsieur le Marquis but I have only been able to procure fifty thousand 
 here they are. And do not hope for more. All your real estate is en- 
 cumbered beyond its value. Your creditors will probably leave you in un- 
 disturbed possession for another year it will be to their interest but when 
 it has elapsed they will take possession of their own, as they have a perfect 
 right to do." Then, with a meaning smile, the smile of a wily prime min- 
 ister, he added : " If I were in your place, Monsieur le Marquis, I would 
 profit by this year of grace. You undoubtedly understand what I mean. 
 I have the honour to wish you good-morning. " 
 
 What an awakening after a glorious dream that had lasted for ten 
 years. M. de Valorsay was stunned crushed. For three days he remained 
 immured in his own room, obstinately refusing to receive any one. " The 
 marquis is ill," was his valet's answer to every visitor. 
 
 M. de Valorsay felt that he must have time to regain his mental equilib- 
 rium to look his situation calmly in the face. It was a frightful one, for 
 his ruin was complete, absolute. He could save nothing from the wreck. 
 What was to become of him? What could he do? He set his wits to 
 work ; but he found that he was incapable of plying any kind of avocation. 
 All the energy he had been endowed with by nature had been squandered 
 exhausted in pandering to his self-conceit. If he had been younger he 
 might have turned soldier ; but at his age he had not even this resource. 
 Then it was that his notary's smile recurred to his mind. *'His advice 
 was decidedly good," he muttered. "All is not yet lost; one way of 
 escape still remains marriage." 
 
 And why, indeed, shouldn't he marry, and marry a rich wife too ? No 
 one knew anything about his misfortune ; for a year at least, he would re- 
 tain all the advantages that wealth bestows upon its possessor. His name 
 alone was a great advantage. It would be very strange if he could not find 
 some manufacturer's or banker's daughter who would be only too delighted 
 to have a marquisial coronet emblazoned on her carriage panels. 
 
33 
 
 Having arrived at this conclusion, M. de Valorsay began his search, and 
 it was not long before he thought he had found what he was seeking. But 
 something was still necessary. The bestowers of large dowers are inclined 
 to be suspicious ; they like to have a clear understanding as to the finan- 
 cial position of the suitors who present themselves, and they not unfre- 
 quently ask for information. Accordingly, before committing himself, M. 
 de Valorsay understood that it was necessary he should provide himself 
 with an intelligent and devoted adviser. There must be some one to hold 
 his creditors in check, to silence them, and obtain sundry concessions from 
 them in a word, some one to interest them in his success. With this 
 object in veiw, M. de Valorsay applied to his notary ; but the latter utterly 
 refused to mix himself up in any such affair, and declared that the marquis's 
 suggestion was almost an insult. Then touched, perhaps*, by his client's 
 apparent despair, he said, " But I can mention a person who might be of 
 service to you. Go to M. Isidore Fortunat, No. 27 Place de la Bourse. If 
 you succeed in interesting him in your marriage, it is an accomplished fact. " 
 
 It was under these circumstances that the marquis became acquainted 
 with M. Fortunat. M. de Valorsay was a man of no little penetration, and 
 on his first visit he carefully weighed his new acquaintance. He found him 
 to be the very counsellor he desired prudent, and at the same time cour- 
 ageous ; fertile in expedients ; a thorough master of the art of evading the 
 law, and not at all troubled by scruples. With such an adviser, it would 
 be mere child's play to conceal his financial embarrassments and deceive 
 the most suspicious father-in-law. So M. de Valorsay did not hesitate a 
 moment. He frankly disclosed his pecuniary condition and his matrimon- 
 ial hopes, and concluded by promising M. Fortunat a certain percentage 
 on the bride's dowry, to be paid on the day following the marriage. 
 
 After a prolonged conference, the agreement was drawn up and signed, 
 and that very day M. Fortunat took the nobleman's interests in hand. 
 How heartily, and with what confidence in his success, is shown by the 
 fact that he had advanced forty thousand francs for his client's use, out of 
 his own private purse. After such a proof of confidence the marquis could 
 hardly have been dissatisfied with his adviser ; in point of fact he was de- 
 lighted with him, and all the more so, as this invaluable man always treated 
 him with extreme deference, verging on servility. And in M. de Valorsay's 
 eyes this was a great consideration : for he was becoming more arrogant 
 and more irascible in proportion as his right to be so diminished. Secretly 
 disgusted with himself, and deeply humiliated by the shameful intrigue to 
 which he had stooped, he took a secret satisfaction in crushing his accom- 
 plice with his imaginary superiority and lordly disdain. According as his 
 humour was good or bad, he called him " my dear extortioner," " Mons. 
 Fortunat," or "Master Twenty-per-cent." But though these sneers and 
 insults drove the obsequious smile from M. Fortunat's lips, he was quite 
 capable of including them in the bill under the head of sundries. 
 
 The unvarying deference and submission which M. de Valorsay's adviser 
 displayed made his failure to keep the present appointment all the more 
 remarkable. Such neglect of the commonest rules of courtesy was incon- 
 ceivable on the part of so polite a man ; and the marquis's anger gradually 
 changed to anxiety. " What can have happened ? " he thought. 
 
 He was trying to decide whether he should leave or stay, when he heard 
 a key grate in the lock of the outer door, and then some quick steps along 
 the ante-room. * ' At last here he is ! " he muttered, with a sigh of relief. 
 
 He expected to see M. Fortunat enter the room at once, but he was dis- 
 VOL. I B 
 
34 the count's millions. 
 
 appointed. The agent had no desire to show himself in the garb which 
 he had assumed for his excursion with Chupin ; and so he had hastened to 
 his room to don his wonted habiliments. He also desired a few moments 
 for deliberation. 
 
 If as was most probably the case M. de Valorsay were ignorant of the 
 Count de Chalusse's critical condition, was it advisable to tell him of it ? 
 M. Fortunat^ thought not, judging with reason that this would lead to a 
 discussion and very possibly to" a rupture, and he wished to avoid anything 
 of the kind until he was quite certain of the count's death. 
 
 Meanwhile the marquis was thinking he was a trifle late about it that 
 he had done wrong to wait in that drawing-room for three mortal hours. 
 Was such conduct worthy of him ? Had he shown himself proper respect ? 
 Would not M. Fortunat construe this as an acknowledgment of the import- 
 ance of his services and his client's urgent need ? Would he not become 
 more exacting, more exorbitant in his demands ? If the marquis could 
 have made his escape unheard, he would, no doubt, have done so ; but this 
 was out of the question. So he resorted to a stratagem which seemed to 
 him likely to save his compromised dignity. He stretched himself out in 
 his arm-chair, closed his eyes, and pretended to doze. Then, when M. 
 Fortunat at last entered the drawing-room he sprang up as if he were sud- 
 denly aroused from slumber, rubbed his eyes, and exclaimed : "Eh ! what's 
 that ? Upon my word I must have been asleep ! " 
 
 But M. Fortunat was not deceived. He noticed, on the floor, a torn and 
 crumpled newspaper, which betrayed the impatience and anger his client 
 had experienced during his long waiting. "Well," resumed the marquis, 
 ' ' what time is it ? Half -past twelve ? This is a pretty time to keep an appoint- 
 ment fixed for ten o'clock. This is presuming on my good-nature, M. 
 Fortunat ! Do you know that my carriage has been waiting below ever 
 since half -past nine, and that my horses have, perhaps, taken cold ? A pair 
 of horses worth six hundred louis ! " 
 
 M. Fortunat listened to these reproaches with the deepest humility. 
 "You must excuse me, Monsieur le Marquis," said he. "If I remained 
 out so much later than usual, it was only because your business interests 
 detained me." 
 
 ' ' Zounds ! that is about the same as if it had been your own business that 
 detained you I" And well pleased with this joke, he added, "Ah well 1 
 How are affairs progressing ? " 
 
 " On my side as well as could be desired." 
 
 The marquis had resumed his seat in the chimney-corner, and was poking 
 the fire with a haughty, but poorly assumed air of indifference. "I am 
 listening," he said carelessly. 
 
 " In that case, Monsieur le Marquis, I will state the facts in a few words, 
 without going into particulars. Thanks to an expedient devised by me, we 
 shall obtain for twenty hours a release from all the mortgages that now en- 
 cumber your estates. On that very day we will request a certificate from 
 the recorder. This certificate will declare that your estates are free from 
 all encumbrances ; you will show this statement to M. de Chalusse, and all 
 his doubts that is, if he has any will vanish. The plan was very simple ; 
 the only difficulty was about raising the money, but I have succeeded in 
 doing so. All your creditors but two lent themselves very readily to the 
 arrangement. I have now won the consent of the two who at first refused, 
 but we shall have to pay dearly for it. It will cost you about twenty-six 
 thousand francs." 
 
THE count's millions. 35 
 
 M. de Valorsay was so delighted that he could not refrain from clapping 
 his hands. " Then the affair is virtually concluded," he exclaimed. "In 
 less than a month Mademoiselle Marguerite will be the Marquise de Valor- 
 say, and I shall have a hundred thousand francs a year again." Then, noting 
 how gravely M. Fortunat shook his head : " Ah ! so you doubt it ! " he 
 cried. "Very well ; now it is your turn to listen. Yesterday I had along 
 conference with the Count de Chalusse, and everything has been settled. 
 We exchanged our word of honour, Master Twenty-per-cent. The count 
 does things in a princely fashion ; he gives Mademoiselle Marguerite two 
 millions." 
 
 " Two millions ! " the other repeated like an echo. 
 
 " Yes, my dear miser, neither more nor less. Only for private reasons, 
 which he did not explain, the count stipulates that only two hundred 
 thousand francs shall appear in the marriage contract. The remaining 
 eighteen hundred thousand francs, he gives to me unreservedly and uncon- 
 ditionally. Upon my word, I think this very charming. How does it 
 strike you ? " 
 
 M. Fortunat made no reply. M. de Valorsay's gaiety, instead of cheer- 
 ing, saddened him. " Ah ! my fine fellow," he thought, " you would sing 
 a different song if you knew that by this time M. de Chalusse is probably 
 dead, and that most likely Mademoiselle Marguerite has only her beautiful 
 eyes left her, and will dim them in weeping for her vanished millions." 
 
 But this brilliant scion of the aristocracy had no suspicion of the real 
 state of affairs, for he continued: "You will say, perhaps, it is strange, 
 that I, Ange-Marie Robert Dalbou, Marquis de Valorsay, should marry a 
 girl whose father and mother no one knows, and whose only name is Mar- 
 guerite. In this respect it is true that the match is not exactly a brilliant 
 one. Still, as it will appear that she merely has a fortune of two hundred 
 thousand francs, no one will accuse me of marrying for money on the 
 strength of my name. On the contrary, it will seem to be a love-match, and 
 people will suppose that I have grown young again. " He paused, incensed 
 by M. Fortunat's lack of enthusiasm. " Judging from your long face, 
 Master Twenty-per-cent, one would fancy you doubted my success," he 
 said. 
 
 " It is always best to doubt," replied his adviser, philosophically. 
 
 The marquis shrugged his shoulders. "Even when one has triumphed 
 over all obstacles ? " he asked sneeringly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then, tell me, if you please, what prevents this marriage from being a 
 foregone conclusion ? " 
 
 "Mademoiselle Marguerite's consent, Monsieur le Marquis." 
 
 It was as if a glass of ice-water had been thrown in M. de Valorsay's 
 face. He started, turned as pale as death, and then exclaimed : "I shall 
 have that ; I am sure of it." 
 
 You could not say that M. Fortunat was angry. Such a man, as cold and 
 as smooth as a hundred franc piece, has no useless passions. But he was in- 
 tensely irritated to hear his client foolishly chanting the paeons of victory, 
 while he was_ compelled to conceal his grief at the loss of his forty thousand 
 francs, deep in the recesses of his heart. So, far from being touched by the 
 marquis's evident alarm, it pleased him to be able to turn the dagger in the 
 wound he had just inflicted. " You must excuse my incredulity," said he. 
 " Tt comes entirely from something you, yourself, told me about a week 
 ago." 
 
36 the count's millions. 
 
 "What did I tell you?" 
 
 " That you suspected Mademoiselle Marguerite of a how shall I express 
 it ? of a secret preference for some other person." 
 
 The gloomiest despondency had now followed the marquis's enthusiasm 
 and exultation. He was evidently in torture. " I more than suspected it," 
 said he. 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " I was certain of it, thanks to the count's housekeeper, Madame Leon, a 
 miserable old woman whom I have hired to look after my interests. She 
 has been watching Mademoiselle Marguerite, and saw a letter written by 
 her " 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "Certainly nothing -has passed that Mademoiselle Marguerite has any 
 cause to blush for. The letter, which is now in my possession, contains 
 unmistakeable proofs of that. She might proudly avow the love she has in- 
 spired, and which she undoubtedly returns. Yet " 
 
 M. Fortunat's gaze was so intent that it became unbearable. "You see, 
 then," he began, " that I had good cause to fear " 
 
 Exasperated beyond endurance, M de Valorsay sprang up so violently 
 that he overturned his chair. "No!" he exclaimed, "no, a thousand 
 times no ! You are wrong for the man who loves Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite is now ruined. Yes, such is really the case. While we are sitting 
 here, at this very moment, he is lost irredeemably lost. Between him 
 and the woman whom I wish to marry whom I shall marry I have dug so 
 broad and deep an abyss that the strongest love cannot overleap it. It is 
 better and worse than if I had killed him. Dead, he would have been 
 mourned, perhaps ; while now, the lowest and most degraded woman 
 would turn from him in disgust, or, even if she loved him, she would not 
 dare to confess it. " 
 
 M. Fortunate seemed greatly disturbed. " Have you then put into exe- 
 cution the project the plan you spoke of ? " he faltered. " I thought you 
 were only jesting." 
 
 The marquis lowered his head. " Yes," he answered. 
 
 His companion stood for a moment as if petrified, and then suddenly ex- 
 claimed : " What ! You have done that you a gentleman ? " 
 
 M. de Valorsay paced the floor in a state of intense agitation. Had he 
 caught a glimpse of his own face in the looking-glass, it would have 
 frightened him. "A gentleman!" he repeated, in a tone of suppressed 
 rage ; "a gentleman ! That word is in everybody's mouth, nowadays. 
 Pray, what do you understand by a gentleman, Mons. Fortunat ? No doubt, 
 you mean a heroic idiot who passes through life with a lofty mien, clad in 
 all the virtues, as stoical as Job, and as resigned as a martyr a sort of 
 moral Don Quixote, preaching the austerest virtue, and practising it ? But, 
 unfortunately, nobility of soul and of purpose are expensive luxuries, and 
 I am a ruined man. I am no saint ! I love life and all that makes life 
 beautiful and desirable and to procure its pleasures I must fight with the 
 weapons of the age. No doubt, it is grand to be honest ; but in my case 
 it is so impossible, that I prefer to be dishonest to commit an act of 
 shameful infamy which will yield a hundred thousand francs a year. This 
 man is in my way I suppress him so much the worse for him he has no 
 business to be in my way. If I could have met him openly, I would have 
 dispatched him according to the accepted code of honour ; but, then, I 
 should have had to renounce all idea of marrying Mademoiselle Marguerite, 
 
the count's millions. 37 
 
 so I was obliged to find some other way. I could not choose my means. 
 The drowning man does not reject the plank, which is his only chance of 
 salvation, because it chances to be dirty." 
 
 His gestures were even more forcible than his words ; and when he con- 
 cluded, he threw himself on to the sofa, holding his head tightly between 
 his hands, as if he felt that it was bursting. Anger choked his utterance 
 not anger so much as something he would not confess, the quickening of 
 his own conscience and the revolt of every honourable instinct ; for, in spite 
 of his sins of omission, and of commission, never, until this day, had he 
 actually violated any clause of the code acknowledged by men of honour. 
 
 " You have been guilty of a most infamous act, Monsieur le Marquis," 
 said M. Fortunat, coldly. . ' 
 
 " Oh ! no moralizing, if you please." 
 
 " Only evil will come of it." 
 
 The marquis shrugged his shoulders, and in a tone of bitter scorn, re- 
 torted : "Come, Mons. Fortunat, if you wish to lose the forty thousand francs 
 you advanced to me, it's easy enough to do so. Run to Madame d' Argeles' 
 house, ask for M. de Coralth, and tell him I countermand my order. My 
 rival will be saved, and will marry Mademoiselle Marguerite and her 
 millions." 
 
 M. Fortunat remained silent. He could not tell the marquis : " My 
 forty thousand francs are lost already. I know that only too well. Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite is no longer the possessor of millions, and you have 
 committed a useless crime." However, it was this conviction which im- 
 parted such an accent of eagerness to his words as he continued to plead the 
 cause of virtue and of honesty. Would he have said as much if he had 
 entertained any great hope of the success of the marquis's matrimonial en- 
 terprise ? It is doubtful, still we must do M. Fortunat the justice to 
 admit that he was really and sincerely horrified by what he had unhesitat- 
 ingly styled an "infamous act." 
 
 The marquis listened to his agent for a few moments in silence, and then 
 rose to his feet again. ' All this is very true," he interrupted ; " but I am, 
 nevertheless, anxious to learn the result of my little plot. For this reason, 
 Monsieur Fortunat, give me at once the five hundred louis you promised 
 me, and I will then bid you good evening." 
 
 The agent had been preparing himself for this moment, and yet he trem- 
 bled. "I am deeply grieved, monsieur," he replied, with a doleful smile ; 
 " it was this matter that kept me out so much later than usual this evening. 
 I hoped to have obtained the money from a banker, who has always ac- 
 commodated me before M. Prosper Bertomy, you know him : he married 
 M. Andre" Fauvel's niece " 
 
 " Ye3, I know ; proceed, if you please." 
 
 " Ah well ! it was impossible for me to procure the money." 
 
 The marquis had hitherto been pale, but now his face flushed crimson. 
 " This is a jest, I suppose," said he. 
 
 "Alas ! unfortunately no." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, which the marquis probably spent in re- 
 flecting upon the probable consequences of this disappointment, for it was 
 in an almost threatening tone that he eventually exclaimed: "You know 
 that I must have this money at once that I must have it." 
 
 M. Fortunat would certainly have preferred to lose a good pound of flesh 
 rather than the sum of money mentioned ; but, on the other hand, he felt 
 that it would not do for him to sever his connection with his client until 
 
38 the count's millions. 
 
 the death of the Count de Chalusse was certain ; and being anxious to save 
 his money and to keep his client, his embarrassment was extreme. " It was 
 the most unfortunate thing in the world," he stammered ; " I apprehended 
 no difficulty whatever " Then, suddenly clapping his hand to his fore- 
 head, he exclaimed : " But, Monsieur le Marquis, couldn't you borrow this 
 amount from one of your friends, the Duke de Champdoce or the Count de 
 Commarin ? that would be a good idea. " 
 
 M. de Valorsay was anything but unsophisticated, and his natural 
 shrewdness had been rendered much more acute by the difficulties with 
 which he had recently been obliged to contend. M. Fortunat's confusion 
 had not escaped his keen glance ; and this last suggestion aroused his sus- 
 picions at once. " What ! " he said, slowly, and with an air of evident dis- 
 trust. " You give me this advice, Master Twenty-per-cent. This is won- 
 derful ! How long is it since your opinions have undergone such a 
 change ? " 
 
 " My opinions ? " 
 
 " Yes. Didn't you say to me during our first interview : 4 The thing that 
 will save you, is that you have never in your whole life borrowed a louis 
 from a friend. An ordinary creditor only thinks of a large interest ; and 
 if that is paid him he holds his peace. A friend is never satisfied until 
 everybody knows that he has generously obliged you. It is far better to 
 apply to a usurer.' I thought all that very sensible, and I quite agreed 
 with you when you added : ' So, Monsieur le Marquis, no borrowing of this 
 kind until after your marriage not on any pretext whatever. Go without 
 eating rather than do it. Your credit is still good ; but it is being slowly 
 undermined and the indiscretion of a friend who chanced to say: "I 
 think Valorsay is hard up," might fire the train, and then you'd explode.'" 
 
 M. Fortunat's embarrassment was really painful to witness. He was not 
 usually wanting in courage, but the events of the evening had shaken his 
 confidence and his composure. The hope of gain and the fear of loss had 
 deprived him of his wonted clearness of mind. Feeling that he had just 
 committed a terrible blunder, he racked his brain to find some way of re- 
 pairing it, and finding none, his confusion increased. 
 
 " Did you, or didn't you, use that language ? " insisted M. de Valorsay. 
 " What have you to say in reply ? " 
 
 ** Circumstances " 
 
 " What circumstances ?" 
 
 M Urgent need necessity. There is no rule without its exceptions. I 
 did not imagine you would be so rash. I have advanced you forty thousand 
 francs in less than five months it is outrageous. If I were in your place, 
 I would be more reasonable I would economize " 
 
 He paused ; in fact, he was compelled to pause by the piercing glance 
 which M. de Valorsay turned upon him. He was furious with himself. ' I 
 am losing my wits," he thought. 
 
 "Still more wise counsel," remarked the ruined nobleman ironically. 
 1 ' While you are about it, why don't you advise me to sell my horses and 
 carriages, and establish myself in a garret in the Rue Amelot? Such a 
 course would seem very natural, wouldn't it ? and, of course, it would 
 inspire M. de Chalusse with boundless confidence ! " 
 
 "But without going to such extremes " 
 
 "Hold your tongue 1 " interrupted the marquis, violently. " Better than 
 any one else you know that I cannot retrench, although the reality no longer 
 exists. I am condemned, cost what it may, to Ireop up appearances. That 
 
THE count's millions. 39 
 
 is my only hope of salvation. I have gambled, given expensive suppers, 
 indulged in dissipation of every kind, and I must continue to do so. I have 
 come to hate Ninette Simplon, for whom I have committed so many acts of 
 folly, and yet I still keep her to show that I am rolling in wealth. I have 
 thrown thousand-franc notes out of the window, and I mustn't stop throwing 
 them. Indeed, what would people say if I stopped? Why, ' Valorsay is a 
 ruined man ! ' Then, farewell to my hopes of marrying an heiress. And so 
 I am always gay and smiling ; that is part of my r6le. What would my 
 servants the twenty spies that I pay what would they think if they saw 
 me thoughtful or disturbed ? You would scarcely believe it, M. Fortunat, 
 but I have positively been reduced to dining on credit at my club, because 
 I had paid, that morning, for a month's provender for my horses ! It is 
 true I have many valuable articles in my house, but I cannot dispose of 
 them. People would recognise them at once ; besides, they form a part of 
 my stock-in-trade. An actor doesn't sell his costumes because he's hungry 
 he goes without food and when it's time for the curtain to rise, he dons 
 his satin and velvet garments, and, despite his empty stomach, he chants 
 the praises of a bountiful table and rare old wine. That is what I am doing 
 I, Robert Dalbou, Marquis de Valorsay ! At the races at Vincennes, 
 about a fortnight ago, I was bowling along the boulevard behind my four- 
 in-hand, when I heard a labourer say, How happy those rich peopie must 
 be ! ' Happy, indeed ! Why, I envied him his lot. He was sure that the 
 morrow would be like the day that preceded it. On that occasion my entire 
 fortune consisted of a single louis, which I had won at baccarat the evening 
 before. As I entered the enclosure, Isabelle, the flower-girl, handed me a 
 rose for my button-hole. I gave her my louis but I longed to strangle 
 her ! " 
 
 He paused for a moment, and then, in a frenzy of passion, he advanced 
 towards M. Fortunat, who instinctively retreated into the protecting em- 
 brasure of a window. "And for eight months I have lived this horrible 
 life ! " he resumed. "For eight months each moment has been so much 
 torture. Ah ! better poverty, prison, and shame ! And now, when the 
 prize is almost won, actuated either by treason or caprice, you try to make 
 all my toil and all my suffering unavailing. You try to thwart me on the 
 very threshold of success ! No ! I swear, by God's sacred name, it shall not 
 be ! I will rather crush you, you miserable scoundrel crush you like a 
 venomous reptile ! " 
 
 There was such a ring of fury in his voice that the crystals of the 
 candelabra vibrated ; and Madame Dodelin, in her kitchen, heard it, and 
 shuddered. " Some one will certainly do M. Fortunat an injury one of 
 these days," she thought. 
 
 It was not by any means the first time that M. Fortunat had found him- 
 self at variance with clients of a sanguine temperament : but he had always 
 escaped safe and sound, so that, after all, he was not particularly alarmed 
 in the present instance, as was proved by the fact that he was still calm 
 enough to reflect and plan. " In forty-eight hours I shall be certain of the 
 count's fate," he thought ; " he will be dead, or he will be in a fair way to 
 recovery so by promising to give this frenzied man what he desires on the 
 day after to-morrow, I shall incur no risk." 
 
 Taking advantage of an opportunity which M. de Valorsay furnished, on 
 pausing to draw breath, he hastily exclaimed, "Really, Monsieur le 
 Marquis, I cannot understand your anger. " 
 
 "What! scoundrel !" 
 
40 thf, count's millions. 
 
 " Excuse me. Before insulting me, permit me to explain " 
 
 "No explanation five hundred louis ! " 
 
 " Have the kindness to allow me to finish. Yes, I know that you are in 
 urgent need of money not by-and-by, but now. To-day I was unable to 
 procure it, nor can I promise it to-morrow ; but on the day after to-morrow, 
 Saturday, I shall certainly have it ready for you." 
 
 The marquis seemed to be trying to read his agent's very soul. " Are 
 you in earnest ? " he asked. " Show your hand. If you don't intend to help 
 me out of my embarrassment, say so. " 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur le Marquis, am I not as much interested in your success 
 as you yourself can be ? Have you not received abundant proofs of my 
 devotion ? " 
 
 ' ' Then I can rely upon you ? " 
 
 "Absolutely." And seeing a lingering doubt in his client's eyes, M. 
 Fortunat added, " You have my word of honour ! " 
 
 The clock struck three. The marquis took his hat and started towards 
 the door. But M. Fortunat, in whose heart the word scoundrel was still 
 rankling, stopped him. "Are you going to that lady's house now? What 
 is she called? I've forgotten her name. Ah, yes, I remember now. 
 Madame d'Argel&s, isn't she called ? It's at her place, I believe, that the 
 reputation of Mademoiselle Marguerite's favoured lover is to be ruined. " 
 
 The marquis turned angrily. "What do you take me for, Master 
 Twenty-per-cent," he rudely asked. " That is one of those things no well- 
 bred gentleman will do himself. But in Paris people can be found to do 
 any kind of dirty work, if you are willing to pay them for it." 
 
 " Then how will you know the result? " 
 
 "Why, twenty minutes after the affair is over, M. de Coralth will be at my 
 house. He is there even now, perhaps." And as this subject was anything 
 but pleasant, he hastened away, exclaiming, "Get to bed, my dear extor- 
 tioner. Au revoir. And, above all, remember your promise." 
 
 "My respects, Monsieur le Marquis." 
 
 But when the door closed, M. Fortunat's expression immediately changed. 
 " Ah ! you insult me ! " he muttered sullenly. " You rob me, and you call 
 me a scoundrel into the bargain. You shall pay dearly for it, my fine 
 fellow, no matter what may happen 1 " 
 
 IV. 
 
 It is in vain that the law has endeavoured to shield private life from prying 
 eyes. The scribes who pander to Parisian curiosity surmount all obstacles 
 and brave every danger. Thanks to the "High Life" reporters, every 
 newspaper reader is aware that twice a week Mondays and Thursdays 
 Madame Lia d'Argeles holds a reception at her charming mansion in the 
 Hue de Berry. Her guests find plenty of amusement there. They seldom 
 dance ; but card-playing begins at midnight, and a dainty supper is served 
 before the departure of the guests. 
 
 It was on leaving one of these little entertainments that that unfortunate 
 young man, Jules Chazel, a cashier in a large banking-house, committed 
 suicide by blowing out his brains. The brilliant frequenters of Madame 
 d'Argeles's entertainments considered this act proof of exceeding bad taste 
 and deplorable weakness on his part. "The fellow was a coward," they 
 declared. "Why, he had lost hardly a thousand louis 1 " 
 
41 
 
 He had lost only that, it is true a mere trifle as times go. Only the 
 money was not his ; he had taken it from the safe which was confided to 
 his keeping, expecting, probably, to double the amount in a single night. 
 In the morning, when he found himself alone, without a penny, and the 
 deficit staring him in the face, the voice of conscience cried, "You are a 
 thief 1 " and he lost his reason. 
 
 The event created a great sensation at the time, and the Petit Journal 
 published a curious story concerning this unfortunate young man's mother. 
 The poor woman she was a widow sold all she possessed, even the bed on 
 which she slept, and when she had succeeded in gathering together twenty 
 thousand francs the ransom of her son's honour she carried them to the 
 banker by whom her boy had been employed. He took them, without even 
 asking the mother if she had enough left to purchase her dinner that even- 
 ing ; and the fine gentlemen, who had won and pocketed Jules Chazel's 
 stolen gold, thought the banker's conduct perfectly natural and just. It is 
 true that Madame d'Argeles was in despair during forty-eight hours or so ; 
 for the police had begun a sort of investigation, and she feared this might 
 frighten her visitors and empty her drawing-rooms. Not at all, however ; 
 on the contrary, she had good cause to congratulate herself upon the 
 notoriety she gained through this suicide. For five days she was the talk 
 of Paris, and Alfred d'Aunay even published her portrait in the Illustrated 
 Chronicle. 
 
 Still, no one was able to say exactly who Madame Lia d'Argeles was. 
 Who was she, and whence did she come ? How had she lived until she 
 sprang up, full grown, in the sunshine of the fashionable world ? Did the 
 splendid mansion in the Rue de Berry really belong to her ? Was she as 
 rich as she was supposed to be ? Where had she acquired such manners, 
 the manners of a thorough woman of the world, with her many accomplish- 
 ments, as well as her remarkable skill as a musician ? Everything con- 
 nected with her was a subject of conjecture, even to the name inscribed 
 upon her visiting cards " Lia d'Argeles." 
 
 But no matter. Her house was always filled to overflowing ; and at the 
 very moment when the Marquis de Valorsay and M. Fortunat were speak- 
 ing of her, a dozen coroneted carriages stood before her door, and her rooms 
 were thronged with guests. It was a little past midnight, and the bi- 
 weekly card party had just been made up, when a footman announced, 
 " Monsieur le Vicomte de Coralth 1 Monsieur Pascal Ferailleur ! " 
 
 Few of the players deigned to raise their heads. But one man growled, 
 " Good two more players 1 " And four or five young men exclaimed, 
 1 Ah ! here's Ferdinand ! Good evening, my dear fellow ! " 
 
 M. de Coralth was very young and remarkably good-looking, almost too 
 good-looking, indeed ; for his handsomeness was somewhat startling and 
 unnatural. He had an exceedingly fair complexion, and large, melting 
 black eyes, while a woman might have envied him his wavy brown hair and 
 the exquisite delicacy of his skin. He dressed with great care and taste, 
 and even coquettishly ; his turn-down collar left his firm white throat un- 
 covered, and his rose-tinted gloves fitted as perfectly as the skin upon his 
 soft, delicate hands. He bowed familiarly on entering, and with a rather 
 complacent smile on his lips, he approached Madame d'Argeles, who, half 
 reclining in an easy chair near the fire-place, was conversing with two 
 elderly gentlemen of grave and distinguished bearing. " How late you are, 
 viscount," she remarked carelessly. " What have you been doing to-day? 
 I fancied I saw you in the Bois, in the Marquis de Valorsay's dog-cart." 
 
42 the count's millions. 
 
 A slight flush suffused M. de Coralth's cheeks, and to hide it, perhaps, he 
 turned towards the visitor who had entered with him, and drew him 
 towards Madame d'Argeles, saying, " Allow me, madame, to present to you 
 one of my great friends, M. Pascal Ferailleur, an advocate whose name will 
 be known to fame some day." 
 
 " Your friends are always welcome at my house, my dear viscount," 
 replied Madame d'Argeles. And before Pascal had coucluded his bow, she 
 averted her head, and resumed her interrupted conversation. 
 
 The new-comer, however, was worthy of more than that cursory notice. 
 He was a young man of five or six-and-twenty, dark-complexioned and tall ; 
 each movement of his person was imbued with that natural grace which is 
 the result of perfect harmony of the muscles, and of more than common 
 vigour. His features were irregular, but they gave evidence of energy, 
 kindness of heart, and honesty of purpose. A man possessing such a proud, 
 intelligent, and open brow, such a clear, straightforward gaze, and such 
 finely-cut lips, could be no ordinary one. Deserted by his sponsor, who 
 was shaking hands right and left, he seated himself on a sofa a little in the 
 background ; not because he was embarrassed, but because he felt that 
 instinctive distrust of self which frequently seizes hold of a person on enter- 
 ing a crowd of strangers. He did his best to conceal his curiosity, but 
 nevertheless he looked and listened with all his might. 
 
 The salon was an immense apartment, divided into two rooms by sliding 
 doors and hangings. When Madame d'Argeles gave a ball, the rooms were 
 thrown into one ; but, as a general rule, one room was occupied by the card- 
 players, and the other served as a refuge for those who wished to chat. The 
 card-room, into which Pascal had been ushered, was an apartment of noble 
 proportions, furnished in a style of tasteful magnificence. The tints of the 
 carpet were subdued ; there was not too much gilding on the cornices ; the 
 clock upon the mantel-shelf was chaste and elegant in design. The only thing 
 at all peculiar about the room and its appointments was a reflector, ingeni- 
 ously arranged above the chandelier in such a way as to throw the full glare 
 of the candles upon the card-table which stood directly beneath it. The 
 table itself was adorned with a rich tapestry cover, but this was visible only 
 at the corners, for it was covered, in turn, with a green baize cloth consider- 
 ably the worse for wear. Madame d'Argeles' guests were probably not over 
 fifty in number, but they all seemed to belong to the very best society. 
 The majority of them were men of forty or thereabouts ; several wore decora- 
 tions, and two or three of the eldest were treated with marked deference. 
 Certain well-known names which Pascal overheard surprised him greatly. 
 "What! these men here?" he said to himself; "and I I regarded my 
 visit as a sort of clandestine frolic. " 
 
 There were only seven or eight ladies present, none of them being 
 especially attractive. Their toilettes were very costly, but in rather 
 doubtful taste, and they wore a profusion of diamonds. Pascal noticed 
 that these ladies were treated with perfect indifference, and that, whenever 
 the gentlemen spoke to them, they assumed an air of politeness which was 
 too exaggerated not to be ironical. 
 
 A score of persons were seated at the card-table, and the guests who had 
 retired into the adjoining salon were silently watching the progress of the 
 game, or quietly chatting in the corners of the room, It surprised him to 
 note that every one spoke in very low tonns ; there was something very 
 like respect, even awe, in this subdued murmur. One might have supposed 
 that those present were celebrating the rites of some mysterious worship. 
 
43 
 
 And is not gaming a species of idolatry, symbolised by cards, and which 
 has its images, its fetishes, its miracles, its fanatics, and its martyrs ? 
 
 Occasionally, above the accompaniment of whispers, rose the strange and 
 incoherent exclamations of the players : "Here are twenty louis I I take 
 it I pass 1 The play is made ! Banco ! " 
 
 "What a strange gathering!" thought Pascal Ferailleur. "What 
 singular people ! " And he turned his attention to the mistress of the 
 house, as if he hoped to decipher the solution of the enigma on her face. 
 
 But Madame Lia d'Argeles defied all analysis. She was one of those 
 women whose uncertain age varies according to their mood, between the 
 thirties and the fifties ; one who did not look over thirty in the evening, but 
 who would have been charged with being more than fifty the next morning. 
 In her youth she must have been very beautiful, and she was still good- 
 looking, though she had grown somewhat stout, and her face had become a 
 trifle heavy, thus marring the symmetry of her very delicate features. A 
 perfect blonde, she had eyes of so clear a blue that they seemed almost 
 faded. The whiteness of her skin was so unnatural that it almost startled 
 one. It was the dull, lifeless white which suggests an excessive use of 
 cosmetics and rice powder, and long baths, late hours, and sleep at day- 
 time, in a darkened room. Her face was utterly devoid of expression. 
 One might have fancied that its muscles had become relaxed after terrible 
 efforts to feign or to conceal some violent emotions ; and there was some- 
 thing melancholy, almost terrifying in the eternal, and perhaps involun- 
 tary smile, which curved her lips. She wore a dress of black velvet, with 
 slashed sleeves and bodice, a new design of the famous man-millliner, Van 
 Klopen. 
 
 Pascal was engaged in these observations when M. de Coralth, having 
 made his round, came and sat down on the sofa beside him. "Well, 
 what do you think of it ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Upon my word I " replied the young advocate, " I am infinitely obliged 
 to you for inviting me to accompany you here. I am intensely amused." 
 
 " Good I My philosopher is captivated." 
 
 " Not captivated, but interested, I confess." Then, in the tone of good- 
 humour which was habitual to him, he added : " As for being the sage you 
 call me, that's all nonsense. And to prove it, I'm going to risk my louis 
 with the rest." 
 
 M. de Coralth seemed amazed, but a close observer might have detected 
 a gleam of triumph in his eyes. " You are going to play you ? " 
 
 "Yes. Why not?" 
 
 " Take care ! " 
 
 "Of what, pray? The worst I can do is to lose what I have in my 
 pocket something over two hundred francs." 
 
 The viscount shook his head thoughtfully. " It isn't that which one has 
 cause to fear. The devil always has a hand in this business, and the first 
 time a man plays he's sure to win. " 
 
 " And is that a misfortune ? " 
 
 "Yes, because the recollection of these first winnings is sure to lure you 
 back to the gaming-table again. You go back, you lose, you try to recover 
 your money, and that's the end of it you become a gambler." 
 
 Pascal Ferailleur's smile was the smile of a man who has full confidence 
 in himself. " My brain is not so easily turned, I hope," said he. " I have 
 the thought of my name, and the fortune I must make, as ballast for it.' 
 
 "I beseech you not to play," insisted the viscount. "Listen to rae ; 
 
44 the count's millions. 
 
 you don't know what this passion for play is ; the strongest and the coldest 
 natures succumb don't play. " 
 
 He had raised his voice, as if he intended to be overheard by two guests 
 who had just approached the sofa. They did indeed hear him. " Can I 
 believe my own eyes and ears ! " exclaimed one of them, an elderly man. 
 " Can this really be Ferdinand who is trying to shake the allegiance of the 
 votaries of our noble lady the Queen of Spades ? " 
 
 M. de Coralth turned quickly round : " Yes, it is indeed I," he answered. 
 11 1 have purchased with my patrimony the right of saying : ' Distrust your- 
 self, and don't do as I've done,' to an inexperienced friend." 
 
 The wisest counsels, given in a certain fashion, never fail to produce an 
 effect diametrically opposed to that which they seemingly aim at. M. de 
 Coralth's persistence, and the importance he attached to a mere trifle, 
 could not fail to annoy the most patient man in the world, and in fact his 
 patronising tone really irritated Pascal. "You are free, my friend, to do 
 as you please, " said he ; " but I " 
 
 " Are you resolved ? " interrupted the viscount. 
 
 "Absolutely." 
 
 "So be it, then. You are no longer a child, and I have warned you. 
 Let us play, then." Thereupon they approached the table ; room was 
 made for them, and they seated themselves, Pascal being on M. Ferdinand de 
 Coralth's right-hand side. 
 
 The guests were playing "Baccarat tournant," a game of terrible and 
 infantile simplicity. There are no such things as skill or combination 
 possible in it ; science and calculation are useless. Chance alone decides, 
 and decides with the rapidity of lightning. Amateurs certainly assert that, 
 with great coolness and long practice, one can, in a measure at least, avert 
 prolonged ill-luck. Maybe they are right, but it is not conclusively proved. 
 Each person takes the cards in his turn, risks what he chooses, and when 
 his stakes are covered, deals. If he wins, he is free to follow up his vein 
 of good-luck, or to pass the deal. When he loses, the deal passes at once 
 to the next player on the right. 
 
 A moment sufficed for Pascal Ferailleur to learn the rules of the game. 
 It was already Ferdinand's deal. M. de Coralth staked a hundred francs ; 
 the bet was taken ; he dealt, lost, and handed the cards to Pascal. 
 
 The play, which had been rather timid at first since it was necessary, as 
 they say, to try the luck had now become bolder. Several players had 
 large piles of gold before them, and the heavy artillery that is to say, 
 bank-notes were beginning to put in appearance. But Pascal had no false 
 pride. " I stake a louis ! " said he. 
 
 The smallness of the sum attracted instant attention, and two or three 
 voices replied : " Taken ! " 
 
 He dealt, and won. " Two louis ! " he said again. This wager was also 
 taken ; he won, and his run of luck was so remarkable that, in a wonder- 
 fully short space of time, he won six hundred francs. 
 
 "Pass the deal," whispered Ferdinand, and Pascal followed this advice. 
 "Not because I desire to keep my winnings," he whispered in M. de 
 Coralth's ear, ' but because I wish to have enough to play until the end of 
 the evening without risking anything." 
 
 But such prudence was unnecessary so far as he was concerned. When 
 the deal came to him again, fortune favoured him even more than before. 
 He started with a hundred francs, and doubling them each time in six suc- 
 cessive deals, he won more than three thousand francs. 
 
the count's millions. 45 
 
 " The devil ! Monsieur is in luck." " Zounds ! And he is playing for 
 the first time." " That accounts for it. The inexperienced always win." 
 
 Pascal could not fail to hear these comments. The blood mantled over 
 his cheeks, and, conscious that he was flushing, he, as usually happens, flushed 
 still more. His good fortune embarrassed him, as was evident, and he 
 played most recklessly. Still his good luck did not desert him ; and do 
 what he would he won won continually. In fact, by four o'clock in the 
 morning he had thirty-five thousand francs before him. 
 
 For some time he had been the object of close attention. "Do you know 
 this gentleman ? " inquired one of the guests. 
 
 " No. He came with Coralth." 
 
 11 He is an advocate, I understand." 
 
 And all these whispered doubts and suspicions, these questions fraught 
 with an evil significance, these uncharitable replies, grew into a malevolent 
 murmur, which resounded in Pascal's ears and bewildered him. He was 
 really becoming most uncomfortable, when Madame d'Argeles approached 
 the card-table and exclaimed : ** This is the third time, gentlemen, that you 
 have been told that supper is ready. What gentleman will offer me his arm ? " 
 
 There was an evident unwillingness to leave the table, but an old gentle- 
 man who had been losing heavily rose to his feet. " Yes, let us go to 
 supper ! " he exclaimed ; " perhaps that will change the luck." 
 
 This was a decisive consideration. The room emptied as if by magic ; and 
 no one was left at the table but Pascal, who scarcely knew what to do with 
 all the gold piled up before him. He succeeded, however, in distributing 
 it in his pockets, and was about to join the other guests in the dining-room, 
 when Madame d'Argeles abruptly barred his passage. 
 
 " I desire a word with you, monsieur," she said. Her face still retained 
 its strange immobility, and the same stereotyped smile played about her 
 lips. And yet her agitation was so evident that Pascal, in spite of his own 
 uneasiness, noticed it, and was astonished by it. 
 
 " I am at your service, madame," he stammered, bowing. 
 
 She at once took his arm, and led him to the embrasure of a window. 
 "I am a stranger to you, monsieur," she said, very hurriedly, and in very 
 low tones, " and yet I must ask, and you must grant me, a great favour." 
 
 "Speak, madame." 
 
 She hesitated, as if at a loss for words, and then all of a sudden she said, 
 eagerly : " You will leave this house at once, without warning any one, 
 and while the other guests are at supper. " 
 
 Pascal's astonishment changed into stupor. 
 
 "Why am I to go ? " he asked. 
 
 " Because but, no; I cannot tell you. Consider it only a caprice on my 
 part it is so ; but I entreat you, don't refuse me. Do me this favour, and 
 I shall be eternally grateful." 
 
 There was such an agony of supplication in her voice and her attitude, 
 that Pascal was touched. A vague presentiment of some terrible, irrepar- 
 able misfortune disturbed his own heart. Nevertheless, he sadly shook 
 his head, and bitterly exclaimed : "You are, perhaps, not aware that I 
 have just won over thirty thousand francs." 
 
 "Yes, lam aware of it. And this is only another, and still stronger 
 reason why you should protect yourself against possible loss. It is well to 
 pattern after Charlemagne * in this house. The other night, the Count 
 
 * French gamblers use this expressipo which they explain by the fact that Charlemagne, 
 
46 
 
 d'Antas quietly made his escape bareheaded. He took a thousand louis 
 away with him, and left his hat in exchange. The count is a brave man ; 
 and far from indulging in blame, every one applauded him the next day. 
 Come, you have decided, I see you will go ; and to be still more safe, I 
 will show you out through the servants' hall, then no one can possibly see 
 you." 
 
 Pascal had almost decided to yield to her entreaties ; but this proposed 
 retreat through the back-door was too revolting to his pride to be thought 
 of for a moment. "I will never consent to such a thing," he declared. 
 " What would they think of me ? Besides I owe them their revenge and I 
 shall give it to them." 
 
 Neither Madame d'Ajgeles nor Pascal had noticed M. de Coralth, who 
 in the meantime had stolen into the room on tip-toe, and had been listening 
 to their conversation, concealed behind the folds of a heavy curtain. He 
 now suddenly revealed his presence. " Ah ! my dear friend," he exclaimed, 
 in a winning tone. "While 1 honour your scruples, I must say that I 
 think madame is a hundred times right. If I were in your place, if I had 
 won what you have won, I shouldn't hesitate. Others might think what 
 they pleased ; you have the money, that is the main thing." 
 
 For the second time, the viscount's intervention decided Pascal. "I 
 3hall remain," he said, resolutely. 
 
 But Madame d'Argeles laid her hand imploringly on his arm. "I en- 
 treat you, monsieur," said she. " Go now, there is still time " 
 
 "Yes, go," said the viscount, approvingly, "it would be a most excellent 
 move. Retreat and save the cash." 
 
 These words were like the drop which makes the cup overflow. Crimson 
 with anger and assailed by the strangest suspicions, Pascal turned from 
 Madame d'Argeles and hastened into the dining-room. The conversation 
 ceased entirely on his arrival there. He could not fail to understand that 
 he had been the subject of it. A secret instinct warned him that all the 
 men around him were his enemies though he knew not why and that 
 they were plotting against him. He also perceived that his slightest move- 
 ments were watched and commented upon. However he was a brave man ; 
 his conscience did not reproach him in the least, and he was one of those 
 persons who rather than wait for danger, provoke it. 
 
 So, with an almost defiant air, he seated himself beside a young lady 
 dressed in pink tulle, and began to laugh and chat with her. He possessed 
 a ready wit, and what is even better, tact ; and for a quarter of an hour 
 astonished those around him by his brilliant sallies. Champagne was flow- 
 ing freely ; and he drank four or five glasses in quick succession. Was he 
 really conscious of what he was doing and saying ? He subsequently de- 
 clared that he was not, that he acted under the influence of a sort of hallu- 
 cination similar to that produced by the inhalation of carbonic gas. 
 
 However, the guests did not linger long at the supper table. " Let us 
 go back ! " cried the old gentleman, who had insisted upon the suspension 
 of the game ; "we are wasting a deal of precious time here ! " 
 
 Pascal rose with the others, and in his haste to enter the adjoining room 
 he jostled two men who were talking together near the door. "So it is 
 understood," said one of them. 
 
 departed this life with all his possessions intact, having always added to his dominions 
 without ever experiencing a loss. Historically this is no doubt incorrect, but none the 
 esc, the expression prevails in France. -[Trans.] 
 
the count's millions. 47 
 
 " Yes, yes, leave it tome; I will act as executioner." 
 This word sent all Pascal's blood bounding to his heart. " Who is to be 
 executed?" he thought. "Iain evidently to be the victim. But what 
 does it all mean ? " 
 
 Meanwhile the players at the green table had changed places, and Pascrd 
 found himself seated not on Ferdinand's right, but directly opposite him, 
 and between two men about his own age one of them being the person 
 who had announced his intention of acting as executioner. All eyes were 
 fixed upon the unfortunate advocate when it came his turn to deal. He 
 staked two hundred louis, and lost them. There was a slight commotion 
 round the table ; and one of the players who had lost most heavily, re- 
 marked in an undertone : " Don't look so hard at the gentleman he won't 
 have any more luck." 
 
 As Pascal heard this ironical remark, uttered in a tone which made it as 
 insulting as a blow, a gleam of light darted through his puzzled brain. He 
 suspected at last, what any person less honest than himself would have 
 long before understood. He thought of rising and demanding an apology ; 
 but he was stunned, almost overcome by the horrors of his situation. His 
 ears tingled, and it seemed to him as if the beating of his heart were 
 suspended. 
 
 However the game proceeded ; but'no one paid any attention to it. The 
 stakes were insignificant, and loss or gain drew no exclamation from any 
 one. The attention of the entire party was concentrated on Pascal ; and 
 he, with despair in his heart, followed the movements of the cards, which 
 were passing from hand to hand, and fast approaching him again. When 
 they reached him the silence became breathless, menacing, even sinister. 
 The ladies, and the guests who were not playing, approached and leaned 
 over the table in evident anxiety. " My God 1" thought Pascal, "my God, 
 if I can only lose ! " 
 
 He was as pale as death ; the perspiration trickled down from his hair 
 upon his temples, and his hands trembled so much that he could scarcely 
 hold the cards. " I will stake four thousand francs," he faltered. 
 
 " I take your bet," answered a voice, 
 
 Alas ! the unfortunate fellow's wish was not gratified ; he won. Then 
 in the midst of the wildest confusion, he exclaimed: "Here are eight 
 thousand francs ! " 
 
 " Taken ! " 
 
 But as he began to deal the cards, his neighbour sprang up, seized him 
 roughly by the hands and cried : ' ' This time I'm sure of it you are a 
 thief ! " 
 
 With a bound, Pascal was on his feet. While his peril had been vague 
 and undetermined, his energy had been paralyzed. But it was restored to 
 him intact when his danger declared itself in all its horror. He pushed 
 away the man who had caught his hands, with such violence that he sent 
 him reeling under a sofa ; then he stepped back and surveyed the excited 
 throng with an air of menace and defiance. Useless ! Seven or eight 
 players sprang upon him and overpowered him, as if he had been the vilest 
 criminal. 
 
 Meanwhile, the executioner, as he had styled himself, had risen to his 
 feet with his cravat untied, and his clothes in wild disorder. "Yes," he 
 said, addressing Pascal, "you are a thief! I saw you slip other cards 
 among those which were handed to you." 
 
 " Wretch ! " gasped Pascal. 
 
48 the count's millions. 
 
 " I saw you and I ara going to prove it." So saying he turned to the 
 mistress of the house, who had dropped into an arm-chair, and imperiously 
 asked, " How many packs have we used ? " 
 
 "Five." 
 
 " Then there ought to be two hundred and sixty cards upon the table." 
 
 Thereupon he counted them slowly and with particular care, and he 
 found no fewer than three hundred and seven. ' Well, scoundrel 1 " he 
 cried ; ' ' are you still bold enough to deny it ? " 
 
 Pascal had no desire to deny it. He knew that words would weigh as 
 nothing against this material, tangible, incontrovertible proof. Forty- 
 seven cards had been fraudulently inserted among the others. Certainly 
 not by him ! But by whom ? Still he, alone, had been the gainer through 
 the deception. 
 
 " You see that the coward will not even defend himself ! " exclaimed 
 one of the women. 
 
 He did not deign to turn his head. What did the insult matter to him ? 
 He knew himself to be innocent, and yet he felt that he was sinking to the 
 lowest depths of infamy he beheld himself disgraced, branded, ruined. 
 And realising that he must meet facts with facts, he besought God to grant 
 him an idea, an inspiration, that would unmask the real culprit. 
 
 But another person came to his aid. With a boldness which no one 
 would have expected on his part, M. de Coralth placed himself in front of 
 Pascal, and in a voice which betokened more indignation than sorrow, he 
 exclaimed: "This is a terrible mistake, gentlemen, Pascal Ferailleur is 
 my friend ; and his past vouches for his present. Go to the Palais de 
 Justice, and make inquiries respecting his character there. They will tell 
 you how utterly impossible it ia that this man can be guilty of the 
 ignoble act he is accused of." 
 
 No one made any reply. In the opinion of all his listeners, Ferdinand 
 was simply fulfilling a duty which it would have been difficult for him to 
 escape. The old gentleman who had decided the suspension and the re- 
 sumption of the game, gave audible expression to the prevailing sentiment 
 of the party. He was a portly man, who puffed like a porpoise when he 
 talked, and whom his companions called the baron. ' ' Your words do you 
 honour really do you honour," he said, addressing Ferdinand "and no 
 possible blame can attach to you. That your friend is not an honest man 
 is no fault of yours. There is no outward sign to distinguish scoundrels." 
 
 Pascal had so far not opened his lips. After struggling for a moment 
 in the hands of his captors, he now stood perfectly motionless, glancing 
 furiously around him as if hoping to discover the coward who had prepared 
 the trap into which he had fallen. For he felt certain that he was the 
 victim of some atrocious conspiracy, though it was impossible for him to 
 divine what motive had actuated his enemies. Suddenly those who were 
 holding him felt him tremble. He raised his head ; he fancied he could 
 detect a ray of hope. " Shall I be allowed to speak in my own defence ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 "Speak!" 
 
 He tried to free himself ; but those beside him would not relax their 
 hold, so he desisted, and then, in a voice husky with emotion, he exclaimed : 
 " I am innocent ! I am the victim of an infamous plot. Who the author 
 of it is I do not know. But there is some one here who must know." 
 Angry exclamations and sneering laughs interrupted him. "Would you 
 condemn me unheard," he resumed, raising his voice. " Listen to me. 
 
the count's millions. 49 
 
 About an hour ago, while you were at supper, Madame d'Argeles almost 
 threw herself at my feet as she entreated me to leave this house. Her 
 agitation astonished me. Now I understand it." 
 
 The gentleman known as the baron turned towards Madame d'Argeles : 
 " Is what this man says true ? " 
 
 She was greatly agitated, but she answered : " Yes." 
 
 " Why were you so anxious for him to go ? " 
 
 "I don't know a presentiment it seemed to me that something was 
 going to happen." 
 
 The least observant of the party could not fail to notice Madame 
 d'Argeles hesitation and confusion ; but even the shrewdest were deceived. 
 They supposed that she had seen the act committed, and had tried to 
 induce the culprit to make his escape, in order to avoid a scandal. 
 
 Pascal saw he could expect no assistance from this source. "M. de 
 Coralth could assure you," he began. 
 
 "Oh, enough of that," interrupted a player. "I myself heard M. de 
 Coralth do his best to persuade you not to play." 
 
 So the unfortunate fellow's last and only hope had vanished. Still he made 
 a supreme effort, and addressing Madame d'Argeles: "Madame," he said, 
 in a voice trembling with anguish, " I entreat you, tell what you know. 
 Will you allow an honourable man to be ruined before your very eyes ? Will 
 you abandon an innocent man whom you could save by a single word ? " 
 But she remained silent ; and Pascal staggered as if some one had dealt 
 him a terrible blow. " It is all over ! " he muttered. 
 
 No one heard him : everybody was listening to the baron, who seemed to 
 be very much put out. " We are wasting precious time with all this," 
 said he. " We should have made at least five rounds while this absurd 
 scene has been going on. We must put an end to it. What are you going 
 to do with this fellow ? I am in favour of sending for a commissary of 
 police." 
 
 Such was not at all the opinion of the majority of the guests. Four or 
 five of the ladies took flight at the bare suggestion, and several men the 
 most aristocratic of the company became angry at once. ' ' Are you mad ? " 
 said one of them. "Do you want to see us all summoned as witnesses? 
 You have probably forgotten that Garcia affair, and that rumpus at Jenny 
 Fancy's house. A fine thing it would be to see, no one knows how many 
 great names mixed up with those of sharpers and notorious women ! " 
 
 Naturally of a florid complexion, the baron's face now became scarlet. ' So 
 it's fear of scandal that deters you ! Zounds, sir 1 a man's courage should 
 equal his vices. Look at me." 
 
 Celebrated for his income of eight hundred thousand francs a year, for his 
 estates in Burgundy, for his passion for gaming, his horses, and his cook, the 
 baron wielded a mighty influence. Still, on this occasion he did not carry the 
 day, for it was decided that the " sharper " should be allowed to depart 
 unmolested. "Make him at least return the money," growled a loser; 
 " compel him to disgorge." 
 
 " His winnings are there upon the table." 
 
 " Don't believe it," cried the baron. " All these scoundrels have secret 
 pockets in which they stow away their plunder. Search him by all means." 
 
 " That's it search him ! " 
 
 Crushed by this unexpected, undeserved and incomprehensible misfor- 
 tune, Pascal had almost yielded to his fate. But the shameful cry : "Search 
 him !" kindled terrible wrath in his brain. He shook off his assailants as a 
 
50 tue count's millions. 
 
 lion shakes off the hounds that have attacked him, and, reaching the fire- 
 place with a single bound, he snatched up a heavy bronze candelabrum and 
 brandished it in the air, crying : ' The first who approaches is a dead man ! " 
 
 He was ready to strike, there was no doubt about it; and such a weapon, 
 in the hands of a determined man, becomes positively terrible. The 
 danger seemed so great and so certain that his enemies paused each en- 
 couraging his neighbour with his glance ; but no one was inclined to engage 
 in this struggle, by which the victor would merely gain a few bank-notes. 
 "Stand back, and allow me to retire?" said Pascal, imperiously. They 
 still hesitated ; but finally made way. And, formidable in his indignation 
 and audacity he reached the door of the room unmolested, and disappeared. 
 
 This superb outburst of outraged honour, this marvellous energy suc- 
 ceeding, as it did, the most complete mental prostration and these terrible 
 threats, had proved so prompt and awe-inspiring that no one had thought 
 of cutting off Pascal's retreat. The guests had not recovered from their 
 stupor, but were still standing silent and intimidated when they heard the 
 outer door close after him. 
 
 It was a woman who at last broke the spell. "Ah, well ! " she exclaimed, 
 in a tone of intense admiration, " that handsome fellow is level-headed ! " 
 
 " He naturally desired to save his plunder ! " 
 
 It was the same expression that M. de Coralth had employed ; and which 
 had, perhaps, prevented Pascal from yielding to Madame d'Argeles' en- 
 treaties. Everybody applauded the sentiment everybody, the baron 
 excepted. This rich man, whose passions had dragged him into the vilest 
 dens of Europe, was thoroughly acquainted with sharpers and scoundrels of 
 every type, from those who ride in their carriages down to the bare-footed 
 vagabond. He knew the thief who grovels at his victim's feet, humbly 
 confessing his crime, the desperate knave who swallows the notes he has 
 stolen, the abject wretch who bares his back to receive the blows he de- 
 serves, and the rascal who boldly confronts his accusers and protests his in- 
 nocence with the indignation of an honest man. But never, in any of these 
 scoundrels, had the baron seen the proud steadfast glance with which this 
 man had awed his accusers. 
 
 With this thought uppermost in his mind he drew the person who had 
 seized Pascal's hands at the card-table a little aside. " Tell me," said he, 
 ' ' did you actually see that young man slip the cards into the pack ? " 
 
 " No, not exactly. But you know what we agreed at supper? We were 
 sure that he was cheating ; and it was necessary to find some pretext for 
 counting the cards." 
 
 "What if he shouldn't be guilty, after ail ? " 
 
 " Who else could be guilty then ? He was the only winner." 
 
 To this terrible argument the same which had silenced Pascal the 
 baron made no reply. Indeed his intervention became necessary elsewhere, 
 for the other guests were beginning to talk loudly and excitedly around the 
 pile of gold and banknotes which Pascal had left on the table. They had 
 counted it, and found it to amount to the sum of thirty-six thousand 
 three hundred and twenty francs ; and it was the question of dividing it 
 properly among the losers which was causing all this uproar. Among these 
 guests, who belonged to the highest society among these judges who had 
 so summarily convicted an innocent man, and suggested the searching of a 
 supposed sharper only a moment before there were several who unblush- 
 ingly misrepresented their losses. This was undeniable ; for on adding the 
 various amounts that were claimed together a grand total of ninety-one 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 51 
 
 thousand francs was reached. Had this man who had just fled taken the 
 difference between the two sums away with him ? A difference amounting 
 almost to fifty-five thousand francs ? No, this was impossible ; the suppos 
 ition could not be entertained for a moment. However, the discussion 
 might have taken an unfortunate turn, had it not been for the baron. In 
 all matters relating to cards, his word was law. He quietly said, "It is 
 all right ; " and they submitted. 
 
 Nevertheless, he absolutely refused to take his share of the money ; and 
 after the division, rubbing his hands as if he were delighted to see this dis- 
 agreeable affair concluded, he exclaimed : " It is only six o'clock : we have 
 still time for a few rounds." 
 
 But the other guests, pale, disturbed, and secretly ashamed of themselves, 
 were eager to depart, and in fact they were already hastening to the cloak- 
 room. " At least play a game of 6cart6," cried the baron, "a simple game 
 of 6carte\ at twenty louis a point." 
 
 But no one listened, and he reluctantly prepared to follow his departing 
 friends, who bowed to Madame d'Argeles on the landing, as they filed by. 
 M. de Coralth, who was among the last to retire, had already reached the 
 staircase, and descended two or three steps, when Madame d'Argeles 
 called to him. " Remain," said she ; " I want to speak with you." 
 
 "You will excuse me," he began ; " I " 
 
 But she again bade him ' ' remain " in such an imperious tone that he 
 dared not resist. He reascended the stairs, very much after the manner of 
 a man who is being dragged into a dentist's office, and followed Madame 
 d'Argeles into a small boudoir at the end of the gambling room. As soon 
 as the door was closed and locked, the mistress of the house turned to her 
 prisoner. "Now you will explain," said she. "It was you who brought 
 M. Pascal Feratlleur here." 
 
 " Al as ! I know only too well that I ought to beg your f orgi veness. However, 
 this affair will cost me dear myself. It has already embroiled me in a diffi- 
 culty with that fool of a Rochecote, with whom I shall have to fight in less 
 than a couple of hours." 
 
 " Where did you make his acquaintance ? " 
 
 " Whose Rochecote's ? " 
 
 Madame d'Argeles' sempiternal smile had altogether disappeared. " I 
 am speaking seriously," said she, with a threatening ring in her voice. 
 " How did you happen to become acquainted with M. Ferailleur ? " 
 
 " That can be very easily explained. Seven or eight months ago I had 
 need of an advocate's services, and he was recommended to me. He man- 
 aged my case very cleverly, and we kept up the acquaintance." 
 
 " What is his position ? " 
 
 M. de Coralth's features wore an expression of exceeding weariness as if 
 he greatly longed to go to sleep. He had indeed installed himself in a large 
 arm-chair, in a semi-recumbent position. " Upon my word, I don't know," 
 he replied, " Pascal had always seemed to be the most irreproachable man 
 in the world a man you might call a philosopher ! He lives in a retired 
 part of the city, near the Pantheon, with his mother, who is a widow, a 
 very respectable woman, always dressed in black. When she opened the 
 door for me, on the occasion of my first visit, I thought some old family 
 portrait had stepped down from its frame to receive me. I judge them to 
 be in comfortable circumstances. Pascal has the reputation of being a re- 
 markable man, and people supposed he would rise very high in his profession." 
 
 " But now he is ruined ; his career is finished." 
 
52 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 " Certainly ! You can be quite sure that by this evening all Paris will 
 know what occurred here last night." 
 
 He paused, meeting Madame Argeles' look of withering scorn with a 
 cleverly assumed air of astonishment. "You are a villain ! Monsieur de 
 Coralth," she said, indignantly. 
 
 "I and why?" 
 
 "Because it was you who slipped those cards, which made M. Ferailleur 
 win, into the pack ; I saw you do it ! And yielding to my entreaties, the 
 young fellow was about to leave the house when you, intentionally, pre- 
 vented him from saving himself. Oh ! don't deny it." 
 
 M. de Coralth rose in the coolest possible manner. ' I deny nothing, my dear 
 lady," he replied, "absolutely nothing. You and I understand each other." 
 
 Confounded by his unblushing impudence, Madame d'Argeles remained 
 speechless for a moment. " You confess it ! " she cried, at last. " You 
 dare to confess it ! Were you not afraid that I might speak and state 
 what I had seen ? " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "No one would have believed you," he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, I should have been believed, Monsieur de Coralth, for I could have 
 given proofs. You must have forgotten that I know you, that your past 
 life is no secret to me, that I know who you are, and what dishonoured 
 name you hide beneath your borrowed title 1 I could have told my guests 
 that you are married that you have abandoned your wife and child, leav- 
 ing them to perish in want and misery I could have told them where you 
 obtain the thirty or forty thousand francs you spend each year. You must 
 have forgotten that Rose told me everything, Monsieur Paul ! " * 
 
 She had struck the right place this time, and with such precision that 
 M. de Coralth turned livid, and made a furious gesture, as if he were about 
 to fell her to the ground. " Ah, take care ! " he exclaimed : " take care 1 " 
 
 But his rage speedily subsided, and with his usual indifferent manner, 
 and in a bantering tone, he said : "Well, what of that? Do you fancy 
 that the world doesn't already suspect what you could reveal? People 
 have suspected me of being even worse than I am. When you proclaim on 
 the housetops that I am an adventurer, folks will only laugh at you, and I 
 shall be none the worse for it. A matter that would crush a dozen men 
 like Pascal Ferailleur would not injure me in the least. I am accustomed 
 to it. I must have luxury and enjoyment, everything that is pleasant and 
 beautiful and to procure all this, I do my very best. It is true that I 
 don't derive my income from my estate in Brie ; but I have plenty of money, 
 and that is the essential thing. Besides, it is so difficult to earn a livelihood 
 now-a-days, and the love of luxury is so intense that no one knows at night 
 what he may do or, rather, what he won't do the next day. And last, 
 but not least, the people who ought to be despised are so numerous that 
 contempt is an impossibility. A Parisian who happened to be so absurdly 
 pretentious as to refuse to shake hands with such of his acquaintances as 
 were not irreproachable characters, might walk for hours on the Boulevards 
 without finding an occasion to take his hands out of his pockets. " 
 
 M. de Coralth talked well enough, and yet, in point of fact, all this was 
 sheer bravado on his part. He knew better than anyone else, on what a 
 frail and uncertain basis his brilliant existence was established. Certainly, 
 society does show great indulgence to people of doubtful reputation. It 
 
 See Gaboriau's " Slaves of Paris." 
 
53 
 
 shuts its eyes and refuses to look or listen. But this is all the more reason 
 why it should be pitiless when a person's guilt is positively established. 
 Thus, although he assumed an air of insolent security, the "viscount" 
 anxiously watched the effect of his words upon Madame d'Argeles. For- 
 tunately for himself, he saw that she was abashed by his cynicism ; and so 
 he resumed : " Besides, as our friend, the baron, would say, we are 
 wasting precious time in discussing improbable, and even impossible, sup- 
 positions. I was sufficiently well acquainted with your heart and your 
 intelligence, my dear madame, to be sure that you would not speak a word 
 to my disparagement." 
 
 " Indeed ! What prevented me from doing so ? " 
 
 "/did ; or perhaps I ought rather to say, your own good sense, which 
 closed your mouth when Monsieur Pascal entreated you to speak in his 
 defence. I am entitled to considerable indulgence, madame, and a great 
 deal ought to be forgiven me. My mother, unfortunately, was an honest 
 woman, who did not furnish me with the means of gratifying every whim. " 
 
 Madame d'Argeles recoiled as if a serpent had suddenly crossed her path. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she faltered. 
 
 " You know as well as I do." 
 
 "I don't understand you explain yourself." 
 
 With the impatient gesture of a man who finds himself compelled to 
 answer an idle question, and assuming an air of hypocritical commisera- 
 tion, he replied : " Well, since you insist upon it, I know, in Paris in the 
 Rue de Helder, to be more exact a nice young fellow, whose lot I have 
 often envied. He has wanted for nothing since the day he came into the world. 
 At school, he had three times as much money as his richest playfellow. 
 When his studies were finished, a tutor was provided with his pockets full 
 of gold to conduct this favoured youth to Italy, Egypt, and Greece. He 
 is now studying law ; and four times a year, with unvarying punctuality, 
 he receives a letter from London containing five thousand francs. This is all 
 the more remarkable, as this young man has neither a father nor a mother. 
 He is alone in the world with his income of twenty thousand francs. I 
 have heard him say, jestingly, that some good fairy must be watching over 
 him ; but I know that he believes himself to be the illegitimate son of some 
 great English nobleman. Sometimes, when he has drunk a little too much, 
 he talks of going in search of my lord, his father." 
 
 The effect M. de Coralth had created by these words must have been ex- 
 tremely gratifying to him, for Madame d'Argeles had fallen back in her 
 chair, almost fainting. " So, my dear madame," he continued, " if I ever 
 had any reason to fancy that you intended causing me any trouble, I should 
 go to this charming youth and' say : My good fellow, you are strangely 
 deceived. Your money doesn't come from the treasure-box of an English 
 peer, but from a small gambling den with which I am very well acquainted, 
 having often had occasion to swell its revenues with my franc-pieces. ' And 
 if he mourned his vanished dreams, I should tell him : ' You are wrong ; 
 for, if the great nobleman is lost, the good fairy remains. She is none other 
 than yonv mother, a very worthy person, whose only object in life is your 
 comfort and advancement.' And if he doubted my word, I should bring 
 him to his mother's house some baccarat night ; and there would be a scene 
 of recognition worthy of Fargueil's genius." 
 
 Any man but M. de Coralth would have had some compassion, for 
 Madame d'Argeles was evidently suffering agony. " It is as I feared ! " 
 she moaned, in a scarcely audible voice. 
 
54 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 However, he heard her. "What!" he exclaimed in a tone of intense 
 astonishment; " did you really doubt it? No; I can't believe it ; it would 
 be doing injustice to your intelligence and experience. Are people like 
 ourselves obliged to talk in order to understand each other ? Should I ever 
 have ventured to do what I have done, in your house, if I had not known 
 the secret of your maternal tenderness, delicacy of feeling, and devotion ? " 
 
 She was weeping ; big tears were rolling down her face, tracing a broad 
 furrow through the powder on her cheeks. "He knows everything ! " she 
 murmured ; "he knows everything ! ** 
 
 " By the merest chance, I assure you. As I don't like folks to meddle 
 with my affairs, I never meddle with theirs. As I have just said, it was 
 entirely the work of chance. One April afternoon I came to invite you to 
 a drive in the Bois. I was ushered into this very room where we are 
 sitting now, and found .you writing. I said I would wait until you finished 
 your letter ; but some one called you, and you hastily left the room. How 
 it was that I happened to approach your writing-table I cannot explain ; 
 but I did approach it, and read your unfinished letter. Upon my word it 
 touched me deeply. I can give no better proof of the truth of my asser- 
 tion than the fact that I can repeat it, almost word for word, even now. 
 ' Dear sir, ' y ou wrote to your London correspondent ' I send you three 
 thousand francs, in addition to the five thousand for the regular quarterly 
 payment. Forward the money without delay. I fear the poor boy is 
 greatly annoyed by his creditors. Yesterday I had the happiness of seeing 
 him in the Rue de Helder, and I found him looking pale and care-worn. 
 When you send him this money, forward at the same time a letter of 
 fatherly advice. It is true, he ought to work and win an honourable 
 position for himself ; but think of the dangers and temptation that beset 
 him, alone and friendless, in this corrupt city.' There, my dear lady, 
 your letter ended ; but the name and address were given, and it was easy 
 enough to understand it. You remember, perhaps, a little incident that 
 occurred after your return. On perceiving that you had forgotten your letter, 
 you turned pale and glanced at me. ' Have you read it, and do you under- 
 stand it ? ' your eyes asked ; while mine replied : * Yes, but I shall be 
 silent.'" 
 
 " And I shall be silent too," said Madame d'Argeles. 
 
 M. de Coralth took her hand and raised it to his lips. "I knew we 
 should understand each other," he remarked, gravely. " I am not bad at 
 heart, believe me ; and if I had possessed money of my own, or a mother 
 like you " 
 
 She averted her face, fearing perhaps that M. de Coralth might read her 
 opinion of him in her eyes ; but after a short pause she exclaimed beseech- 
 ingly : "Now that I am your accomplice, let me entreat you to do all you 
 possibly can to prevent last night's affair from being noised abroad." 
 
 " Impossible." 
 
 "If not for M. Ferailleur's sake, for the sake of his poor widowed 
 mother." 
 
 " Pascal must be put out of the way ! " 
 
 " Why do you say that ? Do you hate him so much then ? What has he 
 done to you ? " 
 
 " To me, personally ? Nothing I even feel actual sympathy for him." 
 
 Madame d'Argeles was confounded. "What!" she stammered; "it 
 wasn't on your own account that you did this ? " 
 
 " Why, no," 
 
the count's millions. 55 
 
 She sprang to her feet, and quivering with scorn and indignation, cried : 
 "Ah! then the deed is even more infamous even more cowardly!" 
 But alarmed by the threatening gleam in M. de Coralth's eyes, she went no 
 further. 
 
 "A truce to these disagreeable truths," said he, coldly. "If we ex- 
 pressed our opinions of each other without reserve, in this world, we should 
 soon come to hard words. Do you think I acted for my own pleasure ? 
 Suppose some one had seen me wheh'I slipped the cards into the pack. If 
 that had happened, / should have been ruined. " 
 
 "And you think that no one suspects you ?" 
 
 "No one. I lost more than a hundred louis myself. If Pascal belonged 
 to our set, people might investigate the matter, perhaps j but to-morrow it 
 will be forgotten." 
 
 " And will he have no suspicions ? " 
 
 "He will have no proofs to offer, in any case." 
 
 Madame d'Argeles seemed to resign herself to the inevitable. " I hope 
 you will, at least, tell me on whose behalf you acted, "she remarked. 
 
 " Impossible," replied M. de Coralth. And, consulting his watch, he 
 added, " But I am forgetting myself ; I am forgetting that that idiot of a 
 Rochecote is waiting for a sword thrust. So go to sleep, my dear lady, 
 and till we meet again." 
 
 She accompanied him so far as the landing. " It is quite certain that he 
 is hastening to the house of M. Ferailleur's enemy," she thought. And, 
 calling her confidential servant, "Quick, Job," she said; "follow M. de 
 Coralth. I want to know where he is going. And, above all, take care 
 that he doesn't see you." 
 
 V. 
 
 If through the length and breadth of Paris there is a really quiet, peaceful 
 street, a refuge for the thoughtfully inclined, it is surely the broad Rue 
 d'Ulm, which starts from the Place du Pantheon, and finishes abruptly at 
 the Rue des Feuillantines. The shops are unassuming, and so few that one 
 can easily count them. There is a wine-shop on the left-hand side, at the 
 corner of the Rue de la Vieille-Estrapade ; then a little toy-shop, then a 
 washerwoman's and then a book -binder's establishment ; while on therigh: 
 hand you will find the office of the Bulletin, with a locksmith's, a fruiterer's, 
 and a baker's that is all. Along the rest of the street run several spacious 
 buildings, somewhat austere in appearance, though some of them are stir- 
 rounded by large gardens. Here stands the Convent of the Sisters of the 
 Cross, with the House of Our Lady of Adoration ; while further on, near 
 the Rue des Feuillantines, you find the Normal School, with the office of 
 the General Omnibus Company hard by. At day time you mostly meet 
 grave and thoughtful faces in the street : priests, savants, professors, and 
 clerks employed in the adjacent public libraries. The only stir is round 
 about the omnibus office ; and if occasional bursts of laughter are heard 
 they are sure to come from the Normal School. After nightfall, a person 
 might suppose himself to be at least a hundred leagues from the Boulevard 
 Montmartre and the Opera-House, in some quiet old provincial town, at 
 Poitiers, for instance. And it is only on listening attentively that you can 
 catch even a faint echo of the tumult of Paris. 
 
 It was in this street "out of the world," as M. de Coralth expressed 
 it that Pascal Fcrailleur resided with his mother. They occupied a second 
 
56 the count's millions. 
 
 floor, a pretty suite of five rooms, looking out upon a garden. Their rent 
 was high. Indeed, they paid fourteen hundred francs a year. But this 
 was a burden which Pascal's profession imposed upon him ; for he, of course, 
 required a private office and a little waiting-room for his clients. With 
 this exception, the mother and son led a straightened, simple life. Their 
 only servant was a woman who came at seven o'clock to do the heavy work, 
 went home again at twelve, and did not return again until the evening, to 
 serve dinner. Madame Ferailleur attended to everything, not blushing in 
 the least when she was compelled to open the door for some client. Be- 
 sides, she could do this without the least risk of encountering disrespect, 
 so imposing and dignified were her manners and her person. 
 
 M. de Coralth had shown excellent judgment when he compared her to a 
 family portrait. She was, in fact, exactly the person a painter would 
 select to represent some old burgher's wife a chaste and loving spouse, a 
 devoted mother, an incomparable housewife in one phrase, the faithful 
 guardian of her husband's domestic happiness. She had just passed her 
 fiftieth birthday, and looked fully her age. She had suffered. A close 
 observer would have detected traces of weeping about her wrinkled eyelids ; 
 and the twinge of her lips was expressive of cruel anguish, heroically 
 endured. Still, she was not severe, nor even too sedate ; and the few 
 friends who visited her were often really astonished at her wit. Besides, she 
 was one of those women who have no history, and who find happiness in 
 what others would call duty. Her life could be summed up in a single 
 sentence : she had loved ; she had mourned. 
 
 The daughter of a petty clerk in one of the government departments, 
 and merely dowered with a modest portion of three thousand francs, she 
 had married a young man as poor as herself, but intelligent and industrious, 
 whom she loved, and who adored her. This young man on marrying had 
 sworn that he would make a fortune ; not that he cared for money for him 
 self, but he wished to provide his idol with every luxury. His love, 
 enhancing his energy, no doubt hastened his success. Attached as a 
 chemist to a large manufacturing establishment, his services soon became 
 so invaluable to his employers that they gave him a considerable interest 
 in the business. His name even obtained an honourable place among 
 modern inventors ; and we are indebted to him for the discovery of one of 
 those brilliant colours that are extracted from common coal. At the end 
 of ten years he had become a man of means. He loved his wife as fondly 
 as on the day of their marriage, and he had a son Pascal. 
 
 Unfortunate fellow ! One day, in the full sunshine of happiness and 
 success, while he was engaged in a series of experiments for the purpose of 
 obtaining a durable, and at the same time perfectly harmless, green, the 
 chemicals exploded, smashing the mortar which he held, and wounding him 
 horribly about the head and chest. A fortnight later he died, apparently 
 calm, but in reality a prey to bitter regrets. It was a terrible blow for his 
 poor wife, and the thought of her son alone reconciled her to life. Pascal 
 was now everything to her her present and her future ; and she solemnly 
 vowed that she would make a noble man of' him. But, alas ! misfortunes 
 never come singly. One of her husband's friends, who acted as adminis- 
 trator to the estate, took a contemptible advantage of her inexperience. 
 She went to sleep one night possessing an income of fifteen thousand francs, 
 but she awoke to find herself ruined so completely ruined that she did 
 not know where to obtain her dinner for that same evening. Had she been 
 alone in the world, she would not have grieved much over the catastrophe, 
 
the count's millions. 57 
 
 but she was sadly affected by the thought that her son's future was, per- 
 haps, irrevocably blighted, and that, in any case, this disaster would con- 
 demn him to enter life through the cramped and gloomy portals of poverty. 
 However, Madame Ferailleur was of too courageous and too proud a 
 nature not to meet this danger with virile energy. She wasted no time in 
 useless lamentations. She determined to repair the harm as far as it was 
 in her power to repair it, resolving that her son's studies at the college of 
 Louis-the-Great should not be interrupted, even if she had to labour with 
 her own hands. And when she spoke of manual toil, it was no wild, un- 
 meaning exaggeration born of sorrow and a passing flash of courage. She 
 found employment as a day-servant and in sewing for large shops, until she 
 at last obtained a situation as clerk in the establishment where her husband 
 had been a partner. To obtain this she was obliged to acquire a knowledge 
 of book-keeping, but she was amply repaid for her trouble ; for the situa- 
 tion was worth eighteen hundred francs a year, besides food and lodging. 
 Then only did her efforts momentarily abate ; she felt that her arduous 
 task was drawing to a happy close. Pascal's expenses at school amounted 
 to about nine hundred francs a year ; she did not spend more than one 
 hundred on herself ; and thus she was able to save nearly eight hundred 
 francs a year. 
 
 It must be admitted that she was admirably seconded in her efforts by 
 her son. Pascal was only twelve years old when his mother said to him : 
 " I have ruined you, my son. Nothing remains of the fortune which your 
 father accumulated by dint of toil and self-sacrifice. You will be obliged 
 to rely upon yourself, my boy. God grant that in years to come you will 
 not reproach me for my imprudence. " 
 
 The child did not throw himself into her arms, but holding his head 
 proudly erect, he answered : " I shall love you even more, dear mother, if 
 that be possible. As for the fortune which my father left you, I will restore 
 it to you again. I am no longer a school-boy, I am a man as you shall see. " 
 One could not fail to perceive that he had taken a solemn vow. Although 
 he possessed a remarkable mind, and the power of acquiring knowledge, 
 rapidly, he had, so far, worked indifferently, and then only by fits and 
 starts, whenever examination time drew near. But from that day forward 
 he did not lose a moment. His remarks, which were at once comical and 
 touching, were those of the head of a family, deeply impressed by a sense 
 of his own responsibility. " You see," he said to his companions, who 
 were astonished at his sudden thirst for knowledge, " I can't afford to wear 
 out my breeches on the college forms, now that my poor mother has to pay 
 for them with her work." 
 
 His good-humour was not in the least impaired by his resolve not to spend 
 a single penny of his pocket money. With a tact unusual at his age, or 
 indeed at any other, he bore his misfortunes simply and proudly, without 
 any of the servile humility or sullen envy which so often accompanies 
 poverty. For three years in succession the highest prizes at the competi- 
 tions rewarded him for his efforts ; but these successes, far from elating him 
 unduly, seemed to afford him but little satisfaction. " This is only glory," 
 he thought ; and his great ambition was to support himself. 
 
 He was soon able to do so, thanks to the kindness of the head-master, 
 who offered him his tuition gratis if he would assist in superintending some 
 of the lower classes. Thus one day when Madame Ferailleur presented her- 
 self as usual to make her quarterly payment, the steward replied : " You 
 owes us nothing, madame ; everything has been paid by your son." 
 
58 THE count's millions. 
 
 She almost fainted ; after bearing adversity so bravely, this happiness 
 proved too much for her. She could scarcely believe it. A long explana- 
 tion was necessary to convince her of the truth, and then big tears, tears of 
 joy this time, gushed from her eyes. 
 
 In this way, Pascal Ferailleur paid all the expenses of his education until 
 he had won his degree, arming himself so as to resist the trials that awaited 
 him, and giving abundant proof of energy and ability. He wished to be a 
 lawyer ; and the law, he was forced to admit, is a profession which is almost 
 beyond the reach of penniless young men. But there are no insurmountable 
 obstacles for those whose hearts are really set on an object. On the very 
 day that Pascal inscribed his name as a student at the law school, he 
 entered an advocate's office as a clerk. His duties, which were extremely 
 tiresome at first, had the two-fold advantage of familiarising him with the 
 forms of legal procedure, and of furnishing him with the means of 
 prosecuting his studies. After he had been in the office six months, his 
 employer agreed to pay him eight hundred francs a year, which were 
 increased to fifteen hundred at the end of the second twelvemonth. In 
 three years, when he had passed his final examination qualifying him to 
 practice, his patron raised him to the position of head-clerk, with a salary 
 of three thousand francs, which Pascal was moreover able to increase con- 
 siderably by drawing up documents for busy attorneys, and assisting them 
 in the preparation of their least important cases. 
 
 It was certainly something wonderful to have achieved such a result in 
 so short a time ; but the most difficult part of his task had still to be accom- 
 plished. It was a perilous undertaking to abandon an assured position, to 
 cast a certainty aside for the chances of life at the bar. It was a grave 
 step so grave, indeed, that Pascal hesitated for a long time. He was 
 threatened with the danger that always threatens subordinates who are 
 useful to their superiors. He felt that his employer, who was in the habit 
 of relieving himself of his heaviest duties by intrusting them to him, would 
 not be likely to forgive him for leaving. And on starting on his own 
 account, he could ill afford to dispense with this lawyer's good will. The 
 patronage that could scarcely fail to follow him from an office where he had 
 served for four years was the most substantial basis of his calculations for 
 the future. Eventually he succeeded to his satisfaction, though not with- 
 out some difficulty, and only by employing that supreme finesse which con- 
 sists in absolute frankness. 
 ' Before his office had been open a fortnight, he had seven or eight briefs 
 waiting their turn upon his desk, and his first efforts were such as win the 
 approving smile of old judges, and draw from them the prediction : " That 
 young man will rise in his profession." He had not desired to make any 
 display of his knowledge or talent, but merely to win the cases confided to 
 him ; and, unlike many beginners, he evinced no inclination to shine at his 
 clients' expense. Rare modesty, and it served him well. His first ten 
 months of practice brought him about eight thousand francs, absorbed in 
 part by the expense attaching to a suitable office. The second year his fees 
 increased by about one half, and, feeling that his position was now assured, 
 he insisted that his mother should resign her clerkship. He proved to her 
 what was indeed the truth that by superintending his establishment, she 
 would save more than she made in her present position. 
 
 From that time the mother and the son had good reason to believe that 
 their heroic energy had conquered fate. Clients became so numerous that 
 Pascal found it necessary to draw nearer the business centre, and his rent 
 
the count's millions. 59 
 
 was consequently doubled ; but the vncome he derived from his profession 
 increased so rapidly that he soon had twelve thousand francs safely invested 
 as a resource against any emergency. Madame Ferailleur now laid aside 
 the mourning she had worn since her husband's death. She felt that she 
 owed it to Pascal ; and, besides, after believing there was no more happiness 
 left for her on earth, her heart rejoiced at her son's success. 
 
 Pascal was thus on the highroad to fame, when a complication in M. 
 Ferdinand de Coralth's affairs brought that young nobleman to his office. 
 The trouble arose from a little stock exchange operation which M. Ferdi- 
 nand had engaged in an affair which savoured a trifle of knavery. It was 
 strange, but Pascal rather took a liking to M. de Coralth. The honest 
 worker felt interested in this dashing adventurer ; he was almost dazzled 
 by his brilliant vices, his wit, his hardihood, conceit, marvellous assurance, 
 and careless impudence ; and he studied this specimen of the Parisian flora 
 with no little curiosity. M. de Coralth certainly did not confide the secret 
 of his life and his resources to Pascal ; but the latter's intelligence should 
 have told him to distrust a man who treated the requirements of morality 
 even more than cavalierly, and who had infinitely more wants than scruples. 
 However, the young advocate seemed to have no suspicions ; they ex- 
 changed visits occasionally, and it was Pascal himself who one day requested 
 the viscount to take him to one of those " Reunions in High Life " which 
 the newspapers describe in such glowing terms. 
 
 Madame Ferailleur was playing a game of whist with a party of old 
 friends, according to her custom every Thursday evening, when M. de 
 Coralth called to invite the young advocate to accompany him to Madame 
 d'Argeles' reception. Pascal considered his friend's invitation exceedingly 
 well timed. He dressed himself with more than ordinary care, and, as 
 usual before going out, he approached his mother to kiss her and wish her 
 good-bye. * ' How fine you are ! " she said, smiling. 
 
 " I am going to a soiree, my dear mother," he replied ; " and it is prob- 
 able that I shall not return until very late. So don't wait for me, I beg of 
 you ; promise me to go to bed at your usual hour." 
 
 "Have you the night-key?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Very well, then; I will not wait for you. When you come in you 
 will find your candle and some matches on the buffet in the ante- room. 
 And wrap yourself up well, for it is very cold." Then raising her forehead 
 to her son's lips, she gaily added : "A pleasant evening to you, my boy !" 
 
 Faithful to her promise, Madame Ferailleur retired at the usual hour ; 
 but she could not sleep, She certainly had no cause for anxiety, and yet 
 the thought that her son was not at home filled her heart with vague mis- 
 givings such as she had never previously felt under similar circumstances. 
 Possibly it was because she did not know where Pascal was going. Possibly 
 M. de Coralth was the cause of her strange disquietude, for she utterly dis- 
 liked the viscount. Her woman's instinct warned her that there was some- 
 thing unwholesome about this young man's peculiar handsomeness, and that 
 it was not safe to trust to his professions of friendship. At all events, she 
 lay awake and heard the clock of the neighbouring Normal School strike 
 each successive hour two, three, and four. " How late Pascal stays, "she 
 said, to herself. 
 
 And suddenly a fear more poignant even than her presentiments darted 
 through her mind. She sprang out of bed and rushed to the window. She 
 fancied she had heard a terrible cry of distress in the deserted street. At 
 
60 the count's millions. 
 
 that very moment, the insulting word "thief" was being hurled in her 
 son's face. But the street was silent, and deciding that she had been mis- 
 taken, she went back to bed laughing at herself for her fears ; and at last 
 she fell asleep. But judge of her terror in the morning when, on rising to 
 let the servant in, she saw Pascal's candle still standing on the buffet. Was 
 it possible that he had not returned ? She hastened to his room he was 
 not there. And it was nearly eight o'clock. 
 
 This was the first time that Pascal had spent a night from home without 
 warning his mother in advance ; and such an act on the part of a man of 
 his character was sufficient proof that something extraordinary had oc- 
 curred. In an instant all the dangers that lurk in Paris after nightfall 
 flashed through her mind. She remembered all the stories she had read of 
 men decoyed into dark corners, of men stabbed at the turn of some deserted 
 street, or thrown into the Seine while crossing one of the bridges. What 
 should she do ? Her first impulse was to run to the Commissary of Police's 
 office or to the house of Pascal's friend ; but on the other hand, she dared 
 not go out, for fear he might return in her absence. Thus, in an agony of 
 suspense, she waited counting the seconds by the quick throbbings of her 
 temples, and straining her ears to catch the slightest sound. 
 
 At last, about half -past eight o'clock, she heard a heavy, uncertain foot- 
 fall on the stairs. She flew to the door and beheld her son. His clothes 
 were torn and disordered ; his cravat was missing, he wore no overcoat, 
 and he was bare-headed. He looked very pale, and his teeth were chatter- 
 ing. His eyes stared vacantly, and his features had an almost idiotic ex- 
 pression. " Pascal, what has happened to you ? " she asked. 
 
 He trembled from head to foot as the sound of her voice suddenly roused 
 him from his stupor. " Nothing," he stammered ; " nothing at all." And 
 as his mother pressed him with questions, he pushed her gently aside and 
 went on to his room. 
 
 "Poor child !" murmured Madame Ferailleur, at once grieved and re- 
 assured ; " and he is always so temperate. Some one must have forced him 
 to drink." 
 
 She was entirely wrong in her surmise, and yet Pascal's sensations were 
 exactly like those of an intoxicated man. How he had returned home, by 
 what road, and what had happened on the way, he could not tell. He had 
 found his way back mechanically, merely by force of habit physical 
 memory, as it might be called. He had a vague impression, however, that 
 he had sat down for some time on a bench in the Champs-Elyse'es, that he 
 had felt extremely cold, and that he had been accosted by a policeman, who 
 threatened him with arrest if he did not move on. The last thing he could 
 clearly recollect was rushing from Madame d'Argeles' house in the Rue de 
 Berry. He knew that he had descended the staircase slowly and deliber- 
 ately ; that the servants in the vestibule had stood aside to allow him to 
 pass ; and that, while crossing the courtyard, he had thrown away the 
 candelabrum with which he had defended himself. After that, he remem- 
 bered nothing distinctly. On reaching the street he had been overcome by 
 the fresh air, just as a carouser is overcome on emerging from a heated 
 dining-room. Perhaps the champagne which he had drank had contributed 
 to this cerebral disorder. At all events, even now, in his own room, seated 
 in his own arm-chair, and surrounded by familiar objects, he did not suc- 
 ceed in regaining the possession of his faculties. 
 
 He had barely strength enough to throw himself on to the bed, and in 
 a moment he was sleeping with that heavy slumber which so often seizes 
 
tiie count's millions. 61 
 
 hold of one on the occasion of a great crisis, and which has so frequently 
 been observed among persons condemned to death, on the night preceding 
 their execution. Four or five times his mother came to listen at the door. 
 Once she entered, and seeing her son sleeping soundly, she could not repress 
 a smile of satisfaction. "Poor Pascal?" she thought, "he can bear no 
 excess but excess of work. Heavens ! how surprised and mortified he will 
 be when he awakes ! " 
 
 Alas ! it was not a trifling mortification, but despair, which awaited 
 the sleeper on his wakening ; for the past, the present, and the future were 
 presented simultaneously and vision-like to his imagination. Although he 
 had scarcely regained the full use of his faculties, he was, to some extent, 
 at least capable of reflection and deliberation, and he tried to look the 
 situation bravely in the face. First, as to the past, he had not the shadow 
 of a doubt. He realised that he had fallen into a vile trap, and the person 
 who had laid it for him was undoubtedly M. de Coralth, who, seated at his 
 right, had prepared the " hands " with which he had won. This was 
 evident. It seemed equally proven that Madame d'Argeles knew the real 
 culprit possibly she had detected him in the act, possibly he had taken 
 her into his confidence. But what he could not fathom was M. de Coralth's 
 motive. What could have prompted the viscount to commit such an 
 atrocious act ? The incentive must have been very powerful, since he had 
 naturally incurred the danger of detection and of being considered an 
 accomplice at the least. And then what influence had closed Madame 
 d'Argele's lips ? But after all, what was the use of these conjectures ? It 
 was an actual, unanswerable, and terrible fact that this infamous plot had 
 been successful, and that Pascal was dishonoured. He was honesty itself, 
 and yet he was accused more than that, convicted of cheating at cards ! 
 He was innocent, and yet he could furnish no proofs of his innocence. He 
 knew the real culprit, and yet he could see no way of unmasking him or 
 even of accusing him. Do what he would, this atrocious, incomprehensive 
 calumny would crush him. The bar was closed against him ; his career 
 was ended. And the terrible conviction that there was no escape from the 
 abyss into which he had fallen made his reason totter he felt that he was 
 incapable of deciding on the best course, and that he must have a friend's 
 advice. 
 
 Full of this idea, he hastily changed his clothes, and hurried from his 
 room. His mother was watching for him inclined to laugh at him a little ; 
 but a single glance warned her that her son was in terrible trouble, and 
 that some dire misfortune had certainly befallen them. ' ' Pascal, in 
 heaven's name, what has happened ? " she cried. 
 
 " A slight difficulty a mere trifle," he replied. 
 
 11 Where are you going ? " 
 
 " To the Palais de Justice." And such was really the case, for he hoped 
 to meet his most intimate friend there. 
 
 Contrary to his usual custom, he took the little staircase on the right, 
 leading to the grand vestibule, where several lawyers were assembled, 
 earnestly engaged in conversation. They were evidently astonished to see 
 Pascal, and their conversation abruptly ceased on his approach. They 
 assumed a grave look and turned away their heads in disgust. The unfor- 
 tunate man at once realised the truth, and pressed his hand to his forehead, 
 with a despairing gesture, as he murmured : " Already ! already ! " 
 
 However, he passed on, and not seeing his friend, he hurried to the little 
 conference hall, where he found five of his fellow-advocates. On Pascal's 
 
62 the count's millions. 
 
 entrance, two of them at once left the hall, while two of the others pre- 
 tended to be very busily engaged in examining a brief which lay open on 
 the table. The fifth, who did not move, was not the friend Pascal sought, 
 but an old college comrade named Dartelle. Pascal walked straight towards 
 him. "Well? "he asked. 
 
 Dartelle handed him a Figaro, still damp from the printing-press, but 
 crumpled and worn, as if it had already passed through more than a 
 hundred hands. " Read ! " said he. 
 
 Pascal read as follows : " There was great sensation and a terrible 
 scandal last night at the residence of Madame d'A , a well-known star of 
 the first magnitude. A score of gentlemen of high rank and immense 
 wealth were enjoying a quiet game of baccarat, when it was observed 
 that M. F was winning in a most extraordinary manner. He [was 
 watched and detected in the very act of dexterously slipping some cards 
 into the pack he held. Crushed by the overpowering evidence against 
 him, he allowed himself to be searched, and without much demur con- 
 sented to refund the fruit of his knavery, to the amount of two thousand 
 louis. The strangest thing connected with this scandal is, that M. F , 
 who is an advocate by profession, has always enjoyed an enviable reputa- 
 tion for integrity ; and, unfortuately, this prank cannot be attributed to a 
 momentary fit of madness, for the fact that he had provided himself with 
 these cards in advance proves the act to have been premeditated. One of 
 the persons present was especially displeased. This was the Viscount de 
 C , who had introduced M. F to Madame d'A . Extremely annoyed 
 by this contretemps, he took umbrage at an offensive remark made by M. de 
 R , and it was rumoured that these gentlemen would cross swords at day- 
 break this morning. 
 
 " Later Intelligence. We learn at the moment of going to press that 
 an encounter has just taken place between M. de E, and M. de C . 
 M. de R received a slight wound in the side, but his condition is 
 sufficiently satisfactory not to alarm his friends." 
 
 The paper slipped from Pascal's hand. His features were almost un- 
 recognizable in his passion and despair. " It is an infamous lie ! " he said, 
 hoarsely. " I am innocent ; I swear it upon my honour ! " Dartelle 
 averted his face, but not quickly enough to prevent Pascal from noticing 
 the look of withering scorn in his eyes. Then, feeling that he was con- 
 demned, that his sentence was irrevocable, and that there was no longer any 
 hope : " I know the only thing that remains for me to do ! " he murmured. 
 
 Dartelle turned, his eyes glistening with tears. He seized Pascal's hands 
 and pressed them with sorrowful tenderness, as if taking leave of a friend 
 who is about to die. " Courage ! " he whispered. 
 
 Pascal fled like a madman. " Yes," he repeated, as he rushed along the 
 Boulevard Saint-Michel, that is the only thing left me to do." 
 
 When he reached home he entered his office, double-locked the door, and 
 wrote two letters one to his mother, the other to the president of the 
 order of Advocates. After a moment's thought he began a third, but tore 
 it into pieces before he had completed it. Then, without an instant's 
 hesitation, and like a man who had fully decided upon his course, he took 
 a revolver and a box of cartridges from a drawer in his desk. " Poor 
 mother ! " he murmured, "it will kill her but my disgrace would kill her 
 too. Better shorten the agony." 
 
the count's millions. 63 
 
 He little fancied at that supreme moment that each of his gestures, each 
 contraction of his features, were viewed by the mother whose name he 
 faltered. Since her son had left her to go to the Palais de Justice, the 
 poor woman had remained almost crazy with anxiety ; and when she heard 
 him return and lock himself in his office a thing he had never done before 
 a fearful presentiment was aroused in her mind. Gliding into her son's 
 bedroom, she at once approached the door communicating with his office. 
 The upper part of this portal was of glass ; it was possible to see what was 
 occurring in the adjoining room. When Madame Ferailleur perceived 
 Pascal seat himself at his desk and begin to write, she felt a trifle reassured, 
 and almost thought of going away. But a vague dread, stronger than 
 reason or will, riveted her to the spot. A few moments later, when she 
 saw the revolver in her son's hand, she understood everything. Her blood 
 froze in her veins ; and yet she had sufficient self-control to repress the cry 
 of terror which sprang to her lips. She realised that the danger was 
 terrible, imminent, extreme. Her heart, rather than her bewildered 
 reason, told her that her son's life hung on a single thread. The slightest 
 sound, a word, a rap on the door might hasten the unfortunate man's deed. 
 
 An inspiration from heaven came to the poor mother. Pascal had con- 
 tented himself with locking the door leading to the ante-room. He had 
 forgotten this one, or neglected it, not thinking that anybody would 
 approach his office through his bedroom. But his mother perceived that 
 this door opened towards her. So, turning the knob with the utmost 
 caution, she flung it suddenly open, and reaching her son's side with a 
 single bound, she clasped him closely in her arms. "Pascal, wretched 
 boy ! what would you do ? " 
 
 He was so surprised that his weapon fell from his hand, and he sank back 
 almost fainting in his arm-chair. The idea of denying his intention never 
 once occurred to him ; besides, he was unable to articulate a word. But on 
 his desk there lay a letter addressed to his mother which would speak for him. 
 
 Madame Ferailleur took it up, tore the envelope open, and read : "Forgive 
 me I'm about to die. It must be so. I cannot survive dishonour ; and I 
 am dishonoured." 
 
 "Dishonoured! you!" exclaimed the heart-broken mother. "My 
 God ! what does this mean ? Speak. I implore you : tell me all you 
 must. I command you to do so. I command you ! " 
 > He complied with this at once supplicating and imperious behest, and 
 related in a despairing voice the events which had wrought his woe. He 
 did not omit a singular particular, but tried rather to exaggerate than 
 palliate the horrors of his situation. Perhaps he found a strange satis- 
 faction in proving to himself that there was no hope left; possibly he 
 believed his mother would say : " Yes, you are right ; and death is your 
 only refuge ! " 
 
 As Madame Ferailleur listened, however, her eyes dilated with fear and 
 horror, and she scarcely realised whether she were awake or in the midst 
 of some frightful dream. For this was one of those unexpected catas- 
 trophes which are beyond the range of human foresight or even imagination, 
 and which her mind could scarcely conceive or admit. But she did not 
 doubt him, even though his friends had doubted him. Indeed, if he had 
 himself told her that he was guilty of cheating at cards, she would have 
 refused to believe him. When his story was ended, she exclaimed : " And 
 you wished to kill yourself ! Did you not think, senseless boy I that your 
 dea*h would give an appearance of truth to this vile calumny ? " 
 
64 the count's millions. 
 
 With a mother's wonderful, sublime instinct, she had found the most 
 powerful reason that could be urged to induce Pascal to live. M Did you 
 not feel, my son, that it showed a lack of courage on your part to brand 
 yourself and your name with eternal infamy, in order to escape your present 
 sufferings? This thought ought to have stayed your hand. An honest 
 name is a sacred trust which no one has a right to abuse. Your father 
 bequeathed it to you, pure and untarnished, and so you must preserve it. 
 If others try to cover it with opprobium, you must live to defend it." 
 
 He lowered his head despondently, and in a tone of profound discourage- 
 ment, he replied : " But what can I do ? How can I escape from the web 
 which has been woven around me with such fiendish cunning ? If I had 
 possessed my usual presence of mind at the moment of the accusation, I 
 might have defended and justified myself, perhaps. But now the mis- 
 fortune is irreparable. How can I unmask the traitor, and what proofs 
 of his guilt can I cast in his face ? " 
 
 " All the same, you ought not to yield without a struggle," interrupted 
 Madame Ferailleur, sternly. "It is wrong to abandon a task because it is 
 difficult ; it must be accepted, and, even if one perish in the struggle, there 
 is, at least, the sactisf action of feeling that one has not failed in duty." 
 
 " But, mother" 
 
 "I must not keep the truth from you, Pascal ! What ! are you lacking 
 in energy ? Come, my son, rise and raise your head. I shall not let you 
 fight alone. I will fight with you." 
 
 Without speaking a word, Pascal caught hold of his mother's hands and 
 pressed them to his lips. His face was wet with tears. His overstrained 
 nerves relaxed under the soothing influence of maternal tenderness and 
 devotion. Reason, too, had regained her ascendency. His mother's noble 
 words found an echo in his own heart, and he now looked upon suicide as 
 an act of madness and cowardice. Madame Ferailleur felt that the victory 
 was assured, but this did not suffice ; she wished to enlist Pascal in her 
 plans. " It is evident," she resumed, " that M. de Coralth is the author of 
 this abominable plot. But what could have been his object ? Has he any 
 reason to^f ear you, Pascal ? Has he confided to you, or have you discovered, 
 any secret that might ruin him if it were divulged ? " 
 
 "No, mother." 
 
 " Then he must be the vile instrument of some even more despicable be- 
 ing. Reflect, my son. Have you wounded any of your friends ? Are you 
 sure that you are in nobody's way ? Consider carefully. Your profession 
 has its dangers ; and those who adopt it must expect to make bitter enemies." 
 
 Pascal trembled. It seemed to him as if a ray of light at last illumined 
 the darkness a dim and uncertain ray, it is true, but still a gleam of light. 
 
 " Who knows ! " he muttered, " who knows ! " 
 
 Madame Ferailleur reflected a few moments, and the nature of her re- 
 flections brought a flush to her brow. "This is one of those cases in which a 
 mother should overstep reserve, " said she. ' If you had a mistress, my son " 
 
 " I have none," he answered, promptly. Then his own face flushed, and 
 after an instant's hesitation, he added : " But I entertain the most pro- 
 found and reverent love for a young girl, the most beautiful and chaste be- 
 ing on earth- --a girl who, in intelligence and heart, is worthy of you, my 
 own mother." 
 
 Madame Ferailleur nodded her head gravely, as much as to say that she 
 bad expected to find a woman at the bottom of the mystery. " And who 
 is this young girl ? " she inquired. " What is her name ? " 
 
65 
 
 "Marguerite." 
 
 " Marguerite who ? " 
 
 Pascal's embarrassment increased. "She has no other name," he replied, 
 hurriedly, "and she does not know her parents. She formerly lived in our 
 street with her companion, Madame Leon, and an old female servant. It 
 was there that I saw her for the first time. She now lives in the house of 
 the Count de Chalusse, in the Rue de Courcelles." 
 
 " In what capacity ? " 
 
 "The count has always taken care of her she owes her education to him. 
 He acts as her guardian ; and although she has never spoken to me on the 
 subject, I fancy that the Count de Chalusse is her father." 
 
 "And does this girl love you, Pascal?" 
 
 "I believe so, mother. She has promised me that she will have no other 
 husband than myself." 
 
 "And the count?" 
 
 " He doesn't know he doesn't even suspect anything about it. Day 
 after day I have been trying to gather courage to tell you everything, and 
 to ask you to go to the Count de Chalusse. But my position is so modest 
 as yet. The count is immensely rich, and he intends to give Marguerite an 
 enormous fortune two millions, I believe " 
 
 Madame Ferailleur interrupted him with a gesture. " Look no further," 
 she said ; " you have found the explanation." 
 
 Pascal sprang to his feet with crimson cheeks, flaming eyes, and quivering 
 lips. "It may be so," he exclaimed, " it may be so ! The count's immense 
 fortune may have tempted some miserable scoundrel. Who knows but 
 some one may have been watching Marguerite, and have discovered that I 
 am an obstacle ? " 
 
 "Something told me that my suspicions were correct," said Madame 
 Ferailleur. " I had no proofs, and yet I felt sure of it." 
 
 Pascal was absorbed in thought. " And what a strange coincidence," he 
 eventually remarked. "Do you know, the last time I saw Marguerite, a 
 week ago, she seemed so sad and anxious that I felt alarmed. I questioned 
 her, but at first she would not answer. After a little while, however, as I 
 insisted, she said : ' Ah, well, I fear the count is planning a marriage for 
 me. M. de Chalusse has not said a word to me on the subject, but he has 
 recently had several long conferences in private with a young man whose 
 father rendered him a great service in former years. And this young man, 
 whenever I meet him, looks at me in such a peculiar manner.' " 
 
 " What is his name? " asked Madame Ferailleur. 
 
 "I don't know she didn't mention it ; and her words so disturbed me 
 that I did not think of asking. But she will tell me. This evening, if I 
 don't succeed in obtaining an interview, I will write to her. If your suspi- 
 cions are correct, mother, our secret is in the hands of three persons, and 
 so it is a secret no longer " 
 
 He paused suddenly to listen. The noise of a spirited altercation be- 
 tween the servant and some visitor, came from the ante-room. "I tell you 
 that he is at home," said someone in a panting voice, "and I must see him 
 and speak with him at once. It is such an urgent matter that I left a card- 
 party just at the most critical moment to come here." 
 
 "I assure you, monsieur, that M. Ferailleur has gone out." 
 
 " Very well ; I will wait for him, then. Take me to a room where I can 
 sit down." 
 
 Pascal turned pale, for he recognised the voice of the individual who had 
 VOL. I 
 
66 THE count's millions. 
 
 suggested searching him at Madame d'Argeles' house. Nevertheless, he 
 opened the door ; and a man, with a face like a full moon, and who was 
 puffing and panting like a locomotive, came forward with the assurance of 
 a person who thinks he may do anything he chooses by reason of his wealth. 
 "Zounds!" he exclaimed. "I knew perfectly well that you were here. 
 You don't recognise me, perhaps, my dear sir. I am Baron Trigault I 
 came to " 
 
 The words died away on his lips, and he became as embarrassed as if he had 
 not possessed an income of eight hundred thousand francs a year. The fact 
 is he had just perceived Madame Ferailleur. He bowed to her, and then, 
 with a significant glance at Pascal he said : "I should like to speak to 
 you in private, monsieur, in reference to a matter " 
 
 Great as was Pascal's astonishment, he showed none of it on his face. 
 " You can speak in my mother's presence," he replied, coldly ; "she knows 
 everything." 
 
 The baron's surprise found vent in a positive distortion of his features. 
 " Ah ! " said he, in three different tones, " ah ! ah ! " And as no one had 
 offered him a seat, he approached an arm-chair and took possession of it, 
 exclaiming, "You will allow me, I trust? Those stairs have put me in such 
 a state ! " 
 
 In spite of his unwieldy appearance, this wealthy man was endowed with 
 great natural shrewdness and an unusually active mind. And while he 
 pretended to be engaged in recovering his breath he studied the room and 
 its occupants. A revolver was lying on the floor beside a torn and crumpled 
 letter, and tears were still glittering in the eyes of Madame Ferailleur and 
 her son. A keen observer needed no further explanation of the scene. 
 
 " I will not conceal from you, monsieur," began the baron, " that I have 
 been led here by certain compunctions of conscience. " And, misinterpret- 
 ing a gesture which Pascal made, "I mean what I say," he continued; 
 " compunctions of conscience. I have them occasionally. Your departure 
 this morning, after that deplorable scene, caused certain doubts and sus- 
 picions to arise in my mind ; and I said to myself, ' We have been too 
 hasty ; perhaps this young man may not be guilty. ' " 
 
 ' Monsieur 1 " interrupted Pascal, in a threatening tone. 
 
 "Excuse me, allow me to finish, if you please. Reflection, I must con- 
 fess, only confirmed this impression, and increased my doubts. ' The 
 devil ! ' I said to myself again ; "if this young man is innocent, the culprit 
 must be one of the habituts of Madame d'Argeles' house that is to say, a 
 man with whom I play twice a week, and whom I shall play with again 
 next Monday. ' And then I became uneasy, and here I am ! " Was the ab- 
 surd reason which the baron gave for his visit the true one? It was difficult 
 to decide. "I came," he continued, "thinking that a look at your home 
 would teach me something ; and now I have seen it, I am ready to take my 
 oath that you are the victim of a vile conspiracy." 
 
 So saying he noisily blew his nose, but this did not prevent him from 
 observing the quiet joy of Pascal and his mother. They were amazed. But 
 although these words were calculated to make them feel intensely happy, 
 they still looked at their visitor with distrust. It is not natural for a person 
 to interest himself in other people's misfortunes, unless he has some special 
 motive for doing so ; and what could this singular man's object be ? 
 
 However, he did not seem in the slightest degree disconcerted by the 
 glacial reserve with which his advances were received, "It is clear that 
 you are in some one's way," he resumed, " and that this some one has in- 
 
the count's millions. 67 
 
 Vented this method of ruining you. There can be no question about it. 
 The intention became manifest to my mind the moment I read the para* 
 graph concerning you in the Figaro. Have you seen it ? Yes ? Well, 
 what do you think of it ? I would be willing to swear that it was written 
 from notes furnished by your enemy. Moreover, the particulars are in- 
 correct, and I am going to write a line of correction which I shall take to the 
 office myself." So saying he transported his unwieldy person to Pascal's 
 desk, and hastily wrote as follows : "Mr. Editor, As a witness of the scene 
 that took place at Madame d' A s' house last night, allow me to make an im- 
 portant correction. It is only too true that extra cards were introduced into 
 the pack, but that they were introduced by M. F is not proven, since he 
 was not seen to do it. I know that appearances are against him, but he 
 nevertheless possesses my entire confidence and esteem. 
 
 " Baron Trigault." 
 
 Meanwhile Madame Ferailleur and her son had exchanged significant 
 glances. Their impressions were the same. This man could not be an 
 enemy. When the baron had finished his letter, and had read it aloud, 
 Pascal, who was deeply moved, exclaimed : " I do not know how to express 
 my gratitude to you, monsieur ; but if you really wish to serve me, pray 
 don't send that note. It would cause you a great deal of trouble and 
 annoyance, and I should none the less be obliged to relinquish the practice 
 of my profession besides, I am especially anxious to be forgotten for a 
 time.*" 
 
 " So be it I understand you j you hope to discover the traitor, and you 
 do not wish to put him on his guard. I approve of your prudence. But 
 remember my words : if you ever need a helping hand, rap at my door ; 
 and when you hold the necessary proofs, I will furnish you with the means 
 of rendering your justification even more startling than the affront." He 
 prepared to go, but before crossing the threshold, he turned and said : "In 
 future I shall watch the fingers of the player who sits on my left hand. 
 And if I were in your place, I would obtain the notes from which that news- 
 paper article was written. One never knows the benefit that may be 
 derived, at a certain moment, from a page of writing." 
 
 As he started off, Madame Ferailleur sprang from her chair. " Pascal," 
 she exclaimed, " that man knows something, and your enemies are his ; I 
 read it in his eyes. He, too, distrusts M. de Coralth." 
 
 " I understood him, mother, and my mind is made up. I must disappear. 
 From this moment Pascal Ferailleur no longer exists." 
 
 That same evening two large vans were standing outside Madame 
 Ferailleur's house. She had sold her furniture without reserve, and was 
 starting to join her son, who had already left for Le Havre, she said, in view 
 of sailing to America. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "There are a number of patients waiting for me. I will drop in again 
 about midnight. I still have several urgent visits to make." Thus had 
 Dr. Jodon spoken to Mademoiselle Marguerite ; and yet, when he left the 
 Hotel de Chalusse, after assuring himself that Casimir would have some 
 straw spread over the street, the doctor quietly walked home. The visits 
 he had spoken of merely existed in his imagination ; but it was a part of 
 his role to appear to be overrun with patients. To tell the truth, the only 
 patient he had had to attend to that week was a superannuated porter, 
 
68 
 
 living in the Rue de la P^piniere, and whom he visited twice a day, for 
 want of something better to do. The remainder of his time was spent in 
 waiting for patients who never came, and in cursing the profession of 
 medicine, which was ruined, he declared, by excessive competition, com- 
 bined with certain rules of decorum which hampered young practitioners 
 beyond endurance. 
 
 However, if Dr. Jodon had devoted one half of the time he spent in 
 cursing and building castles in the air to study, he might have, perhaps, 
 raised his little skill to the height of his immense ambition. But neither 
 work nor patience formed any part of his system. He was a man of the 
 present age, and wished to rise speedily with as little trouble as possible. 
 A certain amount of display and assurance, a little luck, and a good deal of 
 advertising would, in his opinion, suffice to bring about this result. It was 
 with this conviction, indeed, that he had taken up his abode in the Rue de 
 Courcelles, situated in one of the most aristocratic quarters of Paris. But 
 so far, events had shown his theory to be incorrect. In spite of the greatest 
 economy, very cleverly concealed, he had seen the little capital which con- 
 stituted his entire fortune dwindle away. He had originally possessed but 
 twenty thousand francs, a sum which in no wise corresponded with his 
 lofty pretensions. He had paid his rent that very morning ; and he could 
 not close his eyes to the fact that the time was near at hand when he would 
 be unable to pay it. What should he do then ? When he thought of this 
 contingency, and it was a subject that filled his mind to the exclusion of 
 all other matters, he felt the fires of wrath and hatred kindle in his soul. 
 He utterly refused to regard himself as the cause of his own misfortunes ; 
 on the contrary, following the example of many other disappointed indi- 
 viduals, he railed at mankind and everything in general at circumstances, 
 envious acquaintances, and enemies, whom he certainly did not possess. 
 
 At times he was capable of doing almost anything to gratify his lust for 
 gold, for the privations which he had endured so long were like oil cast 
 upon the flame of covetousness which was ever burning in his breast. In 
 calmer moments he asked himself at what other door he could knock, in 
 view of hastening the arrival of Fortune. Sometimes he thought of turning 
 dentist, or of trying to find some capitalist who would join him in manu- 
 facturing one of those patent medicines which are warranted to yield their 
 promoters a hundred thousand francs a year. On other occasions he dreamed 
 of establishing a monster pharmacy, or of opening a private hospital. But 
 money was needed to carry out any one of these plans, and he had no money. 
 There was the rub. However, the time was fast approaching when he 
 must decide upon his course ; he could not possibly hold out much longer. 
 
 His third year of practice in the Rue de Courcelles had not yielded him 
 enough to pay his servant's wages. For he had a servant, of course. He 
 had a valet for the same reason as he had a suite of rooms of a superficially 
 sumptuous aspect. Faithful to his system, or, rather, to his master's system, 
 he had sacrificed everything to show. The display of gilding in his apart- 
 ments was such as to make a man of taste shut his eyes to escape the sight 
 of it. There were gorgeous carpets and hangings, frescoed ceilings, spurious 
 objects of virtu, and pier-tables loaded with ornaments. An unsophisticated 
 youth from the country would certainly have been dazzled ; but it would 
 not do to examine these things too closely. There was more cotton than 
 silk in the velvet covering of the furniture ; and if various statuettes placed 
 on brackets at a certain height had been closely inspected, it would have 
 been found that they were of mere plaster, hidden beneath a coating of 
 
the count's millions. 69 
 
 green paint, sprinkled with copper filings. This plaster, playing the part 
 of bronze, was in perfect keeping with the man, his system, and the 
 present age. 
 
 When the doctor reached home, his first question to his servant was as 
 usual : " Has any one called ? " 
 
 "No one." 
 
 The doctor sighed, and passing through his superb waiting-room, he 
 entered his consulting sanctum, and seated himself in the chimney corner 
 beside an infinitesimal fire. He was even more thoughtful than usual. The 
 scene which he had just witnessed at the Count de Chalusse's house recurred 
 to his mind, and he turned it over and over again in his brain, striving to 
 find some way by which he might derive an advantage from the mystery. 
 For he was more than ever convinced that there w r as a mystery. He had 
 been engrossed in these thoughts for some time, when his meditations were 
 disturbed by a ring at the bell. Who could be calling at this hour ? 
 
 The question was answered by his servant, who appeared and informed 
 him that a lady, who was in a great hurry, was waiting in the reception- 
 room. "Very well," was his reply ; " but it is best to let her wait a few 
 moments." For he had at least this merit : he never deviated from his 
 system. Under no circumstances whatever would he have admitted a 
 patient immediately ; he wished him to wait so that he might have an 
 opportunity of reflecting on the advantages of consulting a physician whose 
 time was constantly occupied. 
 
 However, when ten minutes or so had elapsed, he opened the door, and 
 a tall lady came quickly forward, throwing back the veil which had 
 concealed her face. She must have been over forty-five j and if she had 
 ever been handsome, there was nothing to indicate it now. She had brown 
 hair, thickly sprinkled with grey, but very coarse and abundant, and grow- 
 ing low over her forehead ; her nose was broad and flat ; her lips were 
 thick, and her eyes were dull and expressionless. However, her manners 
 were gentle and rather melancholy ; and one would have judged her to be 
 somewhat of a devotee. Still for the time being she seemed greatly 
 agitated. She seated herself at the doctor's invitation ; and without wait- 
 ing for him to ask any questions : "I ought to tell you at once, monsieur," 
 she began, "that I am the Count de Chalusse's housekeeper." 
 
 In spite of his self-control, the doctor bounded from his chair. ' ' Madame 
 L6on ? " he asked, in a tone of intense surprise. 
 
 She bowed, compressing her thick lips. " I am known by that name 
 yes, monsieur. But it is only my christian name. The one I have a right 
 to bear would not accord with my present position. Reverses of fortune 
 are not rare in these days ; and were it not for the consoling influences of 
 religion, one would not have strength to endure them." 
 
 The physician was greatly puzzled. " What can she want of me ? " he 
 thought. 
 
 Meanwhile, she had resumed speaking : " I was much reduced in circum- 
 stances at the end of my resources, indeed when M. de Chalusse a 
 family friend requested me to act as companion to a young girl in 
 whom he was interested Mademoiselle Marguerite. I accepted the 
 position ; and I thank God every day that I did so, for I feel a mother's 
 affection for this young girl, and she loves me as fondly as if she were my 
 own daughter." In support of her assertion, she drew a handkerchief from 
 her pocket, and succeeded in forcing a few tears to her eyes. " Under these 
 circumstances, doctor," she continued, " you cannot fail to understand that 
 
70 the count's millions. 
 
 the interests of my dearly beloved Marguerite bring me to you. I was shut 
 up in my own room when M. de Chalusse was brought home, and I did not 
 hear of his illness until after your departure. Perhaps you might say that 
 I ought to have waited until your next visit ; but I had not sufficient patience 
 to do so. One cannot submit without a struggle to the torture of suspense, 
 when the future of a beloved daughter is at stake. So here I am." She 
 paused to take breath, and then added, " I have come, monsieur, to ask 
 you to tell me the exact truth respecting the count's condition. " 
 
 The doctor was expecting something very different, but nevertheless he 
 replied with all due gravity and self-possession. " It is my painful duty to 
 tell you, madame, that there is scarcely any hope, and that I expect a 
 fatal termination within twenty-four hours, unless the patient should 
 regain consciousness." 
 
 The housekeeper turned pale. "Then all is lost," she faltered, "all is 
 lost ! " And unable to articulate another word she rose to her feet, bowed, 
 and abruptly left the room. 
 
 Before the grate, with his mouth half -open, and his right arm extended in 
 an interrupted gesture, the doctor stood speechless and disconcerted. It was 
 only when the outer door closed with a bang that he seemed restored to 
 consciousness. And as he heard the noise he sprang forward as if to recall 
 his visitor. "Ah!" he exclaimed, with an oath, "the miserable old 
 woman was mocking me ! " And urged on by a wild, irrational impulse, he 
 caught up his hat and darted out in pursuit. Madame Leon was con- 
 siderably in advance of him, and was walking very quickly ; still, by 
 quickening his pace, he might have overtaken her. However, he did not 
 join her, for he scarcely knew what excuse to offer for such a strange pro- 
 ceeding ; he contented himself by cautiously following her at a little 
 distance. Suddenly she stopped short. It was in front of a tobacconist's 
 shop, where there was a post office letter-box. The shop was closed, but 
 the box was there with its little slit for letters to be^dropped into. Madame 
 L6on evidently hesitated. She paused, as one always does before venturing 
 upon a decisive act, from which there will be no return, whatever may be 
 the consequences. An observer never remains twenty minutes before a 
 letter-box without witnessing this pantomime so expressive of irresolution. 
 At last, however, she shrugged her shoulders with a gesture which 
 eloquently expressed the result of her deliberations ; and drawing a letter 
 from her bosom, she dropped it into the box, and then hastened on more 
 quickly than before. 
 
 "There is not the slightest doubt," thought the doctor, "that letter had 
 been prepared in advance, and whether it should be sent or not depended 
 on the answer I gave. " 
 
 We have already said that M. Jodon was not a wealthy man, and yet he 
 would willingly have given a hundred-franc note to have known the con- 
 tents of this letter, or even the name of the person to whom it was 
 addressed. But his chase was almost ended. Madame Leon had reached the 
 Hdtel de Chalusse, and now went in. Should he follow her ? His curiosity 
 was torturing him to such a degree that he had an idea of doing so ; and it 
 required an heroic effort of will to resist the temptation successfully. But 
 a gleam of common sense warned him that this would be a terrible blunder. 
 Once already during the evening his conduct had attracted attention ; and 
 he began to realise that there was a better way of winning confidence than 
 by intruding almost forcibly into other people's affairs. Accordingly he 
 thoughtfully retraced his steps, feeling intensely disgusted with himself. 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 71 
 
 "What a fool I am !" he grumbled. "If I had kept the old woman in 
 suspense, instead of blurting out the truth, I might have learned the real 
 object of her visit ; for she had an object. But*what was it ? " 
 
 The doctor spent the two hours that remained to him before making his 
 second visit in trying to discover it.* But, although nothing prevented 
 him from exploring the boundless fields of improbable possibilities, he could 
 think of nothing satisfactory. There was only one certain "point, that 
 Madame Leon and Mademoiselle Marguerite were equally interested in the 
 question as to whether the count would regain consciousness or not. As to 
 their interests in the matter, the doctor felt confident that they were not 
 identical ; he was persuaded that a secret enmity existed between them, and 
 that the housekeeper had visited him without Mademoiselle Marguerite's 
 knowledge. For he was not deceived by Madame Leon, or by her pretended 
 devotion to Mademoiselle Marguerite. Her manner, her smooth words, her 
 tone of pious resignation, and the allusion to the grand name she had the 
 right to bear, were all calculated to impose upon one ; but she had been 
 too much disconcerted towards the last to remember her part. Dr. Jodon 
 lacked the courage to return to his sumptuous rooms, and it was in a little 
 cafe" that he thus reflected upon the situation, while drinking some execrable 
 beer brewed in Paris out of a glass manufactured in Bavaria. 
 
 At last midnight sounded the hour had come. Still the doctor did not 
 move. Having been obliged to wait himself, he wished, in revenge, to 
 make the others wait, and it was not until the cafe" closed that he again 
 walked up the Rue de Courcelles. Madame Leon had left the gate ajar, 
 and the doctor had no difficulty in making his way into the courtyard. As 
 in the earlier part of the evening, the servants were assembled in the con- 
 cierge's lodge ; but the careless gaiety which shone upon their faces a few 
 hours before had given place to evident anxiety respecting their future 
 prospects. Through the windows of the lodge they could be seen 
 standing round the two choice spirits of the household, M. Bourigeau, the 
 concierge, and M. Casimir, the valet, who were engaged in earnest conver- 
 sation. And if the doctor had listened, he would have heard such words as 
 "wages," and "legacies," and "remuneration for faithful service," and 
 ' ' annuities " repeated over and over again. 
 
 But M. Jodon did not listen. Thinking he should find some servant 
 inside, he entered the house. However, there was nobody to announce his 
 presence ; the door closed noiselessly behind him, the heavy carpet which 
 covered the marble steps stifled the sound of his footsteps, and he ascended 
 the first flight without seeing anyone. The door opening into the count's 
 room was open, the room itself being brilliantly lighted by a large fire, and 
 a lamp which stood on a corner of the mantel-shelf. Instinctively the 
 doctor paused and looked in. There had been no change since his first 
 visit. The count was still lying motionless on his pillows ; his face was 
 swollen, his eyelids were closed, but he still breathed, as was shown by the 
 regular movement of the covering over his chest. Madame L6on and 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite were his only attendants. The housekeeper, who 
 sat back a little in the shade, was half reclining in an arm-chair with her 
 hands clasped in her lap, her lips firmly compressed, and her eyes fixed 
 upon vacancy. Pale but calm, and more imposing and more beautiful than 
 ever, Mademoiselle Marguerite was kneeling beside the bed, eagerly watch- 
 ing for some sign of renewed life and intelligence on the count's face. 
 
 A little ashamed of his indiscretion, the doctor retreated seven or eight 
 steps down the stairs, and then ascended them again, coughing slightly, so 
 
72 the count's millions. 
 
 as to announce his approach. This time he was heard, for Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite came to the door to meet him. " Well ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Alas ! " 
 
 He advanced towards the bed, but before he had time to examine his 
 patient Mademoiselle Marguerite handed him a scrap of paper. "The 
 physician who usually attends M. de Chalusse has been here in your absence, 
 monsieur," said she. " This is his prescription, and we have already ad- 
 ministered a few drops of the potion." 
 
 M. Jodon, who was expecting this blow, bowed coldly. 
 
 "I must add," continued Mademoiselle Marguerite, "that the doctor 
 approved of all that had been done ; and I beg you will unite your skill 
 with his in treating the case." 
 
 Unfortunately all the medical skill of the faculty would have availed 
 nothing here. After another examination, Dr. Jodon declared that it would 
 be necessary to wait for the action of nature, but that he must be informed 
 of the slightest change in the sick man's condition. "And I will tell my 
 servant to wake me at once if I am sent for," he added. 
 
 He was already leaving the room, when Madame Leon barred his passage. 
 " Isn't it true, doctor, that one attentive person would suffice to watch over 
 the count ? " she asked. 
 
 "Most assuredly," he answered. 
 
 The housekeeper turned towards Mademoiselle Marguerite. " Ah, you 
 see, my dear young lady," she said, " what did I tell you ? Listen to me ; 
 take a little rest. Watching is not suitable work for one of your age " 
 
 " It is useless to insist," interrupted the young girl, resolutely. " I shall 
 remain here. I shall watch over him myself." 
 
 The housekeeper made no reply ; but it seemed to the doctor that the 
 two women exchanged singular glances. "The devil ! " he muttered, as he 
 took his departure, "one might think that they distrusted each other ! " 
 
 Perhaps he was right ; but at all events he had scarcely left the house 
 before Madame Leon again urged her dear young lady to take a few hours' 
 rest. "What can you fear?" she insisted, in her wheedling voice. 
 4 ' Sha'n 1 1 be here ? Do you suppose your old Leon capable of losing her- 
 self in sleep, when your future depends upon a word from that poor man 
 lying there ? " 
 
 " Pray, cease." 
 
 " Ah, no ! my dear young lady ; my love for you compels me " 
 
 " Oh, enough ! " interrupted Mademoiselle'Marguerite ; "enough, Leon !" 
 
 Her tone was so determined that the housekeeper was compelled to 
 yield ; but not without a deep sigh, not without an imploring glance to 
 Heaven, as if calling upon Providence to witness the purity of her motives and 
 the usefulness of her praiseworthy efforts. " At least, my dear lady, wrap 
 yourself up warmly. Shall I go and bring you your heavy travelling shawl ? " 
 
 " Thanks, my dear Leon Annette will bring it." 
 
 " Then, pray, send for it. But we are not going to watch alone? What 
 should we do if we needed anything ? " 
 
 " I will call," replied Marguerite. 
 
 This was unnecessary, for Dr. Jodon's departure from the house had put 
 an abrupt termination to the servants' conference ; and they were now 
 assembled on the landing, anxious and breathless, and peering eagerly into 
 the sick-room. 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite went towards them. "Madame Leon and myself 
 will remain with the count," she said. "Annette " this was the woman 
 
the count's millions. 73 
 
 whom she liked best of all the servants "Casimir and a footman will 
 spend the night in the little side salon. The others may retire." 
 
 Her orders were obeyed. Two o'clock sounded from the church-tower 
 near by, and then the solemn and terrible silence was only broken by the 
 hard breathing of the unconscious man and the implacable tic-tac of the clock 
 on the mantel-shelf, numbering the seconds which were left for him to live. 
 From the streets outside, not a sound reached this princely abode, which 
 stood between a vast courtyard and a garden as large as a park. More- 
 over, the straw which had been spread over the paving-stones effectually 
 deadened the rumble of the few vehicles that passed. Enveloped in a soft 
 warm shawl, Madame L3on had again taken possession of her arm-chair, and 
 while she pretended to be reading a prayer-book, she kept a close watch over 
 her dear young lady, as if she were striving to discover her inmost thoughts. 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite did not suspect this affectionate espionage. Be- 
 sides, what would it have mattered to her ? She had rolled a low arm-chair 
 near the bedside, seated herself in it, and her eyes were fixed upon M. de 
 Chalusse. Two or three times she started violently, and once even she said 
 to Madame Leon : " Come come and see ! " 
 
 It seemed to her that there was a faint change in the patient's face ; but 
 it was only a fancy she had been deceived by the shadows that played 
 about the room, caused by the capricious flame in the grate. The hours 
 were creeping on, and the housekeeper, wearying at last of her fruitless 
 watch, dropped asleep ; her head fell forward on to her breast, her prayer- 
 book slipped from her hands, and finally she began to snore. But Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite did not perceive this, absorbed as she was in thoughts 
 which, by reason of their very profundity, had ceased to be sorrowful. 
 Perhaps she felt she was keeping a last vigil over her happiness, and that 
 with the final breath of this dying man all her girlhood's dreams and all 
 her dearest hope3 would take flight for evermore. Undoubtedly her 
 thoughts flew to the man to whom she had promised her life to Pascal, to 
 the unfortunate fellow whose honour was being stolen from him at that 
 very moment, in a fashionable gaming-house. 
 
 About five o'clock the air became so close that she felt a sudden faintness, 
 and opened the window to obtain a breath of fresh air. The noise aroused 
 Madame L6on from her slumbers. She rose, yawned, and rather sullenly 
 declared that she felt very queer, and would certainly fall ill if she did not 
 take some refreshment. It became necessary to summon M. Casimir, who 
 brought her a glass of Madeira and some biscuits. "Now I feel better," 
 she murmured, after her repast. "My excessive sensibility will be the 
 death of me." And so saying, she dropped asleep again. 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite had meanwhile returned to her seat ; but her 
 thoughts gradually became confused, her eyelids grew heavy, and although 
 she struggled, she at last fell asleep in her turn, with her head resting on 
 the count's bed. It was daylight when a strange and terrible shock awoke 
 her. It seemed to her as if an icy hand, some dead person's hand, was gently 
 stroking her head, and tenderly caressing her hair. She at once sprang to 
 her feet. The sick man had regained consciousness ; his eyes were open 
 and his right arm was moving. Mademoiselle Marguerite darted to the 
 bell-rope and pulled it violently, and as a servant appeared in answer to 
 the summons, she cried : "Run for the physician who lives near here quick I 
 and tell him that the count is conscious. " 
 
 In an instant, almost, the sick-room was full of servants, but the girl did 
 not perceive it. She had approached M. de Chalusse, and taking his hand, 
 
74 the count's millions. 
 
 she tenderly asked : "You hear me, do you not, monsieur ? Do you under- 
 stand me ? " 
 
 His lips moved ; but only a hollow, rattling sound, which was absolutely 
 unintelligible, came from his throat. Still, he understood her ; as it was 
 easy to see by his gestures despairing and painful ones, for paralysis had 
 not released its hold on its victim, and it was only with great difficulty that 
 he could slightly move his right arm. He evidently desired something. 
 But what ? 
 
 They mentioned the different articles in the room everything indeed 
 that they could think of. But in vain, until the housekeeper suddenly ex- 
 claimed : "He wishes to write." 
 
 That was, indeed, what he desired. With the hand that was compara- 
 tively free, with the hoarse rattle that was his only voice, M. de Chalusse 
 answered, " Yes, yes ! " and his eyes even turned to Madame Leon with an 
 expression of joy and gratitude. They raised him on his pillows, and 
 brought him a small writing-desk, with some paper, and a pen that had 
 been dipped in ink. But like those around him, he had himself over- 
 estimated his strength ; if he could move his hand, he could not control its 
 movements. After a terrible effort and intense suffering, however, he suc- 
 ceeded in tracing a few words, the meaning of which it was impossible to 
 understand. It was only with the greatest difficulty that these words 
 
 could be deciphered " My entire fortune give friends against , 
 
 This signified nothing. 
 
 In despair, he dropped the pen, and his glance and his hand turned to 
 that part of the room opposite his bed. "Monsieur means his escritoire, 
 perhaps ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," the sick man hoarsely answered. 
 
 * ' Perhaps the count wishes that it should be opened ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " was the reply again. 
 
 "My God!" exclaimed Mademoiselle Marguerite, with a gesture of 
 despair, ' ' what have I done ? I have broken the key. I feared the re- 
 sponsibility which would fall upon us all." 
 
 The expression of the count's face had become absolutely frightful. It 
 indicated utter discouragement, the most bitter suffering, the most horrible 
 despair. His soul was writhing in a body from which life had fled. In- 
 telligence, mind, and will were fast bound in a corpse which they could not 
 electrify. The consciousness of his own powerlessness caused him a par- 
 oxysm of frantic rage ; his hands clinched, the veins in his throat swelled, 
 his eyes almost started from their sockets, and in a harsh, shrill voice that 
 had nothing human in it, he exclaimed : " Marguerite ! despoiled ! take 
 care ! your mother ! " And this was all it was the supreme effort that 
 broke the last link that bound the soul to earth. 
 
 " A priest ! " cried Madame Leon, " a priest ! In the name of Heaven, 
 go for a priest 1 " 
 
 "Rather for a notary," suggested M. Casimir. " You see he wishes to 
 make a will." 
 
 But at that moment the physician entered, pale and breathless. He 
 walked straight to the bedside, glanced at the motionless form, and 
 solemnly exclaimed : " The Count de Chalusse is dead I " 
 
 There was a moment's stupor the stupor which always follows death, 
 especially when death comes suddenly and unexpectedly. A feeling of 
 mingled wonder, selfishness, and fear pervaded the group of servants. 
 " Yes, it is over ! " muttered the doctor, " it is all over 1 " 
 
the count's millions. 75 
 
 And as he was familiar with these painful scenes, and. had lost none 
 of his self-possession, he furtively studied Mademoiselle Marguerite's 
 features and attitude. She seemed thunderstruck. With dry, fixed eyes 
 and contracted features, she stood rooted to her place, gazing at the life- 
 less form as if she were expecting some miracle as if she still hoped to hear 
 those rigid lips reveal the secret which he had tried in vain to disclose, and 
 which he had carried with him to the grave. 
 
 The physician was the only person who observed this. The other occu- 
 pants of the room were exchanging looks of distress. Some of the women 
 had fallen upon their knees, and were sobbing and praying in the same 
 breath. But Madame Leon's sobs could be heard above the rest. They 
 were at first inarticulate moans, but suddenly she sprang towards Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite, and clasping her in her arms, she cried : " What a 
 misfortune 1 My dearest child, what a loss ! " Utterly incapable of 
 uttering a word, the poor girl tried to free herself from this close embrace, 
 but the housekeeper would not be repulsed, and continued : Weep, my 
 dear young lady, weep ! Do not refuse to give vent to your sorrow." 
 
 She herself displayed so little self-control that the physician reprimanded 
 her with considerable severity, whereat her emotion increased, and with 
 her handkerchief pressed to her eyes, she sobbed: "Yes, doctor, yes; 
 you are right ; I ought to moderate my grief. But pray, doctor, remove 
 my beloved Marguerite from this scene, which is too terrible for her young 
 and tender heart. Persuade her to retire to her own room, so that she may 
 ask God for strength to bear the misfortune which has befallen her. " 
 
 The poor girl had certainly no intention of leaving the room, but before 
 she could say so, M. Casimir stepped forward. "I think," he drily 
 observed, " that mademoiselle had better remain here." 
 
 "Eh?" said Madame Leon, looking up suddenly. "And why, if you 
 please ? " 
 
 " Because because " 
 
 Anger had dried the housekeeper's tears. "What do you mean?" she 
 asked. " Do you pretend to prevent mademoiselle from doing as she 
 chooses in her own house ? " 
 
 M. Casimir gave vent to a contemptuous whistle, which, twenty-four 
 hours earlier, would have been punished with a heavy blow from the man 
 who was now lying there dead. " Her own house I " he answered ; "her 
 own house ! Yesterday I shouldn't have denied it ; but to-day it's quite 
 another thing. Is she a relative ? No, she isn't. What are you talking 
 about, then ? We are all equals here. " 
 
 He spoke so impudently that even the doctor felt indignant. "Scoun- 
 drel ! " said he. 
 
 But the valet turned towards him with an air which proved that he was 
 well acquainted with the doctor's servant, and, consequently, with all the 
 secrets of the master's life. " Call your own valet a scoundrel, if you choose," 
 he retorted, "but not me. Your duties here are over, aren't they? So 
 leave us to manage our own affairs. Thank heaven, I know what I'm 
 talking about. Everybody knows that caution must be exercised in a 
 dead man's house, especially when that house is full of money, and when, 
 instead of relatives, there are persons who who are there nobody knows 
 how or why. In case any valuables were missed, who would be accused of 
 taking them ? Why, the poor servants, of course. Ah, they have broad 
 shoulders ! Their trunks would be searched ; and even if nothing were 
 found, they would be sent to prison all the same. In the meantime other 
 
76 the count's millions. 
 
 people would escape with the booty. No, Lisette ! No one will stir from 
 this room until the arrival of the justice " 
 
 Madame Leon was bursting with rage. " All right ! " she interrupted ; 
 "I'm going to send for the count's particular friend, General " 
 
 " I don't care a fig for your General." 
 
 "Wretch!" . 
 
 It was Mademoiselle Marguerite who put an end to this indecent dispute. 
 Its increasing violence had aroused her from her stupor. Casimir's im- 
 pudence brought a flush to her forehead, and stepping forward with 
 haughty resolution, she exclaimed : "You forget that one never raises one's 
 voice in the chamber of death." Her words were so true, and her manner so 
 majestic, that M. Casimir was silenced. Then, pointing to the door, she 
 coldly added : "Go for the justice of the peace, and don't set foot here 
 again, except in his company," 
 
 He bowed, stammered an unintelligible apology, and left the room. 
 "She always gets the best of me," he growled, as he went downstairs. 
 " But seals shall be put on everything." 
 
 When he entered the porter's lodge, M. Bourigeau was just getting up, 
 having slept all night, while his wife watched. " Quick," ordered M. 
 Casimir ; " make haste and finish dressing, and run for the justice of the 
 peace we must have him here at once. Everything must be done regularly 
 and in order, upstairs." 
 
 The concierge was in despair. "Heavens!" he exclaimed; "so the 
 master's dead ! What a misfortune ! " 
 
 "You may well say so ; and this is the second time such a thing has 
 happened to me. I remember now what a shrewd fellow named Chupin 
 once said to me. ' If I were a servant, ' he remarked, ' before entering a 
 man's service, I'd make him insure his life for my benefit in one of those 
 new-fangled companies, so that I might step into a handsome fortune if he 
 took it into his head to die.' But make haste, Bourigeau." 
 
 "That's a famous idea, but scarcely practicable," growled the concierge. 
 
 "I don't know whether it is or not. But at all events I'm terribly an- 
 noyed. The count was giving me enormous wages, and I had got him 
 nicely into my ways. Well, after all, I shall only have to begin again ! " 
 
 M. Bourigeau had not yet attained to the heights of such serene philo- 
 sophy, and as he buttoned his overcoat, he groaned : " Ah ! you're not 
 situated as I am, Casimir. You've only yourself to look out for. I have 
 my furniture ; and if I don't succeed in finding a position where I can have 
 two rooms, I shall be obliged to sell part of it. What a blessed nuisance ! " 
 
 As soon as he was dressed he started off on his mission ; and M. Casimir, 
 who dared not return to the house, began walking slowly to and fro in front 
 of the lodge. He had made some thirty turns or so, and was beginning to feel 
 impatient, when he saw Victor Chupin approaching. " You are always 
 on hand at the right moment," remarked M. Casimir. "It's all over ! " 
 
 Chupin turned eagerly. " Then our bargain holds," he exclaimed. 
 "You understand what I mea* the funeral, you know." 
 
 " It isn't certain that I shall have anything to do with it ; but call again 
 in three hours from now." 
 
 "All right, I'll be here." 
 
 " And M. Fortunat ? " asked Casimir. 
 
 " He received what he called a ' violent shock ' last evening, but he's 
 better this morning. He instructed me to tell you that he should look for 
 you between twelve and one you know where." 
 
77 
 
 "I'll endeavour to be there, although it may be difficult for me to get 
 away. If I go, however, I'll show him the letter that caused the count's 
 illness ; for the count threw it away, after tearing it into several pieces, 
 and I found some of the bits which escaped his notice as well as made- 
 moiselle's. It's a strange letter, upon my word ! " 
 
 Chupin gazed at the valet with a look of mingled wonder and admira- 
 tion. " By Jove ! " he exclaimed, " how fortunate a man must be to secure 
 a valet like you ! " 
 
 His companion smiled complacently, but all of a sudden he remarked : 
 " Make haste and go. I see Bourigeau in the distance, bringing the justice 
 of the peace." 
 
 VII. 
 
 The magistrate who was now approaching the Chalusse mansion in the 
 concierge's company, exemplified in a remarkable manner all the ideas that 
 are awakened in one's mind by the grand yet simple title of "Justice of 
 the Peace." He was the very person you would like to think of as the 
 family magistrate j as the promoter of friendly feeling ; as the guardian of 
 the rights of the absent, the young, and the weak ; as the just arbiter in 
 unfortunate differences between those who are closely related ; a sage of 
 wide experience and boundless benevolence; a judge whose paternal justice 
 dispenses with all pomp and display, and who is allowed by French statutes 
 to hold his court by his own fireside, providing the doors stand open. He 
 was considerably over fifty, tall, and very thin, with bent shoulders. His 
 clothes was rather old-fashioned in cut, but by no means ridiculous. The 
 expression of his face was gentleness itself ; but it would not have done to 
 presume upon this gentleness, for his glance was keen and piercing like 
 the glance of all who are expert in diving into consciences, and discovering 
 the secrets hidden there. Moreover, like all men who are accustomed to 
 deliberate in public, his features were expressionless. He could see and 
 hear everything, suspect and understand everything, without letting a 
 muscle of his face move. And yet the habitues of his audience-chamber, 
 and his clerks, pretended that they could always detect the nature of his 
 impressions. A ring which he wore upon one of his fingers served as a 
 barometer for those who knew him. If a difficult case, or one that em- 
 barrassed his conscience, presented itself, his eyes fixed themselves 
 obstinately upon this ring. If he were satisfied that everything was right, 
 he looked up again, and began playing with the ring, slipping it up and 
 down between the first and second joint of his finger ; but if he were dis- 
 pleased, he abruptly turned the bezel inside. 
 
 In appearance, he was sufficiently imposing to intimidate even M. 
 Casirnir. The proud valet bowed low as the magistrate approached, and 
 with his heart in his mouth, and in an obsequious voice he said "It was I 
 who took the liberty of sending for you, monsieur." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the magistrate, who already knew as much about the Hotel 
 de|Chalusse, and the events of the past twelve hours, as M. Casirnir him- 
 self ; for on his way to the house, he had turned Bourigeau inside out like a 
 glove, by means of a dozen gentle questions. 
 
 " If monsieur wishes I will explain," resumed M. Casirnir. 
 
 "Nothing! It is quite unnecessary. Usher us in." 
 
 This "us" astonished the valet ; but before they reached the house it was 
 explained to him lie discovered a man of flourishing and even jovial mien 
 
78 the count's millions. 
 
 who was walking along in the magistrate's shadow carrying a large, black 
 portfolio under his arm. This was evidently the clerk. He seemed to be 
 as pleased with his employment as he was with himself ; and as he followed 
 M. Casimir, he examined the adornments of the mansion, the mosaics in 
 the vestibule, the statuary and the frescoed walls with an appraiser's eye. 
 Perhaps he was calculating how many years' salary it would require to pay 
 for the decorating of this one staircase. 
 
 On the threshold of the death room the magistrate paused. There had 
 been some change during M. Casimir's absence. The doctor had left. The 
 bed had been rearranged, and several candles were burning on a table cov- 
 ered with a white cloth. Madame Leon had gone to her own room accom- 
 panied by two servants, to fetch a vessel of holy water and a branch of 
 withered palm. She was now engaged in repeating the prayers for the 
 dead, pausing from time to time to dip the palm branch in the holy water, 
 and sprinkle l;he bed. Both windows had been opened in spite of the cold. 
 On the marble hearth stood a chafing-dish full of embers from which rose 
 spiral rings of smoke, filling the room with a pungent odour as a servant 
 poured some vinegar and sugar on to the coals. 
 
 As the magistrate appeared, every one rose up. Then, after bestowing 
 prolonged scrutiny upon the room and its occupants, he respectfully re- 
 moved his hat, and walked in. "Why are so many people here?" he 
 inquired. 
 
 " I suggested that they should remain," replied M. Casimir, "because " 
 
 " You are suspicious," interrupted the magistrate. 
 
 His clerk had already drawn a pen and some paper from his portfolio, and 
 was engaged in reading the decision, rendered by the magistrate at the re- 
 quest of one Bourigeau, and in virtue of which, seals were about to be affixed 
 to the deceased nobleman's personal effects. Since the magistrate had 
 entered the room, his eyes had not once wandered from Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite, who was standing near the fire-place, looking pale but composed. 
 At last he approached her, and in a tone of deep sympathy : " Are you 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite ? " he asked. 
 
 She raised her clear eyes, rendered more beautiful than ever, by the 
 tears that trembled on her lashes, and in a faltering voice, replied : " Yes, 
 monsieur. " 
 
 "Are you a relative ? Are you connected in any way with the Count de 
 Chalusse ? Have you any right to his property ? " 
 
 "No, monsieur." 
 
 " Excuse me, mademoiselle, but these questions are indispensable. Who 
 intrusted you to the care of M. de Chalusse, and by what right ? Was it 
 your father or your mother ? " 
 
 " I have neither father nor mother, monsieur. I am alone in the world 
 utterly alone." 
 
 The magistrate glanced keenly round the room. "Ah ! I understand," 
 said he, at last ; " advantage has been taken of your isolation to treat you 
 with disrespect, to insult you, perhaps." 
 
 Every head drooped, and M. Casimir bitterly regretted that he had not 
 remained below in the courtyard. Mademoiselle Marguerite looked at the 
 magistrate in astonishment, for she was amazed by his penetration. She 
 was ignorant of his conversation with Bourigeau on the road, and did not 
 know that through the concierge's ridiculous statements and accusations, 
 the magistrate had succeeded in discovering at least a portion of the truth. 
 
 1 I shall have the honour of asking for a few moments' conversation with 
 
THE count's millions. 79 
 
 you presently, mademoiselle," he said. "But first, one question. lam 
 told that the Count de Chalusse entertained a very lively affection for you. 
 Are you sure that he has not taken care to provide for your future ? Are 
 you sure that he has not left a will ? " 
 
 The girl shook her head. ' ' He made one in my favour some time ago, " 
 she replied. " I saw it ; he gave it to me to read ; but it was destroyed a 
 fortnight after my arrival here, and in compliance with my request." 
 
 Madame L6on had hitherto been dumb with fear, but, conquering her 
 weakness, she now decided to draw near and take part in the conversation. 
 "How can you say that, my dear young lady?" she exclaimed. "You 
 know that the count God rest his soul ! was an extremely cautious man. 
 I am certain that there is a will somewhere." 
 
 The magistrate's eyes were fixed on his ring. " It would be well to look, 
 perhaps, before affixing the seals. You have a right to require this ; so, if 
 you wish " 
 
 But she made no reply. 
 
 11 Oh, yes ! " insisted Madame L<on ; "pray look, monsieur." 
 
 " But where should we be likely to find a will ? " 
 
 "Certainly in this room in this escritoire, or in one of the deceased 
 count's cabinets." 
 
 The magistrate had learnt the story of the key from Bourigeau, but all 
 the same he asked ; " Where is the key to this escritoire ? " 
 
 "Alas ! monsieur," replied Mademoiselle Marguerite, "I broke it last 
 night when M. de Chalusse was brought home unconscious. I hoped to 
 avert what has, nevertheless, happened. Besides, I knew that his escritoire 
 contained something over two millions in gold and bank notes." 
 
 Two millions there 1 The occupants of the room stood aghast. Even 
 the clerk was so startled that he let a blot fall upon his paper. Two 
 millions ! The magistrate was evidently reflecting. " Hum ! " he mur- 
 mured, meditatively. Then, as if deciding on his course, he exclaimed : 
 
 "Let a locksmith be sent for." 
 
 A servant went in search of one ; and while they were waiting for his 
 return, the magistrate sat down beside his clerk and talked to him in a low 
 voice. At last the locksmith appeared, with his bag of tools hanging over 
 his shoulder, and set to work at once. He found his task a difficult one. 
 His pick-locks would not catch, and he was talking of filing the bolt, when, 
 by chance, he found the joint, and the door flew open. But the escritoire 
 was empty. There were only a few papers, and a bottle about three- 
 quarters full of a crimson liquid on the shelf. Had M. de Chalusse rose 
 and shook off his winding sheet, the consternation would not have been 
 greater. The same instinctive fear thrilled the hearts of everybody present. 
 An enormous fortune had disappeared. The same suspicions would rest 
 upon them all. And each servant already saw himself arrested, imprisoned, 
 and dragged before a law court. 
 
 However, anger speedily followed bewilderment, and a furious clamour 
 arose. "A robbery has been committed !" cried the servants, in concert. 
 "Mademoiselle had the key. It is wrong to suspect the innocent ! " 
 
 Revolting as this exhibition was, it did not modify the magistrate's calm- 
 ness. He had witnessed too many such scenes in the course of his career, 
 and, at least, a score of times he had been compelled to interpose between 
 children who had come to blows over their inheritance before their father's 
 body was even cold. " Silence ! " he commanded sternly. And as the 
 tumult did not cease, as the servants continued to cry, "The thief must be 
 
SO tiie count's millions. 
 
 found. We shall have no difficulty in discovering the culprit," the magis- 
 trate exclaimed, still more imperiously : ' Another word, and you all leave 
 the room." 
 
 They were silenced ; but there was a mute eloquence about their looks and 
 gestures which it was impossible to misunderstand. Every eye was fixed 
 upon Mademoiselle Marguerite with an almost ferocious expression. She 
 knew it only too well ; but, sublime in her energy, she stood, with her 
 head proudly erect, facing the storm, and disdaining to answer these vile 
 imputations. However she had a protector near by the magistrate in 
 person. "If this treasure has been diverted from the inheritance," said he, 
 " the thief will be discovered and punished. But I wish to have one point 
 explained who said that Mademoiselle Marguerite had the key of the 
 escritoire ? " 
 
 " I did," replied a footman. "I was in the dining-room yesterday 
 morning when the count gave it to her. " 
 
 " For what purpose did he give it to her ! " 
 
 " That she might obtain this vial I recognised it at once. She brought 
 it down to him." 
 
 ' ' Did she return the key ? " 
 
 " Yes ; she gave it to him when she handed him the vial, and I saw him 
 put it in his pocket." 
 
 The magistrate pointed to the bottle which was standing on the shelf. 
 " Then the count himself must have put the vial back in its place," said he. 
 "Further comment is unnecessary; for, if the money had then been 
 missing, he could not have failed to discover the fact." No one had any 
 reply to make to this quiet defence, which was, at the same time, a complete 
 vindication. "And, besides," continued the magistrate, "who told you 
 that this immense sum would be found here? Did you know it? Which 
 one of you knew it ? " And as nobody still ventured any remark, he added 
 in an even more severe tone, and without seeming to notice Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite's look of gratitude, " It is by no means a proof of honesty to be so 
 extremely suspicious. Would it not have been easier to suppose that the 
 deceased had placed the money somewhere else, and that it will yet be 
 found ? " 
 
 The clerk had been even less disturbed than the magistrate. He also 
 was blast, having witnessed too many of those frightful and shameless 
 dramas which are enacted at a dead man's bedside, to be surprised at any- 
 thing. If he had deigned to glance at the escritoire, it was only because 
 he was curious to see how small a space would suffice to contain two 
 millions ; and then he had begun to calculate how many years he would be 
 obliged to remain a clerk before he could succeed in amassing such a fabu- 
 lous sum. However, hearing his superior express the intention of continuing 
 the search for the will, and the missing treasure, he abruptly abandoned his 
 calculation, and exclaimed, " Then, I suppose, I can commence my report, 
 monsieur?" 
 
 " Yes," replied the magistrate, "write as follows:" And in a mono- 
 tonous voice he began to dictate the prescribed formula, an unnecessary 
 proceeding, for the clerk was quite as familiar with it as the magistrate 
 himself : "On the 16th of October, 186 , at nine o'clock in the morning, 
 in compliance with the request of the servants of the deceased Louis-Henri- 
 Raymond de Durtal, Count de Chalusse, and in the interest of his presump- 
 tive heirs, and all others connected with him, and in accordance with the 
 requirements of clauses 819 (Code Napoleon) and 909 (Code of Procedure), 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 81 
 
 we, justice of the peace, accompanied by our clerk, visited the residence of 
 the deceased aforesaid, in the Rue de Courcelles, where, having entered a 
 bedroom opening on to the courtyard, and lighted by two windows looking 
 towards the south, we found the body of the deceased aforesaid, lying on his 
 bed, and covered with a sheet. In this room were " He paused in his 
 dictation, and addressing the clerk, " Take down the name of all present," 
 said he. "That will require some little time, and, meanwhile, I will con- 
 tinue my search." 
 
 They had, in fact, only examined the shelf of the escritoire, and the 
 drawers were still to be inspected. In the first which he opened, the 
 magistrate found ample proofs of the accuracy of the information which had 
 been furnished him by Mademoiselle Marguerite. The drawer contained a 
 memorandum which established the fact that the Credit Foncier had lent 
 M. de Chalusse the sum of eight hundred and fifty thousand francs, which 
 had been remitted to him on the Saturday preceding his death. Beside 
 this document lay a second memorandum, signed by a stockbroker named 
 Pell, setting forth that the latter had sold for the count securities of various 
 descriptions to the amount of fourteen hundred and twenty-three thousand 
 francs, which sum had been paid to the count on the preceding Tuesday, 
 partly in bank-notes and partly in gold. It was thus evident that M. de 
 Chalusse had received a grand total of two million two hundred and seventy- 
 three thousand francs within the past six'^days. 
 
 In the drawer which was next opened, the magistrate only found a 
 number of deeds, bonds, leases, and mortgages ; but they proved that 
 public rumour, far from exaggerating the figures of the count's fortune, 
 had diminished it, and this made it difficult to explain why he had con- 
 tracted a loan. The third and last drawer contained twenty-eight thousand 
 francs, in packages of twenty franc pieces. Finally, in a small casket, the 
 magistrate found a packet of letters, yellow with age and bound together 
 with a broad piece of blue velvet ; as well as three or four withered 
 bouquets, and a woman's glove, which had been worn by a hand of marvel- 
 lous smallness. These were evidently the relics of some great passion of many 
 years before ; and the magistrate looked at them for a moment with a sigh. 
 
 His own interest prevented him from noticing Mademoiselle Marguerite's 
 agitation. She had almost fainted on perceiving these souvenirs of the 
 count's past life so suddenly exhumed. However, the examination of the 
 escritoire being over, and the clerk having completed his task of recording 
 the names of all the servants, the magistrate said, in a loud voice, " I shall 
 now proceed to affix the seals ; but, before doing so, I shall take a portion 
 of the money found in this desk, and set it apart for the expenses of the house- 
 hold, in accordance with the law. Who will take charge of this money ? " 
 
 " Oh, not I ! " exclaimed Madame L6on. 
 
 " I will take charge of it," said M. Casimir. 
 
 " Then here are eight thousand f ran cs,forwhich you willbe held acountable.' 
 
 M. Casimir being a prudent man, counted the money himself, and after 
 doing so, " Who will attend to the count's obsequies ? " he inquired. 
 
 " You, and without loss of time." 
 
 Proud of his new importance, the valet hastily left the room, his self- 
 complacency increased by the thought that he was to breakfast with M. 
 Isidore Fortunat, and would afterwards share a fat commission with 
 Victor Chupin. 
 
 However, the magistrate had already resumed his dictation : "And at 
 this moment we have affixed bands of white tape, sealed at either end with 
 
82 the count's millions. 
 
 red wax, bearing the impress of our seal as justice of the peace, to wit : 
 In the aforesaid chamber of the deceased : First, A band of tape, covering 
 the key-hole of the lock of the escritoire, which had been previously opened 
 by a locksmith summoned by us, and closed again by the said locksmith " 
 And so the magistrate and his clerk went from one piece of furniture to 
 another, duly specifying in the report each instance in which the seals 
 were affixed. 
 
 From the count's bedroom they passed into his study, followed by 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite, Madame Leon, and the servants. By noon every 
 article of furniture in which M. de Chalusse would have been likely to 
 deposit his valuables or a will, had been searched, and nothing, absolutely 
 nothing, had been found. The magistrate had pursued his investigation 
 with the feverish energy which the most self-possessed of men are apt to 
 display under such circumstances, especially when influenced by the con- 
 viction that the object they are seeking is somewhere within their reach, 
 perhaps under their very hand. Indeed, he was persuaded he was sure 
 he would, in fact, have sworn that the Count de Chalusse had taken all 
 the precautions natural in childless men, who have no near relatives to 
 inherit their fortune, or who have placed their interest and affections 
 beyond their family circle. And when he was obliged to abandon his 
 search, his gesture indicated anger rather than discouragement; for ap- 
 parent evidence had not shaken his conviction in the least. So he stood 
 motionless, with his eyes riveted on his ring, as if waiting some miraculous 
 inspiration from it. " For the count's only fault, I am sure, was in being 
 too cautious," he muttered. " This is frequently the case, and it would be 
 quite in keeping with the character of this man, judging from what I know 
 of him." 
 
 Madame Leon lifted her hands to heaven. " Ah, yes ! such was, indeed, 
 his nature," she remarked, approvingly. "Never, no, never, have I seen 
 such a suspicious and distrustful person as he was. Not in reference to 
 money no, indeed for he left that lying about everywhere ; but about 
 his papers. He locked them up with the greatest care, as if he feared that 
 some terrible secret might evaporate from them. It was a mania with him. 
 If he had a letter to write, he barricaded his door, as if he were about to 
 commit some horrible crime. More than once have 1 seen him ' The 
 words died away on her lips, and she remained motionless and abashed, 
 like a person who has just escaped some great peril. One word more, and 
 involuntarily, without even knowing it, she would have confessed her be- 
 setting sin, which was listening at, and peering through, the keyholes of the 
 doors that were closed against her. Still, she deluded herself with the 
 belief that this slight indiscretion of her over-ready tongue had escaped the 
 magistrate's notice. 
 
 He certainly did not seem to be conscious of it, for he was giving his 
 attention entirely to Mademoiselle Marguerite, who seemed to have regained 
 the cold reserve and melancholy resignation habitual to her. " You see, 
 mademoiselle," he remarked, " that I have done all that is in my power to 
 do. We must now leave the search to chance, and to the person who takes 
 the inventory. Who knows what surprise may be in store for us in this 
 immense house, of which we have only explored three rooms ? " 
 
 She shook her head gently and replied: "I can never be sufficiently 
 grateful for your kindness, monsieur, and for the great service you rendered 
 me in crushing that infamous accusation. As regards the rest, I have never 
 expected anything I do not expect anything now." 
 
the count's millions. 83 
 
 She believed what she said, and her tone of voice proved this so unmis- 
 takably that the magistrate was surprised and somewhat disturbed. 
 " Come, come, my young lady," he said, with almost paternal kindness of 
 manner, " you ought not to despond. Still, you must have certain reasons 
 for speaking as you do ; and as I am free for an hour, we are going to have 
 a plain talk, as if we were father and daughter." 
 
 On hearing these words, the clerk rose with a cloud on his jovial face. 
 He impatiently jingled his bunch of keys ; for as the seals are successively 
 affixed, each key is confided to the clerk, to remain in his hands until the 
 seals are removed. 
 
 "I understand," said the magistrate. "Your stomach, which is more 
 exacting in its demands than mine, is not satisfied with a cup of chocolate 
 till dinner-time. So, go and get your lunch ; on your return, you will find 
 me here. You may now conclude the report, and request these parties to 
 sign it." 
 
 Urged on by hunger, the clerk hastily mumbled over the remainder of 
 the formula, called all the names that he had inserted in the report, and 
 each of the servants advanced in turn, signed his or her name, or made a 
 cross, and then retired. Madame Leon read in the judge's face that she 
 also was expected to withdraw ; and she was reluctantly leaving the room, 
 when Mademoiselle Marguerite detained her to ask : ' ' Are you quite sure 
 that nothing has come for me to-day ? " 
 
 "Nothing, mademoiselle ; I went in person to inquire of the concierge." 
 
 " Did you post my letter last night ? " 
 
 "Oh ! my dear young lady, can you doubt it ? " 
 
 The young girl stifled a sigh, and then, with a gesture of dismissal, she 
 remarked, " M. de Pondege must be sent for." 
 
 " The General ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I will send for him at once," replied the housekeeper ; and thereupon 
 she left the room, closing the door behind her with a vicious slam. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The justice of the peace and Mademoiselle Marguerite were at last alone 
 in M. de Chalusse s study. This room, which the count had preferred 
 above all others, was a spacious, magnificent, but rather gloomy apartment, 
 with lofty walls and dark, richly carved furniture. Its present aspect was 
 more than ever solemn and lugubrious, for it gave one a chill to see the 
 bands of white tape affixed to the locks of the cabinets and bookcases. When 
 the magistrate had installed himself in the count's arm-chair, and the girl 
 had taken a seat near him, they remained looking at each other in silence 
 for a few moments. The magistrate was asking himself how he should begin. 
 Having fathomed Mademoiselle Marguerite's extreme sensitiveness and 
 reserve, he said to himself that if he offended or alarmed her, she would 
 refuse him her confidence, in which case he would be powerless to serve her 
 as he wished to do. He had, in fact, an almost passionate desire to be of 
 service to her, feeling himself drawn towards her by an inexplicable feel- 
 ing of sympathy, in which esteem, respect, and admiration alike were 
 blended, though he had only known her for a few hours. Still, he must 
 make a beginning. "Mademoiselle," he said, at last, "I abstained from 
 questioning you before the servants and if I take the liberty of doing so 
 
84 THE count's millions. 
 
 now, it is not, believe me, out of any- idle curiosity ; moreover, you are not 
 compelled to answer me.... But you are young and I am an old man ; and 
 it is my duty even if my heart did not urge me to do so to offer you the 
 aid of my experience " 
 
 "Speak, monsieur," interrupted Marguerite. "I will answer your 
 questions frankly, or else not answer them at all." 
 
 "To resume, then," said he, "I am told that M. de Chalusse has no 
 relatives near or remote. Is this the truth ? " 
 
 " So far as I know yes, monsieur. Still, I have heard it said that a 
 sister of his, Mademoiselle Hermine de Chalusse, abandoned her home 
 twenty-five or thirty years ago, when she was about my age, and that she 
 has never received her share of the enormous fortune left by her parents." 
 
 " And has this sister never given any sign of life ? " 
 
 "Never! Still, monsieur, I have promised you to be perfectly frank. 
 That letter which the Count de Chalusse received yesterday, that letter 
 which I regard as the cause of his death well, I have a presentiment that 
 it came from his sister. It could only have been written by her or by 
 that other person whose letters and souvenirs you found in the escri- 
 toire." 
 
 "And this other person who can she be?" As the young girl made 
 no reply, the magistrate did not insist, but continued : " And you, my child, 
 who are you ? " 
 
 She made a gesture of sorrowful resignation, and then, in a voice falter- 
 ing with emotion, she answered : " I do not know, monsieur. Perhaps I 
 am the count's daughter. 1 should be telling an untruth if I said that was 
 not my belief. Yes, I believe it, but I have never been certain of it. Some- 
 times I have believed, sometimes I have doubted it. On certain days I 
 have said to myself, ' Yes, it must be so ! ' and I have longed to throw my 
 arms around his neck. But at other times I have exclaimed : ' No, it isn't 
 possible ! ' and I have almost hated him. Besides, he never said a word 
 on the subject never a decisive word, at least. When I saw him for the 
 first time, six years ago, I judged by the manner in which he forbade me 
 to call him ' father,' that he would never answer any question I might ask 
 on the subject." 
 
 If there was a man in the world inaccessible to idle curiosity, it was 
 certainly this magistrate, whose profession condemned him to listen every 
 day to family grievances, neighbourly quarrels, complaints, accusations, 
 and. slander. And yet as he listened to Mademoiselle Marguerite, he ex- 
 perienced that strange disquietude which siezes hold of a person when a 
 puzzling problem is presented. ' ' Allow me to believe that many decisive 
 proofs may have escaped your notice on account of your inexperience," 
 he said. 
 
 But interrupting him with a gesture, she sadly remarked: "You are 
 mistaken ; I am not inexperienced." 
 
 He could not help smiling at what he considered her self-conceit. "Poor 
 child ! " said he, " how old are you ? Eighteen ? " 
 
 She shook her head. ' ' Yes, by my certificate of birth I am only eighteen ; 
 but by the sufferings I have endured I am, perhaps, older than you are, 
 monsieur, despite your white hair. Those who have lived such a life as I 
 have, are never young ; they are old in suffering, even in their childhood. 
 And if by experience you mean lack of confidence, a knowledge of good and 
 evil, distrust of everything and everybody, mine, young girl though I be, 
 will no doubt equal yours." She paused, hesitated for a moment, and then 
 
the count's millions. 85 
 
 continued : " But why should I wait for you to question me 1 It is neither 
 sincere nor dignified on my part to do so. The person who claims counsel 
 owes absolute frankness to his adviser. I will speak to you as if I were 
 communing with my own soul. I will tell you what no person has ever 
 known no one, not even Pascal. And believe me, my past life was full 
 of bitter misery, although you find me here in this splendid house. But I 
 have nothing to conceal ; and if I have cause to blush, it is for others, not 
 for myself. " 
 
 Perhaps she was impelled by an irresistible desire to relieve her over- 
 burdened heart, after long years of self-restraint ; perhaps she no longer 
 felt sure of herself, and desired some other advice than the dictates of her 
 conscience, in presence of the calamity which had befallen her. At all 
 events, too much engrossed in her own thoughts to heed the magistrate's 
 surprise, or hear the words he faltered, she rose from her seat, and, with 
 her hands pressed tightly on her throbbing brow, she began to tell the 
 story of her life. 
 
 "My first recollections," she said, "are of a narrow, cheerless court- 
 yard, surrounded by grim and massive walls, so high that I could scarcely 
 see the top of them. At noontime in summer the sun visited one little 
 corner, where there was a stone bench ; but in winter it never showed itself 
 at all. There were five or six small scrubby trees, with moss-grown trunks 
 and feeble branches, which put forth a few yellow leaves at spring-time. 
 We were some thirty children who assembled in this courtyard children 
 from five to eight years old, all clad alike in brown dresses, with a little 
 blue handkerchief tied about our shoulders. We all wore blue caps on 
 week-days, and white ones on Sundays, with woollen stockings, thick shoes, 
 and a black ribbon, with a large metal cross dangling from our necks. 
 Among us moved the good sisters, silent and sad, with their hands crossed 
 in their large sleeves, their faces as white as their snowy caps, and their 
 j long strings of beads, set off with numerous copper medals, clanking when 
 they walked like prisoners' chains. As a rule, each face wore the same 
 expression of resignation, unvarying gentleness, and inexhaustible patience. 
 But there were some who wore it only as one wears a mask some whose 
 I eyes gleamed at times with passion, and who vented their cold, bitter anger 
 \ upon us defenceless children. However, there was one sister, still young 
 land very fair, whose manner was so gentle and so sad that even I, with my 
 mere infantile intelligence, felt that she must have some terrible sorrow. 
 During play-time she often took me on her knee and embraced me with 
 convulsive tenderness, murmuring : " Dear little one ! darling little one ! " 
 Sometimes her endearments were irksome to me, but I never allowed her to 
 see it, for fear of making her still more sad } and in my heart I was content 
 and proud to suffer for and with her. Poor sister ! I owe her the only 
 happy hours of my infancy. She was called Sister Caliiste. I do not know 
 what has become of her, but often, when my heart fails me, I think of her, 
 and even now I cannot mention her name without tears." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was indeed weeping big tears which she made 
 no attempt to conceal were coursing down her cheeks. It cost her a great 
 effort to continue : " You have already understood, monsieur, what I 
 myself did not know for several years. I was in a foundling asylum, and I 
 was a foundling myself. I cannot say that we lacked anything ; and I 
 fehould be ungrateful if I did not say and feel that these good sisters were 
 charity personified. But, alas ! their hearts had only a certain amount of 
 I tenderness to distribute between thirty poor little girls, and so each child's 
 
86 THE count's millions. 
 
 portion was small ; the caresses were the same for all, and I longed to be 
 loved differently, to have kind words and caresses for myself alone. Wo 
 slept in little white beds with snowy curtains, in a clean, well-ventilated 
 dormitory, in the centre of which stood a statue of the Virgin, who seemed 
 to smile on us all alike. In winter we had a fire. Our clothes were warm 
 and neat ; our food was excellent. We were taught to read and write, to 
 sew and embroider. There was a recreation hour between all the exercises. 
 Those who were studious and good were rewarded ; and twice a week we 
 were taken into the country for a long walk. It was during one of these 
 excursions that I learned from the talk of the passers-by, what we were, 
 and what we were called. Sometimes, in the afternoon, we were visited by 
 elegantly-attired ladies, who were accompanied by their own children, 
 radiant with health and happiness. The good sisters told us that these 
 were 'pious ladies,' or ' charitable ladies,' whom we must love and respect, 
 and whom we must never forget to mention in our prayers. They always 
 brought us toys and cakes. Sometimes the establishment was visited by 
 priests and grave old gentlemen, whose sternness of manner alarmed us. 
 They peered into every nook and corner, asked questions about everything, 
 assured themselves that everything was in its place, and some of them even 
 tasted our soup. They were always satisfied ; and the lady superior led 
 them through the building, and bowed to them, exclaiming : ' We love them 
 so much, the poor little dears ! ' And the gentlemen replied : ' Yes, yes, 
 my dear sister, they are very fortunate.' And the gentlemen were right. 
 Poor labourers' children are often obliged to endure privations which we 
 knew nothing of. They are often obliged to make their supper off a piece 
 of dry bread but, then, the crust is given them by their mother, with 
 a kiss." 
 
 The magistrate, who was extremely ill at ease, had not yet succeeded i: 
 finding a syllable to offer in reply. Indeed, Mademoiselle Marguerite ha< 
 not given him an opportunity to speak, so rapidly had this long repressed 
 flood of recollections poured from her lips. When she spoke the word 
 " mother," the magistrate fancied she would show some sign of emotion. 
 
 But he was mistaken. On the contrary, her voice became harsher, and a 
 flash of anger, as it were, darted from her eyes. 
 
 " I suffered exceedingly in that asylum," she resumed. " Sister Calliste 
 left the establishment, and all the surroundings chilled and repelled me. 
 My only few hours of happiness were on Sundays, when we attended 
 church. As the great organ pealed, and as I watched the priests officiating 
 at the altar in their gorgeous vestments, I forgot my own sorrows. It 
 seemed to me that I was ascending on the clouds of incense to the celestial 
 sphere which the sisters so often talked to us about, and where they said 
 each little girl would find her mother." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite hesitated for an instant, as if she were some- 
 what unwilling to give utterance to her thoughts ; but at last, forcing 
 herself to continue, she said : " Yes, I suffered exceedingly in that found- 
 ling asylum. Almost all my little companions were spiteful, unattractive 
 in person, sallow, thin, and afflicted with all kinds of diseases, as if they 
 were not unfortunate enough in being abandoned by their parents. And 
 to my shame, monsieur, 1 must confess it these unfortunate little beings 
 inspired me with unconquerable repugnance, with disgust bordering on 
 aversion. I would rather have pressed my lips to a red-hot iron than to 
 the forehead of one of these children. I did not reason on the subject, 
 alas ! I was only eight or nine years old ; but I felt this antipathy in every 
 
 Q 
 
 ; 
 
THE count's millions. 87 
 
 fibre of my being. The others knew it too ; and, in revenge, they ironi- 
 cally styled me ' the lady, ' and left me severely alone. But sometimes, 
 during playtime, when the good sisters' backs were turned, the children 
 attacked me, beat me, and scratched my face and tore my clothes. I 
 endured these onslaughts uncomplainingly, for I was conscious that I 
 deserved them. But how many reprimands my torn clothes cost me! 
 How many times I received only a dry crust for my supper, after being 
 soundly scolded and called 'little careless.' But as I was quiet, studious, 
 and industrious, a quicker learner than the majority of my companions, the 
 sisters were fond of me. They said that I was a promising girl, and that 
 they would have no difficulty in finding me a nice home with some of the 
 rich and pious ladies who have a share in managing institutions of this kind. 
 The only fault the sisters found with me was that I was sullen. But such 
 was not really the case ; I was only sad and resigned. Everything around 
 me so depressed and saddened me that I withdrew into myself, and buried 
 all my thoughts and aspirations deep in my heart. If I had naturally been 
 a bad child, I scarcely know what would have been the result of this. I 
 have often asked myself the question in all sincerity, but I have been 
 unable to reply, for one cannot be an impartial judge respecting oneself. 
 However, this much is certain, although childhood generally leaves a train 
 of pleasant recollections in a young girl's life, mine was only fraught with 
 torture and misery, desperate struggles, and humiliation. I was unwilling 
 to be confirmed because I did not wish to wear a certain dress which a 
 ' benevolent lady ' had presented for the use of the asylum, and which had 
 belonged to a little girl of my own age who had died of consumption. The 
 thought of arraying myself in this dress to approach the holy table fright- 
 ened and revolted me as much as if I had been sentenced to drape myself 
 in a winding-sheet. And yet it was the prettiest dress of all white 
 muslin beautifully embroidered. It had been ardently coveted by the 
 other children, and had been given to me as a sort of reward of merit. 
 And I dared not explain the cause of my unconquerable repugnance. Who 
 would have understood me ? I should only have been accused of undue 
 sensitiveness and pride, absurd in one of my humble position. I was then 
 only twelve years old ; but 119 one knew the struggle in my mind save the 
 old priest, my confessor. I could confess everything to him ; he under- 
 stood me, and did not reproach me. Still he answered : ' You must wear 
 this dress, my child, for your pride must be broken. Go I shall impose 
 no other penance on you.' I obeyed him, full of superstitious terror ; for 
 it seemed to me that this was a frightful omen which would bring me 
 misfortune, my whole life through. And I was confirmed in the dead 
 girl's embroidered dress." 
 
 During the five-and-twenty years that he had held the position of justice 
 of the peace, the magistrate had listened to many confessions, wrung from 
 wretched souls by stern necessity, or sorrow, but never had his heart been 
 moved as it now was, by this narrative, told with such uncomplaining 
 -anguish, and in a tone of such sincerity. However she resumed her story. 
 " The confirmation over, our life became as gloomily monotonous as before ; 
 we read the same pious books and did the same work at the same hours as 
 formerly. It seemed to me that I was stifling in this atmosphere. I gasped 
 for breath, and thought that anything would be preferable to this semblance 
 of existence, which was not real life. I was thinking of applying for the 
 'good situation,' which had so often been mentioned to me, when one 
 I morning I was summoned into the steward's office a mysterious and fright- 
 
88 the count's MILLIONS.' 
 
 ful place to us children. He himself was a stout dirty man, wearing large 
 blue spectacles and a black silk skull-cap ; and from morning until night, 
 summer and winter, he sat writing at a desk behind a little grating, hung 
 with green curtains. Round the room were ranged the registers, in which 
 our names were recorded and our appearances described, together with the 
 boxes containing the articles found upon us, which were carefully preserved 
 to assist in identifying us should occasion arise. I entered this office with 
 a throbbing heart. In addition to the stout gentleman and the Lady 
 Superior, I found there a thin, wiry man, with cunning eyes, and a portly 
 woman, with a coarse but rather good-natured face. The superior at once 
 informed me that I was in the presence of M. and Madame Greloux, book- 
 binders, who had come to the asylum in search of two apprentices, and che 
 asked me if I should like to be one of them. Ah ! monsieur, it seemed to 
 me that heaven had opened before me and I boldly replied : * Yes. ' The 
 gentleman in the black silk skull-cap immediately emerged from his place 
 behind the grating to explain my obligations and duties to me at length, 
 especially insisting upon the point, that I ought to be grateful I, a miser- 
 able foundling, reared by public charity for the generosity which this 
 good gentleman and lady showed in offering to take charge of me and em- 
 ploy me in their work-shop. I must confess that I could not clearly realise 
 in what this great generosity which he so highly praised consisted, nor did 
 I perceive any reason why I should be particularly grateful. Still, to all 
 the conditions imposed upon me, I answered, ' Yes, yes, yes ! ' so heartily 
 that Madame Greloux seemed greatly pleased. 'It is evident that the 
 child will be glad to get away, ' she said to herself. Then the superior be- 
 gan to enumerate the obligations my employers would incur, repeating 
 again and again that I was one of the very best girls in the asylum pious, 
 obedient, and industrious, reading and writing to perfection, and knowing 
 how to sew and embroider as only those who are taught in such institutions 
 can. She made Madame Greloux promise to watch over me as she would 
 have watched over her own daughter ; never to leave me alone ; to take 
 me to church, and allow me an occasional Sunday afternoon, so that I might 
 pay a visit to the asylum. The gentleman with the spectacles and the 
 skull-cap then reminded the book-binder of the duties of an employer to- 
 wards his apprentices, and turning to a bookcase behind him, he even took 
 down a large volume from which he read extract after extract, which I 
 listened to without understanding a word, though I was quite sure that the 
 book was written in French. At last, when the man and his wife had said 
 ' Amen ' to everything, the gentleman with the spectacles drew up a docu- 
 ment which we all signed in turn. I belonged to a master ? " 
 
 She paused. Here her childhood ended. But almost immediately she re- 
 sumed : " My recollections of these people are not altogether unpleasant. 
 They were harassed and wearied by their efforts to support their son in a 
 style of living far above their position ; but, despite their sacrifices, 
 their son had no affection for them, and on this account I pitied them. 
 However, not only was the husband gloomy and quiek-tempered, but his 
 wife also was subject to fits of passion, so that the apprentices often had a 
 hard time of it. Still, between Madame Greloux's tempests of wrath there 
 were occasional gleams of sunshine. After beating us for nothing, she 
 would exclaim, with quite as little reason, ' Come and kiss me, and don't 
 pout any more. Here are four sous ; go and buy yourself some cakes.' " 
 
 The justice started in his arm-chair. Was it, indeed, Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite who was speaking, the proud young girl with a queen-like bear- 
 
the count's millions. 89 
 
 ing, whose voice rang out like crystal ? Was it she indeed, who imitated 
 the harsh, coarse dialect of the lower classes with such accuracy of intona- 
 tion. Ah 1 at that moment, as her past life rose so vividly before her, it 
 seemed to her as if she were still in the years gone by, and she fancied she 
 could still hear the voice of the book-binder's wife. 
 
 She did not even notice the magistrate's astonishment. "I had left the 
 asylum," she continued, ' and that was everything to me. I felt that a new 
 and different life was beginning, and that was enough. I flattered myself 
 that I might win a more earnest and sincere affection among these honest, 
 industrious toilers, than I had found in the asylum ; and to win it and 
 deserve it, I neglected nothing that good-will could suggest, or strength 
 allow. My patrons no doubt fathomed my desire, and naturally enough, 
 perhaps unconsciously, they took advantage of my wish to please. I can 
 scarcely blame them. I had entered their home under certain conditions 
 in view of learning a profession ; they gradually made me their servant it 
 was praiseworthy economy on their part. What I had at first done of my 
 own free-will and from a wish to please, at last became my daily task, which 
 I was rigidly required to fulfil. Compelled to rise long before any one else 
 in the house, I was expected to have everything in order by the time the 
 others made their appearance with their eyes still heavy with sleep. It is 
 true that my benefactors rewarded me after their fashion. On Sundays 
 they took me with them on their excursions into the country, so as to give 
 me a rest, they said, after the week's work. And I followed them along 
 the dusty highways in the hot sunshine, panting, perspiring, and tottering 
 under the weight of a heavy basket of provisions, which were eaten on the 
 grass or in the woods, and the remnants of which fell to me. Madame 
 G-reloux's brother generally accompanied us ; and his name would have 
 lingered in my memory, even if it had not been a peculiar one. He was 
 called Vantrasson. He was a tall robust man, with eyes that made me 
 tremble whenever he fixed them upon me. He was a soldier ; intensely 
 proud of his uniform ; a great talker, and enchanted with himself. He 
 evidently thought himself irresistible. It was from that man's mouth that I 
 heard the first coarse word at which my unsophisticated heart took offence. 
 It was not to be the last one. He finally told me that he had taken a fancy 
 to me, and I was obliged to complain to Madame Greloux of her brother's 
 persecutions. But she only laughed at me, and said : ' Nonsense ! He's 
 merely talking to hear himself talk.' Yes, that was her answer. And yet 
 she was an honest woman, a devoted wife, and a fond mother. Ah ! if she 
 had had a daughter. But with a poor apprentice, who has neither father 
 nor mother, one need not be over fastidious. She had made a great many 
 promises to the lady superior, but she fancied that the utterance of a few 
 commonplace words of warning relieved her of all further obligations. 
 I And so much the worse for those who allow themselves to be fooled, ' she 
 always added in conclusion. 
 
 " Fortunately, my pride, which I had so often been reproached with, 
 shielded me. My condition might be humble, but my spirit was lofty. 
 It was a blessing from God, this pride of mine, for it saved me from tempta- 
 tion, while so many fell around me. I slept, with the other apprentices, 
 in the attic, where we were entirely beyond the control of those who 
 should have been our guardians. That is to say, when the day's toil was 
 over, and the workshop closed, we were free abandoned to our own 
 instincts, and the most pernicious influences. And neither evil advice nor 
 bad example was wanting. The women employed in the bindery in nowise 
 
90 TTTTC COUNT'S MTLTJCWS. 
 
 restrained themselves in our presence, and we heard them tell marvellous 
 stories that dazzled many a poor girl. They did not talk as they did from 
 any evil design, or out of a spirit of calculation, but from pure thoughtless- 
 ness, and because they were quite devoid of moral sense. And they never 
 tired of telling us of the pleasures of life, of fine dinners at restaurants, gay 
 excursions to Joinville-le-Pont, and masked balls at Montparnasse or the 
 Elysee Montmartre. Ah ! expcrie \ce is quickly gained in these workshops. 
 Sometimes those who went off at light with ragged dresses and worn-out 
 shoes, returned the next morning iu superb toilettes to say that they resigned 
 their situations, as they were not made for work, and intended to live like 
 ladies. They departed radiant, but often before a month was over they 
 came back, emaciated, hollow-eyed, and despairing, and humbly begged 
 for a little work." 
 
 She paused, so crushed by the weight of these sad memories as to lose 
 consciousness of the present. And the judge also remained silent, not 
 daring , to question her. And, besides, what good would it do? What 
 could she tell him about these poor little apprentices that he did not know 
 already ? If he was surprised at anything, it was that this beautiful young 
 girl, who had been left alone and defenceless, had possessed sufficient 
 strength of character to escape the horrible dangers that threatened her. 
 
 However, it was not long before Mademoiselle Marguerite shook off the 
 torpor which had stolen over her. " I ought not to boast of my strength, 
 gir," she resumed. "Besides my pride, I had a hope to sustain me a 
 hope which I clung to with the tenacity of despair. I wished to become 
 expert at my profession, for I had learned that skilled workers were 
 always in demand, and could always command good wages. So when my 
 household duties were over, I still found time to learn the business, and 
 made such rapid progress that I astonished even my employer. I knew 
 that I should soon be able to make five or six francs a day ; and this pros- 
 pect was pleasant enough to make me forget the present, well-nigh intoler- 
 able as it sometimes was. During the last winter that I spent with my 
 employers, their orders were so numerous and pressing that they worked on 
 Sundays as well as on week days, and it was with difficulty that I obtained 
 an hour twice a month to pay a visit to the good sisters who had cared for 
 me in my childhood. I had never failed in this duty, and indeed it had 
 now become my only pleasure. My employer's conscience compelled him 
 to pay me a trifle occasionally for the additional toil he imposed upon me, 
 and the few francs I thus received, I carried to the poor children at the 
 asylum. After living all my life on public charity, I was able to give in 
 my turn ; and this thought gratified my pride, and increased my import- 
 ance in my own eyes. I was nearly fifteen, and my term of apprenticeship 
 had almost expired, when one bright day in March, I saw one of the lay 
 sisters of the asylum enter the workroom. She was in a flutter of excite- 
 ment ; her face was crimson, and she was so breathless from her hurried 
 ascent of the stairs that she gasped rather than said to me : ' Quick ! 
 come follow me ! Some one is waiting for you ! ' ' Who ! where ? ' 
 ' Make haste ! Ah ! my dear child, if you only knew ' I hesitated ; but 
 Madame Greloux pushed me towards the door exclaiming : * Be off, you 
 little stupid ! ' I followed the sister without thinking of changing my 
 dress without even removing the kitchen apron I wore. Downstairs, at 
 the front door, stood the most magnificent carriage I had ever seen in my 
 life. Its rich silk cushions were so beautiful that I scarcely dared to enter 
 it ; and I was all the more intimidated by a footman in gorgeous livery, 
 

 TUB COUNT'S MILLIONS. 91 
 
 who respectfully opened the door at our approach. ' You must get into 
 the carriage,' said the sister; 'it was sent for you.' I obeyed her, and 
 before I had recovered from my astonishment we had reached the asylum, 
 and I was ushered into the office where the contract which bound me as 
 an apprentice had been signed. As soon as I entered, the superior took me 
 by the hand and led me towards a gentleman who was sitting near the 
 window. ' Marguerite,' said she, 'salute Monsieur le Comte de Chalusse.' " 
 
 IX. 
 
 For some little time there had been a nois of footsteps and a subdued 
 murmur of voices in tb3 vestibule. Annoyed by this interruption, although 
 he perfectly understood its cause, the magistrate rose and hastily opened 
 'the door. He was not mistaken. His clerk had returned from lunch, and 
 the time of waiting seemed extremely long to him. "Ah ! it's you," said 
 the magistrate. "Very well! begin your inventory. It won't be long 
 before I join you." And closing the door he resumed his seat again. 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was so absorbed in her narrative that she scarcely 
 noticed this incident, and he had not seated himself before she resumed. 
 I In all my life, I had never seen such an imposing looking person as the 
 Count de Chalusse. His manner, attire, and features could not fail to 
 inspire a child like me with fear and respect. I was so awed that I 
 had sc&kCely enough presence of mind to bow to him. He glanced at 
 me coldly, and exclaimed : ' Ah ! is this the young girl you were speak- 
 ing of ? ' The count's tone betrayed such disagreeable surprise that the 
 superior was dismayed. She looked at me, and seemed indignant at my 
 more than modest attire. ' It's a shame to allow a child to leave home 
 dressed in this fashion,' she angrily exclaimed. And she almost tore my 
 huge apron off me, and then with her own hands began to arrange my 
 hair as if to display me to better advantage. ' Ah ! these employers, ' she 
 exclaimed, 'the best of them are bad. How they do deceive you. It's 
 impossible to place any confidence in their promises. Still, one can't always 
 be at their heels. ' 
 
 " But the superior's efforts were wasted, for M. de Chalusse had turned 
 away and had begun talking with some gentlemen near by. For the office 
 was full that morning. Five or six gentlemen, whom I recognised as the 
 directors of the asylum, were standing round the steward in the black 
 skull cap. They were evidently talking about me. I was certain of this 
 by the glances they gave me, glances which, however, were full of kind- 
 ness. The superior joined the group and began speaking with unusual 
 vivacity, while standing in the recess of a window, I listened with all 
 my might. But I must have over-estimated my intelligence, for I could 
 gain no meaning whatever from the phrases which followed each other 
 in rapid succession ; though the words 'adoption,' 'emancipation,' 
 'dowry,' 'compensation,' 'reimbursement for sums expended,' recurred 
 .Again and again. I was only certain of one point: the Count de 
 Chalusse wished something, and these gentlemen were specifying other 
 things in exchange. To each of their demands he answered : 
 .'Yes, yes it's granted. That's understood.' But at last he began to grow 
 impatient, and in a voice which impressed one with the idea that he was 
 accustomed to command, he exclaimed, ' I will do whatever you wish. Do 
 you desire anything more? ' The gentlemen at once became silent, and the 
 
92 the count's millions. 
 
 superior hastily declared that M. de Chalusse was a thousand times too 
 good, but that one could expect no less of him, the last representative of 
 one of the greatest and oldest families of France. 
 
 4 * I cannot describe the surprise and indignation that were raging in my 
 soul. I divined I felt that it was my fate, my future, my life that were 
 being decided, and I was not even consulted on the matter. They were 
 disposing of me as if they were sure in advance of my consent. My pride 
 revolted at the thought, but I could not find a word to say in protest. 
 Crimson with shame, confused and furious, I was wondering how I could 
 interfere, when suddenly the consultation ceased and the gentlemen at once 
 surrounded me. One of them, a little old man with a vapid smile and 
 twinkling eyes, tapped me on the cheek, and said : ' So she is as good as 
 she is pretty ! ' I could have struck him ; but all the others laughed ap- 
 provingly, with the exception of M. de Chalusse, whose manner became 
 more and more frigid, and whose lips wore a constrained smile, as if he 
 had resolved to keep his temper despite all provocation. It seemed to me 
 that he was suffering terribly, and I afterwards learned that I had not been 
 mistaken. Far from imitating the old gentleman's familiar manner, he 
 bowed to me very gravely, with an air of deference that quite abashed me, 
 and went away after saying that he would return the next daj 7 to conclude 
 the arrangements. 
 
 *'I was at last left alone with the superior, whom I longed to question, 
 but she gave me no time to do so, for with extreme volubility she began to 
 tell me of my surprising good fortune, which was an unanswerable and 
 conclusive proof of the kindness and protection of Providence. ' The count,' 
 she said, ' was to become my guardian. He would certainly give me a 
 dowry ; and by-and-by, if I were grateful to him for his goodness, he would 
 adopt me, a poor fatherless and motherless girl, and I should bear the 
 great name of Durtal de Chalusse, and inherit an immense fortune.' In 
 conclusion, she said that there was no limit to the count's generosity, that 
 he had consented to reimburse the asylum the money that had been spent 
 on me, that he had offered to dower, I do not know how many poor girls, 
 and that he had promised to build a chapel for the use of the establishment. 
 This was all true, incredible as it might seem. That very morning, M. de 
 Chalusse had called at the asylum, declared that he was old and childless, 
 a bachelor without any near relatives, and that he wished to adopt a poor 
 orphan. They had given him a list of all the children in the institution, 
 and he had chosen me. ' A mere chance, my dear Marguerite, ' repeated the 
 superior. ' A mere chance or rather a true miracle.' It did, indeed, seem 
 a miracle, but I was more surprised than elated. I longed to be alone, so 
 as to deliberate and reflect, for I knew that I was free to accept or decline 
 this dazzling offer. 
 
 "I timidly asked permission to return to my employers to inform them 
 of what had happened and consult with them ; but my request was refused. 
 The superior told me that I must deliberate and decide alone ; and that 
 when once my decision was taken, there could be no change. So I remained 
 at the asylum, and dined at the superior's table ; and during the night I 
 occupied the room of a sister who was absent. What surprised me most 
 of all was the deference with which I was treated. The sisters all seemed 
 to consider me a person of great importance. And yet I hesitated. 
 
 ' ' My indecision may seem absurd and hypocritical ; but it was really 
 sincere. My present situation was certainly by no means an enviable one. 
 But the worst was over ; my term as an apprentice had nearly expired, and 
 
THE count's millions. 93 
 
 my future seemed assured. My future ! What could it be with the Count 
 de Chalusse ? It was painted in such brilliant colours that it frightened 
 me. Why had the count chosen me in preference to any of the other girls ? 
 Was it really chance which had decided him in his choice ? On reflecting, 
 the miracle seemed to me to have been prepared in advance, and I fancied 
 that it must conceal some mystery. More than this, the thought of yield- 
 ing myself up to a stranger terrified me. Forty-eight hours had been 
 granted me to consider my decision, and till the very last instant I 
 remained in doubt. Who knows ? Perhaps it would have been better for 
 me if I had returned to my humble life. At all events, I should have been 
 spared a great deal of sorrow and humiliation. But I lacked the courage ; 
 and when the time expired, I consented to the new arrangement. 
 
 " Should I live a thousand years I shall never forget the day I left the 
 foundling asylum to become the Count de Chalusse's ward. It was a 
 Saturday, and I had given my answer to the superior on the evening 
 before. The next morning I received a visit from my former employers, 
 who, having been informed of the great change in my prospects, had come 
 to bid me good-bye. The cancelling of my apprenticeship had at first 
 caused some trouble, but eventually the count's gold silenced their objec- 
 tions. Still, they were sorry to part with me, as I plainly saw. * Their 
 eyes were moist with tears. They were sorry to lose the poor little 
 servant who had served them so faithfully. At the same time, however, I 
 noticed evident constraint in their manner. They no longer said ' thee ' 
 and ' thou ' to me ; they no longer spoke roughly ; but they said * you,' 
 and addressed me as 'mademoiselle.' Poor people! they awkwardly 
 apologized for having ventured to accept my services, declaring in the same 
 breath that they should never be able to replace me at the same price. 
 Madame G-reloux, moreover, declared that she should never forgive herself 
 for not having shai-ply reproved her brother for his abominable conduct. 
 He was a good-for-nothing fellow, she said, as was proved by the fact that 
 he had dared to raise his eyes to me. For the first time in my life, I felt 
 that I was sincerely loved ; and I was so deeply touched that if my decision 
 had not been written and signed, I should certainly have returned to live 
 with these worthy people. But it was too late. A sister came to tell me 
 that the superior wished to see me. I bade Father and Mother Greloux 
 farewell and went down-stairs. 
 
 "In the superior's room, a lady and two shop-girls, laden with boxes 
 and parcels, were waiting for me. It was a dressmaker who had come 
 with some clothes suited to my new station in life. I was told that she had 
 been sent by the Count de Chalusse. This great nobleman thought of every- 
 thing ; and, although he had thirty servants to do his bidding, he never dis- 
 dained to occupy himself with the pettiest details. So, for the first time, I 
 was arrayed in rustling silk and clinging cashmere. My toilette was no 
 trifling affair. All the good sisters clustered round me, and tried to beautify 
 me with the same care and patience as they would have displayed in adorn- 
 ing the Virgin's statue for a f6te-day. A secret instinct warned me that 
 they were over-doing the matter, and that they were making me look 
 ridiculous ; but I did not mind. I allowed them to please themselves. I 
 could still feel Madame Greloux's tears on my hand, and the scene seemed 
 to me as lugubrious as the last toilette of a prisoner under sentence of 
 death. When they had completed their task, I heard a buzz of admiration 
 round me. If the sisters were worthy of belief, they had never seen such 
 a wonderful transformation. Those who were in the class-rooms or the 
 
94 the count's millions. 
 
 sewing-room, were summoned to view and admire me, and some of the 
 elder children were also admitted. Perhaps I was intended as an example 
 for the latter, for I heard the lady superior say to them, 'You see, my 
 dear children, the result of good behaviour. Be diligent and dutiful, like 
 our dear Marguerite, and God will reward you as He has rewarded her.' 
 And, meantime, miserable in my finery, I waited waited for M. de Chalusse, 
 who was coming to take me away. 
 
 " At the appointed hour he appeared, with the same air of haughty re- 
 serve, that had so awed me on the occasion of our first meeting. He 
 scarcely deigned to look at me, and although I watched him with poignant 
 anxiety, I could read neither blame nor approval on his face. ' You see 
 that your wishes have been scrupulously obeyed, Monsieur le Comte,' said 
 the superior. ' I thank you,' he replied ;' and I shall prove the extent of 
 my gratitude to the poor children under your charge.' Then, turning to 
 me : ' Marguerite,' he said, ' take leave of your mothers, and tell them 
 that you will never forget their kindness.' " 
 
 The girl paused, for her emotion had rendered her words almost unin- 
 telligible. But, with an effort, she speedily conquered her weakness. 
 
 "It was only then," she continued, "that I realised how much I loved 
 these poor nuns, whom I had sometimes almost cursed. I felt now how 
 close the ties were, that bound me to this hospitable roof, and to these un- 
 fortunate children, my companions in misery and loneliness. It seemed to 
 me as if my heart were breaking ; and the superior, who was generally so 
 impassible, appeared scarcely less moved than myself. At last, M. de 
 Chalusse took me by the hand and led me away. In the street there was a 
 carriage waiting for us, not such a beautiful one as that which had been 
 sent to fetch me from my workshop, but a much larger one, with trunks and 
 boxes piled on its roof. It was drawn by four grey horses. I felt more 
 dead than alive, as I entered the carriage and took the seat which the count 
 pointed out. He sat down opposite to me. All the sisters had assembled 
 at the door of the asylum, and even the superior wept without making any 
 attempt to hide her tears. ' Farewell ! ' they all cried ; ' farewell, farewell, 
 dear child ! Don't forget your old friends. We shall pray for your happi- 
 ness.' Alas 1 God could not have heard their prayers. At a sign from M. 
 de Chalusse, a footman closed the door, the postilions cracked their whips, 
 and the heavy vehicle rolled away. 
 
 "The die was cast. Henceforth, an impassable gulf was to separate me 
 from this asylum, whither I had been carried in my infancy half dead, and 
 wrapped in swaddling clothes, from which every mark that could possibly 
 lead to identification had been carefully cut away. Whatever my future 
 might prove, I felt that my past was gone forever. But I was too greatly 
 agitated even to think ; and crouching in a corner of the carriage, I watched 
 M. de Chalusse with the poignant anxiety a slave displays as he studies his 
 new master. Ah ! monsieur, what a wondrous change ! A mask seemed 
 to have fallen from the count's face ; his lips quivered, a tender light 
 beamed in his eyes, and he drew me to him, exclaiming : 'Oh, Marguerite ! 
 my beloved Marguerite ! At last at last He sobbed this old man, 
 whom I had thought as cold and as insensible as marble ; he crushed me in 
 his close embrace, he almost smothered me with kisses. And I was fright- 
 fully agitated by the strange, indefinable feeling, kindled in my heart; 
 but I no longer trembled with fear. An inward voice whispered that this was 
 but the renewal of a former tie one which had somehow been mysteriously 
 broken. However, as I remembered the superior's assertion that it was a 
 
THE count's millions. 95 
 
 miracle in my favour a wonderful interposition of Providence, I had courage 
 enough to ask: 'So it was not chance that guided you in your choice? ' 
 
 "My question seemed to take him by surprise. 'Poor Marguerite!' 
 he murmured, ' dearly beloved child I for years I have been labouring to 
 bring about this chance ! ' Instantly all the romantic stories I had heard in 
 the asylum recurred to my mind. And Heaven knows there are plenty of 
 these stories transmitted by the sisters from generation to generation, till they 
 have become a sort of Golden Legend for poor foundlings. That sad formula, 
 'Father and mother unknown,' which figures on certificates of birth, acts 
 as a dangerous stimulant for unhealthy imaginations, and leaves an open 
 door for the most extravagant hopes. And thus influenced, I fixed my eyes 
 on the face of the Count de Chalusse, striving to discover some resemblance 
 in his features to my own. But he did not seem to notice my intent gaze, and 
 following his train of thought, he muttered : ' Chance ! It was necessary that 
 they should think so, and they did think so. And yet the cleverest detec- 
 tives in Paris, from old Tabaret to Fortunat, both masters in the art of fol- 
 lowing up a clue, had exhausted their resources in helping me in my de- 
 spairing search.' The agony of suspense I was enduring had become in- 
 tolerable ; and unable to restrain myself longer, I exclaimed, with a wildly 
 throbbing heart : * Then, you are my father, Monsieur le Comte ? ' He 
 pressed his hand to my lips with such violence that he hurt me, and then, 
 in a voice quivering with excitement, he replied : ' Imprudent girl ! What 
 can you mean ? Forget that unfortunate idea. Never utter the name of 
 father you hear me never ! I forbid it ! ' He had become extremely 
 pale, and he looked anxiously around him, as if he feared that some one had 
 overheard me as if he had forgotten that we were alone in a carriage which 
 was dashing onward at full speed 1 
 
 " I was stupefied and alarmed by the sudden terror which M. de Chalusse 
 had displayed and could not control. What could it all mean? What 
 Borrowful recollections, what mysterious apprehensions, had my words 
 aroused in the count's mind ? I could not understand or imagine why he 
 should regard my question as strange or unnatural. On the contrary, I 
 thought it perfectly natural, dictated as it had been by circumstances, and 
 by the count's own words and manner. And, in spite of my confusion and 
 agitation, the inexplicable voice which we call presentiment whispered in 
 my heart : ' He has forbidden you to call him father, but he has not said 
 that he is not your father.' However, I had not time to reflect or to 
 question M. de Chalusse any more, though at that moment I should have 
 had the courage to do so ; afterwards I did not dare. 
 
 " Our carnage had drawn up outside the railway station, and the next in- 
 stant we alighted. Then, for the first time, I learned the magical power of 
 money, I, a poor girl reared by public charity and who for three years 
 had worked for my daily bread. M. de Chalusse found the servants, who 
 were to accompany us, awaiting him. They had thought of everything, 
 and made every possible arrangement for our comfort. I had scarcely time 
 to glance round me before we were on the platform in front of a train, 
 which was ready to start. I perceived the very carriage that had brought 
 us to the station already fastened on a low open truck, and I was advancing 
 to climb into it, when M. de Chalusse stopped me. 'Not there,' said he, 
 ' come with me.' I followed him, and he led me to a magnificent saloon 
 carriage, much higher and roomier than the others, and emblazoned with 
 the Chalusse coat-of-arms. ' This is our carriage, dear Marguerite,' he 
 said. I got in. The whistle sounded ; and the train started off." 
 
96 the count's millions. 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was growing very tired. Big drops of perspira- 
 tion stood out on her forehead, she panted for breath, and her voice began 
 to fail her. 
 
 The magistrate was almost frightened. "Pray rest a little, made- 
 moiselle," he entreated, " there is no hurry." 
 
 But she shook her head and replied : " It is better to go on. I should 
 never have courage to begin again if I paused." And thereupon she con- 
 tinued : " I had never gone farther than Versailles. This journey was at 
 first as delightful as a glimpse into fairy-land. Our carnage was one of 
 those costly whims which some millionaires indulge in. It consisted of a 
 central saloon a perfect chef-cPceuvre of taste and luxury with two com- 
 partments at either end, furnished with comfortable sleeping accommoda- 
 tion. And all this, the count seemed never weary of repeating, was mine 
 mine alone. Leaning back on the velvet cushions, I gazed at the 
 changing landscape, as the train rushed madly on. Leaning over me, M. 
 de Chalusse named all the towns and villages we passed : Brunoy, Melnn, 
 Fontainebleau, Villeneuve, Sens, Laroche, And each time the train 
 stopped the servants came to ask if we wished for anything. When we 
 reached Lyons, in the middle of the night, we found a delicious supper 
 awaiting us. It was served as soon as we alighted, and in due time we 
 were warned that the train was ready to start, and then we resumed our 
 journey. You can imagine, perhaps, how marvellous all this seemed to a 
 poor little apprentice, whose only ambition a week before was to earn 
 five francs a day. What a change indeed ! At last the count made me 
 retire to one of the compartments, where I soon fell asleep, abandoning my 
 efforts to distinguish what was dream-like in my situation from reality. How- 
 ever, when I woke up I became terribly anxious. I asked myself what was 
 awaiting me at the end of this long journey. M. de Chalusse's manner 
 continued kind, and even affectionate ; but he had regained his accustomed 
 reserve and self-control, and I realised that it would be useless on my part 
 to question him. At last, after a thirty hours' journey by rail, we 
 again entered the count's berline, drawn by post-horses, and eventually 
 M. de Chalusse said to me : ' Here is Cannes we are at our journey's 
 end.' 
 
 " In this town, which is one of the most charming that overlook the blue 
 waters of the Mediterranean, the count owned a palace embowered among 
 lovely orange-trees, only a few steps from the sea, and in full view of the 
 myrtle and laurel groves which deck the isles of Sainte Marguerite. He 
 told me that he proposed spending a few months here in seclusion, so as to 
 give me time to accustom myself to my new position and the luxury that 
 surrounded me. I was, indeed, extremely awkward, and my excessive 
 timidity was increased by my pride. I did not know what to say, or what 
 to do. I did not know how to use my hands, nor how to walk, nor how to 
 carry myself. Everything embarrassed and frightened me ; and I was 
 conscious of my awkwardness, without being able to remedy it. I saw 
 my blunders, and knew that 1 spoke a different language to that which was 
 spoken around me. And yet the memory of Cannes will ever be dear to 
 me. For there I first met the only friend I have now left in this world. 
 I did not exchange a word with him, but by the quickened throbbings of 
 my heart, when our eyes met, I felt that he would exert a powerful influ- 
 ence over my life, and events have since proved that I was not deceived. 
 At that time, however, he was a stranger to me ; and nothing on earth 
 would have induced me to make inquiries concerning him. It w s only by 
 
the count's millions. 97 
 
 chance I learned that he lived in Paris, that his name was Pascal, and 
 that he had come south as a companion to a sick friend. 
 
 * ' By a single word the count could have ensured the happiness of my 
 life and his own, but he did not speak it. He was the kindest and most 
 indulgent of guardians, and I was often affected to tears by his tenderness. 
 But, although my slightest wish was law, he did not grant me his confi- 
 dence. The secret the mystery that stood between us was like a wall 
 of ice. Still, I was gradually becoming accustomed to my new life, and 
 my mind was regaining its equilibrium, when one evening the count re- 
 turned home more agitated and excited, if possible, than on the day of my 
 departure from the asylum. He summoned his valet, and, in a tone that 
 admitted no reply, he exclaimed, * 1 wish to leave Cannes at once I must 
 start in less than an hour so procure some post-horses instantly.' And in 
 answer to my inquiring glance, he said : ' It must be. It would be folly 
 to hesitate. Each moment increases the peril that threatens us. ' 
 
 " I was very young, inexperienced, and totally ignorant of life ; but my 
 sufferings, my loneliness, and the prospect of being compelled to rely upon 
 myself, had imparted to my mind that precocious maturity which is so often 
 observed among the children of the poor. Knowing from the very first 
 that there was some mystery connected with the count's life, I had studied 
 him with a child's patient sagacity a sagacity which is all the more 
 dangerous, as it is unsuspected and I had come to the conclusion that a 
 constant dread rendered his life a burden. Could it be for himself that he 
 trembled, this great nobleman, who was so powerful by reason of his exalted 
 rank, his connections, and his wealth? Certainly not. Was it for me, 
 then ? Undoubtedly it was. But why ? It had not taken me long to dis- 
 cover that he was concealing me, or, at least, that he endeavoured by all 
 means in his power to prevent my presence in his house from being known 
 beyond a very limited circle of friends. Our hurried departure from 
 Cannes confirmed me in my impression. 
 
 " It might have been truly called a flight. We left that same evening at 
 eleven o'clock, in a pouring rain, with the first horses that could be pro- 
 cured. Our only attendant was the count's valet not Casimir, the man 
 who insulted me a little while ago but another man, an old and valued 
 servant, who has since died, unfortunately, and who possessed his master's 
 entire confidence. The other servants were dismissed with a princely 
 gratuity, and told to disperse two days after our departure. We did not 
 return to Paris, but journeyed towards the Italian frontier, and on arriving at 
 Nice in the dead of night, we drove directly to the quay. The postilions 
 unharnessed the horses, and we remained in the carriage. The valet, how- 
 ever, hastened off, and more than two hours elapsed before he returned. 
 He declared that he had found it very difficult to procure what he wished 
 for, but that at last, by a prodigal outlay of money, he had succeeded in 
 overcoming all obstacles. What M. de Chalusse desired was a vessel ready 
 for sea, and the bark which the valet had chartered now came up to the 
 quay. Our carriage was put on board, we went below, and before day- 
 break we were under way. 
 
 " Three days later we were in Genoa, registered under a false name in a 
 second class hotel. While we were on the open sea, the count had seemed 
 to be less agitated, but now he was far from calm, and the precautions he 
 took proved that he still feared pursuit. A malefactor flying from justice 
 cou^d not have taken greater pains to mislead the detectives on his track. 
 And fac*n proved conclusively that I was the sole cause of the count's ap- 
 YOL. I D 
 
98 the count's millions. 
 
 prehension. On one occasion I even heard him discussing with his valet 
 the feasibility of clothing me in masculine attire. And it was only the 
 difficulty of obtaining a suitable costume that prevented him from carrying 
 this project into execution. I ought to mention, however, that the servant 
 did not share his master's anxiety, for three or four times I overheard him 
 saying : * The count is too good to worry himself so much about such bad 
 stock. Besides, she won't overtake us. It isn't certain that she has even 
 followed us. How can she know anything about it ? ' She ! Who was 
 she ? This is what I racked my brain to discover, but without success. I 
 must confess, monsieur, that being of a practical nature, and not in the least 
 degree romantic, I arrived at the conclusion that the peril chiefly existed in 
 the count's imagination, or that he greatly exaggerated it. Still he suffered 
 none the less on that account, as was shown by the fact that the following 
 month was spent in hurried journeys from one Italian city to another. 
 
 ' It was the end of May before M. de Chalusse would consent to return 
 to France ; and then we went direct to Lyons. We had spent a couple of 
 days there, when the count informed me that prudence required us to 
 separate for a time that our safety demanded this sacrifice. And with- 
 out giving me time to say a word, he began to explain the advantages that 
 would accrue from such an arrangement. I was extremely ignorant, and 
 he wished me to profit by our temporary separation to raise my knowledge 
 to a level with my new social position. He had, accordingly, made^arrange- 
 ments for me to enter the convent of Sainte-Marthe, an educational 
 establishment which is as celebrated in the department of the Rhone as the 
 Convent des Oiseaux is in Paris. He added that it would not be prudent 
 for him to visit me ; and he made me solemnly promise that I would never 
 mention his name to any of my schoolmates. I was to send any letters I 
 might write to an address which he would give me, and he would sign his 
 answers with a fictitious name. He also told me that the lady superior of 
 Sainte-Marthe knew his secret, and that I could confide in her. He was so 
 restless and so miserably unhappy on the day when he acquainted me 
 with these .plans, that I really believed him insane. Neve fcheless, I replied 
 that I would obey him, and to tell the truth, I was not ill pleased at the 
 thought of the change. My life with M. de Chalusse was a monotonous 
 and cheerless one. I was almost dying of ennui, for I had been accustomed 
 to work, bustle, and confusion with the Greloux, and I felt delighted at 
 the prospect of finding myself among companions of my own age. 
 
 "Unfortunately, M. de Chalusse had forgotten one circumstance, which 
 made my two years' sojourn at Sainte-Marthe a lingering and cruel agony. 
 At first I was kindly treated by my schoolmates. A new pupil is always 
 welcome, for her arrival relieves the monotony of convent-life. But it was 
 not long before my companions wished to know my name ; and I had none 
 other than Marguerite to give them. They were astonished and wished to 
 know who my parents were. I could not tell an untruth ; and I was 
 obliged to confess that I knew nothing at all respecting my father or 
 my mother. After that ' the bastard ' for such was the name they gave 
 me was soon condemned to isolation. No one would associate with me 
 during play -time. No one would sit beside me in the school-room. At the 
 piano lesson, the girl who played after me pretended to wipe the key- 
 board carefully before commencing her exercises. I struggled bravely 
 against this unjust ostracism ; but all in vain. I was so unlike these other 
 girls in character and disposition, and I had, moreover, been guilty of a 
 great imprudence. I had been silly enough to show my companions the 
 
the count's millions. 99 
 
 costly jewels which M. de Chalusse had given me, but which I never wore. 
 And on two occasions I had proved to them that I had more money at my 
 disposal than all the other pupils together. If I had been poor, they would, 
 perhaps, have treated me with affected sympathy; but as I was rich, I 
 became an enemy. It was war ; and one of those merciless wars which 
 sometimes rage so furiously in convents, despite their seeming quiet. 
 
 " I should surprise you, monsieur, if I told you what refined torture 
 these daughters of noblemen invented to gratify their petty spite. I might 
 have complained to the superior, but I scorned to do so. I buried my 
 sorrow deep in my heart, as I had done years before ; and I firmly re- 
 solved never to show ought but a smiling, placid face, so as to prove to my 
 enemies that they were powerless to disturb my peace of mind. Study 
 became my refuge and consolation ; and I plunged into work with the 
 energy of despair. I should probably still live at Sainte-Marthe now, had 
 it not been for a trivial circumstance. One day I had a quarrel with my 
 most determined enemy, a girl named Anais de Rochecote. I was a 
 thousand times right ; and I would not yield. The superior dared not tell 
 me I was wrong. Anais was furious, and wrote I don't know what false- 
 hoods to her mother. Madame de Rochecote thereupon interested the 
 mothers of five or six other pupils in her daughter's quarrel, and one even- 
 ing these ladies came in a body, and nobly and courageously demanded 
 that the ' bastard ' should be expelled. It was impossible, outrageous, 
 monstrous, they declared, that their daughters should be compelled to 
 associate with a girl like me a nameless girl, who humiliated the other 
 girls with her ill-gotten wealth. The superior tried to take my part ; but 
 these ladies declared they would take their daughters from the convent if 
 I were not sent away. There was no help for it : I was sacrificed. Sum- 
 moned by telegraph, M. de Chalusse hastened to Lyons, and two days later 
 I left Sainte-Martha with jeers and opprobrious epithets ringing in my ears." 
 
 X. 
 
 Once before, that very morning, the magistrate had witnessed a display of 
 the virile energy with which misfortune and suffering had endowed this proud 
 but naturally timid girl. But he was none the less surprised at the sudden 
 explosion of hatred which he now beheld ; for it was hatred. The way in 
 which Mademoiselle Marguerite's voice had quivered as she pronounced 
 the name of Anais de Rochecote proved, unmistakeably, that hers was 
 pne of those haughty natures that never forget an insult. All signs of 
 fatigue had now disappeared. She had sprung from her chair, and remem- 
 brance of the shameful, cowardly affront she had received had brought a 
 vivid flush to her cheeks and a bright gleam to her eyes. 
 
 "This atrocious humiliation happened scarcely a year ago, monsieur," 
 she resumed ; "and there is but little left for me to tell you. My expul- 
 sion from Sainte-Marthe made M. de Chalusse frantic with indignation. He 
 knew something that I was ignorant of that Madame de Rochecote, who 
 enacted the part of a severe and implacable censor, was famed for the 
 laxity of her morals. The count's first impulse was to wreak vengeance on my 
 persecutors ; for, in spite of his usual coolness, M. de Chalusse had a furious 
 temper at times. It was only with the greatest difficulty that I dissuaded 
 him from challenging General de Rochecote, who was living at the time. 
 However, it now became necessary to make some other arrangements for 
 
100 
 
 me. M. de Chalusse offered to find another school, promising to take such 
 precautions as would insure my peace of mind. But I interrupted him 
 before he had spoken a dozen words, declaring I would rather return to the 
 book-binders than chance another such experiment. And what I said I 
 meant. A subterfuge a fictitious name, for instance could alone shield 
 me from persecution similar to what I had endured at Sainte-Marthe. But 
 I knew that I was incapable of playing such a part I felt that I should 
 somehow confess everything. My firmness imparted some resolution to M. 
 de Chalusse. He exclaimed, with an oath, that I was right that he was 
 weary of all this deception and concealment, and that he would make ar- 
 rangements to have me near him. ' Yes,' he concluded, embracing me, 
 1 the die is cast, come what may 1 ' 
 
 "However, these measures required a certain delay ; and, in the mean- 
 time, he decided to install me in Paris, which is the only place where one 
 can successfully hide from prying eyes. He purchased a small but con- 
 venient house, surrounded by a garden, in the neighbourhood of the 
 Luxembourg Palace, and here he installed me, with two old women and a 
 trusty man-servant. As I needed a chaperon, he went in quest of one, 
 and found Madame Leon." 
 
 On hearing this name, the magistrate gave the young girl a searching 
 look, as if he hoped to discover what estimate she had formed of the house- 
 keeper's character, as well as what degree of confidence she had granted 
 her. But Mademoiselle Marguerite's face remained unaltered in expression. 
 
 "After so many trials," she resumed, " I thought I should now find rest 
 and peace. Yes, I believed so ; and the few months I spent in that quiet 
 house will be the happiest of my life I am sure of it. Judge of my sur- 
 prise when, on going down into the little garden on the second day after 
 my arrival, I saw the young man whom I had met at Cannes, and whose 
 face had lingered in my memory for more than two years as the type of all 
 that was best and noblest in the human countenance. He was standing 
 near the gate. A cloud passed before my eyes. What mysterious freak of 
 fate had caused him to pause there at that particular moment? This 
 much is certain, he recognized me as I had recognized him. He bowed, 
 smiling somewhat, and I fled indoors again, indignant with myself for not 
 being angry at his audacity. I made many plans that day, but the next 
 morning, at the same hour, I hid myself behind a Venetian blind, and saw 
 him pause at the gate, and gaze at the garden with evident anxiety. I 
 sooh learned that he lived near by, with his widowed mother ; and twice a 
 day, when he went to the Palais de Justice and returned, he passed my 
 home." 
 
 Her cheeks were crimson now, her eyes were lowered, and she was 
 evidently embarrassed. But suddenly, as if ashamed of her blushes, she 
 proudly raised her head, and said, in a firmer voice : " Shall I tell you our 
 simple story ? Is it necessary ? I should not have concealed anything that 
 has passed from my mother, if I had been so happy as to possess a mother. 
 A few moments' conversation now and then, the exchange of a few letters, 
 the pressure of a hand through the garden gate, and that is all. Still, I have 
 been guilty of a grave and irreparable fault : I have disobeyed the one rule of 
 my life frankness ; and I am cruelly punished for doing so. I did not 
 tell all this to M. de Chalusse in fact, I dared not. I was ashamed of my 
 oowardice ; from day to day I vowed that I would confess everything, and 
 yet I procrastinated. Isaid to myself every night, 'It shallbe done to-morrow;' 
 but when the morrow came I said, I will give myself another day just ono 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 101 
 
 more day.' Indeed, my courage failed me when I thought of the count's 
 aristocratic prejudices ; and besides, I knew how ambitious he was for my 
 future. On the other hand, moreover, Pascal was always pleading : * Don't 
 speak now. My circumstances are constantly improving. The day is not 
 far off when I shall be able to offer you wealth and fame. When that day 
 comes I will go to your guardian and ask him for your hand ; but in 
 Heaven's name don't speak now.' I understood Pascal's motives well 
 enough. The count's immense fortune frightened him, and he feared that 
 he would be accused of being a fortune-hunter. So I waited, with that 
 secret anguish which still haunts those who have been unhappy even when 
 their present is peaceful, and their future seems bright. I kept my secret, 
 saying to myself that such happiness was not meant for me, that it would 
 soon take flight. 
 
 "It took flight all too soon. One morning I heard a carriage draw up 
 outside our door, and the next moment the Count de Chalusse entered the 
 sitting-room. ' Everything is ready to receive you at the Hotel de Cha- 
 lusse, Marguerite/ said he, ' come ! ' He ceremoniously offered me his arm, 
 and I accompanied him. I could not even leave a message for Pascal, for 
 I had never made a confidante of Madame Leon. Still, a faint hope sus- 
 tained me. I thought that the precautions taken by M. de Chalusse would 
 somewhat dispel the uncertainty of my position, and furnish me at least 
 with some idea of the vague danger which threatened me. But no. His 
 efforts, so far as I could discover, had been confined to changing his 
 servants. Our life in this grand house was the same as it had been at 
 Cannes even more secluded, if that were possible. The count had aged 
 considerably. It was evident that he was sinking beneath the burden of 
 some ever-present sorrow. *I am condemning you to a cheerless and 
 melancholy youth,' he sometimes said to me, ' but it will not last forever 
 patience, patience ! ' Did he really love me? I think so. But his affection 
 showed itself in a strange manner. Sometimes his voice was so tender that 
 my heart was touched. At others there was a look of hatred in his eyes 
 which terrified me. Occasionally he was severe almost to brutality, and 
 then the next moment he would implore me to forgive him, order the car- 
 riage, take me with him to his jewellers', and insist upon me accepting some 
 costly ornaments. Madame L6on declares that my jewels are worth more 
 than twenty thousand francs. At times I wondered if his capricious affection 
 and sternness were really intended for myself. It often seemed to me that 
 I was only a shadow the phantom of some absent person, in his eyes. It 
 is certain that he often requested me to dress myself or to arrange my hair 
 in a certain fashion, to wear such and such a colour, or to use a particular 
 perfume which he gave me. Frequently, when I was moving about the 
 house, he suddenly exclaimed : ' Marguerite 1 I entreat you, remain just 
 where you are ! ' 
 
 " I obeyed him, but the illusion had already vanished. A sob or an oath 
 would come from his lips, and then in an angry voice he would bid me 
 leave the room. " 
 
 The magistrate did not raise his eyes from his talismanic ring ; it might 
 have been supposed that it had fascinated him. Still, his expression de- . 
 noted profound commiseration, and he shook his head thoughtfully. The 
 idea had occurred to him that this unfortunate young girl had been the 
 victim, not precisely of a madman, but of one of those maniacs who have 
 just enough reason left to invent the tortures they inflict upon those around 
 them. 
 
102 the count's millions. 
 
 Speaking more slowly than before, as if she were desirous of attracting 
 increased attention on the magistrate's part, Mademoiselle Marguerite now 
 continued : "If I reminded M. de Chalusse of a person whom he had 
 formerly loved, that person may have been my mother. I say, may have 
 been, because I am not certain of it. All my efforts to discover the truth 
 were unavailing. M. de Chalusse seemed to take a malicious pleasure in de- 
 stroying all my carefully-arranged theories, and in upsetting the conjectures 
 which he had encouraged himself only twenty-four hours previously. 
 Heaven only knows how anxiously I listened to his slightest word ! And 
 it can be easily understood why I did so. My strange and compromising 
 connection with him drove me nearly frantic. It was not strange that 
 people's suspicions were aroused. True, he had changed all his servants 
 before my arrival here ; but he had requested Madame Leon to remain with 
 me, and who can tell what reports she may have circulated ? It has often 
 happened that when returning from mass on Sundays, I have overheard 
 persons say, ' Look ! there is the Count de Chalusse's mistress ! ' Oh ! 
 not a single humiliation has been spared me not a single one ! However, 
 on one point I did not feel the shadow of a doubt. The count had known 
 my mother. He frequently alluded to her, sometimes with an outburst of 
 passion which made me think that he had once adored, and still loved her ; 
 sometimes, with insults and curses which impressed me with the idea that 
 she had cruelly injured him. But most frequently he reproached her for 
 having unhesitatingly sacrificed me to ensure her own safety. He said she 
 could have had no heart ; and that it was an unheard of, incomprehensible, 
 and monstrous thing that a woman could enjoy luxury and wealth, undis- 
 turbed by remorse, knowing that her innocent and defenceless child was 
 exposed all the while to the hardships and temptations of abject poverty. 
 I was also certain that my mother was a married woman, for M. de 
 Chalusse alluded to her husband more than once. He hated him with a 
 terrible hatred. One evening, when he was more communicative than 
 usual, he gave me to understand that the great danger he dreaded for me 
 came either from my mother or her husband. He afterwards did his best 
 to counteract this impression; but he did not succeed in convincing me 
 that his previous assertion was untrue." 
 
 The magistrate looked searchingly at Mademoiselle Marguerite. " Then 
 those letters which we found just now in the escritoire are from your 
 mother, mademoiselle ? " he remarked. 
 
 The girl blushed. She had previously been questioned respecting these 
 letters, and she had then made no reply. Now, she hesitated for a moment, 
 and then quietly said : " Your opinion coincides with min-, monsieur." 
 
 Thereupon, as if she wished to avoid any further questioning on the sub- 
 ject, she hurriedly continued : "At last, a new and even greater trouble 
 came a positive calamity, which made me forget the disgrace attached to 
 my birth. One morning at breakfast, about a month ago, the count in- 
 formed me that he expected two guests to dinner that evening. This was 
 such an unusual occurrence that I was struck speechless with astonishment. 
 It is extraordinary, I admit,' he added, gaily ; ' but it is nevertheless true. 
 M. de Fondege and the Marquis de Valorsay will dine here this evening. 
 So, my dear Marguerite, look your prettiest in honour of our old friend. 
 At six o'clock the two gentlemen arrived together. I was well acquainted 
 with M. de Fondege the general, as he was commonly called. He was the 
 count's only intimate friend, and often visited us. But I had never before 
 seen the Marquis de Valorsay, nor had I ever heard his name until M. de 
 
THE count's millions. 103 
 
 Chalusse mentioned it that morning, I don't pretend to judge him. I 
 will only say that as soon as I saw him, the dislike I felt for him bordered 
 on aversion. My false position rendered his close scrutiny actually painful 
 to me, and his attentions and compliments pleased me no better. At 
 dinner he addressed his conversation exclusively to me, and I particularly 
 remember a certain picture he drew of a model household, which positively 
 disgusted me. In his opinion, a husband ought to content himself with 
 being his wife's prime minister the slave of her slightest caprice. He in- 
 tended, if he married, to allow the Marquise de Valorsay perfect freedom, 
 with an unlimited amount of money, the handsomest carriages, and the most 
 magnificent diamonds in Paris everything, indeed, that could gratify her 
 vanity, and render her existence a fairy-like dream.J * With such ideas 
 on her husband's part the marchioness will be very difficult to please if she 
 is not contented with her lot,' he added, glancing covertly at me. This 
 exasperated me beyond endurance, and I drily replied : ' The mere thought 
 of such a husband would drive me to the shelter of a convent. ' He seemed 
 considerably disconcerted ; and I noticed that the general, I mean M. de 
 Fondege, gave him a mischievous look. 
 
 "However, when the gentlemen had gone, M. de Chalusse scolded me 
 severely. He said that my sentimental philosophy was quite out of place 
 in a drawing-room, and that my ideas of life, marriage, and duty, could 
 only have been gained in a foundling asylum. As I attempted to reply, he 
 interrupted me to sound the praises of the Marquis de Valorsay, who not 
 only came of an ancient family, and possessed immense, unencumbered 
 estates, but was a talented handsome man into the bargain ; in short, one 
 of those favoured mortals whom all young girls sigh for. The scales fell 
 from my eyes. I instantly understood that M. de Chalusse had selected 
 the Marquis de Valorsay to be my husband, and thus the marquis had 
 designedly explained his matrimonial programme for my benefit. It was a 
 snare to catch the bird. I felt indignant that he should suppose me so 
 wanting in delicacy of feeling and nobility of character as to be dazzled by 
 the life of display and facile pleasure which he had depicted. I had dis- 
 liked him at first, and now I despised him ; for it was impossible to mis- 
 understand the shameless proposal concealed beneath his half -jesting words. 
 He offered me my liberty in exchange for my fortune. That is only a fair 
 contract, one might say. Perhaps so ; but if he were willing to do this for 
 a certain amount of money, what would he not do for a sum twice or thrice 
 as large ? Such were my impressions, though I asked myself again and 
 again if I were not mistaken. No ; the events that followed only con- 
 firmed my suspicions. Three days later the marquis came again. His visit 
 was to the count, and they held a long conference in this study. Having 
 occasion to enter the room, after the marquis's departure, I noticed on the 
 table a number of title deeds which he had probably brought for the count's 
 inspection. On the following week there was another conference, and this 
 time a lawyer was present. Any further doubts I might have felt were 
 dispelled by Madame Leon, who was always well informed thanks to her 
 habit of listening at the key -holes. They are talking of marrying you to 
 the Marquis de Valorsay I heard them,' she remarked to me. 
 
 " However, the information did not terrify me. I had profited by the 
 time allowed me for reflection, and I had decided upon the course I should 
 pursue. I am timid, but I am not weak ; and I was determined to resist 
 M. de Chalusse's will in this matter, even if it became necessary for me to 
 leave his house, and renounce all hopes of the wealth he had promised me. 
 
104 the count's millions. 
 
 Still I said nothing to Pascal of my mental struggle and final determination. 
 I did not wish to bind him by the advice which he would certainly have 
 given me. I had his troth, and that sufficed. And it was with a thrill of 
 joy that I said to myself : What does it matter if M. de Chalusse should 
 be so angered by my refusal to obey him as to drive me from his house ? It 
 will rather be so much the better ; Pascal will protect me.' 
 
 * { But resistance is only possible when you are attacked ; and M. de Chal- 
 usse did not even allude to the subject perhaps because affairs had not 
 yet been satisfactorily arranged between the marquis and himself possibly 
 because he wished to deprive me of the power to oppose him by taking me 
 unawares. It would have been great imprudence on my part to broach the 
 subject myself, and so 1 waited calmly and resignedly, storing up all my 
 energy for the decisive hour. I willingly confess that I am not a heroine 
 of romance I do not look upon money with the contempt it deserves. I 
 was resolved to wed solely in accordance with the dictates of my heart ; 
 but I wished, and hoped, that M. de Chalusse would give me, not a fortune, 
 but a modest dowry. He had become more communicative than usual on 
 money matters, and took no pains to conceal the fact that he was engaged 
 in raising the largest possible amount of ready cash. He received frequent 
 visits from his stock-broker, and sometimes when the latter had left him, 
 he showed me rolls of bank-notes and packages of bonds, saying, as he did 
 so : ' You see that your future is assured, my dear Marguerite.' 
 
 "I am only doing the count justice when I say that my future was a 
 subject of constant anxiety to him during the last few months of his life. 
 Less than a fortnight after he had taken me from the asylum, he drew up a 
 will, in which he adopted me and made me his sole legatee. But he after- 
 wards destroyed this document on the plea that it did not afford me sufficient 
 security ; and a dozen others shared the same fate. For his mind was 
 constantly occupied with the subject, and he seemed to have a presentiment 
 that his death would be a sudden one. I am forced to admit that he 
 seemed less anxious to endow me with his fortune than to frustrate the 
 hopes of some persons I did not know. When he burned his last will in 
 my presence, he remarked : * This document is useless : they would con- 
 test it, and probably succeed in having it set aside. I have thought of a 
 better way ; I have found an expedient which will provide for all emer- 
 gencies,' And as I ventured some timid objection for it was repugnant 
 to my sense of honour to act as an instrument of vengeance or injustice, or 
 assist, even passively, in despoiling any person of his rightful inheritance 
 he harshly, almost brutally, replied : * Mind your own business ! I will 
 disappoint the folks who are waiting for my property as they deserve to be 
 disappointed. They covet my estates do they ! Very well, they shall 
 have them. I will leave them my property, but they shall find it mort- 
 gaged to its full value.' 
 
 "Unfortunate man ! all his plans have failed. The heirs whom he hated 
 so bitterly, and whom I don't even know, whose existence people have not 
 even suspected, can now come, and they will find the wealth he was de- 
 termined to deprive them of intact. He dreamed of a brilliant destiny for 
 me a proud name, and the rank of a marchioness and he has not even 
 succeeded in protecting me from the most shameful insults. I have been 
 accused of theft before his body was even cold. He wished to make me 
 rich, frightfully rich, and he has not left me enough to buy my bread 
 literally, not enough to buy bread. He was in constant terror concerning 
 my safety, and he died without even telling me what were the mysterious 
 
TUB count's millions. 105 
 
 dangers which threatened me ; without even telling me something which 1 
 am morally certain of that he was my father. He raised me against my 
 will to the highest social position he placed that wonderful talisman, 
 gold, in my hand - t he showed me the world at my feet ; and suddenly he 
 allowed me to fall even to lower depths of misery than those in which be 
 found me. Ah ! M, de Chalusse, it would have been far better for me if 
 you ha-d left me in the foundling asylum to have earned my own bread. 
 And yet, I freely forgive you. " 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite reflected for a moment, questioning her memory 
 to ascertain if she had told everything if she had forgotten any particulars 
 of importance. And as it seemed to her that she had nothing more to add, 
 Bhe approached the magistrate, and, with impressive solemnity of tone and 
 manner, exclaimed : " My life up to the present hour is now as well known to 
 you as it is to myself. You know what even the friend, who is my only hope, 
 does not know as yet. And now, when I tell him what I really am, will 
 he think me unworthy of him ? " 
 
 The magistrate sprang to his feet, impelled by an irresistible force. 
 Two big tears, the first he had shed for years, trembled on his eye-lashes, 
 and coursed down his furrowed cheeks. "You are a noble creature, my 
 child," he replied, in a voice faltering with emotion ; "and if I had a son, 
 I should deem myself fortunate if he chose a wife like you." 
 
 She clasped her hands, with a gesture of intense joy and relief, and then 
 aank into an arm-chair, murmuring, " Oh, thanks, monsieur, thanks 1 " 
 For she was thinking of Pascal ; and she had feared he might shrink from her 
 when she fully revealed to him her wretched, sorrowful past, of which he 
 was entirely ignorant. But the magistrate's words had reassured her. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Tiie clock on the mantel-shelf struck half-past four. The magistrate and 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite could hear stealthy footsteps in the hall, and a 
 rustling near the door. The servants were prowling round about the 
 study, wondering what was the reason of this prolonged conference. " I 
 must see how the clerk is progressing with the inventory," said the magis- 
 trate. " Excuse me if I absent myself for a moment ; I will soon return." 
 And so saying he rose and left the room. 
 
 But it was only a pretext. He really wished to conceal his emotion 
 and regain his composure, for he had been deeply affected by the young 
 girl's narrative. He also needed time for reflection, for the situation had 
 become extremely complicated since Mademoiselle Marguerite had informed 
 him of the existence of heirs of those mysterious enemies who had 
 poisoned the count's peace. These persons would, of course, require to 
 know what had become of the millions deposited in the escritoire, and who 
 would be held accountable for the missing treasure ? Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite, unquestionably. Such were the thoughts that flitted through the 
 magistrate's mind as he listened to his clerk's report. Nor was this all ; 
 for having solicited Mademoiselle Marguerite's confidence, he must now 
 advise her. And this was a matter of some difficulty. 
 
 However, when he returned to the study he was quite self-possessed 
 and impassive again, and he was pleased to see that on her side the unfor- 
 tunate girl had, to some extent, at least, recovered her wonted composure. 
 'Let ua now discuss the situation calmly," he began. " I shall convince 
 
106 the count's millions. 
 
 you that your prospects are not so frightful as you imagine. But before 
 speaking of the future, will you allow me to refer to the past ? " The girl 
 bowed her consent. " Let us first of all consider the subject of the miss- 
 ing millions. They were certainly in the escritoire when M. de Chalusse 
 replaced the vial ; but now they are not to be found, so that the count 
 must have taken them away with him." 
 
 " That thought occurred to me also." 
 
 " Did the treasure form a large package ? * 
 
 " Yes, it was large ; but it could have been easily concealed under the 
 cloak which M. de Chalusse wore." 
 
 " Very good 1 What was the time when he left the house ? " 
 
 " About five o'clock." 
 
 " When was he brought back ? " 
 
 " At about half -past six." 
 
 " Where did the cabman pick him up ? " 
 
 " Near the church of Notre Dame de Lorette, so he told me." 
 
 " Do you know the driver's number ? " 
 
 " Casimir asked him for it, I believe." 
 
 Had any one inquired the reason of this semi-official examination, the 
 magistrate would have replied that Mademoiselle Marguerite's interests 
 alone influenced him in the course he was taking. This was quite true ; 
 and yet, without being altogether conscious of the fact, he was also im- 
 pelled by another motive. This affair interested, almost fascinated, him 
 on account of its mysterious surroundings, and influenced by the desire for 
 arriving at the truth which is inherent in every human heart, he was 
 anxious to solve the riddle. After a few moments' thoughtful silence, he 
 remarked : "So the point of departure in our investigation, if there is an 
 investigation, will be this : M. de Chalusse left the house with two millions 
 in his possession; and while he was absent, he either disposed of that 
 enormous sum or else it was stolen from him." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite shuddered. " Oh ! stolen," she faltered. 
 
 " Yes, my child anything is possible. We must consider the situation 
 in every possible light. But to continue. Where was M. de Chalusse going ?" 
 
 "To the house of a gentleman who would, he thought, be able to 
 furnish the address given in the letter he had torn up." 
 
 ' ' W T hat was this gentleman's name ? " 
 
 "Fortunat." 
 
 The magistrate wrote the name down on his tablets, and then, resuming 
 his examination, he said: "Now, in reference to this unfortunate letter 
 which, in your opinion, was the cause of the count's death, what did it 
 say ? " 
 
 "I don't know, monsieur. It is true that I helped the count in collect- 
 ing the fragments, but I did not read what was written on them." 
 
 "That is of little account. The main thing is to ascertain who wrote 
 the letter. You told me that it could only have come from the sister who 
 disappeared thirty years ago, or else from your mother. " 
 
 "That was, and still is, my opinion." 
 
 The magistrate toyed with his ring ; and a smile of satisfaction stole over 
 his face. " Very well ! " he exclaimed, " in less than five minutes I shall 
 be able to tell you whether the letter was from your mother or not. My 
 method is perfectly simple. I have only to compare the handwriting with 
 that of the letters found in the escritoire." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite sprang up, exclaiming : "What a happy idea!" 
 

 THE count's millions. 107 
 
 But without seeming to notice the girl's surprise, he added: "Where 
 are the remnants of this letter which you and the count picked up in the 
 garden ? " 
 
 " M. deChalusse placed them in his pocket." 
 
 " They must be found. Tell the count's valet to look for them." 
 
 The girl rang ; but M. Casimir, who was supposed to be engaged in 
 making preparations for the funeral, was not in the house, However, 
 another servant and Madame L6on offered their services, and certainly dis- 
 played the most laudable zeal, but their search was fruitless ; the fragments 
 of the letter could not be found. "How unfortunate!" muttered the 
 Magistrate, as he watched them turn the pockets of the count's clothes 
 inside out. " What a fatality I That letter would probably have solved 
 the mystery." 
 
 Compelled to submit to this disappointment, he returned to the study ; 
 but he was evidently discouraged. Although he did not consider the 
 mystery insoluble, far from it, he realised that time and research would be 
 required to arrive at a solution, and that the affair was quite beyond his 
 province. One hope alone remained. 
 
 By carefully studying the last words which M. de Chalusse had written 
 and spoken he might arrive at the intention which had dictated them. 
 Experience had wonderfully sharpened his penetration, and perhaps he might 
 discover a hidden meaning which would throw light upon all this doubt 
 and uncertainty. Accordingly, he asked Mademoiselle Marguerite for the 
 paper upon which the count had endeavoured to pen his last wishes ; and 
 in addition he requested her to write on a card the dying man's last words 
 in the order they had been uttered But on combining the written and the 
 spoken words the only result obtained was as follows: "My entire fortune 
 give friends against Marguerite despoiled your mother take care. " 
 These twelve incoherent words revealed the count's absorbing and poignant 
 anxiety concerning his fortune and Marguerite's future, and also the fear 
 and aversion with which Marguerite's mother inspired him. But that was 
 all ; the sense was not precise enough for any practical purpose. Certainly 
 the word " give " needed no explanation. It was plain that the count had 
 endeavoured tolwrite, "I give my entire fortune." The meaning of the 
 word " despoiled " was also clear. It had evidently been wrung from the 
 half-unconscious man by the horrible thought that Marguerite his own 
 daughter, unquestionably would not have a penny of all the millions he 
 had intended for her. y " Take care " also explained itself. But there were 
 two words which seemed absolutely incomprehensible to the magistrate, 
 and which he vainly strove to connect with the others in an intelligible 
 manner. These were the words "friends" and "against," and they were 
 the most legibly written of all. For the thirtieth time the magistrate was 
 repeating them in an undertone, when a rap came at the door, and almost 
 immediately Madame Leon entered the room. 
 
 "What is it ? " inquired Mademoiselle Marguerite. 
 
 Laying a package of letters, addressed to M. de Chalusse, on the desk, 
 the housekeeper replied : " These have just come by the post for the poor 
 count. Heaven rest his soul ! " And then handing a newspaper to Madem- 
 oiselle Marguerite, she added, in an unctuous tone : "And some one left 
 this paper for mademoiselle at the same time." 
 
 " This paper for me ? You must be mistaken." 
 
 1 ' Not at all. I was in the concierge's lodge when the messenger brought it ; 
 and he said it was for Mademoiselle Marguerite, from one of her friends. " 
 
108 THE count's millions. 
 
 And with these words she made one of her very best courtesies, and with- 
 drew. 
 
 The girl had taken the newspaper, and now, with an air of astonishment 
 and apprehension, she slowly unfolded it. What first attracted her atten- 
 tion was a paragraph on the first page marked round with red chalk. The 
 paper had evidently been sent in order that she might read this particular 
 passage, and accordingly she began to peruse it. " There was a great sensa- 
 tion and a terrible scandal last evening at the residence of Madame d'A , 
 
 a well known star of the first magnitude " 
 
 It was the shameful article which described the events that had robbed 
 Pascal of his honour. And to make assurance doubly sure, to prevent the 
 least mistake concerning the printed initials, the coward who sent the 
 paper had appended the names of the persons mixed up in the affair, at full 
 length, in pencil. He had written d'Argeles, Pascal Ferailleur, Ferdinand 
 de Coralth, Rochecote. And yet, in spite of these precautions, the girl 
 did not at first seize the full meaning of the article ; and she was obliged 
 to read it over again. But when she finally understood it when the 
 horrible truth burst upon her the paper fell from her nerveless hands, she 
 turned as pale as death, and, gasping for breath, leaned heavily against 
 the wall for support. 
 
 Her features expressed such terrible suffering that the magistrate 
 sprang from his chair with a bound. " What has happened? " he eagerly 
 asked. 
 
 She tried to reply, but finding herself unable to do so, she pointed to 
 the paper lying upon the floor, and gasped : ' ' There ! there ! " 
 
 The magistrate understood everything at the first glance ; and this 
 man, who had witnessed so much misery who had been the confidant 
 of so many martyrs was filled with consternation at thought of the mis- 
 fortunes which destiny was heaping upon this defenceless girl. He ap- 
 proached her, and led her gently to an arm-chair, upon which she sank, 
 half fainting. "Poor child ! " he murmured. " The man you had chosen 
 the man whom you would have sacrificed everything for is Pascal 
 Ferailleur, is he not ? " 
 
 "Yes, it is he." 
 
 " He is an advocate ? " 
 
 "As I have already told you, monsieur." 
 
 " Does he live in the Rue d'Ulm ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The magistrate shook his head sadly. "It is the same," said he. "I 
 also know him, my poor child ; and I loved and honoured him. Yesterday I 
 should have told you that he was worthy of you. He was above slander. 
 But now, see what depths love of play has brought him to. He is a 
 thief ! " 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite's weakness vanished. She sprang from her 
 chair, and indignantly faced the magistrate. "It is false 1 " she cried, 
 vehemently ; " and what that paper says is false as well ! " 
 
 Had her reason been affected by so many successive blows ? It seemed 
 likely ; for, livid a moment before, her face had now turned scarlet. Sha 
 trembled nervously from head to foot, and there was a gleam of insanity 
 in her big black eyes. 
 
 " If she doesn't weep, she is lost," thought the magistrate. And, instead 
 of encouraging her to hope, he deemed it best to try and destroy what he 
 considered a dangerous illusion. "Alas 1 my poor child," he said sadly, 
 
the count's millions. 109 
 
 " you must not deceive yourself. The newspapers are often hasty in their 
 judgment; but an article like that is only published when proof of its truth 
 is furnished by witnesses of unimpeachable veracity." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders as if she were listening to some monstrous 
 absurdities, and then thoughtfully muttered : " Ah ! now Pascal's silence 
 is explained ; now I understand why he has not yet replied to the letter 
 I wrote him last night. " 
 
 The magistrate persevered, however, and added : " So, after the article 
 you have just read, no one can entertain the shadow of a doubt." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite hastily interrupted him. " But I have not 
 doubted him for a second!" she exclaimed. "Doubt Pascal! I doubt 
 Pascal ! I would sooner doubt myself, I might commit a dishonourable 
 act ; I am only a poor, weak, ignorant girl, while he he You don't know, 
 then, that he was my conscience? Before undertaking anything, before 
 deciding upon anything, if ever I felt any doubt, I asked myself, ' What 
 would he do ? ' And the mere thought of him is sufficient to banish any 
 unworthy idea from my heart." Her tone and manner betokened complete 
 and unwavering confidence : and her faith imparted an almost sublime ex- 
 pression to her face. "If I was overcome, monsieur." she continued, "it 
 was only because I was appalled by the audacity of the accusation. How 
 was it possible to make Pascal even seem to be guilty of a dishonourable 
 act ? This is beyond my powers of comprehension. I am only certain of 
 one thing that he is innocent. H the whole world rose to testify against 
 him, it would not shake my faith in him, and even if he confessed 
 that he was guilty I should be more likely to believe that he was crazed 
 than culpable ! " 
 
 A bitter smile curved her lips, she was beginning to judge the situation 
 more correctly, and in a calmer tone she resumed : ' ' Moreover, what 
 does circumstantial evidence prove ? Did you not this morning hear all 
 our servants declaring that I was accountable for M. de Chalusse's millions ? 
 Who knows what might have happened if it had not been for your in- 
 tervention ? Perhaps, by this time, I should have been in prison. " 
 "This is not a parallel case, my child." 
 
 " It is a parallel case, monsieur. Suppose, for one moment, that I had 
 been formally accused what do you think Pascal would have replied if 
 people had gone to him, and said, ' Marguerite is a thief?' He would have 
 laughed them to scorn, and have exclaimed, * Impossible ! ' " 
 
 The magistrate's mind was made up. In his opinion, Pascal Ferailleur 
 was guilty. Still it was useless to argue with the girl, for he felt that he 
 should not be able to convince her. However he determined, if possible, 
 to ascertain her plans in order to oppose them, if they seemed to him at all 
 dangerous. "Perhaps you are right, my child," he conceded, "still, this 
 unfortunate affair must change all your arrangements. " 
 
 "Rather, it modifies them." Surprised by her calmness, he looked at 
 her inquiringly. "An hour ago," she added "I had resolved to go to 
 Pascal and claim his aid and protection as one claims an undeniable right 
 or the fulfilment of a solemn promise ; but now " 
 " Well ? " eagerly asked the magistrate. 
 
 " I am still resolved to go to him but as an humble suppliant. And I 
 shall say to him, ' You are suffering, but no sorrow is intolerable when 
 there are two to bear the burden ; and so, here I am. Everything else may 
 fail you your dearest friends may basely desert you ; but here am I ! 
 Whatever your plans may be whether you have decided to leave Europe 
 
110 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 or to remain in Paris to watch for your hour of vengeance, you will need a 
 faithful trusty companion a confidant and. here I am ! Wife, friend, 
 sister I will be whichever you desire. I am yours yours uncondition- 
 ally.' " And as if in reply to a gesture of surprise which escaped the 
 magistrate, she added : " He is unhappy I am free I love him ! " 
 
 The magistrate was struck dumb with astonishment. He knew that she 
 would surely do what she said ; he had. realised that she was one of those 
 generous, heroic women which are capable of any sacrifice for the man they 
 love a woman who would never shrink from what she considered to be her 
 duty, who was utterly incapable of weak hesitancy or selfish calculation. 
 
 " Fortunately, my dear young lady, your devotion will no doubt be use- 
 less," he said at last. 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " Because M. Ferailleur owes it to you, and, what is more, he owes it to 
 himself, not to accept such a sacrifice." Failing to understand his mean- 
 ing, she looked at him inquiringly. " You will forgive me, I trust," he con- 
 tinued, "if I warn you to prepare for a disappointment. Innocent or guilty, 
 M. Ferailleur is disgraced. Unless something little short of a miracle 
 comes to help him his career is ended. This is one of those charges one 
 of those slanders, if you prefer that term, which a man can never shake 
 off. So how can you hope that he will consent to link your destiny 
 to his?" 
 
 She had not thought of this objection, and it seemed to her a terrible one. 
 Tears came to her dark eyes, and in a despondent voice she murmured : 
 "God grant that he will not evince such cruel generosity. The only great 
 and true misfortune that could strike me now would be to have him repel 
 me. M. de Chalusse's death leaves me without means without bread ; 
 but now I can almost bless my poverty since it enables me to ask him what 
 would become of me if he abandoned me, and who would protect me if he 
 refused to do so. The brilliant career he dreamed of is ended, you say. 
 Ah, well ! I will console him, and though we are uufortunate, we may yet 
 be happy. Our enemies are triumphant so be it : we should only tarnish 
 our honour by stooping to contend against such villainy. But in some new 
 land, in America, perhaps, we shall be able to find some quiet spot where 
 we can begin a new and better career." It was almost impossible to believe 
 that it was Mademoiselle Marguerite, usually so haughtily reserved, who 
 was now speaking with such passionate vehemence. And to whom was she 
 talking in this fashion ? To a stranger, whom she saw for the first time. 
 But she was urged on by circumstances, the influence of which was stronger 
 than her own will. They had led her to reveal her dearest and most sacred 
 feelings and to display her real nature free from any kind of disguise. 
 
 However, the magistrate concealed the emotion and sympathy which 
 filled his heart and refused to admit that the girl's hopes were likely to be 
 realized. "And if M. Ferailleur refused to accept your sacrifice?" he asked. 
 
 "It is not a sacrifice, monsieur." 
 
 " No matter ; but supposing he refused it, what should you do ? " 
 
 "What should I do?" she muttered. "I don't know. Still I should 
 have no difficulty in earning a livelihood. I have been told that I have a 
 remarkable voice. I might, perhaps, go upon the stage. " 
 
 The magistrate sprang from his arm-chair. "You become an actress, 
 you?" 
 
 " Under such circumstances it would little matter what became of me ! " 
 
 " But you don't suspect you cannot imagine" 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. HI 
 
 He was at a loss for words to explain the nature of his objections to such 
 a career ; and it was Mademoiselle Marguerite who found them for him. 
 "I suspect that theatrical life is an abominable life for a woman," she said, 
 gravely ; " but I know that there are many noble and chaste women who 
 have adopted the profession. That is enough for me. My pride is a suffi- 
 cient protection. It preserved me as an apprentice ; it would preserve me 
 as an actress. I might be slandered ; but that is not an irremediable misfor- 
 tune. I despise the world too much to be troubled by its opinion so long 
 as I have the approval of my own conscience. And why should I not be- 
 come a great artiste if I consecrated all the intelligence, passion, energy, and 
 will I might possess, to my art?" 
 
 Hearing a knock at the door she paused ; and a moment later a footman 
 entered with lights, for night was falling. He was closely followed by 
 another servant, who said: "Mademoiselle, the Marquis de Valorsay is 
 below, and wishes to know if mademoiselle will grant him the honour of an 
 interview." 
 
 XII. 
 
 On hearing M. de Valorsay's name, Mademoiselle Marguerite and the 
 magistrate exchanged glances full of wondering conjecture. The girl was 
 undecided what course to pursue ; but the magistrate put an end to her 
 perplexity. "Ask the marquis to come up," he said to the servant. 
 
 The footman left the room ; and, as soon as he had disappeared, Madem* 
 oiselle Marguerite exclaimed : " What, monsieur ! after all I have told you, 
 you still wish me to receive him ? " 
 
 "It is absolutely necessary that you should do so. You must know 
 what he wishes and what hope brings him here. Calm yourself, and sub- 
 mit to necessity." 
 
 In a sort of bewilderment, the girl hastily arranged her disordered dress, 
 and caught up her wavy hair which had fallen over her shoulders. " Ah ! 
 monsieur," she remarked, "don't you understand that he still believes me 
 to be the count's heiress ? In his eyes, I am still surrounded by the glamour 
 of the millions which are mine no longer." 
 
 " Hush ! here he comes ! " 
 
 The Marquis de Valorsay was indeed upon the threshold, and a moment 
 later he entered the room. He was clad with the exquisite taste of those 
 intelligent gentlemen to whom the colour of a pair of trousers is a moment- 
 ous matter, and whose amibition is satisfied if they are regarded as a 
 sovereign authority respecting the cut of a waistcoat. As a rule, his 
 expression of face merely denoted supreme contentment with himself and 
 indifference as to others, but now, strange to say, he looked grave and almost 
 solemn. His right leg the unfortunate limb which had been broken when 
 he fell from his horse in Ireland seemed stiff, and dragged a trifle more 
 than usual, but this was probably solely due to the influence of t he atmos- 
 phere. He bowed to Mademoiselle Marguerite with every mark of pro-- 
 found respect, and without seeming to notice the magistrate's presence. 
 
 " You will excuse me, I trust, mademoiselle," said he, " in having insisted 
 apon seeing you, so that I might express my deep sympathy. I have just 
 heard of the terrible misfortune which has befallen you the sudden death 
 of your father." 
 
 She drew back as if she were terrified, and repeated : " My father ! " 
 
 The marquis did not evince the slightest surprise. " I know," said he, 
 
112 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 in a voice which he tried to make as feeling as possible, " I know that M. 
 de Chalusse kept this fact concealed from you ; but he confided his secret 
 to me." 
 
 " To you ? " interrupted the magistrate, who was unable to restrain him- 
 self any longer. 
 
 The marquis turned haughtily to this old man dressed in black, and in the 
 dry tone one uses in speaking to an indiscreet inferior, he replied : " To 
 me, yes, monsieur ; and he acquainted me not only by word of mouth, but 
 in writing also, with the motives which influenced him, expressing his fixed 
 intention, not only of recognising Mademoiselle Marguerite as his daughter, 
 but also of adopting her in order to ensure her undisputed right to his fortune 
 and his name." 
 
 " Ah I " said the magistrate as if suddenly enlightened ; " ah ! ah ! " 
 
 But without noticing this exclamation which was, at least, remarkable 
 in tone, M. de Valorsay again turned to Mademoiselle Marguerite, and 
 continued : " Your ignorance on this subject, mademoiselle, convinces me 
 that your servants have not deceived me in telling me that M. de Chalusse 
 was truck down without the slightest warning. But they have told me 
 one thing which I cannot believe. They have told me that the count made 
 no provision for you, that he left no will, and that excuse a liberty which 
 is prompted only by the most respectful interest and that, the result of 
 this incomprehensible and cuh able neglect is that you are ruined and almost 
 without means. Can this be possible ? " 
 
 "It is the exact truth, monsieur," replied Mademoiselle Marguerite. 
 "I am reduced to the necessity of working for my daily bread." 
 
 She spoke these words with a sort of satisfaction, expecting that the 
 marquis would betray his disappointed covetousness by some significant 
 gesture or exclamation, and she was already prepared to rejoice at his 
 confusion. But her expectations were not realised. Instead of evincing 
 the slightest dismay or even regret, M. de Valorsay drew a long breath, as 
 if a great burden had been lifted from his heart, and his eyes sparkled with 
 apparent delight. "Then I may venture to speak," he exclaimed, with 
 unconcealed satisfaction, "I will speak, mademoiselle, if you will deign to 
 allow me." 
 
 She looked at him with anxious curiosity, wondering what was to come. 
 " Speak, monsieur," she faltered. 
 
 "I will obey you, mademoiselle," he said bowing again. "But first, 
 allow me to tell you how great my hopes have been. M. de Chalusse'a 
 death is an irreparable misfortune for me as for yourself. He had allowed 
 me, mademoiselle, to aspire to the honour of becoming a suitor for your 
 hand. If he did not speak to you on the subject, it was only because he 
 wished to leave you absolutely free, and impose upon me the difficult task 
 of winning your consent. But between him and me everything had been 
 arranged in principle, and he was to give a dowry of three millions of francs 
 to Mademoiselle Marguerite de Chalusse, his daughter." 
 
 "I am no longer Mademoiselle de Chalusse, Monsieui le Marquis, and I 
 am no longer the possessor of a fortune. " 
 
 He felt the sharp sting of this retort, for the blood rose to his cheeks, 
 still he did not lose his composure. " If you were still rich, mademoiselle," 
 he replied, in the reproachful tone of an honest man who feels that he is 
 misunderstood, "I should, perhaps, have strength to keep the sentiments 
 with which you have inspired me a secret in my own heart ; but " He 
 rose, and with a gesture which was not devoid of grace, and in a full ring- 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 113 
 
 ing voice he added : "But you are no longer the possessor oi millions ; 
 and so I may tell you, Mademoiselle Marguerite, that I love you. Will 
 you be my wife ? " 
 
 The poor girl was obliged to exercise all her powers of self-control to 
 restrain an exclamation of dismay. It was indeed more than dismay ; she 
 was absolutely terrified by the Marquis de Valorsay's unexpected declara- 
 tion, and she could only falter : " Monsieur ! monsieur 1 " 
 
 But with an air of winning frankness he continued : "Need I tell you 
 who I am, mademoiselle ? No ; that is unnecessary. The fact that my 
 suit was approved of by M. de Chalusse is the best recommendation I can 
 offer you. The pure and stainless name I bear is one of the proudest in 
 France ; and though my fortune may have been somewhat impaired by 
 youthful folly, it is still more than sufficient to maintain an establishment 
 in keeping with my rank." 
 
 ^Mademoiselle Marguerite was still powerless to reply. Her presence of 
 mind had entirely deserted her, and her tongue seemed to cleave to her 
 palate. She glanced entreatingly at the old magistrate, as if imploring his 
 intervention, but he was so absorbed in contemplating his wonderful ring, 
 that one might have imagined he was oblivious of all that was going on 
 around him. 
 
 " I am aware that I have so far not been fortunate enough to please you, 
 mademoiselle," continued the marquis. " M. de Chalusse did not conceal it 
 from me I remember, alas ! that I advocated in your presence a number 
 of stupid theories, which must have given you a very poor opinion of me. 
 But you will forgive me, I trust. My ideas have entirely changed since I 
 have learned to understand and appreciate your vigorous intellect and 
 nobility of soul. I thoughtlessly spoke to you in the language which is 
 usually addressed to young ladies of our rank of life frivolous beauties, 
 who are spoiled by vanity and luxury, and who look upon marriage 
 only as a means of enfranchisement." 
 
 His words were disjointed as if emotion choked his utterance. At times, 
 it seemed as if he could scarcely command his feelings ; and then his voice 
 became so faint and trembling that it was scarcely intelligible. 
 
 However, by allowing him to continue, by listening to what he said, 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was encouraging him, even more virtually bind- 
 ing herself. She understood that this was the case, and making a powerful 
 effort, she interrupted him, saying : "I assure you, Monsieur le Marquis, 
 that I am deeply touched and grateful but I am no longer free. " 
 
 " Pray, mademoiselle, pray do not reply to-day. Grant me a little time 
 to overcome your prejudices." 
 
 She shook her head, and in a firmer voice, replied : "I have no pre- 
 judices ; but for some time past already, my future has been decided, 
 irrevocably decided." 
 
 He seemed thunderstruck, and his manner apparently indicated that the 
 possibility of a repulse had never entered his mind. His eyes wandered 
 restlessly from Mademoiselle Marguerite to the countenance of the old 
 magistrate, who remained as impassive as a sphinx, and at last they lighted 
 on a newspaper which was lying on the floor at the young girl's feet. 
 " Do not deprive me of all hope," he murmured. 
 
 She made no answer, and understanding her silence, he was about to 
 retire when the door suddenly opened and a servant announced : " Mon- 
 sieur de Fondege." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite touched the magistrate on the shoulder to 
 
114 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 attract his attention. " This gentleman is M. de Chalusse's friend whom I 
 sent for this morning." 
 
 At the same moment a man who looked some sixty years of age entered tht> 
 room. He was very tall, and as straight as the letter I, being arrayed in a 
 long blue frock-coat, while his neck, which was as red and as wrinkled as 
 that of a turkey-cock, was encased in a very high and stiff satin cravat. 
 On seeing his ruddy face, his closely cropped hair, his little eyes twinkling 
 under his bushy eyebrows, and his formidable moustaches a la Victor 
 Emmanuel, you would have immediately exclaimed : " That man is an old 
 soldier ! " 
 
 A great mistake ! M. de Fondege had never been in the service, and it 
 was only in mockery of his somewhat bellicose manners and appearance 
 that some twenty years previously his friends had dubbed him " the Gene- 
 ral. " However the appellation had clung to him. The nickname had been 
 changed to a title, and now M. de Fondege was known as "the Gene- 
 ral" everywhere. He was invited and announced as "the General." 
 Many people believed that he had really been one, and perhaps he fancied 
 so himself, for he had long been in the habit of inscribing "General A. de 
 Fondege " on his visiting cards. The nickname had had a decisive influence 
 on his life. He had endeavoured to show himself worthy of it, and the 
 manners he had at first assumed, eventually became natural ones. He 
 seemed to be the conventional old soldier irascible, and jovial at the same 
 time ; brusque and kind ; at once frank, sensible and brutal ; as simple as 
 a child, and yet as true as steel. He swore the most tremendous oaths in 
 a deep bass voice, and whenever he talked his arms revolved like the sails 
 of a windmill. However, Madame de Fondege, who was a very angular 
 lady, with a sharp nose and very thin lips, assured people that her husband 
 was not so terrible as he appeared. He was not considered very shrewd, 
 and he pretended to have an intense dislike for business matters. No one 
 knew anything precise about his fortune, but he had a great many friends 
 who invited him to dinner, and they all declared that he was in very com- 
 fortable circumstances. 
 
 On entering the study this worthy man did not pay the slightest atten- 
 tion to the Marquis de Valorsay, although they were intimate friends. He 
 walked straight up to Mademoiselle Marguerite, caught her in his long arms, 
 and pressed her to his heart, brushing her face with his huge moustaches 
 as he pretended to kiss her. " Courage, my dear," he growled; "courage. 
 Don't give way. Follow my example. Look at me ! " So saying he 
 stepped back, and it was really amusing to see the extraordinary effort he 
 made to combine a soldier's stoicism with a friend's sorrow. ' ' You must 
 wonder at my delay, my dear," he resumed, "but it was not my fault. I 
 was at Madame de Rochecote's when I was informed that your messenger 
 was at home waiting for me. I returned, and heard the frightful news. 
 It was a thunderbolt. A friend of thirty years' standing ! A thousand 
 thunderclaps ! I acted as his second when he fought his first duel. Poor 
 Chalusse ! A man as sturdy as an oak, and who ought to have outlived us 
 all. But it is always so : the best soldiers always file by first at dress- 
 parade." 
 
 The Marquis de Valorsay had beaten a retreat, the magistrate was 
 hidden in a dark corner, and Mademoiselle Marguerite, who was accustomed 
 to the General's manner, remained silent, being well aware that there was 
 no chance of putting in a word as long as he had possession of the floor. 
 "Fortunately, poor Chalusse was a prudent man," continued M. de 
 
THE COUNTS MILLIONS. 115 
 
 Fondege. " He loved you devotedly, my dear, as his testamentary provi- 
 sions must have shown you." 
 
 " His provisions ? " 
 
 "Yes, most certainly. Surely you don't mean to try and conceal any- 
 thing from one who knows all. Ah ! you will be one of the greatest catches 
 in Europe, and you will have plenty of suitors." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite sadly shook her head. " You are mistaken, 
 General ; the count left no will, and has made no provision whatever for me. " 
 
 M. de Fondege trembled, turned a trifle pale, and in a faltering voice, 
 exclaimed : " What ! You tell me that ? Chalusse ! A thousand 
 thunderclaps ! It isn't possible." 
 
 " The count was stricken with apoplexy in a cab. He went out about 
 five o'clock, on foot, and a little before seven he was brought home uncon- 
 scious. Where he had been we don't know. " 
 
 ' ' You don't know ? you don't know ? " 
 
 " Alas ! no ; and he was only able to utter a few incoherent words before 
 Ve died." Thereupon the poor girl began a brief account of what had 
 fcaken place during the last four-and -twenty hours. Had she been less ab- 
 sorbed in her narrative she would have noticed that the General was not 
 listening to her. He was sitting at the count's desk and was toying with 
 the letters which Madame Lon had brought into the room a short time 
 previously. One of them especially seemed to attract his attention, to 
 exercise a sort of fascination over him as it were. He looked at it with 
 hungry eyes, and whenever he touched it, his hand trembled, or involun- 
 tarily clinched. His face, moreover, had become livid ; his eyes twitched 
 nervously ; he seemed to have a difficulty in breathing, and big drops of 
 perspiration trickled down his forehead. If the magistrate were able to 
 see the General's face, he must certainly have been of opinion that a terrible 
 conflict was raging in his mind. The struggle lasted indeed for fully five 
 minutes, and then suddenly, certain that no one saw him, he caught up the 
 letter in question and slipped it into his pocket. 
 
 Poor Marguerite was now finishing her story : " You see, monsieur, 
 that, far from being an heiress, as you suppose, I am homeless and penni- 
 less," she said. 
 
 The. -General had risen from his chair, and was striding up and down the 
 room with every token of intense agitation. "It's true," he said ap- 
 parently unconscious of his words. "She's ruined lost the misfortune 
 is complete ! " Then, suddenly pausing with folded arms in front of 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite : ' ' What are you going to do ? " he asked. 
 'God will not forsake me, General," she replied. 
 
 He turned on his heel and resumed his promenade, wildly gesticulating and 
 indulging in a furious monologue which was certainly not very easy to follow. 
 " Frightful ! terrible ! " he growled. " The daughter of an old comrade 
 zounds ! of a friend of thirty years' standing to be left in such a plight ! 
 Never, a thousand thunderclaps ! never ! Poor child ! a heart of gold, 
 and as pretty as an angel ! This horrible Paris would devour her at a 
 single mouthful ! It would be a crime an abomination ! It sha'n't be ! 
 the old veterans are here, firm as rocks ! " 
 
 Thereupon, approaching the poor girl again, he exclaimed in a coarse but 
 seemingly feeling voice : " Mademoiselle Marguerite." 
 
 "General?" 
 
 "You are acquainted with my son, Gustave de Fondege, are you not? " 
 
 "I think I have heard you speak of him to M. de Chalusse several times." 
 
116 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 The General tugged furiously at his moustaches as was his wont whenever 
 he was perplexed or embarrassed. "My son," he resumed, "is twenty- 
 seven. He's now a lieutenant of hussars, and will soon be promoted to the 
 rank of captain. He's a handsome fellow, sure to make his way in the 
 world, for he's not wanting in spirit. As I never attempt to hide the truth, 
 I must confess that he's a trifle dissipated j but his heart is all right, and a 
 charming little wife would soon turn him from the error of his ways, and 
 he'd become the pearl of husbands." He paused, passed his forefinger three 
 or four times between his collar and his neck, and then, in a half -strangled 
 voice, he added: "Mademoiselle Marguerite, I have the honour to ask for 
 your hand in marriage on behalf of Lieutenant Gustave de Fondege, my son." 
 
 There was a dangerous gleam of anger in Mademoiselle Marguerite's eyes, 
 as she coldly replied : "I am honoured by your request, monsieur j but 
 my future is already decided. " 
 
 Some seconds elapsed before M. de Fondege could recover his powers of 
 speech. " This is a piece of foolishness," he faltered, at last with singular 
 agitation. " Let me hope that you will reconsider the matter. And if 
 Gustave doesn't please you, we will find some one better. But under no 
 circumstances will Chalusse's old comrade ever desert you. I shall send 
 Madame de Fondege to see you this evening. She's a good woman and 
 you will understand each other. Come, answer me, what do you say 
 to it?" 
 
 His persistence irritated the poor girl beyond endurance, and to put an 
 end to the painful scene, she at last asked. u Would you not like to look 
 for the last time at M. de Chalusse ? " 
 
 "Ah ! yes, certainly an old friend of thirty years' standing." So saying 
 he advanced towards the door leading into the death-room but on reaching 
 the threshold, he cried in sudden terror: "Oh! no, no, I could not." 
 And with these words he withdrew or rather he fled from the room down 
 the stairs. 
 
 As long as the General had been there, the magistrate had given no sign 
 of life. But seated beyond the circle of light cast by the lamps, he had re- 
 mained an attentive spectator of the scene, and now that he found himself 
 once more alone with Mademoiselle Marguerite he came forward, and lean- 
 ing against the mantel-piece and looking her full in the face he exclaimed : 
 "Well, my child?" 
 
 The girl trembled like a culprit awaiting sentence of death, and it was in 
 a hollow voice that she replied : " I understood " 
 
 " What ? " insisted the pitiless magistrate. 
 
 She raised her beautiful eyes, in which angry tears were still glittering, 
 and then answered in a voice which quivered with suppressed passion, 
 " I have fathomed the infamy of those two men who have just left the 
 house. I understood the insult their apparent generosity conceals. They 
 had questioned the servants, and had ascertained that two millions were 
 missing. Ah, the scoundrels ! They believe that I have stolen those 
 millions ; and they came to ask me to share the ill-gotten wealth with 
 them. What an insult ! and to think that I am powerless to avenge it ! Ah ! 
 the servants' suspicions were nothing in comparison with this. At least, 
 they did not ask for a share of the booty as the price of their silence ! " 
 
 The magistrate shook his head as if this explanation scarcely satisfied 
 him. "There is something else, there is certainly something else," he 
 repeated. But the doors were still open, so he closed them carefully, and 
 then returned to the girl he was so desirous of advising. * ' I wish to tell 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 117 
 
 you," he said, "that you have mistaken the motives which induced these 
 gentlemen to ask for your hand in marriage. " 
 
 " Do you believe, then, that you have fathomed them? " 
 
 " I could almost swear that I had. Didn't you remark a great difference 
 in their manner ? Didn't one of them, the marquis, behave with all the 
 calmness and composure which are the result of reflection and calculation ? 
 The other, on the contrary, acted most precipitately, as if he had suddenly 
 come to a determination, and formed a plan on the impulse of the moment. " 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite reflected. 
 
 "That's true," she said, " that's indeed true, Now I recollect the differ- 
 ence." 
 
 "And this is my explanation of it," resumed the magistrate. "The 
 Marquis de Valorsay," I said to myself, " must have proofs in his posses- 
 sion that Mademoiselle Marguerite is the count's daughter written and 
 conclusive proofs, that is certain probably a voluntary admission of the 
 fact from the father. Who can prove that M. de Valorsay does not possess 
 this acknowledgment ? In fact, he must possess it. He hinted it himself. " 
 Accordingly on hearing of the count's sudden death, he said to himself, 
 "If Marguerite was my wife, and if I could prove her to be M. de Chalusse's 
 daughter, I should obtain several millions." Whereupon he consulted his 
 legal adviser who assured him that it would be the best course he could 
 pursue ; and so he came here. You repulsed him, but he will soon make 
 another assault, you may rest assured of that. And some day or other he 
 will come to you and say, " Whether we marry or not, let us divide." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was amazed. The magistrate's words seemed 
 to dispel the mist which had hitherto hidden the truth from view. " Yes," 
 she exclaimed, "yes, you are right, monsieur." 
 
 He was silent for a moment, and then he resumed : "I understand M. 
 de Fondege's motive less clearly ; but still I have some clue. He had not 
 questioned the servants. That is evident from the fact that on his arrival 
 here he believed you to be the sole legatee. He was also aware that M. 
 de Chalusse had taken certain precautions we are ignorant of, but which 
 he is no doubt fully acquainted with. What you told him about your 
 poverty amazed him, and he immediately evinced a desire to atone for the 
 count's neglect with as much eagerness as if he were the cause of this 
 negligence himself. And, indeed, judging by the agitation he displayed 
 when he was imploring you to become his son's wife, one might almost 
 imagine that the sight of your misery awakened a remorse which he was 
 endeavouring to quiet. Now, draw your own conclusions." 
 
 The wretched girl looked questioningly at the magistrate as if she hesi- 
 tated to trust the thoughts which his words had awakened in her mind. 
 "Then you think, monsieur," she said, with evident reluctance, "you 
 think, you suppose, that the General is acquainted with the whereabouts of 
 the missing millions ? " 
 
 " Quite correct," answered the magistrate, and then as if he feared that 
 he had gone too far, he added : "but draw your own conclusions respect- 
 ing the matter. You have the whole night before you. We will talk it 
 over again to-morrow, and if I can be of service to you in any way, I shall 
 be only too glad. " 
 
 ' ' But, monsieur " 
 
 " Oh to-morrow, to-morrow I must go to dinner now; besides, my 
 clerk must be getting terribly impatient." 
 
 The clerk was, indeed, out of temper. Not that he had finished taking 
 
118 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 an inventory of the appurtenances of this immense house, but because he con- 
 sidered that he had done quite enough work for one day. And yet his 
 discontent was sensibly diminished when he calculated the amount he 
 would receive for his pains. During the nine years he had held this office 
 he had never made such an extensive inventory before. He seemed some- 
 what dazzled, and as he followed his superior out of the house, he re- 
 marked : " Do you know, monsieur, that as nearly as I can discover the 
 deceased's fortune must amount to more than twenty millions an income 
 of a million a year ! And to think that the poor young lady shouldn't 
 have a penny of it. I suspect she's crying her eyes out." 
 
 But the clerk was mistaken. Mademoiselle Marguerite was then ques- 
 tioning M. Casimir respiting the arrangements which he had made for 
 the funeral, and when this sad duty was concluded, she consented to take 
 a little food standing in front of the side-board in the dining-room. Then 
 she went to kneel in the count's room, where four members of the parochial 
 clergy were reciting the prayers for the dead. 
 
 She was so exhausted with fatigue that she could scarcely speak, and her 
 eyelids were heavy with sleep. But she had another task to fulfil, a task 
 which she deemed a sacred duty. She sent a servant for a cab, threw a 
 shawl over her shoulders, and left the house accompanied by Madame Leon. 
 The cabman drove as fast as possible to the house where Pascal and his 
 mother resided in the Rue d'Ulm ; but on arriving there, the front door 
 was found to be closed, and the light in the vestibule was extinguished. 
 Marguerite was obliged to ring five or six times before the concierge made 
 his appearance. 
 
 11 1 wish to see Monsieur Ferailleur," she quietly said. 
 
 The man glanced at her scornfully, and then replied : " He no longer lives 
 here. The landlord doesn't want any thieves in his house. He's sold 
 his rubbish and started for America, with his old witch of a mother." 
 
 So saying he closed the door again, and Marguerite was so overwhelmed 
 by this last and unexpected misfortune, that she could hardly stagger back 
 to the vehicle. " Gone 1 " she murmured; "gone! without a thought of 
 me ! Or does he believe me to be like all the rest ? But I will find him 
 again. That man Fortunat, who ascertained addresses for M. de Chalusse, 
 will find Pascal for me." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Few people have any idea of the great number of estates which, in default 
 of heirs to claim them, annually revert to the government. The treasury 
 derives large sums from this source every year. And this is easily ex- 
 plained, for now-a-days family ties are becoming less and less binding. 
 Brothers cease to meet ; their children no longer know each other ; and 
 the members of the second generation are as perfect strangers as though 
 they were not united by a bond of consanguinity. The young man whom 
 love of adventure lures to a far-off country, and the young girl who marries 
 against her parents' wishes, soon cease to exist for their relatives. No one 
 even inquires what has become of them. Those who remain at home are 
 afraid to ask whether they are prosperous or unfortunate, lest they should 
 be called upon to assist the wanderers. Forgotten themselves, the ad- 
 venturers in their turn soon forget. If fortune smiles upon them, they are 
 careful not to inform their relatives. Poor they have been cast off; 
 wealthy they themselves deny their kindred. Having become rich un- 
 
THE COUNTS MILLIONS. 119 
 
 aided, they find an egotistical satisfaction in spending their money alone 
 in accordance with their own fancies. Now when a man of this class dies 
 what happens ? The servants and people around him profit of his loneliness 
 and isolation, and the justice of the peace is only summoned to affix the 
 seals, after they have removed all the portable property. An inventory is 
 taken, and after a few formalities, as no heirs present themselves, the court 
 declares the inheritance to be in abeyance, and appoints a trustee. 
 
 This trustee's duties are very simple. He manages the property and 
 remits the income to the Treasury until a legal judgment declares the estate 
 the property of the country, regardless of any heirs who may present them- 
 selves in future. 
 
 " If I only had a twentieth part of the money that is lost in this way, my 
 fortune would be made," exclaimed a shrewd man, some thirty years ago. 
 
 The person who spoke was Antoine Vaudore\ For six months he secretly 
 nursed the idea, studying it, examining it in all respects, weighing its 
 advantages and disadvantages, and at last he decided that it was a good 
 one. That same year, indeed, assisted by a little capital which he had 
 obtained no one knew how, he created a new, strange, and untried pro- 
 fession to supply a new demand. 
 
 Thus Vaudore" was the first man who made heir- hunting a profession. 
 As will be generally admitted, it is not a profession than can be successfully 
 followed by a craven. It requires the exercise of unusual shrewdness, un- 
 tiring activity, extraordinary energy and courage, as well as great tact and 
 varied knowledge. The man who would follow it successfully must possess 
 the boldness of a gambler, the sang-froid of a duellist, the keen perceptive 
 powers and patience of a detective, and the resources and quick wit of the 
 shrewdest attorney. 
 
 It is easier to decry the profession than to exercise it. To begin 
 with, the heir-hunter must be posted up with information respecting 
 unclaimed inheritances, and he must have sufficient acquaintance with the 
 legal world to be able to obtain information from the clerks of the different 
 courts, notaries, and so on. When he learns that a man has died without 
 any known heirs, his first care is to ascertain the amount of unclaimed 
 property, to see if it will pay him to take up the case. If he finds that 
 the inheritance is a valuable one, he begins operations without delay. He 
 must first ascertain the deceased's full name and age. It is easy to procure 
 this information ; but it is more difficult to discover the name of the place 
 where the deceased was born, his profession, what countries he lived in, 
 his tastes and mode of life in a word everything that constitutes a complete 
 biography. 
 
 However, when he has armed himself with the more indispensable facts, 
 our agent opens the campaign with extreme prudence^ for it would be ruin- 
 ous to awake suspicion. It is curious to observe the incomparable address 
 which the agent displays in his efforts to learn the particulars of the 
 deceased's life, by consulting his friends, his enemies, his debtors, and all 
 who ever knew him, until at last some one is found who says : "Such and 
 such a man why, he came from our part of the country. I never knew 
 fam, but I am acquainted with one of his brothers with one of his uncles 
 or with one of his nephews." 
 
 Very often years of constant research, a large outlay of money, and costly 
 and skilful advertising in all the European journals, are necessary before 
 this result is reached. And it is only when it has been attained that the 
 agent can take time to breathe. But now the chances are greatly in his 
 
120 THE count's millions. 
 
 favour. The worst is over. The portion of his task which depended on 
 chance alone is concluded. The rest is a matter of skill, tact, and shrewdness. 
 The detective must give place to the crafty lawyer. The agent must confer 
 with this heir, who has been discovered at the cost of so much time and 
 trouble, and induce him to bestow a portion of this perspective wealth on 
 the person who is able to establish his claim. There must be an agreement 
 n writing clearly stating what proportion a tenth, a third, or a half the 
 agent will be entitled to. The negotiation is a very delicate and difficult 
 one, requiring prodigious presence of mind, and an amount of duplicity 
 which would make the most astute diplomatist turn pale with envy. 
 Occasionally, the heir suspects the truth, sneers at the proposition, and 
 hurries off to claim the whole of the inheritance that belongs to him. The 
 agent may then bid his hopes farewell. He has worked and spent money 
 for nothing. 
 
 However, such a misfortune is of rare occurrence. On hearing of the 
 unexpected good fortune that has befallen him, the heir is generally un- 
 suspicious, and willingly promises to pay the amount demanded of him. A 
 contract is drawn up and signed ; and then, but only then, does the agent 
 take his client into his confidence. " You are the relative of such a person, 
 are you not ? " " Yes." " Very well. He is dead, and you are his heir. 
 Thank Providence, and make haste to claim your money." 
 
 As a rule, the heir loyally fulfills his obligation. But sometimes it 
 happens that, when he has obtained undisputed possession of the property, 
 he declares that he has been swindled, and refuses to fulfil his part of the 
 contract. Then the case must go to the courts. It is true, however, that 
 the judgment of the tribunals generally recalls the refractory client to a 
 sense of gratitude and humility. 
 
 Now our friend M. Isidore Fortunat was a hunter of missing heirs. Un- 
 doubtedly he often engaged in other business which was a trifle less respect- 
 able ; but heir-hunting was one of the best and most substantial sources of 
 his income. So we can readily understand why he so quickly left off 
 lamenting the loss of the forty thousand francs lent to the Marquis de 
 Valorsay. 
 
 Changing his tactics, he said to himself that, even if he had lost this 
 amount through M. de Chalusse's sudden death, it was much less than he 
 might obtain if he succeeded in discovering the unknown heirs to so many 
 millions. And he had some reason to hope that he would be able to do so. 
 Having been employed by M. de Chalusse when the latter was seeking 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite, M. Fortunat had gained some valuable informa- 
 tion respecting his client, and the additional particulars which he had 
 obtained from Madame Vantrasson elated him to such an extent that more 
 than once he exclaimed : "Ah, well 1 it is, perhaps, a blessing in disguise, 
 after all." 
 
 Still, M. Isidore Fortunat slept but little after his stormy interview with 
 the Marquis de Valorsay. A loss of forty thousand francs is not likely to 
 impart a roseate hue to one's dreams and M. Fortunat prized his money as 
 if it had been the very marrow of his bones. By way of consolation, he 
 assured himself that he would not merely regain the sum, but triple it ; 
 and yet this encouragement did not entirely restore his peace of mind. The 
 gain was only a possibility, and the loss was a certainty. So he twisted, 
 and turned, and tossed on his bed as if it had been a hot gridiron, exhausting 
 himself in surmises, and preparing his mind for the difficulties which he 
 would be obliged to overcome. 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 121 
 
 His plan was a simple one, but its execution was fraught with difficulties. 
 " I must discover M. de Chalusse's sister, if she is still living I must dis- 
 cover her children, if she is dead," he said to himself, It was easy to say 
 this ; but how was he to do it ? How could he hope to find this unfortunate 
 girl, who had abandoned her home thirty years previously, to fly, no one 
 5new where, or with whom ? How was he to gain any idea of the life she 
 had lived, or the fate that had befallen her ? At what point on the social 
 scale, and in what country, should he begin his investigations? These 
 daughtersjof noble houses, who desert the paternal roof in a moment of mad- 
 ness, generally die most miserably after a wretched life. The girl of the 
 lower classes is armed against misfortune, and has been trained for the con- 
 flict. She can measure and calculate the force of her fall, and regulate 
 and control it to a certain extent. But the others cannot. They have 
 lever known privation and hardship, and are, therefore, defenceless. And 
 for the very reason that they have been hurled from a great height, they 
 often fall down into the lowest depths of infamy. 
 
 " If morning would only come," sighed M. Isidore Fortunat, as he 
 tossed restlessly to and fro. "As soon as morning comes I will set to 
 work ! " 
 
 But just before daybreak he fell asleep ; and at nine o'clock he was 
 still slumbering so soundly that Madame Dodelin, his housekeeper, 
 had considerable difficulty in waking him. " Your clerks have come," 
 she exclaimed, shaking him vigorously; " and two clients are waiting for 
 you in the reception-room." 
 
 He sprang up, hastily dressed himself, and went into his office. It cost 
 him no little effort to receive his visitors that morning ; but it would have 
 been folly to neglect all his other business for the uncertain Chalusse affair. 
 The first client who entered was a man still young, of common, even vulgar 
 appearance. Not being acquainted with M. Fortunat, he deemed it proper 
 to introduce himself without delay. " My name is Leplaintre, and I am 
 a coal merchant," said he. "I was recommended to call on you by my 
 friend Bouscat, who was formerly in the wine trade. " 
 
 M. Fortunat bowed. "Pray be seated," was his reply. "I remember 
 your friend very well. If I am not mistaken I gave him some advice 
 with reference to his third failure. " 
 
 "Precisely ; and it is because I find myself in the same fix as Bouscat 
 that I have called on you. Business is very bad, and I have notes to a 
 large amount overdue, so that " 
 
 " You will be obliged to go into bankruptcy." 
 
 "Alas! I fear so." 
 
 M. Fortunat already knew what his client desired, but it was against 
 his principles to meet these propositions more than half way. " Will you 
 state your case ? " said he. 
 
 The coal merchant blushed. It was hard to confess the truth ; but the 
 effort had to be made. "This is my case," he replied, at last. "Among 
 my creditors I have several enemies, who will refuse me a release. They 
 would like to deprive me of everything I possess. And in that case, 
 what would become of me ? Is it right that I should be compelled to starve? " 
 
 "It is a bad outlook." 
 
 "It is, indeed, monsieur; and for this reason, I desireif possible, if 1 
 can do so without danger for I am an honest man, monsieur I wish to 
 retain a little property secretly, of course, not for myself, by any means, 
 but I have a young wife and " 
 
122 the count's millions. 
 
 M. Fortunat took compassion on the man's embarrassment. " In short," 
 he interrupted, " you wish to conceal a part of your capital from your 
 creditors ? " 
 
 On hearing this precise and formal statement of his honourable inten- 
 tions, the coal-merchant trembled. His feelings of integrity would not 
 have been alarmed by a periphrasis, but this plain speaking shocked him. 
 " Oh, monsieur ! " he protested, "I would rather blow my brains out than 
 defraud my creditors of a single penny that was rightfully theirs. What I 
 am doing is for their interest, you understand. I shall begin business 
 again under my wife's name ; and if I succeed, they shall be paid yes, 
 monsieur, every sou, with interest. Ah ! if I had only myself to think of, 
 it would be quite different ; but I have two children, two little girls, so 
 that" 
 
 "Very well," replied M. Fortunat. "I should suggest to you the same 
 expedient as I suggested to your friend Bouscat. But you must gather a 
 little ready money together before going into bankruptcy. " 
 
 " I can do that by secretly disposing of a part of my sLods, so " 
 
 * In that case, you are saved. Sell it and put the money beyond your 
 creditors' reach." 
 
 The worthy merchant scratched his ear in evident perplexity. " Excuse 
 me," said he. " I had thought of this plan ; but it seemed to me dis- 
 honourable and also very dangerous. How could I explain this decrease 
 in my stock ? My creditors hate me. If they suspected anything, they 
 would accuse me of fraud, and perhaps throw me into prison ; and 
 then" 
 
 M. Fortunat shrugged his shoulders. " When I give advice, "he roughly 
 replied, "I furnish the means of following it without danger. Listen to 
 me attentively. Let us suppose, for a moment, that some time ago you 
 purchased, at a very high figure, a quantity of stocks and shares, which 
 are to-day almost worthless, could not this unfortunate investment account 
 for the absence of the sum which you wish to set aside ? Your creditors 
 would be obliged to value these securities, not at their present, but at their 
 former value. 
 
 ' ' Evidently ; but, unfortunately, I do not possess any such securities. " 
 
 " You can purchase them." 
 
 The coal-merchant opened his eyes in astonishment. "Excuse me," he 
 muttered, " I don't exactly understand you." 
 
 He did not understand in the least ; but M. Fortunat enlightened him 
 by opening his safe, and displaying an enormous bundle of stocks and 
 shares which had flooded the country a few years previously, and ruined a 
 great many poor, ignorant fools which were hungering for wealth ; among 
 them were shares in the Tifila Mining Company, the Berchem Coal Mines, 
 the Greenland Fisheries, the Mutual Trust and Loan Association, and so on. 
 There had been a time when each of +hese securities would have fetched 
 five hundred or a thousand francs at the Bourse, but now they were not 
 worth the paper on which they were printed. 
 
 " Let us suppose, my dear sir," resumed M. Fortunat, "that you had a 
 drawer full of these securities " 
 
 But the other did not allow him to finish. " I see," he exclaimed ; " I 
 see I can sell my stock, and put the proceeds in my pocket with perfect 
 safety. There is enough to represent my capital a thousand times 
 over." 
 
 And, in a paroxysm of delight, he added : 
 

 the count's millions. 123 
 
 "Give me enough of these shares to represent a capital of one hundred 
 and twenty thousand francs ; and give me some of each kind. I should 
 like my creditors to have a variety. " 
 
 Thereupon M. Fortunat counted out a pile of these worthless securities 
 as carefully as if he had been handling bank-notes ; and his client at the 
 same time drew out his pocket-book. 
 
 " How much do I owe you ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Three thousand francs." 
 
 The honest merchant bounded from his chair. " Three thousand francs !" 
 he repeated. " You must be jesting. That trash is not worth a louis." 
 
 "I would not even give five francs for it," rejoined M. Fortunat, coldly : 
 " but it is true that I don't desire to purchase these shares in my creditors' 
 interest. With you it is quite a different matter this trash, as you very 
 justly call it, will save you at least a hundred thousand francs. I ask only 
 three per cent, which is certainly not dear. Still, you know, I don't force 
 any one to purchase them." And, in a terribly significant tone, he added : 
 " You can undoubtedly buy similar securities on better terms ; but take 
 care that you don't arouse your creditors' suspicions by applying else- 
 where." 
 
 ' ' He would betray me, the scoundrel ! " thought the merchant. And, 
 realising that he had fallen into a trap, " Here are three thousand francs," 
 he sighed ; "but at least, my dear sir, give me good measure, and throw in 
 a few thousand francs more." 
 
 The coal merchant smiled the ghastly smile of a man who sees no way of 
 escape from imposition, and has, therefore, resolved to submit with the 
 best grace possible. But M. Fortunat's gravity did not relax. He gave 
 what he had promised neither more nor less in exchange for the bank- 
 notes, and even gravely exclaimed : " See if the amount is correct." 
 
 His client pocketed the shares without counting them ; but before leaving 
 the room he made his estimable adviser promise to assist him at the decisive 
 moment, and help him to prepare one of those clear financial statements 
 which make creditors say : " This is an honest man who has been extremely 
 unfortunate." 
 
 M. Fortunat was admirably fitted to render this little service ; for he 
 devoted such part of his time as was not spent in hunting for missing heirs 
 to difficult liquidations, and he had indeed made bankruptcy a speciality in 
 which he was without a rival. The business was a remunerative one, 
 thanks to the expedient he had revealed to the coal merchant an ex- 
 pedient which is common enough now-a-days, but of which he might almost 
 be called the inventor. It consisted in compelling the persons who asked 
 for his advice to purchase worthless shares at whatever price he chose to 
 set upon them, and they were forced to submit, under penalty of denuncia- 
 tion and exposure. 
 
 The client who followed the coal merchant proved to be a simple creature, 
 who had called to ask for some advice respecting a slight difficulty between 
 himself and his landlord. M. Fortunat speedily disposed of him, and then, 
 opening the door leading into the outer office, he called : " Cashier ! " 
 
 A shabbily-dressed man, some thirty-five years of age, at once entered 
 the private sanctum, carrying a money-bag in one hand and a ledger in the 
 other. 
 
 " How many debtors were visited yesterday? " inquired M. Fortunat. 
 
 " Two hundred and thirty seven." 
 
 " What was the amount collected ? " 
 
124 THE count's millions. 
 
 " Eighty-nine francs." 
 
 M. Isidore Fortunat's grimace was expressive of satisfaction. "Not 
 bad," said he, " not at all bad." 
 
 Then a singular performance began. M. Fortunat called over the names 
 of his debtors, one by one, and the cashier answered each name by reading 
 a memorandum written against it on the margin of a list he held. " Such 
 a one," said the agent, "and such a one and such " Whereupon the 
 cashier replied : " Has paid two francs was not at home paid twenty 
 sous would not pay anything. " 
 
 How did it happen that M. Fortunat had so many debtors ? This ques- 
 tion can be easily answered. In settling bankrupts' estates it was easy for 
 him to purchase a large number of debts which were considered worthless, 
 at a trifling cost, and he reaped a bountiful harvest on a field which would 
 have yielded nothing to another person. It was not because he was 
 rigorous in his demands ; he conquered by patience, gentleness, and polite- 
 ness, but also by unwearying perseverance and tenacity. When he decided 
 that a debtor was to pay him a certain sum, it was paid. He never relaxed 
 in his efforts. Every other day some one was sent to visit the debtor, to 
 follow him, and harass him ; he was surrounded by M. Fortunat's agents ; 
 they pursued him to his office, shop, or cafe" everywhere, continually, in- 
 cessantly and always with the most perfect urbanity. At last even the 
 most determined succumbed ; to escape this frightful persecution, they, 
 somehow or other, found the money to satisfy M. Fortunat's claim. Besides 
 Victor Chupin, he had five other agents whose business it was to visit these 
 poor wretches. A list was assigned to each man every morning ; and when 
 evening came, he made his report to the cashier, who, in turn, reported to 
 his employer. This branch of industry added considerably to the profits 
 of M. Fortunat's other business, and was the third and last string to hir 
 bow. 
 
 The report proceeded as usual, but it was quite evident that M. Fortunat's* 
 thoughts were elsewhere. He paused each moment to listen eagerly for the 
 slightest sound outside, for before receiving the coal merchant he had told 
 Victor Chupin to run to the Rue de Courcelles and ask M. Casimir for news 
 of the Count de Chalusse. He had done this more than an hour before ; 
 and Victor Chupin, who was usually so prompt, had not yet made his 
 appearance. 
 
 At last, however, he returned, whereupon M. Fortunat dismissed the 
 cashier, and addressed his messenger : " Well ? " he asked. 
 
 " He is no longer living. They think he died without a will, and that 
 the pretty young lady will be turned out of the house." 
 
 This information agreed so perfectly with M. Fortunat's presentiments 
 that he did not even wince, but calmly asked : " Will Casimir keep his 
 appointment ? " 
 
 " He told me that he would endeavour to come, and I'd wager a hundred 
 to one that he will be there ; he would travel ten leagues to put something 
 good into his stomach." 
 
 M. Fortunat's opinion coincided with Chupin's. "Very well," said he. 
 " Only you were a long time on the road, Victor." 
 
 " That's true m'sieur ; but I had a little matter of my own to attend to 
 a matter of a hundred francs, if yon please." 
 
 M. Fortunat knit his brows angrily. "It's only right to attend to 
 business," said he ; " but you think too much of money, Victor altogether 
 too much. You are insatiable." 
 
the count's millions. 125 
 
 The young man proudly lifted his head, and with an air of importance, 
 replied : "I have so many responsibilities " 
 " Responsibilities ! you ? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed, m'sieur. And why not? My poor, good mother hasn't 
 been able to work for a year, and who would care for her if I didn't ? 
 Certainly not my father, the good-for-nothing scamp, who squandered all 
 the Duke de Sairmeuse's money without giving us a sou of it. Besides, I'm 
 like other men, I'm anxious to be rich, and enjoy myself. I should like to 
 ride in my carriage like other people do. And whenever a gamin, such as 
 I was once, opened the cloor for me, I should put a five-franc piece in his 
 hand" 
 
 He was interrupted by Madame Dodelin, the worthy housekeeper, who 
 rushed into the room without knocking, in a terrible state of excitement. 
 "Monsieur ! " she exclaimed, in the same tone as if she would have called 
 " Fire ! " " here is Monsieur de Valorsay." 
 
 M. Fortunat sprang up and turned extremely pale. "What to the 
 devil brings him here?" he anxiously stammered. "Tell him that I've 
 gone out tell him " 
 
 But it was useless, for the marquis at that very moment entered the 
 room, and the agent could only dismiss his housekeeper and Chupin. 
 
 M. de Valorsay seemed to be very angry, and it looked as if he meant 
 to give vent to his passion. Indeed, as soon as he was alone with M. 
 Fortunat, he began : "So this is the way you betray your friends, Master 
 Twenty-per-Cent ! Why did you deceive me last night about the ten 
 thousand francs you had promised me ? Why didn't you tell me the truth? 
 You knew of the misfortune that had befallen M. de Chalusse. I heard of 
 it first scarcely an hour ago through a letter from Madame Leon. " 
 
 M. Fortunat hesitated somewhat. He was a quiet man, opposed to 
 violence of any kind ; and it seemed to him that M. de Valorsay was twist- 
 ing and turning his cane in a most ominous manner. " I must confess, 
 Monsieur le Marquis," he at last replied, " that I had not the courage to 
 tell you of the dreadful misfortune which had befallen us." 
 "How us?" 
 
 "Certainly. If you lose the hope of several millions, I also lose the 
 amount I advanced to you, forty thousand francs my entire fortune. And 
 yet, you see that I don't complain. Do as I do confess that the game 
 is lost." 
 
 The marquis was listening with an air of suppressed wrath ; his face was 
 crimson, there was a dark frown on his brow, and his hands were clinched. 
 He was apparently furious with passion, but in reality he was perfectly self- 
 possessed. The best proof that can be given of his coolness is that he was 
 carefully studying M. Fortunat's face, and trying to discover the agent's 
 real intentions under his meaningless words. He had expected to find " his 
 dear extortioner," exasperated by his loss, cursing and swearing, and 
 demanding his money but not at all. He found him more gentle and calm, 
 colder and more reserved than ever ; brimful of resignation indeed, and 
 preaching submission to the inevitable. "What can this mean?" he 
 thought, with an anxious heart. " What mischief is the scoundrel plotting 
 now ? I'd wager a thousand to one that he's forging some thunderbolt to 
 crush me." And, in a haughty tone, he said aloud : 
 " In a word, you desert me." 
 
 With a deprecatory gesture, M. Fortunat exclaimed: "I desert you, 
 Monsieur le Marquis ! What have I done that you should think so ill of 
 
126 the count's millions. 
 
 me ? Alas ! circumstances are the only traitors. I shouldn't like to deprive 
 you of the courage you so much need, but, honestly, it would be folly to 
 struggle against destiny. How can you hope to succeed in your plans ? 
 Have you not resorted to every possible expedient to prolong your appar- 
 ently brilliant existence until the present time? Are you not at such a 
 point that you must marry Mademoiselle Marguerite in a month's time, or 
 perish ? And now the count's millions are lost ! If I might be allowed to 
 give you some advice, I should say, ' The shipwreck is inevitable ; think 
 only of saving yourself.' By tact and shrewdness, you might yet save 
 something from your creditors. Compromise witK them. And if you need 
 my services, here I am. Go to Nice, and give me a power of attorney to 
 act for you. From the debris of your fortune, I will undertake to guarantee 
 you a competence which would satisfy many an ambitious man." 
 
 The marquis laughed sneeringly. " Excellent ! " he exclaimed. " You 
 would rid yourself of me and recover your forty thousand francs at the 
 same time. A very clever arrangement. " 
 
 M. Fortunat realised that his client understood him j but what did it 
 matter ? * ' I assure you " he began. 
 
 But the marquis silenced him with a contemptuous gesture. "Let us 
 stop this nonsense," said he. "We understand each other better than 
 that. I have never made any attempt to deceive you, nor have I ever sup- 
 posed that I had succeeded in doing so, and pray do me the honour to con- 
 sider me as shrewd as yourself." And still refusing to listen to the agent, 
 he continued : " If I have come to you, it is only because the case is not so 
 desperate as you suppose. I still hold some valuable cards which you are 
 ignorant of. In your opinion, and every one else's, Mademoiselle Marguerite 
 is ruined. But I know that she is still worth three millions, at the very 
 least." 
 
 4 Mademoiselle Marguerite ? " 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur Twenty-per-Cent. Let her become my wife, and the 
 very next day I will place her in possession of an income of a hundred and 
 fifty thousand francs. But she must marry me first ; and this scornful 
 maiden will not grant me her hand unless I can convince her of my love 
 and disinterestedness." 
 
 "But your rival?" 
 
 M. de Valorsay gave a nervous start, bu 'quickly controlled himself. 
 " He no longer exists. Read this day's Figaro, and you will be edified. I 
 have no rival now. If I can only conceal my financial embarrassment a 
 little longer, she is mine. A friendless and homeless girl cannot defend 
 herself long in Paris especially when she has an adviser like Madame Leon. 
 Oh ! I shall win her ! I shall have her ! she is a necessity to me. Now 
 you can judge if it would be wise on your part to deprive me of your assis- 
 tance. Would you like to know what I want ? Simply this the means to 
 sustain me two or three months longer some thirty thousand francs. You 
 can procure the money will you ? It would make, in all, seventy thousand 
 francs that I should owe you, and I will promise to pay you two hundred 
 and fifty thousand if I succeed and I shall succeed ! Such profit is worth 
 some risk. Reflect, and decide. But no more subterfuges, if you please. 
 Let your answer be plain yes or no. " 
 
 Without a second's hesitation, M. Fortunat replied, "No." 
 
 The flush on the marquis's face deepened, and his voice became a trifle 
 harsher ; but that was all. " Confess then, that you have resolved to ruin 
 me," he said. " Yon refuse before you have heard me to the end. Wait, 
 
the count's millions. 127 
 
 at least, until I have told you my plans, and shown you the solid foundation 
 which my hopes rest upon." 
 
 But M. Fortunat had resolved to listen to nothing. He wished for no 
 explanations, so distrustful was he of himself so much did he fear that his 
 adventurous nature would urge him to incur further risk. He was posi- 
 tively afraid of the Marquis de Valorsay's eloquence ; besides, he knew well 
 enough that the person who consents to listen is at least half convinced. 
 " Tell me nothing, monsieur," he hastily answered ; "it would be useless. 
 I haven't the money. If I had given you ten thousand francs last night, I 
 should have been compelled to borrow them of M. Prosper Bertomy. And 
 even if I had the money, I should still say 'Impossible.' Every man has 
 his system his theory, you know. Mine is, never to run after my money. 
 With me, whatever I may lose, I regard it as finally lost ; I think no more 
 about it, and turn to something else. So your forty thousand francs have 
 already been entered on my profit and loss account. And yet it would be 
 jasy enough for you to repay me, if you would follow my advice and go 
 |uietly into bankruptcy. " 
 
 "Never!" interrupted M. de Valorsay ; "never! I do not wish to 
 temporize, " he continued. * ' I will save all, or save nothing. If you refuse 
 me your help, I shall apply elsewhere. I will never give my good friends, 
 who detest me, and whom I cordially hate in return, the delicious joy of 
 seeing the Marquis de Valorsay fall step by step from the high position he 
 has occupied. I will never truckle to the men whom I have eclipsed for 
 fifteen years. No, never ! I would rather die, or even commit the greatest 
 crime ! " 
 
 He suddenly checked himself, a trifle astonished, perhaps, by his own 
 plain-speaking ; and, for a moment, he and M. Fortunat looked into each 
 other's eyes, striving to divine their respective secret thoughts. 
 
 The marquis was the first to speak. " And so," said he, in a tone which 
 he strove to make persuasive, but which was threatening instead,'" it is 
 settled your decision is final ? " 
 
 "Final." 
 
 "You will not even condescend to listen to my explanation ? " 
 
 " It would be a loss of time." 
 
 On receiving this cruel reply, M. de Valorsay struck the desk such a for- 
 midable blow with his clencn^d fist that several bundles of papers fell to 
 the floor. His anger was not feigned now. " What are you plotting, 
 then?" he exclaimed; "and what do you intend to do? What is your 
 object in betraying me ? Take care ! It is my life that I am going to 
 defend, and as truly as there is a God in heaven, I shall defend it well. A 
 man who is determined to blow his brains out if he is defeated, is a terribly 
 dangerous adversary. Woe to you, if I ever find you standing between me 
 and the Count de Chalusse's millions ! " 
 
 Every drop of blood had fled from M. Fortunat's face, still his mien was 
 composed and dignified. "You do wrong to threaten me," said he. "I 
 don't fear you in the least. If I were your enemy, I should bring suit 
 against you for the forty thousand francs you owe me. I should not obtain 
 my money, of course, but I could shatter the tottering edifice of your for- 
 tune by a single blow. Besides, you forget that I possess a copy of our 
 agreement, signed by your own hand, and that I have only to show it to 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite to give her a just opinion of your disinterested- 
 ness. Let us sever our connection now, monsieur, and each go his own way 
 without reference to the other. If you should succeed you will repay me." 
 
128 the count's millions. 
 
 Victory perched upon the agent's banner, and it was with a feeling of 
 pride that he saw his noble client depart, white and speechless with rage. 
 "What a rascal that marquis is," he muttered. "I would certainly warn 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite, poor girl, if I were not so much afraid of him." 
 
 xrv, 
 
 M. Casimir, the deceased Count de Chalusse's valet, was neither better nor 
 worse than most of his fellows. Old men tell us that there formerly existed 
 a race of faithful servants, who considered themselves a part of the family 
 that employed them, and who unhesitatingly embraced its interests and its 
 ideas. At the same time their masters requited their devotion by efficacious 
 protection and provision for the future. But such masters and such servants 
 are now-a-days only found in the old melodramas performed at the Ambigu, 
 in " The Emigre"," for instance, or in " The Last of the Chateau vieux." At 
 present servants wander from one house to another, looking on their abode 
 as a mere inn where they may find shelter till they are disposed for another 
 journey. And families receive them as transient, and not unfrequently as 
 dangerous, guests, whom it is always wise to treat with distrust. The key 
 of the wine-cellar is not confided to these unreliable inmates ; they are 
 intrusted with the charge of little else than the children a practice which 
 is often productive of terrible results. 
 
 M. Casimir was no doubt honest, in the strict sense of the word. He 
 would have scorned to rob his master of a ten sous piece ; and yet he would 
 not have hesitated in the least to defraud him of a hundred francs, if an 
 opportunity had presented itself. Vain and rapacious in disposition, he 
 consoled himself by refusing to obey any one save his employer, by envying 
 him with his whole heart, and by cursing fate for not having made him the 
 Count 'de Chalusse instead of the Count de Chalusse's servant. As he 
 received high wages, he served passably well ; but he employed the best 
 part of his energy in watching the count. He scented some great family 
 secret in the household, and he felt angry and humiliated that this secret 
 had not been intrusted to his discretion. And if he had discovered nothing, 
 it was because M. de Chalusse had been caution personified, as Madame 
 Leon had declared. 
 
 Thus it happened that when M. Casimir saw Mademoiselle Marguerite 
 and the count searching in the garden for the fragments of a letter de- 
 stroyed in a paroxysm of rage which he had personally witnessed, his 
 natural curiosity was heightened to such a degree as to become unendur- 
 able. He would have given a month's wages, and something over, to have 
 known the contents of that letter, the fragments of which were being so 
 carefully collected by the count. And when he heard M. de Chalusse tell 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite that the most important part of the letter was 
 still lacking, and saw his master relinquish his fruitless search, the worthy 
 valet vowed that he would be more skilful or more fortunate than his 
 master ; and after diligent effort, he actually succeeded in recovering five 
 tiny scraps of paper, which had been blown into the shrubbery. 
 
 They were covered with delicate handwriting, a lady's unquestionably ; 
 but he was utterly unable to extract the slightest meaning from them. 
 Nevertheless, he preserved them with jealous care, and was careful not to 
 say that he had found them. The incoherent words which he had deci- 
 phered on these scraps of paper mixed strangely in his brain, and he grew 
 
tiie count's millions. 129 
 
 more and more anxious to learn what connection there was between this 
 letter and the count's attack. This explains his extreme readiness to 
 search the count's clothes when Mademoiselle Marguerite told him to look 
 for the key of the escritoire. And fortune favoured him, for he not only 
 found the key, but he also discovered the torn fragments of the letter, and 
 having crumpled them up in the palm of his hand, he contrived to slip 
 them into his pocket. Fruitless dexterity ! M. Casimir had joined these 
 scraps to the fragments he had found himself, he had read and re-read the 
 epistle, but it told him nothing ; or, at least, the information it conveyed 
 was so vague and incomplete that it heightened his curiosity all the more. 
 Once he almost decided to give the letter to Mademoiselle Marguerite, but 
 he resisted this impulse, saying to himself : ' Ah, no ; I'm not such a 
 fool ! It might be of use to her." 
 
 And M. Casimir had no desire to be of service to this unhappy girl, who 
 had always treated him with kindness. He hated her, under the pretence 
 that she was not in her proper place, that no one knew who or what she 
 was, and that it was absurd that he he, Casimir should be compelled to 
 receive orders from her. The infamous slander which Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite had overheard on her way home from church, " There goes the rich 
 Count de Chalusse's mistress," was M. Casimir's work. He had sworn to 
 be avenged on this haughty creature ; and no one can say what he might 
 have attempted, if it had not been for the intervention of the magistrate. 
 Imperatively called to order, M. Casimir consoled himself by the thought 
 that the magistrate had intrusted him with eight thousand francs and the 
 charge of the establishment. Nothing could have pleased him better. 
 First and foremost it afforded him a magnificent opportunity to display 
 his authority and act the master, and it also enabled him to carry out his 
 compact with Victor Chupin, and repair to the rendezvous which M. 
 Isidore Fortunat had appointed. 
 
 Leaving his comrades to watch the magistrate's operations, he sent M. 
 Bourigeau to report the count's death at the district mayor's office, and 
 then lighting a cigar he walked out of the house, and strolled leisurely up 
 the Rue de Courcelles. The place appointed for his meeting with M. 
 Fortunat was on the Boulevard Haussmann, almost opposite Binder's the 
 famous carriage builder. Although it was rather a wine-shop than a 
 restaurant, a capital breakfast could be obtained there as M. Casimir had 
 ascertained to his satisfaction several times before. "Has no one called 
 for me ? " he asked, as he went in. 
 
 "No one." 
 
 He consulted his watch, and evinced considerable surprise. "Not yet 
 noon ! " he exclaimed, "I'm in advance ; and as that is the case, give me a 
 glass of absinthe and a newspaper." 
 
 He was obeyed with far more alacrity than his deceased master had ever 
 required him to show, and he forthwith plunged into the report of the 
 doings at the Bourse, with the eagerness of a man who has an all-sufficient 
 reason for his anxiety in a drawer at home. Having emptied one glass of 
 absinthe, he was about to order a second, when he felt a tap on the shoulder, 
 and on turning round he beheld M. Isidore Fortunat. 
 
 In accordance with his wont, the agent was attired in a style of severe 
 elegance with gloves and boots fitting him to perfection but an unusually 
 winning smile played upon his lips. " You see I have been waiting for 
 you," exclaimed M. Casimir. 
 
 "I am late, it's true," renlied M. Fortunat, "but we will do our best to 
 VOL. I E 
 
130 THE count's millions. 
 
 make up for lost time ; for, I trust, you will do me the honour of break- 
 fasting with me ? " 
 
 " Really, I don't know that I ought." 
 
 " Yes, yes, you must. They will give us a private room ; we must have 
 a talk." 
 
 It was certainly not for the pleasure of the thing that M. Fortunat cul- 
 tivated M. Casimir's acquaintance, and entertained him at breakfast. M. 
 Fortunat, who was a very proud man, considered this connection somewhat 
 beneath his dignity ; but at first, circumstances, and afterwards interest, 
 had required him to overcome his repugnance. It was through the Count de 
 Chalusse that he had made M. Casimir's acquaintance. While the count 
 was employing the agent he had frequently sent his valet to him with 
 messages and letters. Naturally, M. Casimir had talked on these occasions, 
 and the agent had listened to him ; hence this superficial friendship. Sub- 
 sequently when the marriage contemplated by the Marquis de Valorsay 
 was in course of preparation, M. Fortunat had profited of the opportunity 
 to make the count's servant his spy ; and it had been easy to find a pretext 
 for continuing the acquaintance, as M. Casimir was a speculator, or rather 
 a dabbler in stocks and shares. So, whenever he needed information, M. 
 Fortunat invited M. Casimir to breakfast, knowing the potent influence of 
 a good bottle of wine offered at the right moment. It is needless to say 
 that he exercised uncommon care in the composition of the menu on a day 
 like this when his future course depended, perhaps, on a word more or 
 less. 
 
 M. Casimir's eye sparkled as he took his seat at the table opposite his 
 entertainer. The crafty agent had chosen a little room looking out on to 
 the boulevard. Not that it was more spacious or elegant than the others, 
 but it was isolated, and this was a very great advantage ; for everyone 
 knows how unsafe and perfidious are those so-called private rooms which 
 are merely separated from each other by a thin partition, scarcely thicker 
 than a sheet of paper. It was not long before M. Fortunat had reason to 
 congratulate himself on his foresight, for the breakfast began with a dish 
 of shrimps, and M. Casimir had not finished his twelfth, washed down by a 
 glass of chablis, before he declared that he could see no impropriety in con- 
 fiding certain things to a friend. 
 
 The events of the moraing had completely turned his head ; and gratified 
 vanity and good cheer excited him to such a degree that he discoursed with 
 unwonted volubility. With total disregard of prudence, he talked with 
 inexcusable freedom of the Count de Chalusse, and M. de Valorsay, and 
 especially of his enemy, Mademoiselle Marguerite. " For it is she," he 
 exclaimed, rapping on the table with his knife " it is she who has taken 
 the missing millions ! How she did it, no one will ever know, for she has 
 not an equal in craftiness ; but it's she who has stolen them, I'm sure of it ! 
 I would have taken my oath to that effect before the magistrate, and I 
 would have proved it, too, if he hadn't taken her part because she's pretty 
 -for she is devilishly pretty." 
 
 Even if M. Fortunat had wished to put in a word or two, he could have 
 found no opportunity. But his guest's loquacity did not displease him ; it 
 gave him an opportunity for reflection. Strange thoughts arose in his mind, 
 and connecting M. Casimir's affirmations with the assurances of the Marquis 
 de Valorsay, he was amazed at the coincidence. " It's very singular ! " he 
 thought. " Has this girl really stolen the money? and has the marquis 
 discovered the fact through Madame Leon, and determined to profit by the 
 
131 
 
 theft ? In that case, I may get my money back, after all ! I must look 
 into the matter." 
 
 A partridge and a bottle of Pomard followed the shrimps and chablis ; 
 and M. Casimir's loquacity increased, and his voice rose higher and higher. 
 He wandered from one absurd story to another, and from slander to slander, 
 until suddenly, and without the slightest warning, he began to speak of the 
 mysterious letter which he considered the undoubted cause of the count's 
 illness. 
 
 At the first word respecting this missive, M. Fortunat started violently. 
 "Nonsense ! " said he, with an incredulous air. "Why the devil should 
 this letter have had such an influence ? " 
 
 " I don't know. But it is certain it had." And, in support of his asser- 
 tion, he told M, Fortunat how the count had destroyed the letter almost 
 without reading it, and how he had afterwards searched for the fragments, 
 in order to find an address it had contained. " And I'm quite sure," said 
 the valet, " that the count intended to apply to you for the address of the 
 person who wrote the letter. " 
 
 " Are you sure of that ? " 
 
 " As sure as I am of drinking Pomard 1 " exclaimed M. Casimir, draining 
 his glass. 
 
 Rarely had the agent experienced such emotion. He did not doubt, but 
 what this missive contained the solution of the mystery. " Were the 
 scraps of this letter found ? " he asked. 
 
 "I have them," cried the valet, triumphantly. "I have them in my 
 pocket, and, what's more, I have the whole of them ! " 
 
 This declaration made M. Fortunat turn pale with delight. "Indeed 
 indeed ! " said he, " it must be a strange production." 
 
 His companion pursed up his lips disdainfully. " May be so, may be 
 not," he retorted. " It's impossible to understand a word of it. The only 
 thing certain about it is that it was written by a woman." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " Yes, by a former mistress, undoubtedly. And, naturally, she asks for 
 money for a child. Women of that class always do so. They've tried the 
 game with me more than a dozen times, but I'm not so easily caught. " And 
 bursting with vanity, he related three or four love affairs in which, accord- 
 ing to his own account, he must have played a most ignoble part. 
 
 If M. Fortunat's chair had been a gridiron, heated by an excellent fire, 
 he could not have felt more uncomfortable. After pouring out bumper 
 after bumper for his guest, he perceived that he had gone too far, and that 
 it would not be easy to check him. " And this letter ? " he interrupted, at 
 last. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " You promised to let me read it." 
 
 " That's true that's quite true; but it would be as well to have some 
 mocha first, would it not ? What if we ordered some mocha, eh ? " 
 
 Coffee was served, and when the waiter had closed the door, M. Casimir 
 drew the letter, the scraps of which were fixed together, from his pocket, 
 and unfolded it, saying: "Attention; I'm going to read." 
 
 This did not suit M. Fortunat's fancy. He would infinitely have pre- 
 ferred perusing it himself ; but it is impossible to argue with an intoxicated 
 man, and so M. Casimir with a more and more indistinct enunciation read 
 as follows: "'Paris, October 14, 186 .' So the lady lives in Paris, as 
 usual. After this she puts neither monsieur,' nor my friend,' nor ' dear 
 
132 
 
 count,' nothing at all. She begins abruptly: ' Once before, many years 
 ago, I came to you as a suppliant. You were pitiless, and did not even 
 deign to answer me. And yet, as I told you, I was on the verge of a 
 terrible precipice ; my brain was reeling, vertigo had seized hold of me. 
 Deserted, I was wandering about Paris, homeless and penniless, and my 
 child was starving ! ' " 
 
 M. Casimir paused to laugh. " That's like all the rest of them," he ex- 
 claimed, " that is exactly like all the rest 1 I've ten such letters in my 
 drawer, even more imperative in their demands. If you'll come home with 
 me after breakfast, I'll show them to you. We'll have a .hearty laugh over 
 them ! " 
 
 " Let us finish this first." 
 
 "Of course." And he resumed : " 'If I had been alone, I should not 
 have hesitated. I was so wretched that death seemed a refuge to me. But 
 what was to become of my child ? Should I kill him, and destroy my- 
 self afterwards ? I thought of doing so, but I lacked the courage. And 
 what 1 implored you in pity to give me, was rightfully mine. I had only 
 to present myself at your house and demand it. Alas ! I did not know 
 that then. I believed myself bound by a solemn oath, and you inspired me 
 with inexpressible terror. And still I could not see my child die of starva- 
 tion before my very eyes. So I abandoned myself to my fate, and I have 
 sunk so low that I have been obliged to separate from my son. He must 
 not know the shame to which he owes his livelihood. And he is ignorant 
 even of my existence.' " 
 
 M. Fortunat was as motionless as if he had been turned to stone. After 
 the information he had obtained respecting the count's past, and after 
 the story told him by Madame Vantrasson, he could scarcely doubt. 
 " This letter," he thought, "can only be from Mademoiselle Hermine de 
 Chalusse. " 
 
 However, M. Casimir resumed his reading : " ' If I apply to you again, if 
 from the depth of infamy into which I have fallen, I again call upon you 
 for help, it is because I am at the end of my resources because, before I 
 die, I must see my sen's future assured. It is not a fortune that I ask for 
 him, but sufficient to live upon, and I expect to receive it from you.' " 
 
 Once more the valet paused in his perusal of the letter to remark. 
 " There it is again sufficient to live upon, and I expect to receive it from 
 you ! Excellent ! Women are remarkable creatures, upon my word ! But 
 listen to the rest ! ' It is absolutely necessary that I should see you as 
 soon as possible. Oblige me, therefore, by calling to-morrow, October 15th, 
 at the Hotel de Homburg, in the Rue du Helder. You will ask for Madame 
 Lucy Huntley, and they will conduct you to me. I shall expect you from 
 three o'clock to six. Come. I implore you, come. It is painful to me to 
 add that if I do not hear from you, I am resolved to demand and obtain no 
 matter what may be the consequences the means which I have, so far, 
 asked of you on my bended knees and with clasped hands.' " 
 
 Having finished the letter, M. Casimir laid it on the table, and poured 
 out a glassful of brandy, which he drained at a single draught. ' ' And 
 that's all," he remarked. "No signature not even an initial. It was a 
 so-called respectable woman who wrote that. They never sign their notes, 
 the hussies ! for fear of compromising themselves, as I've reason to know." 
 And so saying, he laughed the idiotic laugh of a man who has been drinking 
 immoderately. "If I had time," he resumed, "I should make some in- 
 quiries about this Madame Lucy Huntley a feigned name, evidently. I 
 
THE count's millions. 133 
 
 should like to know But what's the matter with you, Monsieur Fortunat ? 
 You are as pale as death. Are you ill ? " 
 
 To tell the truth, the agent did look as if he were indisposed. "Thanks," 
 he stammered. "I'm very well, only I just remembered that some one is 
 waiting for me." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "A client." 
 
 "Nonsense ! " rejoined the valet, " make some excuse ; let him go about 
 his business. Aren't you rich enough ? Pour us out another glass of wine ; 
 it will make you all right again." 
 
 M. Fortunat complied, but he performed the task so awkwardly, or, rather, 
 so skilfully, that he drew towards him, with his sleeve, the letter which was 
 lying beside M. Casimir's plate. " To your health," said the valet. " To 
 yours," replied M. Fortunat. And in drawing back the arm he had ex- 
 tended to chink glasses with his guest, he caused the letter to fall on his knees. 
 
 M. Casimir, who had not observed this successful manoeuvre, was trying 
 to light his cigar ; and while vainly consuming a large quantity of matches 
 in the attempt, he exclaimed: "What you just said, my friend, means 
 that you would like to desert me. That won't do, my dear fellow ! You 
 are going home with me ; and I will read you some love-letters from a 
 woman of the world. Then we will go to Mourloup's, and play a game of 
 billiards. That's the place to enjoy one's self. You'll see Joseph, of the 
 Commarin household, a splendid comedian." 
 
 " Very well ; but first I must settle the score here." 
 
 "Yes, pay." 
 
 M. Fortunat rang for his bill. He had obtained more information than 
 he expected ; he had the letter in his pocket, and he had now only one de- 
 sire, to rid himself of M. Casimir. But this wae no easy task. Drunken 
 men cling tenaciously to their friends ; and M. Fortunat was asking himself 
 what strategy he could employ, when the waiter entered, and said : 
 * * There's a very light-complexioned man here, who looks as if he were a 
 huissier's clerk. He wishes to speak with you, gentlemen." 
 
 " Ah J it's Chupin ! " exclaimed the valet. "He is a friend. Let him 
 come in, and bring us another glass. * The more the merrier,' as the saying 
 
 What could Chupin want ? M. Fortunat had no idea, but he was none 
 the less grateful for his coming, being determined to hand this troublesome 
 Casimir over to his keeping. On entering the room Chupin realised the 
 valet's condition at the first glance, and his face clouded. He bowed po- 
 litely to M. Fortunat, but addressed Casimir in an extremely discontented 
 tone. " It's three o'clock," said he, " and I've come, as we agreed, to 
 arrange with you about the count's funeral." 
 
 These words had the effect of a cold shower-bath on M. Casimir. " Upon 
 my word, I had forgotten forgotten entirely, upon my word ! " And the 
 
 they 
 
 What will they say ? " 
 
 [ M. Fortunat had drawn his clerk a little on one side. "Victor," said he, 
 quickly and earnestly, "I must go at once. Everything has been paid for; 
 but in case you need some money for a cab or anything of the sort, here 
 are ten francs. If there's any you don't use, keep it for yourself. I leave 
 this fool in your charge ; take care of him. " 
 
134 the count's millions. 
 
 The sight of the ten franc piece made Chupin's face brighten a little. 
 "Very well," he replied. "I understand the business. I served my 
 apprenticeship as a ' guardian angel ' when my grandmother kept the 
 Poivri&re."* 
 
 " Above all, don't let him return home in his present state." 
 
 "Have no fears, monsieur, I must talk business with him, and so I shall 
 have him all right in a jiffy." And as M. Fortunat made his escape, 
 Chupin beckoned to the waiter, and said : 
 
 " Fetch me some very strong coffee, a handful of salt, and a lemon. 
 There's nothing better for bringing a drunken man to his senses." 
 
 XV. 
 
 M. Fortunat left the restaurant, almost on the run, for he feared that he 
 might be pursued and overtaken by M. Casimir. But after he had gone 
 a couple of hundred paces, he paused, not so much to take breath, as to 
 collect his scattered wits ; and though the weather was cold, he seated 
 himself on a bench to reflect. 
 
 Never in all his changeful life had he known such intense anxiety and 
 torturing suspense as he had just experienced in that little room in the 
 restaurant. He had longed for positive information and he had obtained it ; 
 but it had upset all his plans and annihilated all his hopes. Imagining 
 that the count's heirs had been lost sight of, he had determined to 
 find them and make a bargain with them, before they learned that they 
 were worth their millions. But on the contrary, these heirs were close at 
 hand, watching M. de Chalusse, and knowing their rights so well that 
 they were ready to fight for them. "For it was certainly the count's 
 sister who wrote the letter which I have in my pocket," he murmured. 
 " Not wishing to receive him at her own home, she prudently appointed a 
 meeting at a hotel. But what about this name of Huntley ? Is it really 
 hers, or is it lAj assumed for the occasion? Is it the name of the man 
 who enticed her from home, or is it the name given to the son from whom 
 she has separated herself ? " 
 
 But after all what was the use of all these conjectures. There was but 
 one certain and positive thing, and this was that the money he had counted 
 upon had escaped him ; and he experienced as acute a pang as if he had 
 lost forty thousand francs a second time. Perhaps, at that moment, he 
 was sorry that he had severed his connection with the marquis. Still, he was 
 not the man to despond, however desperate his plight might appear, without 
 an attempt to better his situation. He knew how many surprising and 
 sudden changes in fortune have been brought about by some apparently 
 trivial action. " I must discover this sister," he said to himself " I must 
 ascertain her position and her plans. If she has no one to advise her, I 
 will offer my services ; and who knows " 
 
 A cab was passing ; M. Fortunat hailed it, and ordered the Jehu to drive 
 him to the Rue du Holder, No. 43, Hotel de Homburg. 
 
 Was it by chance or premeditation that this establishment had received 
 the name of one of the gambling dens of Europe ? Perhaps the following 
 information may serve to answer the question. The Hotel de Homburg 
 vvas one of those flash hostelries frequented by adventurers of distinction, 
 
 * See "Lecoq the Detective" by Emile Gaboriau. 
 
THE count's millions. 135 
 
 who are attracted to Paris by the millions that are annually squandered 
 there. Spurious counts and questionable Russian princesses were sure to 
 find a cordial welcome three with princely luxury, moderate prices, and 
 but very little confidence. Each person was called by the title which it 
 pleased him to give on his arrival Excellency or Prince, according to his 
 fancy. He could also find numerous servants carefully drilled to play the 
 part of old family retainers, and carriages upon which the most elaborate 
 coat-of-arms could be painted at an hour's notice. Nor was there any 
 difficulty whatever in immediately procuring all the accessories of a life of 
 grandeur all that is needful to dazzle the unsuspecting, to throw dust in 
 people's eyes, and to dupe one's chance acquaintances. All these things 
 were provided without delay, by the month, by the day or by the hour, 
 just as the applicant pleased. But there was no such thing as credit there. 
 Bills were presented every evening, to those lodgers who did not pay in 
 advance : and he who could not, or would not, settle the score, even if he 
 were Excellency or Prince, was requested to depart at once, and his trunks 
 were held as security. 
 
 When M. Fortunat entered the office of the hotel, a woman, with a 
 crafty looking face, was holding a conference with an elderly gentleman, 
 who had a black velvet skull-cap on his head, and a magnifying glass in 
 his hand. They applied their eyes to the glass in turn, and were engaged 
 in examining some very handsome diamonds, which had no doubt been 
 offered in lieu of money by some noble but impecunious foreigner. On 
 hearing M. Fortunat enter, the woman looked up. 
 
 11 What do you desire, monsieur ? " she inquired, politely. 
 
 " I wish to see Madame Lucy Huntley." 
 
 The woman did not reply at first, but raised her eyes to the ceiling, as if 
 she were reading there the list of all the foreigners of distinction who 
 honoured the Hotel de Homburg by their presence at that moment. 
 "Lucy Huntley!" she repeated. "I don't recollect that name! I don't 
 think there's such a person in the house Lucy Huntley ! What kind of a 
 person is she ? " 
 
 For many reasons M. Fortunat could not answer. First of all, he did 
 not know. But he was not in the least disconcerted, and he avoided the 
 question without the slightest embarrassment, at the same time trying to 
 quicken the woman's faulty memory. "The person I wished to see was 
 here on Friday, between three and six in the afternoon ; and she was 
 waiting for a visitor with an anxiety which could not possibly have escaped 
 your notice. " 
 
 This detail quickened the memory of the man with the magnifying glass 
 none other than the woman's husband and landlord of the hotel. ' ' Ah ! 
 the gentleman is speaking of the lady of No. 2 you remember the same 
 who insisted upon having the large private room." 
 
 "To be sure," replied the wife; "where could my wits have been!" 
 And turning to M. Fortunat : " Excuse my forgetfulness," she added. 
 " The lady is no longer in the house ; she only remained here for a few 
 hours." 
 
 This reply did not surprise M. Fortunat he had expected it ; and yet 
 he assumed an air of the utmost consternation. " Only a few hours ! " 
 he repeated, like a despairing echo. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur. She arrived here about eleven o'clock in the morning, 
 with only a large valise by way of luggage, and she left that same evening 
 at eight o'clock." 6 
 
136 the count's millions. 
 
 " Alas ! an(K where was she going ? " 
 
 "She didn't tell me." 
 
 You might have sworn that M. Fortunat was about to hurst into tears. 
 " Poor Lucy ! " said he, in a tragical tone ; " it was for me, madame, that 
 she was waiting. But it was only this morning that I received her letter 
 appointing a meeting here. She must have been in despair. The post 
 can't be depended on ! " 
 
 The husband and wife simultaneously shrugged their shoulders, and the 
 expression of their faces unmistakeably implied : " What can we do about 
 it ? It is no business of ours. Don't trouble us." 
 
 But M. Fortunat was not the man to be dismayed by such a trifle. 
 
 " She was taken to the railway station, no doubt," he insisted. 
 
 " Really, I know nothing about it." 
 
 " You told me just now that she had a large valise, so she could not have 
 left your hotel on foot. She must have asked for a vehicle. Who was 
 sent to fetch it ? One of your boys ? If I could find the driver I should, 
 perhaps, be able to obtain some valuable information from him." 
 
 The husband and wife exchanged a whole volume of suspicions in a single 
 glance. M. Isidore Fortunat's appearance was incontestably respectable, 
 but they were well aware that those strange men styled detectives are 
 perfectly conversant with the art of dressing to perfection. So the hotel- 
 keeper quickly decided on his course. "Your idea is an excellent one," 
 he said to M. Fortunat. "This lady must certainly have taken a vehicle 
 on leaving ; and what is more, it must have been a vehicle belonging to 
 the hotel. If you will follow me, we will make some inquiries on the 
 subject." 
 
 And rising with a willingness that augured well for their success, he 
 led the agent into the courtyard, where five or six vehicles were stationed, 
 while the drivers lounged on a bench, chatting and smoking their pipes. 
 " Which of you was employed by a lady yesterday evening at about eight 
 o'clock ? " 
 
 " What sort of a person was she ? " 
 
 "She was a handsome woman, between thirty and forty years' old, very 
 fair, rather stout, and dressed in black. She had a large Russia-leather 
 travelling-bag." 
 
 " I took her," answered one of the drivers promptly. 
 
 M. Fortunat advanced towards the man with open arms, and with such 
 eagerness that it might have been supposed he meant to embrace him. 
 " Ah, my worthy fellow ! " he exclaimed, " you can save my life ! " 
 
 The driver looked exceedingly pleased. He was thinking that this 
 gentleman would certainly requite his salvation by a magnificent gratuity. 
 " What do you want of me ? " he asked. 
 
 " Tell me where you drove this lady? " 
 
 "I took her to the Rue de Berry." 
 
 " To what number ? " 
 
 " Ah, I can't tell. I've forgotten it. " 
 
 But M. Fortunat no longer felt any anxiety. "Very good," said he. 
 "You've forgotten it that's not at all strange. But you would know the 
 house again, wouldn't you ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly I should." 
 
 "Will you take me there?" 
 
 " Certainly, sir. This is my vehicle." 
 
 The hunter of missing heirs at once climbed inside ; but it was not 
 
the count's millions. 137 
 
 until the carriage had left the courtyard that the landlord returned to hia 
 office. " That man must be a detective," he remarked to his wife. 
 
 " So I fancy." 
 
 " It's strange we're not acquainted with him. He must be a new member 
 of the force." 
 
 But M. Fortunat was quite indifferent as to what impression he had left 
 behind him at the H6tel de Homburg, for he never expected to set foot 
 there again. The one essential thing was that he had obtained the infor- 
 mation he wished for, and even a description of the lady, and he felt that 
 he was now really on the track. The vehicle soon reached the Rue de 
 Berry, and drew up in front of a charming little private house. "Here 
 we are, monsieur," said the driver, bowing at the door. 
 
 M. Fortunat sprang nimbly on to the pavement, and handed five francs 
 to the coachman, who went off growling and swearing, for he thought the 
 reward a contemptibly small one, coming as it did from a man whose life 
 had been saved, according to his own confession. However, the person the 
 Jehu anathematized certainly did not hear him. Standing motionless where 
 he had alighted, M. Fortunat scrutinized the house in front of him with 
 close attention. " So she lives here," he muttered. "This is the place; 
 but I can't present myself without knowing her name. I must make some 
 inquiries," 
 
 There was a wine-shop some fifty paces distant, and thither M. Fortunat 
 hastened, and ordered a glass of currant syrup. As he slowly sipped the 
 beverage, he pointed to the house in question, with an air of well-assumed 
 indifference, and asked : " Whom does that pretty dwelling belong io 1 " 
 
 " To Madame Lia d'Argeles," answered the landlady. 
 
 M. Fortunat started. He well remembered that this was the name the 
 Marquis de Valorsay had mentioned when speaking of the vile conspiracy 
 he had planned. It was at this woman's house that the man whom Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite loved had been disgraced 1 Still he managed to master 
 his surprise, and in a light, frank tone he resumed : ' ' What a pretty 
 name 1 And what does this lady do ? " 
 
 " What does she do ? Why, she amuses herself." 
 
 M. Fortunat seemed astonished. " Dash it 1 " said he. " She must 
 amuse herself to good purpose to have a house like that. Is she pretty?" 
 
 1 ' That depends on taste. She's no longer young, at any rate ; but she 
 has superb golden hair. And, oh ! how white she is as white as snow, 
 monsieur as white as snow ! She has a fine figure as well, and a most 
 distinguished bearing pays cash, too, to the very last farthing." 
 
 There could no longer be any doubt. The portrait sketched by the wine- 
 vendor fully corresponded with the description given by the hotelkeeper 
 in the Rue de Helder. Accordingly, M. Fortunat drained his glass, and 
 threw fifty centimes on the counter. Then, crossing the street, he boldly 
 rang at the door of Madame d'Argeles' house. If any one had asked him 
 what he proposed doing and saying if he succeeded in effecting an entrance, 
 he might have replied/with perfect sincerity, " I don't know." The fact is, 
 he had but one aim, one settled purpose in his mind. He was obstinately, 
 furiously resolved to derive some benefit, small or great, from this mys- 
 terious affair. As for the means of execution, he relied entirely on his 
 audacity and sang-froid, convinced that they would not fail him when the 
 decisive moment came. "First of all, I must see this lady," he said to 
 himself. " The first words will depend solely upon my first impressions. 
 After that, I shall be guided by circumstances." 
 
138 the count's millions. 
 
 An old serving-man, in a quiet tasteful livery, opened the door, whereupon 
 M. Fortunat, in a tone of authority, asked "Madame Lia d'Argeles V 
 
 " Madame does not receive on Friday," was the reply. 
 
 With a petulant gesture, M. Fortunat rejoined : "All the same, I must 
 speak with her to-day. It is on a matter of the greatest importance. Give 
 her my card." So saying, he held out a bit of paste-board, on which, 
 below his name, were inscribed the words : " Liquidations. Settlements 
 effected for insolvent parties." 
 
 " Ah ! that's a different thing," said the servant. " Will monsieur take 
 the trouble to follow me ? " 
 
 M. Fortunat did take the trouble ; and he was conducted into a large 
 drawing-room where he was requested to sit down and await madame's 
 coming. Left to himself, he began an inventory of the apartment, as a 
 general studies the ground on which he is about to give battle. No trace 
 remained of the unfortunate scene of the previous night, save a broken 
 candelabrum on the chimney-piece. It was the one which Pascal Ferailleur 
 had armed himself with, when they talked of searching him, and which he 
 had thrown down in the courtyard, as he left the house. But this detail 
 did not attract M. Fortunat's attention. The only thing that puzzled him 
 was the large reflector placed above the chandelier, and it took him some 
 time to fathom with what object it was placed there. Whithout precisely 
 intimidating him, the luxurious appointments of the house aroused his 
 astonishment. "Everything here is in princely style," he muttered, 
 " and this shows that all the lunatics are not at Charenton yet. If Madame 
 d'Argeles lacked bread in days gone by, she does so no longer that'* 
 evident." 
 
 Naturally enough this reflection led him to wonder why such a rich 
 woman should become the Marquis de Valorsay's accomplice, and lend a 
 hand in so vile and cowardly a plot, which horrified even him Fortunat. 
 " For she must be an accomplice," he thought. 
 
 And he marvelled at the freak of fate which had connected the unfortunate 
 man who had been sacrificed with the unacknowledged daughter, and the 
 cast-off sister, of the Count de Chalusse. A vague presentiment, the myste- 
 rious voice of instinct, warned him, moreover, that his profit in the affair 
 would depend upon the antagonism, or alliance, of Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite and Madame d'Argeles. But his meditations were suddenly inter- 
 rupted by the sound of a discussion in an adjoining room. He stepped 
 eagerly forward, hoping to hear something, and he did hear a man saying 
 in a coarse voice : " What ! I leave an interesting game, and lose precious 
 time in coming to offer you my services, and you receive me like this ! 
 Zounds ! madame, this will teach me not to meddle with what doesn't con- 
 cern me, in future. So, good-bye, my dear lady. You'll learn some day, 
 to your cost, the real nature of this villain of a Coralth whom you now de- 
 fend so warmly." 
 
 This name of Coralth was also one of those which were engraven upon 
 M. Fortunat's memory ; and yet he did not notice it at the moment. His 
 attention was so absorbed by what he had just heard that he could not fix 
 his mind upon the object of his mission ; and he only abandoned his con- 
 jectures on hearing a rustling of skirts against the panels of the door leading 
 into the hall. 
 
 The next moment Madame Lia d'Argeles entered the room. She was 
 arrayed in a very elegant dressing-gown of grey cashmere, with blue satin 
 trimmings, her hair was beautifully arranged, and she had neglected none of 
 
the count's millions. 139 
 
 the usual artifices of the toilette- table ; still any one would have considered 
 her to be over forty years of age. Her sad face wore an expression of 
 melancholy resignation ; and there were signs of recent tears in her swollen 
 eyes, surrounded by bluish circles. She glanced at her visitor, and, in any- 
 thing but an encouraging tone exclaimed : " You desired to speak with me, 
 I believe ? " 
 
 M. Fortunat bowed, almost disconcerted. He had expected to meet one 
 of those stupid, ignorant, young women, who make themselves conspicuous 
 at the afternoon promenade in the Bois de Boulogne ; and he found himself 
 in the presence of an evidently cultivated and imperious woman, who, even 
 in her degradation, retained all her pride of race, and awed him, despite all 
 his coolness and assurance. "I do, indeed, madame, wish to confer with 
 you respecting some important interests," he answered. 
 
 She sank on to a chair ; and, without asking her visitor to take a seat : 
 "Explain yourself," she said, briefly. 
 
 M. Fortunat's knowledge of the importance of the game in which he had 
 already risked so much had already restored his presence of mind. He had 
 only needed a glance to form a true estimate of Madame d'Argeles' charac- 
 ter ; and he realised that it would require a sudden, powerful, and well- 
 directed blow to shatter her composure. "I have the unpleasant 
 duty of informing you of a great misfortune, madame," he began. " A 
 person who is very dear to you, and who is 'nearly related to you, was a 
 victim of a frightful accident yesterday evening, and died this morning. " 
 
 This gloomy preamble did not seem to produce the slightest effect on 
 Madame d'Argeles. " Whom are you speaking of ? " she coldly asked. 
 
 M. Fortunat assumed his most solemn manner as he replied : " Of your 
 brother, madame of the Count de Chalusse." 
 
 She sprang up, and a convulsive shudder shook her from head to foot. 
 " Raymond is dead ! " she faltered. 
 
 "Alas! yes, madame. Struck with death at the very moment he was 
 repairing to the appointment you had given him at the Hotel de 
 Homburg. " 
 
 This clever falsehood, which was not entirely one, would, so the agent 
 thought, be of advantage to him, since it would prove he was acquainted 
 with previous events. But Madame d'Argeles did not seem to notice, or 
 even to hear the remark. She had fallen back in her arm-chair, paler than 
 death. "How did he die ?" she asked. 
 
 " From an attack of apoplexy." 
 
 "My God!" exclaimed the wretched woman, who now suspected the 
 truth, " my God, forgive me. It was my letter that killed him ! " and she 
 wept as if her heart were breaking this woman who had suffered and wept 
 so much. 
 
 It is needless to say that M. Fortunat was moved with sympathy ; he 
 always evinced a respectful sympathy for the woes of others ; but' in the 
 present instance, his emotion was greatly mitigated by the satisfaction he 
 felt at having succeeded so quickly and so completely. Madame d'Argeles 
 had confessed everything ! This was indeed a victory, for it must be admitted 
 that he had trembled lest she should deny all, and bid him leave the house. 
 He still saw many difficulties between his pocket and the Count de 
 Chalusse's money ; but he did not despair of conquering them after such a 
 successful beginning. And he was muttering some words of consolation, 
 when Madame d'Argeles suddenly looked up and said: " I must see him 
 I will see him once more ! Come, monsieur 1 " But a terrible memory 
 
140 the count's millions. 
 
 rooted her to the spot and with a despairing gesture, and in a voice quiver- 
 ing with anguish she exclaimed : 
 
 " No, no I cannot even do that." 
 
 M. Fortunat was not a little disturbed : and it was with a look of some- 
 thing very like consternation that he glanced at Madame d'Argeles, who 
 had reseated herself and was now sobbing violently, with her face hidden 
 on the arm of her chair. "What prevents her?" he thought. "Why 
 this sudden terror now that her brother is dead ? Is she unwilling to con- 
 fess that she is a Chalusse ? She must make up her mind to it, however, 
 if she wishes to receive the count's property and she must make up her 
 mind to it, for my sake, if not for her own." 
 
 He remained silent, until it seemed to him that Madame d'Argeles was 
 calmer, then: "Excuse me, madame," he began, "for breaking in upon 
 your very natural grief, but duty requires me to remind you of your interests. " 
 
 With the passive docility of those who are wretched, she wiped away her 
 tears, and replied, gently : " I am listening, monsieur." 
 
 He had had time to prepare his discourse. "First of all, madame," he 
 remarked, "I must tell you that I was the count's confidential agent. In 
 him I lose a protector. Respect alone prevents me from saying a friend. 
 He had no secrets from me. " M. Fortunat saw so plainly that Madame 
 d'Argeles did not understand a word of this sentimental exordium that he 
 thought it necessary to add : "I tell you this, not so much to gain your 
 consideration and good-will, as to explain to you how I became acquainted 
 with these matters relating to your family how I became aware of your 
 existence, for instance, which no one else suspected." He paused, hoping 
 for some reply, a word, a sign, but not receiving this encouragement, he 
 continued : "I must, first of all, call your attention to the peculiar situa- 
 tion of M. de Chalusse, and to the circumstances which immediately pre- 
 ceded and attended his departure from life. His death was so unexpected 
 that he was unable to make any disposition of his property by will, or even 
 to indicate his last wishes. This, madame, is fortunate for you. M. de 
 Chalusse had certain prejudices against you, as you are aware. Poor count. 
 He certainly had the best heart in the world, and yet hatred with him was 
 almost barbaric in its intensity. There can be no doubt whatever, that he 
 had determined to deprive you of your inheritance. With this intention he 
 had already begun to convert his estates into ready money, and had he 
 lived six months longer you would not have received a penny." 
 
 With a gesture of indifference, which was difficult to explain after the 
 vehemence and the threatening tone of her letter, Madame d'Argeles mur- 
 mured : 
 
 " Ah, well ! what does it matter ? " 
 
 "What does it matter ? " repeated M. Fortunat. " I see, madame, that 
 your grief prevents you from realising the extent of the peril you have 
 escaped. M. de Chalusse had other, and more powerful reasons even than 
 his hatred for wishing to deprive you of your share of his property. He 
 had sworn that he would give a princely fortune to his beloved daughter." 
 
 For the first time, Madame d'Argeles' features assumed an expression of 
 surprise. " What, my brother had a child ? " 
 
 " Yes, madame, an illegitimate daughter, Mademoiselle Marguerite, a 
 lovely and charming girl whom I had the pleasure of restoring to his care 
 some years ago. She has been living with him for six months or so ; and 
 he was about to marry her, with an enormous dowry, to a nobleman bear- 
 ing one of the proudest names in France, the Marquis de Valorsay." 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 141 
 
 This name shook Madame d'Argeles as if she had experienced tho 
 ghock of an electric battery, and springing to her feet, with flashing eyes : 
 " You say that my brother's daughter was to marry M. de Valorsay ?." she 
 asked. 
 
 " It was decided the marquis adored her." 
 
 11 But she she did not love him confess that she did not love him." 
 
 M. Fortunat did not know what to reply. The question took him com- 
 pletely by surprise ; and feeling that his answer would have a very con- 
 siderable influence upon what might follow, he hesitated. 
 
 " Will you answer me," insisted Madame d'Argeles, imperiously. " She 
 loved another, did she not ? " 
 
 " To tell the truth, I believe she did," the agent stammered. " But I 
 have no proof of it, madame." 
 
 "Ah! the wretch 1" she exclaimed with a threatening gesture, "the 
 traitor ! the infamous scoundrel ! Now, I understand it all. And to think 
 that it occurred in my house. But no ; it was best so, I can still repair 
 everything." And darting to the bell-rope, she pulled it violently. 
 
 A servant at once appeared. "Job," she said, "hasten after Baron 
 Trigault he left the house a moment ago and bring him back. I must 
 speak with him. If you do not overtake him, go to his club, to his house, 
 to the houses of his friends, go to every place where there is any chance of 
 finding him. Make haste, and do not return without him." 
 
 And as the man turned to obey, she added : ' My carriage must be in the 
 courtyard. Take it." 
 
 Meanwhile M. Fortunat's expression of countenance had undergone a 
 marked change. "Well 1 " thought he, " I have just made a mess of it ! 
 M. Valorsay is unmasked ; and now, may I be hung, if he ever marries 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite. Certainly, I do not owe much to the scoundrel, 
 for he has defrauded me of forty thousand francs, but what will he say 
 when he discovers what I've done ? He will never believe me if I tell him 
 that it was an involuntary blunder, and Heaven only knows what revenge 
 he will plan ! A man of his disposition, knowing that he is ruined, is 
 capable of anything ! So much the worse for me. Before night I shall 
 warn the commissary of police in my district, and I shall not go out un- 
 armed ! " 
 
 The servant went off, and Madame d'Argeles then turned to her visitor 
 again. But she seemed literally transfigured by the storm of passion which 
 was raging in her heart and mind ; her cheeks were crimson, and an un- 
 wonted energy sparkled in her eyes. "Let us finish this business," she 
 said, curtly ; "I am expecting some one." 
 
 M. Fortunat bowed with a rather pompous, but at the same time obsequi- 
 ous air. " I have only a few more words to say," he declared. " M. de 
 Chalusse having no other heir, I have come to acquaint you with your 
 rights." 
 
 " Very good ; continue, if you please." 
 
 " You have only to present yourself, and establish your identity, to be 
 put in possession of your brother's property." 
 
 Madame d'Argeles gave the agent a look of mingled irony and distrust ; 
 and after a moment's reflection, she replied : " I am very grateful for your 
 interest, monsieur ; but if I have any rights, it is not my intention to urge 
 them." 
 
 It seemed to M. Fortunat as if he were suddenly falling from some im 
 mense height. ' ' You are not in earnest," he exclaimed, " or you are ignor 
 
142 the count's millions. 
 
 ant of the fact that M. de Chalusse leaves perhaps twenty millions behind 
 him." 
 
 " My course is decided on, monsieur ; irrevocably decided on." 
 
 " Very well, madame ; but it often happens that the court institutes in 
 quiries for the heirs of large fortunes, and this may happen in your case." 
 
 " I should reply that I was not a member of the Chalusse family, and 
 that would end it. Startled by the news of my brother's death,. I allowed 
 my secret to escape me. I shall know how to keep it in future." 
 
 Anger succeeded astonishment in M. Fortunat's mind. " Madame, 
 madame, whatjcan you be thinking of ? " he cried, impetuously. "Accept 
 in Heaven's name accept this inheritance ; if not for yourself, for the sake 
 of" 
 
 In his excitement, he was about to commit a terrible blunder. He saw 
 it in time, and checked himself. 
 
 "For the sake of whom ? " asked Madame d'Argeles, in an altered voice. 
 
 " For the sake of Mademoiselle Marguerite, madame; for the sake of 
 this poor child, who is your niece. The count never having acknowledged 
 her as his daughter, she will be left actually without bread, while her 
 father's millions go to enrich the state." 
 
 " That will suffice, monsieur ; I will think of it. And now, enough ! " 
 
 The dismissal was so imperious that M. Fortunat bowed and went off, 
 completely bewildered by this denouement. "She's crazy!" he said to 
 himself. " Crazy in the fullest sense of the word. She refuses the count's 
 millions from a silly fear of telling people that she belongs to the Chalusse 
 family. She threatened her brother, but she would never have carried her 
 threats into execution. And she prefers her present position to such a for- 
 tune. What lunacy ! " But, although he was disappointed and angry, he 
 did not by any means despair. " Fortunately for me," he thought, "this 
 proud and haughty lady has a son somewhere in the world. And she'll do 
 for him what she would not consent to do for herself. Through her, with 
 a little patience and Victor Chupin's aid, I shall succeed in discovering this 
 boy. He must be an intelligent youth and we'll see if he surrenders his 
 millions as easily as his mamma does." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 It is a terrible task to break suddenly with one's past, without even having 
 had time for preparation ; to renounce the life one has so far lived, to 
 return to the starting point, and begin existence anew ; to abandon every- 
 thing the position one has gained, the work one has become familiar with, 
 every fondly cherished hope, and friend, and habit ; to forsake the known 
 to plunge into the unknown, to leave the certain for the uncertain, and 
 desert light ' for darkness ; to cast one's identity aside, assume a strange 
 individuality, become a living lie, change name, position, face, and clothes 
 in one phrase to cease to be one's self, in order to become some one else. 
 
 This is, indeed, a terrible ordeal, and requires an amount of resolution 
 and energy which few human beings possess. The boldest hesitate before 
 such a sacrifice, and many a man has surrendered himself to justice rather 
 than resort to this last extremity. And yet this was what Pascal Ferailleur 
 had the courage to do, on the morrow of the shameful conspiracy that had 
 deprived him of his good name. When his mother's exhortations and 
 Baron Trigault's encouraging words had restored his wonted clearness of 
 
143 
 
 perception, the only course he felt disposed to pursue was to disappear and 
 fly from the storm of slander and contempt ; and then, in a secure hiding- 
 place, to watch for the time and opportunity of rehabilitation and revenge. 
 
 Madame Ferailleur and her son made all needful arrangements. " I shall 
 start out at once," said Pascal, "and before two hours have elapsed I shall 
 have found a modest lodging, where we must conceal ourselves for the 
 present. I know a locality that will suit us, and where no one will certainly 
 ever think of looking for us." 
 
 "And I," asked Madame Ferailleur, "what shall I do in the mean- 
 time?" 
 
 "You, mother; you must, at once, sell all that we possess here every- 
 thing even my books. You will only keep such of our linen and clothes 
 as you can pack in three or four trunks. We are undoubtedly watched ; 
 and so it is of the utmost importance that every one should imagine I have 
 left Paris, and that you are going to join me." 
 
 "And when everything is sold, and my trunks are ready? " 
 
 "Then, mother, you must send some one for a cab, and order the driver 
 to take you to the Western Railway Station, where you will have the trunks 
 removed from the cab and placed in the baggage-room, as if you did not 
 intend to leave Paris till the next day. " 
 
 " Very good, I will do so ; even if any one is watching us, he won't be 
 likely to suspect this ruse. But afterwards ? " 
 
 "Afterwards, mother, you must go to the waiting-room up-stairs, and 
 youwill find me there. I will then take you to the rooms I shall have 
 rented, and to-morrow we'll send a messenger with the receipt the railway 
 people will give you, to fetch our luggage for us." 
 
 Madame Ferailleur approved of this plan, deeming herself fortunate in 
 this great calamity that despair had not destroyed her son's energy and 
 resources of mind. " Shall we retain our name, Pascal ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. That would be an unpardonable imprudence." 
 
 "What name shall we take, then? I must know, for they may ask me 
 at the station. " 
 
 He reflected for a moment and then said: "We'll take your maiden 
 name, mother. It will bring us good luck. Our new lodgings shall be 
 hired in the name of the Widow Maum^jan. " 
 
 They talked for some time longer, anxious to take every precaution that 
 prudence could suggest. And when they were convinced that they had 
 forgotten nothing, Madame Ferailleur suggested that Pascal should start 
 off. But before doing so he had a sacred duty to perform. "I must warn 
 Marguerite," he muttered. And seating himself at his desk, he wrote his 
 beloved a concise and exact account of the events which had taken place. 
 He told her of the course he intended to pursue ; and promised her that she 
 should know his new abode as soon as he knew it himself. In conclusion, 
 he entreated her to grant him an interview, in which he could give her the 
 full particulars of the affair and acquaint her with his hopes. As for excul- 
 pating himself, even by so much as a single word as for explaining the 
 snare he had been the victim of, the idea never once occurred to him. He 
 was worthy of Mademoiselle Marguerite ; he knew that not a doubt would 
 disturb the perfect faith she had in his honour. 
 
 Leaning over her son's shoulder, Madame Ferailleur read what he had 
 written. "Do you intend to trust this letter to the post?" she inquired. 
 " Are you sure, perfectly sure, that it will reach Mademoiselle Marguerite, 
 and not some one else who might use it against you ? " 
 
144 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 Pascal shook his head. "I know how to ensure its safe receipt," he 
 replied. " Some time ago, Marguerite told me that if ever any great peril 
 threatened us, I might call for the housekeeper at the Chalusse mansion 
 and intrust my message to her. The danger is sufficiently great to justify 
 such a course in the present instance. So I shall pass down the Rue de 
 Courcelles, ask to see Madame Leon, and give her this letter. Have no 
 fear, my dear mother." 
 
 As he spoke, he began to pack all the legal documents which had been 
 confided to him into a large box, which was to be carried to one of his 
 former friends, who would distribute the papers among the people they 
 belonged to. He next made a small bundle of the few important private papers 
 and valuables he possessed ; and then, ready for the sacrifice, he took a last 
 survey of the pleasant home where success had smiled so favourably upon 
 his efforts, where he had been so happy, and where he had cherished such 
 bright dreams of the future. Overcome by a flood of recollections, the tears 
 sprang to his eyes. He embraced his mother, and fled precipitately from 
 the house. 
 
 " Poor child ! " murmured Madame Ferailleur ; "poor Pascal !" 
 
 Was she not also to be pitied ? This was the second time within twenty 
 years that a thunderbolt had fallen on her in the full sunlight of happiness. 
 And yet now, as on the day following her husband's death, she found in her 
 heart the robust energy and heroic maternal constancy which enable one to 
 rise above every misfortune. It was in a firm voice that she ordered her 
 servant to go in search of the nearest furniture dealer, no matter which, 
 provided he would pay cash. And when the man arrived she showed him 
 through the rooms with stoical calmness. God alone knew how intensely 
 she was suffering. And yet whilst she was waiting for the dealer, each piece 
 of furniture had acquired an extraordinary value in her eyes. It seemed to 
 her as if each object were a part of herself, and when the man turned and 
 twisted a chair or a table she almost considered it a personal affront. 
 
 The rich, who are accustomed from birth to the luxury that surrounds them, 
 are ignorant of the terrible sufferings which attend such cases as these. The 
 persons who do suffer are those of the middle classes, not the parvenus, but 
 those who bid fair to become parvenus when misfortune overtook them. 
 Their hearts bleed when inexorable necessity deprives them of all the little 
 comforts with which they had gradually surrounded themselves, for there 
 is not an object that does not recall a long ungratified desire, and the almost 
 infantile joy of possession. What happiness they felt on the day when they 
 purchased that large arm-chair ! How many times they had gone to admire 
 those velvet curtains in the shop-windows before buying them ! Those carpets 
 represented months of self-denial. And that pretty clock ah ! they had 
 fancied it would only herald the flight oi prosperous and pleasant hours. 
 And all these things the dealer handles, and shakes, and jeers at, and 
 depreciates. He will scarcely condescend to purchase. Who would care 
 to buy such trash ? He knows that the owner is in need of money, and he 
 profits by this knowledge. It is his business. "How much did this cost 
 you ? " he asks, as he inspects one piece of furniture after another. 
 
 "So much." 
 
 M Well, you must have been terribly cheated." 
 
 You know very well that if there is a cheat in the world, it is this same 
 man ; but what can you say ? Any other dealer you might send for would 
 act in the same way. Now, Madame Ferailleur's furniture had cost some 
 ten thousand francs ; and, although it was no longer new, it was worth at 
 
the count's millions. 145 
 
 least a third of that sum. But she obtained only seven hundred and sixty 
 franca for it. It is true, however, that she was in haste, and that she was 
 paid cash. 
 
 Nine o'clock was striking when her trunks were at last piled on a cab, 
 and she called out to the driver " Take me to the Place du Havre to the 
 railway station." Once before, when defrauded by a scoundrel, she had 
 been obliged to part with all her household treasures. Once before she had 
 left her home, taking merely the wreck of her fortune with her. But what 
 a difference between then and now ! 
 
 Then, the esteem and sympathy of all who knew her was hers, and the 
 admiring praise she received divested the sacrifice of much of its bitterness, 
 and increased her courage two-fold. Now, she was flying secretly, and 
 alone, under an assumed name, trembling at the thought of pursuit or 
 recognition flying as a criminal flies at thought of his crime, and fear of 
 punishment. She had far less suffered on the day, when, with her son upon 
 her knees, she journeyed to the cemetery, following all that was mortal of 
 the man who had been her only thought, her love, her pride, her happiness, 
 and hope. Though crushed by the sense of her irreparable loss, she had not 
 rebelled against the hand that struck her ; but now it was human wicked- 
 ness that assailed her through her son, and her suffering was like that of 
 the innocent man who perishes for want of power to prove his innocence. 
 Her husband's death had not caused her such bitter tears as her son's dis- 
 honour. She who was so proud, and who had such good reason to be proud, 
 'she could note the glances of scorn she was favoured with as she left her 
 home. She heard the insulting remarks made by some of her neighbours, 
 who, like so many folks, found their chief delight in other people's mis- 
 fortunes. 
 
 * ' Crocodile tears," some had exclaimed. " She is going to meet her son ; 
 and with what he has stolen they will live like princes in America." 
 Rumour, which enlarges and misrepresents everything, had indeed, absurdly 
 exaggerated the affair at Madame d'Argeles' house. It was reported in the 
 Rue d'Ulm that Pascal had spent every night at the gaming table for more 
 than five years j and that, being an incomparable trickster, he had stolen 
 millions. 
 
 Meanwhile, Madame Ferailleur was approaching the station. The cab 
 horse soon slackened its pace to climb the acclivity of the Rue d'Amsterdam ; 
 and shortly afterwards the vehicle drew up in the courtyard of the railway 
 station. Faithfully observing the directions which had been given her, the 
 worthy woman had her trunks taken to the baggage-room, declaring that 
 she should not leave Paris until the next day, whereupon she received a 
 receipt from the man in charge of the room. She was oppressed by vague 
 apprehensions, and looked closely at every one who passed her ; fearing the 
 presence of spies, and knowing full well that the most profound secrecy 
 could alone ensure the success of Pascal's plans. However she did not see 
 a single suspicious looking person. Some Englishmen those ^ strange 
 travellers, who are at the same time so foolishly prodigal and so ridiculously 
 miserly were making a great hue and cry over the four sous _ gratuity 
 claimed by a poor commissionaire ; but these were the only persons in sight. 
 
 Partially reassured, Madame Ferailleur hastily ascended the staircase, 
 and entered the large waiting-room. It was here that Pascal had promised 
 to meet her ; but, though she looked round on all sides, she did not perceive 
 him. Still, this delay did not alarm her much ; nor was it at all strange, 
 since Pascal had scarcely known what he would have to do when he left the 
 
H6 
 
 house. She seated herself on a bench, as far back in the shade as possible 
 and gazed sadly at the ever-changing throng, when all of a sudden she was 
 startled by a man, who abruptly paused in front of her. This man proved 
 to be Pascal. But his hair had been closely cut, and he had shaved off his 
 beard. And thus shorn, with his smooth face, and with a brown silk 
 neckerchief in lieu of the white muslin tie he usually wore, he was so greatly 
 changed that for an instant his own mother did not recognise him. 
 " Well ? " asked Madame Ferailleur, as she realised his identity. 
 
 " I have succeeded. We have secured such rooms as I wished for." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 '* Ah ! a long way off, my poor mother many a league from those we 
 have known and loved in a thinly populated part of the suburbs, on the 
 Route de la Revolte, just outside the fortifications, and almost at the point 
 where it intersects the Asnieres road. You will not be very comfortable 
 there, but you will have the pleasure of a little garden." 
 
 She rose, summoning all her energy. " What does it matter where or 
 what our abode is ? " she interrupted, with forced gaiety. ' ' I am con- 
 fident that we shall not remain there long. " 
 
 But it seemed as if her son did not share her hopes, for he remained 
 silent and dejected ; and as his mother observed him closely, she fancied 
 by the expression of his eyes, that some new anxiety had been added to all 
 his other troubles. 
 
 ''What is the matter?" she inquired, unable to master her alarm 
 " what has happened ? " 
 
 11 Ah ! a great misfortune 1 " 
 
 " My God 1 still another ? " 
 
 " I have been to the Rue de Courcelles ; and I have spoken to Madame 
 Leon." 
 
 " What did she say ? " 
 
 " The Count de Chalusse died this morning." 
 
 Madame Ferailleur drew a long breath, as if greatly relieved. She was 
 certainly expecting to hear something very different, and she did not under- 
 stand why this death should be a great misfortune to them personally. 
 One point, however, she did realise, that it was imprudent, and even 
 dangerous to carry on this conversation in a hall where a hundred persons 
 were passing and re-passing every minute. So she took her son's arm, and 
 led him away, saying : " Come, let us go." 
 
 Pascal had kept the cab which he had been using during the afternoon ; 
 and having installed his mother inside, he got in himself, and gave his new 
 address to the driver. " Now tell me all," said Madame Ferailleur. 
 
 Poor Pascal was in that state of mind in which it costs one actual suffer- 
 ing to talk ; but he wished to mitigate his mother's anxiety as much as 
 possible ; and moreover, he did not like her to suppose him wanting in 
 endurance. So, with a powerful effort, he shook off the lethargy that was 
 creeping over him, and in a voice loud enough to be heard above the noise 
 oft he carriage wheels, he began : "This is what I have done, mother, since I 
 left you. I remembered that some time ago, while I was appraising some 
 property, I had seen three or four houses on the Route de la Revolte, 
 admirably suited to our present wants. Naturally I went there first. A 
 suite of rooms was vacant in one of these houses. I have taken it ; and in 
 order that nothing may interfere with the liberty of my movements, I have 
 paid six months' rent in advance. Here is the receipt, drawn up in the name 
 we shall henceforth bear." So saying, he showed his mother a document 
 
THE count's millions. 147 
 
 fn which the landlord declared that he had received from M. Maumejan 
 the sum of three hundred and fifty francs for two quarters rent, etc. " My 
 bargain concluded," he resumed, ** I returned into Paris, and entered 
 the first furniture shop I saw. I meant to hire the necessary things to 
 furnish our little home, but the dealer made all sorts of objections. He 
 t rembled for his furniture, he wanted a sum of money to be deposited as 
 security, or the guarantee of three responsible business men. Seeing this, 
 and knowing that I had no time to lose, I preferred to purchase such articles 
 as were absolutely necessary. One of the conditions of the purchase was 
 that everything should be in the house and in. its place by eleven o'clock 
 to-night. As I stipulated in writing that tb dealer should forfeit three 
 hundred francs in case he failed to fulfill his agreement, I can rely upon 
 his punctuality ; I confided the key of our lodgings to him, and he must 
 now be there waiting for us." 
 
 So, before thinking of his love, and Mademoiselle Marguerite, Pascal had 
 taken the necessary measures for the execution of his plan to regain his lost 
 honour. Madame Ferailleur had scarcely supposed him capable of so much 
 courage and firmness, and she rewarded him with a warm pressure of the 
 hand. Then, as he was silent : ' ' When did you see Madame L6on, then ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 "When all the household arrangements were completed, mother. On 
 leaving the furniture-shop, I found that I had still an hour and a quarter 
 before me. I could defer no longer, and at the risk of obliging you to wait 
 ' for me, I hastened to the Rue de Courcelles." 
 
 It was evident that Pascal felt extreme embarrassment in speaking of 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite. There is an instinctive delicacy and dislike of 
 publicity in all deep passion, and true and chaste love is ever averse to 
 laying aside the veil with which it conceals itself from the inquisitive. 
 Madame Ferailleur understood this feeling ; but she was a mother, and as 
 such, jealous of her son's tenderness, and anxious for particulars concerning 
 this rival who had suddenly usurped her place in the heart where she had 
 long reigned supreme. She was also a woman that is to say, distrustful 
 and suspicious in reference to all other women. So, without taking pity on 
 Pascal's embarrassment, she urged him to continue. 
 
 "I gave the driver five francs on condition that he would hurry his 
 horses," he resumed, "and we were rattling along at a rapid rate, when, 
 suddenly, near the H6tel de Chalusse, I noticed a change in the motion of 
 the vehicle. I looked out and saw that we were driving over a thick layer 
 of straw which had been spread across the street. I can scarcely describe my 
 feelings on seeing this. A cold perspiration came over me I fancied I saw 
 Marguerite in agony, dying far from me, and calling me in vain. With- 
 out waiting for the vehicle to stop, I sprang to the ground, and was obliged 
 to exercise all my self-control to prevent myself from rushing into the con- 
 cierge's lodge, and wildly asking : { Who is dying here ? ' But an unfore- 
 seen difficulty presented itself. It was evident that I ought not to go in 
 person to inquire for Madame Le'on. Whom could I send ? There were no 
 commissionaires at the street corners, and nothing would have induced me 
 to confide the message to any of the lads in the neighbouring wine-shops. 
 Fortunately, my driver the same who is driving us now is an obliging 
 fellow, and I intrusted him with the commission, while I stood guard over 
 his horses. Ten minutes later, Madame Leon left the house and came to 
 meet me. I knew her at once, for I had seen her a hundred times with 
 Marguerite when they lived near the Luxembourg ; and having seen me pass 
 
148 the count's millions. 
 
 and repass so often, she recognized me in spite of my changed appearance. 
 Her first words, *M. de Chalusse is dead,' relieved my heart of a terrible 
 weight. I could breathe again. But she was in such haste that she could 
 not stop to tell me any particulars. Still I gave her my letter, and she 
 promised me a prompt reply from Marguerite. Everybody will be up and 
 moving about the house to-night, and she said she could easily make her 
 escape for a few moments. So, at half -past twelve to-night she will be at 
 the little garden-gate, and if I am promptly at hand, I shall have a reply 
 from Marguerite." 
 
 Madame Ferailleur seemed to be expecting something more, and as Pascal 
 remained silent, she remarked: "You spoke of a great misfortune. In 
 what does it consist? I do not perceive it." 
 
 With an almost threatening gesture, and in a gloomy voice, he answered : 
 " The misfortune is this : if it had not been for this abominable conspiracy, 
 which has dishonoured me, Marguerite would have been my wife before a 
 month had elapsed, for now she is free, absolutely free to obey the dictates 
 of her own will and heart." 
 
 11 Then why do you complain ? " 
 
 " Oh, mother ! don't you understand ? How can I marry her ? "Would it 
 be right for me to think of offering her a dishonoured name ? It seems to 
 me that I should be guilty of a most contemptible act of something even 
 worse than a crime if I dared speak to her of my love and our future before 
 I have crushed the villains who have ruined me." 
 
 Regret, anger, and the consciousness of his present po verlessness drew 
 from him tears which fell upon Madame Ferailleur's heart like molten 
 lead ; but she succeeded in concealing her agony. "All the more reason," 
 she answered, almost coldly, "why you should not lose a second, but 
 devote all your energy and intelligence to the work of justification." 
 
 " Oh, I shall have my revenge, never fear. But in the meantime, what 
 is to become of her ? Think, mother, she is alone in the world, without a 
 single friend. It is enough to drive one mad ! " 
 
 " She loves you, you tell me. What have you to fear? Now she will be 
 freed from the persecutions of the suitor they intended to force upon her, 
 whom she has spoken to you about the Marquis de Valorsay, is it not ? " 
 
 This name sent Pascal's blood to his brain. " Ah, the scoundrel ! " he 
 exclaimed. " If there was a God in heaven " 
 
 "Wretched boy!" interrupted Madame Ferailleur, "you blaspheme 
 when Providence has already interposed on your behalf. And who suffers 
 most at this moment, do you think ? you, strong in your innocence, or the 
 marquis, who realizes that he has committed an infamous crime in vain ? " 
 
 The sudden stopping of the cab put an end to their conversation. 
 Leaving the Route d'Asnieres, the driver had turned into the Route de la 
 Revolte, and had drawn up in front of an unpretentious two-storeyed house 
 which stood entirely alone. " We have arrived, mother," said Pascal. 
 
 A man, who was standing on the threshold, stepped forward to open the 
 cab-door. It was the furniture-dealer. "Here you are at last, M. 
 Maum6"jan," said he. "Come in, and you'll see that I've strictly fulfilled 
 the conditions of our contract." His words proved true. He was paicTthe 
 sum stipulated, and went away satisfied. 
 
 "Now, my dear mother," said Pascal, "allow me to do the honours of 
 the poor abode I have selected. " 
 
 He had taken only the ground floor of this humble dwelling. The storey 
 above, which had an independent entrance and staircase, was occupied by 
 
THE count's millions. 149 
 
 the quiet family of the owner. Although the space was small, the 
 architect had made the most of it. He had divided it into four small rooms, 
 separated by a corridor ; and the kitchen looked out upon a little garden 
 about four times as large as an ordinary sheet. The furniture which Pascal 
 had purchased was more than plain ; but it was well suited to this humble 
 abode. It had just been brought in, but any one would have supposed it 
 had been in its place for a couple of years. 
 
 " We shall be very comfortable here," declared Madame Ferailleur. 
 "Yes, very comfortable. By to-morrow evening you won't recognize the 
 place. I have saved a few trifles from the wreck some curtains, a couple 
 of lamps, a clock you'll see. It's wonderful how much four trunks can 
 ^e made to hold." 
 
 When his mother set him such a noble example Pascal would have 
 blushed to allow himself to be outdone. He very quietly explained the 
 reasons which had influenced him in choosing these rooms, the principal 
 one being that there was no concierge, and he was therefore assured absolute 
 liberty in his movements, as well as entire immunity from indiscreet gossip. 
 " Certainly, my dear mother," he added, " it is a lonely and unattractive 
 neighbourhood ; but you will find all the necessaries of life near at hand. 
 The owner of the house lives on the floor above. I have talked with the 
 wife they seem to be honest, quiet people and she will pilot you about. 
 I inquired for some one to do the heavy work, and she mentioned a poor 
 woman named Vantrasson, who lives in the neighbourhood, and who is 
 anxious to obtain employment. They were to inform her this evening, and 
 you will see her to-morrow. And above all, don't forget that you are 
 henceforth Madame Maume^jan." 
 
 Occupied with these arrangements for the future, he was still talking, 
 when Madame Ferailleur, drawing out her watch, gently remarked : "And 
 your appointment ? You forget that the cab is waiting at the door. " 
 
 It was true ; he had forgotten it. He caught up his hat, hastily embraced 
 his mother, and sprang into the vehicle. The horses were almost exhausted, 
 but the driver was so willing that he found a means of making them trot as 
 far as the Rue de Courcelles. However, on arriving there, he declared that 
 his animals and himself could endure no more, and after receiving the 
 amount due to him, he departed. 
 
 The air was chilly, the night dark, and the street deserted. The gloomy 
 silence was only disturbed at long intervals by the opening or shutting of a 
 door, or by the distant tread of some belated pedestrian. Having at least 
 twenty minutes to wait, Pascal sat down on the curbstone opposite the 
 Hotel de Chalusse, and fixed his eyes upon the building as if he were 
 striving to penetrate the massive walls, and see what was passing within. 
 Only one window that of the room where the dead man was lying was 
 lighted up, and he could vaguely distinguish the motionless form of a 
 woman standing with her forehead pressed against the pane of glass. A 
 prey to the indescribable agony which seizes a man when he feels that his 
 life is at stake that his future is about to be irrevocably decided Pascal 
 counted the seconds as they passed by. He found it impossible to reflect, 
 to deliberate, to decide on any plan of action. He forgot the tortures he 
 had endured during the last twenty-four hours ; Coralth, Valorsay, Madame 
 d'Argeles, the baron, no longer existed for him. He forgot his los3 of 
 honour and position, and the disgrace attached to his name. The past was 
 annihilated, as it were, and he could think of no future beyond the next few 
 moments. His physical condition undoubtedly contributed to his mental 
 
150 THE count's millions. 
 
 weakness. lie had taken no food that day, and he was faint from want of 
 nourishment. He had ccme without an overcoat, moreover, and the cold 
 night air chilled him to the bone. There was a strange ringing in his ears, 
 and a mist swam before his eyes. At last the bell at the Beaujon Hospital 
 tolled the appointed hour, and roused him from his lethargy. He seemed 
 to hear a voice crying to him in the darkness, " Up ! the hour has come ! 1 
 
 Trembling, and with tottering limbs, he dragged himself to the little 
 gate opening into the gardens of the Chalusse mansion. Soon it softly 
 opened, and Madame L6on appeared. Ah ! it was not she that Pascal had 
 hoped to see. Unfortunate man ! He had been listening to that mysterious 
 echo of our own desires which we so often mistake for a presentiment ; and 
 it had whispered in his heart : " Marguerite herself will come ! " 
 
 With the candour of wretchedness, he could not refrain from telling 
 Madame Leon the hope he had entertained. But, on hearing him, the 
 housekeeper recoiled with a gesture of outraged propriety, and reproach- 
 fully exclaimed, " What are you thinking of, monsieur ? What ! could 
 you suppose that Mademoiselle Marguerite would abandon her place by 
 her dead father's bedside to come to a rendezvous ? Ah ! you should think 
 better of her than that, the dear child ! " 
 
 He sighed deeply, and in a scarcely audible voice, he asked : " Hasn't 
 she even sent me a reply ? " 
 
 " Yes, monsieur, she has ; and although it is a great indiscretion on my 
 part, I bring you the letter. Here it is. Now, good-evening, I must go 
 at once. What would become of me if the servants discovered my absence, 
 and found that I had gone out alone " 
 
 She was hurrying away, but Pascal detained her. "Pray wait until I 
 see what she has written," he said, imploringly. "I shall perhaps be 
 obliged to send her some message in reply. " 
 
 Madame Leon obeyed, though with rather bad grace, and not without 
 several times repeating, "Make haste!" while Pascal ran to a street 
 lamp near by. It was not a letter that Marguerite had sent him, but a 
 short note, written on a scrap of crumpled paper, folded, and not sealed. 
 It was written in pencil ; and the handwriting was irregular and indistinct. 
 Still, by the flickering light of the gas, Pascal deciphered the word 
 "Monsieur." It made him shudder. "Monsieur!" What did this mean ? 
 In writing to him of recent times, Marguerite had always said, " My dear 
 Pascal," or, " My friend." 
 
 Nevertheless, he continued : "I have not had the courage to resist the 
 entreaties made to me by the Count de Chalusse, my father, in his last 
 agony. I have solemnly pledged myself to become the wife of the Marquis 
 de Valorsay. 
 
 " One cannot break a promise made to the dying. I shall keep mine, 
 even though my heart break. I shall do my duty. God will give me 
 strength and courage. Forget her whom you loved. She is now the 
 betrothed of another, and honour commands her to forget your very name. 
 Once more, and for the last time, farewell ! If you love me, you will not 
 try to see me again. It would only add to my misery. 
 
 "Think as though she were dead she who signs herself Marguerite." 
 
 The commonplace wording of this letter, and the mistakes in spelling 
 that marred it, entirely escaped Pascal's notice. He only understood one 
 thing, that Marguerite was lost to him, and that she was on the point of 
 becoming the wife of the vile scoundrel who had planned the snare which 
 had ruined him at the Hotel d'ArgeUs, Breathless, despairing, and half 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS: 151 
 
 crazed with rage, he sprang towards Madame Leon. " Marguerite, where 
 is she ? " he demanded, in a hoarse, unnatural voice ; "I must see her ! " 
 
 " Oh ! monsieur, what do you ask ? Is it possible ? Allow me to explain 
 to you " But the housekeeper was unable to finish her sentence, for 
 Pascal had caught her by the hands, and holding them in a vice-like grip, 
 he repeated : " I must see Marguerite, and speak to her. I must tell her 
 that she has been deceived ; I will unmask the scoundrel who " 
 
 The frightened housekeeper struggled with all her might, trying her best 
 to reach the little gate which was standing open. " You hurt me ! " she 
 cried. " Are you mad? Let me go or I shall call for help ! " And twice 
 indeed she shouted in a loud voice, " Help ! murder ! " 
 
 But her cries were lost in the stillness of the night. If any one heard 
 them, no one came ; still they recalled Pascal to a sense of the situation, 
 and he was ashamed of his violence. He released Madame L3on, and his 
 manner suddenly became as humble as it had been threatening. " Excuse 
 me,' he said, entreatingly. "I am suffering so much that I don't know 
 what I'm doing. I beseech you to take me to Mademoiselle Marguerite, or 
 else run and beg her to come here. I ask but a moment." 
 
 Madame L6on pretended to be listening attentively ; but, in reality, she 
 was quietly maneuvering to gain the garden gate. Soon she succeeded in 
 doing so, whereupon, with marvellous strength and agility, she pushed 
 Pascal away, and sprang inside the garden, closing the gate after her, and 
 saying as she did so, " Begone, you scoundrel !" 
 
 This was the final blow ; and for more than a minute Pascal stood 
 motionless in front of the gate, stupefied with mingled rage and sorrow. 
 His condition was not unlike that of a man who, after falling to the bottom 
 of a precipice, is dragging himself up, all mangled and bleeding, swearing 
 that he will yet save himself, when suddenly a heavy stone which he had 
 loosened in his descent, falls forward and crushes him. All that he had so 
 far endured was nothing in comparison with the thought that Valorsay 
 would wed Marguerite. Was such a thing possible? Would God permit 
 such a monstrous iniquity ? "No, that shall never be," he muttered. " I 
 will murder the scoundrel rather ; and afterwards justice may do whatever 
 it likes with me." 
 
 He experienced that implacable, merciless thirsting for vengeance which 
 does not even recoil before the commission of a crime to secure satisfaction, 
 and this longing inflamed him with such energy that, although he had been 
 so utterly exhausted a few moments before he was not half an hour in 
 making his way back to his new home. His mother, who was waiting for 
 him with an anxious heart, was surprised by the flush on his cheeks, and 
 the light glittering in his eyes. " Ah, you bring good news, " she exclaimed. 
 
 His only answer was to hand her the letter which Madame L6on had 
 given him, saying as he did so, " Read." 
 
 Madame Ferailleur's eyes fell upon the words : " Once more, and for the 
 last time, farewell ! " She understood everything, turned very pale, and 
 in a trembling voice exclaimed : " Don't grieve, my son ; the girl did not 
 j love you." 
 
 "Oh, mother ! if you knew " 
 
 But she checked him with a gesture, and lifting her head proudly, she 
 said : *' 1 know what it is to love, Pascal it is to have perfect faith. If 
 the whole world had accused your father of a crime, would a single doubt 
 of hia innocence have ever entered my mind ? This girl has doubted you. 
 They have told her that you cheated at cards and she has believed it 
 
152 the count's millions. 
 
 You have failed to see that this oath at the bedside of the dying count is 
 only an excuse." 
 
 It was true ; the thought had not occurred to Pascal. " My God ! " he 
 cried in agony, ' ' are you the only one who believes in my innocence ? " 
 " Without proofs yes. It must be your task to obtain these proofs." 
 " And I shall obtain them," he rejoined, in a tone of determination. " I 
 am strong now that I have Marguerite's life to defend for they have de- 
 ceived her, mother, or she would never have given me up. Oh ! don't 
 shake your head. I love her, and so I trust her. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 M. Isidore Fortunat was not the man to go to sleep over a plan when it 
 was once formed. Whenever he said to himself, " I'll do this, or that," 
 he did it as soon as possible that very evening, rather than the next day. 
 Having sworn that he would find out Madame d'Argeles' son, the heir to the 
 Count de Chalusse's millions, it did not take him long to decide which of his 
 agents he would select to assist him in this difficult task. Thus his first 
 care, on returning home, was to ask his book-keeper for Victor Chupin's 
 address. 
 
 "He lives in the Faubourg Saint-Denis," replied the book-keeper, "at 
 No. ." 
 
 "Very well," muttered M. Fortunat ; "I'll go there as soon as I have 
 eaten my dinner." And, indeed, as soon as he had swallowed his coffee, he 
 requested Madame Dodelin to bring him his overcoat, and half an hour 
 later he reached the door of the house where his clerk resided. 
 
 The house was one of those huge, ungainly structures, large enough to 
 shelter the population of a small village, with three or four courtyards, as 
 many staircases as there are letters in the alphabet, and a concierge who se^ 
 dom remembers the names of the tenants except on quarter-days when he goes 
 to collect the rent, and at New Year, when he expects a gratuity. But, 
 by one of those lucky chances made expressly for M. Fortunat, the porter 
 did recollect Clmpin, knew him and was kindly disposed towards him, and 
 so he told the visitor exactly how and where to find him. It was very 
 simple. He had only to cross the first courtyard, take staircase D, on the 
 left-hand side, ascend to the sixth floor, go straight ahead, &c, &c. 
 
 Thanks to this unusual civility, M. Fortunat did not lose his way more 
 than five times before reaching the door upon which was fastened a bit of 
 pasteboard bearing Victor Chupin's name. Noticing that a bell-rope hung 
 beside the door, M. Fortunat pulled it, whereupon there was a tinkling, 
 and a voice called out, " Come in ! " He complied, and found himself in a 
 small and cheaply-furnished room, which was, however, radiant with the 
 cleanliness which is in itself a luxury. The waxed floor shone like a mirror ; 
 the furniture was brilliantly polished, and the counterpane and curtains of 
 the bed were as white as snow. What first attracted the agent's attention 
 was the number of superfluous articles scattered about the apartment 
 some plaster statuettes on either side of a gilt clock, an etagere crowded 
 with knick-knacks, and five or six passable engravings. When he entered, 
 Victor Chupin was sitting, in his shirt-sleeves, at a little table, where, by 
 the light of a small lamp, and with a zeal that brought a flush to his 
 cheeks, he was copying, in a very fair hand, a page from a French diction- 
 ary. Near the bed, in the shade, sat a poorly but neatly clad woman 
 
the count's millions. 153 
 
 iabout forty years of age, who was knitting industriously with some long 
 
 I wooden needles. 
 
 \ "M. Victor Chupin ?" inquired M. Fortunat. 
 
 The sound of his voice made the young man spring to his feet, He 
 imickly lifted the shade from his lamp, and, without attempting to conceal 
 Ihis astonishment, exclaimed : " M'sieur Fortunat ! at this hour ! Where's 
 she fire?" Then, in a grave manner that contrasted strangely with his 
 accustomed levity : " Mother," said he, " this is one of my patrons, 
 ^M'sieur Fortunat you know the gentleman whom I collect for." 
 r The knitter rose, bowed respectfully, and said : * ' I hope, sir, that you 
 pee pleased with my son, and that he's honest. " 
 
 b "Certainly, madame," replied the agent ; "certainly. Victor is one of 
 my best and most reliable clerks." 
 
 W " Then I'm content," said the woman, re-seating herself. 
 | Chupin also seemed delighted. " This is my good mother, sir," said he. 
 I" She's almost blind now ; but, in less than six months, she will be able to 
 ptand at her window and see a pin in the middle of the street, so the 
 physician who is treating her eyes promised me ; then we shall be all right 
 ptgain. But take a seat, sir. May we venture to offer you anything ? " 
 
 Although his clerk had more than once alluded to his responsibilities, 
 11. Fortunat was amazed; He marvelled at the perfume of honesty which 
 sxhaled from these poor people, at the dignity of this humble woman, and 
 it the protecting and respectful affection evinced by her son a young 
 fiaan, whose usual tone of voice and general behaviour had seemed to indi- 
 cate that he was decidedly a scapegrace. "Thanks, Victor," he replied, 
 1 1 won't take any refreshment. I've just left the dinner-table. I've 
 come to give you my instructions respecting a very important and very 
 urgent matter." 
 
 Chupin at once understood that his employer wished for a private inter- 
 view. Accordingly, he took up the lamp, opened a door, and, in the 
 pompous tone of a rich banker who is inviting some important personage 
 bo enter his private room, he said : " Will you be kind enough to step into 
 my chamber, m'sieur ? " 
 
 The room which Chupin so emphatically denominated his " chamber " 
 was a tiny nook, extraordinarily clean, it is true, but scantily furnished 
 with a small iron bedstead, a trunk, and a chair. He offered the chair to 
 Iris visitor, placed the lamp on the trunk, and seated himself on the bed, 
 paying, as he did so : " This is scarcely on so grand a scale as your estab- 
 lishment, m'sieur ; but I am going to ask the landlord to gild the window 
 bf my snuff-box." 
 
 M. Fortunat was positively touched. He held out his hand to his clerk 
 and exclaimed : " You're a worthy fellow, Chupin." 
 
 " Nonsense, m'sieur, one does what one can ; but, zounds 1 how hard it 
 is to make money honestly 1 If my good mother could only see, she would 
 help me famously, for there is no one like her for work ! But you see one 
 can't become a millionaire by knitting ! " 
 " Doesn't your father live with you ? " 
 
 Chupin 's eyes gleamed angrily. " Ah ! don't speak of that man to me, 
 m'sieur 1 " he exclaimed, " or I shall hurt somebody." And then, as if ho 
 felt it necessary to explain and excuse his vindictive exclamation, he added, 
 1 My father, Polyte Chupin, is a good-for-nothing scamp. And yet he's had 
 his opportunities. First, he was fortunate enough to find a wife like my 
 mother, who is honesty itself so much so that she was called Toinon 
 
154 THE count's millions. 
 
 the Virtuous when she was young. She idolized him, and nearly killed 
 herself by working to earn money for him. And yet he abused her so 
 much, and made her weep so much, that she has become blind. But that's 
 not all. One morning there came to him I don't know whence or 
 how enough money for him to have lived like a gentleman. I be- 
 lieve it was a munificent reward for some service he had rendered a 
 great nobleman at the time when my grandmother, who is now dead, kept 
 a dramshop called the Poivriere. Any other man would have treasured 
 that money, but not he. What he did was to carouse day and night, and 
 all the while my poor mother was working her fingers to the bone to earn 
 food for me. She never saw a penny of all his money ; and, indeed, once 
 when she asked him to pay the rent, he beat her so cruelly that she was 
 laid up in bed for a week. However, monsieur, you can very readily 
 understand that when a man leads that kind of a life, he speedily comes to 
 the end of his banking account. So my father was soon without a penny 
 in his purse, and then he was obliged to work in order to get something to 
 eat, and this didn't suit him at all. But when he didn't know where to 
 find a crust he remembered us ; he sought us out, and found us. Once I 
 lent him a hundred sous ; the next clay he came for forty more, and the 
 next for three francs ; then for five francs again. And so it was every day ; 
 'Give me this, or give me that!' At last I said, 'Enough of this, the 
 bank's closed ! ' Then, what do you think he did ? He watched the 
 house until he saw me go out ; then he came in with a second-hand 
 furniture- dealer, and tried to sell everything, pretending that he was the 
 master. And my poor, dear mother would have allowed him to do it. 
 Fortunately, I happened to come in again. Let him sell my furniture ? 
 Not I. I would sooner have been chopped in pieces ! I went and com- 
 plained to the commissary of police, who made my father leave the house, 
 and since then we've lived in peace." 
 
 Certainly this was more than sufficient to explain and excuse Victor 
 Chupin's indignation. And yet he had prudently withheld the most serious 
 and important cause of his dislike. What he refrained from telling was 
 that years before, when he was still a mere child, without will or discern- 
 ment, his father had taken him from his mother, and had started him down 
 that terrible descent, which inevitably leads one to prison or the gallows, 
 unless there be an almost miraculous interposition on one's behalf. This 
 miracle had occurred in Chupin's case ; but he did not boast of it. 
 
 " Come, come ! " said M. Fortunat, "don't worry too much about it. A 
 father's a father after all, and yours will undoubtedly reform by and by. " 
 
 He said this as he would have said anything else, out of politeness and 
 for the sake of testifying a friendly interest ; but he really cared no more 
 for this information concerning the Chupin family than the grand Turk. 
 His first emotion had quickly vanished ; and he was beginning to find these 
 confidential disclosures rather wearisome. " Let us get back to business," 
 he remarked j " that is to say, to Casimir. What did you do with the 
 fool after my departure ? " 
 
 " First, monsieur, I sobered him ; which was no easy task. The greedy 
 idiot had converted himself into a wine-cask ! At last, however, when he 
 could talk as well as you and I, and walk straight, I took him back to the 
 H6tel de Chalusse." 
 
 " That was right. But didn't you have some business to transact with 
 him?" 
 
 " That's been arranged, monsieur ; the agreement has been signed. The 
 
the count's millions. 155 
 
 count will have the best of funerals the finest hearse out, with six horses, 
 twenty-four mourning coaches a grand display, in fact. It will be worth 
 seeing." 
 
 M. Fortunat smiled graciously. "That ought to bring you a handsome 
 commission," he said, benignly. 
 
 Employed by the job, Chupin was the master of his own time, free to 
 utilise his intelligence and industry as he chose, but M. Fortunat did not 
 like his subordinates to make any money except through him. Hence bis 
 (approval, in the present instance, was so remarkable that it awakened 
 Luhupin'a suspicions. "I shall make a few sous, probably," h e modestly 
 replied, " a trifle to aid my good mother in keeping the pot boiling." 
 
 "So much the better, my boy," said M. Fortunat. "I like to see money 
 [gained by those who make a good use of it. And to prove this, I'm about 
 fco employ you in an affair which will pay you handsomely if you prosecute 
 lit successfully." 
 
 [ Chupin's eyes brightened at first but grew dark a moment afterwards, 
 for delight had been quickly followed by a feeling of distrust. He thought 
 it exceedingly strange that an employer should take the trouble to climb to 
 i sixth floor merely for the purpose of conferring a favour on his clerk. 
 There must be something behind all this ; and so it behove him to keep his 
 3yes open. However, he knew how to conceal his real feelings ; and it was 
 with a joyous air that he exclaimed: "Eh! What? Money? Now? 
 What must I do to earn it ? " 
 
 " Oh ! a mere trifle," replied the agent; "almost nothing, indeed." And 
 irawing his chair nearer to the bed on which his employ^ was seated, he 
 idded : " But first, one question, Victor. By the way in which a woman 
 looks at a young man in the street, at the theatre or anywhere would you 
 know if she were watching her son ? " 
 
 Chupin shrugged his shoulders. " What a question ! " he retorted. 
 I Nonsense 1 monsieur, it would be impossible to deceive me. I should 
 only have to remember my mother's eyes when I return home in the even- 
 ing. Poor woman ! although she's half blind, she sees me and if you wish 
 bo make her happy, you've only to tell her I'm the handsomest and most 
 imiable youth in Paris." 
 
 M. Fortunat could not refrain from rubbing his hands, so delighted was 
 ae to see his idea so perfectly understood and so admirably expressed. 
 'Good !" he declared, "very good ! That's intelligence, if I am any judge. 
 [ have not been deceived in you, Victor." 
 
 Victor was on fire with curiosity. " What am I to do, monsieur ? " he 
 isked eagerly. 
 
 ' This : you must follow a woman whom I shall point out to you, follow 
 aer everywhere without once losing sight of her, and so skilfully as not to 
 \et her suspect it. You must watch her every glance, and when her eyes 
 sell you that she is looking at her son, your task will be nearly over. You 
 vill then only have to follow this son, and find out his name and address, 
 tahat he does, and how he lives. I don't know if I explain what I mean very 
 5learly." 
 
 This doubt was awakened in M. Fortunat's mind by Chupin's features, 
 vvhich were expressive of lively astonishment and discontent. "Excuse 
 ne, monsieur," he said, at last, " I do not understand at all." 
 
 " It's very simple, however. The lady in question has a son about 
 Swenty. I know it I'm sure of it. But she denies it ; she conceals the 
 ;act, and he doesn't even know her. She secretly watches over him, how- 
 
156 the count's millions. 
 
 ever she provides him with money, and every day she finds some way of 
 seeing him. Now, it is to my interest to find this son." 
 
 Chupin's mobile face became actually threatening in its expression ; he 
 frowned darkly, and his lips quivered. Still this did not prevent M. Fortunat 
 from adding, with the assurance of a man who does not even suspect the 
 possibility of a refusal : "Now, when shall we set about our task ? " 
 
 " Never ! " cried Chupin, violently ; and, rising, he continued 
 "No ! I wouldn't let my good mother eat bread earned in that way it 
 would strangle her ! Turn spy ! I ? Thanks some one else may have 
 the job !" He had become as red as a turkey cock, and such was his indig- 
 nation that he forgot his accustomed reserve and the caution with which he 
 had so far concealed his antecedents. * ' I know this game I've tried it ! 1 
 he went on, vehemently. " One might as well take one's ticket to prison 
 by a direct road. I should be there now if it hadn't been for Monsieur 
 Andre\ I was thirsting for gold, and, like the brigand that I was, I should 
 have killed the man ; but in revenge he drew me from the mire and placed 
 my feet on solid ground once more. And now, shall I go back to my vile 
 tricks again? Why I'd rather cut my leg off! I'm to hunt down this poor 
 woman I'm to discover her secret so that you may extort money from her, 
 am I ? No, not I ! I should like to be rich, and I shall be rich ; but I'll 
 make my money honestly. I hope to touch my hundred-franc pieces with- 
 out being obliged to wash my hands afterwards. So, a very good evening 
 to your establishment. " 
 
 M. Fortunat was amazed, and at the same time much annoyed, to find 
 himself forsaken on account of such a trifle. He feared too that Chupin 
 might let his tongue wag if he left his employment. So, since he had con- 
 fided this project to Chupin, he was determined that Chupin alone should 
 carry it into execution. Assuming his most severe and injured manner, he 
 sternly exclaimed : " I think you have lost your senses." His demeanour 
 and intonation were so perfectly cool that Chupin seemed slightly abashed. 
 " It seems that you think me capable of urging you to commit some dan- 
 gerous and dishonourable act," continued M. Fortunat. 
 
 "Why no m'sieur I assure you " 
 
 There was such evident hesitation in the utterance of this " no " that 
 the agent at once resumed : " Come, you are not ignorant of the fact that 
 in addition to my business as a collector, I give my attention to the dis- 
 covery of the heirs of unclaimed estates ? You are aware of this ? Very 
 well then : pray tell me how I am to find them without searching for them ? 
 If I wish this lady to be watched, it is only in view of reaching a poor lad 
 who is likely to be defrauded of the wealth that rightfully belongs to him. 
 And when I give you a chance to make forty or fifty francs in a couple of 
 days, you receive my proposition in this style 1 You are an ingrate and a 
 fool, Victor ! " 
 
 Chupin's nature combined, in a remarkable degree, the vices and peculi- 
 arities of the dweller in the Paris faubourgs, who is born old, but who, 
 when aged in years, still remains a gamin. In his youth he had seen many 
 strange things, and acquired a knowledge of life that would have put the 
 experience of a philosopher to shame. But he was not fit to cope with M. 
 Fortunat, who had an immense advantage over him, by reason of his 
 position of employer, as well as by his fortune and education. So Chupin 
 was both bewildered and disconcerted by the cool arguments his patron 
 brought forward ; and what most effectually allayed his suspicions was the 
 small compensation offered for the work merely forty or fifty francs. 
 
the count's millions. 157 
 
 "Small potatoes, upon my word!" he thought. "Just the price of an 
 ; honest service ; he would have offered more for a piece of rascality." So, 
 after considering a moment, he said, aloud : " Very well j I'm your man, 
 tn'sicur." 
 
 M. Fortunat was secretly laughing at the success of his ruse. Having 
 icome with the intention of offering his agent a handsome sum, he was 
 (agreeably surprised to find that Chupin's scruples would enable him to save 
 jhis money. " If I hadn't found you engaged in study, Victor," he said, 
 f,< I should have thought you had been drinking. What venomous insect 
 jfetung you so suddenly ? Haven't I confided similar undertakings to you 
 jbwenty times since you have been in my employment ? Who ransacked 
 [Paris to find certain debtors who were concealing themselves ? Who dis- 
 covered the Vantrassons for me ? Victor Chupin. Very well. Then 
 Sallow me to say that I see nothing in this case in any way differing from 
 |he others, nor can I understand why this should be wrong, if the others 
 were not." 
 
 Chupin could only have answered this remark by saying that there had 
 (been no mystery about the previous affairs, that they had not been proposed 
 (to him late at night at his own home, and that he had acted openly, as a 
 rperson who represents a creditor has a recognised right to act. But, 
 ithough he felt that there wa3 a difference in the present case, it would 
 thave been very difficult for him to explain in what this difference consisted. 
 Hence, in his most resolute tone : " I'm only a fool, m'sieur," he declared ; 
 r but I shall know how to make amends for my folly. " 
 I "That means you have recovered your senses," said M. Fortunat, ironi- 
 leally. "Really, that's fortunate. But let me give you one bit of 
 ftdvice : watch yourself, and learn to bridle your tongue. You won't 
 talways find me in such a good humour as I am this evening." 
 I So saying, he rose, passed Out into the adjoining room, bowed civilly 
 to his clerk's mother, and went off. His last words, as he crossed the 
 (threshold, were : " So I shall rely upon you. Be at the office to-morrow 
 ia little before noon. " 
 
 " It's agreed, m'sieur." 
 
 The blind woman had risen, and had bowed respectfully ; but, as soon 
 AS she was alone with her son, she asked : " What is this business he bids 
 you undertake in such a high and mighty tone ? " 
 I " Oh ! an every-day matter, mother." 
 
 The old woman shook her head. "Why were you talking so loud 
 ihen ? " she inquired. " Weren't you quarrelling ? It must be something 
 Wery grave when it's necessary to conceal it from me. I couldn't see your 
 Employer's face, my son ; but I heard his voice, and it didn't please me. 
 fit isn't the voice of an honest, straightforward man. Take care, Toto, 
 land don't allow yourself to be cajoled be prudent." 
 
 However, it was quite unnecessary to recommend prudence to Victor 
 Oiupin. He had promised his assistance, but not without a mental reser- 
 vation. "No need to see danger till it comes," he had said to himself. 
 f If the thing proves to be of questionable propriety after all, then good- 
 evening ; I desert." 
 
 It remains to know what he meant by questionable propriety ; the mean- 
 ing of the expression is rather vague. He had returned in all honesty 
 and sincerity of purpose to an honest life, and nothing in the world would 
 tiave induced him, avaricious though he was, to commit an act that was 
 positively wrong. Only the line that separates good from evil was not 
 
158 the count's millions. 
 
 very clearly defined in his mind. This was due in a great measure to hii 
 education, and to the fact that it had been long before he realized tha 
 police regulations do not constitute the highest moral law. It was due alsc 
 to chance, and, since he had no decided calling, to the necessity of depend 
 ing for a livelihood upon the many strange professions which impecunious 
 and untrained individuals, both of the higher and lower classes, adopt ii 
 Paris. 
 
 However, on the following morning he arrayed himself in his best apparel 
 and at exactly half-past eleven o'clock he rang at his employer's door. 
 M. Fortunat had made quick work with his clients that morning, an (3 
 was ready, dressed to go out. He took up his hat and said only the one 
 word, ' ' Come. " The place where the agent conducted his clerk was the 
 wine-shop in the Rue de Berry, where he had made inquiries respecting 
 Madame d'Argeles the evening before ; and on arriving there, he gener 
 ously offered him a breakfast. Before entering, however, he pointed oul 
 Madame d'Argeles' pretty house on the opposite side of the street, and saic 
 to him : "The woman whom you are to follow, and whose son you are t( 
 discover, will emerge from that house." 
 
 At that moment, after a night passed in meditating upon his mother's 
 prophetic warnings, Chupin was again beset by the same scruples whicl 
 had so greatly disturbed him on the previous evening. However, thej 
 soon vanished when he heard the wine-vendor, in reply to M. Fortunat's 
 skilful questions, begin to relate all he knew concerning Madame Lie 
 d'Argeles, and the scandalous doings at her house. The seeker after losl 
 heirs and his clerk were served at a little table near the door ; and while 
 they partook of the classical beefsteak and potatoes M. Fortunat eating 
 daintily, and Chupin bolting his food with the appetite of a shipwreckec 
 mariner they watched the house opposite. 
 
 Madame d'Argeles received on Saturdays, and, as Chupin remarked, 
 " there was a regular procession of visitors." 
 
 Standing beside M. Fortunat, and flattered by the attention which sucl 
 a well-dressed gentleman paid to his chatter, the landlord of the house men 
 tioned the names of all the visitors he knew. And he knew a good numbei 
 of them, for the coachmen came to his shop for refreshments when theii 
 masters were spending the night in play at Madame d'Argeles' house. Sc 
 he was able to name the Viscount de Coralth, who dashed up to the dooi 
 in a two-horse phaeton, as well as Baron Trigault, who came on foot, foi 
 exercise, puffing and blowing like a seal. The wine- vendor, moreover, tolc 
 his customers that Madame Argeles never went out before half-past two 01 
 three o'clock, and then always in a carriage a piece of information whicl 
 must have troubled Chupin ; for, as soon as the landlord had left their 
 to serve some other customers, he leant forward and said to M. Fortunat : 
 ' ' Did you hear that ? How is it possible to track a person who's in s 
 carriage ? " 
 
 " By following in another vehicle, of course." 
 
 " Certainly, m'sieur ; that's as clear as daylight. But that isn't the 
 question. The point is this : How can one watch the face of a person whc 
 turns her back to you ? I must see this woman's face to know whom she 
 looks at, and how." 
 
 This objection, grave as it appeared, did not seem to disturb M. Fortunat, 
 * ' Don't worry about that, Victor, " he replied. ' * Under such circumstances, 
 a mother wouldn't try to see her son from a rapidly-moving carriage. 
 She will undoubtedly alight, and contrive some means of passing and repass- 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 159 
 
 ng him of touching him, if possible. Your task will only consist in 
 ollowing her closely enough to be on the ground as soon as she is. Con- 
 ine your efforts to that ; and if you fail to-day, you'll succeed to-morrow 
 >r the day after the essential thing is to be patient." 
 
 He did better than to preach patience he practised it. The hours wore 
 iway, and yet he did not stir from his post, though nothing could have 
 oeen more disagreeable to him than to remain on exhibition, as it were, at 
 ;he door of a wine-shop. At last, at a little before three o'clock, the gates 
 )ver the way turned upon their hinges, and a dark-blue victoria, in which 
 i woman was seated, rolled forth into the street. "Look I" said M. 
 Tortunat, eagerly. " There she is ! " 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Che woman in the carriage was none other than Madame Lia d'Argeles. She 
 vas attired in one of those startling costumes which are the rage now-a-days, 
 aid which impart the same bold and^brazen appearance to all who wear them ; 
 no much so, that the most experienced observers are no longer able to dis- 
 tinguish the honest mother of a family from a notorious character. A 
 Dutchman, named Van Klopen, who was originally a tailor at Rotterdam, 
 rightfully ascribes the honour of this progress to himself. One can scarcely 
 explain how it happens that this individual, who calls himself " the dress- 
 naker of the queens of Europe," has become the arbiter of Parisian 
 jlegance ; but it is an undeniable fact that he does reign over fashion. He 
 lecrees the colours that shall be worn, decides whether dresses shall 
 pe short or long, whether paniers shall be adopted or discarded, 
 whether ruches and puffs and flowers shall be allowed, and in what 
 form ; and his subjects, the so-called elegant women of Paris, obey him 
 implicitly. 
 
 Madame d'Argeles would personally have preferred less finery, perhaps, 
 but it would not have done for her to be out of the fashion. She wore an 
 imperceptible hat, balanced on an immense pyramidal chignon, from which 
 escaped a torrent of wavy hair. " What a beautiful woman ! " exclaimed 
 bhe dazzled Chupin, and indeed, seen from this distance, she did not look a 
 ilay more than thirty-five an age when beauty possesses all the alluring 
 Euro of the luscious fruit of autumn. She was giving orders for the drive, 
 and her coachman, with a rose in his button-hole, listened while he reined 
 sin the spirited horse. " The weather's superb," added Chupin. "She'll 
 no doubt drive round the lakes in the Bois de Boulogne " 
 
 "Ah, she's off!" interrupted M. Fortunat. "Run, Victor, run! and 
 ion't be miserly as regards carriage hire ; all your expenses shall be 
 Liberally refunded you." 
 
 Chupin was already far away. Madame d'Argeles's horse went swiftly 
 (enough, but the agent's emissary had the limbs and the endurance of a 
 ^tag, and he kept pace with the victoria without much difficulty. And as 
 he ran along, his brain was busy. " If I don't take a cab," he said to him- 
 self, " if I follow the woman on foot, I shall have a perfect right to pocket 
 (the forty-five sous an hour fifty, counting the gratuity that a cab would 
 
 30St." 
 
 But on reaching the Champ Elysees, he discovered, to his regret, that 
 this plan was impracticable, for on running down the Avenue de l'lmpera- 
 trice after the rapidly driven carriage, he could not fail to attract attention. 
 
ICO THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 Stifling a sigh of regret, and seeing a cab at a stand near by, he hastily 
 hailed it. " Where do you want to go, sir ? " inquired the driver. 
 
 "Just follow that blue victoria, in which a handsome lady is seated, 
 my good fellow." 
 
 The order did not surprise the cabman, but rather the person who gave 
 it ; for in spite of his fine apparel, Chupin did not seem quite the man for 
 such an adventure. "Excuse me," said the Jehu, in a slightly ironical 
 tone, "I" 
 
 " I said exactly what I mean," retorted Chupin, whose pride was 
 severely wounded. " And no more talk hurry on, or we shall miss the 
 track." 
 
 This last remark was correct, for if Madame d'Argeles's coachman had 
 not slackened his horse's speed on passing round the Arc de Triomphe, the 
 woman would have escaped Chupin, for that day at least. However, this 
 circumstance gave the cabman an opportunity to overtake the victoria ; and 
 after that the two vehicles kept close together as they proceeded down the 
 Avenue de l'lmp^ratrice. But at the entrance of the Bois de Boulogne 
 Chupin ordered his driver to stop. " Halt ! " he exclaimed, " I shall get out. 
 Pay the extra cab charges for passing beyond the limits of Paris ! never ! 
 I'll crawl on my hands and knees first. Here are forty sous for your fare 
 and good evening to you." 
 
 And, as the blue victoria was already some distance in advance, he started 
 off at the top of his speed to overtake it. This manoeuvre was the result of 
 his meditations while riding along. "What will this fine lady do when 
 she gets to the Bois ? " he asked himself. " Why, her coachman will take 
 his place in the procession, and drive her slowly round and round the lakes. 
 Meantime I can trot along beside her without attracting attention and it 
 will be good for my health." 
 
 His expectations were realized in every respect. The victoria soon turned 
 to the left, and took its place in the long line of equipages which were 
 slowly winding round the lake. Having gained the foot-path which borders 
 the sheet of water, Chupin followed the carriage easily enough, with his 
 hands in his pockets, and his heart jubilant at the thought that he would 
 gain the sum supposed to have been spent in cab hire, in addition to the 
 compensation which had been promised him. "This is a strange way of 
 enjoying one's self," he muttered, as he trotted along. "There can't be 
 much pleasure in going round and round this lake. If ever I'm rich, I'll 
 find some other way of amusing myself." 
 
 Poor Chupin did not know that people do not go to the Bois to enjoy 
 themselves, but rather to torment others. This broad drive is in reality 
 only a field for the airing of vanity a sort of open-air bazaar for the display 
 of dresses and equipages. People come here to see and to be seen ; and, more- 
 over, this is neutral ground, where so-called honest women can meet those 
 notorious characters from whom they are elsewhere separated by an impass- 
 able abyss. What exquisite pleasure it must be to the dames of society to 
 find themselves beside Jenny Fancy or Ninette Simplon, or any other of those 
 young ladies whom they habitually call " creatures," but whom they are con- 
 tinually talking of, and whose toilettes, make-up, and jargon, they assidu- 
 ously copy ! 
 
 However, Chupin indulged in none of these reflections. He was engaged 
 in noting Madame d'Argeles' evident anxiety and restlessness. She looked 
 eagerly on all sides, sometimes half leaning out of her carriage, and imme- 
 diately turning her head whenever she heard the gallop of a horseman 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 161 
 
 behind her. She was evidently looking or waiting for some oiie, but the 
 person did not make his appearance, and so, growing weary of waiting, after 
 driving three times round the lake, she made a sign to her coachman, who 
 at once drew out of line, and turned his horse into a side-path. Chupin 
 hastened after the victoria, keeping it in sight until he was fortunate 
 enough to meet an empty cab, which he at once hired, Madame d'Argeles' 
 coachman, who had received his orders, now drove down the Champs 
 Elysees, again crossed the Place de la Concorde, turned intojthe boulevards, 
 and stopped short at the corner of the Chaussee d'Antin, where, having tied 
 a thick veil over her face, Madame Lia abruptly alighted and walked away. 
 
 This was done so quickly that Chupin barely had time to fling two francs 
 to his driver and rush after her. She had already turned round the corner 
 of the Rue du Helder, and was walking rapidly up the street. It was a 
 little after five o'clock, and dusk was setting in. Madame d'Argeles had 
 taken the side of the street allotted to the uneven numbers. After she had 
 passed the Hotel de Homburg, she slackened her pace, and eagerly scruti- 
 nized one of the houses opposite No. 48. Her examination lasted but a 
 moment, and seemed to be satisfactory. She then turned, and rapidly 
 retraced her steps as far as the boulevard, when, crossing the street to the 
 side of the even numbers, she walked up it again very slowly, stopping 
 before every shop-window. 
 
 Convinced that he had almost reached the goal, Chupin also crossed, and 
 followed closely at her heels. He soon saw her start and resume her rapid 
 gait. A young man was coining towards her so quickly indeed that she 
 had not time to avoid him, and a collision ensued, whereupon the young 
 man gave vent to an oath, and hurling an opprobrious epithet in her face, 
 passed on. 
 
 Chupin shuddered. "What if that should be her son?" he thought. 
 And while he pretended to be gazing into a shop-window, he stealthily 
 watched the poor woman. She had paused, and he was so near that he could 
 almost have touched her. He saw her raise her veil and follow her insulter 
 with a look which it was impossible to misunderstand. ' Oh ! oh ! It was 
 her son that called her that " said Chupin to himself, quite horrified. 
 And without more ado, he hastened after the young man. 
 
 He was between two and four-and-twenty years of age, rather above the 
 medium height, with very light hair and an extremely pale complexion. 
 His slight moustache would have been almost imperceptible if it had not 
 been dyed several shades darker than his hair. He was attired with that 
 studied carelessness which many consider to be the height of elegance, but 
 which is just the reverse. And his bearing, his moustache, and his low 
 hat, tipped rakishly over one ear, gave him an arrogant, pretentious, 
 rowdyish appearance. "Zounds! that fellow doesn't suit my fancy," 
 growled Chupin, as he trotted along. For he was almost running in his 
 efforts to keep pace with Madame d'Argeles' insulter. The latter 's haste 
 was soon explained. He was carrying a letter which he wished to have 
 delivered, and no doubt he feared he would not be able to find a commis- 
 sionaire. Having discovered one at last, he called him, gave him the 
 missive, and then pursued his way more leisurely. 
 
 He had reached the boulevard, when a florid-faced youth, remarkably 
 short and stout, rushed towards him with both hands amicably extended, 
 at the same time crying, loud enough to attract the attention of the passer's 
 by. " Is it possible that this is my dear Wilkie ? " 
 
 "Yes alive and in the flesh," replied the young man. 
 VOL. I T 
 
162 the count's millions. 
 
 " Well, and what the devil have you been doing with yourself ? Last 
 Sunday, at the races, I looked for you everywhere, and not a vestige of 
 Wilkie was to be found. However, you were wise not to go. I am three 
 hundred louis out of pocket. I staked everything on Domingo, the Marquis 
 de Valorsay's horse. I thought I was sure to win yes, sure. Well, 
 Domingo came in third. Can you understand that ? If every one didn't 
 know that Valorsay was a millionaire, it might be supposed there had been 
 some foul play yes, upon my word that he had bet against his own horse, 
 and forbidden his jockey to win the race.' 1 But the speaker did not really 
 believe this, so he continued, more gaily: "Fortunately, I shall retrieve 
 my losses to-morrow, at Vincennes. Shall we see you there ? " 
 
 "Probably." 
 
 "Then good-bye, until to-morrow." 
 
 ' ' Until to-morrow. " 
 
 Thereupon they shook hands, and each departed on his way. 
 
 Chupin had not lost a word of this conversation. * ! Valorsay a millionaire ! " 
 he said to himself. "That's good ! Ah, well ! now I know my little game- 
 cock's name, and I also know that he goes to the races. Wilkie that must 
 be an English name ; I like the name of d'Argeles better. But where the 
 devil is he going now ? " 
 
 M. Wilkie had simply paused to replenish his cigar-case at the tobacco 
 office of the Grand Hotel ; and, after lighting a cigar, he came out again, 
 and walked up the boulevard in the direction of the.Faubourg Montmartre. 
 He was no longer in a hurry now ; he strolled along in view of killing time, 
 displaying his charms, and staring impudently at every woman who passed. 
 With his shoulders drawn up on a level with his ears, and his chest thrown 
 back, he dragged his feet after him as if his limbs were half paralyzed ; he 
 was indeed doing his best to create the impression that he was used up, 
 exhausted, broken down by excesses and dissipation. For that is the fashion 
 the latest fancy chic ! 
 
 " Will you never have done ? " growled Chupin. 
 
 "You shall pay for this, you little wretch ! " He was so indignant that 
 the gamin element in his nature stirred again under his fine broadcloth, 
 and he had a wild longing to throw stones at M. Wilkie. He would 
 certainly have trodden on his heels, and have picked a quarrel with him, 
 had it not been for a fear of failing in his mission, and thereby losing his 
 promised reward. 
 
 He followed his man closely, for the crowd was very great. Night was 
 coming on, and the gas was lit on all sides. The weather was very mild, 
 and there was not an unoccupied table in front of the cafe's, for it was now 
 the absinthe hour. How does it happen that every evening, between five 
 and seven o'clock, every one in Paris who is known who is somebody or 
 something can be found between the Passage de l'Opera and the Passage 
 Jouffroy ? Hereabout you may hear all the latest news and gossip of the 
 fashionable world, the last political canards all the incidents of Parisian 
 life which will be recorded by the papers on the following morning. You 
 may learn the price of stocks, and obtain tips for to-morrow's Bourse ; ascer- 
 tain how much Mademoiselle A's necklace cost, and who gave it to her ; 
 with the latest news from Prussia ; and the name of the bank chairman 
 or cashier who has absconded during the day, and the amount he has taken 
 with him. 
 
 The crowd became more dense as the Faubourg Montmartre was ap- 
 proached, but Wilkie made his way through the throng with the ease of an 
 
the count's millions. 163 
 
 old boulevardier. He must have had a large circle of acquaintances, for he 
 distributed bows right and left, and was spoken to by five or six promen- 
 aders. He did not pass the Terrasse Jouffroy, but, pausing there, he 
 purchased an evening paper, retraced his steps, and about seven o'clock 
 reached the Cafe" Riche, which he entered triumphantly. He did not even 
 touch the rim of his hat on going in that would have been excessively bad 
 form ; but he called a waiter, in a very loud voice, and imperiously ordered 
 him to serve dinner on a table near the window, where he could see the 
 boulevard and be seen. 
 
 ' And now my little fighting-cock is going to feed," thought Chupin. He, 
 too, was hungry ; and he was trying to think of some modest restaurant in 
 the neighbourhood, when two young men passed near him and glanced into 
 the caf6. 
 
 "Look, there's Wilkie ! " observed one of them. 
 
 " That's so, upon my word ! " responded the other. "And he has money, 
 too ; fortune has smiled upon him." 
 
 * * How do you know that ? " 
 
 1 ' Why, by watching the fellow ; one can tell the condition of his purse 
 as correctly as he could himself. If his funds are low, he has his meala 
 brought to his room from a cook-shop where he has credit ; his moustache 
 droops despondingly ; he is humble even to servility with his friends, and 
 he brushes his hair over his forehead. When he is in average circumstances, 
 he dines at Launay's, waxes his moustache, and brushes his hair back from 
 his face. But when he dines at the Cafe" Riche, my boy, when he has dyed 
 his moustache, and tips his bat over his ear, and deports himself in that 
 arrogant fashion, why, he has at least five or six thousand francs in his 
 pocket, and all is well with him." 
 
 ' Where does he get his money from ? " 
 
 "Who can tell?" 
 
 "Is he rich?" 
 
 " He must have plenty of money I lent him ten louis once, and he paid 
 me back." 
 
 1 ' Zounds ! He's a very honourable fellow, then. " Thereupon the two 
 young men laughed, and passed on. 
 
 Chupin had been greatly edified. " Now I know you as well as if I were 
 your concierge," he muttered, addressing the unconscious Wilkie; "and 
 when I've followed you home, and learned your number, I shall have richly 
 earned the fifty francs M. Fortunat promised me." As well as he could 
 judge through the window-pane, M. Wilkie was eating his dinner with an 
 excellent appetite. "Ah!" he exclaimed, not without envy, "these 
 fighting-cocks take good care of their stomachs. He's there for an hour at 
 least, and I shall have time to run and swallow a mouthful myself." 
 
 So saying, Chupin hastened to a small restaurant in a neighbouring street, 
 and magnificently disbursed the sum of thirty-nine sous. Such extravagance 
 was unusual on his part, for he had lived very frugally since he had taken 
 a vow to become rich. Formerly, when he lived from hand to mouth to 
 use his own expression he indulged in cigars and in absinthe ; but now he 
 contented himself with the fare of an anchorite, drank nothing but water, 
 and only smoked when some one gave him a cigar. Nor was this any great 
 privation to him, since he gained a penny by it and a penny was another 
 grain of sand added to the foundation of his future wealth. However, 
 this evening he indulged in the extravagance of a glass of wine, deciding in 
 his own mind that he had fairly earned it. 
 
164 
 
 When he returned to his post in front of the Cafe* Riche, M. Wilkie was 
 no longer alone at his table. He was finishing his coffee in the company of 
 a man of his own age, who was remarkably good-looking almost too good- 
 looking, in fact and a glance at whom caused Chupin to exclaim : " What ! 
 what ! I've seen that face somewhere before " But he racked his brain 
 in vain in trying to remember who this new-comer was, in trying to set a name 
 on this face, which was positively annoying in its classical beauty, and 
 which he felt convinced had occupied a place among the phantoms of his 
 past. Irritated beyond endurance by what he termed his stupidity, he was 
 trying to decide whether he should enter the cafe or not, when he saw M. 
 Wilkie take his bill from the hands of a waiter, glance at it, and throw a 
 louis on the table. His companion had drawn out his pocket-book for the 
 ostensible purpose of paying for the coffee he had taken ; but Wilkie, with 
 a cordial gesture, forbade it, and made that magnificent, imperious sign to 
 the waiter, which so clearly implies : ' ' Take nothing ! All is paid ! 
 Keep the change." Thereupon the servant gravely retired, more than ever 
 convinced of the fact that vanity increases the fabulous total of Parisian 
 gratuities by more than a million francs a year. 
 
 " My gallant youths are coming out," thought Chupin. "I must keep 
 my ears open. " And approaching the door, he dropped on one knee, and 
 pretended to be engaged in tying his shoe-strings. This is one of the 
 thousand expedients adopted by spies and inquisitive people. And when a 
 man is foolish enough to tell his secrets in the street, he should at least be 
 wise enough to distrust the people near him who pretend to be absorbed in 
 something else ; for in nine cases out of ten these persons are listening to 
 him, possibly for pay, or possibly from curiosity. 
 
 However, the young men whom Chupin was watching were far from sus- 
 pecting that they were under surveillance. M. Wilkie came out first, 
 talking very loud, as often happens when a man has just partaken of a good 
 dinner, and is blessed with an excellent digestion. "Come, Coralth, my 
 good fellow, you won't desert me in this way? I have a box for the 
 Varies, and you must go with me. We'll see if Silly imitates Theresa as 
 perfectly as they say." 
 
 " But I have an appointment." 
 
 " Oh, well, let it wait. Come, viscount, is it agreed?" 
 
 " Ah, you do with me just as you like." 
 
 ' Good ! But, first of all, let us take a glass of beer to finish our cigars. 
 And do you know whom you will find in my box ? " 
 
 At this moment they passed, and Chupin rose to his feet. "Coralth," he 
 muttered, ' Viscount de Coralth. He's not one of our clients. Let me see, 
 Coralth. This is certainly the first time I have ever heard the name. Can 
 it be that I'm mistaken ? Impossible ! " 
 
 The more he reflected, the more thoroughly he became convinced of the 
 accuracy of his first impression, consoling himself with the thought that a 
 name has but a slight significance after all. His preoccupation had at least 
 the advantage of shortening the time which he spent in promenading to and 
 fro, while the friends sat outside a cafe" smoking and drinking. It was still 
 M. Wilkie who monopolized the conversation, while his companion listened 
 with his elbow resting on the table, occasionally nodding his head in token 
 of approbation. One thing that incensed Chupin was that they loitered 
 there, when one of them had a ticket for a box at the theatre in his 
 pocket. 
 
 "Idiots ! " he growled ; " they'll wait till the play's half -over before they 
 
the count's millions. 165 
 
 go in. And then they'll let the doors slam behind them for the express 
 purpose of disturbing everybody. Fools, go 1 " 
 
 As if they had heard the command, they rose suddenly, and an instant after 
 they entered the Variites. They entered, but Chupin remained on the pave- 
 ment, scratching his head furiously, in accordance with his habit whenever 
 he wished to develop his powers of imagination. He was trying to think 
 how he might procure admission to the theatre without paying for it. For 
 several years he had seen every play put upon the stage in Paris, without 
 spending a sou, and he felt that it would be actually degrading to purchase 
 a ticket at the office now. " Pay to see a farce ! " he thought. ' Not I, 
 I must know some one here I'll wait for the entr'acte." 
 
 The wisdom of this course became apparent when among those who left 
 the theatre at the close of the first act he recognized an old acquaintance, 
 who was now working on the claque,* and who at once procured him a 
 ticket of admission for nothing. ' ' Well, it is a good thing to have friends 
 everywhere," he muttered, as he took the seat assigned him. 
 
 It was a very good place they had given him a seat in the second gallery 
 commanding an excellent view of the house. The first glance around told 
 him that his "customers," as he styled them, were in a box exactly 
 opposite. They were now in the company of two damsels in startling 
 toilettes, with exceedingly dishevelled yellow hair, who moved restlessly 
 about, and giggled and stared, and tried in every possible way to attract 
 attention. And their stratagem succeeded. However, this did not seem 
 to please the Viscount de Coralth, who kept himself as far back in the 
 shade as he possibly could. But young Wilkie was evidently delighted, 
 and seemed manifestly proud of the attention which the public was com- 
 pelled to bestow upon his box. He offered himself as much as possible to 
 the gaze of the audience ; moved about, leaned forward, and made himself 
 fully as conspicuous as his fair companions. Less than ever did Chupin 
 now forgive Wilkie for the insult he had cast in the face of Madame Lia 
 d'Argeles, who was probably his mother. 
 
 As for the play, M. Fortunat's emissary did not hear twenty words of it. 
 He was so overcome with fatigue that he soon fell asleep. The noise and 
 bustle of each entr'acte aroused him a little, but he did not thoroughly 
 wake up until the close of the performance. His " customers " were still 
 in their box, and M. Wilkie was gallantly wrapping the ladies in their 
 cloaks and shawls. In the vestibule, he and M. de Coralth were joined by 
 several other young men, and the whole party adjourned to a neighbouring 
 cafe*. " These people are certainly afflicted with an unquenchable thirst," 
 growled Chupin. "I wonder if this is their every-day life ? " 
 
 He, too, was thirsty after his hastily-eaten dinner ; and necessity pre- 
 vailing over economy, he seated himself at a table outside the cafe, and 
 called for a glass of beer, in which he moistened his parched lips with a sigh 
 of intense satisfaction. He sipped the beverage slowly, in order to make 
 it last the longer, but this did not prevent his glass from becoming dry long 
 before M. Wilkie and his friends were ready to leave. "It seems to me 
 we are going to stay here all night," he thought, angrily. 
 
 His ill-humour was not strange under the circumstances, for it was one 
 o'clock in the morning ; and after carrying all the tables and chairs round 
 about, inside, a waiter came to ask Chupin to go away. All the other 
 
 * The body of hired applaudera who are employed at most Parisian theatres to stimu* 
 late the enthusiasm of the audience. [Trans.] 
 
166 the count's millions. 
 
 ca/Ss were closing too, and the fastening of bolts or the clanking of shutter 
 chains could be heard on every side. On the pavement stood groups of 
 waiters in their shirt-sleeves, stretching and yawning, and inhaling the 
 fresh night air with delight. The boulevard was fast becoming deserted 
 the men were going off in little groups, and female forms could be seen 
 gliding along in the dark shadow cast by the houses. The police were 
 watching everywhere, with a word of menace ever ready on their lips ; 
 and soon the only means of egress from the cafs were the narrow, low 
 doorways cut in the shutters through which the last customers the insati- 
 able, who are always ordering one thimbleful more to finish passed out. 
 
 It was through a portal of this sort that M. Wilkie and his companions 
 at last emerged, and on perceiving them, Chupin gave a grunt of satisfaction. 
 " At last," he thought, " I can follow the man to his door, take his number, 
 and go home." 
 
 But his joy was short-lived, for M. Wilkie proposed that the whole party 
 should go and take supper. M. de Coralth demurred to the idea, but the 
 others overruled his objections, and dragged him away with them. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Ah 1 this is a bad job ! " growled Chupin. *' Go, go, and never stop ! " 
 
 What exasperated him even more than his want of sleep was the thought 
 that his good mother must be waiting for him at home in an agony of 
 anxiety ; for since his reformation he had become remarkably regular in 
 his habits. What should he do? "Go home," said Reason; " it will be 
 easy enough to find this Wilkie again. There can be little doubt that he 
 lives at No. 48, in the Rue du Helder." " Remain/' whispered Avarice ; 
 "and, since you have accomplished so much, finish your work. M. For- 
 tunat won't pay for conjectures, but for a certainty." 
 
 Love of money carried the day ; so, weaving an interminable chaplet of 
 oaths, he followed the party until they entered Brabant's restaurant, one 
 of the best known establishments which remain open at night-time. It was 
 nearly two o'clock in the morning now ; the boulevard was silent and 
 deserted, and yet this restaurant was brilliantly lighted from top to bottom, 
 and snatches of song and shouts of laughter, with the clatter of knives and 
 forks and the clink of glasses, could be heard through the half -opened windows. 
 
 "Eight dozen Marennes for No. 6," shouted a waiter to the man who 
 opened oysters near the restaurant-door. 
 
 On hearing this order, Chupin shook his clenched fist at the stars. " The 
 wretches ! " he muttered through his set teeth, " bad luck to them ! 
 Those oysters are for their mouths, plainly enough, for there are eight of 
 them in all, counting those yellow-haired women. They will, no doubt, re- 
 main at table until six o'clock in the morning. And they call this enjoying 
 themselves. And meanwhile, poor little Chupin must wear out his shoe- 
 leather on the pavement. Ah 1 they shall pay for this ! " 
 
 It ought to have been some consolation to him to see that he was not 
 alone in his misery, for in front of the restaurant stood a dozen cabs with 
 sleepy drivers, who were waiting for chance to send them one of those half- 
 intoxicated passengers who refuse to pay more than fifteen sous for their 
 fare, but give their Jehu a gratuity of a louis. All these vehicles belonged 
 to the peculiar category known as u night cabs " dilapidated conveyances 
 with soiled ragged linings, and drawn by half-starved, jaded horses. 
 
the count's millions. 167 
 
 However, Chupin neither thought of these vehicles, nor of the poor 
 horses, nor, indeed, of the drivers themselves. His wrath had been suc- 
 ceeded by philosophical resignation ; he accepted with good grace what he 
 could not avoid. As the night air had become very cool, he turned up the 
 collar of his overcoat, and began to pace to and fro on the pavement in front 
 of the restaurant. He had made a hundred turns perhaps, passing the 
 events of the day in review, when suddenly such a strange and startling 
 idea flashed across his mind that he stood motionless, lost in astonishment. 
 Reflecting on the manner in which M. Wilkie and the Viscount de Coralth 
 had behaved during the evening, a singular suspicion assailed him. Whilst 
 M. Wilkie gradually lost his wits, M. de Coralth had become remarkably 
 cold and reserved. He had seemed to oppose all M. Wilkie's propositions ; 
 but he had agreed to them at last, so that his objections had produced much 
 the same effect as a stimulant. It seemed then as if M. de Coralth had 
 some strange interest in wishing to gain ascendency over his friend. At 
 least such was Chupin's opinion. "Oh, oh!" he murmured. "What if 
 he should be working up the same little scheme ? What if he were acquainted 
 with Madame Lia d'Argeles ? What if he knew that there's a fortune waiting 
 for a claimant ? I shouldn't at all be surprised if I found that he wanted to 
 cook his bread in our oven. But father Fortunat wouldn't be pleased with 
 the news. Ah ! no he wouldn't even smile " 
 
 Whilst carrying on this little conversation with himself, he stood just in 
 front of the restaurant, looking up into the air, when all of a sudden a 
 window was thrown noisily open, and the figures of two men became 
 plainly visible. They were engaged in a friendly struggle ; one of them 
 seemed to be trying to seize hold of something which the other had in his 
 hand, and which he refused to part with. One of these men was M. Wilkie 
 <is Chupin at once perceived. "Good !" he said to himself, "this is the 
 beginning of the end ! " 
 
 As he spoke, M. Wilkie's hat fell on the window-sill, slipped off, and 
 dropped on to the pavement below. With a natural impulse Chupin picked 
 it up, and he was turning it over and over in his hands, when M. Wilkie 
 leant out of the window and shouted in a voice that was thick with wine : 
 "Halloo! Eh, there! Who picked up my hat? Honesty shall be re- 
 warded. A glass of champagne and a cigar for the fellow who'll bring it 
 me in room No. 6. " 
 
 Chupin hesitated. By going up, he might, perhaps, compromise the suc- 
 cess of his mission. But on the other hand his curiosity was aroused, and 
 he very much wished to see, with his own eyes, how these young men were 
 amusing themselves. Besides, he would have an opportunity of examining 
 this handsome viscount, whom he was certain he had met before, though 
 he could not tell when or where. In the meantime, M. Wilkie had per- 
 ceived him. 
 
 "Come, you simpleton ! " he cried; "make haste. You can't be very 
 thirsty." 
 
 The thought of the viscount decided Chupin. Entering the restaurant 
 and climbing the staircase, he had just reached the landing when a pale- 
 looking man, who had a smoothly-shaven face and was dressed in black, 
 barred his way and asked : "What do you want ? " 
 
 1 ' M'sieur, here's a hat which fell from one of your windows and " 
 
 "All right, hand it here." 
 
 But Chupin did not seem to hear this order. He was beginning a long 
 explanation, when a curtain near by was pushed aside, and M. Wilkie 
 
168 
 
 called out: "Philippe! eh, Philippe ! bring me the man who picked up 
 my hat." 
 
 "Ah ! " said Chupin, "you see, m'sieur, that he asks for me." 
 
 " Very well," said Philippe. " Go on, then." And raising the porti&re 
 he pushed Chupin into room No. 6. 
 
 It was a small, square apartment, with a very low ceiling. The tempera- 
 ture was like that of a furnace, and the glare of the gaslights almost blinded 
 one. The supper was over, but the table had not yet been cleared, and 
 plates full of leavings showed that the guests had fairly exhausted their 
 appetites. Still, with the exception of M. Wilkie, every one present seemed 
 to be terribly bored. In one corner, with her head resting on a piano, sat one 
 of the yellow-haired damsels, fast asleep, while, beside the window, M. de 
 Coralth was smoking with his elbows propped upon the table. The four 
 other young men were looking on phlegmatically. "Ah ! here's my hat," 
 exclaimed M. Wilkie, as soon as Chupin appeared. " Wait and receive 
 your promised reward." And thereupon he rang the bell, crying at the 
 top of his voice : "Henry, you sleepy head a clean glass and some more 
 of the widow Cliquot's champagne 1 
 
 Several bottles were standing upon the table, only half empty, and one of 
 M. Wilkie's friends called his attention to this fact, but he shrugged his 
 shoulders disdainfully. "You must take me for a fool," he said, con- 
 temptuously. " A man doesn't drink stale wine when he has the prospect 
 of such an inheritance as is coming to me " 
 
 " Wilkie ! " interrupted M. de Coralth, quickly ; " Wilkie ! " 
 
 But he was too late ; Chupin had heard and understood everything. His 
 conjectures had proved correct. M. Wilkie knew his right to the estate ; 
 M. Fortunat had been forestalled by the viscount, and would merely have 
 his labour for his pains. "No chance for the guv'nor ! " thought the 
 agent's emissary. "And what a blow after the De Valorsay affair ! It's 
 enough to give him the jaundice ! " 
 
 For a youth of his age, Chupin controlled his feelings admirably ; but the 
 revelation came so suddenly that he had started despite himself, and 
 changed colour a trifle. M. de Coralth saw this ; and, though he was far 
 from suspecting the truth, his long repressed anger burst forth. He rose 
 abruptly, took up a bottle, and filling the nearest glass, he rudely exclaimed : 
 * ' Come, drink that make haste and clear out ! " 
 
 Victor Chupin must have become very sensitive since his conversion. In 
 former times he was not wont to be so susceptible as to lose his temper 
 when some one chanced to address him in a rather peremptory manner, or 
 to offer him wine out of the first available glass. But M. de Coralth in- 
 spired him with one of those inexplicable aversions which cannot be 
 restrained. " Eh ! tell me if it's because we've drank champagne together 
 before that you talk to me like that ? " the young fellow retorted, savagely. 
 
 It was only a random shot, but it reached home. The viscount seemed 
 touched to the quick. "You hear that, Wilkie," said he. "This will 
 teach you that the time of your compatriot, Lord Seymour, has passed by. 
 The good-humoured race of plebeians who respectfully submitted to the 
 blows with which noblemen honoured them after drinking, has died out. 
 This ought to cure you of your unfortunate habit of placing yourself on 
 terms of equality with all the vagabonds you meet. " 
 
 Chupin's hair fairly bristled with anger. "What! whatl" he exclaimed, 
 "I'll teach you to call me a vagabond, you scoundrel ! " 
 
 His gesture, his attitude, and his eyes were ao expressive of defiance and 
 
THE count's millions. 169 
 
 menace that two of the guests sprang up and caught him by the arm. "Go, 
 go," they said. 
 
 But he freed himself from their grasp. "Go!" he replied. "Never! 
 He called me a vagabond. Am I to pocket the insult quietly and walk off 
 with it ? You can scarcely expect that. First, I demand an apology." 
 
 This was asking too much of the Viscount de Coralth. " Let the fool 
 alone," he remarked, with affected coolness, " and ring for the waiters to 
 kick him out." 
 
 It did not require this new insult to put Chupin in a furious passion. 
 " Come on ! " he exclaimed. "Ah, ha ! Where's the fellow who'll turn 
 me out ? Let him come. I'll teach him a lesson ! " And as he spoke he 
 squared his shoulders, inflated his chest, and threw the weight of his entire 
 body on his left leg, after the most approved method of sparring masters. 
 
 " Go, go ! " insisted Wilkie's friends. 
 
 " Yes, I'll go with pleasure, but your friend must go, too. Is he a man ? 
 Then let him come, and we'll settle this outside." And seeing that they 
 were again trying to seize him: "Hands off!" he thundered, "or I'll 
 strike. You were not obliged to invite me here. It isn't my business to 
 furnish amusement to parties who've drunk too much wine. And why 
 should you despise me ? It's true I haven't any money while you have 
 plenty that I work and you carouse. Still that's no reason why you 
 should scorn me. Besides, those who are poor in the morning are some- 
 times rich in the evening. Every dog has his day. I have an idea that I 
 shall have some coin when yours is all gone. Then it will be my turn to 
 laugh ; and as I'm a good-natured fellow, I will give you my half-smoked 
 cigars. " 
 
 M. Wilkie seemed delighted. He had climbed on to the piano and seated 
 himself, with his feet on the key -board ; and there, as on a judgment seat, 
 he listened and applauded, alternately taking Chupin's part, and then the 
 viscount's. " Bravo, gamin 1 " or, " Give it to him, Coralth 1 " he shouted 
 in turn. 
 
 This irritated the viscount exceedingly. " I see that we shall be obliged 
 to call in the police to settle the affair," he said, sneeringly. 
 
 " The police ! " roared Chupin. " Ah ! that won't do, you scamp " 
 But his voice died away in his throat, and he stood motionless, speechless, 
 with his arm raised as if he were about to strike, and his eyes dilated with 
 astonishment. 
 
 For a change of expression in M. de Coralth's face had enlightened him ; 
 and he suddenly recollected when and under what circumstances he had 
 known this so-called viscount. He remembered, too, the name he had 
 borne when he first met him. " Oh ! " he stammered, " oh ! oh ! " 
 
 However, the effect of this discovery was to dispel his anger, or rather to 
 restore his calmness, and, addressing M. de Coralth, he exclaimed : 
 "Don't be angry at what I've said, m'sieurj it was only a jest I know 
 that there's a wide difference between a poor devil like me and a viscount 
 like you I haven't a sou, you see, and that maddens me. But I'm not so 
 very bad-looking, fortunately, and I'm always hoping that the daughter of 
 some rich banker will fall in love with me and marry me. Some people 
 have such luck you know. If I meet with any you may be sure I shall pass 
 myself off as the lost child of some great personage of a duke, for instance 
 and if the real son exists, and troubles me, why I'll quietly put him out of 
 the way, if possible." 
 
 With but one exception the persons present did not understand a single 
 
170 the count's millions. 
 
 word of this apparent nonsense ; and indeed the yellow-haired damsels 
 stared at the speaker in amazement. Still it was evident that each of these 
 words had a meaning, and a terrible meaning for M. de Coralth. Accustomed 
 for years to control his features, he remained apparently unmoved he even 
 smiled ; but a close observer could have detected anguish in his eyes, and he 
 had become very pale. At last, unable to endure the scene any longer, he 
 drew a hundred-franc bank-note from his pocket-book, crumpled it in hk 
 hand and threw it at Chupin, saying : " That's a very pretty story you are 
 telling, my boy ; but we've had enough of it. Take your pay and leave us. " 
 
 Unfortunately, the note struck Chupin full in the face. He uttered a 
 hoarse cry of rage, and, by the way in which he seized and brandished an 
 empty bottle, it might have been imagined that M. de Coralth was about to 
 have his head broken. But no. Thanks to a supreme effort of will, 
 Chupin conquered this mad fury ; and, dropping the bottle, he remarked 
 to the young women who were uttering panic-stricken shrieks : "Be 
 quiet ; don't you see that I was only in fun." 
 
 But even M. Wilkie had found the fun a little rough, and even danger- 
 ous. Several of the young fellows present sprang up, with the evident in- 
 tention of pushing Chupin out of the room, but he checked them with a 
 gesture. "Don't disturb yourselves, gentlemen," he said. "I'm going, 
 only let me find the bank-note which this gentleman threw at me. " 
 
 " That's quite proper," replied M. Wilkie, approvingly ; "look for it." 
 
 Chupin did so, and at last found it lying almost under the piano. 
 " Now," he remarked, " I should like a cigar." 
 
 A score or so were lying in a dish. He gravely selected one of them and 
 coolly cut off the end of it before placing it in his mouth. Those around 
 watched him with an air of profound astonishment, not understanding this 
 ironical calmness following so closely upon such a storm of passion. Then 
 he, Victor Chupin, who had, it seems to me, but one aim in life to be- 
 come rich Victor Chupin, who loved money above anything else, and had 
 stifled all other passions in his soul he who often worked two whole days 
 to earn five francs he who did not disdain to claim his five sous when he 
 went to hire a cab for his employer he, Chupin, twisted the bank-note in 
 his fingers, lit it at the gas, and used it to light his cigar. 
 
 "Ah ! he's crazy ! " murmured the yellow-haired damsels, with despair 
 in their voices. 
 
 But M. Wilkie was enthusiastic. "There's form!" said he. "Fine 
 form and no mistake ! " 
 
 But Chupin did not even deign to turn his head. He opened the door, 
 and standing on the threshold, he bowed to M. de Coralth with an ironical 
 smile. " Until we meet again, Monsieur Paul," said he. "And kindly 
 remember me to Madame Paul, if you please." 
 
 If the others had been less astonished, they would have no doubt have 
 remarked the prodigious effect of this name upon their brilliant friend. 
 He became ghastly pale and fell back in his chair. Then, suddenly, he 
 bounded up as if he wished to attack his enemy. But pursuit seemed 
 likely to yield no result, for Chupin was already on the boulevard. 
 
 It was daybreak. Paris was waking up ; the bakers were standing at 
 tneir doors, and boys in their shirt-sleeves, with their eyes swollen with 
 sleep, were taking down the shutters of the wine-shops. A cloud of dust, 
 raised by the street-sweepers, hung in the distance; the rag-pickers 
 wandered about, peering among the rubbish ; the noisy milk-carts jolted 
 along at a gallop, and workmen were proceeding to their daily toil, with 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 171 
 
 hunches of bread in their hands. The morning air was" very chilly ; never- 
 theless, Chupho seated himself on a bench across the boulevard, at a spot 
 where he could watch the entrance of the restaurant without being seen. 
 He had just experienced one of those sudden shocks which so disturb the 
 mind, that one becomes insensible to outward circumstances, whatever 
 they may be. He had recognised in the so-called Viscount de Coralth, the 
 man whom he had hated above all others in the world, or, rather, the only 
 man whom he hated, for his was not a bad heart. Impressionable to excess 
 like a true child of the faubourgs, he had the Parisian's strange mobility of 
 feeling. If his anger was kindled by a trifle, the merest nothing usually 
 sufficed to extinguish it. But matters were diffeient respecting this hand- 
 some viscount 1 " God ! how I hate him ! " he hissed through his set teeth. 
 " God J how I hate him 1 " 
 
 For once, years before, as he had confessed to M. Fortunat, Chupin had 
 been guilty of a cowardly and abominable act, which had nearly cost a 
 man his life. And this crime, if it had been successful, would have bene- 
 fited the very fellow who concealed his sinful shameful past under the high 
 sounding name of Coralth. How was it that Chupin had not recognized 
 him at once ? Because he had worked for this fellow without knowing 
 him, receiving his orders through the miserable wretches who pandered to 
 his vices. He had only seen him personally once or twice, and had never 
 spoken to him. Later too late he discovered what vile intrigue it was 
 that he had served. And when he became sincerely repentant he loathed 
 this Coralth who had caused his crime. 
 
 Nor was this all. The recognition of Coralth had inspired him with re- 
 morse. It had aroused in the recesses of his conscience a threatening 
 voice which cried : "What are you doing here? You are acting as a spy 
 for a man you distrust, and whose real designs you are ignorant of. It was 
 in this way you began before. Have you forgotten what it led to ? Have 
 you not sin enough already upon your conscience ? Blood enough upon 
 your hands ? It is folly to pretend that one may serve as a tool for villains, 
 and still remain an honest man ! " 
 
 It was this voice which had given Chupin the courage to light his cigar 
 with the bank-note. And this voice still tortured him, as seated on the 
 bench he now tried to review the situation. Where, indeed, was he? With 
 rare good luck he had discovered the son whom Madame Lia d'Argeles had 
 so long and successfully concealed. But contrary to all expectations this 
 young fellow already knew of the inheritance which he was entitled to. 
 M. de Coralth had already achieved what M. Fortunat had meant to do ; 
 and so the plan was a failure, and it was useless to persist in it. 
 
 This would have ended the matter if Chupin had not chanced to know 
 the Viscount de Coralth's shameful past. And this kuowleclge changed 
 everything, for it gave him the power to interfere in a most effectual 
 manner. Armed with this secret, he could bestow the victory on M. For- 
 tunat, and force M. de Coralth to capitulate. And he could do this all the 
 more easily, as he was sure that Coralth had not recognized him, and that 
 he was perhaps ignorant of his very existence. Chupin had allowed him- 
 self to be carried away by a sudden impulse of anger which he regretted ; 
 he had made an ironical illusion to his enemy's past life, but after all this had 
 done no particular harm. So nothing prevented him from lending M. 
 Fortunat his assistance, and thus killing two birds with one stone. He 
 could have his revenge on Coralth, and at the same time insure his patron 
 a large fee, of which he could claim a considerable share for himself. But 
 
172 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 no ! The idea of deriving any profit whatever from this affair inspired him 
 with a feeling of disgust honour triumphed over his naturally crafty and 
 avaricious nature. It seemed to him that any money made in this way 
 would soil his fingers ; for he realised there must be some deep villainy 
 under all this plotting and planning ; he was sure of it, since Coralth was 
 mixed up in the affair. " I will serve my guv'nor for nothing," he decided. 
 " When a man is avenged, he's well paid." 
 
 Chupin decided upon this course because he could think of no better 
 plan. Still, if he had been master of events he would have acted otherwise. 
 He would have quietly presented the government with this inheritance 
 which he found M. Wilkie so unworthy of. " The devil only knows what 
 he'll do with it," he thought. "He'll squander it as my father squandered the 
 fortune that was given him. It is only fools who meet with such luck as that." 
 
 However, his meditations did not prevent him from keeping a close 
 watch over the restaurant, for it was of the utmost importance that M. 
 Wilkie should not escape him. It was now broad daylight, and customers 
 were leaving the establishment ; for, after passing what is generally con- 
 ceded to be a joyous night, they felt the need of returning home to rest 
 and sleep. Chupin watched them as they emerged. There were some who 
 came out with drooping heads, mumbling incoherent phrases ; while others 
 who were equally intoxicated, but more nervous, evinced considerable anima- 
 tion, and sang snatches of songs, or jested loudly with the street-sweepers as 
 they passed on. The more sober, surprised by the sunlight, and blushing 
 at themselves, slunk hastily and quietly away. There was one man, more- 
 over, whom the waiters were obliged to carry to his cab, for he could no 
 longer stand on his feet. 
 
 At last Chupin saw the individual clad in black whom Wilkie had 
 addressed as Philippe, and who had endeavoured to prevent him from 
 entering the restaurant, come out, and walk rapidly away. He was 
 warmly clad in a thick overcoat, but he shivered, and his pale, wan 
 face betrayed the man who is a martyr to the pleasures of others the man 
 who is condemned to be up all night and sleep only in the daytime the 
 man who can tell you how much folly and beastliness lurk in the depths of 
 the wine-cup, and who knows exactly how many yawns are expressed by 
 the verb "to amuse one's self." Chupin was beginning to feel uneasy. 
 " Can M. Wilkie and his friends have made their escape ? " he wondered. 
 
 But at that very moment they made their appearance. They lingered 
 awhile on the pavement to chat, and Chupin had an opportunity of 
 observing the effect of their night's dissipation on their faces. The brilliant 
 sunlight made their eyes blink, and the cold se'nt purple blotches to their 
 bloated cheeks. As for the young women with yellow hair, they appeared 
 as they really were hideous. They entered the only cab that remained, 
 the most dilapidated one of all, and the driver of which had no little difficulty 
 in setting his horse in motion ; whereupon the gentlemen went off on foot. 
 
 Many persons would have been vexed and even humiliated by the 
 necessity of appearing at this hour on the boulevard in disorderly attire, 
 which plainly indicated that they had spent the night in debauchery. But 
 with the exception of the Viscount de Coralth, who was evidently out of 
 humour, the party seemed delighted with themselves, as it was easy to 
 see by the way they met the glances of the passers-by. They con- 
 sidered themselves first-class form they were producing an effect they 
 were astonishing people. And what more could they desire ? 
 
 One thing is certain they were irritating Chupin terribly. He was 
 
THE count's millions. 173 
 
 following them on the opposite side of the boulevard, at some little dis- 
 tance in the rear, for he was afraid of being recognized. " The wretches ! " 
 he growled. " One couldn't draw a pint of manly blood from the veins of 
 all six of them. Ah, if they knew how I hate them ! " 
 
 But he, had not long to nurse his wrath. On reaching the Rue Drouot, 
 two of the gentlemen left the party, and two more went down the Rue 
 Lepelletier. M. Wilkie and the viscount were left to walk down the boule- 
 vard alone. They linked their arms and carried on an animated conversation 
 until they reached the Rue du Helder, where they shook hands and 
 separated. What had they said at parting ? What agreement had been 
 made between them ? Chupin would willingly have given a hundred sous 
 from his private purse to have known. He would have given as much 
 more to have been able to double himself, in order to pursue the viscount, 
 who had started off in the direction of the Madeleine, without having 
 to give up watching and following his friend. But the days of miracles 
 are over. So Chupin sighed, and, following Wilkie, he soon saw him enter 
 No. 48 of the Rue du Helder. The concierge, who was at the door busily 
 engaged in polishing the fcell-handle, bowed respectfully. " So there it is ! " 
 grumbled Chupin. "I knew he lived there I knew it by the way that 
 Madame d'Argeles looked at the windows yesterday evening. Poor 
 woman ! Ah ! her son's a fine fellow and no mistake ! " 
 
 His compassion for the unhappy mother seemed to recall him to a sense 
 of duty. " Scoundrel that I am ! " he exclaimed, striking his forehead 
 with his clenched fist. "Why, I'm forgetting my own good mother!" 
 And as his task was now ended, he started off on the run, taking the 
 shortest cut to the Faubourg Saint-Denis. " Poor mother ! " he said to 
 himself as he tore along, " what a night she must have had ! She must 
 have cried her eyes out ! " 
 
 He spoke the truth. The poor woman had passed a night of agony 
 counting the hours, and trembling each time the door of the house opened, 
 announcing some tenant's return. And as morning approached, her anxiety 
 increased. "For her son would not have allowed her to remain in such 
 suspense," she said to herself, " unless he had met with some accident or 
 encountered some of his former friends those detestable scamps who had 
 tiied to make him as vile as themselves." Perhaps he had met his father, 
 Poly te Chupin, the man whom she still loved in spite of everything, 
 because he was her husband, but whom she judged, and whom indeed she 
 knew, to be capable of any crime. And of all misfortunes, it was an 
 accident, even a fatal accident, that she dreaded least. In her heroic soul 
 the voice of honour spoke even more loudly than the imperious instinct of 
 maternity ; and she would rather have found her son lying dead on the 
 marble slabs of the Morgue than seated in the dock at the Assize Court. 
 
 Her poor eyes were weary of weeping when she at last recognized 
 Victor's familiar step approaching down the passage. She hastily opened 
 the door, and as soon as she felt that he was near her, for she could not see 
 him, she asked : " Where have you spent the night ? Where have you come 
 from ? What has happened ? " 
 
 His only answer was to fling his arms round her neck, following alike the 
 impulse of his heart and the advice of experience, which told him that this 
 would be the best explanation he could give. Still it did not prevent him 
 from trying to justify himself, although he was careful not to confess the 
 truth, for he dreaded his mother's censure, knowing well enough that she 
 would be less indulgent than his own conscience. 
 
174 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 11 1 believe you, my son," said the good woman, gravely ; " you wouldn't 
 deceive me, I'm sure." And she added : "What reassured me, when you 
 kissed me, was that you hadn't been drinking." 
 
 Chupin did not speak a word ; this confidence made him strangely 
 uneasy. " May I be hung," he thought, " if after this I ever do anything 
 that I can't confess to this poor good woman ! " 
 
 But he hadn't time for sentimental reflections. He had gone too far to 
 draw back, and it was necessary for him to report the result of his 
 researches as soon as possible. Accordingly, he hastily ate a morsel, for he 
 was faint with hunger, and started out again, promising to return to dinner. 
 He was in all the greater haste as it was Sunday. M. Fortunat was in the 
 habit of passing these days in the country, and Chupin feared he might fail 
 to see him if he was not expeditious in his movements. And while running 
 to the Place de la Bourse, he carefully prepared the story he meant to 
 relate, deeply impressed by the wisdom of the popular maxim which says : 
 " It is not always well to tell the whole truth." Ought he to describe the 
 scene at the restaurant, mention Coralth, and say that there was nothing 
 more to be done respecting M. Wilkie? After mature deliberation he decided 
 in the negative. If he revealed everything, M. Fortunat might become dis- 
 couraged and abandon the affair. It would be better to let him discover the 
 truth himself, and profit by his anger to indicate a means of vengeance. 
 
 It happened that M. Fortunat had decided not to go to the country that 
 Sunday. He had slept later than usual, and was still in his dressing-gown 
 when Chupin made his appearance. He uttered a joyful cry on seeing his 
 emissary, feeling assured that he must be the bearer of good news, since he 
 came so early. "You have succeeded, then ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur." 
 
 " You have discovered Madame d'Argeles' son ? " 
 
 "I have him." *?' 
 
 " Ah ! I knew that you were a clever fellow. Quick, tell me everything. 
 But no, wait a moment." 
 
 He rang the bell, and Madame Dodelin at once made her appearance. 
 "Put another plate on the table," said the agent. "M. Chupin will break- 
 fast with me and serve us at once. You agree, don't you, Victor ? It's 
 ten o'clock ; I'm hungry ; and we can talk better over a bottle of wine." 
 
 This was a great honour ; and it gave Chupin a fitting idea of the value of 
 the service he had rendered. He was not too much elated, however ; 
 though he felt very sorry that he had eaten before he came. On his side, 
 M. Fortunat by no means regretted having conferred this favour on his 
 clerk, for the story which the latter related, caused him intense delight. 
 "Very good! well done," he exclaimed every other minute. "I could 
 not have done better myself. You shall be abundantly rewarded, Victor, 
 if this affair is successful." And at this thought his satisfaction overflowed 
 in a complacent monologue : " Why shouldn't it succeed ? " he asked him- 
 self. " Could anything be more simple and certain ? I can make any de- 
 mand I please one, two, three hundred thousand francs. Ah, it was a 
 good thing that the Count de Chalusse died ! Now, I can forgive Valorsay. 
 Let him keep my forty thousand francs ; he's quite welcome to them ! Let 
 him marry Mademoiselle Marguerite ; I wish them a large and flourishing 
 family ! And Madame d'Argeles, too, has my benediction ! " 
 
 He was so confident his fortune was made that at noon he could restrain 
 himself no longer. He hired a cab and accompanied by Chupin he set out 
 for M. Wilkie's abode, declaring that he would wake that young gentleman 
 
the count's millions. 175 
 
 up if needs be, but at all events he must see him without delay. When he 
 reached the Rue du Helder, he told Chupin to wait in the cab, and then 
 entering the house, he asked : " Monsieur Wilkie ? " 
 
 " On the second floor, the door to the right," replied the concierge. 
 
 M. Fortunat ascended the stairs very slowly, for he felt the necessity of 
 regaining all his composure, and it was not until he had brought himself to 
 a proper frame of mind that he rang the bell. A small servant, M. Wilkie's 
 fag, who took his revenge in robbing his employer most outrageously, came 
 to the door, and began by declaring that his master was out of town. But 
 M. Fortunat understood how to force doors open, and his manoeuvres suc- 
 ceeded so well that he was finally allowed to enter a small sitting-room, 
 while the servant went off saying : "I will go and inform monsieur." 
 
 Instead of wasting time in congratulating himself on this first achievement 
 the agent began to inspect the room in which he found himself, as well as 
 another apartment, the door of which stood open. For he was of the 
 opinion that a dwelling-place indicates the character of its inmate, as surely 
 as a shell indicates the form of the creature that inhabits it. M. Wilkie 
 was comfortably lodged; but his rooms were most pretentiously ornamented. 
 They were indeed decorated in more than doubtful taste. There were very 
 few books lying about, but costly riding whips, spurs, rifles, cartridge- 
 boxes, and all the paraphernalia of a fashionable sporting man, were here 
 in abundance. 
 
 The only pictures on the wall were a few portraits of celebrated horses, 
 which foreshadowed the fact that M. Wilkie must have, at least, an eighth 
 share in some well-known racer. After this inspection, M. Fortunat smiled 
 complacently. "This young fellow has expensive tastes," he thought. 
 " It will be very easy to manage him." 
 
 However his reflections were interrupted by the return of the servant, 
 who exclaimed : " My master is in the dining-room, and if monsieur will 
 enter " 
 
 The heir-hunter did enter, and found himself face to face with M. Wilkie, 
 who was partaking of a cup of chocolate. He was not only up, but he was 
 dressed to go out dressed in such a style that he would have been taken 
 for a respectable groom. A couple of hours' sleep had made him himself 
 again ; and he had regained the arrogance of manner which was the dis- 
 tinguishing trait of his character, and a sure sign that he was in prosperous 
 circumstances. As his unknown visitor entered he looked up, and brusquely 
 asked : ' What do you want ? " 
 
 11 1 called on business, monsieur." 
 
 "Ah, well ! this isn't a favourable moment. I must be at Vincennes for 
 the races. I'm interested in a horse. So, you understand " 
 
 M. Fortunat was secretly amused by M. Wilkie's nonchalance. "The 
 young fellow won't be in so much of a hurry when he learns my business," 
 he thought. And he replied aloud : "I can explain what brings me in a 
 few words, monsieur." 
 
 " Proceed, then." 
 
 M. Fortunat began by closing the door which had been intentionally left 
 open by the servant ; and then, returning to M. Wilkie's side, he began 
 with an air of the greatest mystery : " What would you give a shrewd 
 man if he suddenly placed you in undisputed possession of an immense for- 
 tune of a million two millions, perhaps ? " 
 
 He had prepared this little effect most carefully, and he fully expected 
 to see M. Wilkie fall on his knees before him. But not at all ; the young 
 
176 the count's millions. 
 
 gentleman's face never moved a muscle ; and it was in the calmest possible 
 tone, and with his mouth half-full that he replied : "'I know the rest. 
 You come, don't you, to sell me the secret of an unclaimed inheritance, 
 which belongs to me ? Very well, you have come too late." 
 
 If the ceiling had fallen and crushed M. Fortunat there and then he 
 would, mentally at least, have not been in a more pitiable condition. He 
 stood silent, motionless, utterly confounded, with his mouth wide open, and 
 such an expression of consternation in his eyes that M. Wilkie burst into a 
 hearty laugh. Still the agent struggled against fate, and ultimately 
 faltered : ' ' Let me explain permit me " 
 
 " Oh, it would be useless. I know my rights. I have already arranged 
 with a party to prosecute my claims ; the agreement will be signed on the 
 day after to-morrow." 
 
 1 'With whom?" 
 
 "Ah, excuse me ; that's my affair." 
 
 He had finished his chocolate, and he now poured out a glass of ice- water, 
 drank it, wiped his mouth, and rose from the table. "You will excuse me, 
 my dear sir, if I leave you," he remarked. "As I said before, I am going 
 to Vincennes. I have staked a thousand louis on Pompier de Nanterre,' 
 my horse, and my friends have ventured ten times as much. Who knows 
 what may happen if I'm not there at the start ? " And then, ignoring M. 
 Fortunat as completely as if he had not existed, M. Wilkie exclaimed : 
 " Toby, you fool ! where are you ? Is my carriage below ? Quick, bring 
 me my cane, my gloves, and my glasses. Take down that basket of 
 champagne. Run and put on your new livery. Make haste, you little 
 beast, I shall be too late. " 
 
 M. Fortunat left the room. The frightful anger that had followed his 
 idiotic stupor sent his blood rushing madly to his brain. A purple mist 
 swam before his eyes ; there was a loud ringing in his ears, and with each 
 pulsation of his heart his head seemed to receive a blow from a heavy 
 hammer. His feelings were so terrible that he was really frightened. 
 "Am I about to have an attack of apoplexy?" he wondered. And, as 
 every surrounding object seemed to whirl around him, the very floor itself 
 apparently rising and falling under his feet, he remained on the landing 
 waiting for this horrible vertigo to subside and doing his best to reason with 
 himself. It was fully five^minutes before he dared to risk the descent ; and 
 even when he reached the street, his features were so frightfully distorted 
 that Chupin trembled. 
 
 He sprang out, assisted his employer into the cab, and bade the driver 
 return to the Place de la Bourse. It was really pitiful to see the despair 
 which had succeeded M. Fortunat's joyful confidence. " This is the end of 
 everything," he groaned. " I'm robbed, despoiled, ruined 1 And such a 
 sure thing as it seemed. These misfortunes happen to no one but me ! 
 Some one in advance of me I Some one else will capture the prize ! Oh, if 
 I knew the wretch, if I only knew him ! " 
 
 " One moment," interrupted Chupin ; "I think I know the man." 
 
 M. Fortunat gave a violent start. " Impossible ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Excuse me, monsieur it must be a vile rascal named Coralth." 
 
 It was a bellow rather than a cry of rage that escaped M. Fortunat's lips. 
 To a man of his experience, only a glimmer of light was required to reveal 
 ihe whole situation. "Ah ! I understand ! I see ! " he exclaimed. "Yes, 
 you are right, Victor ; it's he Coralth Valorsay's tool ! Coralth was the 
 raitor who, in obedience to Valorsay's orders ruined the man who loved 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 177 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite. The deed was done, at Madame d'Argeles' 
 house. So Coralth knows her, and knows her secret. It's he who has out- 
 witted me." He reflected for a moment, and then, in a very different tone, 
 he said : "I shall never see a penny of the count's millions, and my forty 
 thousand francs are gone forever ; but, as Heaven hears me, I will have 
 some satisfaction for my money. Ah ! so Coralth and Valorsay combine 
 to ruin me ! Very well ! since this is the case, I shall espouse the cause 
 of Mademoiselle Marguerite and of the unfortunate man they've ruined. 
 Ah, my cherubs, you don't know Fortunat yet ! Now we'll see if the 
 innocent don't get the best of you, and if they don't unmask you. I shall 
 do my best, since you have forced me to do it and gratis too ! " 
 
 Chupin was radiant ; his vengeance was assured. "And I, monsieur," 
 said he, " will give you some information about this Coralth. First of all, 
 the scoundrel's married and his wife keeps a tobacco-shop somewhere near 
 the Route d'Asnieres. I'll find her for you see if I don't." 
 
 The sudden stopping of the vehicle which had reached the Place de la 
 Bourse, cut his words short. M. Fortunat ordered him to pay the driver, 
 while he himself rushed upstairs eager to arrange his plan of campaign to 
 use his own expression. In his absence a commissionaire had brought a 
 letter for him which Madame Dodelin now produced. He broke the seal, 
 and read to his intense surprise, " Monsieur I am the ward of the late 
 Count de Chalusse. I must speak to you. Will you grant me an interview 
 on Wednesday next, at a quarter past three o'clock ? 
 
 "Yours respectfully, 
 
 " Marguerite." 
 
 XX. 
 
 When Mademoiselle Marguerite left the dead count s bedside at ten o'clock 
 at night to repair to Pascal Ferailleur's house, she did not yet despair of the 
 future. Father, friend, rank, security, fortune she had lost all these in a 
 single moment but she could still see a promise of happiness in the distance. 
 
 She suffered undoubtedly, and yet she experienced a sort of bitter plea- 
 sure at the thought of uniting her life to the man who was as unfortun- 
 ate as herself, who was slandered as she herself had been slandered, 
 branded with the most cruel and unjust imputations, and had neither for- 
 tune nor friends. Others might scorn them : but what did they care for 
 the world's disdain so long as they had the approval of their consciences ? 
 Would not their mutual esteem suffice since they loved each other ? It 
 seemed to Marguerite that their very misfortunes would bind them more 
 closely to each other, and cement the bonds of their love more strongly. 
 And if it were absolutely necessary for them to leave France ah, well ! 
 they would leave it. To them Fatherland would always be the spot where 
 they lived together. 
 
 As the cab approached the Rue d'Ulm she pictured Pascal's sorrow, and 
 the joy and surprise he would feel when she suddenly appeared before him, 
 and faltered : " They accuse you here I am ! I know that you are inno- 
 cent, and I love you ! " 
 
 But the brutal voice of the concierge, informing her of Pascal's secret de- 
 parture, in the most insulting terms, abruptly dispelled her dreams. If 
 Pascal had failed her, everything had failed her. If she had lost him, she 
 had lost her all. The world seemed empty struggling would be folly 
 happiness was only an empty name. She indeed longed for death 1 
 
178 the count's millions. 
 
 Madame Leon who had a set of formulas adapted to all circumstances, 
 undertook to console her. ' ' Weep, my dear young lady, weep ; it will do 
 you good. Ah ! this is certainly a horrible catastrophe. You are young, 
 fortunately, and Time is a great consoler, M. Ferailleur isn't the only man 
 on earth. Others will love you. There are others who love you already ! " 
 
 " Silence ! " interrupted Marguerite, more revolted than if she had heard 
 a libertine whispering shameful proposals in her ear. '* Silence ! I forbid 
 you to add another word. " To speak of another what sacrilege ! Poor 
 girl. She was one of those whose life is bound up in one love alone, and if 
 that fails them it is death ! 
 
 The thought that she was utterly alone added to the horror of her situa- 
 tion. Whom could she depend upon ? Not on Madame Leon. She dis- 
 trusted her ; she had no confidence whatever in her. Should she ask for 
 the advice of either of her suitors ? The Marquis de Valorsay inspired her 
 with unconquerable aversion, and she despised the so-called General de 
 Fondege. So her only friend, her only protector was a stranger, the old 
 justice of the peace who had taken her defence, by crushing the slander of 
 the servants, and whom she had opened her heart to. But he would soon forget 
 her, she thought ; and the future, such as it was presented to her imagin- 
 ation, seemed a terrible one. However, she was too courageous to remain 
 for long in despair she struggled against her sorrow ; and the thought 
 that she might, perhaps, reach Pascal through M. Fortunat at last occurred 
 to her mind. This hope was her sole chance of salvation. She clung to it 
 as a shipwrecked mariner clings to the plank which is his only hope of life. 
 
 When she returned to the mansion her mind was made up, and she had 
 regained her usual composure. For ten minutes or so she had been praying 
 by the count's bedside, when M. Bourigeau, the concierge, appeared and 
 hcinded her a letter which had just been brought to the house. It was ad- 
 dressed to "Mademoiselle Marguerite de Durtal de Chalusse, at the Hotel 
 de Chalusse, Rue de Courcelles. " 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite blushed. Who was it that addressed her by 
 this name which she no longer had the right to bear ? She studied the 
 handwriting for a moment, but she did not remember ever having seen it 
 before. At last, however, she opened the letter and read : ' ' My dear, 
 dear child." "Dear child ! " indeed. What could this mean? Was there 
 any one in the world sufficiently interested in her welfare, or loving her 
 enough, to address her in this style ? She quickly turned the sheet to see 
 the signature ; and when her eyes fell on it she turned pale. " Ah 1 " she 
 exclaimed, involuntarily, " ah ! ah !" 
 
 The letter was signed : " Athenais de Fondege." It had been written by 
 the general's wife. She resumed her perusal of it, and this is what she 
 read : * ' I this instant hear of the cruel loss you have sustained, and also 
 learn that, for want of testamentary provisions, the poor Count de Chalusse 
 leaves you, his idolized daughter, almost without resources. I will not at- 
 tempt to offer you consolation, God alone can assuage certain sorrows. I 
 should come and weep with you if I were not kept in bed by illness. But 
 to-morrow, whatever happens, I shall be with you before breakfast. It is 
 at such a time as this, my poor dear afflicted child, that one can tell one's 
 true friends ; and we are yours as I hope to prove. The General feels that 
 he should be insulting and betraying the memory of a man who was his 
 dearest friend for thirty years, if he did not take the count's place, if he did 
 not become your second father. He has offered you our modest home ; you 
 have refused. Why? With the authority conferred upon me by my age 
 
the count's millions. 179 
 
 and my position as the mother of a family, I tell you that you ought to 
 accept. What other course can you possibly think of ? Where would you 
 go, my poor, dear child ? But we will discuss this matter to-morrow. I 
 shall find a way to persuade you to love us, and to allow yourself to be 
 loved. In my heart you will fill the place of the beloved and lamented 
 daughter I have lost my beautiful and gentle Bathilde. Once more I say 
 farewell until to-morrow trusting that you will accept the sympathy and 
 affection of your best friend, 
 
 "Athenais de Fondege." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was thunderstruck, for the writer of this epistle 
 was a lady whom she had only met five or six times, who had never visited 
 her, and with whom she had scarcely exchanged twenty words. Moreover, 
 she well remembered certain glances with which Madame de Fondege had, 
 on one occasion, tried to crush her glances so full of cruel contempt that they 
 had drawn bitter tears of sorrow, shame, and anger, from the poor girl. 
 The count himself had said to her at the time: "Don't be so childish, 
 Marguerite, as to trouble yourself about this foolish and impudent woman." 
 
 And now this same woman sent her a letter overflowing with sympathy, 
 and claimed her affection and confidence in the tone of an old and tried 
 friend. Was such a change natural ? Not being what is called a credulous 
 person, Mademoiselle Marguerite was unable to believe it. She divined 
 that Madame de Fondege must have had some hidden motive in writing 
 such a letter but what motive was it ? Alas ! she divined this also only 
 too well. The General, suspecting that she had stolen the missing money, 
 had imparted his suspicions to his wife ; and she, being as avaricious and as 
 , unscrupulous as himself, was doing her best to secure the booty for her son. 
 Such a calculation is a common one now-a-days. Steal yourself? Fie, 
 never ! You would not dare. Besides, you are honest. But it is quite a 
 different thing to profit by other people's rascality. Besides, there are no 
 risks to be encountered. 
 
 On perusing the letter a second time, it seemed to Mademoiselle Marguer- 
 ite that she could hear the General and his wife discussing the means of ob- 
 taining a share of the two millions. She could hear Madame de Fondege 
 saying to her husband: "You are a blockhead! You frightened the girl by 
 your precipitancy and roughness. But fortunately, I'm here. Let me 
 manage the affair ; and I'll prove that women are far more clever than 
 men." And, thereupon, she had seized her pen, and commenced this letter. 
 In Mademoiselle Marguerite's opinion, the epistle betrayed the joint efforts 
 of the pair. She could have sworn that the husband had dictated the sen- 
 tence : " The General feels that he should be insulting and betraying the 
 memory of a man who was his dearest friend for thirty years, if he did not 
 become your second father." On the other hand, the phrase, "I shall find 
 a way to persuade you to love us, and to allow yourself to be loved," was 
 unmistakeably the wife's work. The writer's insincerity was fully revealed 
 by one passage of the letter. " You will fill the place of the beloved daugh- 
 ter I have lost," wrote Madame de Fond6ge. It is true that she had once 
 had a daughter ; but the child had died of croup when only six months old, 
 and more than twenty-five years previously. 
 
 It was strange, moreover, that this letter had not been sent until ten 
 o'clock in the evening ; but, on reflection, Mademoiselle Marguerite was 
 able to explain this circumstance satisfactorily to herself. Before taking 
 any decided step, M. and Madame de Fondege had wished to consult their 
 
180 
 
 son ; and they had been unable to see him until late in the evening. How- 
 ever, as soon as the brilliant hussar had approved the noble scheme con- 
 cocted by his parents, a servant had been dispatched with the letter. All 
 these surmises were surely very plausible ; but it was difficult to reconcile 
 them with the opinion advanced by the magistrate that M. de Fondege 
 must know what had become of the missing millions. 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite did not think of this, however. She was losing 
 her presence of mind at thought of the odious suspicions which rested on 
 her, suspicions which she had seemed to read in the eyes of all who ap- 
 proached her, from Dr. Jodon to the Marquis de Valorsay. It is true that 
 the magistrate had taken her defence ; he had silenced the servants, but 
 would that suffice ? Would she not remain branded by an abominable ac- 
 cusation ? And even the consciousness of her innocence did not reassure her, 
 for Pascal's case warned her that innocence is not a sufficient safeguard 
 against slander. 
 
 Could she hope to escape when he had succumbed ! She could tell by 
 the agony that was torturing her own heart, how much he must have 
 suffered. Where was he now ? Beyond the frontiers of France ? They 
 had told her so, but she did not, could not believe it. Knowing him as she 
 knew him, it seemed to her impossible that he had accepted his fate so 
 quickly and without a struggle. A secret presentiment told her that his 
 absence was only feigned, that he was only biding his time, and that M. 
 Fortunat would not have far to go in search of him. It was in M. de 
 Chalusse's bedroom that she thus reflected, but a few steps from the bed on 
 which reposed all that was mortal of the man whose weakness had made 
 her life one long martyrdom, whose want of foresight had ruined her future, 
 but whom she had not the heart to censure. She was standing in front of 
 the window with her burning forehead resting against the glass. At that 
 very moment Pascal was waiting, seated on the curb-stone opposite the 
 mansion. At that very moment he was watching the shadow on the window 
 curtain wondering if it were not Marguerite's. If the night had been clear 
 she might have discerned the motionless watcher in the street below, and 
 divined that it was Pascal. But how could she suspect his presence ? How 
 could she suspect that he had hastened to the Rue de Courcelles as she had 
 hastened to the Rue d'Ulm ? 
 
 It was almost midnight when a sKght noise, a sound of stealthy footsteps, 
 made her turn. Madame Leon was leaving the room, and a moment later 
 Marguerite heard the house-door leading into the garden open and shut 
 again. There was nothing extraordinary about such an occurrence, and yet 
 a strange misgiving assailed her. Why, she could not explain ; but many 
 trivial circumstances, suddenly invested with a new and alarming signifi- 
 cance, recurred to her mind. She remembered that Madame Leon had been 
 restless and nervous all the evening. The' housekeeper, who was usually so 
 inactive, who lounged in her arm-chair for hours together, had been mov- 
 ing uneasily about, going up and down-stairs at least a dozen times, and 
 continually glancing at her watch or the clock. Twice, moreover, had the 
 concierge come to tell her that some one wished to see her. ' Where can 
 she be going now, at midnight? " thought Mademoiselle Marguerite, " she 
 who is usually so timid ? " 
 
 At first, the girl resisted her desire to solve the question ; her suspicions 
 seemed absurd to her, and, besides, it was distasteful to her to play the 
 spy. Still, she listened, waiting to hear Madame Leon re-enter the house. 
 But more than a quarter of an hour elapsed, and yet the door did not open 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 181 
 
 or close again. Either Madame Lon had not left the house at all, or else she 
 was still outside. " This is very strange !" thought Mademoiselle Marguerite. 
 " Was I mistaken ? I must convince myself." And, obeying a mysterious 
 influence, stronger than her own will, she left the room and went down the 
 stairs. She had reached the hall, when the garden door suddenly opened, 
 and Madame Leon came in. The lights in the hall were burning brightly, 
 so that it was easy to observe the housekeeper's manner and countenance. 
 She was panting for breath, like a person who had been running. She 
 was very pale, and her dress was disordered. Her cap-strings were untied, 
 and her cap had slipped from her head and was hanging over her shoulders. 
 "What is the matter with you?" asked Mademoiselle Marguerite in 
 astonishment. " Where have you been ? " 
 
 On seeing the girl Madame L6on recoiled. Should she fly off or remain ? 
 She hesitated for an instant ; and it was easy to read her hesitation in her 
 eyes. She decided to remain ; but it was with a constrained smile and in 
 an unnatural voice that she replied : " Why do you speak to me like that, 
 my dear young lady ? One might suppose you were angry with me. You 
 must know very well that I've been in the garden ! " 
 
 " At this hour of the night ? " 
 
 " Mon Dieul yes and not for pleasure, I assure you not by any means 
 ^-1 I " She was evidently seeking for some excuse ; and, for a 
 moment or two, she stammered forth one incoherent sentence after another, 
 trying to gain time and imploring Heaven to grant her an inspiration. 
 
 "Well?" insisted Mademoiselle Marguerite, impatiently. "Why did 
 you go out ? " 
 
 "Ah ! I 1 thought I heard Mirza barking in the garden. I thought 
 she had been forgotten in all the confusion, and that the poor creature had 
 been shut out, so I summoned all my courage, and " 
 
 Mizra was an old spaniel that M. de Chalusse had been very fond of, and 
 the animal's caprices were respected by all the inmates of the house. 
 
 "That's very strange," remarked Mademoiselle Marguerite, "for when 
 you rose to leave the room, half an hour ago, Mirza was sleeping at your 
 feet." 
 
 "What really is it possible ? " 
 
 " It's certain." 
 
 But the worthy woman had already recovered her self-possession and her 
 accustomed loquacity at the same time. " Ah ! my dear young lady," she 
 said, bravely, ' ' I'm in such sorrow that I'm losing my senses completely. 
 Still, it was only from the kindest of motives that I ventured into the 
 garden, and I had scarcely entered it before I saw something white run 
 away from me I felt sure it was Mirza and so I ran after it. But I could 
 find nothing. I called Mirza ! Mirza ! and still nothing, I searched under 
 all the trees, and yet I could not find her. It was as dark as pitch, and 
 suddenly a terrible fear seized hold of me such a terrible fright that I 
 really believe I called for help, and I ran back to the house half crazed." 
 
 Any one hearing her would have sworn that she was telling the truth. 
 But, unfortunately, her earlier manner had proved her guilt. 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was not deceived when she said to herself: " I 
 am on the tvack of some abominable act." However, she had sufficient 
 self-control to conceal her suspicions ; and she pretended to be perfectly 
 satisfied with the explanation which the housekeeper had concocted. 
 "Ah, my dear Lon, you are altogether too timid ; it's absurd," she said, 
 kindly. 
 
182 the count's millions. 
 
 The housekeeper hung her head. " I know that I make myself ridicu- 
 lous," she said, humbly. "But how can I help it? When a person's 
 frightened, she can't reason. And that white object which I saw, as plainly 
 as I see you, what could it have been ? " And, convinced that her fable 
 was believed, she grew bolder, and ventured to add : " Oh, my dear young 
 lady, I shall tremble all night if the garden isn't searched. Pray send the 
 servants out to look. There are so many thieves and rascals in Paris ! " 
 
 Under any other circumstances Mademoiselle Marguerite would have 
 refused to listen to this ridiculous request ; but, determined to repay the 
 hypocrite in her own coin, she replied: "Very well; it shall be done." 
 And calling M. Casimir and Bourigeau, the concierge, she ordered them to 
 take a lantern and explore the garden carefully. 
 
 They obeyed, though with rather bad grace, not being particularly 
 courageous, either of them, and, of course, they found nothing. 
 
 "No matter," said Madame Leon, "I feel safe now." And she did 
 indeed feel more tranquil in mind. "I had a lucky escape ! " she said to 
 herself. "What would have become of me, if Mademoiselle Marguerite had 
 discovered the truth ? " 
 
 But the housekeeper congratulated herself on her victory too soon. 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite not only suspected her of treason, but she was 
 endeavouring to procure proofs of it. She felt certain that the plausible 
 housekeeper had deceived her, and cruelly wronged her as well. But what 
 she could not understand was, how Madame Leon had been able to do so. 
 She had spent a long time in fruitless conjectures, when suddenly she re- 
 membered the little garden -gate. " The deceitful creature must have used 
 that gate," she thought. 
 
 It wa3 easy for her to verify her suspicion. The little gate had not been 
 exactly condemned, but many months had elapsed since it had been used ; 
 so it would be a very simple matter to ascertain whether it had been 
 recently opened or not. " And I will know for certain before an hour has 
 passed, " said Mademoiselle Marguerite to herself. 
 
 Having come to this conclusion, she feigned sleep, keeping a sharp watch 
 over Madame Leon from between her half-closed eyelids. The housekeeper, 
 after twisting uneasily in her arm-chair, at last became quiet again ; and it 
 was soon evident that she was sleeping soundly. Thereupon Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite rose to her feet and stole noiselessly from the room downstairs 
 into the garden. She had provided herself with a candle and some matches, 
 and as soon as she struck a light, she saw that her surmises were correct. 
 The little gate had just been opened and closed again. The cobwebs round 
 about the bolts were torn and broken ; the rust which had filled the key- 
 hole had been removed, and on the dust covering the lock the impress of a 
 hand could be detected. "And I have confided my most precious secrets 
 to this wicked woman ! " thought Mademoiselle Marguerite. " Fool that 
 I was ! " 
 
 Already thoroughly convinced, she extinguished her candle. Still, 
 having discovered so much, she wished to pursue her investigation to the 
 end, and so she opened the little gate. The ground outside had been 
 'soaked by the recent rains, and had not yet dried, and by the light of the 
 neighbouring street lamp, she plainly distinguished a number of well- 
 defined foot-prints on the muddy soil. An experienced observer would 
 have realised by the disposition of these foot-prints that something like a 
 struggle had taken place here ; but Mademoiselle Marguerite was not 
 sufficiently expert for that. She only understood what a child would have 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 183 
 
 anderstood that two people had been standing here for some time. Poor 
 girl ! She had not seen Pascal when he was sitting in front of the mansion 
 some hours before ! And now no presentiment warned her that these foot- 
 prints were his. In her opinion, the man who had been talking with 
 Madame L6on was either M. de Fondege, or the Marquis de Valorsay that 
 is to say, Madame Leon was hired to watch her and to render an account 
 of all she said and did. 
 
 Her first impulse was to denounce and dismiss this miserable hypocrite ; 
 but as she was returning to the house, an idea which an old diplomatist 
 need not have been ashamed of entered her mind. She said to herself that 
 as Madame L6on was unmasked she was no longer to be feared ; so why 
 should she be sent away ? A known spy can undoubtedly be made a most 
 valuable auxiliary. ' ' Why shouldn't I make use of this wicked woman ? " 
 thought Mademoiselle Marguerite. " I can conceal from her what I don't 
 wish her to know, and with a little skill I can make her carry to her 
 employers such information as will serve' my plans. By watching her, I 
 shall soon discover my enemy ; and who knows if, by this means, I may not 
 succeed in finding an explanation of the fatality that pursues me ? " 
 
 When Mademoiselle Marguerite returned to her place beside the count's 
 bedside, she had calmly and irrevocably made up her mind. She would 
 not only retain Madame L6on in her service, but she would display even 
 greater confidence in her than before. Such a course was most repug- 
 nant to Marguerite's loyal, truthful nature ; but reason whispered to hei 
 that in fighting with villains, it is often necessary to use their weapons ; 
 and she had her honour, her life, and her future to defend. A strange and 
 but imperfectly-defined suspicion had entered her mind. To-night, for the 
 first time, she thought she could discover a mysterious connection between 
 Pascal's misfortunes and her own. Was it mere chance which had struck 
 them at the same time, and in much the same manner ? Who would have 
 profited by the abominable crime which had dishonoured her lover, had it 
 not been for M. de Chalusse's death and her own firmness ? Evidently the 
 Marquis de Valorsay, for whom Pascal's flight had left the field clear. 
 
 All these thoughts were well calculated to drive away sleep ; but the 
 poor girl was only twenty, and it was the second night she had watched by 
 the count's bedside. Thus at last fatigue overcame her, and she fell asleep. 
 
 In the morning, about seven o'clock, Madame L6on was obliged to shake 
 her to rouse her from the kind of lethargy into which she had fallen. 
 "Mademoiselle," said the housekeeper, in her honeyed voice; "dear 
 mademoiselle, wake up at once ! " 
 
 1 ' What is the matter ? What is it ? " 
 
 * ' Ah ! how can I explain ? My dear young lady, the undertaker's men 
 have come to make arrangements for the ceremony. " 
 
 Those in charge of the last rites had indeed arrived, and their heavy 
 tread could be heard in the hall and in the courtyard. M. Casimir, who 
 was bursting with self-sufficiency, hurried here, there, and everywhere, in- 
 dicating, with an imperious gesture, where he wished the l?lack .hangings, 
 embroidered with silver and emblazoned with the De Chalusse arms, to be 
 suspended. As the magistrate had given him carte-blanche, he deemed it 
 proper, as he remarked to Concierge Bourigeau, to have everything done 
 in grand style. But he took good care not to reveal the fact that 
 he had exacted a very handsome commission from all the people he employed. 
 The hundred francs derived from Chupin had only whetted his appetite for 
 more. At all events, he had certainly spared no pains in view of having 
 
184 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 everything as magnificent as possible ; and it was not until he considered 
 the display thoroughly satisfactory that he went to warn Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite. "I come to beg mademoiselle to retire to her own room," 
 he said. 
 
 "Retire why?" 
 
 He did not reply by words, but pointed to the bed on which the body 
 was lying, and the poor girl realised that the moment of eternal separation 
 had come. She rose, and dragged herself to the bedside. Death had now 
 effaced all traces of the count's last agony. His face wore its accustomed 
 expression again, and it might have been fancied that he was asleep. 
 For a long time Mademoiselle Marguerite stood looking at him, as if to 
 engrave the features she would never behold again upon her memory. 
 "Mademoiselle," insisted M. Casimir ; "mademoiselle, do not remain 
 here." 
 
 She heard him, and summoning all her strength, she leaned over the bed, 
 kissed M. de Chalusse, and went away. But she was too late, for in pass- 
 ing through the hall she encountered the undertakers, who carried on their 
 shoulders a long metallic case enclosed in two oaken ones. And she had 
 scarcely reached her own room before a smell of resin told her that the 
 men were closing the coffin which contained all that was mortal of M. de 
 Chalusse, her father. 
 
 So, none of those terrible details, which so increase one's grief, were 
 spared her. But she had already suffered so much that she had reached a 
 state of gloomy apathy, almost insensibility ; and the exercise of her 
 faculties was virtually suspended. Whiter than marble, she fell, rather 
 than seated herself, on a chair, scarcely perceiving Madame Leon, who had 
 followed her. 
 
 The worthy housekeeper was greatly excited, and not Without cause. 
 As there were no relations, it had been decided that M. de Fondege, the 
 count's oldest friend, should do the honours of the mansion to the persons 
 invited to attend the funeral ; and he had sworn that he would be under 
 arms at daybreak, and that they might positively depend upon him. But 
 the hour fixed for the ceremony was approaching, several persons had 
 already arrived, and yet M, de Fondege had not put in an appearance. 
 "It is incomprehensible," exclaimed Madame Leon. "The general is 
 usually punctuality personified. He must have met with some accident." 
 And in her anxiety she stationed herself at the window, whence she could 
 command a view of the courtyard, carefully scrutinizing every fresh arrival. 
 
 At last, about half-past nine o'clock, she suddenly exclaimed : " Here he 
 is ! Do you hear, mademoiselle, here's the General 1 " 
 
 A moment later, indeed, there was a gentle rap at the door ; and M. de 
 Fondege entered. " Ah, I'm late ! " he exclaimed ; " but, dash it all ! it's 
 not my fault ! " And, struck by Mademoiselle Marguerite's immobility, 
 he advanced and took her hand. " And you, my dear little one, what is 
 the matter with you ? " he asked. " Have you been ill? You are fright- 
 fully pale." 
 
 She succeeded in shaking off the torpor which was stealing over her, and 
 replied in a faint voice : " I am not ill, monsieur." 
 
 " So much the better, my dear child, so much the better. It is our little 
 heart that is suffering, is it not ? Yes yes I understand. But your old 
 friends will console you. You received my wife's letter, did you not? 
 Ah, well ! what she told you, she will do she will do it. And to prove it, 
 in spite of her illness, she followed me in fact, she is here 1 " 
 
the count's millions. 185 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite sprang to her feet, quivering with indignation. 
 Her eyes sparkled and her lips trembled as she threw back her head with a 
 superb gesture of scorn, which loosened her beautiful dark hair, and caused 
 it to fall in rippling masses over her shoulders. " Ah 1 Madame de Fondege 
 is here ! " she repeated, in a tone of crushing contempt " Madame de 
 Fondege your wife, here 1 " 
 
 It seemed to her an impossibility to receive the hypocrite who had 
 written the letter of the previous evening the accomplice of the scoundrels 
 who took advantage of her wretchedness and isolation. Her heart revolted 
 at the thought of meeting this woman, who had neither conscience nor 
 shame, who could stoop so low as to intrigue for the millions which she 
 fancied had been stolen. Mademoiselle Marguerite was about to forbid her 
 to enter, or to retire herself, when the thought of her determination to act 
 stealthily restrained her. She instantly realised her imprudence, and, 
 mastering herself with a great effort, she murmured : ' Madame de 
 Fondege is too kind ! How can I ever express my gratitude ? " 
 
 Madame de Fondege must have heard this, for at the same moment she 
 entered the room. She was short, and very stout a faded blond, with her 
 complexion spoilt by a multitude of freckles. She had very large hands, 
 broad, thick feet, and a shrill voice ; and the vulgarity of her appearance 
 was all the more noticeable on account of her pretensions to elegance. For 
 although her father had been a wood-merchant, she boasted of her exalted 
 birth, and endeavoured to impress people with the magnificence of her style 
 of living, though her fortune was problematical, and her household con- 
 ducted in the most frugal style. Her attire suggested a continual conflict 
 between elegance and economy between real poverty and feigned prodi- 
 gality. She wore a corsage and over-skirt of black satin ; but the upper 
 part of the under-skirt, which was not visible, was made of lute-string 
 costing thirty sous a yard, and her laces were Chantilly only in appearance. 
 Still, her love of finery had never carried her so far as shop-lifting, or in- 
 duced her to part with her honour for gewgaws irregularities which are so 
 common now-a-days, even among wives and mothers of families, that people 
 are no longer astonished to hear of them. 
 
 No Madame de Fondege was a faithful wife, in the strict and legal sense 
 of the word. But how she revenged herself ! She was " virtuous ; " but 
 so dangerously virtuous that one might have supposed she was so against 
 her will, and that she bitterly regretted it. She ruled her husband with a 
 rod of iron. And he who was so terrible in appearance, he who twirled 
 his ferocious moustaches in such a threatening manner, he who swore 
 horribly enough to make an old hussar blush, became more submissive than 
 a child, and more timid than a lamb when he was beside his wife. He 
 trembled when she turned her pale blue eyes upon him in a certain 
 fashion. And woe to him if he ventured to rebel. She suppressed his 
 pocket-money, and during these penitential seasons he was reduced to the 
 necessity of asking his friends to lend him twenty-franc pieces, which he 
 generally forgot to return. 
 
 Madame de Fondege was, as a rule, most imperious, envious, and spite- 
 ful in disposition ; but on coming to the H6tel de Chalusse she had pro- 
 vided herself with any amount of sweetness and sensibility, and when she 
 
1.86 
 
 entered the room, she held her handkerchief to her lips as if to stifle her 
 sobs. The General led her towards Mademoiselle Marguerite, and, in a 
 semi-solemn, semi-sentimental tone, he exclaimed : "Dear Athenais, this 
 is the daughter of my best and oldest friend. I know your heart I know 
 that she will find in you a second mother." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite stood speechless and rigid. Persuaded that 
 Madame de Fondege was about to throw her arms round her neck and kiss 
 her, she was imposing the most terrible constraint upon herself, in order 
 to conceal her horror and aversion. But she was unnecessarily alarmed. 
 The hypocrisy of the General's wife was superior to that of Madame Leon. 
 Madame de Fondege contented herself with pressing Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite's hands and faltering: "What a misfortune! So young so 
 sudden ! It is frightful ! " And, as she received no reply, she added, with 
 an air of sorrowful dignity: "I dare not ask your full confidence, my 
 dear unfortunate child. Confidence can be born only of long acquaintance 
 and mutual esteem. But you will learn to know me. You will give me 
 that sweet name of mother when I shall have deserved it. " 
 
 Standing at a little distance off, the General listened with the air of a 
 man who has a profound respect for his wife's ability. "Now the ice is 
 broken, " he thought, ' ' it will be strange if Athenais doesn't do whatever 
 she pleases with that little savage. " 
 
 His hopes were so brightly reflected upon his countenance, that Madame 
 Leon, who was furtively watching him, became alarmed. "Ah ! what do 
 these people want? " she said to herself, "and what do all these endear- 
 ments mean ? Upon my word, I must warn my patron at once. " And, 
 fancying that no one noticed her, she slipped quietly and noiselessly from 
 the room. 
 
 But Mademoiselle Marguerite was on the watch. Determined to fathom 
 the plotting that was going on around her, and frustrate it, she realised 
 that everything depended upon her watchfulness and her ability to profit 
 even by the most futile incidents. She had noticed the General's trium- 
 phant smile, and the look of anxiety that had suddenly clouded Madame 
 Leon's face, so, without troubling herself about "the proprieties," she 
 asked M. and Madame de Fondege to excuse her for a second, and darted 
 after the housekeeper. Ah ! she did not need to go far. Leaning over the 
 banisters, she saw Madame L6on and the Marquis de Valorsay in earnest 
 conversation in the hall below ; the marquis as phlegmatic and as haughty 
 as usual, but the housekeeper fairly excited. Marguerite at once understood 
 that as Madame Leon knew that the marquis was among the funeral 
 guests, she had gone to warn him of Madame de Fondege s presence. This 
 trivial circumstance proved that M. de Fondege's interests were opposed to 
 those of M. de Valorsay ; that they must, therefore, hate each other, and 
 that, with a little patience and skill, she might utilize them, one against 
 the other. It also proved that Madame Leon was the Marquis de Valor- 
 say's paid spy, and that he must therefore have long been aware of Pascal's 
 existence. But she lacked the time to follow out this train of thought. Her 
 absence might awaken the Fondeges' suspicions ; and her success depended on 
 letting them suppose that she was their dupe. She therefore returned to 
 them as soon as possible, excusing herself for her abrupt departure as well 
 as she could ; but she was not accustomed to deceive, and her embarrass- 
 ment might have betrayed her had it not been for the General, who fortun- 
 ately interrupted her by saying : "I, too, must excuse myself, my dear 
 child ; but Madame de Fondege will remain with you. I must fulfil a 
 
the count's millions. 187 
 
 sacred duty. They are waiting for me downstairs, and they are no doubt 
 becoming impatient. It is the first time in my life that I was ever behind 
 time." 
 
 The General was right in losing no more time. At least a hundred and 
 fifty guests had assembled in the reception-rooms on the ground-floor, and 
 they were beginning to think it very strange that they should be kept 
 waiting in this style. And yet curiosity somewhat tempered their im- 
 patience. Some of the strange circumstances attending the count's death 
 had been noised abroad ; and some well-informed persons declared that a 
 fabulous sum of money had been stolen by a young girl. It is true, they 
 did not think this embezzlement a positive crime. It certainly proved 
 that the young lady in question possessed a strong and determined char- 
 acter ; and many of the proudest among the guests would gladly have taken 
 the place of De Valorsay, who, it was rumoured, was about to marry the 
 pretty thief and her millions. 
 
 The person who was most disturbed by the delay was the master of the 
 ceremonies. Arrayed in his best uniform, his thin legs encased in black 
 silk stockings, his mantle thrown gracefully over his shoulders, and his 
 cocked hat under his arm, he was looking anxiously about for some one in 
 the assembled crowd to whom he could give the signal for departure. He 
 was already talking of starting off when M. de Fondege appeared. The 
 friends of M. de Chalusse who were to hold the cords of the pall came for- 
 ward. There was a moment's confusion, then the hearse started, and the 
 whole cortege filed out of the courtyard. 
 
 Deep silence followed, so deep that the noise made in closing the heavy 
 gates came upon one with startling effect. ' ' Ah ! " moaned Madame de 
 Fondege, "it is over." 
 
 Marguerite's only reply was a despairing gesture. It would have been 
 impossible for her to articulate a syllable her tears were choking her. 
 What would she not have given to be alone at this moment to have been 
 able to abandon herself without constraint to her emotions ! Alas ! prudence 
 condemned her to play a part even now. The thought of her future and 
 her honour lent her strength to submit to the deceitful consolations of a 
 woman whom she knew to be a dangerous enemy. And the General's wife 
 was by no means sparing of her consolatory phrases ; in fact it was only after 
 a long homily on the uncertainty of life below that she ventured to approach 
 the subject of her letter of the previous evening. "For it is necessary to 
 face the inevitable," she pursued. " The troublesome realities of life have 
 no respect for our grief. So it is with you, my dear child ; you would find 
 a bitter pleasure in giving vent to your sorrow, but you are compelled to 
 think of your future. As M. de Chalusse has no heirs, this house will be 
 closed you can remain here no longer." 
 
 "I know it, madame." 
 
 "Where will you go ? " 
 
 "Alas! I don't know." 
 
 Madame de Fondege raised her handkerchief to her eyes as if to wipe a 
 furtive tear away, and then, almost roughly, she exclaimed : "I must tell you 
 the truth, my child. Listen to me. I see only two courses for you to 
 adopt. Either to ask the protection of some respectable family, or to enter 
 a convent. This is your only hope of safety." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite bowed her head, without replying. To learn 
 the plans which the general's wife had formed she must let her disclose 
 them. However, the girl's silence seemed to make Madame de Fondege 
 
188 THE count's millions. 
 
 uncomfortable, and at last she resumed : "Is it "possible that you think of 
 braving the perils of life alone ? I cannot believe it ! It would be mad- 
 ness. Young, beautiful, and attractive as you are, it is impossible for you 
 to live unprotected. Even if you had sufficient strength of character to 
 lead a pure and honest life, the world would none the less refuse you its 
 esteem. Mere prejudice, you say ? You are quite right ; but it is never- 
 theless true that a young girl who braves public opinion is lost. " 
 
 It was easy to see by Madame de Fondege's earnestness that she feared 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite would avail herself of this opportunity of recover- 
 ing her liberty. " What shall I do, then ? " asked the girl. 
 
 11 There is the convent." 
 
 "But I love life." 
 
 "Then ask the protection of some respectable family." 
 
 " The idea of being in any one's charge is disagreeable to me." 
 
 Strange to .say, Madame de Fondege did not protest, did not speak of 
 her own house. She was too proud for that. Having once offered hospi- 
 tality, she thought it would arouse suspicion if she insisted. So she con- 
 tented herself with enumerating the arguments for and against the two 
 propositions, remarking from time to time: "Come, you must decide! 
 Don't wait until the last moment ! " 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite had already decided ; but before announcing 
 her decision, she wished to confer with the only friend she had in the world 
 the old justice of the peace. On the previous evening he had said to her: 
 "Farewell until to-morrow," and knowing that his work in the house 
 had not been concluded, she was extremely surprised that he had not yet 
 put in an appearance. 
 
 While conversing with Madame de Fondege she had dexterously avoided 
 compromising herself in any way, when suddenly a servant appeared and 
 announced the magistrate's arrival. He entered the room, with his usual 
 benevolent smile upon his lips, but his searching eyes were never once 
 taken off Madame de Fondege's face. He bowed, made a few polite re- 
 marks, and then addressing Marguerite, he said : "I must speak with you, 
 mademoiselle, at once. You may tell madame, however, that you will 
 certainly return in less than a quarter of an hour. " 
 
 Marguerite followed him, and when they were alone in the count's study 
 and the doors had been carefully closed, the magistrate exclaimed : "I have 
 been thinking a great deal of you, my child, a great deal ; and it seems to 
 me that I can explain certain things which worried you yesterday. But 
 first of all, what has happened since I left you ? " 
 
 Briefly, but with remarkable precision, Marguerite recounted the various 
 incidents which had occurred her useless journey to the Rue d'Ulrn, 
 Madame Leon's strange midnight ramble and conversation with the Mar- 
 quis de Valorsay, Madame de Fondege's letter, and lastly, her visit and all 
 that she had said. 
 
 The magistrate listened with his eyes fixed on his ring. " This is very 
 serious, very serious," he said at last. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps 
 M. Ferailleur is innocent. And yet, why should he abscond ? why should 
 he leave the country ? " 
 
 1 ' Ah ! monsieur, Pascal's flight is only feigned. He is in Paris con- 
 cealed somewhere I'm sure of it ; and I know a man who will find him 
 for me. Only one thing puzzles me his silence. To disappear without a 
 word, without giving me any sign of life " 
 
 The magistrate interrupted her by a .gesture. ' ' I see nothing surprising 
 
the count's millions. 189 
 
 in that since your companion is the Marquis de Valorsay's spy. How do 
 vou know that she has not intercepted or destroyed some letter from M. 
 Pascal?" 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite turned pale. "Great Heavens 1 how blind I 
 have been ! " she exclaimed. ' ' I did not think of that. Oh, the wretch ! 
 if one could only question her and make her confess her crime. It is 
 horrible to think that if I wish to arrive at the truth, I must remain with 
 her and tareat her in the future just as I have treated her till now." 
 
 But the magistrate was not the man to wander from the subject he was 
 investigating. "Let us return to Madame de Fondege," said he. "She 
 is extremely unwilling to see you go out into the world alone. Why ? 
 through affection ? No. Why, then ? This is what we must ascertain. 
 Secondly, she seems indifferent as to whether you accept her hospitality or 
 enter a convent." 
 
 " She seems to prefer that I should enter a convent." 
 
 4 Very well. What conclusion can we draw from that ? Simply, that 
 the Fondegfc family don't particularly care about keeping you with them, 
 or marrying you to their son. If they don't desire this, it is because they 
 are perfectly sure that the missing money was not taken by you. Now, 
 let me ask, how can they be so certain ? Simply because they know where 
 the missing millions are and if they know " 
 
 " Ah ! monsieur, it is because they've stolen them ! " 
 
 The magistrate was silent. He had turned the bezel of his ring inside, 
 a sure sign of stormy weather, so his clerk would have said and though 
 he had his features under excellent control he could not entirely conceal 
 some signs of a severe mental conflict he was undergoing. " Well, yes, my 
 child," he said, at last. " Yes, it is my conviction that the Fondeges pos- 
 sess the millions you saw in the count's escritoire, and which we have been 
 unable to find. How they obtained possession of the money I can't conceive 
 but they have it, or else logic is no longer logic." He paused again for a 
 moment, and then he resumed, more slowly : "In acquainting you with my 
 opinion on this subject, I have given you, a young girl, almost a child, a 
 proof of esteem and confidence which, it seems to me, few men are worthy 
 of ; for I may be deceived, and a magistrate ought not to accuse a person 
 unless he is absolutely certain of his guilt. So you must forget what I 
 have just told you, Mademoiselle Marguerite." 
 
 She looked at him with an air of utter astonishment. f ' You advise me 
 to forget," she murmured, " you wish me to forget." 
 
 " Yes ; you must conceal these suspicions in the deepest recesses of your 
 heart, until the time comes when you have sufficient proof to convict the 
 culprits. It is true that it will be a difficult task to collect such proofs ; 
 but it is not impossible, with the aid of time, which divulges so many 
 crimes. And you may count upon me : I will give you the benefit of all 
 my influence and experience. It shall never be said that I allowed a de- 
 fenceless girl to be crushed while I saw any chance of saving her. " 
 
 Tears came to Mademoiselle Marguerite's eyes. So the world was not 
 composed entirely of scoundrels ! "Ah ! how kind you are, monsieur," 
 she said, " how kind you are ! " 
 
 " To be sure ! " he interrupted, in a benevolent tone. "But, my child, 
 you must help yourself. Remember this : if the Fondeges suspect our sus- 
 picions, all is lost. Repeat this to yourself at every moment in the day 
 and be discreet, impenetrable ; for people with unclean consciences and 
 hands are always distrustful of others." 
 
190 
 
 There was no necessity to say anything more on this point ; and so, with 
 a sudden change of tone, he asked : " Have you any plan ? " 
 
 She felt that she could, and ought, to confide everything to this worthy 
 old man, and so rising to her feet, with a look of energy and determination 
 on her face, she replied in a firm voice, "My decision is taken, monsieur, 
 subject, of course, to your approval. In the first place I shall keep 
 Madame Leon with me, in whatever capacity she likes, it doesn't matter 
 what. Through her I shall no doubt be able to watch the Marquis de 
 Valorsay, and perhaps eventually discover his hopes and his aim. In the 
 second place, I shall accept the hospitality offered me by the General and 
 his wife. With them, I shall be in the very centre of the intrigue, and in 
 a position to collect proofs of their infamy." 
 
 The magistrate gave vent to an exclamation of delight. "You area 
 brave girl, Mademoiselle Marguerite," he said, "and at the same time a 
 prudent one. Yes ; that is the proper course to pursue." 
 
 Nothing now remained save to make arrangements for her departure. 
 She possessed some very handsome diamonds and other costly jewels ; 
 should she keep them ? "They are undoubtedly mine," said she; "but 
 after the infamous accusations levelled at me, I can't consent to take them 
 away with me. They are worth a very handsome amount. I shall leave 
 them with you, monsieur. If the courts restore them to me later well 
 I shall take them and not without pleasure, I frankly confess. " Then as 
 the magistrate questioned her anxiously as to her resources, she replied : 
 " Oh ! I'm not without money. M. de Chalusse was generosity itself, and 
 my tastes are very simple. From the money he gave me for my clothes I 
 saved more than eight thousand francs in less than six months. That is 
 more than sufficient to maintain me for a year." 
 
 The magistrate then explained that when the court took possession of 
 this immense estate, it would surely allow her a certain sum. For whether 
 the count was her father or not, he was at any rate her officially-appointed 
 guardian, and she would be considered a minor. And in support of his 
 assertion, he quoted Article 367 of the Civil Code, which says : " In the 
 event of the officially-appointed guardian dying without adopting his ward, 
 the said ward shall be furnished during her minority with the means of 
 subsistence from the said guardian's estate," etc., etc. 
 
 " An additional reason why I should give up my jewels," said Mademois- 
 elle Marguerite. 
 
 The only point that now remained was to decide upon some plan by 
 which she could communicate with her friend, the magistrate, without the 
 knowledge of the General or his wife. The magistrate accordingly ex- 
 plained a system of correspondence which would defy the closest surveil- 
 lance, and then added: "Now, make haste back to your visitor. Who 
 knows what suspicions your absence may have caused her?" 
 
 But Mademoiselle Marguerite had one more request to make. She had 
 often seen in M. de Chalusse's possession a little note-book, in which he 
 entered the names and addresses of the persons with whom he had business 
 transactions. M. Fortunat's address must be there, so she asked and ob- 
 tained permission to examine this note-book, and to her great joy, under 
 the letter "F," she found the entry: "Fortunat (Isidore), No. 28 Place dela 
 Bourse. " " Ah ! I'm sure that I shall find Pascal now ! " she exclaimed. And 
 after once more thanking the magistrate, she returned to her room again. 
 
 Madame de Fondege was awaiting her with feverish impatience. ' ' How 
 long you stayed ! " she cried 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 191 
 
 " I had so many explanations to give, madame " 
 
 " How you are tormented, my poor child ! " 
 
 "Oh, shamefully!" 
 
 This furnished Madame de Fondege with another excuse for proffering 
 ler advice. But Mademoiselle Marguerite would not allow herself to be 
 convinced at once. She raised a great many objections, and parleyed for 
 i long time before telling Madame de Fondege that she would be happy to 
 accept the hospitality which had been offered her. And her consent was 
 by no means unconditional. She insisted on paying her board, and ex- 
 pressed the wish to retain the services of Madame Leon to whom she was 
 so much attached. The worthy housekeeper was present at this confer- 
 ence. For an instant she had feared that Mademoiselle Marguerite sus- 
 pected her manoeuvres, but her fears were now dispelled, and she even 
 congratulated herself on her skilfulness. Everything was arranged, and 
 the agreement had been sealed with a kiss, when the General returned 
 about four o'clock. "Ah, my dear ! " cried his wife, "what happiness! 
 We have a daughter ! " 
 
 But even this intelligence was scarcely sufficient to revive her husband's 
 drooping spirits. He had almost fainted when he heard the earth falling 
 on M. de Chalusse's coffin ; and this display of weakness on the part of a 
 man adorned with such terrible and ferocious moustaches had excited no 
 little comment. " Yes, it is a great happiness ! " he now replied. " But 
 thunder and lightning ! I never doubted the dear girl's heart ! " 
 
 Still both he and his wife could scarcely conceal their disappointment 
 when the magistrate informed them that their beloved daughter would not 
 take her diamonds. " Dash it ! " growled the General. " I recognise her 
 father in this ! What delicacy ! almost too much, perhaps ! " 
 
 However, when the magistrate informed him that the court would un- 
 doubtedly order the restitution of the jewels, his face brightened again, 
 and he went down to superintend the removal of Mademoiselle Marguerite's 
 trunks, which were being loaded on one of the vehicles of the establishment. 
 
 Then the moment of departure came. Mademoiselle Marguerite acknow- 
 ledged the parting remarks of the servants, who were secretly delighted to 
 be freed from her presence, and then, before entering the carriage, she cast a 
 long, sad look upon this princely mansion which she had once had the right 
 to believe her own, but which she was alas ! now leaving, in all probability, 
 for ever. 
 
 "^s* 
 
 END OV PART I, 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS, 
 
THE GABORIAU & DU BOISGOBEY 
 
 SENSATIONAL NOVELS. 
 
 UNIFORM WITH THE PRESENT VOLUME. 
 
 The Standard says : " The romances of Gaboriau and Du Boisgobey 
 picture the marvellous Lecoq and other wonders of shrewdness, who piece 
 together the elaborate details of the most complicated crimes, as Professor 
 Owen, with the smallest bone as a foundation, could re-construct the most 
 extraordinary animals." 
 
 The following Volumes are already Published: 
 
 IN PERIL OF HIS LIFE. 
 
 THE LEROUGE CASE. 
 
 LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. 2 Vols. 
 
 THE GILDED CLIQUE. 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE'S MONEY. 
 
 THE SLAVES OF PARIS. 2 Vols. 
 
 DOSSIER, NO. 113. 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF ORCIVAL. 
 
 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 2 Vols. 
 
 THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF BATIGNOLLES. 
 
 THE OLD AGE OF LECOQ, THE DETECTIVE. 2 Vols. 
 
 INTRIGUES OF A POISONER. 
 
 THE CATASTROPHE. 2 Vols. 
 
 IN THE SERPENTS' COILS. 
 
 THE DAY OF RECKONING. 2 Vols. 
 
 THE SEVERED HAND. 
 
 bertha's SECRET. 
 
 WHO DIED LAST? 
 
 THE CRIME OF THE OPERA HOUSE. 2 Vols. 
 
 THE MATAPAN AFFAIR. 
 
 To be followed by:. 
 
 A FIGHT FOR A FORTUNE. 
 THE GOLDEN PIG. 2 Vols. 
 THE THUMB STROKE. 
 
 Other Volumes are in Preparation. 
 
CABOBIAU'S SENSATIONAL NOVELS. 
 X. 
 
 THE 
 
 COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 By EMILE GABORIAU. 
 
 m TWO VOLS. VOL. II. 
 
 TWENTIETH THOUSAND. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 VlZE TELLY &> CO., d.2 CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 
 1886. 
 
HJSNKY MORSE oTPriN3 
 
 S. COWAN AND CO., STRATHMORE PRINTING WORKS. 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 LIA d'AEGELES, 
 I. 
 
 Vengeance ! that is the first, the only thought, when a man finds himself 
 victimized, when his honour and fortune, his present and future, are 
 wrecked by a vile conspiracy ! The torment he endures under such circum- 
 stances can only be alleviated by the prospect of inflicting them a hundred- 
 fold upon his persecutors. And nothing seems impossible at the first mo- 
 ment, when hatred surges in the brain, and the foam of anger rises to the 
 lips; no obstacle seems insurmountable, or, rather, none are perceived. But 
 later, when the faculties have regained their equilibrium, one can measure 
 the distance which separates the dream from reality, the project from ex- 
 ecution. And on setting to work, how many discouragements arise ! The 
 fever of revolt passes by, and the victim wavers. He still breathes bitter 
 vengeance, but he does not act. He despairs, and asks himself what would be 
 the good of it ? And in this way the success of villainy is once more assured. 
 
 Similar despondency attacked Pascal Ferailleur when he awoke for the 
 first time in the abode where he had hidden himself under the name of 
 Maume'jan. A frightful slander had crushed him to the earth he could 
 kill his slanderer, but afterwards ? How was he to reach and stifle the 
 slander itself ? As well try to hold a handful of water ; as well try to stay 
 with extended arms the progress of the poisonous breeze which wafts an 
 epidemic on its wings. So the hope that had momentarily lightened his 
 heart faded away again. Since he had received that fatal letter from 
 Madame Leon the evening before, he believed that Marguerite was lost to 
 him for ever, and in this case, it was useless to struggle against fate. 
 What would be the use of victory even if he conquered? Marguerite lost 
 to him what did the rest matter ? Ah ! if he had been alone in the world. 
 But he had his mother to think of ; he belonged to this brave-hearted 
 woman, who had saved him from suicide already. "I will not yield, then; 
 I will struggle on for her sake," he muttered, like a man who foresees the 
 futility of his efforts. 
 
 He rose, and had nearly finished dressing, when he heard a rap at his 
 chamber door. " It is I, my son," said Madame Ferailleur outside. 
 
 Pascal hastened to admit her. " I have come for you because the woman 
 you spoke about last evening is already here, and before employing her, I 
 want your advice." 
 
 "Then the woman doesn't please you, mother ? " 
 
 "I want you to see her." 
 
6 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 On entering the little parlour with his mother, Pascal found himself in 
 the presence of a portly pale-faced woman, with thin lips and restless eyes, 
 who bowed obsequiously. It was indeed Madame Vantrasson, the landlady 
 of the model lodging-house, who was seeking employment for the three or 
 four hours which were at her disposal in the morning, she said. It cer- 
 tainly was not for pleasure that she had decided to go out to service again ; 
 her dignity suffered terribly by this fall but then the stomach has to be 
 cared for. Tenants were not numerous at the model lodging-house, in 
 spite of its seductive title ; and those who slept there occasionally, almost 
 invariably succeeded in stealing something. * Nor did the grocery store 
 pay ; the few halfpence which were left there occasionally in exchange for 
 a glass of liquor were pocketed by Vantrasson, who spent them at some 
 neighbouring establishment ; for it is a well-known fact that the wine a 
 man drinks in his own shop is always bitter in flavour. So, having no 
 credit at the butcher's or the baker's, Madame Vantrasson was sometimes 
 reduced to living for days together upon the contents of the shop mouldy 
 figs or dry raisins which she washed down with torrents of ratafia, her 
 only consolation here below. 
 
 But this was not a satisfying diet, as she was forced to confess ; so she 
 decided to find some work, that would furnish her with food and a little 
 money, which she vowed she would never allow her worthy husband to see. 
 
 * ' What would you charge per month ? " inquired Pascal. 
 
 She seemed to reflect, and after a great deal of counting on her fingers, 
 she finally declared that she would be content with breakfast and fifteen 
 francs a month, on condition she was allowed to do the marketing. The 
 first question of French cooks, on presenting themselves for a situation, is 
 almost invariably, "Shall I do the marketing ? " which of course means, 
 "Shall I have any opportunities for stealing?" Everybody knows this, 
 and nobody is astonished at it. 
 
 " I shall do the marketing myself," declared Madame Ferailleur, boldly. 
 
 " Then I shall want thirty francs a month," replied Madame Vantrasson, 
 promptly. 
 
 Pascal and his mother exchanged glances. They were both unfavourably 
 impressed by this woman, and were equally determined to rid themselves 
 of her, which it was easy enough to do. " Too dear ! " said Madame 
 Ferailleur : "I have never given over fifteen francs. " 
 
 But Madame Vantrasson was not the woman to be easily discouraged, 
 especially as she knew that if she failed to obtain this situation, she might 
 have considerable difficulty in finding another one. She could only hope 
 to obtain employment from strangers and new-comers, who were ignorant 
 of the reputation of the model lodging-house. So in view of softening the 
 hearts of Pascal and his mother, she began to relate the history of her life, 
 skilfully mingling the false with the true, and representing herself as an 
 unfortunate victim of circumstances, and the inhuman cruelty of relatives. 
 For she belonged, like her husband, to a very respectable family, as the 
 Maumejan's might easily ascertain by inquiry. Vantrasson's sister was the 
 wife of a man named Greloux, who had once been a book-binder in the E-ue 
 Saint-Denis, but who had now retired from business with a competency. 
 "Why had this Greloux refused to save them from bankruptcy ? Because 
 one could never hope for a favour from relatives," she groaned; "they 
 are jealous if you succeed ; and if you are unfortunate, they cast you off." 
 
 However, these doleful complaints, far from rendering Madame Van- 
 trasson interesting, imparted a deceitful and most disagreeable expression 
 
THE COUNT S MILLIONS. 7 
 
 to her countenance. "I told you that I could only give fifteen francs," 
 interrupted Madame Ferailleur " take it or leave it." 
 
 Madame Vantrasson protested. She expressed her willingness to deduct 
 five francs from the sum she had named, but more it was impossible ! 
 Would they haggle over ten francs to secure such a treasure as herself, an 
 honest, settled woman, who was entirely devoted to her employers? 
 "Besides, I have been a grand cook in my time," she added, "and I have 
 not lost all my skill. Monsieur and madame would be delighted with my 
 cooking, for I have seen more than one fine gentleman smack his lips over 
 my sauces when I was in the employment of the Count de Chalusse. " 
 
 Pascal and his mother could not repress a start on hearing this name ; 
 but it was in a tone of well-assumed indifference that Madame Ferailleur 
 repeated, " M. de Chalusse ? " 
 
 " Yes, madame a count and so rich that he didn't know how much he 
 was worth. If he were still alive I shouldn't be compelled to go out to 
 service again. But he's dead and he's to be buried this very day." And 
 with an air of profound secrecy, she added : "On going yesterday to the 
 H6tel de Chalusse to ask for a little help, I heard of the great misfortune. 
 Vantrasson, my husband, accompanied me, and while we were talking with 
 the concierge, a young woman passed through the hall, and he recognised 
 her as a person who some time ago was well no better than she should be. 
 Now, however, she's a young lady as lofty as the clouds, and the deceased 
 count has been passing her off as his daughter. Ah ! this is a strange world. " 
 
 Pascal had become whiter than the ceiling. His eyes blazed ; and Madame 
 Ferailleur trembled. "Very well," she said, "I will give you twenty- 
 five francs but on condition you come without complaining if I sometimes 
 require your services of an evening. On these occasions I will give you 
 your dinner. " And taking five francs from her pocket she placed them in 
 Madame Vantrasson's hand, adding : " Here is your earnest money." 
 
 The other quickly pocketed the coin, not a little surprised by this sudden 
 decision which she had scarcely hoped for, and which she by no means 
 understood. Still she was so delighted with this denouement that she ex- 
 pressed her willingness to enter upon her duties at once ; and to get rid of 
 her Madame Ferailleur was obliged to send her out to purchase the necessary 
 supplies for breakfast. Then, as soon as she was alone with her son, she 
 turned to him and asked : ' ' Well, Pascal ? " 
 
 But the wretched man seemed turned to stone, and seeing that he neither 
 spoke nor moved, she continued in a severe tone : ' ' Is this the way you 
 keep your resolutions and your oaths ! You express your intention of 
 accomplishing a task which requires inexhaustible patience and dissimula- 
 tion, and at the very first unforeseen circumstance your coolness desert3 
 you, and you lose your head completely. If it had not been for me you 
 would have betrayed yourself in that woman's presence. You must re- 
 nounce your revenge, and tamely submit to be conquered by the Marquis 
 de Valorsay if your face is to be an open book in which any one may read 
 your secret plans and thoughts." 
 
 Pascal shook his head dejectedly. "Didn't you hear, mother ? " he faltered. 
 
 "Hear what?" 
 
 "What that vile woman said ? This young lady whom she spoke of, 
 whom her husband recognised, can be none other than Marguerite." 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
 He recoiled in horror. " You are sure of it ! " he repeated ; "and you 
 can tell me this unmoved coldly, as if it were a natural, a possible thing. 
 
8 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 Didn't you understand the shameful meaning of her insinuations? Didn't 
 you see her hypocritical smile and the malice gleaming in her eyes ? " He 
 pressed his hands to his burning brow, and groaned : " And I did not crush 
 the infamous wretch ! I did not fell her to the ground ! " 
 
 Ah ! if she had obeyed the impulse of her heart, Madame Ferailleur 
 would have thrown her arms round her son's neck, and have mingled her 
 tears with his, but reason prevailed. The worthy woman's heart was per- 
 vaded with that lofty sentiment of duty which sustains the humble heroines 
 of the fireside, and lends them even more courage than the reckless adven- 
 turers whose names are recorded by history could boast of. She felt that 
 Pascal must not be consoled, but spurred on to fresh efforts ; and so muster- 
 ing all her courage, she said : " Are you acquainted with Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite's past life ? No. You only know that hers has been a life of 
 great vicissitudes and so it is not strange that she should be slandered. " 
 
 " In that case, mother," said Pascal, " you were wrong to interrupt 
 Madame Vantrasson. She would probably have told us many things." 
 
 " I interrupted her, it is true, and sent her away and you know why. 
 But she is in our service now ; and when you are calm, when you have re- 
 gained your senses, nothing will prevent you from questioning her. It may 
 be useful for you to know who this man Vantrasson is, and how and where 
 he met Mademoiselle Marguerite." 
 
 Shame, sorrow, and rage, brought tears to Pascal's eyes. " My God ! " 
 he exclaimed, " to be reduced to the unspeakable misery of hearing my 
 mother doubt Marguerite ! " He did not doubt her. He could have 
 listened to the most infamous accusations against her without feeling a 
 single doubt. However, Madame Ferailleur had sufficient self-control to 
 shrug her shoulders. "Ah, well! silence this slander," she exclaimed. 
 *' I wish for nothing better ; but don't forget that we have ourselves to re- 
 habilitate. To crush your enemies will be far more profitable to Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite than vain threats and weak lamentations. It seemed 
 to me that you had sworn to act, not to complain." 
 
 This ironical thrust touched Pascal's sensitive mind to the quick ; he 
 rose at once to his feet, and coldly said, "That's true. I thank you for 
 having recalled me to myself. " 
 
 She made no rejoinder, but mentally thanked God. She had read her 
 son's heart, and perceiving his hesitation and weakness she had supplied 
 the stimulus he needed. Now she saw him as she wished to see him. Now 
 he was ready to reproach himself for his lack of courage and his weak- 
 ness in displaying his feelings. And as a test of his powers of endurance, 
 he decided not to question Madame Vantrasson till four or five days had 
 elapsed. If her suspicions had been aroused, this delay would suffice to 
 dispel them. 
 
 He said but little during breakfast ; for he was now eager to commence 
 the struggle. He longed to act, and yet he scarcely knew how to begin 
 the campaign. First of all he must study the enemy's position gain some 
 knowledge of the men he had to deal with, find out exactly who the 
 Marquis de Valorsay and the Viscount de Coralth were. Where could he 
 obtain information respecting these two men ? Should he be compelled to 
 follow them and to gather up here and there such scraps of intelligence as 
 came in his way ? This method of proceeding would be slow and incon- 
 venient in the extreme. He was revolving the subject in his mind when 
 he suddenly remembered the man who, on the morning that followed the 
 scene at Madame d'Argeles' house, had come to him in the Rue d'Ulm to 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 9 
 
 give him a proof of his confidence. He remembered that this strange man 
 had said : "If you ever Deed a helping hand, come to me." And at the 
 recollection he made up his mind. " I am going to Baron Trigault's," he 
 remarked to his mother ; "if my presentiments don't deceive me, he will be 
 of service to us." 
 
 In less than half an hour he was on his way. He had dressed himself in 
 the oldest clothes he possessed : and this, with the change he had made by 
 cutting off his hair and beard, had so altered his appearance that it was 
 necessary to look at him several times, and most attentively, to recognise 
 him. The visiting cards which he carried in his pocket bore the inscrip- 
 tion : "P. Maumejan, Business Agent, Route de la Re>olte." His know- 
 ledge of Parisian life had induced him to choose the same profession as M. 
 Fortunat followed a profession which opens almost every door. ' ' I will 
 enter the nearest cafe and ask for a directory," he said to himself. " I 
 shall certainly find Baron Trigault's address in it. " 
 
 The baron lived in the Rue de la Ville-l'Eveque. His mansion was one 
 of the largest and most magnificent in the opulent district of the Madeleine, 
 and its aspect was perfectly in keeping with its owner's character as an 
 expert financier, and a shrewd manufacturer, the possessor of valuable 
 mines. The marvellous luxury so surprised Pascal, that he asked himself 
 how the owner of this princely abode could find any pleasure at the gaming 
 table of the Hotel d'Argeles. Five or six footmen were lounging about the 
 courtyard when he entered it. He walked straight up to one of them, and 
 with his hat in his hand, asked : " Baron Trigault, if you please ? " 
 
 If he had asked for the Grand Turk the valet would not have looked at 
 him with greater astonishment. His surprise, indeed, seemed so profound 
 that Pascal feared he had made some mistake and added : " Doesn't he 
 live here ? " 
 
 The servant laughed heartily. " This is certainly his house," he replied, 
 " and strange to say, by some fortunate chance, he's here." 
 
 " I wish to speak with him on business." 
 
 The servant called one of his colleagues. " Eh ! Florestan is the baron 
 receiving ? " 
 
 "The baroness hasn't forbidden it." 
 
 This seemed to satisfy the footman ; for, turning to Pascal he said : "In 
 that case, you can follow me." 
 
 II. 
 
 The sumptuous interior of the Trigault mansion was on a par with its 
 external magnificence. Even the entrance bespoke the lavish millionaire, 
 eager to conquer difficulties, jealous of achieving the impossible, and never 
 haggling when his fancies were concerned. The spacious hall, paved with 
 costly mosaics, had been transformed into a conservatory full of flowers, 
 which were renewed every morning. Rare plants climbed the walls up 
 gilded trellis work, or hung from the ceiling in vases of rare old china, 
 while from among the depths of verdure peered forth exquisite statues, the 
 work of sculptors of renown. On a rustic bench sat a couple of tall foot- 
 men, as bright in their gorgeous liveries as gold coins fresh from the 
 mint ; still, despite their splendour, they were stretching and yawning to 
 such a degree, that it seemed as if they would ultimately dislocate their 
 jaws and arms. 
 
10 THE coukt's millions. 
 
 " Tell me," inquired the servant who was escorting Pascal, " can any one 
 speak to the baron ? " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " This gentleman has something to say to him." 
 
 The two valets eyed the unknown visitor, plainly considering him to be 
 one of those persons who have no existence for the menials of fashionable 
 establishments, and finally burst into a hearty laugh. " Upon my word ! " 
 exclaimed the eldest, "he's just in time. Announce him, and madame 
 will be greatly obliged to you. She and monsieur have been quarrelling for 
 a good half-hour. And, heavenly powers, isn't he tantalising ! " 
 
 The most intense curiosity gleamed in the eyes of Pascal's conductor, 
 and with an air of secrecy, he asked : " What is the cause of the rumpus ? 
 That Fernand, no doubt or some one else ? " 
 
 " No ; this morning it's about M. Van Klopen." 
 
 " Madame's dressmaker? " 
 
 "The same. Monsieur and madame were breakfasting together a 
 most unusual thing when M. Van Klopen made his appearance. I thought 
 to myself, when I admitted him : Look out for storms ! ' I scented one in 
 the air, and in fact the dressmaker hadn't been in the room five minutes 
 before we heard the baron's voice rising higher and higher. I said to my- 
 self : ' Whew ! the mantua-maker is presenting his bill ! ' Madame cried 
 and went on like mad ; but, pshaw ! when the master really begins, there's 
 no one like him. There isn't a cab-driver in Paris who's his equal for 
 swearing." 
 
 " And M. Van Klopen ? " 
 
 ' Oh, he's used to such scenes ! When gentlemen abuse him he does the 
 same as dogs do when they come up out of the water ; he just shakes his 
 head and troubles himself no more about it. He has decidedly the best of 
 the row. He has furnished the goods, and he'll have to be paid sooner or 
 later" 
 
 " What ! hasn't he been paid then? " 
 
 " I don't know ; he's still here." 
 
 A terrible crash of breaking china interrupted this edifying conversation. 
 " There ! " exclaimed one of the footmen, " that's monsieur; he has smashed 
 two or three hundred francs' worth of dishes. He must be rich to pay such 
 a price for his angry fits." 
 
 " Well," observed the other, "if I were in monsieur's place I should be 
 angry too. Would you let your wife have her dresses fitted on by a man ? 
 I says that it's indecent. I'm only a servant, but " 
 
 " Nonsense, it's the fashion. Besides, monsieur does not care about that. 
 A man who " 
 
 He stopped short ; in fact, the others had motioned him to be silent. 
 The baron was surrounded by exceptional servants, and the presence of a 
 stranger acted as a restraint upon them. For this reason, one of them, 
 after asking Pascal for his card, opened a door and ushered him into a small 
 room, saying : " I will go and inform the baron. Please wait here. " 
 
 "Here," as he called it, was a sort of smoking-room hung with cashmere 
 of fantastic design and gorgeous hues, and encircled by a low cushioned 
 divan, covered with the same material. A profusion of rare and costly 
 objects was to be seen on all sides, armour, statuary, pictures, and richly 
 ornamented weapons. But Pascal, already amazed by the conversation of 
 the servants, did not think of examining these objects of virtu. Through a 
 partially open doorway, directly opposite the one he had entered by, came 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 11 
 
 the sound of loud voices in excited conversation. Baron Trigault, the 
 baroness, and the famous Van Klopen were evidently in the adjoining room. 
 It was a woman, the baroness, who was speaking, and the quivering of her 
 clear and somewhat shrill voice betrayed a violent irritation, which was 
 only restrained with the greatest difficulty. "It is hard for the wife of 
 one of the richest men in Paris to see a bill for absolute necessities dis- 
 puted in this style," she was saying. 
 
 A man's voice, with a strong Teutonic accent, the voice of Van Klopen, 
 the Hollander, caught up the refrain. "Yes, strict necessities, one can 
 swear to that. And if, before flying into a passion, Monsieur le Baron had 
 taken the trouble to glance over my little bill, he would have seen " 
 
 " No more 1 You bore me to death. Besides I haven't time to listen to 
 your nonsense ; they are waiting for me to play a game of whist at the 
 club." 
 
 This time it was the master of the house, Baron Trigault, who spoke, 
 and Pascal recognised his voice instantly. 
 
 " If monsieur would only allow me to read the items. It will take but 
 a moment," rejoined Van Klopen. And as if he had construed the oath 
 that answered him as an exclamation of assent, he began : "In June, a 
 Hungarian costume with jacket and sash, two train dresses with upper 
 skirts and trimmings of lace, a Medicis polonaise, a jockey costume, a 
 walking costume, a riding-habit, two morning-dresses, a Vell6da costume, 
 an evening dress." 
 
 " I was obliged to attend the races very frequently during the month of 
 June," remarked the baroness. 
 
 But the illustrious adorner of female loveliness had already resumed his 
 reading. " In July we have : two morning jackets, one promenade cos- 
 tume, one sailor suit, one Watteau shepherdess costume, one ordinary 
 bathing-suit, with material for parasol and shoes to match, one Pompa- 
 dour bathing-suit, one dressing-gown, one close-fitting Medicis mantle, two 
 opera cloaks " 
 
 " And I was certainly not the most elegantly attired of the ladies at 
 Trouville, where I spent the month of July, " interrupted the baroness. 
 
 "There are but few entries in the month of August," continued Van 
 Klopen. ' We have : a morning-dress, a travelling-dress, with trim- 
 mings " And he went on and on, gasping for breath, rattling off the 
 ridiculoTia names which he gave to his " creations," and interrupted every 
 now and then by the blow of a clinched fist on the table, or by a savage oath. 
 
 Pascal stood in the smoking-room, motionless with astonishment. He 
 did not know what surprised him the most, Van Klopen's impudence in 
 daring to read such a bill, the foolishness of the woman who had ordered 
 all these things, or the patience of the husband who was undoubtedly going 
 to pay for them. At last, after what seemed an interminable enumeration, 
 Van Klopen exclaimed : " And that's all ! " 
 
 " Yes, that's all," repeated the baroness, like an echo. 
 
 "That's all!" exclaimed the baron " that's all! That is to say, in 
 four months, at least seven hundred yards of silk, velvet, satin, and muslin, 
 have been put on this woman's back ! " 
 
 " The dresses of the present day require a great deal of material. 
 Monsieur le Baron will understand that flounces, puffs, and ruches " 
 
 " Naturally ! Total, twenty-seven thousand francs ! " 
 
 ".Excuse me! Twenty-seven thousand nine hundred and thirty- three 
 francs, ninety centimes." 
 
12 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 " Call it twenty-eight thousand francs then. Ah, well, M. Van Klopen, 
 if you are ever paid for this rubbish it won't be by me." 
 
 If Van Klopen was expecting this denouement, Pascal wasn't ; in fact, 
 he was so startled, that an exclamation escaped him which would have be- 
 trayed his presence under almost any other circumstances. What amazed 
 him most was the baron's perfect calmness, following, as it did, such a fit 
 of furious passion, violent enough even to be heard in the vestibule. 
 " Either he has extraordinary control over himself or this scene conceals 
 some mystery," thought Pascal. 
 
 Meanwhile the man milliner continued to urge his claims but the baron, 
 instead of replying, only whistled ; and wounded by this breach of good 
 manners, Van Klopen at last exclaimed: "I have had dealings with all 
 the distinguished men in Europe, and never before did one of them refuse 
 to pay me for his wife's toilettes. " 
 
 "Very well I don't pay for them there's the difference. Do you sup- 
 pose that I, Baron Trigault, that I've worked like a negro for twenty years 
 merely for the purpose of aiding your charming and useful branch of in- 
 dustry ? Gather up your papers, Mr. Ladies' Tailor. There may be hus- 
 bands who believe themselves responsible for their wives' follies it's quite 
 possible there are but I'm not made of that kind of stuff. I allow 
 Madame Trigault eight thousand francs a month for her toilette that is 
 sufficient and it is a matter for you and her to arrange together. What 
 did I tell you last year when I paid a bill of forty thousand francs ? That 
 I would not be responsible for any more of my wife's debts. And I not 
 only said it, I formally notified to you through my private secretary." 
 
 ' ' I remember, indeed " 
 
 ' ' Then why do you come to me with your bill ? It is with my wife that 
 you have opened an account. Apply to her, and leave me in peace." 
 
 "Madame promised me " 
 
 " Teach her to keep her promises." 
 
 * It costs a great deal to retain one's position as a leader of fashion ; and 
 many of the most distinguished ladies are obliged to run into debt," urged 
 Van Klopen. 
 
 " That's their business. But my wife is not a fine lady. She is simply 
 Madame Trigault, a baroness, thanks to her husband's gold and the con- 
 descension of a worthy German prince, who was in want of money. She is 
 not a person of consequence she has no rank to keep up." 
 
 The baroness must have attached immense importance to the satisfying 
 of Van Klopen's demands, for concealing the anger this humiliating scene 
 undoubtedly caused her, she condescended to try and explain, and even to 
 entreat. " I have been a little extravagant, perhaps," she said; "but I 
 will be more prudent in future. Pay, monsieur pay just once more." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " If not for my sake, for your own." 
 
 "Not a farthing." 
 
 By the baron's tone, Pascal realised that his wife would never shake his 
 fixed determination. Such must also have been the opinion of the illustrious 
 ruler of fashion, for he returned to the charge with an argument he had 
 held in reserve. " If this is the case, I shall, to my great regret, be obliged 
 to fail in the respect I owe to Monsieur le Baron, and to place this bill in 
 the hands of a solicitor." 
 
 " Send him along send him along." 
 
 " I cannot believe that monsieur wishes a law-suit." 
 
THE count's millions. 13 
 
 "In that you are greatly mistaken. Nothing would please me better. 
 It would at last give me an opportunity to say what I think about your 
 dealings. Do you think that wives are to turn their husbands into machines 
 for supplying money ? You draw the bow string too tightly, my dear fellow 
 it will break. I'll proclaim on the house-top what others dare not say, 
 and we'll see if I don't succeed in organising a little crusade against you." 
 And animated by the sound of his own words, his anger came back to him, 
 and in a louder and ever louder voice he continued : "Ah ! you prate of 
 the scandal that would be created by my resistance to your demands. 
 That's your system ; but, with me, it won't succeed. You threaten me 
 with a law-suit ; very good. I'll take it upon myself to enlighten Paris, for 
 I know your secrets, Mr. Dressmaker. I know the goings on in your 
 establishment. It isn't always to talk about dress that ladies stop at your 
 place on returning from the Bois. You sell silks and satins no doubt ; but 
 you sell Madeira, and excellent cigarettes as well, and there are some who 
 don't walk very straight on leaving your establishment, but smell sus- 
 piciously of tobacco and absinthe. Oh, yes, let us go to law, by all means ! 
 I shall have an advocate who will know how to explain the parts your 
 customers play, and who will reveal how, with your assistance, they obtain 
 money from other sources than their husband's cash-box. " 
 
 When M. Van Klopen was addressed in this style, he was not at all 
 pleased. "And I!" he exclaimed, "I will tell people that Baron 
 Trigault, after losing all his money at play, repays his creditors with 
 curses." 
 
 The noise of an overturned chair told Pascal that the baron had sprung 
 up in a furious passion. " You may say what you like, you rascally fool ! 
 but not in my house," he shouted. " Leave leave or I will ring " 
 
 "Monsieur" 
 
 " Leave, leave, I tell you, or I sha'n't have the patience to wait for & 
 servant ! " 
 
 He must have joined action to word, and have seized Van Klopen by 
 the collar to thrust him into the hall, for Pascal heard a sound of scuffling, 
 a series of oaths worthy of a coal heaver, two or three frightened cries from 
 the baroness, and several guttural exclamations in German. Then a door 
 closed with such violence that the whole house shook, and a magnificent 
 clock, fixed to the wall of the smoking-room, fell on to the floor. 
 
 If Pascal had not heard this scene, he would have deemed it incredible. 
 Hoav could one suppose that a creditor would leave this princely mansion 
 with his bill unpaid? But more and more clearly he understood that there must 
 be some greater cause of difference between husband and wife than this bill 
 of twenty-eight thousand francs. For what was this amount to a confirmed 
 gambler who, without as much as a frown, gained or lost a fortune every 
 evening of his life. Evidently there was some skeleton in this household 
 one of those terrible secrets which make a man and his wife enemies, and 
 all the more bitter enemies as they are bound together by a chain which it 
 is impossible to break. And undoubtedly, a good many of the insults which 
 the baron had heaped upon Van Klopen must have been intended for the 
 baroness. These thoughts darted through Pascal's mind with the rapidity 
 of lightning, and showed him the horrible position in which he was placed. 
 The baron, who had been so favourably disposed towards him, and from 
 whom he was expecting a great service, would undoubtedly hate him, un- 
 doubtedly become his enemy, when he learned that he had been a listener, 
 although an involuntary one, to this conversation with Van Klopen. How 
 
14 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 did it happen that he had been placed in this dangerous position ? What 
 had become of the footman who had taken his card ? These were questions 
 which he was unable to answer. And what was he to do ? If he could 
 have retired noiselessly, if he could have reached the courtyard and have 
 made his escape without being observed he would not have hesitated. But 
 was this plan practicable ? And would not his card betray him ? Would 
 it not be discovered sooner or later that he had been in the smoking-room 
 while M. Van Klopen was in the dining-room ? In any case, delicacy of 
 feeling as well as his own interest forbade him to remain any longer a 
 listener to the private conversation of the baron and his wife. 
 
 He therefore noisily moved a chair, and coughed in that affected style 
 which means in every country : " Take care I'm here ! " But he did not 
 succeed in attracting attention. And yet the silence was profound ; he 
 could distinctly hear the creaking of the baron's boots, as he paced to and 
 fro, and the sound of fingers nervously beating a tattoo on the table. If 
 he desired to avoid hearing the confidential conversation, which would no 
 doubt ensue between the baron and his wife, there was but one course for 
 him to pursue, and that was to reveal his presence at once. He was about 
 to do so, when some one opened a door which must have led from the hall 
 into the dining-room. He listened attentively but only heard a few con- 
 fused words, to which the baron replied : "Very well. That's sufficient. 
 I will see him in a moment." 
 
 Pascal breathed freely once more. " They have just given him my card," 
 he thought. " I can remain now ; he will come here in a moment." 
 
 The baron must really have started to leave the room, for his wife ex- 
 claimed : " One word more : have you quite decided ? " 
 
 "Oh, fully!" 
 
 " You are resolved to leave me exposed to the persecutions of my dress- 
 maker?" 
 
 " Van Klopen is too charming and polite to cause you the least worry." 
 
 " You will brave the disgrace of a law suit? " 
 
 <( Nonsense ! You know very well that he won't bring any action against 
 me unfortunately. And, besides, pray tell me where the disgrace would 
 be ? I have a foolish wife is that my fault ? I oppose her absurd extrav- 
 agance haven't I a right to do so ? If all husbands were as courageous, we 
 should soon close the establishments of these artful men, who minister to 
 your vanity, and use you ladies as puppets, or living advertisements, to 
 display the absurd fashions which enrich them." 
 
 The baron took two or three more steps forward, as if about to leave the 
 room, but his wife interposed: "The Baroness Trigault, whose husband 
 has an income of seven or eight hundred thousand francs a year, can't go 
 about clad like a simple woman of the middle classes." 
 
 " I should see nothing so very improper in that." 
 
 " Oh, I know. Only your ideas don't coincide with mine. I shall never 
 consent to make myself ridiculous among the ladies of my set among my 
 friends." 
 
 "It would indeed be a pity to arouse the disapproval of your friends." 
 
 This sneering remark certainly irritated the baroness, for it was with the 
 greatest vehemence that she replied : "All my friends are ladies of the 
 highest rank in society noble ladies ! " 
 
 The baron no doubt shrugged his shoulders, for in a tone of crushing 
 irony and scorn, he exclaimed : "Noble ladies ! whom do you call noble 
 ladies pray ? The brainless fools who only think of displaying themselves 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 15 
 
 and making themselves notorious ? the senseless idiots who pique them- 
 selves on surpassing lewd women in audacity, extravagance, and effrontery, 
 who fleece their husbands as cleverly as courtesans fleece their lovers? 
 Noble ladies ! who drink, and smoke, and carouse, who attend masked balls, 
 and talk slang ! Noble ladies ! the idiots who long for the applause of the 
 crowd, and consider notoriety to be desirable and flattering. A woman is 
 only noble by her virtues and the chief of all virtues, modesty, is 
 entirely wanting in your illustrious friends " 
 
 "Monsieur," interrupted the bareness, in a voice husky with anger, 
 " you forget yourself you " 
 
 But the baron was well under way. "If it is scandal that crowns one a 
 great lady, you are one and one of the greatest ; for you are notorious 
 almost as notorious as Jenny Fancy. Can't I learn from the newspapers 
 all your sayings and gestures, your amusements, your occupations, and 
 the toilettes you wear ? It is impossible to read of a first performance 
 at a theatre, or of a horse-race, without finding your name coupled with 
 that of Jenny Fancy, or Cora Pearl, or Ninette Simplon. I should be a 
 very strange husband indeed, if I wasn't proud and delighted. Ah 1 you 
 are a treasure to the reporters. On the day before yesterday the Baroness 
 Trigault skated in the Bois. Yesterday she was driving in her pony-car- 
 riage. To-day she distinguished herself by her skill at pigeon-shooting. 
 To-morrow she will display herself half nude in some tableaux vivants. On 
 the day after to-morrow she will inaugurate a new style of hair-dressing, 
 and take part in a comedy. It is always the Baroness Trigault who is the 
 observed of all observers at Vincennes. The Baroness Trigault has lost 
 five hundred louis in betting. The Baroness Trigault uses her lorgnette 
 with charming impertinence. It is she who has declared it proper form 
 to take a ' drop ' on returning from the Bois. No one is so famed for form,' 
 as the baroness and silk merchants have bestowed her name upon a colour. 
 People rave of the Trigault blue what glory ! There are also costumes 
 Trigault, for the witty, elegant baroness has a host of admirers who follow 
 her everywhere, and loudly sing her praises. This is what I, a plain, 
 honest man, read every day in the newspapers. The whole world not only 
 knows how my wife dresses, but how she looks en dishabille, and how 
 she is formed ; folks are aware that she has an exquisite foot, a divinely- 
 shaped leg, and a perfect hand. No one is ignorant of the fact that my 
 wife's shoulders are of dazzling whiteness, and that high on flhe left 
 shoulder there is a most enticing little mole. I had the satisfaction of read- 
 ing this particular last evening. It is charming upon my word ! and I am 
 truly a fortunate man ! " 
 
 In the smoking-room, Pascal could hear the baroness angrily stamp her 
 foot, as she exclaimed : " It is an outrageous insult your journalists are 
 most impertinent." 
 
 11 Why ? Do they ever trouble honest women ? " 
 
 " They wouldn't trouble me if I had a husband who knew how to make 
 them treat me with respect ! " 
 
 The baron laughed a strident, nervous laugh, which it was not pleasant 
 to hear, and which revealed the fact that intense suffering was hidden 
 beneath all this banter. " Would you like me to fight a duel then ? After 
 twenty years has the idea of ridding yourself of me occurred to you again ? 
 I can scarcely believe it. You know too well that you would receive none 
 of my money, that I have guarded against that. Besides, you would be 
 inconsolable if tlie newspapers ceased talking about you for a single day. 
 
16 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 Respect yourself, and you will be respected. The publicity you complain of 
 is the last anchor which prevents society from drifting one knows not 
 where. Those who would not listen to the warning voice of honour and 
 conscience are restrained by the fear of a little paragraph which might dis- 
 close their shame. Now that a woman no longer has a conscience, the 
 newspapers act in place of it. And I think it quite right, for it is our only 
 hope of salvation. " 
 
 By the stir in the adjoining room, Pascal felt sure that the baroness had 
 stationed herself before the door to prevent her husband from leaving her. 
 " Ah ! well, monsieur," she exclaimed, "I declare to you that I must have 
 Van Klopen's twenty-eight thousand francs before this evening. I will have 
 them, too ; I am resolved to have them, and you will give them to me." 
 
 "Oh!" thundered the baron, "you will have them you will " He 
 paused, and then, after a moment's reflection, he said; "Very well. So 
 be it ! I will give you this amount, but not just now. Still if, as you say, 
 it is absolutely necessary that you should have it to-day, there is a means 
 of procuring it. Pawn your diamonds for thirty thousand francs I au- 
 thorise you to do so ; and I give you my word of honour that I will redeem 
 them within a week. Say, will you do this ? " And, as the baroness made 
 no reply, he continued : " You don't answer ! shall I tell you why ? It is 
 because your diamonds were long since sold and replaced by imitation ones ; 
 it is because you are head over heels in debt ; it is because you have stooped 
 so low as to borrow your maid's savings ; it is because you already owe 
 three thousand francs to one of my coachmen ; it is because our steward 
 lends you money at the rate of thirty or forty per cent. " 
 
 "It is false !" 
 
 The baron sneered. " You certainly must think me a much greater fool 
 than I really am !" he replied. "I'm not often at home, it's true the 
 sight of you exasperates me ; but I know what's going on. You believe 
 me your dupe, but you are altogether mistaken. It is not twenty-seven 
 thousand francs you owe Van Klopen, but fifty or sixty thousand. How- 
 ever, he is careful not to demand payment. If he brought me a bill this 
 morning, it was only because you had begged him to do so, and because it had 
 been agreed he should give you the money back if I paid him. In short, if 
 you require twenty-eight thousand francs before to-night, it is because M. 
 Fernand de Coralth has demanded that sum, and because you have promised 
 to give it to him ! " 
 
 Leaning against the wall of the smoking-room, speechless and motionless, 
 holding his breath, with his hands pressed upon his heart, as if to stop its 
 throbbings, Pascal Ferailleur listened. He no longer thought of flying ; he 
 no longer thought of reproaching himself for his enforced indiscretion. He 
 had lost all consciousness of his position. The name of the Viscount de 
 Coralth, thus mentioned in the course of this frightful scene, came as a 
 revelation to him. He now understood the meaning of the baron's con- 
 duct. His visit to the Rue d'Ulm, and his promises of help were all 
 explained. " My mother was right," he thought ; "the baron hates that 
 miserable viscount mortally. He will do all in his power to assist me." 
 
 Meanwhile the baroness energetically denied her husband's charges. She 
 swore that she did not know what he meant. What had M. de Coralth to 
 do with all this ? She commanded her husband to speak more plainly to 
 explain his odious insinuations. 
 
 He allowed her to speak for a moment, and then suddenly, in a harsh, 
 sarcastic voice, he interrupted her by saying : " Oh ! enough ! No more 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 17 
 
 hypocrisy ! Why do you try to defend yourself ? What matters one crime 
 more ? I know only too well that what I say is true ; and if you desire 
 proofs, they shall be in your hands in less than half an hour. It is a long 
 time since I was blind full twenty years ! Nothing concerning you has 
 escaped my knowledge and observation since the cursed day when I dis- 
 covered the depths of your disgrace and infamy since the terrible evening 
 when I heard you plan to murder me in cold blood. You had grown 
 accustomed to freedom of action ; while I, who had gone off with the first 
 gold-seekers, was braving a thousand dangers in California, so as to win 
 wealth and luxury for you more quickly. Fool that I was ! No task 
 seemed too hard or too distasteful when I thought of you and I was 
 always thinking of you. My mind was at peace I had perfect faith in you. 
 We had a daughter ; and if a fear or a doubt entered my mind, I told my- 
 self that the sight of her cradle would drive all evil thoughts from your 
 heart. The adultery of a childless wife may be forgiven or explained ; but 
 that of a mother, never ! Fool ! idiot ! that I was ! With what joyous 
 pride, on my return after an absence of eighteen months, I showed you the 
 treasures I had brought back with me ! I had two hundred thousand 
 francs ! I said to you as I embraced you : 'It is yours, my well-beloved, 
 the source of all my happiness ! ' But you did not care for me I wearied 
 you ! You loved another ! And while you were deceiving me with your 
 caresses, you were, with fiendish skill, preparing a conspiracy which, if it 
 had succeeded, would have resulted in my death ! I should consider my- 
 self amply revenged if I could make you suffer for a single day all the 
 torments that I endured for long months. For this was not all ! You had 
 not even the excuse, if excuse it be, of a powerful, all-absorbing passion. 
 Convinced of your treachery, I resolved to ascertain everything, and I dis- 
 covered that in my absence you had become a mother. Why didn't I kill 
 you ? How did I have the courage to remain silent and conceal what I 
 knew ? Ah ! it was because, by watching you, I hoped to discover the 
 cursed bastard and your accomplice. It was because I dreamed of a 
 vengeance as terrible as the offence. I said to myself that the day would 
 come when, at any risk, you would try to see your child again, to embrace 
 her, and provide for her future. Fool ! fool that I was ! You had already 
 forgotten her ! When you received news of my intended return, she was 
 sent to some foundling asylum, or left to die upon some door-step. Have 
 you ever thought of her ? Have you ever asked what has become of her ? 
 ever asked yourself if she has needed bread while you have been living in 
 almost regal luxury ? ever asked yourself into what depths of vice she may 
 have fallen ? " 
 
 " Always the same ridiculous accusation ! " exclaimed the baroness. 
 
 "Yes, always ! " 
 
 "You must know, however, that this story of a child is only a vile 
 slander. I told you so when you spoke of it to me a dozen years after- 
 wards. I have repeated it a thousand times since." 
 
 The baron uttered a sigh that was very like a sob, and without paying 
 any heed to his wife's words, he continued : " If I consented to allow you 
 to remain under my roof, it was only for the sake of our daughter. I 
 trembled lest the scandal of a separation should fall upon her. But it was 
 useless suffering on my part. She was as surely lost as you yourself were ; 
 and it was your work, too ! " 
 
 " What ! you blame me for that? " 
 
 " Whom ought I to blame, then ? Who took her to balls, and theatres 
 
18 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 and races to every place where a young girl ought not to be taken ? Who 
 initiated her into what you call high life ? and who used her as a discreet 
 and easy chaperon ? Who married her to a wretch who is a disgrace to the 
 title he bears, and who has completed the work of demoralisation you 
 began ? And what is your daughter to-day ? Her extravagance has made 
 her notorious even among the shameless women who pretend to be leaders 
 of society. She is scarcely twenty-two, and there is not a single prejudice 
 left for her to brave ! Her husband is the companion of actresses and 
 courtesans ; her own companions are no better and in less than two years 
 the million of francs which I bestowed on her as a dowry has been 
 squandered, recklessly squandered for there isn't a penny of it left. And, 
 at this very hour, my daughter and my son-in-law are plotting to extort 
 money from me. On the day before yesterday listen carefully to this 
 my son-in-law came to ask me for a hundred thousand francs, and when I 
 refused them, he threatened if I did not give them to him that he would 
 publish some letters written by my daughter by his wife to some low 
 scoundrel. I was horrified and gave him what he asked. But that same 
 evening I learned that the husband and wife, my daughter and my son-in- 
 law, had concocted this vile conspiracy together. Yes, I have positive 
 proofs of it. Leaving here, and not wishing to return home that day, he 
 telegraphed the good news to his wife. But in his delight he made a mis- 
 take in the address, and the telegram was brought here. I opened it, and 
 read : * Papa has fallen into the trap, my darling. I beat my drum, and 
 he surrendered at once.' Yes, that is what he dared to write, and sign 
 with his own name, and then send to his wife my daughter ! " 
 
 Pascal was absolutely terrified. He wondered if he were not the victim 
 of some absurd nightmare if his senses were not playing him false. He 
 had little conception of the terrible dramas which are constantly enacted in 
 these superb mansions, so admired and envied by the passing crowd. He 
 thought that the baroness would be crushed that she would fall on her 
 knees before her husband. What a mistake ! The tone of her voice told 
 him that, instead of yielding, she was only bent on retaliation. 
 
 "Does your son-in-law do anything worse than you ? " she exclaimed. 
 " How dare you censure him you who drag your name through all the 
 gambling dens of Europe ? " 
 
 " Wretch ! " interrupted the baron, " wretch ! " But quickly mastering 
 himself, he remarked : "Yes, it's true that I gamble. People say, ' That 
 great Baron Trigault is never without cards in his hands ! ' But you know 
 very well that I really hold gambling in horror that I loathe it. But 
 when I play, I sometimes forget for I must forget. I tried drink, but it 
 wouldn't drown thought, so I had recourse to cards j and when the stakes 
 are large, and my fortune is imperilled, I sometimes lose consciousness of 
 my misery ! " 
 
 The baroness gave vent to a cold, sneering laugh, and, in a tone of mock- 
 ing commiseration, she said : ' Poor baron ! It is no doubt in the hope of 
 forgetting your sorrows that you spend all your time when you are not 
 gambling with a woman named Lia d'Argeles. She's rather pretty. I 
 have seen her several times iu the Bois " 
 
 "Be silent!" exclaimed the baron, "be silent! Don't insult an un- 
 fortunate woman who is a thousand times better than yourself." And, 
 feeling that he could endure no more that he could no longer restrain his 
 passion, he cried : " Out of my sight ! Go ! or I sha'n't be responsible for 
 my acts ! " 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 19 
 
 Pascal heard a chair move, the floor creak, and a moment afterwards a 
 lady passed quickly through the smoking-room. How was it that she did 
 not perceive him ? No doubt, because she was greatly agitated, in spite of 
 her bravado. And, besides, he was standing a little back in the shade. 
 Bat he saw her, and his brain reeled. " Good Lord ! what a likeness ! " 
 he murmured. 
 
 III. 
 
 It was as if he had seen an apparition, and he was vainly striving to drive 
 away a terrible, mysterious fear, when a heavy footfall made the floor of 
 the dining-room creak anew. The noise restored him to consciousness of 
 his position. " It is the baron ! " he thought ; "he is coming this way ! 
 If he finds me here I am lost ; he will never consent to help me. A man 
 would never forgive another man for hearing what I have just heard. " 
 
 Why should he not try to make his escape ? The card, bearing the name 
 of Maum6jan, would be no proof of his visit. He could see the baron 
 somewhere else some other day elsewhere than at his own house, so that 
 he need not fear the recognition of the servants. These thoughts flashed 
 through his mind, and he was about to fly, when a harsh cry held him 
 spell-bound. Baron Trigault was standing on the threshold. His emotion, 
 as is almost always the case with corpulent people, was evinced by a fright- 
 ful distortion of his features. His face was transformed, his lips had be- 
 come perfectly white, and his eyes seemed to be starting from their 
 sockets. " How came you here?" he asked, in a husky voice. 
 
 " Your servants ushered me into this room." 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 "What! monsieur, don't you recognise me?" rejoined Pascal, who in his 
 agitation forgot that the baron had seen him only twice before. He forgot the 
 absence of his beard, his almost ragged clothing, and all the precautions he 
 had taken to render recognition impossible. 
 
 " I have never met any person named Maumejan," said the baron. 
 
 " Ah ! monsieur, that's not my name. Have you forgotten the innocent 
 man who was caught in that infamous snare set for him by the Viscount de 
 Coralth ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes," replied the baron, "I remember you now." And then 
 recollecting the terrible scene that had just taken place in the adjoining 
 room : " How long have you been here ? " he asked. 
 
 Should Pascal tell a falsehood, or confess the truth? He hesitated, 
 but his hesitation lasted scarcely the tenth part of a second. " I have 
 been here about half an hour," he replied. 
 
 The baron's livid cheeks suddenly became purple, his eyes glittered, and 
 it seemed by his threatening gesture as if he were strongly tempted to 
 murder this man, who had discovered the terrible, disgraceful secrets of his 
 domestic life. But it was a mere flash of energy. The terrible ordeal which 
 he had just passed through had exhausted him mentally and physically, and 
 it was in a faltering voice that he resumed : "Then you have not lost a word 
 a word of what was said in the other room ? " 
 
 "Not a word." 
 
 The baron sank on to the divan. "So the knowledge of my disgrace is 
 no longer confined to myself!" he exclaimed. "A stranger's eye has 
 penetrated the depths of misery I have fallen into ! The secret of my 
 wretchedness and shame is mine no longer ! " 
 
20 the count's millions. 
 
 "Oh, monsieur, monsieur ! " interrupted Pascal. "Before I recross the 
 threshold of your home, all shall have been forgotten. I swear it by all 
 that is most sacred ! " 
 
 He had raised his hand as if to take a solemn oath, when the baron caught 
 hold of it, and, pressing it with sorrowful gratitude, exclaimed: "I 
 believe you ! You are a man of honour I only needed to see your home 
 to ue convinced of that. You will not laugh at my misfortunes or my 
 misery ! " He must have been suffering frightfully, for big tears rolled 
 slowly down his cheeks. " What have I done, my God ! that I should 
 be so cruelly punished ? " he continued. " I have always been generous and 
 charitable, and ready to help all who applied to me. I am utterly alone ! 
 I have a wife and a daughter but they hate me. They long for my death, 
 which would give them possession of my wealth. What torture ! For 
 months together I dared not eat a morsel of food, either in my own house, 
 or in the house of my son-in-law. I feared poison ; and I never partook of 
 a dish until I had seen my daughter or my wife do so. To prevent a crime, 
 I was obliged, to resort to the strangest expedients. I made a will, and 
 left my property in such a way that if I die, my family will not receive one 
 penny. So, they now have an interest in prolonging my life." As he 
 spoke he sprang up with an almost frenzied air, and, seizing Pascal by the 
 arm, again continued. ' ' Nor is this all ! This woman my wife you 
 know you have heard the extent of her shame and degradation. Ah well! 
 I love her ! " 
 
 Pascal recoiled with an exclamation of mingled horror and consternation. 
 
 " This amazes you, eh ? " rejoined the baron. "It is indeed incompre- 
 hensible, monstrous but it is the truth. It is to gratify her desire for 
 luxury that I have toiled to amass millions. If I purchased a title, 
 which is absurd and ridiculous, it was only because I wished to satisfy her 
 vanity. Do what she may, I can only see in her the chaste and beautiful 
 wife of our early married life. It is cowardly, absurd, ridiculous I realise 
 it ; but my love is stronger than my reason or my will. I love her madly, 
 passionately ; I cannot tear her from my heart ! " 
 
 So speaking, he sank sobbing on to the divan again. Was this, indeed, 
 the frivolous and jovial Baron Trigault whom Pascal had seen at Madame 
 d'Argeles' house the man of self-satisfied mien and superb assurance, the 
 good-natured cynic, the frequenter of gambling-dens ? Alas, yes ! But 
 the baron whom the world knew was only a comedian ; this was the real 
 man. 
 
 After a little while he succeeded in controlling his emotion, and in a 
 comparatively calm voice he exclaimed: "But it is useless to distract 
 one's mind with an incurable evil. Let us speak of yourself, M. Ferailleur. 
 To what do I owe the honour of this visit ? " 
 
 " To your own kind offer, monsieur, and the hope that you will help me 
 in refuting this slander, and wreaking vengeance upon those who have 
 ruined me." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I will help you in that to the full extent of my power," ex- 
 claimed the baron. But experience reminded him that confidential dis- 
 closures ought not to be made with the doors open, so he rose, shut them, 
 and returning to Pascal, said : "Explain in what way I can be of service 
 to you, monsieur ? " 
 
 It was not without many misgivings that Pascal had presented himself at 
 the baron's house, but after what he had heard he felt no further hesita- 
 tion ; he could speak with perfect freedom. "It is quite unnecessary for 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 21 
 
 me to tell you, Monsieur le Baron," he began, "that the cards which made 
 me win were inserted in the pack by M. de Coralth that is proven beyond 
 question, and whatever the consequences may be, I shall have my revenge. 
 But before striking him, I wish to reach the man whose instrument 
 he was." 
 
 "What ! you suppose " 
 
 "I don't suppose I am sure that M. de Coralth acted in obedience to 
 the instructions of some other scoundrel whose courage does not equal his 
 meanness." 
 
 " Perhaps so ! I think he would shrink from nothing in the way of 
 rascality. But who could have employed him in this vile work of dis- 
 honouring an honest man ? " 
 
 " The Marquis de Valorsay." 
 
 On hearing this name, the baron bounded to his feet. " Impossible ! " he 
 exclaimed; "absolutely impossible! M. de Valorsay is incapable of the 
 villainy you ascribe to him. What do I say ? he is even above suspicion. 
 I have known him for years, and I have never met a more loyal, more 
 honourable, or more courageous man. He is one of my few trusted friends ; 
 we see each other almost every day. I am expecting a visit from him even 
 now." 
 
 " Still it was he who incited M. de Coralth to do the deed." 
 
 " But why ? What could have been his object ? " 
 
 " To win a young girl whom I love. She loved me, and he saw that I 
 was an obstacle. He put me out of the way more surely than if he had 
 murdered me. If I died, she might mourn for me dishonoured, she would 
 spurn me " 
 
 "Is Valorsay so madly in love with the girl, then ? " 
 
 " I think he cares but very little for her." 
 
 " Then why" 
 
 " She is the heiress of several millions." 
 
 It was evident that this explanation did not shake Baron Trigault's faith 
 in his friend. ' ' But the marquis has an income of a hundred and fifty or 
 two hundred thousand francs," said he, "that is an all-sufficient justifica- 
 tion. With his fortune and his name, he is in a position to choose his wife 
 from among all the heiresses of France. Why should he address his atten- 
 tions in particular to the woman you love ? Ah ! if he were poor if his 
 fortune were impared if he felt the need of re-gilding his escutcheon, like 
 my son-in-law 
 
 He paused ; there was a rap at the door. The baron called out : " Come 
 in," and a valet appeared, and informed his master that the Marquis de 
 Valorsay wished to speak with him. 
 
 It was the enemy ! Pascal's features were distorted with rage ; but he 
 did not stir he did not utter a word. ' ' Ask the marquis into the next 
 room," said the baron. "I will join him there at once." Then as the 
 servant retired, the baron turned to Pascal and said : "Well, M. Ferail- 
 leur. do you divine my intentions ? " 
 
 " I think so, monsieur. You probably intend me to hear the conversa- 
 tion you are going to have with M. de Valorsay." 
 
 " Exactly. I shall leave the door open, and you can listen." 
 
 This word, " listen," was uttered without bitterness, or even reproach ; 
 and yet Pascal could not help blushing and hanging his head. " I wish to 
 prove to you, that your suspicions are without foundation," pursued the 
 baron. " Rest assured that I shall prove this conclusively. I will conduct 
 
22 the count's millions. 
 
 the conversation in the form of a cross-examination, and after the marquis's 
 departure, you will be obliged to confess that you were wrong." 
 
 " Or you, that I am right ? " 
 
 " So be it. Any one is liable to be mistaken, and I am not obstinate." 
 
 He was about to leave the room, when Pascal detained him. ' ' I scarcely 
 know how to testify my gratitude even now, monsieur, and yet if I dared 
 if I did not fear to abuse your kindness, I should ask one more favour." 
 
 " Speak, Monsieur Ferailleur." 
 
 * ' It is this, I do not know the Marquis de Valorsay ; and if, instead of 
 leaving the door wide open, you would partially close it, I should hear as 
 distinctly, and I could also see him." 
 
 "Agreed," replied the baron. And, opening the door, he passed into 
 the dining-room, with his right hand cordially extended, and saying, in his 
 most genial tones, " Excuse me, my dear friend, for keeping you waiting. 
 I received your letter this morning, and I was expecting you, but some un- 
 expected business required my attention just now. Are you quite well ? " 
 
 As the baron entered the room, the marquis had stepped quickly forward 
 to meet him. Either he was inspired with fresh hope, or else he had wonder- 
 ful powers of self-control, for never had he looked more calm never had 
 his face evinced haughtier indifference, more complete satisfaction with 
 himself, and greater contempt for others. He was dressed with even more 
 than usual care, and in perfect taste as well ; moreover, his valet had sur- 
 passed himself in dressing his hair for one would have sworn that his locks 
 were still luxuriant. If he experienced any secret anxiety, it only showed 
 itself in a slightly increased stiffness of his right leg the limb broken in 
 hunting. " I ought rather to inquire concerning your own health," he re- 
 marked. "You seem greatly disturbed; your cravat is untied." And, 
 pointing to the broken china scattered about the floor, he added : " On 
 seeing this, I asked myself if an accident had not happened." 
 
 "The baroness was taken suddenly ill at the breakfast-table. Her 
 fainting fit startled me a little. But it was a mere trifle. She has quite 
 recovered already, and you may rely upon her applauding your victory at 
 Vincennes to-day. She has I don't know how many hundred louis staked 
 upon your horses." 
 
 The marquis's countenance assumed an expression of cordial regret. "I 
 am very sorry, upon my word ! " he exclaimed. " But I sha'n't take part 
 in the races at Vincennes. I have withdrawn my horses. And, in future, 
 I shall have nothing to do with racing." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " 
 
 " It is the truth, however. I have been led to this determination by the 
 infamous slander which has been circulated respecting me." 
 
 This answer was a mere trifle, but it somewhat shook Baron Trigault's 
 confidence. " You have been slandered I " he muttered. 
 
 "Abominably. Last Sunday the best horse in my stables, Domingo, 
 came in third. He was the favourite in the ring. You can understand 
 the rest. I have been accused of manoeuvring to have my own horse 
 beaten. People have declared that it was my interest he should be beaten, 
 and that I had an understanding with my jockey to that effect. This is an 
 every-day occurrence, I know very well j but, as regards myself, it is none 
 the less an infamous lie 1 " 
 
 " Who has dared to circulate such a report ? " 
 
 "Oh, how can I tell? It is a fact, however, that the story has been 
 circulated everywhere, but in such a cautious manner that there is no way 
 
23 
 
 of calling the authors to account. They have even gone so far as to say 
 that this piece of knavery brought me in an enormous sum, and that I used 
 Rochecotte's, Kervaulieu's, and Coralth's names in betting against my own 
 horse." 
 
 The baron's agitation was so great that M. de Valorsay observed it, 
 though he did not understand the cause. Living in the same society with 
 the Baroness Trigault, and knowing her story, he thought that Coralth's 
 name might, perhaps, have irritated the baron. "And so," he quickly con- 
 tinued, "don't be surprised if, during the coming week, you see the sale of 
 my horses announced." 
 
 "What ! you are going to sell " 
 
 "All my horses yes, baron. I have nineteen; and it will be very 
 strange if I don't get eight or ten thousand louis for the lot. Domingo 
 alone is worth more than forty thousand francs." 
 
 To talk of selling of realizing something you possess rings ominously 
 in people's ears. The person who talks of selling proclaims his need of 
 money and often his approaching ruin. "It will save you at least a 
 hundred and fifty or sixty thousand francs a year," observed the baron. 
 
 " Double it and you won't come up to the mark. Ah ! my dear baron, 
 you have yet to learn that there is nothing so ruinous as a racing stable. 
 It's worse than gambling ; and women, in comparison, are a real economy. 
 Ninette costs me less than Domingo, with his jockey, his trainer, and his 
 grooms. My manager declares that the twenty-three thousand francs I 
 won last year, cost me at least fifty thousand." 
 
 Was he boasting, or was he speaking the truth ? The baron was engaged 
 in a rapid calculation. "What does Valorsay spend a year?" he was 
 saying to himself. " Let us say two hundred and fifty thousand francs for 
 his stable ; forty thousand francs for Ninette Simplon ; eighty thousand 
 for his household expenses, and at least thirty thousand for personal 
 matters, travelling, and play. All this amounts to something like four 
 hundred and thirty thousand francs a year. Does his income equal that 
 sum ? Certainly not. Then he must have been living on the principal 
 he is ruined." 
 
 Meanwhile the marquis gaily continued : " You see I'm going to make a 
 change in my mode of life. Ah ! it surprises you ! But one must make an 
 end of it, sooner or later. I begin to find a bachelor life not so very pleasant 
 after all ; there is rheumatism in prospect, and my digestion is becoming 
 impaired in short, I feel that it is time for marriage, baron ; and I am 
 about to marry." 
 
 "You!" 
 
 " Yes, I. What, haven't you heard of it, yet ? It has been talked of at 
 the club for three days or more." 
 
 " No, this is the first intimation I have received of it. It is true, how- 
 ever, that I have not been to the club for three days. I have made a wager 
 with Kami-Bey, you know that rich Turk and as our sittings are eight 
 or ten hours long, we play in his apartments at the Grand Hotel. And so 
 you are to be married," the baron continued, after a slight pause. "Ah, 
 well ! I know one person who won't be pleased." 
 
 "Who, pray?" 
 
 "Ninette Simplon." 
 
 M. de Valorsay laughed heartily. " As if that would make any difference 
 to me ! " he exclaimed. And then in a most confidential manner he 
 resumed : ' She will soon be consoled. Ninette Simplon is a shrewd girl 
 
24 the count's millions. 
 
 a girl whom I have always suspected of having an account book in place 
 of a heart. I know she has at least three hundred thousand francs safely- 
 invested ; her furniture and diamonds are worth as much more. Why 
 should she regret me ? Add to this that I have promised her fifty thousand 
 francs to dry her tears with on my wedding-day, and you will understand 
 that she really longs to see me married." 
 
 " I understand," replied the baron; "Ninette Simplon won't trouble 
 you. But I can't understand why you should talk of economy on the eve 
 of a marriage which will no doubt double your fortune ; for I'm sure you 
 won't surrender your liberty without good and substantial reasons." 
 
 " You are mistaken." 
 
 " How mistaken ? " 
 
 " Well, I won't hesitate to confess to you, my dear baron, that the girl 
 I am about to marry hasn't a penny of her own. My future wife has no 
 dowry save her black eyes but they are certainly superb ones." 
 
 This assertion seemed to disprove Pascal's statements. "Can it really 
 be you who are talking in this strain ? " cried the baron. " You, a practical 
 worldly man, give way to such a burst of sentiment?" 
 
 "Well, yes." 
 
 The baron opened his eyes in astonishment. u Ah ! then you adore your 
 future bride ! " 
 
 "Adore only feebly expresses my feelings." 
 
 " I must be dreaming." 
 
 Valorsay shrugged his shoulders with the air of a man who has made up 
 his mind to accept the banter of his friends ; and in a tone of mingled 
 sentimentality and irony, he said : "I know that it's absurd, and that I 
 shall be the laughing stock of my acquaintances. Still it doesn't matter ; 
 I have never been coward enough to hide my feelings. I'm in love, my 
 dear baron, as madly in love as a young collegian sufficiently in love to 
 watch my lady's house at night even when I have no possible hope of seeing 
 her. I thought myself blast, I boasted of being invulnerable. Well, one 
 fine morning, I woke up with the heart of a youth of twenty beating in my 
 breast a heart which trembled at the slightest glance from the girl I love, 
 and sent purple flushes to my face. Naturally I tried to reason with my- 
 self. I was ashamed of my weakness ; but the more clearly I showed my- 
 self my folly, the more obstinate my heart became. And perhaps my folly 
 is not such a great one after all. Such perfect beauty united with such 
 modesty, grace, and nobility of soul, such passion, candour, and talent, 
 cannot be met twice in a lifetime. I intend to leave Paris. We shall first 
 of all go to Italy, my wife and I. After a while we shall return and install 
 ourselves at Valorsay, like two turtle-doves. Upon my word, my imagina- 
 tion paints a charming picture of the calm and happy life we shall lead 
 there ! I don't deserve such good fortune. I must have been born under 
 a lucky star ! " 
 
 Had he been less engrossed in his narrative, he would have heard the 
 sound of a stifled oath in the adjoining room ; and had he been less 
 absorbed in the part he was playing, he would have observed a cloud on 
 his companion's brow. The baron was a keen observer, and he had de- 
 tected a false ring in this apparently vehement outburst of passion. " I 
 understand it now, my dear marquis," said he ; " you have met the descend- 
 ant of some illustrious but impoverished family." 
 
 " You are wrong. My future bride has no other name than her Christian 
 name of Marguerite." 
 
the count's millions. 25 
 
 " It is a regular romance then ! " 
 
 " You are quite right ; it is a romance. Were you acquainted with the 
 Count de Chalusse, who died a few days ago? " 
 
 "No ; but I have often heard him spoken of." 
 
 " Well, it is his daughter whom I am about to marry his illegitimate 
 daughter." 
 
 The baron started. "Excuse me," said he; "M. de Chalusse was im- 
 mensly rich, and he was a bachelor. How does it happen then that his 
 daughter, even though she be his illegitimate child, should find herself 
 penniless ? " 
 
 "A mere chance a fatality. M. de Chalusse died very suddenly ; he 
 had no time to make a will or to acknowledge his daughter." 
 
 " But why had he not taken some precautions ? " 
 
 " A formal recognition of his daughter was attended by too many diffi- 
 culties, and even dangers. Mademoiselle Marguerite had been abandoned 
 by her mother when only five or six months old ; it is only a few years 
 since M. de Chalusse, after a thousand vain attempts, at last succeeded in 
 finding her." 
 
 It was no longer on Pascal's account, but on his own, that Baron Trigault 
 listened with breathless attention. "How very strange," he exclaimed, in 
 default of something better to say. ' How very strange ! " 
 
 " Isn't it ? It is as good as a novel." 
 
 " Would it be indiscreet " 
 
 "To inquire? Certainly not. The count told me the whole story, 
 without entering into particulars you understand. When he was quite 
 young, M. de Chalusse became enamoured of a charming young lady, whose 
 husband had gone to tempt fortune in America. Being an honest woman, 
 she resisted the count's advances for awhile a very little while ; but in less 
 than a year after her husband's departure, she gave birth to a pretty little 
 daughter, Mademoiselle Marguerite. But then why had the husband gone 
 to America ? " 
 
 " Yes," faltered the baron ; " why why, indeed ? " 
 
 11 Everything was progressing finely, when M. de Chalusse, was in his 
 turn obliged to start for Germany, having been informed that a sister of 
 his, who had fled from the paternal roof with nobody knows who, had 
 been seen there. He had been absent some four months or so, when one 
 morning the post brought him a letter from his pretty mistress, who wrote : 
 I We are lost ! My husband is at Marseilles : he will be here to-morrow. 
 Never attempt to see me again. Fear everything from him. Farewell.' 
 On receiving this letter, M. de Chalusse flung himself into a post chaise, 
 and returned to Paris. He was determined, absolutely determined, to 
 have his daughter. ' But he arrived too late. On hearing of her husband's 
 return, the young wife had lost her head. She had but one thought to 
 conceal her fault, at any cost ; and one night, being completely disguised, 
 she left her child on a doorstep in the vicinity of the central markets " 
 
 The marquis suddenly paused in his story to exclaim, " Why, what is the 
 matter with you, my dear baron ? What is the matter ? Are you ill ? 
 Shall I ring ? " 
 
 The baron was as pale as if the last drop of blood had been drawn from 
 his veins, and there were dark purple circles about his eyes. Still, on 
 being questioned, he managed to answer in a choked voice, but not without 
 a terrible effort : "Nothing ! It is nothing. A mere trifle ! It will be 
 over in a moment. It is over ! " Still his limbs trembled so much that he 
 
26 
 
 could not stand, and he sank on to a chair, murmuring : " I entreat you, 
 marquis continue. It is very interesting very interesting indeed." 
 
 M. de Valorsay resumed his narrative. " The husband was incontestably 
 an artless fellow ; but he was also, it appears, a man of remarkable energy 
 and determination. Having somehow ascertained that his wife had given 
 birth to a child in his absence, he moved heaven and earth not only to dis- 
 cover the child, but its father also. He had sworn to kill them both ; and 
 he was a man to keep his vow unmoved by a thought of the guillotine. 
 And if you require a proof of his strength of character, here it is. He said 
 nothing to his wife on the subject, he did not utter a single reproach ; he 
 treated her exactly as he had done before his absence. But he watched 
 her, or employed others to watch her, both day and night, convinced that 
 she would finally commit some act of imprudence which would give him 
 the clue he wanted. Fortunately, she was very shrewd. She soon dis- 
 covered that her husband knew everything, and she warned M. de Chalusse, 
 thus saving his life." 
 
 It is not at all remarkable that the Marquis de Valorsay should have failed 
 to see any connection between his narrative and the baron's agitation. 
 What possible connection could there be between opulent Baron Trigault 
 and the poor devil who went to seek his fortune in America ? What im- 
 aginable connection could there be between the confirmed gambler, who 
 was Kami-Bey's companion, Lia d'Argeles' friend, and the husband who 
 for ten long years had pursued the man who, by seducing his wife, had 
 robbed him of all the happiness of life ? Another point that would have 
 dispelled any suspicions on the marquis's part was that he had found the 
 baron greatly agitated on arriving, and that he now seemed to be gradually 
 regaining his composure. So he continued his story in his customary light, 
 mocking tone. It is the perfection of good taste and high breeding " proper 
 form," indeed, not to be astonished or moved by anything, in fact to 
 sneer at everything, and hold one's self quite above the emotions which 
 disturb the minds of plebeians. 
 
 Thus the marquis continued : " I am necessarily compelled to omit many 
 particulars, my dear baron. The count was not very explicit when he 
 reached this part of his story ; but, in spite of his reticence, I learned that 
 he had been tricked in his turn, that certain papers had been stolen from 
 him, and that he had been defrauded in many ways by his inamorata. 
 I also know that M. de Chalusse's whole'life was haunted by the thought of 
 the husband he had wronged. He felt a presentiment that he would die by 
 this man's hand. He saw danger on every side. If he went out alone in 
 the evening, which was an exceedingly rare occurrence, he turned the 
 street corners with infinite caution ; it seemed to him that he could always 
 see the gleam of a poniard or a pistol in the shade. I should never have 
 believed in this constant terror on the part of a really brave man, if he had 
 not confessed it to me with his own lips. Ten or twelve years passed 
 before he dared to make the slightest attempt to find his daughter, so 
 much did he fear to arouse his enemy's attention. It was not until he had 
 discovered that the husband had become discouraged and had discontinued 
 his search, that the count began his. It was a long and arduous one, but 
 at last it succeeded, thanks to the assistance of a clever scoundrel named 
 Fortunat. " 
 
 The baron with difficulty repressed a movement of eager curiosity, and 
 remarked. " What a peculiar name ! " 
 
 ' ' And his first name is Isidore. Ah ! he's a smooth-tongued scoundrel, a 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 27 
 
 rascal of the most dangerous kind, who richly deserves to be in jail. How 
 it is that he is allowed to prosecute his dishonourable calling I can't under- 
 stand ; but it is none the less true that he does follow it, and without the 
 slightest attempt at concealment, at an office he has on the Place de la 
 Bourse." 
 
 This name and address were engraved upon the baron's memory, never 
 to be effaced. 
 
 "However," resumed M. deValorsay, "the poor count was fated to have no 
 peace. The husband had scarcely ceased to torment him, he had scarcely 
 begun to breathe freely, when the wife attacked him in her turn. She 
 must have been one of those vile and despicable women who make a man 
 hate the entire sex. Pretending that the count had turned her from the 
 path of duty, and destroyed her life and happiness, she lost no opportunity 
 of tormenting him. She would not allow M. de Chalusse to keep the child 
 with him, nor would she consent to his adopting the girl. She declared it 
 an act of imprudence, which would surely set her husband upon the track, 
 sooner or later. And when the count announced his intention of legally 
 adopting the child, in spite of her protests, she declared that, rather than 
 allow it, she would confess everything to her husband. " 
 
 "The count was a patient man," sneered the baron. 
 
 "Not so patient as you may suppose. His submission was due to some 
 secret cause which he never confided to me. There must have been some 
 great crime under all this. In any case, the poor count found it impossible 
 to escape this terrible woman. He took refuge at Cannes ; but she 
 followed him. He travelled through Italy, for 1 don't know how many 
 months under an assumed name, but all in vain. He was at last compelled 
 to conceal his daughter in some provincial convent. During the last few 
 months of his life he obtained peace that is to say, he bought it. This 
 lady's husband must either be very poor or exceedingly stingy ; and as she 
 was exceedingly fond of luxury, M. de Chalusse effected a compromise by 
 giving her a large sum monthly, and also by paying her dressmaker's 
 bills." 
 
 The baron sprang to his feet with a passionate exclamation. " The vile 
 wretch ! " he said. 
 
 But he quickly reseated himself, and the exclamation astonished M. de 
 Valorsay so little that he quietly concluded by saying : " And this is the 
 reason, baron, why my beloved Marguerite, the future Marquise de Valor- 
 say, has no dowry." 
 
 The baron cast a look of positive anguish at the door of the smoking-room. 
 He had heard a slight movement there ; and he trembled with fear lest 
 Pascal, maddened with anger and jealousy, should rush in and throw him- 
 self upon the marquis. Plainly enough, this perilous situation could not 
 last much longer. The baron's own powers of self-control and dissimula- 
 tion were almost exhausted, and so postponing until another time the many 
 questions he still wished to ask M. de Valorsay, he made haste to check 
 these confidential disclosures. " Upon my word," he exclaimed, with a 
 forced laugh, " I was expecting something quite different. This affair be- 
 gins like a genuine romance, and ends, as everything ends now-a-days, in 
 money 1 " 
 
28 THE count's millions. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As a millionaire and a gambler, Baron Trigauit enjoyed all sorts of 
 privileges. He assumed the right to be brutal, ill-bred, cynical and bold ; 
 to be one of those persons who declare that folks must take them as they 
 find them. But his rudeness now was so thoroughly offensive that under 
 any other circumstances the marquis would have resented it. However, 
 he had special reasons for preserving his temper, so he decided to laugh. 
 
 " Yes, these stories always end in the same way, baron," said he. 
 "You haven't touched a card this morning, and I know your hands are 
 itching. Excuse me for making you waste precious time, as you say ; but 
 what you have just heard was only a necessary preface." 
 
 " Only a preface? " 
 
 "Yes; but don't be discouraged. I have arrived at the object of my 
 visit now." 
 
 As Baron Trigauit was supposed to enjoy an income of at least eight 
 hundred thousand francs a year, he received in the course of a twelvemonth 
 at least a million applications for money or help, and for this reason he 
 had not an equal for detecting a coming appeal. ' ' Good heavens ! " he 
 thought, " Valorsay is going to ask me for money." In fact he felt certain 
 that the marquis's pretended carelessness concealed real embarrassment, 
 and that it was difficult for him to find the words he wanted. 
 
 " So I am about to marry," M. de Valorsay resumed " I wish to break 
 off my former life, to turn over a new leaf. And now the wedding gifts, 
 the two fetes that I propose giving, the repairs at Valorsay, and the honey- 
 moon with my wife all these things will cost a nice little sum. " 
 
 " A nice little sum, indeed ! " 
 
 " Ah, well ! as I'm not going to wed an heiress, I fear I shall run a trifle 
 short. The matter was worrying me a little, when I thought of you. I 
 said to myself : ' The baron, who always has money at his disposal, will no 
 doubt let me have the use of five thousand louis for a year.'" 
 
 The baron's eyes were fixed upon his companion's face. " Zounds ! " he 
 exclaimed in a half-grieved, half-petulant tone : " I haven't the amount ! " 
 
 It was not disappointment that showed itself on the marquis's face ; it 
 was absolute despair, quickly concealed. 
 
 But the baron had detected it ; and he realised his applicant's urgent need. 
 He felt certain that M. de Valorsay was financially ruined and yet, as it 
 did not suit his plans to refuse, he hastily added : " When I say I haven't 
 that amount, I mean that I haven't got it on hand just at this moment. 
 But I shall have it within forty-eight hours ; and if you are at home at this 
 time on the day after to-morrow, I will send you one of my agents, who 
 will arrange the matter with you. " 
 
 A moment before, the marquis had allowed his consternation to show 
 itself ; but this time he knew how to conceal the joy that filled his soul. 
 So it was in the most indifferent manner, as if the affair were one of trivial 
 importance, that he thanked the baron for being so obliging. Plainly 
 enough, he now longed to make his escape, and indeed, after rattling off a 
 few commonplace remarks, he rose to his feet and took his leave, ex- 
 claiming : " Till the day after to-morrow, then ! " 
 The baron sank into an arm-chair completely overcome. A martyr to a 
 
the count's millions. 29 
 
 passion that was stronger than reason itself, the victim of a fatal love which 
 he had not been able to drive from his heart, Baron Trigault had passed 
 many terrible hours, but never had he been so completely crushed as at 
 this moment when chance revealed the secret which he had vainly pursued 
 for years. The old wounds in his heart opened afresh, and his sufferings 
 were poignant beyond description. All his efforts to save this woman whom 
 he at once loved and hated from the depths of degradation, had proved 
 unavailing. " And she has extorted money from the Count de Chalusse," 
 he thought ; " she sold him the right to adopt their own daughter." And 
 so strange are the workings of the human heart, that this circumstance, 
 trivial in comparison with many others, drove the unfortunate baron almost 
 frantic with rage. What did it avail him that he had become one of the 
 richest men in Paris ? He allowed his wife eight thousand francs a month, 
 almost one hundred thousand francs a year, merely for her dresses and 
 fancies. Not a quarter-day passed, but what he paid her debts to a large 
 amount, and in spite of all this, she had sunk so low as to extort money 
 from a man who had once loved her. "What can she do with it all?" 
 muttered the baron, overcome with sorrow and indignation. " How can 
 she succeed in spending the income of several millions ? " 
 
 A name, the name of Ferdinand de Coralth, rose to his lips ; but he did 
 not pronounce it. He saw Pascal emerging from the smoking-room ; and 
 though he had forgotten the young advocate's very existence, his appear- 
 ance now restored him to a consciousness of reality. "Ah, well! M. 
 Ferailleur ? " he said, like a man suddenly aroused from some terrible night- 
 mare. Pascal tried to make some reply, but he was unable to do so such 
 a flood of incoherent thoughts was seething and foaming in his brain. 
 Did you hear, M. de Valorsay ? " continued the baron. " Now we know, 
 beyond the possibility of doubt, who Mademoiselle Marguerite's mother is. 
 What is to be done ? What would you do in my place ? 
 
 v ' Ah, monsieur ! how can I tell ? " 
 
 ' Wouldn't your first thought be of vengeance ! It is mine. But upon 
 whom can I wreak my vengeance ? Upon the Count de Chalusse ? He is 
 dead. Upon my wife ? Yes, I might do so ; but I lack the courage 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite remains. " 
 
 " But she is innocent, monsieur ; she has never wronged you." 
 
 The baron did not seem to hear this exclamation. "And to make 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite's life one long misery," said he, "I need only 
 favour her marriage with the marquis. Ah, he would make her cruelly 
 expiate the crime of her birth." 
 
 "But you won't do so !" cried Pascal, in a transport, "it would be 
 shameful ; I won't allow it. Never, I swear before high Heaven ! never, 
 while I live, shall Valorsay marry Marguerite. He may perhaps vanquish 
 me in the coming struggle ; he may lead her to the threshold of the 
 church, but there he will find me armed and I will have justice human 
 justice in default of legal satisfaction. And, afterwards, the law may take 
 its course ! " 
 
 The baron looked at him with deep emotion. " Ah, you know what it is 
 to love ! " he exclaimed ; and in a hollow voice, he added : " and thus it 
 was that I loved Marguerite's mother." 
 
 The breakfast table had not been cleared, and a large decanter of water 
 was still standing on it. The baron poured out two large glasses, which he 
 drained with feverish avidity, and then he began to walk aimlessly about 
 the room. 
 
30 the count's millions. 
 
 Pascal held his peace. It seemed to him that his own destiny was being 
 decided in this man's mind, that his whole future depended upon the 
 determination he arrived at. A prisoner awaiting the verdict of the jury 
 could not have suffered more intense anxiety. At last, when a minute, 
 which seemed a century, had elapsed, the baron paused. " Now as before, 
 M. Ferailleur," he said, roughly, "I'm for you and with you. Give me 
 your hand that's right. Honest people ought to protect and assist one 
 another when scoundrels assail them. We will reinstate you in public 
 esteem, monsieur. We will unmask Coralth, and we will crush Valorsay 
 if we find that he is really the instigator of the infamous plot that ruined 
 you." 
 
 " What, monsieur ! Can you doubt it after your conversation with him? " 
 
 The baron shook his head. " I've no doubt but what Valorsay is ruined 
 financially," said he. "I am certain that my hundred thousand francs 
 will be lost forever if I lend them to him. I would be willing to swear that 
 he bet against his own horse and prevented the animal from winning, as he 
 is accused of doing." 
 
 "You must see, then " 
 
 1 Excuse me all this does not explain the great discrepancy between 
 your allegations and his story. You assure me that he cares nothing what- 
 ever for Mademoiselle Marguerite ; he pretends that he adores her." 
 
 " Yes, monsieur, yes the scoundrel dared to say so. Ah ! if I had not 
 been deterred by a fear of losing my revenge 1 " 
 
 1 ' I understand ; but allow me to conclude. According to you, Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite possesses several millions. According to him, she 
 hasn't a penny of her own. Which is right ? I believe he is. His desire 
 to borrow a hundred thousand francs of me proves it ; and, besides, he 
 wouldn't have come this morning to tell me a falsehood, which would be 
 discovered to-morrow. Still, if he is telling the truth, it is impossible to 
 explain the foul conspiracy you have suffered by." 
 
 This objection had previously presented itself to Pascal's mind, and he 
 had found an explanation which seemed to hiin a plausible one. ' M. de 
 Chalusse was not dead," said he, " whenM. de Coralth and M. de Valorsay 
 decided on this plan of ridding themselves of me. Consequently, Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite was still an heiress. " 
 
 "That's true ; but the very day after the commission of the crime, the 
 accomplices must have discovered that it could do them no good ; so, why 
 have they still persisted in their scheme ? " 
 
 Pascal tried to find a satisfactory answer, but failed. 
 
 " There must be some iniquitous mystery in this affair, which neither 
 you nor I suspect," remarked the baron. 
 
 " That is exactly what my mother told me." 
 
 " Ah ! that's Madame Ferailleur's opinion ? Then it is a good one. 
 Come, let us reason a little. Mademoiselle Marguerite loved you, you 
 say ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And she has suddenly broken off the engagement ? " 
 
 " She wrote to me that the Count de Chalusse extorted from her a pro- 
 mise on his death bed, that she would marry the Marquis de Valorsay. 
 
 The baron sprang to his feet. "Stop," he cried "stop! We now 
 have a clue to the truth perhaps. Ah ! so Mademoiselle Marguerite has 
 written to you that M. de Chalusse commanded her to marry the marquis ! 
 Then the count must have been fully restored to consciousness before he 
 
31 
 
 breathed his last. On the other hand, Valorsay pretends that Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite is left without resources, simply because the count died too 
 suddenly to be able to write or to sign a couple of lines. Can you reconcile 
 these two versions of the affair, M. Ferailleur? Certainly not. Then 
 which version is false? We must ascertain that point. When shall you 
 see Mademoiselle Marguerite again ? " 
 
 " She has requested me never to try to see her again." 
 " Very well ! She must be disobeyed. You must discover some way of 
 seeing her without anyone's knowledge. She is undoubtedly watched, so 
 don't write on any account." He reflected for a moment, and then added : 
 " We shall, perhaps, become morally certain of Valorsay 's and Coralth's 
 guilt, but there's a wide difference between this and the establishment of 
 their guilt by material proofs. Two scoundrels who league to ruin an hon- 
 est man don't sign a contract to that effect before a notary. Proofs ! Ah ! 
 where shall we find them? We must gain an intimate knowledge of 
 Valorsay's private life. The best plan would be to find some man devoted 
 to our interests who would watch him, and insinuate himself into his con- 
 fidence." 
 
 Pascal interrupted the baron with an eager gesture. Hope glittered in 
 his eyes. "Yes ! " he exclaimed, " yes ; it is necessary that M. de Valor- 
 say should be watched by a man of quick perception a man clever enough 
 to make himself useful to the marquis, and capable of rendering him an im- 
 portant service in case of need. I will be the man, monsieur, if you will 
 allow me. The thought occurred to me just now while I was listening to 
 you. You promised to send some one to Valorsay's house with money. I 
 entreat you to allow me to take the place of the man you intended to send. 
 The marquis doesn't know me, and I am sufficiently sure of myself to 
 promise you that I will not betray my identity. I will present myself as 
 your agent ; he will give me his confidence. I shall take him money or 
 fair promises, I shall be well received, and I have a plan " 
 
 He was interrupted by a rap at the door. The next moment a footman 
 entered, and informed his master that a messenger wished to speak to him 
 on urgent business. " Let him come in," said the baron. 
 
 It was Job, Madame Lia d'Argeles' confidential servant, who entered the 
 room. He bowed respectfully, and, with an air of profound mystery ex- 
 claimed : "I have been looking for the baron everywhere. I was ordered 
 by madame not to return without him." 
 
 " Very well," said M. Trigault. ** I will go with you at once." 
 
 How was it that a clever man like M. Fortunat made such a blunder as 
 to choose a Sunday, and a racing Sunday too, to call on M. Wilkie. His 
 anxiety might explain the mistake, but it did not justify it. He felt cer- 
 tain, that under any other circumstances he would not have been dismissed 
 so cavalierly. He would at least have been allowed to develop his pro- 
 posals and then who knows what might have happened. 
 
 But the races had interfered with his plans. M. Wilkie had been com- 
 pelled to attend to Pompier de Nanterre, that famous steeple -chaser, of 
 which he owned one third part, and he had moreover to give orders to the 
 jockey, whose lord and master he was to an equal extent. These were 
 sacred duties, since Wilkie's share in a race-horse constituted his only claim 
 
32 the count's millions. 
 
 to a footing in fashionable society. But it was a strong claim a claim tfiat 
 justified the display of whips and spurs that decorated his apartments in 
 the Rue du Helder, and allowed him to aspire to the character of a sporting- 
 man. Wilkie really imagined that folks were waiting for him at Vin- 
 cennes ; and that the fete would not be complete without his presence. 
 
 Still, when he presented himself inside the enclosure, a cigar in his mouth, 
 and his racing card dangling from his button-hole, he was obliged to confess 
 that his entrance did not create much of a sensation. An astonishing bit 
 of news had imparted unusual excitement to the ring. People were eagerly 
 discussing the Marquis de Valorsay's sudden determination to pay forfeit 
 and withdraw his horses from the contest ; and the best informed declared 
 that in the betting-rooms the evening before, he had openly announced his 
 intention of selling his racing stable. If the marquis had hoped that by 
 adopting this course he would silence the suspicions which had been aroused, 
 he was doomed to grievous disappointment. The rumour that he had 
 secretly bet against his own horse, Domingo, on the previous Sunday, and 
 that he had given orders not to let the animal win the race, was steadily 
 gaining credence. 
 
 Large sums had been staked on Domingo's success. He had been the 
 favourite in the betting ring and the losers were by no means pleased. 
 Some declared that they had seen the jockey hold Domingo back ; and they 
 insisted that it was necessary to make an example, and disqualify both the 
 marquis and his jockey. Still one weighty circumstance pleaded in M. de 
 Valorsay's favour his fortune, or, at least, the fortune he was supposed to 
 possess. "Why should such a rich man stoop to cheat?" asked his de- 
 fenders. " To put money into one's pocket in this way is even worse than to 
 cheat at cards ! Besides it's impossible ! Valorsay is above such contemp- 
 tible charges. He is a perfect gentleman." 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied the sceptical bystanders. "But people said ex- 
 actly the same of Croisenois, of the Due de H., and Baron P., who were 
 finally convicted of the same rascality that Valorsay is accused of." 
 
 " It's an infamous slander ! If he had been inclined to cheat, he could 
 have easily diverted suspicion. He would have let Domingo come in second, 
 not third ! " 
 
 " If he were not guilty, and afraid of detection, he wouldn't pay forfeit 
 to-day nor sell his horses." 
 
 ; He only retires from the turf because he's going to marry " 
 
 " Nonsense ! That's no reason whatever." 
 
 Like all gamblers, the frequenters of the turf are distrustful and inclined 
 to be quarrelsome. No one is above their suspicions when they lose nor 
 above their wrath when they are duped. And this Domingo affair united 
 all the losers against Valorsay ; they formed a little battalion of enemies 
 who were no doubt powerless for the time being, but who were ready to 
 take a startling revenge whenever a good opportunity presented itself. 
 Naturally enough M. Wilkie sided with the marquis, whom he had heard 
 his friend, M. de Coral th, speak of on several occasions. " Accuse the dear 
 marquis ! " he exclaimed. " It's contemptible, outrageous. Why only 
 last evening he said to me, ' My good friend, Domingo's defeat cost me 
 two thousand louis ! ' " M. de Valorsay had said nothing of the kind, fot 
 the very good reason that he did not even know Wilkie by sight ; still no 
 one paid much heed to the assertion, whereat Wilkie felt vexed, and re- 
 solved to turn his attention to his jockey. 
 
 The latter was a lazy worthless fellow, who had been dismissed from 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 33 
 
 every stable he had previously served in, and who swindled and robbed the 
 young gentlemen who employed him without either limit or shame. Al- 
 though he made them pay him a very high salary something like eight 
 thousand francs a year on the plea that it was most repugnant to his feel- 
 ings to act as a groom, trainer, and jockey at the same time, he regularly 
 every month presented them with fabulous bills from the grain merchant, 
 the veterinary surgeon, and the harness-maker. In addition he regularly 
 sold Pompier's oats in order to obtain liquor, and in fact the poor animal 
 was so nearly starved that he could scarcely stand on his legs. The jockey 
 ascribed the horse's extreme thinness to a system of rigorous training ; and 
 the owners did not question the statement in the least. He had made them 
 believe, and they in turn had made many others believe, that Pompier de 
 Nanterre would certainly win such and such a race ; and, trusting in this 
 fallacious promise, they risked their money on the poor animal and lost it. 
 
 In point of fact this jockey would have been the happiest mortal in the 
 world if such things as steeple- chases had never existed. In the first place 
 he judged, with no little reason, that it was dangerous to leap hurdles on 
 such an animal as Pompier ; and, secondly, nothing irritated him so much 
 as to be obliged to promenade with his three employers in turn. But how 
 could he refuse, since he knew that if these young men hired him, it was 
 chiefly, or only in view of, displaying themselves in his company. It 
 afforded them untold satisfaction to walk to and fro along the course in 
 front of the grand stand, with their jockey in his orange jacket with green 
 sleeves. They were firmly convinced that he reflected enormous credit 
 upon them, and their hearts swelled with joy at the thought of the envy 
 they no doubt inspired. This conviction gave rise indeed to terrible 
 quarrels, in which each of the three owners was wont to accuse the others 
 of monopolizing the jockey. 
 
 On this occasion, M. Wilkie being fortunate enough to arrive the first 
 immediately repaired to Pompier de Nanterre's stall. Never had circum- 
 stances been more favourable for a display of the animal's speed. The day 
 was magnificent ; the stands were crowded, and thousands of eager specta- 
 tors were pushing and jostling one another beyond the ropes which limited 
 the course. M. Wilkie seemed to be everywhere ; he showed himself in a 
 dozen different places at once, always followed by his jockey, whom he or- 
 dered about in a loud voice, with many excited gesticulations. And how 
 great his delight was when, as he passed through the crowd, he heard 
 people exclaim, "That gentleman has a racing stable. His horses are go- 
 ing to compete ! " What bliss thrilled his heart when he overheard tho 
 admiring exclamation of some worthy shopkeeper who was greatly im- 
 pressed by the gay silk jacket and the top-boots ! 
 
 But, unfortunately, this happiness could not last forever. His partners 
 arrived, and claimed the jockey in their turn. So M. Wilkie left the 
 course and strolled about among the carriages, until at last he found an 
 equipage which was occupied by the young ladies who had accepted his in- 
 vitation to supper the evening before, and who were now making a profuse 
 display of the very yellowest hair they possessed. This afforded him an- 
 other opportunity of attracting public attention, and to giving proofs of 
 his " form," for he had not filled the box of his carriage with champagne for 
 nothing. At last the decisive moment came, and he made himself conspic- 
 uous by shouting. . "Now! Now! Here he is! Look! Bravo, Pompier! 
 One hundred on Pompier ! " 
 
 But, alas ! poor Pompier de Nanterre fell exhausted before half the dia 
 vol u B 
 
34 THE COUNTS MILLION . 
 
 tance was accomplished ; and that evening Wilkie described his de,feat, 
 with a profusion of technical terms that inspired the uninitiated with the 
 deepest awe. "What a disaster, my friends," he exclaimed. "Pompier 
 de Nanterre, an incomparable steeple-chaser, to break down in such a 
 fashion ! And beaten by whom ? By Mustapha, an outsider, without any 
 record whatever ! The ring was intensely excited and I was simply 
 crazed I" 
 
 However, his defeat did not affect him very deeply. It was forgotten at 
 thought of the inheritance which his friend Coralth had spoken to him 
 about. And to-morrow M. de Coralth would tell him the secret. He had 
 only twenty hours longer to wait ! " To-morrow ! to-morrow ! " he said to 
 himself again and again, with a thrill of mingled joy and impatience. And 
 what bright visions of future glory haunted him ! He saw himself the 
 possessor of a magnificent stud, of sufficient wealth to gratify every fancy ; 
 he would splash mud upon all the passers-by, and especially upon his 
 former acquaintances, as he dashed past them in his superb equipage ; the 
 best tailor should invent astonishing garments for him ; he would make 
 himself conspicuous at all the first performances in a stage-box, with the 
 most notorious women in Paris ; his fetes would be described in the papers; 
 he would be the continual subject of comment ; he would be credited with 
 splendid, perfect "form." 
 
 It is true that M. de Coralth had promised him all this, without a word 
 of explanation ; but what did that matter ? Should he doubt hi& fnend'b 
 word ? Never ! The viscount was not merely his model but his oracle as 
 well. By the way in which he spoke of him, it might have been supposed 
 that they had been friends from their childhood, or, at least, that they had 
 had known each other for years. Such was not the case, however. Their 
 acquaintance dated only seven or eight months back, and their first meet- 
 ing had apparently been the result of chanje ; though it is needless to say, 
 perhaps, that this chance had been carefully prepared by M. de Coralth. 
 Having discovered Madame Lia d'Argeles' secret, the viscount watched 
 Wilkie, ascertained where he spent his evenings, contrived a way of intro- 
 ducing himself into his society, and on their third meeting was skilful 
 enough to render him a service in other words, to lend him some money. 
 From that moment the conquest was assured ; for M. de Coralth possessed 
 in an eminent degree all the attributes that were likely to dazzle and charm 
 the gifted owner of Pompier de Nanterre. First of all there was his title, 
 then his impudent assurance and his apparent wealth, and last, but by no 
 means least, his numerous and fashionable acquaintances. He was not 
 long in discovering his advantage, and in profiting by it. And without 
 giving M. Wilkie an inkling of the truth, he succeeded in obtaining from 
 him as accurate a knowledge of his past career as the young fellow himself 
 
 M. Wilkie did not know much concerning his origin or his early life ; 
 and his history, so far as he was acquainted with it, could be told in a few 
 words. His earliest recollection was of the ocean. He was sure, perfectly 
 sure, that he had made a very long sea-voyage when only a little child, and he 
 looked upon America as his birth-place. The French language was cer- 
 tainly not the first he had learned, for he still remembered a limited number 
 of English phrases. The English word "father" was among those that 
 lingered in his memory ; and now, after a lapse of twenty years, he pro- 
 nounced it without the least foreign accent. But while he remembered the 
 word perfectly well, no recollection remained to him of the person he had 
 
the count's millions. 35 
 
 Called by that name. His first sensations were those of hunger, weariness, 
 and cold. He recollected, and very distinctly too, how on one long winter 
 night, a woman had dragged him after her through the streets of 
 Paris, in an icy rain. He could still see himself as he wandered on, crying 
 with weariness, and begging for something to eat. And then the poor 
 woman who held him by the hand lifted him in her arms and carried him 
 on on, until her own strength failed, and she was obliged to set him on 
 the ground again. A vague portrait of this woman, who was most probably 
 his mother, still lingered in his memory. According to his description, she 
 was extremely handsome, tall, and very fair. He had been particularly 
 impressed with the pale tint and profusion of her beautiful hair. 
 
 Their poverty had not lasted long. He remembered being installed with 
 his mother in a very handsome suite of rooms. A man who was still young, 
 and whom he called "Monsieur Jacques," came every day, and brought 
 him sweatmeats and playthings. He thought he must have been about 
 four years old at that time. However, he had enjoyed this comfortabla 
 state of things scarcely a month, when one morning a stranger presented 
 himself. The visitor held a long conference with his mother, or, at least, 
 with the person whom he called by that name. He did not understand 
 what they were talking about, but he was none the less very uneasy. The 
 result of the interview must have justified his instinctive fear, for his mother 
 took him on her lap, and embraced him with convulsive tenderness. She 
 sobbed violently, and repeated again and again in a faltering voice : 
 ' ' Poor child ! my beloved Wilkie 1 I shall never kiss you again never 
 never ! \ Alas ! It must be so ! Give me courage, my God ! " 
 
 Those were the exact words ; Wilkie was sure on that point. It seemed to 
 him he could still hear that despairing farewell. For it was indeed a farewell. 
 The stranger took him in his arms and carried him away, in spite of his cries 
 and struggles to escape. This person to whose care he was confided was the 
 master of a small boarding-school, and his wife was the kindest and most 
 patient of women. However, this did not prevent Wilkie from crying 
 and begging for his mother at first ; but gradually he forgot her. He was 
 not unhappy, for he was petted and indulged more than any of the other 
 pupils, and he spent most of his time playing on the terrace or wandering 
 about the garden. But this charming life could not last for ever. 
 According to his calculation, he was just ten years old, when one Sunday, 
 towards the end of October, a grave- looking, red- whiskered gentleman, 
 clad in solemn black with a white necktie, presented himself at the school; 
 and declared that he had been instructed by Wilkie's relatives to place him 
 in a college to continue his education. 
 
 Young Wilkie's lamentations were long and loud ; but they did not pre- 
 vent M. Patterson for that was the gentleman's name from taking him 
 to the college of Louis-the-Great, where he was entered as a boarder. As 
 he did not study, and as he was only endowed with a small amount of 
 intelligence, he learned scarcely anything during the years he remained 
 there. Every Sunday and every fite day, M. Patterson made his appear- 
 ance at ten o'clock precisely, took Wilkie for a walk in Paris or the 
 environs, gave him his breakfast and dinner at some of the best restaurants, 
 bought everything he expressed a desire to have, and at nine o'clock pre- 
 cisely took him back to the college again. During the holidays M. Patter- 
 son kept the boy with him, refusing him nothing in the way of pleasure, 
 granting all his wishes, but never losing sight of him for a moment. And 
 if Wilkie complained of this constant watchfulness, M. Patterson always 
 
36 
 
 replied, " I must obey orders ; " and this answer invariably put an end to 
 the discussion. 
 
 So things went on until it became time for Wilkie to take his degree. 
 He presented himself for examination ; and, of course, he failed. Fortun- 
 ately, however, M. Patterson was not at a loss for an expedient. He 
 placed his charge in a private school ; and the following year, at a cost of 
 five thousand francs, he beguiled a poor devil into running the risk of three 
 years' imprisonment, by assuming M. Wilkie's name, and passing the 
 examination in his place. In possession of the precious diploma which 
 opens the door of every career, M. Wilkie now hoped that his pockets 
 would be filled, and that he would then be set at liberty. But the hope 
 was vain ! M. Patterson placed him in the hands of an old tutor who had 
 been engaged to travel with him through Europe ; and as this tutor held the 
 purse-strings, Wilkie was obliged to follow him through Germany, England, 
 and Italy. 
 
 When he returned to Paris he was just twenty years old, and the very 
 next day M. Patterson conducted him to the suite of rooms which he still 
 occupied in the Rue du Helder. "You are now in your own home, M. 
 Wilkie," said M. Patterson in his most impressive manner. " You are now 
 old enough to be responsible for your own actions, and I hope you will con- 
 duct yourself like an honest man. From this moment you are your own 
 master. Those who gave you your education desire you to study law. 
 If I were in your place, I should obey them. If you wish to be somebody, 
 and to acquire a fortune, work, for you have no property, nor anything to 
 expect from any one. The allowance which is granted you, a far too 
 liberal one in my opinion, may be cut off at any moment. I don't think it 
 right to conceal this fact from you. But at all events until then, I am 
 instructed to pay you five thousand francs quarterly. Here is the amount 
 for the first quarter, and in three months' time I shall send you a similar 
 amount. I say 'shall send,' because my business compels me to return to 
 England, and take up my abode there. Here is my London address ; and 
 if any serious trouble befalls you, write to me. Now, my duty being ful- 
 filled, farewell." 
 
 " Go to the devil, you old preacher ! " growled Wilkie, as he saw the 
 door close on the retreating figure of M. Patterson, who had acted as his 
 guardian for ten years. None of M. Patterson's wise advice lingered in 
 the young fellow's mind. To use a familiar expression, " It went in through 
 one ear and came out through the other." Only two facts had made an 
 impression upon him : that he was to be his own master henceforth, and 
 that he had a fortune at his command. There it lay upon the table, five 
 thousand francs in glittering gold. 
 
 If M. Wilkie had taken the trouble to attentively examine the rooms 
 which had suddenly become his own, he would perhaps have recognised the 
 fact that a loving hand had prepared them for his reception. Countless 
 details revealed the delicate taste of a woman, and the thoughtful tender- 
 ness of a mother. None of those little superfluities which delight a young 
 man had been forgotten. There was a box of choice cigars upon the table, 
 and a jar of tobacco on the mantel-shelf. But Wilkie did not take time to 
 discover this. He hastily slipped five hundred francs into his pocket, 
 locked the rest of his money in a drawer, and went out with as lofty an 
 air as if all Paris belonged to him, or as if he had enough money to pur- 
 chase it. 
 
 He had resolved to give a fite in honour of his deliverance, and so he 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. $7 
 
 hurried off in search of some of his old college chums. He found two of 
 them ; and, although it was very wounding to his self-love, M. Wilkie 
 was obliged to confess to them that this was his first taste of liberty, and 
 that he scarcely knew what to do with himself. Of course his friends as- 
 sured him that they could quickly make him acquainted with the only life 
 that it. was worth while living ; and, to prove it, they accepted the invita- 
 tion to dinner which he immediately offered them. It was a remarkable 
 repast. Other acquaintances dropped in, the wine flowed in rivers ; and after 
 dinner they danced. And at daybreak, having served his apprenticeship 
 at baccarat, M. Wilkie found himself without a penny in his pocket, and 
 face to face with a bill of four hundred francs, for which amount he was 
 obliged to go to his rooms, under the escort of one of the waiters. This 
 first experiment ought to have disgusted him, or at least have made him 
 reflect. But no. He felt quite in his element in the society of dissipated 
 young men and enamelled women. He swore that he would win a place in 
 heir midst, and an influential place too. But it was easier to form this plan 
 than to carry it into execution, as he discovered when, at the end of the 
 month, he counted his money to see what remained of the five thousand 
 francs that had been given him for his quarterly allowance. He had just 
 three hundred francs left. 
 
 Twenty thousand francs a year is what one chooses to make it wealth or 
 poverty. Twenty thousand francs a year represents about sixty francs a day ; 
 but what are sixty francs to a high liver, who breakfasts and dines at the best 
 restaurants, whose clothes are designed by an illustrious tailor, who de- 
 clines to make a pair of trousers for less than a hundred francs ? What 
 are three louis a day to a man who hires a box for first performances at the 
 opera, to a man who gambles and gives expensive suppers, to a man who 
 drives out with yellow-haired demoiselles, and who owns a race-horse ? 
 Measuring his purse and his ambition, M. Wilkie discovered that he should 
 never succeed in making both ends meet. "How do other people man- 
 age ? " he wondered. A puzzling question ! Every evening a thousand 
 gorgeously apparelled gentlemen, with a cigar in their mouth and a flower 
 in their button-hole, may be seen promenading between the Chaussee 
 d'Antin and the Faubourg Montmartre. Everybody knows them, and they 
 know everybody, but how they exist is a problem which it is impossible to 
 solve. How do they live, and what do they live on ? Everybody knows 
 that they have no property ; they do nothing, and yet they are reckless in 
 their expenditures, and rail at work and jeer at economy. What source 
 do they derive their money from? What vile business are they engaged in? 
 
 However, M. Wilkie did not devote much time to solving this question. 
 " My relatives must wish me to starve," he said to himself. "Not I I'm 
 not that sort of a person, as I'll soon let them know." And thereupon he 
 wrote to M. Patterson. By return of post that gentleman sent him a cheque 
 for one thousand francs a mere drop in the bucket. M. Wilkie felt in- 
 dignant and so he wrote again. This time he was obliged to wait for a re- 
 ply. Still at last it came. M. Patterson sent him two thousand francs, 
 and an interminable epistle full of reproaches. The interesting young man 
 threw the letter into the fire, and went out to hire a carriage by the month 
 and a servant. 
 
 From that day forward, his life was spent in demanding money and waiting 
 for it. He employed in quick succession every pretext that could soften 
 the hearts of obdurate relatives, or find the way to the most closely-guarded 
 cash-box. He was ill he had contracted a debt of honour he had impru- 
 
38 the count's millions. 
 
 dently lent money to an unscrupulous friend he was about to be arrested 
 for debt. And in accordance with the favourable or unfavourable character 
 of the replies his manner became humble or impertinent, so that his friends 
 soon learned to judge very accurately of the condition of his purse by the 
 way he wore his moustaches. He became wise with experience, however ; 
 and on adding all the sums he had received together, he decided that his 
 family must be very rich to allow him so much money. And this thought 
 made him anxious to fathom the mystery of his birth and his infancy. He 
 finally persuaded himself that he was the son of a great English nobleman 
 a member of the House of Lords, who was twenty times a millionaire. 
 And he more than half believed it when he told his creditors that his lord- 
 ship, his father, would some day or other come to Paris and pay all his 
 debts. Unfortunately it was not M. Wilkie's noble father that arrived, 
 but a letter from M. Patterson, which was couched as follows : 
 
 " My Dear Sir, a considerable sum was placed in my hands to meet 
 your unexpected requirements ; and in compliance with your repeated ap- 
 peals, I have remitted the entire amount to you. Not a penny remains in 
 my possession so that my instructions have been fulfilled. Spare yourself 
 the trouble of making any fresh demands ; they will meet with no reply. 
 In future you will not receive a penny above your allowance, which in my 
 opinion is already too large a one for a young man of your age. n 
 
 This letter proved a terrible blow to Wilkie. What should he do? He 
 felt that M. Patterson would not revoke his decision ; and indeed he wrote 
 him several imploring letters, in vain. Yet never had his need of money 
 been so urgent. His creditors were becoming uneasy ; bills actually rained 
 in upon his concierge ; his next quarterly allowance was not due for some 
 time to come, and it was only through the pawnbroker that he could ob- 
 tain money for his more pressing requirements. He had begun to consider 
 himself ruined. He saw himself reduced to dismissing his carriage, to sell- 
 ing his third share of Pompier de Nanterre and losing the esteem of all his 
 witty friends. 
 
 He was in the depths of despair, when one morning his servant woke 
 him up with the announcement that the Viscount de Coralth was in the 
 sitting-room and wished to speak with him on very important business. It 
 was not usually an easy task to entice M. Wilkie from his bed, but the 
 name his servant mentioned seemed to have a prodigious effect upon him. 
 He bounded on to the floor, and as he hastily dressed himself, he muttered : 
 " The viscount here, at this hour ! It's astonishing ! What if he's going 
 to fight a duel and wishes me to be his second? That would be a piece of 
 grand good luck and no mistake. It would assure my position at once. 
 Certainly something must have happened ! " 
 
 This last remark was by no means a proof of any remarkable perspicuity 
 on M. Wilkie's part. As M. de Coralth never went to bed until two or 
 three o'clock in the morning he was by no means an early riser, and only 
 some very powerful reason could explain the presence of his blue lined 
 brougham, in the street before nine o'clock A.M. And the influence 
 that had made him rise betimes in the present case had indeed been ex- 
 tremely powerful. Although the brilliant viscount had discovered Madame 
 d'Argeles' secret, several months previously, he had so far disclosed it to no 
 one. It was certainly not from any delicacy of feeling that he had held 
 his peace ; but only because it had not been for his interest to speak. Now, 
 however, the sudden death of the Count de Chalusse changed the situation. 
 He heard of the catastrophe at his club on the evening after the count's 
 
the count's millions. 39 
 
 death, and his emotion was so great that he actually declined to take part 
 in a game of baccarat that was just beginning. " The devil ! " he exclaimed. 
 "Let me think a moment. Madame d'Argeles is the heiress of all these 
 millions will she come forward and claim them ? From what I know of 
 her, I am inclined to think that she won't. Will she ever go to Wilkie 
 and confess that she, Lia d'Argeles, is a Chalusse, and that he is her ille- 
 gitimate son ? Never ! She would rather relinquish her millions, both for 
 herself and for him, than take such a step. She is so ridiculously anti- 
 quated in her notions." And then he began to study what advantages he 
 might derive from his knowledge of the situation. 
 
 M. de Coralth, like all persons whose present is more or less uncertain, 
 had great misgivings concerning his future. Just now he was cunning 
 enough to find a means of procuring the thirty or forty thousand francs a 
 year that were indispensable to his comfort ; but he had not a farthing laid 
 by, and the vein of silver he was now working might fail him at any mo- 
 ment. The slightest indiscretion, the least blunder, might hurl him from 
 his splendour into the mire. The perspiration started out on his forehead 
 when he thought of his peril. He passionately longed for a more assured 
 position for a little capital that would insure him his bread until the end 
 of his days, and rid him of the grim phantom of poverty forever. And it 
 was this desire which inspired him with the same plan that M. Fortunat 
 had formed. "Why shouldn't I inform Wilkie ?" he said to himself. "HI 
 present him with a fortune, the simpleton ought certainly to give me some 
 reward." But to carry this plan into execution it would be necessary to 
 brave Madame d'Argeles' anger : and that was attended by no little 
 danger. If he knew something about her, she on her side knew every- 
 thing connected with his past life. She had only to speak to ruin him for- 
 ever. Still, after weighing all the advantages and all the dangers, he de- 
 cided to act, convinced that Madame d'Argeles might be kept ignorant of 
 his treason providing he only played his cards skilfully. And his matutinal 
 visit to M. Wilkie was caused by a fear that he might not be the only per- 
 son knowing the truth, and that some one else might forestall him. 
 
 "You here, at sunrise, my friend ! " exclaimed Wilkie, as he entered the 
 room where the viscount was seated. " What has happened ? " 
 
 " To me ? nothing," replied the viscount. " It was solely on your ac- 
 count that I deviated from my usual habits. " 
 
 " What is it ? You frighten me. " 
 
 " Oh ! don't be alarmed. I have only some good news to communicate," 
 and in a careless tone which cleverly concealed his anxiety, the viscount 
 added : "ft. have come, my dear Wilkie, to ask you what you would be will- 
 ing to give the man who put you in possession of a fortune of several 
 millions ? " 
 
 M. Wilkie's face turned from white to purple at least three times in ten 
 seconds ; and it was in a strangely altered voice that he replied: "Ah ! 
 that's good very good excellent ! " He tried his best to laugh, but lie 
 was completely overcome ; and, in fact, he had cherished so many extrava- 
 gant hopes that nothing seemed impossible to him. 
 
 " Never in all my life have I spoken more seriously," insisted the vis- 
 count. 
 
 His companion at first made no reply. It was easy to divine the con- 
 flict that was raging in his mind, between the hope that the news was true 
 and the fear of being made the victim of a practical joke. " Come, my 
 friend," he said at last, " do you want to poke fun at me ? That wouldn't 
 
40 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 be polite. A debtor is always sacred, and I owe you twenty-five louis. 
 This is scarcely the time to talk of millions. My relatives have cut off my 
 supplies ; and my creditors are overwhelming me with their bills " 
 
 But M. de Coralth checked him, saying gravely, " Upon my honour, I 
 am not jesting. What would you give a man who " 
 
 " I would give him half of the fortune he gave me." 
 
 " That's too much ! " 
 
 "No, no!" 
 
 He was in earnest, certainly. What wouldn't a man promise in all 
 sincerity of soul to a fellow mortal who gave him money when he had 
 none when he needed it urgently and must have it to save himself from 
 ruin? 
 
 At such a moment no commission, however large, seems exorbitant. It 
 is afterwards, when the day of settlement comes, that people begin to find 
 fault with the rate of interest. 
 
 "If I tell you that one half is too much, it is because such is really the 
 case. And I am the best judge of the matter since I am the man who can 
 put you in possession of this enormous fortune." 
 
 M. Wilkie started back in speechless amazement. 
 
 " This astonishes you ! " said the viscount, " and why, pray? Is it be- 
 cause 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 be- 
 tween 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 ex- 
 plain 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 
 We took up his hat : 
 
 " Very well. I will see you again on Monday." 
 
TAB count's millions. 41 
 
 But M. Wilkie's doubts were begining 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 favour. 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 note-book 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 : M Observe that I don't re- 
 proach 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 
 realised 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. " 
 
42 the count's millions. 
 
 " 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 Fondege's 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 1 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 sugges- 
 tion 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 Caf6 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 Brabant'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 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 43 
 
 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 honour as a gentleman, 
 never to betray me, under any circumstances, or for any reason. 
 
 M. Wilkie extended his hand and solemnly exclaimed, "I swear ! " 
 
 " Very well, then. Now my mind is at rest. It is scarcely necessary 
 for me to add that if you break your oath you are a dead man. You know 
 me. You know how I handle a sword ; and don't forget it." His manner 
 was so threatening that Wilkie shuddered. "You will certainly be ques- 
 tioned," continued M. de Coralth ; "but you must reply that you received 
 the information through one of Mr. Patterson's friends. Now let us sign 
 our formal contract in lieu of the temporary one you gave me the other day. " 
 
 It is needless to say that Wilkie signed it eagerly. Not so the viscount ; 
 he read the document through carefully, before appending his signature, 
 and then exclaimed : " The estate that belongs to you is that of the Count 
 de Chalusse, your uncle. He leaves, I am informed, at least eight or ten 
 millions of property." 
 
 By M. Wilkie's excited gestures, by the glitter in his eyes, it might have 
 been supposed that this wonderful good fortune was too much for him, 
 and that he was going mad. "I knew that I belonged to a noble family," 
 he began. " The Count de Chalusse my uncle ! I shall have a coronet on 
 the corner of my visiting cards." 
 
 But with a gesture M. de Coralth silenced him. " Wait a little before 
 you rejoice," said he. "Yes, your mother is the sister of the Count de 
 Chalusse, and it is through her that you are an heir to the estate. But 
 don't grieve too much there are similar misfortunes in many of our most 
 distinguished families circumstances the obstinacy of parents a love 
 more powerful than reason " The viscount paused, certainly he had no 
 prejudices ; but at the moment of telling this interesting young man who 
 his mother really was, he hesitated. 
 
 "Go on," insisted M. Wilkie. 
 
 " Well when your mother was a young girl, about twenty, she fle^d from 
 her paternal home with a man she loved. Forsaken afterwards, she found 
 herself in the depths of poverty. She was obliged to live. You were 
 starving. So she changed her name, and now she is known as Lia 
 d'Argeles." 
 
 M. Wilkie sprang to his feet. "Lia d'Argeles !" he exclaimed. Then, 
 with a burst of laughter, he added : " Nevertheless, I think it a piece of 
 grand good luck ! " 
 
 VI. 
 
 "This man carries away your secret; you are lost." A sinister voice 
 whispered these words in Madame Lia d'Argeles' heart when M. Isidore 
 Fortunat, after being rudely dismissed, closed the door of her drawing-room 
 behind him. This man had addressed her by the ancient and illustrious 
 
44 THE count's millions. 
 
 name of Chalusse which she had not heard for twenty years, and which she 
 had forbidden her own lips to pronounce. This man knew that she, Lia 
 d'Argeles, was really a Durtal de Chalusse. 
 
 This frightful certainty overwhelmed her. It is true this man Fortunat had 
 declared that his visit was entirely disinterested. He had pretended that 
 his regard for the Chalusse family, and the compassion aroused in his heart 
 by the unfortunate plight of Mademoiselle Marguerite, were the only motives 
 that has influenced him in taking this step. However, Madame d'Argeles' 
 experience in life had left her but limited faith in apparent or pretended 
 disinterestedness. This is a practical age; chivalrous sentiments are ex- 
 pensive as she had learned conclusively. " If the man came here," she 
 murmured, " it was only because he thought he might derive some benefit 
 from the prosecution of my claim to my poor brother's estate. In refusing 
 to listen to his entreaties, I have deprived him of this expected profit and 
 so I have made him my enemy. Ah ! I was foolish to send him away like 
 that ! I ought to have pretended to listen I ought to have bound him by 
 all sorts of promises." 
 
 She suddenly paused. It occurred to her that M. Fortunat could not 
 have gone very far ; so that, if she sent for him to come back, she might 
 perhaps be able to repair her blunder. Without losing a second, she rushed 
 downstairs, and ordered her concierge and a servant to run after the gentle- 
 man who had just left the house, and ask him to return ; to tell him that 
 she had reflected, and wished to speak to him again. They rushed out in 
 pursuit, and she remained in the courtyard, her heart heavy with anxiety. 
 Too late ! About a quarter of an hour afterwards her emissaries returned. 
 They had made all possible haste in contrary directions, but they had seen 
 no one in the street who at all resembled the person they were looking for. 
 They had questioned the shopkeepers, but no one had seen him pass. " It 
 doesn't matter," faltered Madame d'Argeles, in a tone that belied her words. 
 And, anxious to escape the evident curiosity of her servants, she hastened 
 back to the little boudoir where she usually spent her mornings. 
 
 M. Fortunat had left his card that is to say, his address and it would 
 have been an easy matter to send a servant to his house. She was strongly 
 tempted to do so ; but she ultimately decided that it would be better to 
 wait that an hour more or less would make but little difference. She had 
 sent her trusty servant, Job, for Baron Trigault ; he would probably return 
 with the baron at any moment : and the baron would advise her. He would 
 know at once what was the best course for her to pursue. And so she 
 waited for his coming in breathless anxiety ; and the more she reflected, the 
 more imminent her peril seemed, for she realized that M. Fortunat must be 
 a very dangerous and cunning man. He had set a trap for her, and she 
 had allowed herself to be caught. Perhaps he had only suspected the truth 
 when he presented himself at the house. He had suddenly announced the 
 death of the Count de Chalusse ; she had betrayed herself ; and any doubts 
 he might have entertained were dispelled. " If I had only had sufficient 
 presence of mind to deny it," she murmured. " If I had only been 
 courageous enough to reply that I knew absolutely nothing about the person 
 he spoke of. Ah ! then he would have gone aWay convinced that he was 
 mistaken." 
 
 But would the smooth-spoken visitor have declared that he knew every- 
 thing, if he had not really penetrated the mystery of her life ? It was 
 scarcely probable. He had implored her to accept the property, if not for 
 her own sake at least for the sake of another. And when she asked him 
 
THE count's millions. 45 
 
 whom he meant he had answered, " Mademoiselle Marguerite," but he was 
 undoubtedly thinking of Wilkie. So this man, this Isidore Fortunat, knew 
 that she had a son. Perhaps he was even acquainted with him personally. 
 In his anger he would very likely hasten to Wilkie's rooms and tell him 
 everything. This thought filled the wretceed woman's heart with despair. 
 What ! Had she not yet expiated her fault ? Must she suffer again ? 
 
 For the first time a terrible doubt came over her. What she had formerly 
 regarded as a most sublime effort of maternal love, was, perhaps, even a 
 greater crime than the first she had committed. She had given her honour 
 as the price of her son's happiness and prosperity. Had she a right to do 
 so ? Did not the money she had lavished upon him contain every germ of 
 corruption, misfortune, and shame ? How terrible Wilkie's grief and rage 
 would be if he chanced to hear the truth ! 
 
 Alas ! he would certainly pay no heed to the extenuating circumstances ; 
 he would close his ears to all attempts at justification. He would be piti- 
 less. He would have naught but hatred and scorn to bestow upon a mother 
 who had fallen from the highest rank in society down to everlasting infamy. 
 She fancied she heard him saying in an indignant voice, " It would have 
 been better to have allowed me to die of starvation than to have given me 
 bread purchased at such a price ! Why have you dishonoured me by your 
 ill-gotten wealth ? Fallen, you might have raised yourself by honest toil. 
 You ought to have made me a labourer, and not a spoiled idler, incapable 
 of earning an honest livelihood. As the son of a poor, betrayed, and de- 
 serted woman, with whom I could have shared my scanty earnings, I might 
 have looked the world proudly in the face. But where can the son of Lia 
 d'Argeles hide his disgrace after playing the gentleman for twenty years with 
 Lia d'Argeles' money ? " Yes, Wilkie would certainly say this if he ever 
 learned the truth ; and he would learn it she felt sure of it. How could 
 she hope to keep a secret which was known to Baron Trigault, M. Patter- 
 son, the Viscount de Coralth, and M. Fortunat four persons ! She had 
 confidence in the first two ; she believed she had a hold on the third, but 
 the fourth Fortunat ! 
 
 The hours went by ; and still Job did not return. What was the mean- 
 ing of this delay ? Had he failed to find the baron ? At last the sound of 
 carriage-wheels in the courtyard made her start. "That's Job h" she said 
 to herself. " He brings the baron." 
 
 Alas ! no. Job returned alone. And yet the honest fellow had spared 
 neither pains nor horseflesh. He had visited every place where there was 
 the least probability of finding the baron, and he was everywhere told that 
 Baron Trigault had not been seen for several days. " In that case you 
 ought to have gone to his house. Perhaps he is there," remarked Madame 
 d'Argeles. 
 
 " Madame knows that the baron is never at home. I did go there, how- 
 ever, but in vain." 
 
 This chanced to be one of three consecutive days which Baron Trigault 
 had spent with Kami- Bey, the Turkish ambassador. It had been agreed 
 between them that they should play until one or the other had lost five 
 hundred thousand francs ; and, in order to prevent any waste of " precious 
 time," as the baron was wont to remark, they neither of them stirred from 
 the Grand Hotel, where Kami-Bey had a suite of rooms. They ate and 
 slept there. By some strange chance, Madame d'Argeles had not heard of 
 this duel with bank-notes, although nothing else was talked of at the 
 clubs ; indeed the Figaro had already published a minute description of 
 
46 THE count's millions. 
 
 the apartment where the contest was going on ; and every evening it gave 
 the results. According to the latest accounts, the baron had the advan 
 tage ; he had won about two hundred and eighty thousand francs. 
 
 "I only returned to inform madame, that Iliad so far been unsuccess- 
 ful," said Job. " But I will recommence the search at once." 
 
 "That is unnecessary," replied Madame d'Argeles. "The baron will 
 undoubtedly drop in this evening, after dinner, as usual." 
 
 She said this, and tried her best to believe it ; but in her secret heart she 
 felt that she could no longer depend upon the baron's assistance. "I 
 wounded him this morning," she thought. " He went away more angry 
 than I had ever seen him before. He is incensed with me; and who knows 
 how long it will be before he comes again ? " 
 
 Still she waited, with feverish anxiety, listening breathlessly to every 
 sound in the street, and trembling each time she heard or fancied she heard 
 a carriage stop at the door. However, at two o'clock in the morning the 
 baron had not made his appearance. " It is too late he won't come ! " she 
 murmured. 
 
 But now her sufferings were less intolerable, for excess of wretchedness 
 had deadened her sensibility. Utter prostration paralyzed her energies 
 and benumbed her mind. Ruin seemed so inevitable that she no longer 
 thought of avoiding it ; she awaited it with that blind resignation displayed 
 by Spanish women, who, when they hear the roll of thunder, fall upon their 
 knees, convinced that lightning is about to strike their defenceless heads. 
 She tottered to her room, flung herself on the bed, and instantly fell asleep. 
 Yes, she slept the heavy, leaden slumber which always follows a great 
 mental crisis, and which falls like God's blessing upon a tortured mind. On 
 waking up, her first act was to ring for her maid, in order to send a mes- 
 sage to Job, to go out again in search of the baron. But the faithful servant 
 had divined his mistress's wishes, and had already started off of his own 
 accord. It was past mid-day when he returned, but his face was radiant ; 
 and it was in a tuiumphant voice that he announced : " Monsieur le Baron 
 Trigault." 
 
 Madame d'Argeles sprang up, and greeted the baron with a joyful ex- 
 clamation. "Ah ! how kind of you to come ! " she exclaimed. " You are 
 most welcome. If you knew how anxiously I have been waiting for you ! " 
 He made no reply. " If you knew," continued Madame d'Argeles, "if you 
 only knew " 
 
 But she paused, for in spite of her own agitation, she was suddenly struck 
 by the peculiar expression on her visitor's face. He was standing silent 
 and motionless in the centre of the room, and his eyes were fixed upon her 
 with a strange, persistent stare in which she could read all the contradic- 
 tory feelings which were battling for mastery in his mind anger, hatred, 
 pity, and forgiveness. Madame d'Argeles shuddered. So her cup of sorrow 
 was not yet full. A new misfortune was about to fall upon her. She had 
 hoped that the baron would be able to alleviate her wretchedness, but it 
 seemed as if he were fated to increase it. "Why do you look at me like 
 that ? " she asked anxiously. " What have I done ? " 
 
 "You, my poor Lia nothing ! " 
 
 " Then what is it ? Oh, my God ! you frighten me." 
 
 " What is it ? Well, I am going to tell you," he said, as he stepped for- 
 ward and took her hand in his own. " You know that I have been in- 
 famously duped and deceived, that the happiness of my life has been 
 destroyed by a scoundrel who tempted the wife I so fondly loved to forget 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 47 
 
 her duty, and trample her honour under foot. You have heard my vows 
 of vengeance if I ever succeeded in discovering him. Ah, well, Lia, I have 
 discovered him. The man who stole my share of earthly happiness was the 
 Count de Chalusse, your brother." 
 
 With a sudden gesture Madame d'Argeles freed her hand from the baroa's 
 grasp, and recoiled as terrified as if she had seen a spectre rise up before 
 her. Then with her hands extended as if to ward off the horrible appari- 
 tion, she exclaimed : " O, my God ! " 
 
 A bitter smile curved the baron's lips. " What do you fear ? " he asked. 
 "Isn't your brother dead? He has defrauded me alike of happiness and 
 vengeance ! " 
 
 If her son's life had depended on a single word, Madame d'Argeles could 
 not have uttered it. She knew what mental agony had urged the baron to 
 a sort of moral suicide, and led him to contract the vice in which he wasted 
 his life and squandered, or, at least risked, his millions. 
 
 \ l Nor is this all," he continued. " Listen. As I have often told you, I 
 was sure that my wife became a mother in my absence. I sought the child 
 for years, hoping that through the offspring I might discover the father. 
 Ah, well ! I've found what I sought, at last. The child is now a beautiful 
 young girl. She lives at the Hotel de Chalusse as your brother's daughter. 
 She is known as Mademoiselle Marguerite." 
 
 Madame d'Argeles listened, leaning against the wall for support, and 
 trembling like a leaf. Her reason was shaken by so many repeated blows, 
 and her son, her brother, Marguerite, Pascal Ferailleur, Coralth, Valorsay 
 all those whom she loved or feared, or hated rose like spectres before 
 her troubled brain. The horror of the truth exceeded her most frightful 
 apprehensions. The strangeness of the reality surpassed every flight of 
 fancy. And, moreover, the baron's calmness increased her stupor. She so 
 often had heard him give vent to his rage and despair in terrible threats, 
 that she could not believe he would be thus resigned. But was his calm- 
 ness real ? Wasli not a mask, would not his fury suddenly break forth ? 
 
 However, he continued, " It is thus that destiny makes us its sport it is 
 thus that it laughs at our plans. Do you remember, Lia, the day when I 
 met you wandering through the streets of Paris with your child in your 
 arms pale and half-dead with fatigue, faint for want of food, homeless and 
 penniless. You saw no refuge but in death, as you have since told me. 
 How could I imagine when I rescued you that I was saving my greatest 
 enemy's sister from suicide the sister of the man whom I was vainly pur- 
 suing ? And yet this might not be the end, if I chose to have it otherwise. 
 The count is dead, but I can still return him disgrace for disgrace. He 
 dishonoured me. What prevents me from casting ineffaceable opprobrium 
 upon the great name of Chalusse, of which he was so proud ? He seduced 
 my wife. To day I can tell all Paris what his sister has been and what she 
 is to-day." 
 
 Ah ! it was this yes, it was this that Madame d'Argeles had dreaded. 
 See fell upon her knees, and, with clasped hands she entreated: "Pity ! 
 oh ! have pity forgive me ! Have mercy ! Have I not always been a 
 faithful and devoted friend to you? Think of the past you have just in- 
 voked ! Who helped you then to bear your intolerable sufferings ? Don't 
 you remember the day when you, yourself, had determined to die by your 
 own hand? There was a woman who persuaded you to abandon the thought 
 of suicide. It was 1 1 " 
 
 He looked at her for a moment with a softer expression, tears came to 
 
48 THE count's millions. 
 
 his eyes, and rolled down his cheeks. Then suddenly he raised her, and 
 placed her in an arm-chair, exclaiming: "Ah ! you know very well that 
 I shall not do what I said. Don't you know me better than that ? Are 
 you not sure of my affection, are you not aware that you are sacred in my 
 eyes?" He was evidently striving hard to master his emotion. "Be- 
 sides," he added, " I had already pardoned before coming here. It was 
 foolish on my part, perhaps, and for nothing in the world would I confess 
 it to my acquaintances, but it is none the less true. I shall have my re- 
 venge in a certain fashion, however. I need only hold my peace, and the 
 daughter of M. de Chalusse and Madame Trigault would become a lost woman. 
 Is this not so ? Very well, I shall offer her my assistance. It may, or 
 may not, be another absurd and ridiculous fancy added to the many I have 
 been guilty of. But no matter. I have promised. And why indeed 
 should this poor girl be held responsible for the sins of her parents ? I I 
 declare myself on her side against the world ! " 
 
 Madame d'Argeles rose, her face radiant with joy and hope. "Then 
 perhaps we are saved ! " she exclaimed. " Ah ! I knew when I sent for 
 you that I should not appeal to your heart in vain ! " 
 
 She took hold of his hand as if to raise it to her lips ; but he gently 
 withdrew it, and inquired, with an air of astonishment : " What do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " That I have been cruelly punished for not wishing you to assist that 
 unfortunate man who was dishonoured here the other evening." 
 
 "Pascal Ferailleur?" 
 
 "Yes, he is innocent. The Viscount de Coralth is a scoundrel. It was 
 he who slipped the cards which made M. Ferailleur win, into the pack, and 
 he did it at the Marquis de Valorsay's instigation." 
 
 The baron looked at Madame d'Argeles with profound amazement. 
 " What I " said he, " you knew this and you allowed it ? You were cruel 
 enough to remain silent when that innocent man entreated you to testify 
 on his behalf ! You allowed this atrocious crime to be executed under your 
 own roof, and under your very eyes ? " 
 
 " I was then ignorant of Mademoiselle Marguerite's existence. I did 
 not know that the young man was beloved by my brother's daughter I did 
 not know " 
 
 The baron interrupted her, and exclaimed, indignantly: "Ah! what 
 does that matter ? It was none the less an abominable action." 
 
 She hung her head, and in a scarcely audible voice, replied, " I was 
 not free. I submited to a will that was stronger than my own. If you 
 had heard M. de Coralth's threats you would not censure me so severely. 
 He has discovered my secret ; he knows Wilkie I am in his power. 
 Don't frown I make no attempt to excuse myself I am only explaining 
 the position in which I was placed. My peril is imminent ; I have only 
 confidence in you you alone can aid me ; listen ! " 
 
 Thereupon she hastily explained M. de Coralth's position respecting her- 
 self, what she had been able to ascertain concerning the Marquis de Valor- 
 say's plans, the alarming visit she had received from M. Fortunat, his ad- 
 vice and insinuations, the dangers she apprehended, and her firm determin- 
 ation to deliver Mademoiselle Marguerite from the machinations of her 
 enemies. Madame d'Argel6s' disclosures formed, as it were, a sequel to 
 the confidential revelations of Pascal Ferailleur, and the involuntary con- 
 fession of the Marquis de Valorsay ; and the baron could no longer doubt 
 the existence of the shameful intrigue which had been planned in view of 
 
the count's MILLIONS. 49 
 
 obtaining possession of the count's millions. And if he did not, at first, 
 understand the motives, he at least began to discern what means had been 
 employed. He now understood why Valorsay persisted in his plan of 
 marrying Mademoiselle Marguerite, even without a fortune. "The wretch 
 knows through Coralth that Madame d'Argeles is a Chalusse, " he said to 
 himself ; "and when Mademoiselle Marguerite has become his wife, he in- 
 tends to oblige Madame d'Argeles to accept her brother's estate and share 
 it with him. " 
 
 At that same moment Madame d'Argeles finished her narrative. "And 
 now, what shall I do ? " she added. 
 
 The baron was stroking his chin, as was his usual habit when his mind 
 was deeply exercised. "The first thing to be done," he replied, "is to 
 show Coralth in his real colours, and prove M. Ferailleur's innocence. It 
 will probably cost me a hundred thousand francs to do so, but I shall not 
 grudge the money. I should probably spend as much or even more in play 
 next summer ; and the amount had better be spent in a good cause than in 
 swelling the dividends of my friend Blanc, at Baden. " 
 
 " But M. de Coralth will speak out as soon as he finds that I have re- 
 vealed his shameful past." 
 
 " Let him speak." 
 
 Madame d'Argeles shuddered. " Then the name of Chalusse will be dis- 
 graced," said she ; "and Wilkie will know who his mother is." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "Ah ! allow me to finish, my dear friend. I have my plan, and it is as 
 plain as daylight. This evening you will write to your London correspon- 
 dent. Request M. Patterson to summon your son to England, under any 
 pretext whatever ; let him pretend that he wishes to give him some money, 
 for instance. He will go there of course, and then we will keep him there. 
 Coralth certainly won't run after him, and we shall have nothing more to 
 fear on that score." 
 
 " Great heavens ! " murmured Madame d'Argeles, "why did this idea 
 never occur to me ? " 
 
 The baron had now completely recovered his composure. " As regards 
 yourself," said he, "the plan you ought to adopt is still more simple. 
 What is your furniture worth? About a hundred thousand francs, isn't it ? 
 Very well, then. You will sign me notes, dated some time back, to the 
 amount of a hundred thousand francs. On the day these notes fall due, on 
 Monday, for instance, they will be presented for payment. You will re- 
 fuse to pay them. A writ will be served, and an attachment placed upon 
 your furniture ; but you will offer no resistance. I don't know if I explain 
 my meaning very clearly." 
 
 " Oh, very clearly ! " 
 
 * ' So your property is seized. You make no opposition, and next week 
 we shall have flaming posters on all the walls, telling Paris that the furni- 
 ture, wardrobe, cashmeres, laces, and diamonds of Madame Lia d'Argeles 
 will be sold without reserve, at public auction, in the Rue Drouot, with the 
 view of satisfying the claims of ner creditors. You can imagine the sensa- 
 tion this announcement will create. I can see your friends and the fre- 
 quenters of your drawing-room meeting one another in the street, and 
 saying : Ah, well ! what's this about poor D'Argeles ? ' * Pshaw ! no 
 doubt it's a voluntary sale.' * Not at all ; she's really ruined. Everything 
 is mortgaged above its value.' ' Indeed, I'm very sorry to hear it. She 
 
50 the count's MILLIONS, 
 
 was a good creature.' ' Oh excellent ; a deal of amusement could be found 
 
 at her house, only between you and me ' ' Well 1 ' ' Well, she was no 
 
 longer young.' 'That's true. However, I shall attend the sale, and I 
 think I shall bid.' And, in fact, your acquaintances won't fail to repair to 
 the H6tel Drouot, and maybe your most intimate friends will yield to their 
 generous impulses sufficiently to offer twenty sous for one of the dainty 
 trifles on your ttag&res." 
 
 Overcome with shame, Madame d'Argeles hung her head. She had 
 never before so keenly felt the disgrace of her situation. She had never so 
 clearly realised what a deep abyss she had fallen into. And this crushing 
 humiliation came from whom ? From the only friend she possessed from 
 the man who was her only hope, Baron Trigault. 
 
 And what made it all the more frightful was, that he did not seem to be 
 in the least degree conscious of the cruelty of his words. Indeed, he con- 
 tinued, in a tone of bitter irony : " Of course, you will have an exhibition 
 before the sale, and you will see all the dolls that hairdressers, milliners 
 and fools call great ladies, come running to the show. They will come to 
 see how a notorious woman lives, and to ascertain if there are any good 
 bargains to be had. This is the right form. These great ladies would be 
 delighted to display diamonds purchased at the sale of a woman of the 
 demi monde. Oh ! don't fear your exhibition will be visited by my wife 
 and daughter, by the Viscountess de Bois d'Ardon, by Madame de Roche- 
 cote, her five daughters, and a great many more. Then the papers will 
 take up the refrain ; they will give an account of your financial difficulties, 
 and tell the public what you paid for your pictures. " 
 
 It was with a sort of terror-stricken curiosity that Madame d'Argeles 
 watched the baron. It had been many years since she had seen him in 
 *kuch a frame of mind since she had heard him talk in suh a cynical 
 fashion. "I am ready to follow your advice," said she, "but after- 
 wards ? " 
 
 "What, don't you understand the object I have in view? Afterwards 
 you will disappear. I know five or six journalists ; and it would be very 
 strange if I could not convince one of them that you had died upon an 
 hospital pallet. It will furnish the subject of a touching, and what is 
 better, a moral article. The papers will say, ' Another star has disap- 
 peared. This is the miserable end of all the poor wretches whose passing 
 luxury scandalizes honest women.' " 
 
 " And what will become of me ?" 
 
 ' * A respected woman, Lia. You will go to England, install yourself in 
 some pretty cottage near London, and create a new identity for yourself. 
 The proceeds of your sale will supply your wants and Wilkie's for more 
 than a year. Before that time has elapsed you will have succeeded in ac- 
 cumulating the necessary proofs of your identity, and then you can assert 
 your claims and take possession of your brother's estate." 
 
 Madame d'Argeles sprang to her feet. " Never ! never ! " she exclaimed, 
 vehemently. 
 
 The baron evidently tnought he must have misunderstood her. 
 "What!" he stammered, "you will relinquish the millions that are 
 legally yours, to the government ? " 
 
 11 Yes I am resolved it must be so." 
 
 " Will you sacrifice your son's future in this style." 
 
 " No, it isn't in my power to do that ; but Wilkie will do so, later on, 
 I'm sure of it. " 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 51 
 
 " But this is simply folly." 
 I A feverish agitation had now succeeded Madame d'Argeles* torpor ; 
 mere was an expression of scorn and anger on her rigid features, and her 
 ekes, usually so dull and lifeless, fairly blazed. "It is not folly," she ex- 
 claimed, "but vengeance ! " And as the astonished baron opened his lips 
 tj> question her. "Let me finish," she said imperiously, " and then you 
 sjiall judge me. I have told you with perfect frankness everything con- 
 cerning my past life, save this this that I am married, Monsieur le 
 l^aron, legally married. I am bound by a chain that nothing can break, 
 \qnd my husband is a scoundrel. You would be frightened if you knew 
 l half the extent of his villainy. Oh ! do not shake your head. I ought 
 not to be suspected of exaggeration when I speak in this style of a man 
 whom I once loved so devotedly. For I loved him, alas ! even to mad- 
 ness loved him so much that I forgot self, family, honour, and all the 
 most sacred duties. I loved him so madly that I was willing to follow him, 
 while his hands were still wet with my brother's blood. Ah ! chastisement 
 could not fail to come, and it was terrible, like the sin. This man for 
 whom I had abandoned everything whom I had made my idol do you 
 know what he said to me the third day after my flight from home ? 
 I You must be more stupid than an owl to have forgotten to take your 
 jewels.' Yes, those were the very words he said to me, with a furious 
 air. And then I could measure the depths of the abyss into which I had 
 plunged. This man, with whom I had been so infatuated, did not love me 
 at all, he had never loved me. It had only been cold calculation on his 
 part. He had devoted months to the task of winning my heart, just as he 
 would have devoted them to some business transaction. He only saw in 
 me the fortune that I was to inherit. Oh ! he didn't conceal it from me. 
 "'If your parents are not monsters,' he was always saying, ' they will 
 finally become reconciled to our marriage. They will give you a handsome 
 fortune and we will divide it. I will give you back your liberty, and then 
 we can each of us be happy in our own way.' It was for this reason that 
 he wished to marry me. I consented on account of my unborn child. My 
 father and mother had died, and he hoped to prevail upon me to claim my 
 share of the paternal fortune. As for claiming it himself, he dared not. 
 He was a coward, and he was afraid of my brother. But I took a solemn 
 oath that he should never have a farthing of the wealth he coveted, and 
 neither threats nor blows could compel me to assert my claim. God only 
 knows how much I had suffered from his brutality when I at last succeeded 
 in making my escape with Wilkie. He has sought us everywhere for 
 fifteen years, but he has not yet succeeded in finding a trace of us. Still 
 he has not ceased to watch my brother. I am sure of that, my presenti- 
 ments never decieve me. So, if I followed your advice if I claimed pos- 
 session of my brother's fortune my husband would instantly appear with 
 our marriage contract in his hands, and demand everything. Shall I en- 
 rich him ? No, never, never ! I would rather die of want ! I would 
 rather see Wilkie die of starvation before my very eyes ! " 
 
 Madame d'Argeles spoke in that tone of concentrated rage which betrays 
 years of repressed passion and unflinching resolution. One could scarcely 
 hope to modify her views even by the wisest and most practical advice. 
 The baron did not even think of attempting to do so. He had known 
 Madame d'Argeles for years ; he had seen so many proofs of her invincible 
 energy and determination. She possessed the distinguishing characteristic 
 of her family in a remarkable degree that proverbial Chalusse obstinacy 
 
52 the count's millions. 
 
 which Madame Vantrasson had alluded to in her conversation with M. 
 Fortunat. 
 
 She was silent for a moment, and then, in a firm tone she said : " Still I 
 will follow your advice in part, baron. This evening I will write to M. 
 Patterson and request him to send for Wilkie. In less than a fortnight I 
 shall have sold my furniture and disappeared. I shall remain poor. My 
 fortune is not so large as people suppose. No matter. My son is a man : 
 he must learn to earn his own living." 
 
 " My banking account is always at your disposal, Lia." 
 
 " Thanks, my friend, thanks a thousand times ; but it will not be neces- 
 sary for me to accept your kind offer. When Wilkie was a child I did not 
 refuse. But now I would dig the ground with my own hands, rather than 
 give him a louis that came from you. You think me full of contradictions ! 
 Perhaps I am. It is certain that I am no longer what I was yesterday. 
 This trouble has torn away the bandage that covered my eyes. I can see 
 my conduct clearly now, and I condemn it. I sinned for my son's sake, 
 more than for my own. But I might have rehabilitated myself through 
 him, and now he will perhaps be dishonoured through me." Her breathing 
 came short and hard, and it was in a choked voice that she continued : 
 " Wilkie shall work for me and for himself. If he is strong, he will save 
 us. If he is weak ah, well ! we shall perish. But there has been coward- 
 ice and shame enough ! It shall never be said that I sacrificed the honour 
 of a noble name and the happiness of my brother's child to my son. I see 
 what my duty is, and I shall do it." 
 
 The baron nodded approvingly. "That's no doubt right," said he. 
 " Only allow me to tell you that all is not lost yet. The code has a 
 weapon for every just cause. Perhaps there will be a way for you to obtain 
 and hold your fortune independent of your husband." 
 
 " Alas ! I made inquiries on the subject years ago, and I was told that it 
 would be impossible. Still, you might investigate the matter. I have 
 confidence in you. I know that you would not advise me rashly ; but don't 
 delay. The worst misfortune would be less intolerable than this suspense. " 
 
 "I will lose no time. M. Ferailleur is a very clever lawyer, I am told. 
 I will consult him." 
 
 " And what shall I do about this man Fortunat, who called upon me ? " 
 
 The baron reflected for a moment, ' ' The safest thing would be to take 
 no action whatever at present, " he replied. "If he has any evil designs, a 
 visit or a letter from you would only hasten them." 
 
 By the way Madame d'Argeles shook her head, it was easy to see that 
 she had very little hope. " All this will end badly," she murmured. 
 
 The baron shared her opinion, but he did not think it wise or kind to 
 discourage her. " Nonsense ! " he said lightly, " luck is going to change ; 
 it is always changing." 
 
 Then as he heard the clock strike, he sprang from his arm-chair in dis- 
 may. "Two o'clock," he exclaimed, "and Kami-Bey is waiting for me. 
 I certainly haven't been wasting time here, but I ought to have been at 
 the Grand Hotel at noon. Kami is quite capable of suspecting a man of 
 any knavery. These Turks are strange creatures. It's true that I am now 
 a winner to the tune of two hundred and eighty thousand francs." He 
 settled his hat firmly on his head, and opening the door, he added : " Good- 
 bye, my dear madame, I will soon see you again, and in the meantime don't 
 deviate in the least from your usual habits. Our success depends, in a great 
 measure, upon the fancied security of our enemies 1 " 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 53 
 
 Madame d'Argeles considered this advice so sensible that half-an-hour 
 later she went out for her daily drive in the Bois, little suspecting that 
 1 M. Fortunat's spy, Victor Chupin, was dogging her carriage. It was most 
 imprudent on her part to have gone to Wilkie's house on her return. She 
 incurred such a risk of awakening suspicion by wandering about near her 
 ion's home that she seldom allowed herself that pleasure, but sometimes 
 ner anxiety overpowered her reason. So, on this occasion, she ordered 
 the coachman to stop near the Rue du Helder, and she reached the street 
 just in time to betray her secret to Victor Chupin, and receive a foul 
 insult from M. Wilkie. The latter's cruel words stabbed her to the heart, 
 and yet she tried to construe them as mere proofs of her son's honesty of 
 feeling as proof of his scorn for the depraved creatures who haunt the 
 boulevards each evening. But though her energy was indomitable, her 
 physical strength was not equal to her will. On returning home, she felt 
 so ill that she was obliged to go to bed. She shivered with cold, and yet 
 the blood that flowed in her veins seemed to her like molten lead. The 
 physician who was summoned declared that her illness was a mere trifle, 
 but prescribed rest and quiet. And as he was a very discerning man, he 
 added, not without a malicious smile, that any excess is injurious excess 
 of pleasure as well as any other. As it was Sunday, Madame d'Argeles 
 was able to obey the physician, and so she closed her doors against every 
 one, the baron excepted. Still, fearing that this seclusion might seem a 
 little strange, she ordered her concierge to tell any visitors that she had 
 gone into the country, and would not return until her usual reception-day. 
 She would then be compelled to open her doors as usual. For what would 
 the habitues of the house, who had played there every Monday for years, 
 say if they found the doors closed ? She was less her own mistress than 
 an actress she had no right to weep or suffer in solitude. 
 
 So, at about seven o'clock on Monday evening, although still grievously 
 suffering both in mind and body, she arranged herself to receive her guests. 
 From among all her dresses, she chose the same dark robe she had worn on 
 the night when Pascal Ferailleur was ruined at her house ; and as she was 
 even paler than usual, she tried to conceal the fact by a prodigal use of 
 rouge. At ten o'clock, when the first arrivals entered the brilliantly lighted 
 rooins, they found her seated as usual on the sofa, near the fire, with the 
 same eternal, unchangeable smile upon her lips. There were at least forty 
 persons in the room, and the gambling had become quite animated when 
 the baron entered. Madame d'Argeles read in his eyes that he was the 
 bearer of good news. " Everything is going on well," he whispered, as he 
 shook hands with her. "I have seen M. Ferailleur I wouldn't give ten 
 sous for Valorsay's and Coralth's chances," 
 
 This intelligence revived Madame d'Argeles' drooping spirits, and she 
 received M. de Coralth with perfect composure when he came to pay his 
 respects to her soon afterwards. For he had the impudence to come, in order 
 to dispel any suspicions that might have been aroused anent his complicity 
 in the card cheating affair. The hostess's calmness amazed him. Was she 
 still ignorant of her brother's death and the complications arising from it, 
 or was she only acting a part ? He was so anxious and undecided, that 
 instead of mingling with the groups of talkers, he at once took a seat at the 
 card-table whence he could watch the noor woman's every movement. 
 
 Both rooms were full, and almost everybody was engaged in play, when, 
 shortly after midnight, a servant entered the room, whispered a few words 
 in his mistress's ear and banded her a card. She took it, glanced at it, and 
 
54 the count's millions. 
 
 uttered so harsh, so terrible, so heart-broken a cry, that several of the 
 guests sprang to their feet. " What is it ? What is it ?" they asked. She 
 tried to reply, but could not. Her lips parted, she opened her mouth, but 
 no sound came forth. She turned ghastly white under her rouge, and a 
 wild, unnatural light gleamed in her eyes. One curious guest, without a 
 thought of harm, tried to take the card, which she still held in her clinched 
 hand ; but she repulsed him with such an imperious gesture that he recoiled 
 in terror. " What is it? What is the matter with her?" was the astonished 
 query on every side. 
 
 At last, with a terrible effort, she managed to reply, "Nothing." And 
 then, after clinging for a moment to the mantel-shelf, in order to steady 
 herself, she tottered out of the room. 
 
 VII. 
 
 It was not enough to tell M. Wilkie the secret of his birth. He must be 
 taught how to utilise the knowledge. The Viscount de Coralth devoted 
 himself to this task, and burdened Wilkie with such a host of injunctions, 
 that it was quite evident he had but a poor opinion of his pupil's sagacity. 
 "That woman d'Argeles," he thought, "is as sharp as steel. She will de- 
 ceive this young idiot completely, if I don't warn him." 
 
 So he did warn him ; and Wilkie was instructed exactly what to do and 
 say, how to answer any questions, and what position to take up according 
 to circumstances. Moreover, he was especially enjoined to distrust tears, 
 and not to let himself be put out of countenance by haughty airs. The 
 viscount spent at least an hour in giving explanations and advice, to the 
 great disgust of M. Wilkie, who feeling that he was being treated like a 
 child, somewhat testily declared that he was no fool, and that he knew 
 how to take care of himself as well as any one else. Still this did 
 not prevent M. de Coralth from persisting in his instructions until he was 
 persuaded that he had prepared his pupil for all possible emergencies. He 
 then rose to depart. "That's all, I think," he remarked, with a shade of 
 uneasiness. "I've traced the plan you must execute it, and keep cool, or 
 the game's lost." 
 
 His companion rose proudly. " If it fails, it won't be from any fault of 
 mine," he answered with unmistakeable petulance. 
 
 "Lose no time." 
 
 " There's no danger of that." 
 
 "And understand, that whatever happens, my name is not to be men- 
 tioned." 
 
 " Yes, yes." 
 
 "If there should be any new revelations, I will inform you." 
 
 "At the club?" 
 
 " Yes, but don't be uneasy ; the affair is as good as concluded." 
 
 "I hope so, indeed." 
 
 Wilkie gave a sigh of relief as he saw his visitor depart. He wished to 
 be alone, so as to brood over the delights that the future had in store for 
 him. He was no longer to be limited to a paltry allowance of twenty 
 thousand francs ! No more debts, no more ungratified longings. He would 
 have millions at his disposal ! He seemed to see them, to hold them, to 
 feel them gliding in golden waves between his fingers ! What horses he 
 would have ! what carriages ! what mistresses ! And a gleam of envy that 
 
T3E count's millions. 55 
 
 he had detected in M. de Coralth's eyes put the finishing touch to his bliss. 
 To be envied by this brilliant viscount, his model and his ideal, what happi- 
 ness it was ! 
 
 The reputation that Madame d'Argeles bore had at first cast a shadow 
 over his joy ; but this shadow had soon vanished. He was troubled by no 
 foolish prejudices, and personally he cared little or nothing for his mother's 
 reputation, The prejudices of society must, of course, be considered. But 
 nonsense ! society has no prejudices now-a-days when millionaires are con- 
 cerned, and asks no questions respecting their parents. Society only re- 
 quires passports of the indigent. Besides, no matter what Madame 
 d'Argeles might have done, she was none the less a Chalusse, the descendant 
 of one of the most aristocratic families in France. 
 
 Such were Wilkie's meditations while he was engaged in dressing himself 
 with more than usual care. He had been quite shocked by the suggestion 
 that Madame d'Argeles might try to deny him, and he wished to appear 
 before her in the most advantageous light. His toilette was consequently 
 a lengthy operation. However, shortly after twelve o'clock he was ready. 
 He cast a last admiring glance at himself in the mirror, twirled his mous- 
 taches, and departed on his mission. He even went on foot, which was a 
 concession to what he considered M. de Coralth's absurd ideas. The aspect 
 of the H6tel d'Argeles, in the Rue de Berry, impressed him favourably, 
 but, at the same time, it somewhat disturbed his superb assurance. 
 11 Everything is very stylish here," he muttered. 
 
 A couple of servants the concierge and Job were standing at the door 
 engaged in conversation. M. Wilkie approached them, and in his most im- 
 posing manner, but not without a slight tremble in his voice, requested to 
 see Madame d'Argeles. M Madame is in the country," replied the con- 
 cierge; "she will not return before this evening. If monsieur will leave 
 his card " 
 
 "Oh! that's quite unnecessary. I shall be passing again." 
 
 This, too, was in obedience to the instructions of M. de Coralth, who had 
 advised him not to send in his name, but to gain admission into Madame 
 d'Argeles' presence as speedily as possible, without giving her time to pre- 
 pare herself for the interview ; and Wilkie had ultimately decided that 
 these precautions might not prove as superfluous as he had at first supposed. 
 But this first mishap annoyed him extremely. What should he do ? how 
 should he kill time till the evening ? A cab was passing. He hired it for 
 a drive to the Bois, whence he returned to the boulevards, played a game 
 of billiards with one of the co-proprietors of Pompier de Nanterre, and 
 finally dined at the Cafe Rlche, devoting as much time as possible to the 
 operation. He was finishing his coffee when the clock struck eight. He 
 caught up his hat, drew on his gloves, and hastened to the Hotel d'Argeles 
 again. 
 
 " Madame has not yet returned," said the concierge, who knew that his 
 mistress had only just risen from her bed, " but I don't think it will be 
 long. And if monsieur wishes " 
 
 "No," replied M. Wilkie brusquely, and he was going off in a furious 
 passion, when, on crossing the street, he chanced to turn his head and 
 notice that the reception rooms were brilliantly lighted up. " Ah ! I think 
 that a very shabby trick ! " grumbled the intelligent youth. " They won't 
 succeed in playing that game on me again. Why, she's there now ! " 
 
 It occurred to him that Madame d'Argeles had perhaps described him to 
 her servants, and had given them strict orders not to admit him. "I'll 
 
66 THE COtJNt's MILLIONS. 
 
 find out if that is the case, even if I have to wait here until to-morrow morn- 
 ing," he thought, angrily. However, he had not been on guard very long, 
 when he saw a brougham stop in front of the mansion, whereupon the gate 
 opened, as if by enchantment. The vehicle entered the courtyard, deposited 
 its occupants, and drove away. A second carriage soon appeared, then a 
 third, and then five or six in quick succession. " And does she think I'll 
 wear out my shoe leather here, while everybody else is allowed to enter ? " 
 he grumbled. "Never ! I've an idea." And, without giving himself time 
 for further deliberation, he returned to his rooms, arrayed himself in even- 
 ing-dress, and sent for his carriage. " You will drive to No. in the Rue 
 de Berry," he said. "There is a soiree there, and you can drive directly 
 into the courtyard. " The coachman obeyed, and M. Wilkie realised that 
 his idea was really an excellent one. 
 
 As soon as he alighted, the doors were thrown open, and he ascended a 
 handsome staircase, heavily carpeted, and adorned with flowers. Two 
 liveried footmen were standing at the door of the drawing-room, and one of 
 them advanced to relieve Wilkie of his overcoat, but his services were de- 
 clined. "I don't wish to go in," said the young man roughly. " I wish 
 to speak with Madame d'Argeles in private. She is expecting me inform 
 her. Here is my card." 
 
 The servant was hesitating, when Job, suspecting some mystery perhaps, 
 approached. "Take in the gentleman's card," he said, with an air of 
 authority ; and, opening the door of a small room on the left hand side of 
 the staircase, he invited Wilkie to enter, saying, " If monsieur will be kind 
 enough to take a seat, I will summon madame at once." 
 
 M. Wilkie sank into an arm-chair, considerably overcome. The air of 
 luxury that pervaded the entire establishment, the liveried servants, the 
 lights and flowers, all impressed him much more deeply than he would have 
 been willing to confess. And in spite of his affected arrogance, he felt that 
 the superb assurance which was the dominant trait in his character was de- 
 serting him. In his breast, moreover, in the place where physiologists 
 locate the heart, he felt certain extraordinary movements which strongly 
 resembled palpitations. For the first time it occurred to him that this 
 woman, whose peace he had come to destroy, was not only the heiress of 
 the Count de Chalusse's millions, but also his mother, that is to say, the 
 good fairy whose protection had followed him everywhere since he entered 
 the world. The thought that he was about to commit an atrocious act 
 entered his mind, but he drove it away. It was too late now to draw back, 
 or even to reflect. 
 
 Suddenly a door opposite the one by which he had entered opened, and 
 Madame d'Argeles appeared on the threshold. She was no longer the 
 woman whose anguish and terror had alarmed her guests. During the 
 brief moment of respite which fate had granted her, she had summoned all 
 her energy and courage, and had mastered her despair. She felt that her 
 salvation depended upon her calmness, and she had succeeded in appearing 
 calm, haughty, and disdainful as impassive as if she had been a statue. 
 " Was it you, sir, who sent me this card ? " she inquired. 
 
 Greatly disconcerted, M. Wilkie could only bow and stammer out an 
 almost unintelligible answer. " Excuse me ! I am much grieved, upon my 
 word ! I disturb you, perhaps " 
 
 " You are Monsieur Wilkie 1 " interrupted Madame d'Argeles, in a tone 
 of mingled irony and disdain. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, drawling out the name affectedly, "I amM. Wilkie." 
 
the count's millions. 57 
 
 " Did you desire to speak with me? " inquired Madame d'Argeles drily. 
 
 " In fact yes. I should like " 
 
 "Very well. I will listen to you, although your visit is most in- 
 opportune, for I have eighty guests or more in my drawing-room. Still, 
 speak ! " 
 
 It was very easy to say " speak," but unfortunately for M. Wilkie he 
 could not articulate a syllable. His tongue was as stiff, and as dry, as if it 
 had been paralysed. He nervously passed and repassed his fingers between 
 his neck and his collar, but although this gave full play to his cravat, his 
 words did not leave his throat any more readily. For he had imagined that 
 Madame d'Argeles would be like other women he had known, but not at 
 all. He found her to be an extremely proud and awe-inspiring creature, 
 who, to use his own vocabulary, squelched him completely. " I wished to 
 say to you," he repeated, " I wished to say to you " But the words he 
 was seeking would not come ; and, so at last, angry with himself, he ex- 
 claimed : " Ah ! you know as well as I, why I have come. Do you dare 
 to pretend that you don't know ? " 
 
 She looked at him with admirably feigned astonishment, glanced de- 
 spairingly at the ceiling, shrugged her shoulders, and replied : " Most 
 certainly I don't know unless indeed it be a wager." 
 
 "A wager 1 " M. Wilkie wondered if he were not the victim of some 
 practical joke, and if there were not a crowd of listeners hidden somewhere, 
 who, after enjoying his discomfiture, would suddenly make their appear- 
 ance, holding their sides. This fear restored his presence of mind. 
 "Well, then," he replied, huskily, "this is my reason. I know nothing 
 respecting my parents. This morning, a man with whom you are well 
 acquainted, assured me that I was your son. I was completely stunned 
 at first, but after a while I recovered sufficiently to call here, and found 
 that you had gone out." 
 
 He was interrupted by a nervous laugh from Madame d'Argeles. For 
 she was heroic enough to laugh, although death was in her heart, and 
 although the nails of her clinched hands were embedded deep in her quiver- 
 ing flesh. " And you believed him, monsieur ? " she exclaimed. t " Really 
 this is too absurd ! I your mother ! Why, look at me " 
 
 He was doing nothing else, he was watching her with all the powers of 
 penetration he possessed. Madame d'Argeles' laugh had an unnatural ring 
 that awakened his suspicions. All Coralth's recommendations buzzed con- 
 fusedly in his ears, and he judged that the moment had come " to do the 
 sentimental," as he would have expressed it. So he lowered his head, and 
 in an aggrieved tone, exclaimed : "Ah ! you think it very amusing, I don't. 
 Do you realise how wretched it makes one to live as utterly alone as a leper, 
 without a soul to love or care for you ? Other young men have a mother, 
 sisters, relatives. I have no one ! Ah ! if But I only have friends 
 while my money lasts." He wiped his eyes, dry as they were, with his 
 handkerchief, and in a still more pathetic tone, resumed: "Not that I 
 want for anything ; I receive a very handsome allowance. But when my 
 relatives have given me the wherewithal to keep me from starving, they 
 imagine their duty is fulfilled. I think this very hard. I didn't come 
 into the world at my own request, did I ? I didn't ask to be born. If I 
 was such an annoyance to them when I came into existence, why didn't 
 they throw me into the river ? Then they would have been well rid of me, 
 and I should be out of my misery I " 
 
 He stopped short, struck dumb with amazement, for Madame d'Argeles 
 
58 the count's millions. 
 
 had thrown herself on her knees at his feet. " Have mercy ! " she faltered ; 
 " Wilkie, ray son, forgive me ! " Alas ! the unfortunate woman had failed 
 in playing a part which was too difficult for a mother's heart. " You have 
 suffered cruelly, my son," she continued; "but I I Ah! you can't 
 conceive the frightful agony it costs a mother to separate from her child ! 
 But you were not deserted, Wilkie ; don't say that. Have you not felt my 
 love in the air around you ? You forgotten ? Know, then, that for years 
 and years I have seen you every day, and that all my thoughts and all 
 my hopes are centred in you alone ! Wilkie ! " 
 
 She dragged herself towards him with her hands clasped in an agony of 
 supplication, while he recoiled, frightened by this outburst of passion, and 
 utterly amazed by his easily won victory. The poor woman misunderstood 
 this movement. " Great God ! " she exclaimed, "he spurns me ; he loathes 
 me. Ah ! I knew it would be so. Oh ! why did you come ? What in- 
 famous wretch sent you here ? Name him, Wilkie ! Do you understand, 
 now, why I concealed myself from you ? I dreaded the day when I should 
 blush before you, before my own son. And yet it was for your sake. 
 Death would have been a rest, a welcome release for me. But your breath 
 was ebbing away, your poor little arms no longer had strength to clasp me 
 round the neck. And then I cried ! ' Perish my soul and body, if only my 
 child can be saved ! ' I believedsuch a sacrifice permissible in a mother. I 
 am punished for it as if it were a crime. I thought you would be happy, 
 my Wilkie. I said to myself that you, my pride and joy, would move 
 freely and proudly far above me and my shame. I accepted ignominy, so 
 that your honour might be preserved intact. I knew the horrors of abject 
 poverty, and I wished to save my son from it. I would have licked up the 
 very mire in your pathway to save you from a stain. I renounced all hope 
 for myself, and I consecrated all that was noble and generous in my nature 
 to you. Oh ! I will discover the vile coward who sent you here, who be- 
 trayed my secret. I will discover him and I will have my revenge ! You 
 were never to know this, Wilkie. In parting from you, I took a solemn 
 oath never to see you again, and to die without the supreme consolation of 
 feeling your lips upon my forehead." 
 
 She could not continue ; sobs choked her utterance. And for more than 
 a minute the silence was so profound that one could hear the sound of low 
 conversation in the hall outside, the exclamations of the players as they 
 greeted each unexpected turn of luck, and occasionally a cry of " Banco ! " 
 or " I stake one hundred louis ! " Standing silent and motionless near the 
 window, Wilkie gazed with consternation at Madame d'Argeles, his mother, 
 who was crouching in the middle of the room with her face hidden in her 
 hands, and sobbing as if her heart would break. He would willingly have 
 given his third share in Pompier de Nanterre to have made his escape. 
 The strangeness of the scene appalled him. It was not emotion that he felt, 
 but an instinctive fear mingled with commiseration. And he was not only 
 ill at ease, but he was angry with himself for what he secretly styled his 
 weakness. "Women are incomprehensible," he thought. " It would be 
 so easy to explain things quietly and properly, but they must always cry 
 and have a sort of melodrama. " 
 
 Suddenly the sound of footsteps near the door roused him from his stupor. 
 He shuddered at the thought that some one might come in. He hated the 
 very idea of ridicule. So summoning all his courage he went towards 
 Madame d'Argeles, and raising her from the floor, he exclaimed : " Don't 
 cry so. You grieve me, upon my word ! Pray get up. Some one is com- 
 
the count's millions. 59 
 
 ing. Do you hear me? Some one is coming." Thereupon, as she offered 
 no resistance, he half led, half carried her to an arm-chair, into which she 
 sank heavily. " Now she is going to faint ! " thought Wilkie, in despair. 
 What should he do ? Call for help ? He dared not. However, necessity 
 inspired him. He knelt at Madame d'Argeles's feet, and gently said : 
 " Come, come, be reasonable ! Why 'do you give way like this? I don't 
 reproach you ! " 
 
 Slowly, with an air of humility which was indescribably touching, she 
 took her hands from her face, and for the first time raised her tear-stained 
 eyes to her son's. "Wilkie," she murmured. 
 
 "Madame!" 
 
 She heaved a deep sigh, and in a half -stifled voice: "Madame/" she 
 repeated. "Will you not call me mother ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course certainly. But only you know it will take me some 
 time to acquire the habit. I shall do so, of course ; but I shall have to get 
 used to it, you know." 
 
 "True, very true ! but tell me it is not mere pity that leads you to 
 make this promise ? If you should hate me if you should curse me how 
 should I bear it ! Ah ! when a woman reaches the years of understanding 
 one should never cease repeating to her : ' Take care ! Your son will be 
 twenty some day, and you will have to meet his searching gaze. You will 
 have to render an account of your honour to him ! ' My God ! If women 
 thought of this, they would never sin. To be reduced to such a state of 
 abject misery that one dares not lift one's head before one's own son ! 
 Alas ! Wilkie, I know only too well that you cannot help despising me." 
 
 " No, indeed. Not at all ! What an idea ! " 
 
 " Tell me that you forgive me ! " 
 
 " I do, upon my word I do." 
 
 Poor woman, her face brightened. She so longed to believe him ! And 
 her son was beside her, so near that she felt his breath upon her cheek. It 
 was he indeed. Had they ever been separated ? She almost doubted it, 
 she had lived so near him in thought. It was with a sort of ecstasy that 
 she looked at him. There was a world of entreaty in her eyes ; they 
 seemed to be begging a caress ; she raised her quivering lips to his, but he 
 did not observe it. For a long time she hesitated, fearing he might spurn 
 her ; but at last, yielding to a supreme impulse, she threw her arms around 
 his neck, drew him towards her, and pressed him to her heart in a close 
 embrace. "My son ! my son !" she repeated; "to have you with me again, 
 after all these years ! " 
 
 Unfortunately, no whirlwind of passion was capable of carrying M. 
 Wilkie beyond himself. His emotion was now spent and his mind had re- 
 gained its usual indifference. He flattered himself that he was a man of 
 mettle and he remained as cold as ice beneath his mother's kisses. Indeed, 
 he barely tolerated them ; and if he did allow her to embrace him, it was 
 only because he did not know how to refuse. "Will she never have done?" 
 he thought. ' ' This is a pretty state of things ! I must be very attractive. 
 How Costard and Serpillon would laugh if they saw me now." Costard and 
 Serpillon were his intimate friends, the co- proprietors of the famous steeple- 
 chaser. 
 
 In her rapture, however, Madame d'Argeles did not observe the peculiar 
 expression on her son's face. She had compelled him to take a chair oppo- 
 site her, and, with nervous volubility, she continued : " If I don't deny 
 myself the happiness of embracing you again, it is because 1 have not 
 
60 the count's millions. 
 
 broken the vow I took never to make myself known to you. When I 
 entered this room, I was firmly resolved to convince you, no matter how, 
 that you had been deceived. God knows that it was not my fault if I did 
 not .succeed. There are some sacrifices that are above human strength." 
 
 M. Wilkie deigned to smile. " Oh ! yes, I saw your little game," he 
 said, with a knowing air. " But I had been well posted, and besides, it is 
 not very easy to fool me." 
 
 Madame d'Argeles did not even hear him. " Perhaps destiny is weary 
 of afflicting us," she continued; "perhaps a new life is about to begin. 
 Through you, Wilkie, I can again be happy. I, who for years have lived 
 without even hope. But will you have courage to forget ? " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 She hung her head, and in an almost inaudible voice replied, " The 
 past, Wilkie." 
 
 But with an air of the greatest indifference, he snapped his fingers, and 
 exclaimed : " Nonsense ! What is past is past. Such things are soon for- 
 gotten. Paris has known many such cases. You are my mother ; I care 
 very little for public opinion. I begin by pleasing myself, and I consult 
 other people afterwards ; and when they are dissatisfied, I tell them to 
 mind their own business." 
 
 The poor woman listened to these words with a joy bordering on rapture. 
 One might have supposed that the strangeness of her son's expressions 
 would have surprised her have enlightened her in regard to his true char- 
 acter but no. She only saw and understood one thing that he had no 
 intention of casting her off, but was indeed ready to devote himself to her. 
 ' ' My God ! " she faltered, ' ' is this really true ? Will you allow me to remain 
 with you ? Oh, don't reply rashly ! Consider well, before you promise to 
 make such a sacrifice. Think how much sorrow and pain it will cost you." 
 
 " I have considered. It is decided mother." 
 
 She sprang up, wild with hope and enthusiasm. " Then we are saved ! " 
 she cried. " Blessed be he who betrayed my secret ! And I doubted your 
 courage, my Wilkie ! At last I can escape from this hell ! This very night 
 we will fly from this house, without one backward glance. I will never 
 set foot in these rooms again the detested gamblers who are sitting here 
 shall never see me again. From this moment Lia d'Argeles is dead." 
 
 M. Wilkie positively felt like a man who had just fallen from the clouds. 
 " What, fly ? " he stammered. " Where shall we go then 1 " 
 
 " To a country where we are unknown, Wilkie to a land where you will 
 not have to blush for your mother." 
 
 "But" 
 
 " Trust yourself to me, my son. I know a pleasant village near London 
 where we can find a refuge. My connections in England are such that 
 you need not fear the obstacles one generally meets with among foreigners. 
 M. Patterson, who manages a large manufacturing establishment, will, I 
 know, be happy to be of service to us but we shall not be indebted to any 
 one for long, now that you have resolved to work." 
 
 On hearing these words, M. Wilkie sprang up in dismay. "Excuse me," 
 he said, "I don't understand you. You propose to set me to work in M. 
 Patterson's factory ? Well, to tell the truth, that doesn't suit me at all." 
 
 It was impossible to mistake M. Wilkie's manner, his tone, or gesture. 
 They revealed him in his true character. Madame d'Argeles saw her 
 terrible mistake at once. The bandage fell from her eyes. She had taken 
 her dreams for realities, and the desires of her own heart for those of her 
 
61 
 
 iflon. She rose, trembling with sorrow and with indignation. ' ' Wilkie ! " she 
 exclaimed, " Wilkie, wretched boy ! what did you dare to hope ? " 
 
 And, without giving him time to reply, she continued : ' ' Then it was 
 only idle curiosity that brought you here. You wished to know the source 
 i of the money which you spend like water. Very well, you may see for 
 i yourself. This is a gambling house ; one of those establishments frequented 
 by distinguished personages, which the police ignore, or which they cannot 
 suppress. The hubbub you hear is made by the players. Men are ruined 
 here. Some poor wretches have blown their brains out on leaving the 
 house ; others have parted with the last vestige of honour here. And the 
 business pays me well. One louis out of every hundred that change hands 
 falls to my share. This is the source of your wealth, my son." 
 
 This anger, which succeeded such deep grief this outburst of disdain, 
 following such abject humility considerably astonished M. Wilkie. 
 " Allow me to ask " he began. 
 
 But he was not allowed a hearing. " Fool ! " continued Madame d'Ar- 
 geles, " did nothing warn you that in coming here you would deprive 
 yourself forever of the income you received ? Did no inward voice tell you 
 that all would be changed when you compelled me, Lia d'Argeles, to say, 
 [ Well, yes, it is true ; you are my son ? ' So long as you did not know 
 who and what I was, I had a mother's right to watch over you. I could 
 help you without disgracing you, without despising you. But now that 
 you know me, and know what I am, I can do nothing more for you 
 nothing ! I would rather let you starve than succour you, for I would 
 rather see you dead than dishonoured by my money." 
 
 "But * 
 
 "What ! would you still consent to receive the allowance I have made 
 you, even if I consented to continue it ? " 
 
 Had a viper raised its head in M. Wilkie's path he would not have re- 
 coiled more quickly. "Never!" he exclaimed. "Ah, no! What do 
 you take me for ? " 
 
 This repugnance was sincere ; there could be no doubt of that, and it 
 seemed to give Madame d'Argeles a ray of hope. " I have misjudged 
 him," she thought. " Poor Wilkie ! Evil advice has led him astray ; but 
 he is not bad at heart. In that case, my poor child," she said aloud, "you 
 must see that a new life is about to commence for you. What do you 
 intend to do? How will you gain a livelihood? People must have food, 
 and clothes, and a roof to shelter them. These things cost money. And 
 where will you obtain it you who rebel at the very word work ? Ah ! 
 if I had only listened to M. Patterson. He was not blind like myself. 
 He was always telling me that I was spoiling you, and ruining your future 
 by giving you so much money. Do you know that you have spent more 
 than fifty thousand francs during the past two years ? How have you 
 squandered them ? Have you been to the law-school a dozen times ? No. 
 But you can be seen at the races, at the opera, in the fashionable 
 restaurants, and at every place of amusement where a young man can 
 squander money. And who are your associates ? Dissipated and heartless 
 idlers, grooms, gamblers, and abandoned women." 
 
 A sneer from M. Wilkie interrupted her. To think that any one should 
 dare to attack his friends, his tastes, and his pleasures. Such a thing was 
 not to be tolerated. " This is astonishing astonishing, upon my word ! " 
 said he. "You moralizing ! that's really too good ! I should like a few 
 minutes to laugh ; it is too ridiculous 1 " 
 
62 the count's millions. 
 
 Was he really conscious of the cruelty of his ironical words ? The blow 
 was so terrible that Madame d'Argeles staggered beneath it. She was 
 prepared for anything and everything except this insult from her son. 
 Still, she accepted it without rebellion, although it was in a tone of heart- 
 broken anguish that she replied : " Perhaps I have no right to tell you the 
 truth. I hope the future will prove that I am wrong. However, you are 
 without resources, and you have no profession. Pray Heaven that you 
 may never know what it is to be hungry and to have no bread." 
 
 For some time already the ingenious young man had shown unmistakeable 
 signs of impatience. This gloomy prediction irritated him beyond en- 
 durance. 
 
 "All this is empty talk," he interrupted. "I don't mean to work, for 
 it's not at all in my line. Still, I don't expect to want for anything I 
 That's plain enough, I hope." 
 
 Madame d'Argeles did not wince. ' ' What do you mean to do then ? " 
 she asked, coldly. " I don't understand you." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Are we to keep up this farce 
 for ever?" he petulantly exclaimed. "It doesn't take with me. You 
 know what I mean as well as I do. Why do you talk to me about dying 
 of starvation ? What about the fortune ? " 
 
 " What fortune ? " 
 
 "Eh? why, my uncle's, of course! Your brother's, the Count de 
 Chalusse." 
 
 Now M. Wilkie's visit, manner, assurance, wheedling, and contradictions 
 were all explained. That maternal confidence which is so strong in 
 the hearts of mothers vanished from Madame d'Argeles' for ever. The 
 depths of selfishness and cunning she discerned in Wilkie's mind appalled 
 her. She now understood why he had declared himself ready to brave 
 public opinion why he had proved willing to accept his share of the past 
 ignominy. It was not his mother's, but the Count de Chalusse's estate that 
 he claimed. " Ah ! so you've heard of that," she said, in a tone of bitter 
 irony. And then, remembering M. Isidore Fortunat, she asked : " Some 
 one has sold you this valuable secret. How much have you promised to 
 pay him in case of success ? " 
 
 Although Wilkie prided himself on being very clever, he did not pretend 
 to be a diplomatist, and, indeed, he was greatly disconcerted by this 
 question ; still, recovering himself, he replied : " It doesn't matter how I 
 obtained the information whether I paid for it, or whether it cost me 
 nothing but I know that you are a Chalusse, and that you are the heiress 
 of the count's property, which is valued at eight or ten millions of francs. 
 Do you deny it ? " 
 
 Madame d'Argeles sadly shook her head. " I deny nothing," she replied, 
 "but I am about to tell you something which will destroy all your plans 
 and extinguish your hopes. I am resolved, understand, and my resolution 
 is irrevocable, never to assert my rights. To receive this fortune, I should 
 be obliged to confess that Lia d'Argeles is a Chalusse and that is a confes- 
 sion which no consideration whatever will wring from me." 
 
 She imagined that this declaration would silence and discomfit Wilkie, 
 but she was mistaken. If he had been obliged to depend upon himself he 
 would perhaps have been conquered by it ; but he was armed with weapons 
 which had been furnished by the cunning viscount. So he shrugged his 
 shoulders, and coolly replied : " In that case we should remain poor, and 
 the government would take possession of our millions. One moment. I 
 
the count's millions. 63 
 
 have something to say in this matter. 1 ou may renounce your claim, but I 
 shall not renounce mine. I am your son, and I shall claim th property." 
 
 " Even if I entreated you on my knees not to do so ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Madame d'Argeles' eyes flashed. "Very well. I will show you that 
 this estate can never be yours. By what right will you lay claim to it ? 
 Because you are my son ? But I will deny that you are. I will declare 
 upon oath that you are nothing to me, and that I don't even know you. " 
 
 But even this did not daunt Wilkie. He drew from his pocket a scrap 
 of paper, and flourishing it triumphantly, he exclaimed : " It would be 
 extremely cruel on your part to deny me, but I foresaw such a contingency, 
 and here is my answer, copied from the civil code : 'Article 341. Inquiry 
 as to maternity allowed, &c, &c.' " 
 
 What the exact bearing of Wilkie's threat might be Madame d'Argeles 
 did not know. But she felt that this Article 341 would no doubt destroy 
 her last hope ; for the person who had chosen this weapon from the code 
 to place it in Wilkie's hand must have chosen it carefully. She understood 
 the situation perfectly. With her experience of life, she could not fail to 
 understand the despicable part Wilkie was playing. And though it was 
 not her son who had conceived this odious plot, it was more than enough 
 to know that he had consented to carry it into execution. Should she try 
 to persuade Wilkie to abandon this shameful scheme ? She might have 
 done so if she had not been so horrified by the utter want of principle 
 which she had discovered in his character. But, under the circumstances, 
 she realised that any effort in this direction would prove unavailing. So 
 it was purely from a sense of duty and to prevent her conscience from re- 
 proaching her that she exclaimed : "So you will apply to the courts in 
 order to constrain me to acknowledge you as my son ? " 
 
 " If you are not reasonable " 
 
 " That is to say, you care nothing for the scandal that will be created by 
 such a course. In order to prove yourself a member of the Chalusse family 
 you will begin by disgracing the name and dragging it through the mire. " 
 
 Wilkie had no wish to prolong this discussion. So much talk about an 
 affair, which, in his opinion, at least, was an extremely simple one, seemed 
 to him utterly ridiculous, and irritated him beyond endurance. " It 
 strikes me this is much ado about nothing," he remarked. "One would 
 suppose, to hear you talk, that you were the greatest criminal in the world. 
 Goodness is all very well in its way, but there is such a thing as having too 
 much of it ! Break loose from this life to-morrow, assume your rightful 
 name, install yourself at the H6tel de Chalusse, and in a week from now no 
 one will remember that you were once known as Lia d'Argeles. I wager 
 one hundred louis on it. Why, if people attempted to rake up the past life 
 of their acquaintances, they should have far too much to do. Folks do not 
 trouble themselves as to whether a person has done this or that ; the 
 essential thing is to have plenty of money. And if any fool speaks slight- 
 ingly of you, you can reply : * I have an income of five hundred thousand 
 francs,' and he'll say no more." 
 
 Madame Argeles listened, speechless with horror and disgust. Was it 
 really her son who was speaking in this style, and to her of all people in the 
 world? M. Wilkie misunderstood her silence. He had an excellent 
 opinion of himself, but he was rather surprised at the effect of his 
 eloquence. "Besides, I'm tired of vegetating, and having only one name," 
 he continued, " I want to be on the move. Even with the small allow- 
 
64 the count's millions. 
 
 ance I've had, I have gained a very good position in society ; and if I had 
 plenty of money I should be the most stylish man in Paris. The count's 
 estate belongs to me, and so I must have it in fact, I will have it. So be- 
 lieve me when I tell you that it will be much better for you if you acknow- 
 ledge me without any fuss ! Now, will you do so ? No ? Once, twice, 
 three times ? Is it still no ? Very well then ; to-morrow, then, you may 
 expect an official notice. I wish you good-evening." 
 
 He bowed ; he was really going, for his hand was already on the door- 
 knob. But Madame d'Argeles detained him with a gesture. "One word 
 more," she said, in a voice hoarse with emotion. 
 
 He scarcely deigned to come back, and he made no attempt to conceal 
 his impatience. "Well, what is it ? " he asked, hastily. 
 
 " I wish to give you a bit of parting advice. The court will undoubtedly 
 decide in your favour ; I shall be placed in possession of my brother's 
 estate ; but neither you nor I will have the disposal of these millions. " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because, though this fortune belongs to me, the control of it belongs to 
 your father." 
 
 M. Wilkie was thunderstruck. "To my father?" he exclaimed. 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 "It is so, however ; and you would not have been ignorant of the fact, 
 if your greed for money had not made you forget to question me. You be- 
 lieve yourself an illegitimate child. Wilkie, you are mistaken, You are 
 my legitimate child. I am a married woman " 
 
 "Bah!" 
 
 " And my husband your father is not dead. If he is not here now, 
 threatening our safety, it is because I have succeeded in eluding him. He 
 lost all trace of us eighteen years ago. Since then he has been constantly 
 striving to discover us, but in vain. He is still watching, you may be sure 
 of that ; and as soon as there is any talk of a law-suit respecting the 
 Chalusse property, you will see him appear, armed with his rights. He is 
 the head of the family your master and mine. Ah ! this seems to disturb 
 you. You will find him full of insatiable greed for wealth, a greed which 
 has been whetted by twenty years' waiting. You may yet see the day 
 when you will regret the paltry twenty thousand francs a year formerly 
 given you by your poor mother." 
 
 Wilkie's face was whiter than his shirt. "You are deceiving me," he 
 stammered. 
 
 "To-morrow I will shew you my marriage certificate." 
 
 " Why not this evening ? " 
 
 " Because it is locked up in a room which is now full of people." 
 
 " And what was my father's name ? " 
 
 "Arthur Gordon he is an American." 
 
 " Then my name is Wilkie Gordon ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And is my father rich ? " he inquired. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What does he do?" 
 
 "Everything that a man can do when he has a taste for luxury and a 
 horror for work." 
 
 This reply was so explicit in its brevity, and implied so many terrible 
 accusations, that Wilkie was dismayed. " The devil I " he exclaimed, 
 " and where does he live ? ' 
 
the count's millions. 65 
 
 " He lives at Baden or Homburg in the summer ; in Paris or at Monaco 
 in the winter." 
 
 ' ' Oh 1 oh ! oh ! " ejaculated Wilkie, in three different tones. He knew 
 what he had to expect from such a father as that. Anger now followed 
 stupor one of those terrible, white rages which stir the bile and not the 
 blood. He saw his hopes and his cherished visions fade. Luxury and 
 notoriety, high-stepping horses, yellow-haired mistresses, all vanished. He 
 ; pictured himself reduced to a mere pittance, and held in check and 
 domineered over by a brutal father. " Ah ! I understand your game," he 
 hissed through his set teeth. "If you would only quietly assert your 
 rights, everything could be arranged privately, and I should have time to 
 [put the property out of my father's reach before he could claim it. Instead 
 of doing that as you hate me you compel me to make the affair public, 
 iso that my father will hear of it and defraud me of everything. But you 
 won't play this trick on me. You are going to write at once, and make 
 known your claim to your brother's estate." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Ah ! you won't ? You refuse " He approached threateningly, and 
 caught hold of her arm. " Take care ! " he vociferated ; M take care ! Do 
 not infuriate me beyond endurance " 
 
 As cold and rigid as marble, Madame d'Argeles faced him with the un- 
 daunted glance of a martyr whose spirit no violence can subdue. " You will 
 obtain nothing from me," she said, firmly ; "nothing, nothing, nothing ! " 
 
 Maddened with rage and disappointment, M. Wilkie dared to lift his 
 hand as if about to strike her. But at this moment the door was flung 
 open, and a man sprang upon him. It was Baron Trigault. 
 
 Like the other guests, the baron had seen the terrible effect produced 
 upon Madame d'Argeles by a simple visiting card. But he had this advantage 
 over the others : he thought he could divine and explain the reason of this 
 sudden, seemingly incomprehensible terror. " The poor woman has been 
 betrayed," he thought ; " her son is here ! " Still, while the other players 
 crowded around their hostess, he did not leave the card table. He was 
 sitting opposite M. de Coralth, and he had seen the dashing viscount start 
 and change colour. His suspicions were instantly aroused, and he wished 
 to verify them. He therefore pretended to be more than ever absorbed in 
 the cards, and swore lustily at the deserters who had broken up the game. 
 1 Come back, gentlemen, come back," he cried, angrily. " We are wasting 
 precious time. While you have been trifling there, I might have gained 
 or lost a hundred louis." 
 
 He was nevertheless greatly alarmed, and the prolonged absence of 
 Madame d'Argeles increased his fears each moment. At the end of an hour 
 he could restrain himself no longer. So taking advantage of a heavy loss, 
 he rose from the table, swearing that the beastly turmoil of a few moments 
 before had changed the luck. Then passing into the adjoining drawing- 
 room, he managed to make his escape unobserved. " Where is madame ? " 
 he inquired of the first servant he met. 
 
 "In the little sitting-room." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 " No ; a young gentleman is with her." 
 
 The baron no longer doubted the correctness of his conjectures, and his 
 disquietude increased. Quickly, and as if he had been in his own house, he 
 hastened to the door of the little sitting-room and listened. At that mo- 
 ment rage was imparting a truly frightful intonation to M. Wilkie's voice, 
 
 vol. n o 
 
66 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 The baron really felt alarmed. He stooped, applied his eye to the key- 
 hole, and seeing M. Wilkie with his hand uplifted, he burst open the door and 
 went in. He arrived only just in time to fell Wilkie to the floor, and save 
 Madame d Argeles from that most terrible of humiliations : the degradation 
 of being struck by her own son. "Ah, you rascal ! " cried the worthy baron, 
 transported with indignation, " you beggarly rascal ! you brigand ! Is 
 this the way you treat an unfortunate woman who has sacrificed herself for 
 you ? your mother ? You try to strike your mother, when you ought to 
 kiss her very footprints ! " 
 
 As livid as if his blood had been suddenly turned to gall with quivering 
 lips and eyes starting from their sockets M. Wilkie rose, with difficulty, 
 to his feet, at the same time rubbing his left elbow which had struck against 
 the corner of a piece of furniture, in his fall. " Scoundrel ! You brutal 
 scoundrel!" he growled, ferociously. And then, retreating a step: "Who 
 gave you permission to come in here ? " he added. " Who are you ? By 
 what right do you meddle with my affairs ? " 
 
 "By the right that every honest man possesses to chastise a cowardly 
 rascal." 
 
 M. Wilkie shook his fist at the baron. " You are a coward yourself," 
 he retorted. " You had better learn who you are talking to ! You must 
 mend your manners a little, you old " 
 
 The word he uttered was so vile that no man could fail to resent it, much 
 less the baron, who was already frantic with passion. His faced turned as 
 purple as if he were stricken with apoplexy, and such furious rage gleamed 
 in his eyes that Madame d' Argeles was frightened. She feared she should 
 see her son butchered before her very eyes, and she extended her arms as 
 if to protect him. "Jacques," she said beseechingly, " Jacques ! " 
 
 This was the name which was idelibly impressed upon Wilkie's memory 
 the name he had heard when he was but a child. Jacques that was the 
 name of the man who had brought him cakes and toys in the comfortable 
 rooms where he had remained only a few days. He understood, or at 
 least he thought he understood, everything. " Ah ha ! " he exclaimed, 
 with a laugh that was at once both ferocious and idiotic. " This is very 
 fine monsieur is the lover. He has the say here he " 
 
 He did not have time to finish his sentence, for quick as thought the 
 baron caught him by the collar, lifted him from the ground with irresist- 
 ible strength, and flung him on his knees at Madame d' Argeles' feet, ex- 
 claiming : " Ask her pardon, you vile wretch ! Ask her pardon or " 
 "Or" meant the baron's clinched fist descending like a sledge-hammer on 
 M. Wilkie's head. 
 
 The worthy youth was frightened so terribly frightened that his teeth 
 chattered. " Pardon ! " he faltered. 
 
 " Louder speak up better than that. Your mother must answer you ! " 
 
 Alas ! the poor woman could no longer hear. She had endured so much 
 during the past hour that her strength was exhausted, and she had fallen 
 back in her arm-chair in a deep swoon. The baron waited for a moment, 
 and seeing that her eyes remained obstinately closed, he exclaimed : " This 
 is your work, wretch ! " 
 
 And lifting him again, as easily as if he had been a child, he set him on 
 his feet, saying in a calmer tone, but in one that admitted of no reply : 
 "Arrange your clothes and go." 
 
 This advice was not unnecessary. Baron Trigault had a powerful hand ; 
 and M. Wilkie's attire was decidedly the worse for the encounter. He had 
 
the count's millions. 67 
 
 lost his cravat, his shirt-front was crumpled and torn, and his waistcoat 
 one of those that open to the waist and are fastened by a single button 
 hung down in the most dejected manner. He obeyed the baron's order 
 without a word, but not without considerable difficulty, for his hands 
 trembled like a leaf. When he had finished, the baron exclaimed: "Now 
 be off ; and never set foot here again understand me never set foot here 
 again, never ! " 
 
 M. Wilkie made no reply until he reached the door leading into the hall. 
 But when he had opened it, he suddenly regained his powers of speech. 
 "I'm not afraid of you," he cried, with frantic violence. "You have taken 
 advantage of your superior strength you are a coward. But this shall not 
 end here. No ! you shall answer for it. I shall find your address, and 
 to-morrow you will receive a visit from my friends M. Costard and M. Ser- 
 pillon. I am the insulted party and I choose swords ! " 
 
 A frightful oath from the baron somewhat hastened M. Wilkie's exit. 
 He went out into the hall, and holding the door open, in a way that would 
 enable him to close it at the shortest notice, he shouted back, so as to be 
 heard by all the servants : " Yes ; I will have satisfaction. I will not 
 stand such treatment. Is it any fault of mine that Madame d'Argeles is a 
 Chalusse, and that she wishes to defraud me of my fortune. To-morrow, I 
 call you all to witness, there will be a lawyer here. You don't frighten 
 me. Here is my card ! " And actually, before he closed the door, he threw 
 one of his cards into the middle of the room. 
 
 The baron did not trouble himself to pick it up ; his attention was de- 
 voted to Madame d'Argeles. She was lying back in her arm-chair, white, 
 motionless and rigid, to all appearance dead. What should the baron do ? 
 He did not wish to call the servants ; they had heard too much already 
 but he had almost decided to do so, when his eyes fell upon a tiny aqua- 
 rium, in a corner of the room. He dipped his handkerchief in it ; and al- 
 ternately bathed Madame d'Argeles' temples and chafed her hands. It was 
 not long before the cold water revived her. She trembled, a convulsive 
 shudder shook her from head to foot, and at last she opened her eyes, mur- 
 muring : " Wilkie ! " 
 
 " I have sent him away," replied the baron. 
 
 Poor woman ! with returning life came the consciousness of the terrible 
 reality. " He is my son ! " she moaned, " my son, my Wilkie ! " Then 
 with a despairing gesture she pressed her hands to her forehead as if to 
 calm its throbbings. "And I believed that my sin was expiated," she pur- 
 sued. " I thought I had been sufficiently punished. Fool that I was ! 
 This is my chastisement, Jacques. Ah ! women like me have no right to 
 be mothers ! " 
 
 * A burning tear coursed down the baron's cheek ; but he concealed his 
 emotion as well as he could, and said, in a tone of assumed gaiety: 
 "Nonsense! Wilkie is young he will mend his ways! We were all 
 ridiculous when we were twenty. We have all caused our mothers many 
 anxious nights. Time will set everything to rights, and put some ballast 
 in this young madcap's brains. Besides, your friend Patterson doesn't 
 seem to me quite free from blame. In knowledge of books, he may have 
 been unequalled; but as a guardian for youth, he must have been the worst 
 of fools. "After keeping your son on a short allowance for years, he suddenly 
 gorges him with oats or I should say, money lets him loose ; and then 
 seems surprised because the boy is guilty of acts of folly. It would be a 
 miracle if he were not. So take courage, and hope for the best, my dear Lia. " 
 
68 THE count's millions. 
 
 She shook her head despondently. "Do you suppose that my heart hasn't 
 pleaded for him? " she said. " I am his mother ; I can never cease to love 
 him, whatever he may do. Even now I am ready to give a drop of blood 
 for each tear I can save him. But I am not blind ; I have read his nature. 
 Wilkie has no heart. " 
 
 " Ah ! my dear friend, how do you know what shameful advice he may 
 have received before coming to you ? " 
 
 Madame d'Argeles half rose, and said, in an agitated voice : " What ! 
 you try to make me believe that ? ' Advice ! ' Then he must have found a 
 man who said to him : * Go to the house of this unfortunate woman who 
 gave you birth, and order her to publish her dishonour and yours. If she 
 refuses, insult and beat her ! ' You know, even better than I, baron, that 
 this is impossible. In the vilest natures, and when every other honourable 
 feeling has been lost, love for one's mother survives. Even convicts deprive 
 themselves of their wine, and sell their rations, in order to send a trifle now 
 and then to their mothers while he " 
 
 She paused, not because she shrunk from what she was about to say, 
 but because she was exhausted and out of breath. She rested for a moment, 
 and then resumed in a calmer tone : " Besides, the person who sent him 
 here had counselled coolness and prudence. I discovered this at once. It 
 was only towards the close of the interview, and after an unexpected re- 
 velation from me, that he lost all control over himself. The thought that 
 lie would lose my brother's millions crazed him. Oh ! that fatal and ac- 
 cursed money ! Wilkie's adviser wished him to employ legal means to 
 obtain an acknowledgment of his parentage ; and he had copied from the 
 Code a clause which is applicable to this case. By this one circumstance I 
 am convinced that his adviser is a man of experience in such matters in 
 other words, the business agent " 
 
 11 What business agent ? " inquired the baron. 
 
 " The person who called here the other day, M. Isidore Fortunat. Ah ! 
 why didn't I not bribe him to hold his peace ? " 
 
 The baron had entirely forgotten the existence of Victor Chupin's honour- 
 able employer. " You are mistaken, Lia," he replied. "M. Fortunat has 
 had no hand in this." 
 
 " Then who could have betrayed my secret? " 
 
 " Why, your former ally, the rascal for whose sake you allowed Pascal 
 Ferailleur to be sacrificed the Viscount de Coralth ! " 
 
 The bare supposition of such treachery on the viscount's part brought a 
 flush of indignant anger to Madame d'Argeles' cheek. " Ah ! If I thought 
 that ! " she exclaimed. And then, remembering what reasons the baron had 
 for hating M. de Coralth, she murmured : "No! Your animosity mis- 
 leads you he wouldn't dare ! " 
 
 The baron read her thoughts. " So you are persuaded that it is personal 
 vengeance that I am pursuing ? " said he. " You think that fear of ridicule 
 and public odium prevents me from striking M. de Coralth in my own name, 
 and that I am endeavouring to find some other excuse to crush him. This 
 might have been so once ; but it is not the case now. When I promised M. 
 Ferailleur to do all in my power to save the young girl he loves, Madem- 
 oiselle Marguerite, my wife's daughter, I renounced all thought of self, all 
 my former plans. And why should you doubt Coralth's treachery ? You, 
 yourself, promised me to unmask him. If he has betrayed you, my poor 
 Lia, he has only been a little in advance of you." 
 
 She hung her head and made no reply. She had forgotten this. 
 
tea comer's millions. 69 
 
 M Besides," continued the baron, " you ought to know that when I make 
 such a statement I have some better foundation for it than mere conjecture. 
 It was to some purpose that I watched M. de Coralth during your absence. 
 When the servant handed you that card he turned extremely pale. Why ? 
 Because he knew whose card it was. After you left the room his hands 
 trembled like leaves, and his mind was no longer occupied with the game. Ho 
 who is usually such a cautious player risked his money recklessly. When 
 the cards came to him he did still worse ; and though luck favoured him, 
 he made the strangest blunders, and lost. His agitation and preoccupation 
 were so marked as to attract attention : and one acquaintance laughingly 
 inquired if he were ill, while another jestingly remarked that he had dined 
 and wined a little too much. The traitor was evidently on coals of fire. I 
 could see the perspiration on his forehead, and each time the door opened 
 or shut, he changed colour, as if he expected to see you and Wilkie enter. 
 A dozen times I surprised him listening eagerly, as if by dint of attention, 
 or by the magnetic force of his will, he hoped to hear what you and your son 
 were saying. With a single word I could have wrung a confession from 
 him." 
 
 This explanation was so plausible that Madame d'Argeles felt half con- 
 vinced. " Ah ! if you had only spoken that word ! " she murmured. The 
 baron smiled a crafty and malicious smile, which would have chilled M. de 
 Coral th's very blood if he had chanced to see it. ' I am not so stupid ! " 
 he replied. ' ' We mustn't frighten the fish till we are quite ready. Our 
 net is the Chalusse estate, and Coralth and Valorsay will enter it of their 
 own accord. It is not my plan, but M. Ferailleur's. There's a man for 
 you ! and if Mademoiselle Marguerite is worthy of him they will make a 
 noble pair. Without suspecting it, your son has perhaps rendered us an 
 important service this evening " 
 
 "Alas ! " faltered Madame d'Argeles, " I am none the less ruined the 
 name of Chalusse is none the less dishonoured ! " 
 
 She wanted to return to the drawing-room ; but she was compelled to re- 
 linquish this idea. The expression of her face betrayed too plainly the ter- 
 rible ordeal she had passed through. The servants had heard M. Wilkie's 
 parting words ; and news of this sort flies about with the rapidity of light- 
 ning. That very night, indeed, it was currently reported at the clubs that 
 there would be no more card-playing at the D'Argeles establishment, as that 
 lady was a Chalusse, and consequently the aunt of the beautiful young 
 girl whom M. and Madame de Fondege had taken under their protection. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Unusual strength of character, unbounded confidence in one's own energy, 
 with thorough contempt of danger, and an invincible determination to 
 triumph or perish, are all required of the person who, like Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite, intrusts herself to the care of strangers worse yet, to the care 
 of actual enemies. It is no small matter to place yourself in the power of 
 smooth-tongued hypocrites and impostors, who are anxious for your ruin, 
 and whom you know to be capable of anything. And the task is a mighty 
 one to brave unknown dangers, perilous seductions, perfidious counsels, 
 and perhaps even violence, at the same time retaining a calm eye and 
 smiling lips. Yet such was the heroism that Marguerite, although scarcely 
 twenty, displayed when she left the Hdtel de Chalusse to accept the 
 
70 the count's millions. 
 
 hospitality of the Fondege family. And, to crown all, she took Madame 
 L6on with her Madame Leon, whom she knew to be the Marquis de 
 Valorsay's spy. 
 
 But, brave as she was, when the moment of departure came her heart 
 almost failed her. There was despair in the parting glance she cast upon 
 the princely mansion and the familiar faces of the servants. And there was 
 no one to encourage or sustain her. Ah, yes ! standing at a window on 
 the second floor, with his forehead pressed close against the pane of glass, 
 she saw the only friend she had in the world the old magistrate who had 
 defended, encouraged, and sustained her the man who had promised her 
 his assistance and advice, and prophesied ultimate success. 
 
 " Shall I be a coward ? " she thought ; "shall I be unworthy of Pascal ?" 
 And she resolutely entered the carriage, mentally exclaiming : " The die is 
 cast ! " 
 
 The General insisted that she should take a place beside Madame de 
 Fondege on the back seat ; whilst he found a place next to Madame Leon 
 on the seat facing them. The drive was a silent and tedious one. The night 
 was coming on ; it was a time when all Paris was on the move, and the 
 carriage was delayed at each street corner by a crowd of passing vehicles. 
 The conversation was solely kept alive by the exertions of Madame de 
 Fondege, whose shrill voice rose above the rumble of the wheels, as she 
 chronicled the virtues of the late Count de Chalusse, and congratulated 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite on the wisdom of her decision. Her remarks 
 were of a commonplace description, and yet each word she uttered evinced 
 intense satisfaction, almost delight, as if she had won some unexpected 
 victory. Occasionally, the General leaned from the carriage window to see 
 if the vehicle laden with Mademoiselle Marguerite's trunks was following 
 them, but he said nothing. 
 
 At last they reached his residence in the Rue Pigalle. He alighted first, 
 offered his hand successively to his wife, Mademoiselle Marguerite, and 
 Madame Leon, and motioned the coachman to drive away. 
 
 But the man did not stir. "Pardon excuse me, monsieur," he said, 
 " but my employers bade requested me " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " To ask you you know, for the fare thirty-five francs not counting 
 the little gratuity. " 
 
 "Very well ! I will pay you to-morrow." 
 
 ' ' Excuse me, monsieur ; but if it is all the same to you, would you do so 
 this evening ? My employer said that the bill had been standing a long 
 time already." 
 
 "What, scoundrel ! " 
 
 But Madame de Fondege, who was on the point of entering the house, 
 suddenly stepped back, and drawing out her pocket-book exclaimed : 
 " That's enough ! Here are thirty-five francs." 
 
 The man went to his carriage lamp to count the money, and seeing that 
 he had the exact amount " And my gratuity ?" he asked. 
 
 "I give none to insolent people," replied the General. 
 
 " You should take a cab if you haven't money enough to pay for coaches," 
 replied the driver with an oath. " I'll be even with you yet." 
 
 Marguerite heard no more, for Madame de Fondege caught her by the 
 arm and hurried her up the staircase, saying: "Quick ! we must make 
 haste. Your baggage is here already, and we must see if the rooms I in- 
 tended for you I or you and your companion suit you. " 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 71 
 
 When Marguerite reached the second floor, Madame de Fondege hunted 
 in her pocket for her latch-key. Not finding it, she rang. A tall man- 
 servant of impudent appearance and arrayed in a glaring livery opened the 
 door, carrying an old battered iron candlestick, in which a tiny scrap of 
 candle was glaring and flickering. " What ! " exclaimed Madame de 
 Fondege, " the reception room not lighted yet ? This is scandalous ! What 
 have you been doing in my absence ? Come, make haste. Light the lamp. 
 Tell the cook that I have some guests to dine with me. Call my maid. 
 See that M. Gustave's room is in order. Go down and see if the General 
 doesn't need your assistance about the baggage." 
 
 Finding it difficult to choose between so many contradictory orders," the 
 servant did not choose at all. He placed his rusty candlestick on one of 
 the side-tables in the reception-room, and gravely, without saying a single 
 word, went out into the passage leading to the kitchen. * Evariste ! " 
 cried Madame de Fondege, crimson with anger, "Evariste, you insolent 
 fellow!" 
 
 As he deigned no reply, she rushed out in pursuit of him. And soon the 
 sound of a violent altercation arose ; the servant lavishing insults upon his 
 mistress, and she unable to find any response, save, "I dismiss you; you 
 are an insolent scamp I dismiss you. " 
 
 Madame Leon, who was standing near Mademoiselle Marguerite in the 
 reception-room, seemed greatly amused. " This is a strange household," 
 said she. " A fine beginning, upon my word." 
 
 But the worthy housekeeper was the last person on earth to whom 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite wished to reveal her thoughts. "Hush, Le"on," 
 she replied. "We are the cause of all this disturbance, and I am very 
 sorry for it." 
 
 The retort that rose to the housekeeper's lips was checked by the return 
 of Madame de Fondege, followed by a servant-girl with a turn up nose, a 
 pert manner, and who carried a lighted candle in her hand. 
 
 " How can I apologize, madame," began Mademoiselle Marguerite, " for 
 all the trouble I am giving you ? " 
 
 "Ah ! my dear child, I've never been so happy. Come, come, and see 
 your room. " And while they crossed several scantily-furnished apartments, 
 Madame de Fondege continued : " It is I who ought to apologize to you. 
 I fear you will pine for the splendours of the Hotel de Chalusse. We are 
 not millionaires like your poor father. We have only a modest competence, 
 no more. But here we are ! " 
 
 The maid had opened a door, and Mademoiselle Marguerite entered a 
 good-sized room lighted by two windows, hung with soiled wall paper, and 
 adorned with chintz curtains, from which the sun had extracted most of the 
 colouring. Everything was in disorder here, and, in fact, the whole room 
 was extremely dirty. The bed was not made, the washstand was dirty, 
 some woollen stockings were hanging over the' side of the rumpled bed, and 
 on the mantel-shelf stood an ancient clock, an empty beer bottle, and some 
 glasses. On the floor, on the furniture, in the corners, everywhere in fact, 
 stumps of cigars were scattered in profusion, as if they had positively rained 
 down. 
 
 "What ! " gasped Madame de Fondege, "you haven't put this room in 
 order, Justine ? " 
 
 " Indeed, madame, I haven't had time." 
 
 " But it's more than a month since M. Gu stave slept here ? " 
 
 " I know it ; but madame must remember that I have been very much 
 
72 the count's millions. 
 
 hurried this last month, having to do all the washing and ironing since the 
 laundress " 
 
 "That's sufficient," interrupted Madame de Fondege. And turning to 
 Marguerite, she said : " You will, I am sure, excuse this disorder, my dear 
 child. By this time to-morrow the room shall be transformed into one of 
 those dainty nests of muslin and flowers which young girls delight in." 
 
 Connected with this apartment, which was known to the household as the 
 lieutenant's room, there was a much smaller chamber lighted only by a 
 single window, and originally intended for a dressing-room. It had two 
 doors, one of them communicating with Marguerite's room, and the other 
 with the passage ; and it was now offered to Madame Leon, who on com- 
 paring these quarters with the spacious suite of rooms she had occupied at 
 the H6tel de Chalusse, had considerable difficulty in repressing a grimace. 
 Still she did not hesitate nor even murmur. M. de Valorsay's orders bound 
 her to Marguerite, and she deemed it fortunate that she was allowed to 
 follow her. And whether the marquis succeeded or not, he had promised 
 her a sufficiently liberal reward to compensate for all personal discomfort. 
 So, in the sweetest of voices, and with a feigned humility of manner, she 
 declared this little room to be even much too good for a poor widow whose 
 misfortunes had compelled her to abdicate her position in society. 
 
 The attentions which M. and Madame de Fondege shewed her contributed 
 not a little to her resignation. Without knowing exactly what the General 
 and his wife expected from Mademoiselle Marguerite, she was shrewd 
 enough to divine that they hoped to gain some important advantage. Now 
 her "dear child" had declared her to be a trusted friend, who was indis- 
 pensable to her existence and comfort. " So these people will pay assiduous 
 court to me," she thought. And being quite ready to play a double 
 part as the spy of the Marquis de Valorsay, and the Fondege family, and 
 quite willing to espouse the latter's cause should that prove to be the more 
 remunerative course, she saw a long series of polite attentions and gifts 
 before her. 
 
 That very evening her prophecies were realized ; and she received a proof 
 of consideration which positively delighted her. It was decided that she 
 should take her meals at the family table, a thing which had never happened 
 at the H6tel de Chalusse. Mademoiselle Marguerite raised a few objections, 
 which Madame Leon answered with a venomous look, but Madame de 
 Fondege insisted upon the arrangement, not understanding, she said, 
 graciously, why they need deprive themselves of the society of such an 
 agreeable and distinguished person. Madame L6on in no wise doubted but 
 this favour was due to her merit alone, but Mademoiselle Marguerite, who 
 was more discerning, saw that their hostess was really furious at the idea, 
 but was compelled to submit to it by the imperious necessity of preventing 
 Madame Leon from coming in contact with the servants, who might make 
 some decidedly compromising disclosures. For there were evidently many 
 little mysteries and make-shifts to be concealed in this household. For 
 instance, while the servants were carrying the luggage upstairs, Marguerite 
 discovered Madame de Fondege and her maid in close consultation, 
 whispering with that volubility which betrays an unexpected and pressing 
 perplexity. What were they talking about? She listened without any 
 compunctions of conscience, and the words "a pair of sheets, " repeated 
 again and again, furnished her with abundant food for reflection. "Is it 
 possible," she thought, " that they have no sheets to give us ? " 
 
 It did not take her long to discover the maid's opinion of the establish- 
 
73 
 
 ment in which she served ; for while she brandished her broom and duster, 
 this girl, exasperated undoubtedly by the increase of work she saw in store 
 for her, growled and cursed the old barrack where one was worked to 
 death, where one never had enough to eat, and where the wages were al- 
 ways in arrear. Mademoiselle Marguerite was doing her best to aid the 
 maid, who was greatly surprised to find this handsome queenly young lady 
 so obliging, when Evariste, the same who had received warning an hour 
 before, made his appearance, and announced in an insolent tone that 
 " Madame la Comtesse was served." 
 
 For Madame de Fondege exacted this title. She had improvised it, as 
 her husband had improvised his title of General, and without much more 
 difficulty. By a search in the family archives she had discovered so she 
 declared to her intimate friends that she was the descendant of a noble 
 family, and that one of her ancestors had held a most important position at 
 the court of Francis I. or of Louis XII. Indeed, she sometimes confounded 
 them. However, people who had not known her father, the wood merchant, 
 saw nothing impossible in the statements. 
 
 Evariste was dressed as a butler should be dressed when he announces 
 dinner to a person of rank. In the daytime when he discharged the 
 duties of footman, he was gorgeous in gold lace ; but in the evening, he 
 arrayed himself in severe black, such as is appropriate to the butler of an 
 aristocratic household. Immediately after his announcement everybody 
 repaired to the sumptuous dining-room which, with its huge sideboards, 
 loaded with silver and rare china, looked not unlike a museum. Such was 
 the display, indeed, that when Mademoiselle Marguerite took a seat at the 
 table, between the General and his wife, and opposite Madame Leon, she 
 asked herself if she had not been the victim of that dangerous optical de- 
 lusion known as prejudice. She noticed that the supply of knives and 
 forks was rather scanty ; but many economical housewives keep most 
 of their silver under lock and key ; besides the china was very hand- 
 some and marked with the General's monogram, surmounted by his wife's 
 coronet. 
 
 However, the dinner was badly cooked and poorly served. One might 
 have supposed it to be a scullery maid's first attempt. Still the General 
 devoured it with delight. He partook ravenously of every dish, a flush 
 rose to his cheeks, and an expression of profound satisfaction was visible 
 upon his countenance. "From this," thought Mademoiselle Marguerite, 
 "I must infer that he usually goes hungry, and that this seems a positive 
 feast to him." In fact, he seemed bubbling over with contentment. He 
 twirled his moustaches a la Victor Emmanuel, and rolled his "r," as he 
 said, ' ' Sacr-r-r-r-r-e bleu ! " even more ferociously than usual. It was only 
 by a powerful effort that he restrained himself from indulging in various 
 witticisms which would have been most unseemly in the presence of a poor 
 girl who had just lost her father and all her hopes of fortune. But he did 
 forget himself so much as to say that the drive to the cemetery had whetted 
 his appetite, and to address his wife as Madame Range-a-bord, a title which 
 had been bestowed upon her by a sailor brother. 
 
 Crimson with anger to the very roots of her coarse, sandy hair amazed 
 to see her husband deport himself in this style, and almost suffocated by 
 the necessity of restraining her wrath, Madame de Fondege was heroic 
 enough to smile, though her eyes flashed ominously. But the General waa 
 not at all dismayed. On the contrary, he cared so little for his wife's dis- 
 pleasure that, when the dessert was served, he turned to the servant, and, 
 
74 the count's millions. 
 
 with a wink that Mademoiselle Marguerite noticed, " Evariste," he ordered, 
 " go to the wine-cellar, and bring me a bottle of old Bordeaux." 
 
 The valet, who had just received a week's notice, was only too glad of an 
 opportunity for revenge. So with a malicious smile, and in a drawling 
 tone, he replied : " Then monsieur must give me the money. Monsieur 
 knows very well that neither the grocer nor the wine merchant will trust 
 him any longer." 
 
 M. de Fondege rose from the table, looking very pale ; but before he had 
 time to utter a word, his wife came to the rescue. " You know, my dear, 
 that I don't trust the key of my cellar to this lad. Evariste, call 
 Justine." 
 
 The pert-looking chambermaid appeared, and her mistress told her where 
 she would find the key of the famous cellar. About a quarter of an hour 
 afterwards, one of those bottles which grocers and wine merchants prepare 
 for the benefit of credulous customers was brought in a bottle duly covered 
 with dust and mould to give it a venerable appearance, and festooned with 
 cobwebs, such as the urchins of Paris collect and sell at from fifteen sous to two 
 francs a pound, according to quality. But the Bordeaux did not re- 
 store the General's equanimity. He was silent and subdued ; and his re- 
 lief was evident when, after the coffee had been served, his wife exclaimed : 
 " We won't keep you from your club, my dear. I want a chat with our 
 dear child." 
 
 Since she dismissed the General so unceremoniously, Madame de Fondege 
 evidently wished for a tSte-d-tete with Mademoiselle Marguerite. At least 
 Madame L6on thought so, or feigned to think so, and addressing the young 
 girl, she said : " I shall be obliged to leave you for a couple of hours, my 
 dear young lady. My relatives would never forgive me if I did not inform 
 them of my change of residence." 
 
 This was the first time since she had been engaged by the Count de 
 Chalusse, that the estimable " companion " had ever made any direct 
 allusion to her relatives, and what is more, to relatives residing in Paris. 
 She had previously only spoken of them in general terms, giving people to 
 understand that her relatives had not been unfortunate like herself that 
 they still retained their exalted rank, though she had fallen, and that she 
 found it difficult to decline the favours they longed to heap upon her 
 
 However, Mademoiselle Marguerite evinced no surprise. "Go at once 
 and inform your relatives, my dear Leon," she said, without a shade of 
 sarcasm in her manner. " I hope they won't be offended by your devo- 
 tion to me." But in her secret heart, she thought: "This hypocrite is 
 going to report to the Marquis de Valorsay, and these relatives of hers 
 will furnish her with excuses for future visits to him." 
 
 The General went off, the servants began to clear the table, and Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite followed her hostess to the drawing-room. It was a 
 lofty and spacious apartment, lighted by three windows, and even more 
 sumptuous in its appointments than the dining-room. Furniture, carpets, 
 and hangings, were all in rather poor taste, perhaps, but costly, very 
 costly. As the evening was a cold one, Madame de Fondege ordered the 
 fire to be lighted. She seated herself on a sofa near the mantelpiece, and 
 when Mademoiselle Marguerite had taken a chair opposite her, she began, 
 " Now, my dear child, let us have a quiet talk." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite expected some important communication, so 
 that she was not a little surprised when Madame de Fondege resumed : 
 "Have you thought about your mourning ? " 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 75 
 
 "About my mourning, madame ? " 
 
 "Yes. I mean, have you decided what dresses you will purchase? It 
 is an important matter, my dear more important than you suppose. 
 They are making costumes entirely of crSpe now, puffed and plaited, and 
 extremely stylish. I saw one that would suit you well. You may think 
 that a costume for deep mourning made with puffs would be a trifle loud t 
 but that depends upon tastes. The Duchess de Veljo wore one only eleven 
 days after her husband's death ; and she allowed some of her hair, which 
 is superb, to fall over her shoulders, a la pleureuse, and the effect was ex- 
 tremely touching." Was Madame de Fondege speaking sincerely ? There 
 could be no doubt of it. Her features, which had been distorted, with 
 anger when the General took it into his head to order the bottle of Bor- 
 deaux, had regained their usual placidity of expression, and had even 
 brightened a little. " I am entirely at your service, my dear, if you wish 
 any shopping done, " she continued. "And if you are not quite pleased 
 with your dressmaker, I will take you to mine, who works like an angel. 
 But how absurd I am. You will of course employ Van Klopen. I go to 
 him occasionally myself, but only on great occasions. Between you and 
 me, I think him a trifle too high in his charges." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite could scarcely repress a smile. " I must 
 confess, madame, that from my infancy I have been in the habit of making 
 almost all my dresses myself. " 
 
 The General's wife raised her eyes to Heaven in real or feigned astonish- 
 ment. "Yourself!" she repeated four or five times, as if to make sure 
 that she had heard aright. " Yourself ! That is incomprehensible ! You, 
 the daughter of a man who possessed an income of five or six hundred thou- 
 sand francs a year ! Still I know that poor M. de Chalusse, though 
 unquestionably a very worthy and excellent man, was peculiar in some of 
 his ideas." 
 
 " Excuse me, madame. What I did, I did for my own pleasure." 
 
 But this assertion exceeded Madame de Fondege's powers of comprehen- 
 sion. " Impossible ! " she murmured, "impossible I But, my poor child, 
 what did you do for fashions for patterns ? " 
 
 The immense importance she attached to the matter was so manifest that 
 Marguerite could not refrain from smiling. "I was probably not a very 
 close follower of the fashions," she replied. " The dress that I am wearing 
 now " 
 
 ' ' Is very pretty, my child, and it becomes you extremely ; that's the 
 truth. Only, to be frank, I must confess that this style is no longer worn 
 no not at all. You must have your new dresses made in quite a differ- 
 ent way." 
 
 "But I already have more dresses than I need, madame." 
 
 " What ! black dresses ? " 
 
 " I seldom wear anything but black." 
 
 Evidently her hostess had never heard anything like this before. " Oh ! 
 all right," said she, "these dresses will doubtless do very well for your 
 first months of mourning but afterwards ? Do you suppose, my poor dear, 
 that I'm going to allow you to shut yourself up as you did at the Hotel de 
 Chalusse ? Good heavens ! how dull it must have been for you, alone in 
 that big house, without society or friends." 
 
 A tear fell from Marguerite's long lashes. " I was very happy there, 
 madame," she murmured. 
 
 "You think so j but you will change your mind. When one has never 
 
76 
 
 tasted real pleasure, one cannot realise how gloomy one's life really is. No 
 doubt, you were very unhappy alone with M. de Chalusse." 
 
 "Oh ! madame " 
 
 " Tut! tut! my dear, I know what I am talking about. Wait until you have 
 been introduced into society before you boast of the charms of solitude. 
 Poor dear ! I doubt if you have ever attended a ball in your whole life. 
 No ! I was sure of it, and you are twenty ! Fortunately, I am here. I 
 will take your mother's place, and we will make up for lost time ! Beau- 
 tiful as you are, my child for you are divinely beautiful you will reign 
 as a queen wherever you appear. Doesn't that thought make that cold little 
 heart of yours throb more quickly ? Ah ! fStes and music, wonderful toil- 
 ettes and the flashing of diamonds, the admiration of gentlemen, the envy of 
 rivals, the consciousness of one's own beauty, are these delights not enough 
 to fill any woman's life ? It is intoxication, perhaps, but an intoxication 
 which is happiness." 
 
 Was she sincere, or did she hope to dazzle this lonely girl, and then 
 rule her through the tastes she might succeed in giving her ? As is not 
 unfrequently the case with callous natures, Madame de Fondege was a 
 compound of frankness and cunning. What she was saying now she really 
 meant ; and as it was to her interest to say it, she urged her opinions 
 boldly and even eloquently. Twenty-four hours earlier, proud and truthful 
 Marguerite would have silenced her at once. She would have told her that 
 such pleasures could never have any charm for her, and that she felt only 
 scorn and disgust for such worthless aims and sordid desires. But having 
 resolved to appear a dupe, she concealed her real feelings under an air of 
 surprise, and was astonished and even ashamed to find that she could dis- 
 semble so well. 
 
 " Besides," continued Madame de Fondege, "a marriageable young girl 
 should never shut herself up like a nun. She will never find a husband if 
 she remains at home and she must marry. Indeed, marriage is a sensible 
 woman's only object in life, since it is her emancipation." 
 
 Was Madame de Fondege going to plead her son's cause ? Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite almost believed it but the lady was too shrewd for that. She 
 took good care not to mention as much as Lieutenant Gustave's name. 
 
 ' The season will certainly be unusually brilliant," she said, "and it will 
 begin very early. On the fifth of November, the Countess de Commarin 
 will give a superb fite ; all Paris will be there. On the seventh, there will 
 be a ball at the house of the Viscountess de Bois d'Ardon. On the eleventh, 
 there will be a concert, followed by a ball, at the superb mansion of the 
 Baroness Trigault you know the wife of that strange man who spends all 
 his time in playing cards." 
 
 "This is the first time I ever heard the name mentioned." 
 
 " Really ! and you have been living in Paris for years. It seems incom- 
 prehensible. You must know then, my dear little ignoramus, that the 
 Baroness Trigault is one of the most distinguished ladies in Paris, and 
 certainly the best dressed. I am sure her bill at Van Klopen's is not less 
 than a hundred thousand franos a year and that is saying enough, is it 
 not ? " And with genuine pride, she added : " The baroness is my friend ; 
 I will introduce you to her. 
 
 Having once started on this theme, Madame de Fondege was not easily 
 silenced. It was evidently her ambition to be considered a woman of the 
 world, and to be acquainted with all the leaders of fashionable society ; 
 an4i in fact, if one listened to her conversation for an hour one could learn 
 
77 
 
 all the gossip of the day. Though she was unable to interest herself in this 
 tittle-tattle, Marguerite was pretending to listen to it with profound attention 
 when the drawing-room door suddenly opened and Evariste appeared 
 with an impudent smile on his face. ' ' Madame Landoire, the milliner, is 
 here, and desires to speak with Madame la Comtesse," he said. 
 
 On hearing this name, Madame de Fondege started as if she had been 
 stung by a viper. " Let her wait," she said quickly. " I will see her in a 
 moment." 
 
 The order was useless, for the visitor was already on the threshold. She 
 was a tall, dark-haired, ill mannered-woman. "Ah! I've found you at 
 last," she said, rudely, " and I'm not sorry. This is the fourth time I've 
 come here with my bill. " 
 
 Madame de Fondege pointed to Mademoiselle Marguerite, and ex- 
 claimed : " Wait, at least, until I am alone before you speak to me on 
 business." 
 
 Madame Landoire shrugged her shoulders. " As if you were ever alone," 
 she growled. " I wish to put an end to this." 
 
 " Step into my room then, and we will put an end to it, and at once." 
 
 This opportunity to escape from Madame de Fondege must not be allowed 
 to pass : so Marguerite asked permission to withdraw, declaring, what was 
 really the truth, that she felt completely tired out. After receiving a ma- 
 ternal kiss from her hostess, accompanied by a " sleep well, my dear child," 
 she retired to her own room. Thanks to Madame L6on's absence, she found 
 herself alone, and, drawing a blotting-pad from one of her trunks, she 
 hastily wrote a note to M. Isidore Fortunat, telling him that she would 
 call upon him on the following Tuesday. " I must be very awkward," she 
 thought, "if to-morrow, on going to mass, I can't find an opportunity to 
 throw this note into a letter-box without being observed." 
 
 It was fortunate that she had lost no time, for her writing-case was 
 scarcely in its place again before Madame Le"on entered, evidently out of 
 sorts. " Well," asked Marguerite, " did you see your friends ? " 
 
 "Don't speak of it, my dear young lady ; they were all of them away 
 from home they had gone to the play." 
 
 "Ah?" 
 
 " So I shall go again early to-morrow morning : you must realise how im- 
 portant it is." 
 
 " Yes, I understand." 
 
 But Madame Le"on, who was usually so loquacious, did not seem to be in 
 a talkative mood that evening, and, after kissing her dear young lady, she 
 went into her own room. 
 
 "She did not succeed in finding the Marquis de Valorsay," thought 
 Marguerite, "and being in doubt as to the part she is to play, she feels 
 furious. " 
 
 The young girl tried to sum up the impressions of the evening, and to 
 decide upon a plan of conduct, but she felt sad and very weary. She said 
 to herself that rest would be more beneficial than anything else, and that 
 her mind would be clearer on the morrow ; so after a fervent prayer in 
 which Pascal Ferailleur's name was mentioned several times, she prepared 
 for bed. But before she fell asleep she was able to collect another bit of 
 evidence. The sheets on her bed were new. 
 
 If Marguerite had been born in the H6tel de Chalusse, if she had known 
 a father's and a mother's tender care from her infancy, if she had always 
 been protected by a large fortune from the stern realities of life, there 
 
7b 
 
 THE COUNT S MILLIONS. 
 
 would have been no hope for her now that she was left poor and alone for 
 how can a girl avoid dangers she is ignorant of ? But from her earliest 
 childhood Marguerite had studied the difficult science of real life under the 
 best of teachers misfortune. Cast upon her own resources at the age of 
 thirteen, she had learned to look upon everybody and everything with dis- 
 trust ; and by relying only on herself, she had become strangely cautious 
 and clear-sighted. She knew how to watch and how to listen, how to 
 deliberate and how to act. Two men, the Marquis de Valorsay and M. de 
 Fondege's son, coveted her hand ; and one of the two, the marquis, so she 
 believed, was capable of any crime. Still she felt no fears. She had been 
 in danger once before when she was little more than a child, when the 
 brother of her employer insulted her with his attentions, but she had 
 escaped unharmed. 
 
 Deceit was certainly most repugnant to her truth loving nature ; but it 
 was the only weapon of defence she possessed. And so on the following day 
 she carefully studied the abode of her entertainers. And certainly the 
 study was instructive. The General's household was truly Parisian in 
 character ; or, at least, it was what a Parisian household inevitably be- 
 comes when its inmates fall a prey to the constantly increasing passion for 
 luxury and display, to the furore for aping the habits and expenditure of 
 millionaires, and to the noble and elevated desire of humiliating and out- 
 shining their neighbours. Ease, health, and comfort had been unscru- 
 pulously sacrificed to show. The dining-room was magnificent, the drawing- 
 room superb ; but these were the only comfortably furnished apartments in 
 the establishment. The other rooms were bare and desolate. It is true 
 that Madame de Fondege, had a handsome wardrobe with glass doors in 
 her own room, but this was an article which the friend of the fashionable 
 Baroness Trigault could not possibly dispense with. On the other hand, 
 her bed had no curtains. 
 
 The aspect of the place fittingly explained the habits and manners of the 
 inmates. What sinister fears must have haunted them ! for how could 
 this extreme destitution in one part of the establishment be reconciled with 
 the luxury noticeable in the other, except by the fact that a desperate 
 struggle to keep up appearances was constantly going on ? And this con- 
 stant anxiety made out-door noise, excitement, and gaiety a necessity of 
 their existence, and caused them to welcome anything that took them from 
 the home where they had barely sufficient to deceive society, and not 
 enough to impose upon their creditors. "And they keep three servants,'' 
 thought Mademoiselle Marguerite "three enemies who spend their time 
 in ridiculing them, and torturing their vanity." 
 
 Thus, on the very first day after her arrival, she realised the real situa- 
 tion of the General and his wife. They were certainly on the verge of ruin 
 when Mademoiselle Marguerite accepted their hospitality. Everything 
 went to prove this : the coachman's insolent demand, the servants' im- 
 pudence, the grocer's refusal to furnish a single bottle of wine on credit, 
 the milliner's persistence, and, lastly, the new sheets on the visitors' beds. 
 " Yes," thought Mademoiselle Marguerite to herself, " the Fondeges were 
 ruined when I came here. They would never have sunk so low if they had 
 not been utterly destitute of resources. So, if they rise again, if money 
 and credit come back again, then the old magistrate is right they have 
 obtained possession of the Chalusse millions ! " 
 
the count's millions. 79 
 
 IX. 
 
 On this side, at least, Mademoiselle Marguerite had no very wide field of 
 investigation to explore. Her common sense told her that her task would 
 merely consist in carefully watching the behaviour of the General and his 
 wife, in noting their expenditure, and so on. It was a matter of close 
 attention, and of infinitesimal trifles. Nor was she much encouraged by 
 her first success. It was, perhaps, important ; and yet it might be nothing. 
 For she felt that the real difficulties would not begin until she became morally 
 certain that the General had stolen the millions that were missing from 
 the count's escritoire. Even then it would remain for her to discover how 
 he had obtained possession of this money. And when she had succeeded in 
 doing this, would her task be ended ? Certainly not. She must obtain 
 sufficient evidence to give her the right of accusing the General openly, and 
 in the face of every one. She must have material and indisputable proofs 
 before she could say : "A robbery has been committed. I was accused of 
 it. I was innocent. Here is the culprit 1 " 
 
 What a long journey must K be made before this goal was reached ! No 
 matter ! Now that she had a positive and fixed point of departure, she felt 
 that she possessed enough energy to sustain her in her endeavours for years, 
 if need be. What troubled her most was that she could not logically ex- 
 plain the conduct of her enemies from the time M. de Fondege had asked 
 her hand for his son up to the present moment. And first, why had they 
 been so audacious or so imprudent as to bring her to their own home if they 
 had really stolen one of those immense amounts that are sure to betray their 
 possessors? "They are mad," she thought, " or else they must deem me 
 blind, deaf, and more stupid than mortal ever was ! " Secondly, why 
 should they be so anxious to marry her to their son, Lieutenant Gustave ? 
 This also was a puzzling question. However, she was fully decided on one 
 point : the suspicions of the Fondege family must not be aroused. If they were 
 on their guard, it would be the easiest thing in the world for them to pay their 
 debts quietly, and increase their expenditure so imperceptibly that she 
 would not be able to prove a sudden acquisition of wealth. 
 
 But the events of the next few days dispelled these apprehensions. That 
 very afternoon, although it was Sunday, it became evident that a shower of gold 
 had fallen on the General's abode. The door-bell rang incessantly for several 
 hours, and an interminable procession of tradesmen entered. It looked 
 very much as if M. de Fondege had called a meeting of his creditors. They 
 came in haughty and arrogant, with their hats upon their heads, and surly 
 of speech, like people who have made up their minds to accept their loss, 
 but who intend to pay themselves in rudeness. They were ushered into 
 the drawing-room where the General was holding his levde ; they remained 
 there from five to ten minutes, and then, bowing low with hat in hand, 
 they retired with radiant countenances, and an obsequious smile on their lips. 
 So they had been paid. And as if to prove to Mademoiselle Marguerite that 
 her suspicions were correct, she chanced to be present when the livery 
 stable-keeper presented his bill. 
 
 Madame de Fondege received him very haughtily. "Ah! here you 
 are!" she exclaimed, rudely, as soon as he appeared. "So you are the 
 man who teaches his drivers to insult his customers ? That is an excellent 
 
80 THE COUNT'S MiLLIONS. 
 
 way to gain patronage. What ! I hire a one-horse carriage from you by the 
 month, and because I happen to wish for a two-horse vehicle for a single 
 day, you make me pay the difference. You should demand payment in 
 advance if you are so suspicious." 
 
 The stable-keeper, who had a bill for nearly four thousand francs in his 
 pocket, stood listening with the air of a man who is meditating some crushing 
 reply ; but she did not give him time to deliver it. " When I have cause to 
 complain of the people I employ, I dismiss them and replace them by others. 
 Insolence is one of those things that I never forgive. Give me your bill." 
 
 The man, in whose face doubt, tear, and hope had succeeded each other 
 in swift succession, thereupon drew an interminable bill from his pocket. 
 And when he saw the bank-notes, when he saw the bill paid without dis- 
 pute or even examination, he was seized with a wondering respect, and his 
 voice became sweeter than honey. They say the payment of a bad debt 
 delights a merchant a thousand times more than the settlement of fifty good 
 ones. The truth of this assertion became apparent in the present case. 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite thought the man was going to beg "Madame la 
 Comtesse to do him the favour to withhold a portion of the small amount. " 
 For the Parisian tradesman is so constituted that very frequently it is not 
 necessary to -pay him money, but only to show it. 
 
 However, this creditor's abnegation did not extend so far ; still he did 
 entreat Madame la Comtesse not to leave him on account of a blunder for 
 it was a blunder he swore it on his children's heads. His coachman was 
 only a fool and a drunkard, who had misunderstood him entirely, and 
 whom he should ignominiously dismiss on returning to his establishment. 
 But " Madame la Comtesse " was inflexible. She sent the man about his 
 business, saying, "I never place myself in a position to be treated with 
 disrespect a second time." 
 
 This probably accounted for the fact that Evariste, the footman, who had 
 been so wanting in respect the previous evening, had been sent away that 
 very morning. Mademoiselle Marguerite did not see him again. Dinner 
 was served by a new servant, who had been sent by an Employment Office, 
 and engaged without a question, no doubt because Evariste's livery fitted 
 him like a glove. Had the cook also been replaced ? Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite thought so, though she had no means of convincing herself on this 
 point. It was certain, however, that the Sunday dinner was utterly un- 
 like that of the evening before. Quality had replaced quantity, and care, 
 profusion. It was not necessary to send to the cellar for a bottle of Chateau- 
 Laroze ; it made its appearance at the proper moment, warmed to the 
 precise degree of temperature, and seemed quite to the taste of excellent 
 Madame Leon. 
 
 In twenty-four hours the Fondege family had been raised to such afflu- 
 ence that they must have asked themselves if it were possible they had ever 
 known the agonies of that life of false appearances and sham luxury which 
 is a thousand times worse than an existence of abject poverty. " Is it 
 possible that I am deceived V " Marguerite said to herself, on retiring to her 
 room that evening. For it surprised her that a keen sighted person like 
 Madame Leon should not have remarked this revolution ; but the worthy 
 companion merely declared the General and his wife to be charming people, 
 and did not cease to congratulate her dear young lady upon having accepted 
 their hospitality. " I feel quite at home here," said she; " and though 
 my room is a trifle small, I shall have nothing to wish for when it has been 
 refurnished." 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 81 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite spent a restless and uncomfortable night. In 
 spite tf her reason, in spite of the convincing proofs she had seen, the most 
 disturbing doubts returned. Might she not have judged the situation with 
 a prejudiced mind ? Had the Fondeges really been as reduced in circum- 
 stanceias she supposed ? Like every one who has been unfortunate, she 
 feared illusions, and was extremely distrustful of everything that seemed 
 to fa voir her hopes and wishes. The only thing that really encouraged her 
 was the^thought that she could consult the old magistrate, and that M. de 
 Chaluss^'s former agent might succeed in finding Pascal Ferailleur. M. 
 Fortuna^ must have received her letter by this time : he would un- 
 doubtedy expect her on Tuesday, and it only remained for her to invent 
 some exmse which would give her a couple of hours' liberty without 
 awakening suspicion. 
 
 She ros^ early the next morning, and had almost completed her toilette, 
 when she\ heard some one in the passage outside rapping at the door of 
 Madame Icon's room. "Who's there ? " inquired that worthy lady. 
 
 It was Justine, Madame de Fondege's maid, who answered in a pert 
 voice, " Here is a letter, madame, which has just been sent up by the con- 
 cierge. It ij addressed to Madame Leon. That is your name, is it not ? " 
 
 Marguerite staggered as if she had received a heavy blow. "My God ! 
 a letter from ^he Marquis de Valorsay ! " she thought. 
 
 It was evident that the estimable lady was expecting this missive by the 
 eagerness witl which she sprang out of bed and opened the door. And 
 Marguerite hArd her say to the servant in her sweetest voice : "A 
 thousand thanis, my child ! Ah ! this is a great relief. I have heard 
 from my brother-in-law at last. I recognise his hand-writing." And then 
 the door closed again. 
 
 ^ Standing silent and motionless in the middle of her room, Marguerite 
 listened with that feverish anxiety that excites the perceptive faculties to 
 the utmost degree* An inward voice, stronger than reason, told her that 
 this letter threatened her happiness, her future, perhaps her life ! But how 
 could she convince herself of the truth of this presentiment ? If she had 
 followed her first hapuluse, she would have rushed into Madame Leon's 
 room and have snatched the letter from her hands. But if she did this, 
 she would betray heiself, and prove that she was not the dupe they sup- 
 posed her to be, and this supposition on the part of her enemies constituted 
 her only chance of saltation. 
 
 If she could only watch Madame L6on as she read the letter, and gain 
 some information from the expression of her face ; but this seemed im- 
 possible, for the key-hole was blocked up by the key, which had been left 
 in the lock on the other side. Suddenly a crack in the partition attracted 
 her attention, and finding that it extended through the wall, she realised she 
 might watch what was passing in the adjoining room. So she approached 
 the spot on tiptoe, and, with bated breath, stooped and looked in. 
 
 In her impatience to learn the contents of her letter, Madame Ldon had 
 not gone back to bed. She had broken the seal, and was reading the 
 missive, standing barefooted in her night-dress, directly opposite the little 
 crevice. She read lina after line, and word after word, and her knitted 
 brows and compressed lips suggested deep concentration of thought mingled 
 with discontent. At last she shrugged her shoulders, muttered a few inaudible 
 words, and laid the open letter upon the rickety chest of drawers, which, 
 with two chairs and a bed, constituted the entire furniture of her 
 apartment. 
 
82 the count's millions. 
 
 " My God ! " exclaimed Marguerite, with bated breath, " if she vould 
 only forget it ! '' 
 
 But she did not forget it. She began to dress, and when she had fhished 
 she read the letter again, and then placed it carefully in one of the drawers, 
 which she locked, putting the key in her pocket. 
 
 " I shall never know, then," thought Marguerite ; " no, I shal never 
 know. But I must know and I will ! " she added vehemently. 
 
 From that moment a firm determination to obtain that letter took pos- 
 session of her mind ; and so deeply was she occupied in seeking >r some 
 means to surmount the difficulties which stood in her way that she did not 
 say a dozen words during breakfast. " I must be a fool if I can't fnd some 
 way of gaining possession of that letter," she said to herself again aid again. 
 ' I'm sure I could find in it the explanation of the abominable intrigue 
 which Pascal and I are the victims of. " 
 
 Happily, her preoccupation was not remarked. Each person present was 
 too deeply engrossed in his or her own concerns to notice the behaviour of 
 the others. Madame Leon's mind was occupied with the nevs she had 
 just received : and, besides, her attention was considerably attracted by 
 some partridges garnished with truffles, and a bottle of Ch&eau-Laroze. 
 For she was rather fond of good living, the dear lady, as she confessed her- 
 self, adding that no one is perfect. The General talked of jothing but a 
 certain pair of horses which he was to look at that afternoon, and which 
 he thought of buying being quite disgusted with job-maseers, so he de- 
 clared. Besides, he expected to get the animals at a bargaii, as they were 
 the property of a young gentleman who had been led to tommit certain 
 misdemeanours by his love of gambling and his passioD for a > notorious 
 woman who was afflicted with an insatiable desire for jewelry. 
 
 As for Madame de Fondege, her head seemed to have been completely 
 turned by the prospect of the approaching fete at the Countess de Com- 
 marin's. She had only a fortnight left to make her preparations. All the even- 
 ing before, through part of the night, and ever since she had been awake 
 that morning, she had been racking her brain to arrive it an effective com- 
 bination of colours and materials. And at the cost of a terrible headache, 
 she had at last conceived one of those toilettes which are sure to make a 
 sensation, and which the newspaper reporters will mention as noticeable 
 for its "chic." " Picture to yourself," she said, all ablaze with enthusiasm, 
 ' ' picture to yourself a robe of tea-flower silk, trimmed with bands of heavy 
 holland- tinted satin, thickly embroidered with flowers. A wide flounce of 
 Valenciennes at the bottom of the skirt. Over this. I shall wear a tunic of 
 pearl-grey cripe, edged with a fringe of the various shades in the dress, and 
 forming a panier behind." 
 
 But how much trouble, time and labour must be expended before such an 
 elaborate chef-d'ceuvre could be completed ! How many conferences with 
 the dressmaker, with the florist, and the embroiderer ! How many doubts, 
 how many inevitable mistakes ! Ah ! there was not a moment to lose ! 
 Madame de Fondege, who was dressed to go out, and who had already sent 
 for a carriage, insisted that Mademoiselle Marguerite should accompany 
 her. And certainly, the General's wife deemed the proposal a seductive one. 
 It is a very fashionable amusement to run from one shop to another, even 
 when one cannot, or will not, buy. It is a custom, which some noble 
 ladies have imported from America, to the despair of the poor shopkeepers. 
 And thus every fine afternoon, the swell shops are filled to overflowing with 
 richly-attired dames and damsels, who ask to see all the new goods. It is 
 
the count's millions. 83 
 
 far more amusing than remaining at home. And when they return to din- 
 ner in the evening, after inspecting hundreds of yards of silk and satin, they 
 are very well pleased with themselves, for they have not lost the day. Nor do 
 the shrewdest always return from these expeditions empty-handed. A 
 dozen gloves or a piece of lace can be hidden so easily in the folds of a 
 mantle ! 
 
 And yet, to Madame de Fondege's great surprise, Marguerite declined the 
 invitation. *' I have so many things to put in order," she added, feeling that 
 an excuse was indispensable. 
 
 But Madame Lon, who had not the same reasons as her dear child for 
 wishing to remain at home, kindly offered her services. She was acquainted 
 with several of the best shops, she declared, particularly with the establish- 
 ment of a dealer in laces, in the Rue de Mulhouse, and thanks to an intro- 
 duction from her, Madame de Fondege could not fail to conclude a very 
 advantageous bargain there. "Very well," replied Madame de Fondege, 
 " I will take you with me, then ; but make haste and dress while I put on 
 my bonnet.r 
 
 They left the breakfast-room at the same time, closely followed by 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite, who was disturbed by a hope which she scarcely 
 dared confess to herself. With her forehead resting against the wall, and 
 her eye peering through the tiny crack, she watched her governess change 
 her dress, throw a shawl over her shoulders, put on her best bonnet, and, 
 after a glance a,t the looking-glass, rush from the room, exclaiming : " Here 
 I am, my dear countess. Im ready." 
 
 And a few moments afterwards they left the house together. 
 
 As the outer door closed after them, Marguerite's brain whirled. If she 
 were not deceived, Madame L6on had left the key of the drawers in the 
 pocket of the dress she had just taken off. So it was with a wildly throb- 
 bing heart that she opened the communicating door and entered her ' com- 
 panion's " room. She hastily approached the bed on which the dress was 
 lying, and, with a trembling hand, she began to search for the pocket. 
 Fortune favoured her ! The key was there. The letter was within her 
 reach. But she was about to do a deed against which her whole nature 
 revolted. To steal a key, to force an article of furniture open, and violate 
 the secret of a private correspondence, these were actions so repugnant to her 
 sense of honour, and her pride, that for some time she stood irresolute. At last 
 the instinct of self-preservation overpowered her scruples. Was not her 
 honour, and Pascal's honour also, at stake as well as their mutual love 
 and happiness? "It would be folly to hesitate," she murmured. And 
 with a firm hand she placed the key in the lock. 
 
 The latter was out of order and the drawer was only opened with diffi- 
 culty. But there, on some clothes which Madame L6on had not yet found 
 time to arrange, Marguerite saw the letter. She eagerly snatched it up, 
 unfolded it, and read : "Dear Madame LSon " "Dear me," she mut- 
 tered, "here is the name in full. This is an indiscretion which will render 
 denial difficult." And she resumed her perusal: "Your letter, which I 
 have just received, confirms what my servants had already told me : that 
 twice during my absence on Saturday evening and Sunday morning you 
 called at my house to see me." So Mademoiselle Marguerite's penetration 
 had served her well. All this talk about anxious relatives had only been 
 an excuse invented by Madame L6on to enable her to absent herself when- 
 ever occasion required. "I regret," continued the letter, "that you 
 did not find me at home, for I have instructions of the greatest importance 
 
84 THE count's millions. 
 
 to give you. We care approaching the decisive moment. I have formed a 
 plan which will completely, and forever, efface all remembrance of that 
 cursed P. F., in case anyone condescended to think of him after the dis- 
 grace we fastened upon him the other evening at the house of Madame 
 d'Argeles." P. F. these initials of course meant Pascal Ferailleur. Then 
 he was innocent, and she held an undeniable, irrefutable proof of his inno- 
 cence in her hands. How coolly and impudently Valorsay confessed 
 his atrocious crime! "A bold stroke is in contemplation which, if no 
 unfortunate and well-nigh impossible accident occur, will throw the girl 
 into my arms." Marguerite shuddered. " The girl " referred to her, of course. 
 " Thanks to the assistance of one of my friends, "added the letter, "lean place 
 this proud damsel in a perilous, terribly perilous position, from which she 
 cannot possibly extricate herself unaided. But, just as she gives herself up for 
 lost, I shall interpose. I shall save her ; and it will be strange if gratitude 
 does not work the necessary miracle in my favour. The plan is certain to 
 succeed. Still, it will be all the better if the physician who attended M. 
 
 de C in his last moments, and whom you spoke to me about (Dr. Jodon, 
 
 if I remember rightly), will consent to lend us a helping hand. What kind 
 of a man is he ? If he is accessible to the seductive influence of a few 
 thousand francs, I shall consider the business as good as concluded. Your 
 conduct up to the present time has been a chef-d'eeuvre, for which you shall 
 be amply compensated. You have cause to know that I am not ungrateful. 
 Let the F's continue their intrigues, and even pretend to favour them. I 
 am not afraid of these people. I understand their game perfectly, and 
 know why they wish my little one to marry their son. But when they 
 become troublesome, I shall crush them like glass. In spite of these ex- 
 planations, which I have just given you for your guidance, it is very 
 necessary that I should see you. I shall look for you on Tuesday after- 
 noon, between three and four o'clock. Above all, don't fail to bring me 
 the desired information respecting Dr. Jodon. I am, my dear madame, devot- 
 edly your's V." Below ran a postscript which read as follows : " When 
 you come on Tuesday bring this letter with you. We will burn it together. 
 Don't imagine that I distrust you but there is nothing so dangerous as 
 letters." 
 
 For some time Marguerite stood stunned and appalled by the Marquis de 
 Valorsay's audacity, and by the language of this letter, which was at once 
 so obscure and so clear, every line of it threatening her future. The reality 
 surpassed her worst apprehensions, but realising the gravity of the situa- 
 tion, she shook off the torpor stealing over her. She felt that every second 
 was precious, and that she must act, and act at once. But what should 
 she do ? Simply return the letter to its place, and continue to act the rdle 
 of a dupe, as if nothing had happened ? No ; that must not be. It would 
 be madness not to seize this flagrant proof of the Marquis de Valorsay's 
 infamy. But on the other hand, if she kept the letter, Madame Leon 
 would immediately discover its loss, and an explanation would be unavoid- 
 able. M. de Valorsay would be worsted, but not annihilated, and 
 the plans which made the physician's intervention a necessity would 
 never be revealed. She thought of hastening to her friend the old magis- 
 trate ; but he lived a long way off, and time was pressing. Besides she 
 might not find him at home. Then she thought of going to a notary, to a 
 judge. She would show them the letter, and they could take a copy of it. 
 But no this would do no good the marquis could still deny it. She was 
 becoming desperate, and was accusing herself of stupidity, when a sudden 
 
THE COUNTS MILLIONS. 00 
 
 inspiration illumined her mind, turning night into day, as it were. " Oh, 
 Pascal, we are saved ! " she exclaimed. And without pausing to de- 
 liberate any longer, she threw a mantle over her shoulders, hastily tied 
 on her bonnet, and hurried from the house, without saying a word to 
 any one. 
 
 Unfortunately she was not acquainted with this part of Paris, and on 
 reaching the Rue Pigalle she was at a loss for her way. Unwilling to 
 waste any more time, she hastily entered a grocer's shop at the corner of 
 the Rue Pigalle and the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, and anxiously in- 
 quired : "Do you know any photographer in this neighbourhood, 
 monsieur ? " 
 
 Her agitation made this question seem so singular that the grocer looked 
 at her closely for a moment, as if to make sure that she was not jesting. "You 
 have only to go down the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette," he replied, "and 
 on the left hand side, at the foot of the hill, you will find the photographer 
 Carjat." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 The grocer stepped to the door to watch her. " That girl is certainly 
 light-headed," he thought. 
 
 Her demeanour was really so extraordinary that it attracted the atten- 
 tion of the passers-by. She saw this, and slackening her pace, tried to 
 become more composed. At the spot the grocer had indicated, she per- 
 ceived several show frames filled with photographs hanging on either side 
 of a broad open gate-way, above which ran the name, "E. Carjat." She 
 went in, and seeing a man standing at the door of an elegant pavilion on 
 the right hand side of a large courtyard, she approached him, and asked 
 for his employer. 
 
 " He is here," replied the man. " Does madame come for a photograph? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then will madame be so kind as to pass in. She will not be obliged to 
 wait long. There are only four or five persons before her." 
 
 Four or five persons ! How long would she be obliged to wait ? half an 
 hour two hours? She had not the slightest idea. But she did know 
 that she had not a second to lose, that Madame L6on might return at any 
 moment, ,and find the letter missing ; and, to crown all, she remembered 
 now that she had not even locked the drawer again. "I cannot wait," 
 she said, imperiously. " I must speak to M. Carjat at once." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "At once, I tell you. Go and tell him that he must come." 
 
 Her tone was so commanding, and there was so much authority in her 
 glance, that the servant hesitated no longer. He ushered her into a little 
 sitting-room, and said, "If madame will take a seat, I will call monsieur." 
 
 She sank on to a chair, for her limbs were failing her. She was begin- 
 ning to realise the strangeness of the step she had taken to fear the re- 
 sult it might lead to and to be astonished at her own boldness. But she 
 had no time to prepare what she wished to say, for a man of five-and-thirty, 
 wearing a moustache and imperial, and clad in a velvet coat, entered the 
 room, and bowing with an air of surprise, exclaimed : " You desire to speak 
 with me, madame ? " 
 
 " I have a great favour to ask of you, monsieur." 
 
 "Of me?" 
 
 She drew M. de Valorsay's letter from her pocket, and, showing it to the 
 photographer, she said, "I have come to you, monsieur, to ask you to 
 
 
86 the count's millions. 
 
 photograph this letter but at oncebefore me and quickly very quickly. 
 The honour of two persons is imperilled by each moment I lose here." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite's embarrassment was extreme. Her cheeks 
 were crimson, and she trembled like a leaf. Still her attitude was proud, 
 generous enthusiasm glowed in her dark eyes, and her tone of voice re- 
 vealed the serenity of a lofty soul ready to dare anything for a just and 
 noble cause. This striking contrast this struggle between girlish timidity 
 and a lover's virgil energy, endowed her with a strange and powerful 
 charm, which the photographer made no attempt to resist. Unusual as 
 was the request, he did not hesitate. " I am ready to do what you desire, 
 madame," he replied, bowing again. 
 
 " Oh ! monsieur, how can I ever thank you ? " 
 
 He did not stop to listen to her thanks. Not wishing to return to the 
 reception-room, where five or six clients were impatiently awaiting their 
 turn, he called one of his subordinates, and ordered him to bring the 
 necessary apparatus at once. While he was speaking, Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite paused ; but, as soon as his instructions were concluded, she 
 remarked : ' ' Perhaps you are too hasty, sir. You have not allowed me to 
 explain ; and perhaps what I desire is impossible. I came on the impulse 
 of the moment, without any knowledge on the subject. Before you set to 
 work, I must know if what you can do will answer my purpose." 
 
 "Speak, madame." 
 
 " Will the copy you obtain be precisely like the original in every particular?" 
 
 " In every particular." 
 
 " The writing will be the same exactly the same? " 
 
 "Absolutely the same." 
 
 "So like, that if one of your photographs should be presented to the 
 person who wrote this letter " 
 
 1 ' He could no more deny his hand-writing than he could if some one 
 handed him the letter itself. " 
 
 " And the operation will leave no trace on the original ? " 
 
 "None." 
 
 A smile of triumph played upon Mademoiselle Marguerite's lips. It was 
 as she had thought ; the defensive plan which she had suddenly conceived 
 was a good one. " One more question, sir," she resumed. " I am only a 
 poor, ignorant girl ; excuse me, and give me the benefit of your knowledge. 
 This letter will be returned to its author to-morrow, and he will burn it. 
 But afterwards, in case of any difficulty in case of a law-suit or in case 
 it should be necessary for me to prove certain things which one might 
 establish by means of this letter, would one of your photographs be ad- 
 mitted as evidence ? " 
 
 The photographer did not answer for a moment. Now he understood 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite's motive, and the importance she attached to a 
 fac-simile. But this imparted an unexpected gravity to the service he was 
 called upon to perform. He therefore wished some time for reflection, and 
 he scrutinized Mademoiselle Marguerite as if he were trying to read her 
 very soul. Was it possible that this young girl, with such a pure and noble 
 brow, and with such frank, honest eyes, could be meditating any cowardly, 
 dishonourable act ? No, he could not believe it. In whom, or in what, 
 could he trust if such a countenance deceived him? " My fac-simile would 
 certainly be admitted as evidence," he replied at last ; " and this would 
 not be the first time that the decision of a court has depended on proofs 
 which have been photographed by me," 
 
tab count's millions. 87 
 
 Meanwhile, his assistant had returned, bringing the necessary apparatus 
 with him. When all was ready, the photographer asked her, " Will you 
 give me the letter, madame ? " 
 
 She hesitated for a second only for a second. The man's honest, kindly 
 face told her that he would not betray her, that he would rather give her 
 assistance. So she handed him the Marquis de Valorsay's letter, saying, 
 with melancholy dignity, "It is my happiness and my future that I place 
 in your hands and I have no fears." 
 
 He read her thoughts, and understood that she either dared not ask for a 
 pledge of secrecy, or else that she thought it unnecessary. He took pity 
 on her, and his last doubt fled. "I shall read this letter, madame," said 
 he, " but I am the only person who will read it. I give you my word on 
 that ! No one but myself will see the proofs. " 
 
 Greatly moved, she offered him her hand, and simply said, "Thanks j I 
 am more than repaid." 
 
 To obtain an absolutely perfect fac-simile of a letter is a delicate and 
 sometimes lengthy operation. However, at the end of about twenty 
 minutes, the photographer possessed two negatives that promised him per- 
 fect proofs. He looked at them with a satisfied air ; and then returning 
 the letter to Mademoiselle Marguerite, he said, "In less than three days 
 the fac-similes will be ready, madame ; and if you will tell me to what 
 address I ought to send them " 
 
 She trembled on hearing these words, and quickly answered, " Don't send 
 them, sir keep them carefully. Great heavens ! all would be lost if it 
 came to the knowledge of any one. I will send for them, or come myself. " 
 And, feeling the extent of her obligation, she added, "But I will not go 
 without introducing myself I am Mademoiselle Marguerite de Chalusse." 
 And, thereupon, she went off, leaving the photographer surprised at the 
 adventure and dazzled by his strange visitor's beauty. 
 
 Rather more than an hour had elapsed since Marguerite left M. de 
 Fondege's house. " How time flies ! " she murmured, quickening her pace 
 as much as she could without exciting remark " how time flies ! " But, 
 hurried as she was, she stopped and spent five minutes at a shop in the Rue 
 Notre Dame de Lorette, where she purchased some black ribbon and a few 
 other trifles. How else could she explain and justify her absence, if the ser- 
 vants, who had probably discovered she had gone out, chanced to speak of it? 
 
 But her heart throbbed as if it would burst as she ascended the General's 
 staircase, and anxiety checked her breathing as she rang the bell. "What 
 if Madame de Fondege and Madame L6on had returned, and the abstrac- 
 tion of the letter been discovered !" Fortunately, Madame de Fondege re- 
 quired more than an hour to purchase the materials for the elaborate 
 toilette she had dreamt of. The ladies were still out, and Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite found everything in the same condition as she had left it. She 
 carefully placed the letter in the drawer again, locked it, and put the key 
 in the pocket of Madame Leon's dress. Then she breathed freely once 
 more ; and, for the first time in six days, she felt something very like joy 
 in her heart. Now she had no fear of the Marquis de Valorsay. She had 
 him in her power. He would destroy his letter the next day, and think 
 that he was annihilating all proofs of his infamy. Not so. At the decisive 
 moment, at the very moment of his triumph, she would produce the 
 photograph of this letter, and crush him. And she only a young girl- 
 had outwitted this consummate scoundrel ! "I have not been unworthy 
 of Pascal," she said to herself, with a flash of pride. 
 
88 the count's millions. 
 
 However, her nature waa not one of those weak ones which are become 
 intoxicated by the first symptom of success, and then relax in their efforts. 
 When her excitement had abated a little, she was inclined to disparage 
 rather than to exaggerate the advantage she had gained. What she 
 desired was a complete, startling, incontestable victory. It was not 
 enough to prove Valorsay's guilt she was resolved to penetrate his designs, 
 to discover why he pursued her so desperately. And, though she felt that 
 she possessed a formidable weapon of defence, she could not drive away her 
 gloomy forebodings when she thought of the threats contained in the 
 marquis's letter. "Thanks to the assistance of one of my friends," he 
 wrote, "I can place this proud girl in a perilous, terribly perilous, position, 
 from which she cannot possibly extricate herself unaided." 
 
 These words persistently lingered in Mademoiselle Marguerite's mind. 
 What was the danger hanging over her ? whence would it come ? and in 
 what form ? What abominable machination might she not expect from the 
 villain who had deliberately dishonoured Pascal? How would he attack 
 her ? Would he strive to ruin her reputation, or did he intend to forcibly 
 abduct her ? Would he attempt to decoy her into a trap where she would 
 be subjected to the insults of the vilest wretches ? A thousand frightful 
 memories of the time when she was an apprentice drove her nearly frantic. 
 " I will never go out unarmed," she thought, " and woe to the man who 
 raises his hand against me ! " 
 
 The vagueness of the threat increased her fears. No one is cour- 
 ageous enough to confront an unknown, mysterious, and always imminent 
 danger without sometimes faltering. Nor was this all. The marquis was 
 not her only enemy. She had the Fondege family to dread these 
 dangerous hypocrites, who had taken her to their home so that they 
 might ruin her the more surely. M. de Valorsay wrote that he had no 
 fears of the Fondeges that he understood their little game. What was 
 their little game ? No doubt they were resolved that she should become 
 their son's wife, even if they were obliged to use force to win her consent. 
 At this thought a sudden terror seized her soul, so full of peace and hope 
 an instant before. When she was attacked, would she have time to 
 produce and use the fac-simile of Valorsay's letter ? "I must reveal my 
 secret to a friend to a trusty friend who will avenge me ! " she muttered. 
 
 Fortunately she had a friend in whom she could safely confide the old 
 magistrate who had given her such proofs of sympathy. She felt that she 
 needed the advice of a riper experience than her own, and the thought of 
 consulting him at once occurred to her. She was alone ; she had no spy to 
 fear ; and it would be folly not to profit by the few moments of liberty 
 that remained. So she drew her writing-case from her trunk, and, after 
 barricading her door to prevent a surprise, she wrote her friend an account 
 of the events which had taken place since their last interview. She told him 
 everything with rare precision and accuracy of detail, sending him a copy 
 of Valorsay's letter, and informing him that, in case any misfortune befell 
 her, he could obtain the fac-similes from Carjat. She finished her letter, 
 but did not seal it. " If anything should happen before I have an oppor- 
 tunity to post it, I will add a postscript," she said to herself. 
 
 She had made all possible haste, fearing that Madame de Fondege and 
 Madame Le"on might return at any moment. But this was truly a chimeri- 
 cal apprehension. It was nearly six o'clock when the two shoppers made 
 their appearance, wearied with the labours of the day, but in fine spirits. 
 Besides purchasing every requisite for that wonderful costume of hers, the 
 
89 
 
 General's wife had found some laces of rare beauty, which she had secured 
 for the mere trifle of four thousand francs. " It was one of those oppor- 
 tunities one ought always to profit by," she said, as she displayed her pur- 
 chase. " Besides, it is the same with lace as with diamonds, you should 
 purchase them when you can then you have them. It isn't an outlay 
 it's an investment." Subtle reasoning that has cost many a husband dear ! 
 
 On her side, Madame Le*on proudly showed her dear young lady a very 
 pretty present which Madame de Fondege had given her. " So money is 
 no longer lacking in this household," thought Mademoiselle Marguerite, all 
 the more confirmed in her suspicions. 
 
 The General came in a little later, accompanied by a friend, and Mar- 
 guerite soon discovered that the worthy man had spent the day as profit- 
 ably as his wife. He too was quite tired out ; and he had reason to be 
 fatigued. First, he had purchased the horses belonging to the ruined 
 spendthrift, and he had paid five thousand francs for them, a mere trifle 
 for such animals. Less than an hour after the purchase he had refused 
 almost double that amount from a celebrated connoisseur in horse-flesh, M. 
 de Breulh-Faverlay. This excellent speculation had put him in such good- 
 humour that he had been unable to resist the temptation of purchasing a 
 beautiful saddle-horse, which they let him have for a hundred louis. He 
 had not been foolish, for he was sure that he could sell the animal again at 
 an advance of a thousand francs whenever he wished to do so. "So," re- 
 marked his friend, "if you bought such a horse every day, you would 
 make three hundred and sixty-five thousand francs a year." 
 
 Was this only a jest one of those witticisms which people who boast of 
 wonderful bargains must expect to parry, or had the remark a more serious 
 meaning? Marguerite could not determine. One thing is certain, the 
 General did not lose his temper, but gaily continued his account of the way 
 in which he had spent his time. Having purchased the horses, his next 
 task was to find a carriage, and he had heard of a barouche which a Russian 
 prince had ordered but didn't take, so that the builder was willing to sell 
 it at less than cost price ; and to recoup this worthy man, the General had 
 purchased a brougham as well. He had, moreover, hired stabling in the 
 Rue Pigalle, only a few steps from the house, and he expected a coachman 
 and a groom the following morning. 
 
 " And all this will cost us less than the miserable vehicle we have been 
 hiring by the year," observed Madame de Fondege, gravely. "Oh, I 
 know what I say. I've counted the cost. What with gratuities and 
 extras, it costs us now fully a thousand francs a month, and three horses 
 and a coachman won't cost you more. And what a difference ! I shall no 
 longer be obliged to blush for the skinny horses the stable-keeper sends 
 me, nor to endure the insolence of his men. The first outlay frightened 
 me a little ; but that is made now, and I am delighted. We will save it in 
 something else," 
 
 "In laces, no doubt," thought Mademoiselle Marguerite. She was 
 intensely exasperated, and on regaining her chamber she said to herself, 
 for the tenth time, "What do they take me for ? Do they think me an 
 idiot to flaunt the millions they have stolen from my father that they 
 have stolen from me before my eyes in this fashion ? A common thief 
 would take care not to excite suspicion by a foolish expenditure of the fruits 
 of his knavery, but they they have lost their senses. " 
 
 Madame LCon was already in bed, and when Mademoiselle Marguerite 
 was satisfied that she was asleep, she took her letter from her trunk, and 
 
90 the count's millions. 
 
 added this postscript : "P. S. It is impossible to retain the shadow of a 
 doubt, M. and Madame de Fondege have spent certainly twenty thousand 
 francs to-day. This audacity must arise from a conviction that no proofs 
 of the crime they have committed exist. Still they continue to talk to me 
 about their son, Lieutenant Gustave. He will be presented to me to- 
 morrow. To-morrow, also, between three and four, I shall be at the 
 house of a man who can perhaps discover Pascal's hiding-place for me, 
 the house of M. Isidore Fortunat. I hope to make my escape easily 
 enough, for at that same hour, Madame L6on has an appointment with the 
 Marquis de Valorsay." 
 
 X. 
 
 The old legend of Achilles' heel will be eternally true. A man may be 
 humble or powerful, feeble or strong, but there are none of us without some 
 weak spot in our armour, a spot vulnerable beyond all others, a certain 
 place where wounds prove most dangerous and painful. M. Isidore For- 
 tunat's weak place was his cash box. To attack him there was to endanger 
 his life to wound him at a point where all his sensibility centred. For it 
 was in this cash box and not in his breast that his heart really throbbed. 
 His safe made him happy or dejected. Happy when it was filled to over- 
 flowing by some brilliant operation, and dejected when he saw it become 
 empty as some imprudent transaction failed. 
 
 This then explains his frenzy on that ill-fated Sunday, when, after being 
 brutally dismissed by M. Wilkie, he returned to his rooms in the company 
 of his clerk, Victor Chupin. This explains, too, the intensity of the 
 hatred he now felt for the Marquis de Valorsay and the Viscount de 
 Coralth. The former, the marquis, had defrauded him of forty thousand francs 
 in glittering gold. The other, the viscount, had suddenly sprung up out 
 of the ground, and carried off from under his very nose that magnificent 
 prize, the Chalusse inheritance, which he had considered as good as won. 
 And he had not only been defrauded and swindled such were his own ex- 
 pressions but he had been tricked, deceived, duped, and outwitted, and 
 by whom ? By people who did not make it their profession to be shrewd, 
 like he did himself. Just fancy, his business was to outwit others, and 
 a couple of mere amateurs had outgeneraled him. He had not only 
 suffered in pocket he had been humiliated as well, and so he indulged in 
 threats of such terrible import. 
 
 However, at the very moment when he was dreaming of wreaking ven- 
 geance on the Marquis de Valorsay and the Viscount de Coralth, his house- 
 keeper, austere Madame Dodelin, handed him Mademoiselle Marguerite's 
 letter. He read it with intense astonishment, rubbing his eyes as if to 
 assure himself that he were really awake. " Tuesday," he repeated, "the 
 day after to-morrow at your house between three and four o'clock I 
 must speak with you. ,: 
 
 His manner was so strange, and his usually impassive face so disturbed 
 by conflicting feelings, that Madame Dodelin's curiosity overcame her pru- 
 dence, and she remained standing in front of him with open mouth, staring 
 with all her eyes and listening with all her ears. He perceived this, and 
 angrily exclaimed : " What are you doing here ? You are watching me, I 
 do believe. Get back to your kitchen, or " 
 
 She fled in alarm, and he then entered his private office. His heart was 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. ^ 
 
 leaping with joy, and he laughed wickedly at the hope of a speedy revenge. 
 " She's on the scent," he muttered ; " and she has luck in her favour. She 
 has chanced to apply to me on the very day that I had resolved to defend 
 and rehabilitate her lover, the honest fool who allowed himself to be dis- 
 honoured by those unscrupulous blackguards. Just as I was thinking of 
 going in search of her, she comes to me. As I was about to write to her, 
 she writes to me. Who can deny the existence of Providence after this ? " 
 Like many other people, M. Fortunat piously believed in Providence when 
 things went to his liking, but it is sad to add that in the contrary case lie 
 denied its existence. " If she has any courage," he resumed, " and she 
 seems to have plenty of it, Valorsay and Coralth will be in a tight place 
 soon. And if it takes ten thousand francs to put them there, and if neither 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite nor M. Ferailleur has the amount ah, well ! I'll 
 advance well, at least five thousand without charging them any com- 
 mission. I'll even pay the expenses out of my own pocket, if necessary. 
 Ah, my fine fellows, you've laughed too soon. In a week's time we'll see 
 who laughs last." 
 
 He paused, for Victor Chupin, who had lingered behind to pay the 
 driver, had just entered the room. " You gave me twenty francs, m'sieur," 
 he remarked to his employer. " I paid the driver four francs and five sous, 
 here's the change." 
 
 " Keep it for yourself, Victor," said M. Fortunat. 
 
 What ! keep fifteen francs and fifteen sous ? Under any other circum- 
 stances, such unusual generosity would have drawn a grimace of satisfaction 
 from young Chupin. But to-day he did not even smile ; he slipped the 
 money carelessly into his pocket, and scarcely deigned to say "thanks," 
 in the coldest possible tone. 
 
 Absorbed in thought, M. Fortunat did not remark this little circum- 
 stance. " We have them, Victor," he resumed. " I told you that Valor- 
 say and Coralth should pay me for their treason. Vengeance is near. 
 Read this letter." Victor read it slowly, and as soon as he had finished 
 his employer ejaculated, " Well ? " 
 
 But Chupin was not a person to give advice lightly. "Excuse me, 
 m'sieur," said he, " but in order to answer you, I must have some know- 
 ledge of the affair. I only know what you've told me which is little 
 enough and what I've guessed. In fact, I know nothing at all." 
 
 M. Fortunat reflected for a moment. "You are right, Victor," he said, 
 at last. " So far the explanation I gave you was all that was necessary ; 
 but now that I expect more important services from you, I ought to tell 
 you the whole truth, or at least all I know about the affair. This will 
 prove my great confidence in you." Whereupon, he acquainted Chupin 
 with everything he knew concerning the history of M. de Chalusse, the 
 Marquis de Valorsay, and Mademoiselle Marguerite. 
 
 However, if he expected these disclosures to elevate him in his subordi- 
 nate's estimation he was greatly mistaken. Chupin had sufficient experience 
 and common sense to read his master's character and discern his motives. 
 He saw plainly enough that this honest impulse on M. Fortunat's part 
 came from disappointed avarice and wounded vanity, and that the agent 
 would have allowed the Marquis de Valorsay to carry out his infamous 
 scheme without any compunctions of conscience, providing he, himself, had 
 not been injured by it. Still, the young fellow did not allow his real feel- 
 ings to appear on his face. First, it was not his business to tell M. Fortunat 
 his opinion of him ; and in the second place, he did not deem it an oppor- 
 
92 the count's millions. 
 
 tune moment for a declaration of his sentiments. So, when his employer 
 paused, he exclaimed : "Well, we must outwit these scoundrels for I'll 
 join you, m'sieur ; and I natter myself that I can be very useful to you. 
 Do you want the particulars of the viscount's past life ? If so, I can 
 furnish them. I know the brigand. He's married, as I told you before, 
 and I'll find his wife for you in a few days. I don't know exactly where 
 she lives, but she keeps a tobacco store, somewhere, and that's enough. 
 She'll tell you how much he's a viscount. Ha ! ha 1 Viscount just as 
 much as I am and no more. I can tell you the scrapes he has been in." 
 
 " No doubt ; but the most important thing is to know how he's living 
 now, and on what ! " 
 
 " Not by honest work, I can tell you. But give me a little time, and 
 I'll find out for sure. As soon as I can go home, change my clothes, and 
 disguise myself, I'll start after him ; and may I be hung, if I don't return 
 with a complete report before Tuesday." 
 
 A smile of satisfaction appeared on M. Fortunat's face. "Good, 
 Victor ! " he said, approvingly, " very good ! I see that you will serve me 
 with your usual zeal and intelligence. Rest assured that you will be re- 
 warded as you have never been rewarded before. As long as you are en- 
 gaged in this affair, you shall have ten francs a day ; and I'll pay your 
 board, your cab-hire, and all your expenses." 
 
 This was a most liberal offer, and yet, far from seeming delighted, 
 Chupin gravely shook his head. "You know how I value money, m'sieur," 
 he began. 
 
 ' ' To much, Victor, my boy, too much " 
 
 * Excuse me, it's because I have responsibilities, m'sieur. You know 
 my establishment " he spoke this word with a grandiloquent air "you 
 have seen my good mother my expenses are heavy " 
 
 " In short, you don't think I offer you enough ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, sir but you don't allow me to finish. I love money, 
 don't I ? But no matter, I don't want to be paid for this business. I don't 
 want either my board or my expenses, not a penny nothing. I'll serve 
 you, but for my own sake, for my own pleasure gratis." 
 
 M. Fortunat could not restrain an exclamation of astonishment. Chupin, 
 who was as eager for gain as an old usurer Chupin, as grasping as avarice 
 itself, refuse money ! This was something which he had never seen before, 
 and which he would no doubt, never see again. 
 
 Victor had become very much excited ; his usually pale cheeks were 
 crimson, and in a harsh voice, he continued : "It's a fancy of mine that's 
 all. I have eight hundred francs hidden in my room, the fruit of years of 
 work. I'll spend the last penny of it if need be ; and if I can see Coralth 
 in the mire, I shall say, 'My money has been well expended.' I'd rather 
 see that day dawn than be the possessor of a hundred thousand francs. If 
 a horrible vision haunted you every night, and prevented you from sleep- 
 ing, wouldn't you give something to get rid of it? Very well I that brig- 
 and's my nightmare. There must be an end to it." 
 
 M. de Coralth, who was a man of wide experience, would certainly have 
 felt alarmed if he had seen his unknown enemy at- the present moment, for 
 Victor's eyes, usually a pale and undecided blue, were glittering like steel, 
 and his hands were clinched most threateningly. " For he was the cause 
 of all my trouble," he continued, gloomily. " I've told you, sir, that I was 
 guilty of an infamous deed once upon a time. If it hadn't been for a 
 miracle I should have killed a man the king of men. Ah, well 1 if 
 
the count's millions. 93 
 
 Monsieur Andre* had broken his back by falling from a fifth-floor window, 
 my Coralth would be the Due de Champdoce to-day. And shall he be 
 allowed to ride about in his carriage, and deceive and ruin honest people ? 
 No there are too many such villains at large for public safety. Wait a 
 little, Coralth I owe you something, and I always pay my debts. When 
 M. Andre* saved me, though I richly deserved to have my throat cut, he 
 made no conditions. He only said, ' If you are not irredeemably bad you 
 will be honest after this.' And he said these words as he was lying there 
 as pale as death with his shoulder broken, and his body mangled from his 
 fall. Great heavens ! I felt smaller than than nothing before him. But 
 I swore that I would do honour to his teachings and when evil thoughts 
 enter my mind, and when I feel a thirst for liquor, I say to myself, ' Wait 
 a bit, and and M. Andre* will take a glass with you. ' And that quenches 
 my thirst instantly. I have his portrait at home, and every night, before 
 going to bed, I tell him the history of the day and sometimes I fancy that 
 he smiles at me. All this is very absurd, perhaps, but I'm not ashamed of 
 it. M. Andr6 and my good mother, they are my supports, my crutches, 
 and with them I'm not afraid of making a false step." Schebel, the German 
 philosopher, who has written a treatise on Volition, in four volumes, was 
 no greater a man than Chupin. "So you may keep your money, sir," 
 he resumed. " I'm an honest fellow, and honest men ought to ask no re- 
 ward for the performance of a duty. Coralth mustn't be allowed to triumph 
 over the innocent chap he ruined. What did you call him ? Ferailleur ? 
 It's an odd name. Never mind we'll get him out of this scrape ; he 
 shall marry his sweetheart after all ; and I'll dance at the wedding." 
 
 As he finished speaking he laughed a shrill, dangerous laugh, which re- 
 vealed his sharp teeth but such invincible determination was apparent on 
 his face, that M. Fortunat felt no misgivings. He was sure that this volunteer 
 would be of more service than the highest-priced hireling. " So I can count 
 on you, Victor ? " he inquired. 
 
 " As upon yourself." 
 
 " And you hope to have some positive information by Tuesday?" 
 
 " Before then, I hope, if nothing goes amiss." 
 
 "Very well; I will devote my attention to Ferailleur then. As to 
 Valorsay's affairs, I am better acquainted with them than he is himself. 
 We must be prepared to enter upon the campaign when Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite comes, and we will act in accordance with her instructions. " 
 
 Chupin had already caught up his hat ; but just as he was leaving the 
 room, he paused abruptly. " How stupid ! " he exclaimed. " I had for- 
 gotten the principal thing. Where does Coralth live ? " 
 
 "Unfortunately, I don't know." 
 
 According to his habit when things did not go to his liking, Chupin 
 began to scratch his head furiously. "That's bad," growled he. "Vis- 
 counts of his stamp don't parade their addresses in the directory. Still I 
 shall find him." However, although he expressed this conviction he went 
 off decidedly out of temper. 
 
 , "I shall lose the entire evening hunting up the rascal's address," he 
 grumbled, as he hastened homeward. "And whom shall I ask for it? 
 Madame d'Argeles' concierge ? Would he know it M. Wilkie's servant ? 
 That would be dangerous." He thought of roaming round about M. de 
 Valorsay's residence, and of bribing one of the valets ; but while crossing 
 the boulevard, the sight of Brebant's Restaurannt put a new idea into his 
 head. "I have it!" he muttered; "my man's caught!" And he 
 
94 THE count's millions. 
 
 darted into the nearest cafe" where he ordered some beer and writing 
 materials. 
 
 Under other circumstances, he would have hesitated to employ so 
 hazardous an expedient as the one he was about to resort to, but the char- 
 acter of his adversaries justified any course ; besides, time was passing, 
 and he had no choice of resources. As soon as the waiter served him, he 
 drained his glass of beer to give himself an inspiration, and then, in his 
 finest hand, he wrote : " My Dear Viscount Here's the amount one 
 hundred francs that I lost to you last evening at "piquet. When shall I 
 have my revenge ? Your friend, Valorsay." 
 
 When he had finished this letter he read it over three or four times, 
 asking himself if this were the style of composition that very fashionable 
 folks employ in repaying their debts. To tell the truth, he doubted it. In 
 the rough draft which he penned at first, he had written bezique, but in 
 the copy he wrote piquet, which he deemed a more aristocratic game. 
 " However," said he ; "no one will examine it closely ! " 
 
 Then, as soon as the ink was dry, he folded the letter and slipped it into 
 an envelope with a hundred franc-note which he drew from an old pocket- 
 book. He next addressed the envelope as follows : " Monsieur le Vicomte 
 de Coralth. En Ville," and having completed his preparations, he paicfr 
 his score, and hastened to Brebant's. Two waiters were standing at the 
 doorway, and, showing them the letter, he politely asked. "Do you 
 happen to know this name ? A gentleman dropped this letter on leaving 
 your place last evening. I ran after him to return it ; but I couldn't over- 
 take him." 
 
 The waiters examined the address. " Coralth ! " they replied. " We 
 scarcely know him. He isn't a regular customer, but he comes here 
 occasionally." 
 
 " And where does he live ? " 
 
 11 Why do you wish to know ? " 
 
 " So as to take him this letter, to be sure ! " 
 
 The waiters shrugged their shoulders. " Let the letter go ; it is not 
 worth while to trouble yourself." 
 
 Chupin had foreseen this objection, and was prepared for it. "But there's 
 money in the letter," he remonstrated. And opening the envelope, he 
 showed the bank-note which he had taken from his own pocket-book. 
 
 This changed the matter entirely. " That is quite a different thing," re- 
 marked one of the waiters. " If you find money, you are, of course respon- 
 sible for it. But just leave it here at the desk, and the next time the vis- 
 count comes in, the cashier will give it to him." 
 
 A cold chill crept over Chupin at the thought of losing his bank-note in 
 this way. "Ah! I don't fancy that idea !" he exclaimed. "Leave it 
 here ? Never in life ! Who'd get the reward ? A viscount is always gen- 
 erous ; it is quite likely he would give me twenty francs as a reward for 
 my honesty. And that's why I want his address." 
 
 The argument was of a nature to touch the waiters ; they thought the 
 young man quite right ; but they did not know M. de Coralth's address, 
 and they saw no way of procuring it. "Unless perhaps the porter knows," 
 observed one of them. 
 
 The porter, on being called, remembered that he had once been sent to M. 
 de Coralth's house for an overcoat. "I've forgotten his number," he declared ; 
 " but he lives in the Rue d'Anjou, near the corner of the Rue de la Ville 
 l'Eveque." 
 
THE count's millions. 95 
 
 This direction was not remarkable for its precision, but it was more than 
 sufficient for a pure-blooded Parisian like Victor Chupin. " Many thanks 
 for your kindness," he said to the porter. "A blind man, perhaps, might 
 not be able to go straight to M. de Coralth's house from your directions, 
 but I have eyes and a tongue as well. And, believe me, if there's any re- 
 ward, you shall see that I know how to repay a good turn." 
 
 "And if you don't find the viscount," added the waiters, "bring the 
 money here, and it will be returned to him." 
 
 " Naturally ! " replied Chupin. And he strode hurriedly away. " Re- 
 turn ! " he muttered ; "not I! I thought for a moment they had their 
 hands on my precious banknote. " 
 
 But he had already recovered from his fright, and as hi turned his steps 
 homeward he congratulated himself on the success of his stratagem. " For 
 my viscount is caught," he said to himself. "The Rue d'Anjou-Saint 
 Honore" hasn't a hundred numbers in it, and even if I'm compelled to go 
 from door to door, my task will soon be accomplished." 
 
 On reaching home he found his mother engaged in knitting, as usual. 
 This was the only avocation that her almost complete blindness allowed 
 her to pursue; and she followed it constantly. "Ah! here you are, 
 Toto," she exclaimed, joyously. " I didn't expect you so soon. Don't you 
 scent a savoury smell ? As you must be greatly tired after being up all 
 night, I'm making you a stew." 
 
 As customary when he returned, Chupin embraced the good woman with 
 the respectful tenderness which had so greatly surprised M. Fortunat. 
 "You are always kind," said he, "but, unfortunately, I can't remain to 
 dine with you." 
 
 " But you promised me." 
 
 "That's true, mamma ; but business you see business." 
 
 The worthy woman shook her head. " Always business ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes when a fellow hasn't ten thousand francs a year." 
 
 "You have become a worker, Toto, and that makes me very happy; 
 but you are too eager for money, and that frightens me. " 
 
 " That's to say, you fear I shall do something dishonest. Ah ! mother ! 
 do you think I can forget you and Monsieur Andre 1 ? " 
 
 His mother said no more, and he entered the tiny nook which he so 
 pompously styled his chamber, and quickly changed the clothes he was 
 wearing (his Sunday toggery) for an old pair of checked trousers, a black 
 blouse, and a glazed cap. And when he had finished, and given a peculiar 
 turn to his hair, no one would have recognized him. In place of M. For- 
 tunat's respectable clerk, there appeared one of those vagabonds who hang 
 about cafes and theatres from six in the evening till midnight, and spend 
 the rest of their time playing cards in the low drinking dens near the 
 barri&res. It was the old Chupin come to life once more Toto Chupin as 
 he had appeared before his conversion. And as he took a last look in the 
 little glass hanging over the table, he was himself astonished at the trans- 
 formation. "Ah J" he muttered, "I was a sorry looking devil in those 
 days." 
 
 Although he had cautiously avoided making any noise in dressing, his 
 mother, with the wonderfully acute hearing of the blind, had followed 
 each of his movements as surely as if she had been standing near watch- 
 ing him. " You have changed your clothes, Toto," she remarked. 
 
 "Yes, mother." 
 
 " But why have you put on your blouse, my son ? " 
 
96 the count's millions. 
 
 Although accustomed to his mother's remarkable quieknsss of perception, 
 he was amazed. Still he did not think of denying it. She would only 
 have to extend her hand to prove that he was telling a falsehood. The 
 blind woman's usually placid face had become stern. " So it is neecssary 
 to disguise vourself," she said, gravely. 
 
 " But, mother" 
 
 " Hush, my son 1 When a man doesn't wish to be recognised, he s evi- 
 dently doing something he's ashamed of. Ever since your employer came 
 here, you have been concealing something from me. Take care, Toto ! 
 Since I heard that man's voice, I'm sure that he is quite as capable cf urg- 
 ing you to commit a crime as others were in days gone by." 
 
 The blind woman was preaching to a convert ; for during the past three 
 days, M. Fortunat had shown himself in such a light that Chupin had 
 secretly resolved to change his employer. "I promise you I'll leave him, 
 mother," he declared, " so you may be quite easy in mind." 
 
 "Very well ; but now, at this moment, where are you going ? " 
 
 There was only one way of completely reassuring the good woman, and 
 that was to tell her all. Chupin did so with absolute frankness. "Ah, 
 well ! " she said, when the narrative was finished. "You see now how easy 
 it is to lead you astray ! How could you be induced to play the part of a 
 spy, when you know so well what it leads to ? It's only God's protecting 
 care that has saved you again from an act which you would have reproached 
 yourself for all your life. Your employer's intentions are goo'd now : but 
 they were criminal when he ordered you to follow Madame d'Argeles. 
 Poor woman ! She had sacrificed herself for her son, she had concealed 
 herself from him, and you were working to betray her. Poor creature ! 
 how she must have suffered, and how much I pity her ! To be what she 
 is, and to see herself denounced by her own son ! I, who am only a poor 
 plebeian, should die of shame under such circumstances." 
 
 Chupin blew his nose so loudly that the window panes rattled ; this was 
 his way of repressing his emotion whenever it threatened to overcome him. 
 " You speak like the good mother that you are," he exclaimed at last, " and 
 I'm prouder of you than if you were the handsomest and richest lady in 
 Paris, for you're certainly the most honest and virtuous ; and I should be 
 a thorough scoundrel if I caused you a moment's sorrow. And if ever I set 
 my foot in such a mess again, I hope some one will cut it off. But for this 
 once " 
 
 " For this once, you may go, Toto ; I give my consent." 
 
 He went off with a lighter heart ; and on reaching the Rue d'Anjou he 
 immediately began his investigations. They were not successful at first. 
 At every house where he made inquiries nobody had any knowledge of the 
 Viscount de Coralth. He had visited half the buildings in the street, when 
 he reached one of the handsomest houses, in front of which stood a cart 
 laden with plants and flowers. An old man, who seemed to be the con- 
 cierge, and a valet in a red waistcoat, were removing the plants from the 
 vehicle and arranging them in aline under the porte cochere. As soon as the 
 cart was emptied, it drove away, whereupon Chupin stepped forward, and 
 addressing the concierge, asked : '* Does the Viscount de Coralth live 
 here?" 
 
 " Yes. What do you want with him ? 
 
 Having foreseen this question, Chupin had prepared a reply. "I cer- 
 tainly don't come to call on him," he answered. " My reason for inquiring 
 is this : just now, as I passed near the Madeleine, a very elegant lady 
 
the count's mtt/ltons. 97 
 
 called me, and said : M. de Coralth lives in the Rue d'Anjou, but I've for- 
 gotten the number. I can't go about from door to door making inquiries, 
 so if you'll go there and ascertain his address for me, I'll give you five 
 francs for yourself,' so my money's made." 
 
 Profiting by his old Parisian experience, Chupin had chosen such a clever 
 excuse that both his listeners heartily laughed. "Well, Father Moulinet," 
 cried the servant in the red waistcoat, "what do you say to that? Aro 
 there any elegant ladies who give five francs for your address ? " 
 
 11 Is there any lady who's likely to send such flowers as these to you ? " 
 was the response. 
 
 Chupin was about to retire with a bow, when the concierge stopped him. 
 " You accomplish your errands so well that perhaps you'd be willing to 
 take these flower-pots up to the second floor, if we gave you a glass of 
 wine ! " 
 
 No proposal could have suited Chupin better. Although he was prone 
 to exaggerate his own powers and the fecundity of his resources, he had 
 not flattered himself with the hope that he should succeed in crossing the 
 threshold of M. de Coralth's rooms. For, without any great mental elfort, 
 he had realised that the servant arrayed in the red waistcoat was in the 
 viscount's employ, and these flowers were to be carried to his apartments. 
 However any signs of satisfaction would have seemed singular under the cir- 
 cumstances, and so he sulkily replied : "A glass of wine ! you had better 
 say two." 
 
 " Well, I'll say a whole bottleful, my boy, if that suits you any better," 
 replied the servant, with the charming good nature so often displayed by 
 people who are giving other folk's property away. 
 
 " Then I'm at your service ! " exclaimed Chupin. And, loading himself 
 with a host of flower-pots as skilfully as if he had been accustomed to 
 handling them all his life, he added ; " Now, lead the way." 
 
 The valet and the concierge preceded him with empty hands, of course ; 
 and, on reaching the second floor, they opened a door, and said : " This is 
 the place. Come in." 
 
 Chupin had expected to find that M. de Coralth's apartments were hand- 
 somer than his own in the Faubourg Saint Denis ; but he had scarcely 
 imagined such luxury as pervaded this establishment. The chandeliers 
 seemed marvels in his eyes ; and the sumptuous chairs and couches eclipsed 
 M. Fortunat's wonderful sofa completely. " So he no longer amuses him- 
 self with petty rascalities," thought Chupin, as he surveyed the rooms. 
 " Monsieur's working on a grand scale now. Decidedly this mustn't be al- 
 lowed to continue." 
 
 Thereupon he busied himself placing the flowers in the numerous jardinieres 
 scattered about the rooms, as well as in a tiny conservatory, cleverly con- 
 trived on the balcony, and adjoining a little apartment with silk hangings, 
 that was used as a smoking-room. Under the surveillance of the concierge 
 and the valet he was allowed to visit the whole apartments. He admired 
 the drawing-room, filled to overflowing with costly trifles ; the dining-room, 
 turnished in old oak ; the luxurious bed-room with its bed mounted upon a 
 platform, as if it were a throne, and the library filled with richly bound 
 volumes. Everything was beautiful, sumptuous and magnificent, and 
 Chupin admired, though he did not envy, this luxury. He said to himself 
 that, if ever he became rich, his establishment should be quite different. 
 He would have preferred rather more simplicity, a trifle less satin, velvet, 
 hangings, mirrors and gilding. Still this did not prevent him from going 
 VOL. II D 
 
98 the count's millions. 
 
 into ecstasies over each room he entered : and he expressed his admiration 
 so artlessly that the valet feeling as much flattered as if he were the owner 
 of the place, took a sort of pride in exhibiting everything. 
 
 He showed Chupin the target which the viscount practised at with pistols 
 for an hour every morning ; for Monsieur le Vicomte was a capital marks- 
 man, and could lodge eight balls out of ten in the neck of a bottle at a 
 distance of twenty pa^es. He also displayed his master's swords ; for 
 Monsieur le "Vicomte handled side arms as adroitly as pistols. He took a 
 lesson every day from one of the best fencing-masters in Paris ; and his 
 duels had always terminated fortunately. He also showed the viscount's 
 blue velvet dressing-gown, his fur trimmed slippers, and even his elaborately 
 embroidered night-shirts. But it was the dressing-room that most aston- 
 ished and stupefied Chupin. He stood gazing in open-mouthed wonder at 
 the immense white marble table, with its water spigots and its basins, its 
 sponges and boxes, its pots and vials and cups ; and he counted the brushes 
 by the dozen brushes hard and soft, brushes for the hair, for the beard, 
 for the hands, and the application of cosmetic to the moustaches and eye- 
 brows. Never had he seen in one collection such a variety of steel and 
 silver instruments, knives, pincers, scissors, and files. " One might think 
 oneself in a chiropodist's, or a dentist's establishment," remarked Chupin 
 to the servant. " Does your master use all these every day ? " 
 
 " Certainly, or rather twice a day morning and evening at his toilette." 
 
 Chupin expressed his feelings with a grimace and an exclamation of 
 mocking wonder. " Ah, well ! he must have a clean skin," he said. 
 
 His listeners laughed heartily ; and the concierge, after exchanging a 
 significant glance with the valet, said sotto voce, "Zounds ! it's his business 
 to be a handsome fellow ! " The mystery was solved. 
 
 While Chupin changed the contents of the jardinieres, and remained up- 
 stairs in ^the intervals between the nine or ten journeys he made to the 
 porte-cochere for more flowers, he listened attentively to the conversation 
 between the concierge and the valet, and heard snatches of sentences that 
 enlightened him wonderfully. Moreover, whenever a question arose as to 
 placing a plant in one place rather than another, the valet stated as a con- 
 clusive argument that the baroness liked it in such or such a place, or that 
 she would be better pleased with this or that arrangement, or that he must 
 comply with the instructions she had given him. Chupin was therefore 
 obliged to conclude that the flowers had been sent here by a baroness who 
 possessed certain rights in the establishment. But who was she ? 
 
 He was maneuvering very cleverly in the hope of ascertaining this point, 
 when a carriage was heard driving into the courtyard below. ' ' Monsieur 
 must have returned ! " exclaimed the valet, darting to the window. 
 
 Chupin also ran to look out, and saw a very elegant blue-lined brougham, 
 drawn by a superb horse, but he did not perceive the viscount. In point 
 of fact, M. de Coralth was already climbing the stairs, four at a time, and, 
 a moment later, he entered the room, angrily exclaiming, " Florent, what 
 does this mean ? Why have you left all the doors open ? " 
 
 Florent was the servant in the red waistcoat. He slightly shrugged his 
 shoulders like a servant who knows too many of his master's secrets to have 
 anything to fear, and in the calmest possible tone replied, " If the doors 
 are open, it is only because the baroness has just sent some flowers. On 
 Sunday, too, what a funny idea ! And I have been treating Father Moulinet 
 and this worthy fellow" (pointing to Chupin) "to a glass of wine, to ac- 
 knowledge thei* kindness in assisting me." 
 
the count's millions. 99 
 
 Fearing recognition, Chupin hid his face as much as possible ; but M. de 
 Coralth did not pay the slightest attention to him. There was a dark 
 frown on his handsome, usually smiling countenance, and his hair was in 
 great disorder. Evidently enough, something had greatly annoyed him. 
 " I am going out again," he remarked to his valet, " but first of all I must 
 write two letters which you must deliver immediately. " 
 
 He passed into the drawing-room as he spoke, and Florent scarcely waited 
 till the door was closed before uttering an oath. " May the devil take 
 him ! " he exclaimed. " Here he sets me on the go again. It is five 
 o'clock, too, and I have an appointment in half an hour. " 
 
 A sudden hope quickened the throbbings of Chupin's heart. He touched 
 the valet's arm, and in his most persuasive tone remarked : " I've nothing 
 to do, and as your wine was so good, I'll do your errands for you, if you'll 
 pay me for the wear and tear of shoe-leather. " 
 
 Chupin's appearance must have inspired confidence, for the servant re- 
 plied : " Well I don't refuse but we'll see." 
 
 The viscount did not spend much time in writing ; he speedily re- 
 appeared holding two letters which he flung upon the table, saying : 
 " One of these is for the baroness. You must deliver it into her hands or 
 into the hands of her maid there will be no answer. You will afterwards 
 take the other to the person it is addressed to, and you must wait for an 
 answer which you will place on my writing table and make haste." So 
 saying, the viscount went off as he had entered on the run and a moment 
 later, his brougham was heard rolling out of the courtyard. 
 
 Florent was crimson with rage. "There," said he, addressing Chupin 
 rather than the concierge, " what did I tell you? A letter to be placed in 
 madame's own hands or in the hands of her maid, and to be concealed from 
 the baron, who is on the watch, of course. Naturally no one can execute 
 that commission but myself." 
 
 " That's true ! " replied Chupin ; " but how about the other ? " 
 
 The valet had not yet examined the second letter. He now took it from 
 the table, and glanced at the address. " Ah," said he, "I can confide this 
 one to you, my good fellow, and it's very fortunate, for it is to be taken to 
 a place on the other side of the river. Upon my word ! masters are 
 strange creatures ! You manage your work so as to have a little leisure, 
 and the moment you think yourself free, pouf ! they send you anywhere 
 in creation without even asking if it suits your convenience. If it hadn't 
 been for you, I should have missed a dinner with some very charming 
 ladies. But, above all, don't loiter on the way. I don't mind paying your 
 omnibus fare if you like. And you heard him say there would be an 
 answer. You can give it to Moulinet, and in exchange, he'll give you 
 fifteen sous for your trouble, and six sous for your omnibus fare. Besides, 
 if you can extract anything from the party the letter's intended for, you 
 are quite welcome to it." 
 
 "Agreed, sir ! Grant me time enough to give an answer to the lady who 
 is waiting at the Madeleine, and I'm on my way. Give me the letter." 
 
 " Here it is," said the valet, handing it to Chupin. But as the latter 
 glanced at the address he turned deadly pale, and his eyes almost started 
 from their sockets. For this is what he read : " Madame Paul. Dealer in 
 Tobacco. Quai de la Seine." Great as was his self-control, his emotion 
 was too evident to escape notice. " What's the matter with you ?" asked 
 the concierge and the valet in the same breath. " What has happened 
 to you ? " 
 
100 
 
 A powerful effort of will restored this young fellow's coolness, and ready 
 in an instant with an excuse for his blunder, he replied, " 1 have changed 
 my mind. What ! you'd only give me fifteen sous to measure such a dis- 
 tance as that ! Why, it isn't a walk it's a journey ! " 
 
 His explanation was accepted without demur. His listeners thought he 
 was only taking advantage of the need they had of his services as was per- 
 fectly natural under the circumstances. " What ! So you are dis- 
 satisfied ! " cried the valet. " Very well ! you shall have thirty sous but 
 be off ! " 
 
 " So I will, at once," replied Chupin. And, imitating the whistle of a 
 locomotive with wonderful perfection, he darted away at a pace which 
 augured a speedy return. 
 
 However, when he was some twenty yards from the house he stopped 
 short, glanced around him, and espying a dark corner slipped into it. 
 " That fool in the red waistcoat will be coming out to take the letter to that 
 famous baroness," he thought. "I'm here, and I'll watch him and see 
 where he goes. I should like to find out the name of the kind and charit- 
 able lady who watches over his brigand of a master with such tender care." 
 
 The day and the hour were in his favour. Night was coming on, hast- 
 ened by a thick fog ; the street lamps were not yet lighted, and as it was 
 Sunday most of the shops were closed. It grew dark so rapidly that Chupin 
 was scarcely able to recognise Florent when he at last emerged from the 
 house. It is true that he looked altogether unlike the servant in the red 
 waistcoat. As he had the key to the wardrobe containing his master's 
 clothes, he did not hesitate to use them whenever an opportunity 
 offered. On this occasion he had appropriated a pair of those delicately- 
 tinted trousers which were M. de Coralth's specialty, with a handsome over- 
 coat, a trifle too small for him, and a very elegant hat. 
 
 " Fine doings, indeed ! " growled Chupin as he started in pursuit. " My 
 servants sha'n't serve me in that way if I ever have any." 
 
 But he paused in his soliloquy, and prudently hid himself under a neigh- 
 bouring gateway. The gorgeous Florent was ringing at the door of one of 
 the most magnificent mansions in the Rue de la Ville PEveque. The door 
 was opened, and he went in. "Ah! ah!" thought Chupin, " he hadn't 
 far to go. The viscount and the baroness are shrewd. When you have 
 flowers to send to anybody it's convenient to be neighbours ! " 
 
 He glanced round, and seeing an old man smoking his pipe on the thres- 
 hold of a shop, he approached him and asked politely : "Can you tell mc 
 whom that big house belongs to ? " 
 
 " To Baron Trigault," replied the man, without releasing his hold on his 
 pipe. 
 
 " Thank you, monsieur," replied Chupin, gravely. " I inquired, because 
 I think of buying a house " And repeating the name of Trigault several 
 times to impress it upon his memory he darted off on his errand. 
 
 It might be supposed that his unexpected success had delighted him, but, 
 on the contrary, it rendered him even more exacting. The letter he carried 
 burned his pocket like a red hot iron. "Madame Paul," he muttered, 
 "that must be the rascal's wife. First, Paul is his Christian name; 
 secondly, I've been told that his wife keeps a tobacco shop so the case is 
 plain. But the strangest thing about it is that this husband and wife, 
 should write to each other, when I fancied them at dagger's ends. " Chupin 
 would have given a pint of his own blood to know the contents of the mis- 
 sive. The idea of opening it occurred to him, and it must be confessed that 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 101 
 
 it was not a feeling of delicacy that prevented him. He was deterred by a 
 large seal which had been carefully affixed, and which would plainly fur- 
 nish evidence if the letter were tampered with. Thus Chupin was punished 
 for Florent's faults, for this seal was the viscount's invariable precaution 
 against his servant's prying curiosity. So our enterprising youth could 
 only read and re-read the superscription and smell the paper, which was 
 strongly scented with verbena. He fancied that there was some mysterious 
 connection between this letter intended for M. de Coralth's wife and the 
 missive sent to the baroness. And why should it not be so ? Had they not 
 both been written under the influence of anger ? Still he failed to perceive 
 any possible connection between the rich baroness and the poor tobacco 
 dealer and his cogitations only made him more perplexed than ever. How- 
 ever, his efforts to solve the mystery did not interfere with the free use of 
 his limbs, and he soon found himself on the Quai de la Seine. " Here I 
 am," he muttered. " I've come more quickly than an omnibus." 
 
 The Quai de la Seine is a broad road, connecting the Hue de Flandres with 
 the canal de l'Ourcq. On the left-hand side it is bordered with miserable 
 shanties interspersed with some tiny shops, and several huge coal depots. 
 On the right-hand side that next to the canal there are also a few pro 
 vision stores. In the daytime there is no noisier nor livelier place than 
 this same Quai ; but nothing could be more gloomy at night-time when the 
 shops are closed, when the few gas-lamps only increase the grimness of the 
 shadows, and when the only sound that breaks the silence is the rippling of 
 the water as its smooth surface is ruffled by some boatman propelling his 
 skiff through the canal. 
 
 " The viscount must certainly have made a mistake," thought Chupin ; 
 " there is no such shop on the Quai." He was wrong, however ; for after 
 passing the Rue de Soissons he espied the red lantern of a tobacco-shop, 
 glimmering through the fog. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Having almost reached the goal, Chupin slackened his pace. He ap- 
 proached the shop very cautiously and peered inside, deeming it prudent to 
 reconnoitre a little before he went in. And certainly there was nothing to 
 prevent a prolonged scrutiny. The night was very dark, the quay de- 
 serted. No one was to be seen ; not a sound broke the stillness. The 
 darkness, the surroundings, and the silence were sinister enough to make 
 even Chupin shudder, though he was usually as thoroughly at home in the 
 loneliest and most dangerous by-ways of Paris as an honest man of the 
 middle classes would be in the different apartments of his modest household. 
 ' ' That scoundrel's wife must have less than a hundred thousand a year if 
 she takes up her abode here ! " thought Chupin. 
 
 And, in fact, nothing could be more repulsive than the tenement in which 
 Madame Paul had installed herself. It was but one storey high, and built 
 of clay, and it had fallen to ruin to such an extent that it had been found 
 necessary to prop it up with timber, and to nail some old boards over the 
 yawning fissures in the walls. " If I lived here, I certainly shouldn't feel 
 quite at ease on a windy day," continued Chupin, sotto voce. 
 
 The shop itself was of a fair size, but most wretched in its appointments, 
 and disgustingly dirty. The floor was covered with that black and glutinous 
 coal-dust which forms the soil of the Quai de la Seine. An auctioneer would 
 have sold the entire stock and fixtures for a few shillings. Four stone jars, 
 
102 the count's millions. 
 
 and a couple of pairs of scales, a few odd tamblers, filled with pipes and 
 packets of cigarettes, some wine-glasses, and three or four labelled bottles, 
 five or six boxes of cigars, and as many packages of musty tobacco, con- 
 stituted the entire stock in trade. 
 
 As Chupin compared this vile den with the viscount's luxurious abode, his 
 blood fairly boiled in his veins. "He ought to be shot for this, if for 
 nothing else," he muttered through his set teeth. " To let his wife die of 
 starvation here ! " For it was M. de Coralth's wife who kept this shop. 
 Chupin, who had seen her years before, recognised her now as she sat be- 
 hind her counter, although she was cruelly changed. "That's her," he 
 murmured. " That's certainly Mademoiselle Flavie."* 
 
 He had used her maiden name in speaking of her. Poor woman ! She 
 was undoubtedly still young but sorrow, regret, and privations, days 
 spent in hard work to earn a miserable subsistence, and nights spent in 
 weeping, had made her old, haggard, and wrinkled before her time. Of 
 her once remarkable beauty nought remained but her hair, which was still 
 magnificent, though it was in wild disorder, and looked as if it had not been 
 touched by a comb for weeks ; and her big black eyes, which gleamed 
 with the phosphorescent and destructive brilliancy of fever. Everything 
 about her person bespoke terrible reverses, borne without dignity. Even if 
 she had struggled at first, it was easy to see that she struggled no longer. 
 Her attire her torn and soiled silk dress, and her dirty cap revealed 
 thorough indolence, and that morbid indifference which at times follows 
 great misfortunes with weak natures. 
 
 "Such is life," thought Chupin, philosophically. "Here's a girl who 
 was brought up like a queen and allowed to have her own way in every- 
 thing ! If any one had predicted this in those days, how she would have 
 sneered ! I can see her now as she looked that day when I met her driving 
 her grey ponies. If people didn't clear the road it was so much the worse 
 for them ! In those times Paris was like some great shop where she could 
 select whatever she chose. She said: 'I want this,' and she got it. She 
 saw a handsome young fellow and wanted him for her husband : her father, 
 who could refuse her nothing, consented, and now behold the result ! " 
 
 He had lingered longer at the window than he had meant to do, perhaps 
 because he could see that the young woman was talking with some person 
 in a back room, the door of which stood open. Chupin tried to find out 
 who this person was, but he did not succeed ; and he was about to go in 
 when suddenly he saw Madame Paul rise from her seat and say a few words 
 with an air of displeasure. And this time her eyes, instead of turning to 
 the open door, were fixed on a part of the shop directly opposite her. "Is 
 there some one there as well then ? " Chupin wondered. 
 
 He changed his post of observation, and, by standing on tiptoe, he suc- 
 ceeded in distinguishing a puny little boy, some three or four years old, 
 and clad in rags, who was playing with the remnants of a toy-horse. The 
 sight of this child increased Chupin's indignation. " So there's a child ? " he 
 growled. " The rascal not only deserts his wife, but he leaves his child to 
 starve ! We may as well make a note of that : and when we settle up our 
 accounts, he shall pay dearly for his villainy. " With this threat he brusquely 
 entered the shop. 
 
 " What do you wish, sir ? " asked the woman. 
 
 *' Nothing j I bring you a letter, madame." 
 
 The Slaves of Paris," by Kmile Gaborkm. 
 
the count's millions. 103 
 
 " A letter for me ! You must be mistaken." 
 
 " Excuse me ; are'nt you Madame Paul ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then this is for you." And he handed her the missive which Florent 
 had confided to his care. 
 
 Madame Paul took hold of it with some hesitation, eyeing the messenger 
 suspiciously meanwhile ; but, on seeing the handwriting, she uttered a cry 
 of surprise. And, turning towards the open door, she called, " M. 
 Mouchon ! M. Mouchon J It's from him it's from my husband ; from 
 Paul. Come, come 1 " 
 
 *A bald-headed corpulent man, who looked some fifty years of age, now 
 timidly emerged from the room behind the shop with a cap in his hand. 
 " Ah, well ! my dear child," he said, in an oily voice, " what was I telling 
 you just now ? Everything comes to those who know how to wait. " 
 
 However she had already broken the seal, and she was now reading the 
 letter eagerly, clapping her hands with delight as she finished its perusal. 
 " He consents ! " she exclaimed. "He's frightened he begs me to wait a 
 little look read ! " 
 
 But M. Mouchon could not read without his spectacles, and he lost at 
 least two minutes in searching his pockets before he found them. And 
 when they were adjusted, the light was so dim that it took him at least 
 three minutes more to decipher the missive. Chupin had spent this time 
 in scrutinizing in appraising the man, as it were. "What is this vener- 
 able gentleman doing here ? " he thought. "He's a middle class man, that's 
 evident from his linen. " He's married there's a wedding-ring on his 
 finger ; he has a daughter, for the ends of his necktie are embroidered. He 
 lives in the neighbourhood, for, well dressed as he is, he wears a cap. But 
 what was he doing there in that back room in the dark ? " 
 
 Meanwhile M. Mouchon had finished reading the letter. "What did I 
 tell you ? " he said complacently. 
 
 " Yes, you were right ! " answered Madame Paul as she took up the 
 letter and read it again with her eyes sparkling with joy. " And now 
 what shall I do ? " she asked. " Wait, shall I not ? " 
 
 " No, no ! " exclaimed the elderly gentleman, in evident dismay. " You 
 must strike the iron while it's hot. " 
 
 " But he promises me " 
 
 " To promise and to keep one's promises are two different things." 
 
 "He wants a reply." 
 
 " Tell him " But he stopped short, calling her attention with a gesture 
 to the messenger, whose eyes were glittering with intense curiosity. 
 
 She understood. So filling a glass with some liquor, she placed it before 
 Chupin, and offered him a cigar,~saying : " Take a seat here's something 
 to keep you from feeling impatient while you wait here." Thereupon she 
 followed the old gentleman into the adjoining room, and closed the door. 
 
 Even if Chupin had not possessed the precocious penetration he owed to 
 his life of adventure, the young woman and the old gentleman had said 
 enough to enable him to form a correct estimate of the situation. He was 
 certain now that he knew the contents of the letter as perfectly as if he 
 had read it. M. de Coralth's anger, and his order to make haste, were 
 both explained. Moreover, Chupin distinctly saw what connection there 
 was between the letter to the baroness and the letter to Madame Paul. He 
 understood that one was the natural consequence of the other. Deserted 
 by her husband, Madame Paul had at last become weary of poverty and 
 
104 the count's millions. 
 
 privations. She had instituted a search for her husband, and, having 
 found him, she had written to him in this style: "I consent to abstain 
 from interfering with you, but only on conditions that you provide means 
 of subsistence for me, your lawfully wedded wife, and for your child. If 
 you refuse, I shall urge my claims, and ruin you. The scandal won't be of 
 much use to me, it's true, but at least I shall no longer be obliged to endure 
 the torture of knowing that you are surrounded by every luxury while I am 
 dying of starvation." 
 
 Yes, she had evidently written that. It might not be the precise text ; 
 but no doubt it was the purport of her letter. On receiving it, Coralth 
 had become alarmed. He knew only too well that if his wife made herself 
 known and revealed his past, it would be all over with him. But he had 
 no money. Charming young men like the Viscount de Coralth never have 
 any money on hand. So, in this emergency, the dashing young fellow had 
 written to his wife imploring her to have patience, and to the baroness, en- 
 treating, or rather commanding, her to advance him a certain sum at once. 
 
 This was no doubt the case, and yet there was one circumstance which 
 puzzled Chupin exceedingly. In former years, he had heard it asserted 
 that Mademoiselle Flavie was the very personification of pride, and that 
 she adored her husband even to madness. Had this great love vanished ? 
 Had poverty and sorrow broken her spirit to such a degree that she was 
 willing to stoop to such shameful concessions ! If she were acquainted with 
 her husband's present life, how did it happen that she did not prefer star- 
 vation, or the alms-house and a pauper's grave to his assistance ? Chupin 
 could understand how, in a moment of passion, she might be driven to 
 denounce her husband in the presence of his fashionable acquaintances, how 
 she might be impelled to ruin him so as to avenge herself ; but he could 
 not possibly understand how she could consent to profit by the ignominy 
 of the man she loved. "The plan isn't hers," said Chupin to himself, 
 after a moment's reflection. "It's probably the work of that stout old 
 gentleman. " 
 
 There was a means of verifying his suspicions, for on returning into the 
 adjoining room, Madame Paul had not taken her son with her. He was 
 still sitting on the muddy floor of the shop, playing with his dilapidated 
 horse. Chupin called him. " Come here, my little fellow," said he. 
 
 The child rose, and timidly approached, his eyes dilating with distrust 
 and astonishment. The poor boy's repulsive uncleanliness was a terrible 
 charge against the mother. Did she no longer love her own offspring ? 
 The untidiness of sorrow and poverty has its bounds. A long time must 
 have passed since the child's face and hands had been washed, and his 
 soiled clothes were literally falling to rags. Still, he was a handsome little 
 fellow, and seemed fairly intelligent, in spite of his bashfulness. He was 
 very light haired, and in features he was extremely like M. de Coralth. 
 Chupin took him on his knees, and, after looking to see if the door com- 
 municating with the inner room were securely closed, he asked : " What's 
 your name, little chap ? " 
 
 " Paul." 
 
 " Do you know your father ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Doesn't your mother ever talk to you about him ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes!" 
 
 "And what does she say ? " 
 
 " That he's rich very rich." 
 
the count's millions. 105 
 
 11 And what else ? " 
 
 The child did not reply ; perhaps his mother had forbidden him to say 
 anything on the subject perhaps that instinct which precedes intelligence, 
 just as the dawn precedes daylight, warned him to be prudent with a 
 stranger. " Doesn't your papa ever come to see you ? " insisted Chupin. 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Mamma is very poor." 
 
 " And wouldn't you like to go and see him ? " 
 
 " I don't know. But he'll come some day, and take us away with him 
 to a large house. We shall be all right, then : and he will give us a deal of 
 money and pretty dresses, and I shall have plenty of toys." 
 
 Satisfied on this point, Chupin pushed his investigations farther. "And 
 do you know this old gentleman who is with your mamma in the other 
 room ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! that's Mouchon." 
 
 " And who's Mouchon ? " 
 
 " He's the gentleman who owns that beautiful garden at the corner of 
 the Rue Riquet, where there are such splendid grapes. I'm going with him 
 to get some. " 
 
 " Does he often come to see you ? " 
 
 "Every evening. He always has goodies in his pocket for mamma and me. " 
 
 " Why does he sit in that back room without any light ? " 
 
 " Oh, he says that the customers mustn't see him." 
 
 It would have been an abominable act to continue this examination, and 
 make this child the innocent accuser of his own mother. Chupin felt con- 
 science-smitten even now. So he kissed the cleanest spot he could find on 
 the boy's face, and set him on the floor again, saying, " Go and play." 
 
 The child had revealed his mother's character with cruel precision. What 
 had she told him about his father ? That he was rich, and that, in case he 
 returned, he would give them plenty of money and fine clothes. The woman's 
 nature stood revealed in all its deformity. Chupin had good cause to feel 
 proud of his discernment all his suppositions had been confirmed. He had 
 read Mouchon's character at a glance. He had recognised him as one of 
 those wily evil-minded men who employ their leisure to the profit of their 
 depravity one of those patient, cold-blooded hypocrites who make poverty 
 their purveyor, and whose passion is prodigal only in advice. ' ' So he's 
 paying his court to Madame Paul," thought Chupin. " Isn't it shameful? 
 The old villain ! he might at least give her enough to eat ! " 
 
 So far his preoccupation had made him forget his wine and his cigar. He 
 emptied the glass at a single draught, but it proved far more difficult to light 
 the cigar. " Zounds ! this is a non-conbustible," he growled. " When I 
 arrive at smoking ten sous cigars, I sha'n't come here to buy them. " 
 
 However, with the help of several matches and a great deal of drawing, 
 he had almost succeeded, when the door opened, and Madame Paul reap- 
 peared with a letter in her hand. She seemed greatly agitated ; her 
 anxiety was unmistakeable. " I can't decide," she was saying to Mouchon, 
 whose figure Chupin could only dimly distinguish in the darkness. " No I 
 can't. If I send this letter, I must forever renounce all hope of my hus- 
 band's return. Whatever happens, he will never forgive me." 
 
 ' He can't treat you worse than he does now, at all events, replied the 
 old gentleman. Besides, a gloved cat has never caught a mouse yet." 
 
 " He'll hate me." 
 
106 THE count's millions. 
 
 " The man who wants his dog to love him, beats it ; and, besides, when the 
 wine is drawn, one must drink it." 
 
 This singular logic seemed to decide her. She handed the letter to Chupin, 
 and drawing a franc from her pocket she offered it to him. ' ' This is for 
 your trouble," she said. 
 
 He involuntarily held out his hand to take the money, but quickly with- 
 drew it, exclaiming : " No, thank you ; keep it. I've been paid already." 
 And, thereupon, he left the shop. 
 
 Chupin 's mother his poor good mother, as he called her would cer- 
 tainly have felt proud and delighted at her son's disinterestedness. That 
 very morning, he had refused the ten francs a day that M. Fortunat had 
 offered him, and this evening he declined the twenty sous proffered him by 
 Madame Paul. This was apparently a trifle, and yet in reality it was 
 something marvellous, unprecedented, on the part of this poor lad, who, 
 having neither trade nor profession, was obliged to earn his daily bread 
 through the medium of those chance opportunities which the lower classes 
 of Paris are continually seeking. As he returned to the Rue de Flandres, he 
 muttered : " Take twenty sous from that poor creature, who hasn't bad 
 enough to satisfy her hunger for heaven knows how long I That would be 
 altogether unworthy of a man." 
 
 It is only just to say that money had never given him a feeling of satisfac- 
 tion at all comparable with that which he now experienced. He was im- 
 pressed, too, with a sense of vastly-increased importance on thinking that 
 all the faculties, and all the energy he had once employed in the service of 
 evil, were now consecrated to the service of good. By becoming the instru- 
 ment of Pascal Ferailleur's salvation he would, in some measure, atone for 
 the crime he had committed years before. 
 
 Chupin's mind was so busily occupied with these thoughts that he reached 
 the Rue d'Anjou and M. de Coralth's house almost before he was aware of 
 it. To his great surprise, the concierge and his wife were not alone. Florent 
 was there, taking coffee with them. The valet had divested himself of his bor- 
 rowed finery, and had donned his red waistcoat again. He seemed to be in 
 a savage humour ; and his anger was not at all strange under the circum- 
 stances. There was but a step from M. de Coralth's house to the baroness's 
 residence, but fatalities may attend even a step ! The baroness, on receiv- 
 ing the letter from her maid, had sent a message to Florent requesting him 
 to wait, as she desired to speak with him ! and she had been so inconsider- 
 ate as to keep him waiting for more than an hour so that he had missed 
 his appointment with the charming ladies he had spoken of. In his des- 
 pair he had returned home to seek consolation in the society of his friend 
 the concierge. " Have you the answer ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, here it is," replied Chupin, and Florent had just slipped the letter 
 into his pocket, and was engaged in counting out the thirty sous which he 
 had promised his messenger, when the familiar cry, "Open, please," was 
 heard outside. 
 
 M. de Coralth had returned. He sprang to the ground as soon as the 
 carriage entered the courtyard, and on perceiving his servant, he exclaimed : 
 M Have you executed my commissions ? " 
 
 " They have been executed, monsieur." 
 
 " Did you see the baroness ? " 
 
 " She made me wait two hours to tell me that the viscount need not be 
 worried in the least ; that she would certainly be able to comply with his 
 request to-morrow." 
 
the count's millions. 107 
 
 M. de Coralth seemed to breathe more freely. " And the other party? " 
 he inquired. 
 
 " Gave me this for monsieur. " 
 
 The viscount seized the missive, with an eager hand, tore it open, read it 
 at one glance, and flew into such a paroxysm of passion that he quite forgot 
 those around him, and began to tear the letter, and utter a string of oaths 
 which would have astonished a cab-driver. But suddenly realising his im- 
 prudence, he mastered his rage, and exclaimed, with a forced laugh : " Ah ! 
 these women ! they are enough to drive one mad ! " And deeming this a 
 sufficient explanation, he added, addressing Florent : " Come and undress 
 me ; I must be up early to-morrow morning." 
 
 This remark was not lost upon Chupin, and at seven o'clock the next 
 morning he mounted guard at M. de Coralth's door. All through the day 
 he followed the viscount about, first to the Marquis de Valorsay's, then to 
 the office of a business agent, then to M. Wilkie's, then, in the afternoon, 
 to Baroness Trigault's, and finally, in the evening, to the house of Madame 
 d'Argeles. Here, by making himself useful to the servants, by his zeal in 
 opening and shutting the doors of the carriages that left the house, he suc- 
 ceeded ingathering some information concerning the frightful scene whichhad 
 taken place between the mother and the son. He perceived M. Wilkie leave 
 the house with his clothes in disorder, and subsequently he saw the viscount 
 emerge. He followed him, first to the house of the Marquis de Valorsay, and 
 afterwards to M. Wilkie's rooms, where he remained till nearly day- 
 break. 
 
 Thus, when Chupin presented himself in M. Fortunat's office at two o'clock 
 on the Tuesday afternoon, he felt that he held every possible clue to the shame- 
 ful intrigue which would ruin the viscount as soon as it was made public. 
 
 M. Fortunat knew that his agent was shrewd, but he had not done jus- 
 tice to his abilities ; and it was, indeed, with something very like envy that 
 he listened to Chupin's clear and circumstantial report. " I have not been 
 as successful," he remarked, when Chupin's story was ended. But he had 
 not time to explain how or why, for just as he was about to do so, Madame 
 Dodelin appeared, and announced that the young lady he expected 
 was there. "Let her come in !" exclaimed M. Fortunat, eagerly "let 
 her come in ! " 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite had not been compelled to resort to any subter- 
 fuge to make her escape from Madame de Fondege's house. The General 
 had decamped early in the morning to try his horses and his carriages, an- 
 nouncing, moreover, that he would breakfast at the club. And as soon as 
 her breakfast was concluded, Madame de Fondege had hurried off to her 
 dressmaker's, warning the household that she would not return before din- 
 ner time. A little while later, Madame Leon had suddenly remembered 
 that her noble relative would certainly be expecting a visit from her, and 
 so she dressed herself in haste, and went off, first to Dr. Jodon's and thence 
 to the Marquis de Valorsay's. 
 
 Thus, Mademoiselle Marguerite had been able to make her escape with- 
 out attracting anyone's attention, and she would be able to remain away as 
 many hours as she chose, since the servants would not know how long she 
 had been absent even if they saw her when she returned. An empty cab 
 was passing as she left the house, so she hailed it and got in. The step she 
 was about to take cost her a terrible effort. It was a difficult task for her, 
 a girl naturally so reserved, to confide in a stranger, and open to him her 
 maidenly heart, filled with love for Pascal Ferailleur I Still, she was much 
 
108 the count's millions. 
 
 calmer than she had been on the previous evening, when she called on the 
 photographer for a fac-simile of M. de Valorsay's letter. Several 
 circumstances combined to reassure her. M. Fortunat knew her already, 
 since he was the agent whom the Count de Chalusse had employed to carry 
 on the investigations which had resulted in her discovery at the foundling 
 asylum. A vague presentiment told her that this man was better ac- 
 quainted with her past life than she was herself, and that he could, if he 
 chose, tell her her mother's name the name of the woman whom the count 
 so dreaded, and who had so pitilessly deserted her. However, her heart beat 
 more quickly, and she felt that she was turning pale when, at Madame Dode- 
 lin's invitation, she at last entered M. Fortunat's private office. She took 
 in the room and its occupants with a single glance. The handsome appoint- 
 ments of the office surprised her, for she had expected to see a den. The 
 agent's polite manner and rather elegant appearance disconcerted her, for 
 she had expected to meet a coarse and illiterate boor ; and finally, Victor 
 Chupin, who was standing twisting his cap near the fire-place, attired in a 
 blouse and a pair of ragged trousers, fairly alarmed her. Still, no sign of 
 her agitation was perceptible on her countenance. Not a muscle of her 
 beautiful, proud face moved her glance remained clear and haughty, and 
 she exclaimed in a ringing voice : " I am the late Count de Chalusse's 
 ward, Mademoiselle Marguerite. You have received my letter, I suppose ?" 
 
 M. Fortunat bowed with all the grace of manner he was wont to display 
 in the circles where he went wife-hunting, and with a somewhat pretentious 
 gesture he advanced an arm-chair, and asked his visitor to sit down. 
 " Your letter reached me, mademoiselle, "he replied, " and I was expecting 
 you flattered and honoured beyond expression by your confidence. My 
 door, indeed, was closed to any one but you." 
 
 Marguerite took the proffered seat, and there was a moment's silence. 
 M. Fortunat found it difficult to believe that this beautiful, imposing young 
 girl could be the poor little apprentice whom he had seen in the book- 
 bindery, years before, clad in a coarse serge frock, with dishevelled hair 
 covered with scraps of paper. In the meantime, Marguerite was regretting 
 the necessity of confiding in this man, for the more she looked at him, the 
 more she was convinced that he was not an honest, straightforward person ; 
 and she would infinitely have preferred a cynical scoundrel to this plausible 
 and polite gentleman, whom she strongly suspected of being a hypocrite. 
 She remained silent, waiting for M. Fortunat to dismiss the young man in 
 the blouse, whose presence she could not explain, and who stood in a sort 
 of mute ecstasy, staring at her with eyes expressive of the most intense 
 surprise and the liveliest admiration. But weary at last of this fruitless 
 delay, she exclaimed : " I have come, monsieur, to confer with you respect- 
 ing certain matters which require the most profound secrecy." 
 
 Chupin understood her, for he blushed to the tips of his ears, and started 
 as if to leave the room. But his employer detained him with a gesture. 
 
 "Remain, Victor," he said kindly, and, turning to Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite, he added : "You have no indiscretion to fear from this worthy 
 fellow, mademoiselle. He knows everything, and he has already been 
 actively at work and with the best result on your behalf." 
 
 "I don't understand you, sir," replied the girl. 
 
 M. Fortunat smiled sweetly. " I have already taken your business in 
 hand, mademoiselle," said he. " An hour after the receipt of your letter 
 I began the campaign." 
 
 "But I had not told you" 
 
the count's millions. 109 
 
 "What you wished of me that's true. But I allowed myself to suspect " 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 "I fancied I might conclude that you wished the help of my experience 
 and poor ability in clearing an innocent man who has been vilely slandered, 
 M. Pascal Ferailleur." 
 
 Marguerite sprang to her feet, at once agitated and alarmed. " How did 
 you know this ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 M. Fortunat had left his arm-chair, and was now leaning against the 
 mantel-shelf, in what he considered a most becoming and awe-inspiring at- 
 titude, with his thumb in the arm-hole of his waistcoat. "Ah! nothing 
 could be more simple," he answered, in much the same tone as a conqueror 
 might assume to explain his feat. " It is part of my profession to penetrate 
 the intentions of persons who deign to honour me with their confidence. 
 So my surmises are correct ; at least you have not said the contrary ? " 
 
 She had said nothing. When her first surprise was over, she vainly en- 
 deavoured to find a plausible explanation of M. Fortunat's acquaintance 
 with her affairs, for she was not at all deceived by his pretended per- 
 spicacity. Meanwhile, delighted by the supposed effect he had produced, 
 he recklessly continued : ' Reserve your amazement for what I am about 
 to disclose, for I have made several important discoveries. It must have 
 been your good angel who inspired you with the idea of coming to me. 
 You would have shuddered if you had realised the dangers that threatened 
 you. But now you have nothing to fear ; I am watching. I am here, and 
 I hold in my hand all the threads of the abominable intrigue for ruining 
 you. For it is you, your person, and your fortune that are imperilled. It 
 was solely on your account that M. Ferailleur was attacked. And I can 
 tell you the names of the scoundrels who ruined him. The crime originated 
 with the person who had the most powerful interest in the matter the 
 Marquis de Valorsay. His agent was a scoundrel who is generally known 
 as the Viscount de Coralth ; but Chupin here can tell you his real name 
 and his shameful past. You preferred M. Ferailleur, hence it was necessary 
 to put him out of the way. M. de Chalusse had promised your hand to the 
 Marquis de Valorsay. This marriage was Valorsay 's only resource the 
 plank that might save the drowning man. People fancy he is rich ; but he 
 is ruined. Yes, ruined completely, irretrievably. He was in such des- 
 perate straits that he had almost determined to blow his brains out before 
 the hope of marrying you entered his mind." 
 
 " Ah ! " thought Chupin, " my employer is well under way." 
 
 This was indeed the case. The name of Valorsay was quite sufficient to 
 set all M. Fortunat's bile in motion. All thought of his ex-client irritated 
 him beyond endurance. Unfortunately for him, however, his anger in the 
 present instance had ruined his plans. He had intended to take Mademois- 
 elle Marguerite by surprise, to work upon her imagination, to make her 
 talk without saying anything himself, and to remain master of the situa- 
 tion. But on the contrary he had revealed everything ; and he did not 
 discover this until it was too late to retrieve his blunder. "How the 
 Marquis de Valorsay has kept his head above water is a wonder to me," he 
 continued. " His creditors have been threatening to sue him for more than 
 six months. How he has been able to keep them quiet since M. de Chal- 
 usse's death, I cannot understand. However, this much is certain, made- 
 moiselle : the marquis has not renounced his intention of becoming your 
 husband ; and to attain that object he won't hesitate to employ any means 
 that may promise to prove effectual." 
 
 
110 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 Completely mistress of herself, Mademoiselle Marguerite listened with 
 an impassive face. " I know all this," she replied, in a frigid tone. 
 
 " What ! you know" 
 
 " Yes ; but there is one thing that baffles my powers of comprehension. 
 My dowry was the only temptation to M. de Valorsay, was it not ? Why 
 does he still wish to marry me, now that I have no fortune ? " 
 
 M. Fortunat had gradually lost all his advantage. " I have asked myself 
 the same question," he replied, " and I think I have found an answer. I 
 believe that the marquis has in his possession a letter, or a will, or a docu- 
 ment of some sort, written by M. de Chalusse in fact an instrument in 
 which the count acknowledges you as his daughter, and which consequently 
 establishes your right to his property. " 
 
 " And the marquis could urge this claim if he became my husband ? " 
 
 "Certainly he could." 
 
 M. Fortunat explained M. de Valorsay's conduct exactly as the old magis- 
 trate had done. However, Mademoiselle Marguerite discreetly refrained 
 from committing herself. The great interest that M. Fortunat seemed to 
 take in her affairs aroused her distrust ; and she decided to do what he had 
 attempted in vain that is, allow him to do all the talking, and to conceal 
 all that she knew herself. "Perhaps you are right, " she remarked, "but 
 it is necessary to prove the truth of your assertion." 
 
 "I can prove that Valorsay hasn't a shilling, and that he has lived for a 
 year by expedients which render him liable to arrest and prosecution at 
 any time. I can prove that he deceived M. de Chalusse as to his financial 
 position. I can prove that he conspired with M. de Coralth to ruin your 
 lover. Wouldn't this be something ? " 
 
 She smiled in a way that was exceedingly irritating to his vanity, and in 
 a tone of good-natured incredulity, she remarked : " It is easy to say these 
 things." 
 
 "And to do them," rejoined M. Fortunat, quickly. "I never promise 
 what I cannot perform. A man should never touch a pen when he is medi- 
 tating any evil act. Of course, no one is fool enough to write down his 
 infamy in detail. But a man cannot always be on the qui viva. There will 
 be a word in one letter, a sentence in another, an allusion in a third. And 
 by combining these words, phrases, and allusions, one may finally discover 
 the truth." 
 
 He suddenly checked himself, warned of his fresh imprudence by the ex- 
 pression on Mademoiselle Marguerite's face. She drew back, and looking 
 him full in the eyes, she exclaimed: "Then you have been in M. de 
 Valorsay's confidence, sir ? Would you be willing to swear that you never 
 helped him in his designs ? " 
 
 A silent and ignored witness of this scene, Victor Chupin was secretly 
 delighted. "Hit!" he thought "hit just in the bull's eye. Zounds! 
 there's a woman for you ! She has beaten the guv'nor on every point." 
 
 M. Fortunat was so taken by surprise that he made no attempt to deny 
 his guilt. "I confess that I acted as M. de Valorsay's adviser for some 
 time," he replied, "and he frequently spoke to me of his intention of 
 marrying a rich wife in order to retrieve his shattered fortunes. Upon my 
 word, I see nothing so very bad about that ! It is not a strictly honest 
 proceeding, perhaps, but it is done every day. What is marriage in this 
 age ? Merely a business transaction, is it not ? Perhaps it would be more 
 correct to say that it is a transaction in which one person tries to cheat the 
 Other. The fathers-in-law are deceived, or the husband, or the wife, and 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. Ill 
 
 sometimes all of them together. But when I discovered snis scheme for 
 ruining M. Ferailleur, I cried * halt ! ' My conscience revolted at that. 
 Dishonour an innocent man ! It was base, cowardly, outrageous ! And 
 not being able to prevent this infamous act, I swore that I would 
 avenge it." 
 
 Would Mademoiselle Marguerite accept this explanation ? Chupin feared 
 so, and accordingly turning quickly to his employer, he remarked : "To 
 say nothing of the fact that this fine gentleman has swindled you out- 
 rageously, shrewd as you are cheating you out of the forty thousand 
 francs you lent him, and which he was to pay you eighty thousand for." 
 
 M. Fortunat cast a withering look at his clerk, but the mischief was 
 done : denial was useless. He seemed fated to blunder in this affair. 
 "Well, yes," he declared, "it's true. Valorsay has defrauded me, and I 
 have sworn to have my revenge. I won't rest until I see him ruined." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was partially reassured, for she understood his 
 zeal now. Her scorn for the man was only increased ; but she was con- 
 vinced that he would serve her faithfully. "I like this much better," said 
 she. "It is better to have no concealment. You desire M. de Valorsay 's 
 ruin. I desire the rehabilitation of M. Ferailleur. So our interests are in 
 common. But before acting in this matter, we must know M. Ferailleur's 
 wishes." 
 
 " They cannot be considered." 
 
 " And why ? " 
 
 " Because no one knows what has become of him. When the desire for 
 revenge first took possession of me, I at once thought of him. I procured 
 his address, and went to the Rue d'Ulm. But he had gone away. The 
 very day after his misfortune, M. Ferailleur sold his furniture and went 
 away with his mother." 
 
 "lam aware of that, and I have come to ask you to search for him. 
 To discover his hiding-place will be only child's play to you." 
 
 "Do you suppose I haven't thought of this?" replied M. Fortunat. 
 "Why, I spent all day yesterday searching for him. By questioning the 
 people in the neighbourhood I finally succeeded in ascertaining that Madame 
 Ferailleur left her home in a cab several hours after her son, and took a 
 very large quantity of baggage with her. Well, do you know where she 
 drove ? To the Western railway station. I am sure of this, and I 
 know she told a porter there that her destination was London. M. 
 Ferailleur is now en route for America, and we shall never hear of him 
 again ! " 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite shook her head. "You are mistaken, sir," 
 said she. 
 
 " There can be no mistake about what I have just told you." 
 
 "I don't question the result of your investigations, but appearances are 
 deceitful. I thoroughly understand M. Ferailleur's character, and he is 
 not the man to be crushed by an infamous calumny. He may seem to fly, 
 he may disappear, he may conceal himself for a time, but it is only to make 
 his vengeance more certain. What ! Pascal, who is energy itself, who 
 possesses an iron will, and invincible determination, would he renounce his 
 honour, his future, and the woman he loves without a struggle ? If he had 
 felt that his case was hopeless, he would have destroyed himself, and as he 
 has not done so, he is not without hope. He has not left Paris ; I am sure 
 of it." 
 
 M. Fortunat Avas not convinced. In his opinion this was only sentiment 
 
112 the count's millions. 
 
 and rubbish. Still there was one person present who was deeply impressed 
 by the confidence of this young girl, who was the most beautiful creature 
 he had ever seen, and whose devotion and energy filled his heart with ad- 
 miration, and this person was Chupin. He stepped forward with his eyes 
 sparkling with enthusiasm, and in a feeling voice he exclaimed : "I under- 
 stand your idea ! Yes, M. Ferailleur is in Paris. And I shall be unworthy of 
 the name of Chupin, if I don't find him for you in less than a fortnight 1 " 
 
 XII. 
 
 Mademoiselle Mabguebite knew Pascal Ferailleur. Suddenly struck 
 down in the full sunlight of happiness by a terrible misfortune, he, of 
 course, experienced moments of frenzy and terrible depression ; but he was 
 incapable of the cowardice which M. Fortunat had accused him of. 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite only did him justice when she said that the 
 sole condition on which he could consent to live was that of consecrating 
 his life, and all his strength, intelligence and will to confounding this in- 
 famous calumny. And still she did not know the extent of Pascal's mis- 
 fortune. How could she suppose that he believed himself deserted by her ? 
 How could she know the doubts and fears and the anguish that had been 
 roused in his heart by the note which Madame Leon had given him at the 
 garden gate? What did she know of the poignant suspicions that had 
 rent his mind, after listening to Madame Vantrasson's disparaging insinua- 
 tions ? 
 
 It must be admitted that he was indebted to his mother alone for his 
 escape from suicide that grim madness that seizes hold of so many 
 desperate, despairing men. And it was still to his mother the incompar- 
 able guardian of his honour that he owed his resolution on the morning 
 he applied to Baron Trigault. And his courage met with its first reward. 
 
 He was no longer the same man when he left the princely mansion which 
 he had entered with his heart so full of anguish. He was still somewhat 
 bewildered with the strange scenes which he had involuntarily witnessed, 
 the secrets he had overheard, and the revelations which had been made to 
 him ; but a light gleamed on the horizon a fitful and uncertain light, it is 
 true, but nevertheless a hopeful gleam. At least, he would no longer have 
 to struggle alone. An honest and experienced man, powerful by reason of 
 his reputation, his connections and his fortune, had promised him his help. 
 Thanks to this man whom misfortune had made a truer friend than years 
 could have done, he would have access to the wretch who had deprived 
 him both of his honour and of the woman he loved. He knew the weak 
 spot in the marquis's armour now ; he knew where and how to strike, and 
 he felt sure that he should succeed in winning Valorsay's confidence, and in 
 obtaining irrefutable proofs of his villainy. 
 
 Pascal was eager to inform his mother of the fortunate result of his visit, 
 but certain arrangements which were needful for the success of his plans 
 required his attention, and it was nearly five o'clock when he reached the 
 Route de la R6volte. Madame Ferailleur was just returning home when 
 he arrived, which surprised him considerably, for he had Dot known that 
 she had intended going out. The cab she had used was still standing be- 
 fore the door, and she had not had time to take off her shawl and bonnet 
 when he entered the house. She uttered a joyful cry on perceiving her 
 sou. She was so accustomed to read his secret thoughts on his face, that 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 11 3 
 
 it was unnecessary for him to say a word ; before he had even opened his 
 lips, she cried : " So you have succeeded ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother, beyond my hopes." 
 
 "I was not deceived, then, in the worthy man who came to offer us his 
 assistance ? " 
 
 " No, certainly not. Do what I may, I can never repay him for his 
 generosity and self-denial. If you knew, my dear mother, if you only 
 knew " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 He kissed her as if he wished to apologize for what he was about to say, and 
 then he quickly replied : "Marguerite is the daughter of Baroness Trigault." 
 
 Madame Ferailleur started back, as if she had seen a reptile spring up in 
 her pathway. "The daughter of the baroness !" she faltered. "Great 
 Heavens ! " 
 
 " It is the truth, mother ; listen to me." And in a voice that trembled 
 with emotion, he rapidly related all he had learned by his visit to the 
 baron, softening the truth as much as he could without concealing it. But 
 prevarication was useless. Madame Ferailleur's indignation and disgust 
 were none the less evident. " That woman is a shameless creature," she 
 said, coldly, when her son's narrative was concluded. 
 
 Pascal made no reply. He knew only too well that his mother was right, 
 and yet it wounded him cruelly to hear her speak in this style. For the 
 baroness was Marguerite's mother after all. 
 
 "So," continued Madame Ferailleur, with increasing indignation, 
 "creatures do exist who are destitute even of the maternal instincts of 
 animals. I am an honest woman myself ; I don't say it in self-glorification, 
 it's no credit to me ; my mother was a saint, and I loved my husband ; 
 what some people call duty was my happiness, so I may be allowed to 
 speak on this subject. I don't excuse infidelity, but I can understand how 
 such a thing is possible. Yes, I can understand how a beautiful young 
 woman, who is left alone in a city like Paris, may lose her senses, and for- 
 get the worthy man who has exiled himself for her sake, and who is 
 braving a thousand dangers to win a fortune for her. The husband who 
 exposes his honour and happiness to such terrible risk, is an imprudent 
 man. But when this woman has erred, when she has given birth to a child, 
 how she can abandon it, how she can cast it off as if it were a dog, I cannot 
 comprehend. I could imagine infanticide more easily. No, such a woman 
 has no heart, no bowels of compassion. There is nothing human in her ! 
 For how could she live, how could she sleep with the thought that some- 
 where in the world her own child, the flesh of her flesh, was exposed to all 
 the temptations of poverty, and the horrors of shame and vice ? And she, 
 the possessor of millions, she, the inmate of a palace, thinking only of dress 
 and pleasure ! How was it that she didn't ask herself every minute, 
 * Where is my daughter now, and what is she doing ? What is she living 
 on? Has she shelter, clothes and food? To what depths of degradation 
 she may have sunk ? Perhaps she has so far lived by honest toil, and per- 
 haps at this very moment this support fails her, and she is abandoning 
 herself to a life of infamy.' Great God ! how does this woman dare to step 
 out of doors ? On seeing the poor wretches who have been driven to vice 
 by want, how can she fail to say to herself: 'That, perhaps, is my 
 daughter ! ' " 
 
 Pascal turned pale, moved to the depths of his soul by his mother's ex- 
 traordinary vehemence. He trembled lest she should say : ' ' And you, my 
 
114 the count's millions. 
 
 son, would you marry the child of such a mother ? " For he knew his mother a 
 prejudices, and the great importance she attached to a spotless reputation 
 transmitted from parent to child, from generation to generation. "The 
 baroness knew that her husband adored her, and hearing of his return she 
 became terrified ; she lost her senses," he ventured to say in extenuation. 
 
 " Would you try to defend her ? " exclaimed Madame Ferailleur. "Do 
 you really think one can atone for a fault by a crime ? " 
 
 "No, certainly not, but " 
 
 " Perhaps you would censure the baroness more severly if you knew 
 what her daughter has suffered if you knew the perils and miseries she 
 has been exposed to from the moment her mother left her on a door-step, 
 near the central markets, till the day when her father found her. It is a 
 miracle that she did not perish." 
 
 Where had Madame Ferailleur learned these particulars ? Pascal asked 
 himself this question without being able to answer it. "I don't understand 
 you, mother," he faltered. 
 
 "Then you know nothing of Mademoiselle Marguerite's past life. Is it 
 possible she never told you anything about it ? " 
 
 " I only know that she has been very unhappy." 
 
 " Has she never alluded to the time when she was an apprentice ? " 
 
 " She has only told me that she earned her living with her own hands at 
 one time of her life." 
 
 " Well, I am better informed on the subject." 
 
 Pascal's amazement was changed to terror. " You, mother, you ! " 
 
 "Yes; I I have been to the asylum where she was received and edu- 
 cated. I have had a conversation with two Sisters of Charity who remem- 
 ber her, and it is scarcely an hour since I left the people to whom she was 
 formerly bound as an apprentice." 
 
 Standing opposite his mother with one hand convulsively clutching the 
 back of the chair he was leaning on, Pascal tried to nerve himself for 
 some terrible blow. For was not his life at stake ? Did not his whole 
 future depend upon the revelations Madame Ferailleur was about to make ? 
 " So this was your object in going out, mother ? " he faltered. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And you went without warning me ? " 
 
 "Was it necessary? What! you love a young girl, you swear in my 
 presence that she shall be your wife, and you think it strange that I should 
 try to ascertain whether she is worthy of you or not ? It would be very 
 strange if I did not do so." 
 
 " This idea occurred to you so suddenly !" 
 
 Madame Ferailleur gave an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders, 
 as if she were astonished to have to answer such puerile objections. "Have 
 you already forgotten the disparaging remarks made by our new servant, 
 Madame Vantrasson ? " 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " 
 
 "I understood her base insinuations as well as you did, and after your 
 departure I questioned her, or rather I allowed her to tell her story, and I 
 ascertained that Mademoiselle Marguerite had once been an apprentice of 
 Vantrasson's brother-in-law, a man named Greloux, who was formerly a 
 bookbinder in the Rue Saint-Denis, but who has now retired from business. 
 It was there that Vantrasson met Mademoiselle Marguerite, and this is 
 why he was so greatly surprised to see her doing the mistress at the Hdtel 
 de Chalusse." 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 115 
 
 It seemed to Pascal that the throbbing of his heart stopped his breath. 
 
 " By a little tact I obtained the Greloux's address from Madame Vantras- 
 ison," resumed his mother. "Then I sent for a cab and drove there at 
 once. " 
 
 "And you saw them ? " 
 
 " Yes ; thanks to a falsehood which doesn't trouble my conscience much, 
 I succeeded in effecting an entrance, and had an hour's conversation with 
 them." His mother's icy tones frightened Pascal. Her slowness tortured 
 him , and still he dared not press her. "The Greloux family, " she continued , 
 I ! seem to be what are called worthy people, that is, incapable of committing 
 any crime that is punishable by the code, and very proud of their income 
 of seven thousand francs a year. They must have been very much attached 
 to Mademoiselle Marguerite, for they were lavish in their protestations of 
 affection when I mentioned her name. The husband in particular seemed 
 to regard her with a feeling of something like gratitude." 
 
 " Ah ! you see, mother, you see ! " 
 
 11 As for the wife, it was easy to see that she had sincerely regretted the 
 loss of the best apprentice, the most honest servant, and the best worker 
 she had ever seen in her life. And yet, from her own story, I should be 
 willing to swear that she had abused the poor child, and had made a slave 
 of her." Tears glittered in Pascal's eyes, but he breathed freely once more. 
 
 As for Van trasson," resumed Madame Ferailleur, " it is certain that he 
 took a violent fancy to his sister's apprentice. This man, who has since be- 
 come an infamous scoundrel, was then only a rake, an unprincipled drunkard 
 and libertine. He fancied the poor little apprentice she was then but 
 thirteen years old would be only too glad to become the mistress of her 
 employer's brother ; but she scornfully repulsed him, and his vanity was so 
 deeply wounded that he persecuted the poor girl to such an extent that she 
 was obliged to complain, first to Madame Greloux, who to her shame be it 
 said treated these insults as mere nonsense ; and afterwards to Greloux 
 himself, who was probably delighted to have an opportunity of ridding 
 himself of his indolent brother-in-law, for he turned him out of the house." 
 
 The thought that so vile a rascal as this man Vantrasson should have 
 daied to insult Marguerite made Pascal frantic with indignation. " The 
 wretch ! " he exclaimed ; " the wretch 1 " But without seeming to notice 
 her son's anger, Madame Ferailleur continued : " They pretended they had 
 not seen their former apprentice since she had been living in grandeur, as 
 they expressed it, But in this they lied to me. For they saw her at least 
 once, and that was on the day she brought them twenty thousand francs, 
 which proved the nucleus of their fortune. They did not mention this fact, 
 however." 
 
 " Dear Marguerite ! " murmured Pascal, " dear Marguerite ! " And then 
 aloud : "But where did you learn these last details, mother ?" he inquired. 
 
 "At the asylum where Mademoiselle Marguerite was brought up, and 
 there, too, I only heard words of praise. ' Never,' said the superior, ' have 
 I had a more gifted, sweeter-tempered or more attractive charge.' They 
 had reproached her sometimes for being too reserved, and her self-respect 
 had often been mistaken for inordinate pride ; but she had not forgotten the 
 asylum any more than she had forgotten her former patrons. On one oc- 
 casion the superior received from her the sum of twenty-five thousand 
 francs, and a year ago she presented the institution with one hundred 
 thousand francs, the yearly income of which is to constitute the marriage 
 dowry of some deserving orphan." 
 
116 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 Pascal was greatly elated. " Well, mother ! " he exclaimed, " well, is it 
 strange that I love her ? " Madame Ferailleur made no reply, and a sorrow- 
 ful apprehension seized hold of him. " You are silent," said he "and why ? 
 When the blessed day that will allow me to wed Marguerite arrives, you 
 surely won't oppose our marriage ? " 
 
 " No, my son, nothing that I have learned gives me the right to do so." 
 
 " The right ! Ah, you are unjust, mother." 
 
 "Unjust ! Haven't I faithfully reported all that was told me, although 
 I knew it would only increase your passion ? " 
 
 " That's true, but" 
 
 Madame Ferailleur sadly shook her head, "Do you think," she inter- 
 rupted, " that I can, without sorrow, see you choose a girl of no family, a 
 girl who is outside the pale of social recognition ? Don't you understand 
 my disquietude when I think that the girl that you will marry is the daughter 
 of such a woman as Baroness Trigault, an unfortunate girl whom her mother 
 cannot even recognise, since her mother is a married woman " 
 
 " Ah ! mother, is that Marguerite's fault? " 
 
 " Did I say it was her fault ? No I only pray God that you may never 
 have to repent of choosing a wife whose past life must ever remain an im- 
 penetrable mystery ! " v 
 
 Pascal had become very pale. " Mother ! " he said in a quivering voice, 
 " mother ! " 
 
 " I mean that you will only know so much of Mademoiselle Marguerite's 
 past life as she may choose to tell you," continued the obdurate old lady. 
 " You heard Madame Vantrasson's ignoble allegations. It has been said 
 that she was the mistress, not the daughter, of the Count de Chalusse. 
 Who knows what vile accusations you may be forced to meet ? And what 
 is your refuge, if doubts should ever assail you ? Mademoiselle Marguerite's 
 word ! Will this be sufficient ? It is now, perhaps ; but will it suffice in 
 years to come ? I would have my son's wife above suspicion ; and she 
 why, there is not a single episode in her life that does not expose her to the 
 most atrocious calumny. " 
 
 " What does calumny matter ? it will never shake my faith in her. The 
 misfortunes which you reproach Marguerite for sanctify her in my eyes." 
 
 " Pascal ! " 
 
 " What ! Am I to scorn her because she has been unfortunate ? Am I 
 to regard her birth as a crime ? Am I to despise her because her mother is 
 a despicable woman ? No God be praised ! the day when illegitimate 
 children, the innocent victims of their mother's faults, were branded as 
 outcasts, is past." 
 
 But Madame Ferailleur's prejudices were too deeply rooted to be shaken 
 by these arguments. "I won't discuss this question, my son," she inter- 
 rupted, "but take care. By declaring children irresponsible for their 
 mother's faults, you will break the strongest tie that binds a woman to 
 duty. If the son of a pure and virtuous wife, and the son of an adulterous 
 woman meet upon equal ground, those who are held in check only by the 
 thought of their children will finally say to themselves, what does it matter?" 
 It was the first time that a cloud had ever arisen between mother and 
 son. On hearing his dearest hopes thus attacked, Pascal was tempted to 
 rebel, and a flood of bitter words rose to his lips. However he had strength 
 enough to control himself. " Marguerite alone can triumph over these im- 
 placable prejudices," he thought j "when my mother knows her, she will 
 feel how unjust they are J " 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 117 
 
 And as he found it difficult to remain master of himself, he stammered 
 some excuse, and abruptly retired to his own room, where he threw him- 
 self on his bed. He felt that it was not his place to reproach his mother or 
 censure her for her opinions. What mother had ever been so devoted as 
 she had been ? And who knows ? it was, perhaps, from these same rigid 
 prejudices that this simple-minded and heroic woman had derived her 
 energy, her enthusiastic love of God, her hatred. of evil, and that virility of 
 spirit which misfortune had been powerless to daunt. Besides, had she 
 not promised to offer no opposition to his marriage ! And was not this a 
 great concession, a sacrifice which must have cost her a severe struggle ? 
 And where can one find the mother who does not count as one of the sub- 
 lime joys of maternity the task of seeking a wife for her son, of choosing 
 from among all others, the young girl who will be the companion of his life, 
 the angel of his dark and of his prosperous days ? His mind was occupied 
 with these thoughts when his door suddenly opened, and he sprang up, ex- 
 claiming : " Who is it ? " 
 
 It was Madame Vantrasson, who came to announce that dinner was ready 
 a dinner which she had herself prepared, for on going out Madame Fer- 
 ailleur had left her in charge of the household. On seeing this woman, 
 Pascal was overcome with rage and indignation, and felt a wild desire to 
 annihilate her. He knew that she was only a vile slanderer, but she might 
 meet other beings as vile as herself who would be only too glad to believe 
 her falsehoods. And to think that he was powerless to punish her I He 
 now realised the suffering his mother had spoken of the most atrocious 
 suffering which the lover can endure powerlessness to protect the object 
 of his affections, when she is assailed. Engrossed in these gloomy thoughts, 
 Pascal preserved a sullen silence during the repast. He ate because his 
 mother filled his plate ; but if he had been questioned, he could scarcely 
 have told what he was eating. And yet, the modest dinner was excellent. 
 Madame Vantrasson was really a good, cook, and in this first effort in her 
 new situation she had surpassed herself. Her vanity as a cordon-bleu was 
 piqued because she did not receive the compliments she expected, and 
 which she felt she deserved. Four or five times she asked impatiently, 
 " Isn't that good ? " and as the only reply was a scarcely enthusiastic " Very 
 good," she vowed she would never again waste so much care and talent upon 
 such unappreciative people. 
 
 Madame Ferailleur was as silent as her son, and seemed equally anxious 
 to finish with the repast. She evidently wanted to get rid of Madame 
 Vantrasson, and in fact as soon as the simple dessert had been placed on 
 the table, she turned to her, and said : " You may go home now. I will 
 attend to the rest." 
 
 Irritated by the taciturnity of these strange folks the landlady of the 
 Model Lodging House withdrew, and they soon heard the street door close 
 behind her with a loud bang as she left the house. Pascal drew a long 
 breath as if relieved of a heavy weight. While Madame Vantrasson had been 
 in the room he had scarcely dared to raise his eyes, so great was his dread 
 of encountering the gaze of this woman, whose malignity was but poorly 
 veiled by her smooth-tongued hypocrisy. He really feared he should not 
 be able to resist his desire to strangle her. However, Madame Ferailleur 
 must have understood her son's agitation, for as soon as they were alone, 
 she said : "So you have not forgiven me for my plain speaking ? " 
 
 " How can I be angry with you, mother, when I know that you are think- 
 ing only of my happiness ? But how sorry I shall be if your prejudices " 
 
118 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 Madame Ferailleur checked him with a gesture. " Let us say no more 
 on the subject," she remarked. "Mademoiselle Marguerite will be the 
 innocent cause of one of the greatest disappointments of my life ; but I 
 have no reason to hate her and I have always been able to shew justice 
 even to the persons I loved the least. I have done so in this instance, and 
 I am going perhaps to give you a convincing proof of it. " 
 
 "A proof?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She reflected for a moment and then she asked : " Did you not tell me, 
 my son, that Mademoiselle Marguerite's education has not suffered on ac- 
 count of her neglected childhood ? " 
 
 " And it's quite true, mother." 
 
 " She worked diligently, you said, so as to improve herself ? " 
 
 "Marguerite knows all that an unusually talented girl can learn in four 
 years, when she finds herself very unhappy, and study proves her only 
 refuge and consolation." 
 
 " If she wrote you a note would it be written grammatically, and be free 
 from any mistakes in spelling ? " 
 
 "Oh, certainly ! " exclaimed Pascal, and a sudden inspiration made him 
 pause abruptly. He darted to his own room, and a minute later he returned 
 with a package of letters, which he laid on the table, saying: "Here, 
 mother, read and see for yourself." 
 
 Madame Ferailleur drew her spectacles from their case, and, after adjust- 
 ing them, she began to read. 
 
 With his elbows on the table, and his head resting upon his hands, Pascal 
 eagerly watched his mother, anxious to read her impressions on her face. 
 She was evidently astonished. She had not expected these letters would 
 express such nobility of sentiment, an energy no whit inferior to her own, 
 and even an echo of her own prejudices. For this strange young girl shared 
 Madame Ferailleur's rather bigoted opinions. Again and again she asked 
 herself if her birth and past had not created an impassable abyss 
 between Pascal and herself. And she had not felt satisfied on 
 this point until the day when the grey-haired magistrate, after hear- 
 ing her story, said : " If I had a son, I should be proud to have him be- 
 loved by you ! " 
 
 It soon became apparent that Madame Ferailleur was deeply moved, and 
 once she even raised her glasses to wipe away a furtive tear which made 
 Pascal's heart leap with very joy. " These letters are admirable," she said 
 at last ; "and no young girl, reared by a virtuous mother, could have 
 given better expression to nobler sentiments ; but " She paused, not 
 wishing to wound her son's feelings, and as he insisted, she added : " But, 
 these letters have the irreparable fault of being addressed to you, Pascal ! " 
 
 This however, was the expiring cry of her intractable obstinacy. " Now," 
 she resumed, "wait before you censure your mother." So saying she rose, 
 opened a drawer, and taking from it a torn and crumpled scrap of paper, 
 she handed it to her son, exclaiming : " Read this attentively." 
 
 This proved to be the note in pencil which Madame Leon had given to 
 Pascal, and which he had divined rather than read by the light of the 
 street-lamp ; he had handed it to his mother on his return, and she had 
 kept it. He had scarcely been in his right mind the evening he received it, 
 but now he was enjoying the free exercise of all his faculties. He no 
 sooner glanced at the note than he sprang up, and in an excited voice, ex- 
 claimed, " Marguerite never wrote this I 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 119 
 
 The strange discovery seemed to stupefy him. "I was mad, raving 
 mad ! " he muttered. " The fraudtfs palpable, unmistakeable. How could 
 I have failed to discover it ? " And as if he felt the need of convincing him- 
 self that he was not deceived, he continued, speaking to himself rather than 
 to his mother : "The handwriting is not unlike Marguerite's, it's true; but 
 it's only a clever counterfeit. And who doesn't know that all writings in 
 pencil resemble each other more or less ? Besides, it's certain that Mar- 
 guerite, who is simplicity itself, would not have made use of such preten- 
 tious melodramatic phrases. How could I have been so stupid as to be- 
 lieve that she ever thought or wrote this : ' One cannot break a promise 
 made to the dying ; I shall keep mine even though my heart break.' And 
 again : Forget, therefore, the girl who has loved you so much ; she is now 
 the betrothed of another, and honour requires she should forget even your 
 name ! ' " He read these passages with an extravagant emphasis, which 
 heightened their absurdity. " And what shall I say of these mistakes in 
 spelling ? " he resumed . ' ' You noticed them, of course, mother ? command 
 is written with a single ' m,' and supplicate with one * p.' These are cer- 
 tainly not mistakes that we can attribute to haste ! Ignorance is proved 
 since the blunder is always the same. The forger is evidently in the habit 
 of omitting one of the double letters." 
 
 Madame Ferailleur listened with an impassive face. " And these mis- 
 takes are all the more inexcusable since this letter is only a copy," she ob- 
 served, quietly. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Yes ; a verbatim copy. Yesterday evening, while I was examining it 
 for the twentieth time, it occurred to me that I had read some portions of 
 it before. Where, and under what circumstances ? It was a puzzle which 
 kept me awake most of the night. But this morning I suddenly remem- 
 bered a book which I had seen in the hands of the workmen at the factory, 
 and which I had often laughed over. So, while I was out this morning I 
 entered a book-shop, and purchased the volume. That's it, there on the 
 corner of the mantel-shelf. Take it and see." 
 
 Pascal obeyed, and noticed with surprise that the work was entitled, 
 " The Indispensable and Complete Letter- writer, for Both Sexes, in Every 
 Condition of Life." 
 
 " Now turn to the page I have marked," said Madame Ferailleur. 
 
 He did so, and read : * ' {Model 198). Letter from a young lady who 
 has promised her dying father to renounce the man she loves, and to bestow 
 her hand upon another." Doubt was no longer possible. Line for line and 
 word for word, the mistakes in spelling excepted, the note was an exact 
 copy of the stilted prose of the "Indispensable Letter- writer." 
 
 It seemed to Pascal as if the scales had suddenly fallen from his eyes, and 
 that he could now understand the whole intrigue which had been planned 
 to separate him from Marguerite. His enemies had dishonoured him in the 
 hope that she would reject and scorn him, and, disappointed in their ex- 
 pectations, they had planned this pretended rupture of the engagement to 
 prevent him from making any attempt at self-justification. So, in spite of 
 some short-lived doubts, his love had been more clear-sighted than reason, 
 and stronger than appearances. He had been quite right, then, in saying 
 to his mother : I can never believe that Marguerite deserts me at a moment 
 when I am so wretched that she condemns me unheard, and has no greater 
 confidence in me than in my accusers. Appearances may indicate the 
 contrary, but I am right." Certain circumstances, which had previously 
 
120 The count's millions. 
 
 seemed contradictory, now strengthened this belief. " How is it," he said 
 to himself, " that Marguerite writes tome that her father, on his death-bed, 
 made her promise to renounce me, while Valorsay declares the Count de 
 Chalusse died so suddenly, that he had not even time to acknowledge his 
 daughter or to bequeath her his immense fortune? One of these stories 
 must be false ; and which of them ? The one in this note most probably. 
 As for the letter itself, it must have been the work of Madame Leon." 
 
 If he had not already possessed irrefutable proofs of this, the " Indispen- 
 sable Letter- writer " would have shewn it. The housekeeper's perturbation 
 when she met him at the garden gate was now explained. She was shudder- 
 ing at the thought that she might be followed and watched, and that 
 Marguerite might appear at any moment, and discover everything. 
 
 "I think it would be a good plan to let this poor young girl know that 
 her companion is Valorsay 's spy," remarked Madame Ferailleur. 
 
 Pascal was about to approve this suggestion, when a sudden thought de- 
 terred him. * ' They must be watching Marguerite very closely, "he replied, 
 ' and if I attempt to see her, if I even venture to write to her, our enemies 
 would undoubtedly discover it. And then, farewell to the success of my plans. " 
 
 " Then you prefer to leave her exposed to these dangers ? " 
 
 "Yes, even admitting there is danger, which is by no means certain. 
 Owing to her past life, Marguerite's experience is far in advance of her years, 
 and if some one told me that she had fathomed Madame Leon's character, 
 I should not be at all surprised." 
 
 It was necessary to ascertain what had become of Marguerite ; and Pascal 
 was puzzling his brain to discover how this might be done, when suddenly 
 he exclaimed : " Madame Vantrasson ! We have her ; let us make use of 
 her. It will be easy to find some excuse for sending her to the Hotel de 
 Chalusse : she will gossip with the servants there, and in that way we can 
 discover the changes that have taken place." 
 
 This was a heroic resolution on Pascal's part, and one which he would have 
 recoiled from the evening before. But it is easy to be brave when one is hope- 
 ful ; and he saw his chances of success increase so rapidly that he no longer 
 feared the obstacles that had once seemed almost insurmountable. Even 
 his mother's opposition had ceased to alarm him. For why should he fear 
 after the surprising proof she had given him of her love of justice, proving 
 that the pretended letter from Mademoiselle Marguerite was really a forgery? 
 
 He slept but little that night and did not stir from the house on the 
 following day. He was busily engaged in perfecting his plan of attack 
 against the marquis. His advantages were considerable, thanks to Baron 
 Trigault, who had placed a hundred thousand francs at his disposal ; but 
 the essential point was to use this amount in such a way as to win Valorsay's 
 confidence, and induce him to betray himself. Pascal's hours of meditation 
 were not spent in vain, and when it became time for him to repair to his 
 enemy's house, he said to his mother : " I've found a plan ; and if the 
 baron will let me follow it out, Valorsay is mine ! " 
 
 XIII. 
 
 It was pure childishness on Pascal's part to doubt Baron Trigault's will- 
 ingness to agree even with closed eyes to any measures he might propose. 
 He ought to have recollected that their interests were identical, that they 
 hated the same men with equal hatred, and that they were equally resolved 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 121 
 
 upon vengeance. And certainly the events which had occurred since their 
 last interview had not been of a nature to modify the baron's intentions. 
 However, misfortune had rendered Pascal timid and suspicious, and it was 
 not until he reached the baron's house that his fears vanished. The manner 
 in which the servants received him proved that the baron greatly esteemed 
 him : for the man must be stupid indeed who does not know that the 
 greeting of the servants is ever in harmony with the feelings of the master 
 of the house. " Will you be kind enough to follow me ? " said the servant 
 to whom he handed his card. "The baron is very busy, but that doesn't 
 matter. He gave orders that monsieur should be shown up as soon as he 
 arrived." 
 
 Pascal followed without a word. The elegance of this princely abode 
 never varied. The same careless, prodigal, regal luxury was apparent 
 everywhere. The servants whose name was legion were always passing 
 noiselessly to and fro. A pair of horses, worth at least a thousand louis, 
 and harnessed to the baroness's brougham, were stamping and neighing in 
 the courtyard ; and the hall was, as usual, fragrant with the perfume of 
 rare flowers, renewed every morning. 
 
 On his first visit Pascal had only seen the apartments on the ground floor. 
 This time his guide remarked that he would take him upstairs to the 
 baron's private room. He was slowly ascending the broad marble staircase 
 and admiring the bronze balustrade, the rich carpet, the magnificent fres- 
 coes, and the costly statuary, when a rustle of silk resounded near him. 
 He had only time to step aside, and a lady passed him rapidly, without 
 turning her head, or even deigning to look at him. She did not appear 
 more than forty, and she was still very beautiful, with her golden hair 
 dressed high on the back of her head. Her costume, brilliant enough in 
 hue to frighten a cab horse, was extremely eccentric in cut ; but it certainly 
 set off her peculiar style of beauty to admirable advantage. 
 
 " That's the baroness," whispered the servant, after she had passed. 
 
 Pascal did not need to be told this. He had seen her but once, and then 
 only for a second ; but it had been under such circumstances that he should 
 never forget her so long as he lived. And now he understood the strange 
 and terrible impression which had been produced upon him when he saw 
 her first. Mademoiselle Marguerite was the living prototype of this lady, 
 save as regards the colour of her hair. And there would have been no 
 difference in this respect had the baroness allowed her locks to retain their 
 natural tint. Her hair had been black, like Marguerite's, and black it 
 had remained until she was thirty-five, when she bleached it to the fashion- 
 able colour of the time. And every fourth day even now her hair-dresser 
 came to apply a certain compound to her head, after which she remained 
 in the bright sunlight for several hours, so as to impart a livelier shade of 
 gold to her dyed locks. 
 
 Pascal had scarcely regained his composure, when the servant opened the 
 door of an immense apartment as large as a handsome suite of rooms, and 
 magnificently furnished. Here sat the baron, surrounded by several clerks, 
 who were busily engaged in putting a pile of papers and documents in order. 
 
 But as soon as Pascal entered, the baron rose, and cordially holding out 
 his hand, exclaimed, " Ah ! here you are at last, Monsieur Maume'jan ! " 
 
 So he had not forgotten the name which Pascal had assumed. This was 
 a favourable omen. " I called, monsieur " began the young man. 
 
 " Yes I know I know ! " interrupted the baron. " Come, we must 
 have a talk." 
 
122 the count's millions. 
 
 And, taking Pascal's arm, he led him into his private sanctum, separated 
 from the large apartment by folding-doors, which had been removed, and 
 replaced by hangings. Once there he indicated by a gesture that they 
 could be heard in the adjoining room, and that it was necessary to speak 
 in alow tone. "You have no doubt come," said he, "for the money I 
 promised that dear Marquis de Valorsay I have it all ready for you ; here 
 it is." So saying, he opened an escritoire, and took out a large roll of 
 bank-notes, which he handed to Pascal. "Here, count it," he added, 
 "and see if the amount is correct." 
 
 But Pascal, whose face had suddenly become as red as fire, did not utter 
 a word in reply. On receiving this money 1 new but quite natural thought 
 had entered his mind for the first time. " What is the matter ? " in- 
 quired the baron, surprised by this sudden embarrassment. "What has 
 happened to you ? " 
 
 " Nothing, monsieur, nothing ! Only I was asking myself if I ought 
 if I can accept this money." 
 
 ' ' Bah ! and why not ? " 
 
 " Because if you lend it to M. de Valorsay, it is perhaps lost." 
 
 " Perhaps t You are polite " 
 
 ' ' Yes, monsieur, you are right. I ought to have said that it is sure to 
 be lost ; and hence my embarrassment. Is it not solely on my account 
 that you sacrifice a sum which would be a fortune to many men ? Yes. 
 Very well, then. I am asking myself if it is right for me to accept such a 
 sacrifice, when it is by no means certain that I shall ever be able to requite 
 it. Shall I ever have a hundred thousand francs to repay you ? " 
 
 "But isn't this money absolutely necessary to enable you to win Valor- 
 say's confidence ? " 
 
 " Yes, and if it belonged to me I should not hesitate." 
 
 Though the baron had formed a high estimate of Pascal's character, he 
 was astonished and deeply touched by these scruples, and this excessive 
 delicacy of feeling. Like most opulent men, he knew few poor people 
 who wore their poverty with grace and dignity, and who did not snatch at 
 a twenty-franc piece wherever they chanced to find it. "Ah, well, my 
 dear Ferailleur," he said, kindly, "don't trouble yourself on this score. 
 It's not at your request nor solely on your account that I make this 
 sacrifice." 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 " No ; I give you my word of honour it isn't. Leaving you quite out - of 
 the question, I should still have lent Valorsay this money ; and if you do 
 not wish to take it to him, I shall send it by some one else. " 
 
 After that, Pascal could not demur any further. He took the baron's 
 proffered hand and pressed it warmly, uttering only this one word, made 
 more eloquent than any protestations by the fervour with which it was 
 spoken : " Thanks ! " 
 
 The baron shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly, like a man who fails 
 to see that he has done anything at all meritorious, or even worthy of the 
 slightest acknowledgment. " And you must understand, my dear sir," 
 he resumed, " that you can employ this sum as you choose, in advancing 
 your interests, which are identical with mine. You can give the money to 
 Valorsay at such a time and under such conditions as will best serve your 
 plans. Give it to him in an hour or in a month, all at once or in fifty 
 different instalments, as you please. Only use it like the rope one ties 
 round a dog's neck before drowning him. " 
 
the count's millions. 123 
 
 The keenest penetration was concealed beneath the baron's careless 
 good-nature. Pascal knew this, and feeling that his protector understood 
 him. " You overpower me with kindness," he said. 
 
 "Nonsense ! " 
 
 " You offer me just what I came to ask for." 
 
 1 ' So much the better. " 
 
 " But you will allow me to explain my intentions ? " 
 
 " It is quite unnecessary, my dear sir." 
 
 " Excuse me ; if I follow my present plan, I shall be obliged to ascribe 
 certain sentiments, words, and even acts, to you, which you might perhaps 
 disavow, and " 
 
 With a careless toss of the head, accompanied by a disdainful snap of 
 the fingers, the baron interrupted him. " Set to work, and don't give your- 
 self the slightest uneasiness about that. You may do whatever you like, if 
 you only succeed in unmasking this dear marquis, and Coralth, his worthy 
 acolyte. Show me up in whatever light you choose. Who will you be in 
 Valorsay's eyes ? Why, Maumejan, one of my business agents, and I can 
 always throw the blame on you." And as if to prove that he had divined 
 even the details of the scheme devised by his young friend, he added : 
 " Besides, every one knows that a millionaire's business agent is anything 
 but a pleasant person to deal with. A millionaire, who is not a fool, must 
 always smile, and no matter how absurd the demands upon him may be, he 
 must always answer : ' Yes, certainly, certainly I should be only to 
 happy ! ' But then he adds : * You must arrange the matter with my 
 agent. Confer with him.' And it is the unlucky agent who must object, 
 declare that his employer has no money at his disposal just now, and finally 
 say, 'No.'" 
 
 Pascal was still disposed to insist, but the baron was obdurate. \ ' Oh ! 
 enough, enough ! " he exclaimed. "Don't waste precious time in idle dis- 
 cussion. The days are only twenty-four hours long : and as you see, I'm 
 very busy, so busy that I've not touched a card since the day before yes- 
 terday. I am preparing a delightful surprise for Madame Trigault, my 
 daughter, and my son-in-law. It has been rather a delicate operation, but 
 I flatter myself that I have succeeded finely." And he laughed a laugh 
 that was not pleasant to hear. " You see I've had enough of paying several 
 hundred thousand francs a year for the privilege of being sneered at by my 
 wife, scorned by my daughter, swindled by my son-in-law, and vilified and 
 anathematized by all three of them. I am still willing to go on paying, 
 but only on conditions that they give me in return for my money, if not 
 the reality, at least a show of love, affection, and respect. I'm determined 
 to have the semblance of these things ; I'm quite resolved on that. Yes, I 
 will have myself treated with deference. I'll be petted and coddled and 
 made much of, or else I'll suspend payment. It was one of my old friends, 
 a parvenu like myself a man whose domestic happiness I have envied for 
 many years who gave me this receipt : ' At home,' said he, ' with my 
 wife, my daughters, and my sons-in-law, I'm like a peer of England at an 
 hotel. I order first class happiness at so much a month. If I get it I pay 
 for it ; if I don't get it, I cut off the supplies. When I get extras I pay 
 for them cheerfully, without haggling. Follow my example, my old friend, 
 and you'll have a comfortable life.' And I shall follow his advice, M. 
 Ferailleur, for I am convinced that his theory is sound and practicable. I 
 have led this life long enough. Ill spend my last days in peace, or, as God 
 hears me, I'll let my family die of starvation ! " 
 
124 the count's millions. 
 
 His face was purple, and the veins on his forehead stood out like whip-^ 
 cords, but not so much from anger as from the constraint he imposed upon 
 himself by speaking in a whisper. He drew a long breath, and then in a 
 calmer tone, resumed : " But you must make haste and succeed, M. Ferail- 
 leur, if you don't want the young girl you love to be deprived of her rightful 
 heritage. You do not know into what unworthy hands the Chalusse property 
 is about to fall. " He was on the point of telling Pascal the story of Madame 
 d'Argeles and M. Wilkie, when he was interrupted by the sound of a lively 
 controversy in the hall. 
 
 "Who's taking such liberty in my house?" the baron began. But the 
 uext instant he heard some one fling open the door of the large room adjoin- 
 ing, and then a coarse, guttural voice called out : " What ! he isn't here ! 
 This is too much ! " 
 
 The baron made an angry gesture, " That's Kami-Bey," said he "the 
 Turk whom I am playing that great game of cards with. The devil take 
 him ! He will be sure to force his way in here so we may as well join him, 
 M. Ferailleur." 
 
 On re-entering the adjoining apartment Pascal beheld a very corpulent 
 man, with a very red face, a straggling beard, a flat nose, small, bead-like 
 eyes, and sensual lips. He was clad in a black frock-coat, buttoned tight 
 to the throat, and he wore a fez. This costume gave him the appearance of a 
 chunky bottle, sealed withred wax. Such, indeed, was Kami-Bey, a specimen 
 of those semi-barbarians, loaded with gold, who are not attracted to Paris, 
 by its splendours and glories, but rather by its corruption people who 
 come there persuaded that money will purchase anything and everything, 
 and who often return home with the same conviction. Kami was no doubt 
 more impudent, more cynical and more arrogant than others of his class. 
 As he was more wealthy, he had more followers ; he had been more toadied 
 and flattered, and victimized to a greater extent by the host of female in- 
 triguers, who look upon every foreigner as their rightful prey. 
 
 He spoke French passably well, but with an abominable accent. " Here 
 you are at last ! " he exclaimed, as the baron entered the room. " I was 
 becoming very anxious." 
 
 " About what, prince ? " 
 
 Why Kami-Bey was called prince no one knew, not even the man himself. 
 Perhaps it was because the lackey who opened his carriage door on his 
 arrival at the Grand Hotel had addressed him by that title. 
 
 "About what ! " he repeated. " You have won more than three hundred 
 thousand francs from me, and I was wondering if you intended to give me 
 the slip." 
 
 The baron frowned, and this time he omitted the title of prince al- 
 together. ' ' It seems to me, sir, that according to our agreement, we were 
 to play until one of us had won five hundred thousand francs," he said 
 haughtily. 
 
 " That's true but we ought to play every day." 
 
 "Possibly : but I'm very busy just now. I wrote to you explaining this, 
 did I not ? If you are at all uneasy, tear up the book in which the results 
 of our games are noted, and that shall be the end of it. You will gain con- 
 siderably by the operation." 
 
 Kami-Bey felt that the baron would not tolerate his arrogance, and so 
 with more moderation he exclaimed : "It isn't strange that I've become 
 suspicious. I'm so victimized on every side. Because I'm a foreigner and 
 immensely rich, everybody fancies he has a right to plunder me. Men, 
 
125 
 
 women, hotel-keepers and merchants, all unite in defrauding me. If I buy 
 pictures, they sell me vile daubs at fabulous prices. They ask ridiculous 
 amounts for horses, and then give me worthless, worn-out animals. Every- 
 body borrows money from me and I'm never repaid. I shall be ruined if 
 this sort of thing goes on much longer." 
 
 He had taken a seat, and the baron saw that he was not likely to get rid 
 of his guest very soon ; so approaching Pascal he whispered : "You had 
 better go off, or you may miss Valorsay. And be careful, mind ; for he is 
 exceedingly shrewd. Courage and good luck ! " 
 
 Courage ! It was not necessary to recommend that to Pascal. He who 
 had triumphed over his despair in the terrible hours, when he had reason to 
 suppose that Marguerite believed him guilty and had abandoned him, could 
 scarcely lack courage. While he was condemned to inaction, his mind had 
 no doubt been assailed by countless doubts and fears ; but now that he 
 knew whom he was to attack now that the decisive moment had come, he 
 was endowed with indomitable energy ; he had turned to bronze, and he felt 
 sure that nothing could disconcert or even trouble him in future. The 
 weapons he had to use were not at all to his taste, but he had not been 
 allowed a choice in the matter ; and since his enemies had decided on a 
 warfare of duplicity, he was resolved to surpass them in cunning, and van- 
 quish them by deception. 
 
 So, while hastening to the Marquis de Valorsay's residence, he took stock 
 of his chances, and recapitulated his resources, striving to foresee and re- 
 member everything. Thus if he failed for he admitted the possibility of 
 defeat, without believing in it he would have no cause to reproach him- 
 self. Only fools find consolation in saying : " Who could have foreseen 
 that ? " Great minds do foresee. And Pascal felt almost certain that he 
 was fully prepared for any emergency. 
 
 That morning, before leaving home, he had dressed with extreme care, 
 realising that the shabby clothes he had worn on his first visit to the 
 Trigault mansion would not be appropriate on such an occasion as this. 
 The baron's agent could scarcely have a poverty-stricken appearance, for 
 contact with millionaires is supposed to procure wealth as surely as proximity 
 to fire ensures warmth. So he arrayed himself in a suit of black, which 
 was neither too elegant nor too much worn, and donned a broad white neck- 
 tie. He could see only one immediate, decisive chance against him. M. 
 de Valorsay might possibly recognize him. He thought not, but he was 
 not sure ; and anxious on this account, he at first decided to disguise himself. 
 However, on reflection, he concluded not to do so. An imperfect disguise 
 would attract attention and awaken suspicion; and could he really disguise 
 his physiognomy ? He was certain he could not. Very few men are cap- 
 able of doing so successfully, even after long experience. Only two or 
 three detectives and half a dozen actors possess the art of really changing 
 their lineaments. Thus after weighing the pros and cons, Pascal determined 
 to present himself as he was at the marquis's house. 
 
 On approaching M. de Valorsay's residence in the Avenue des Champs 
 Elysees, he slackened his pace. The mansion, which stood between a 
 courtyard and a garden, was very large and handsome. The stables and 
 carriage-house really elegant structures stood on either side of the court- 
 yard, near the half -open gate of which five or six servants were amusing 
 themselves by teasing a large dog. Pascal was just saying to himself that 
 the coast was clear, and that he should incur no danger by going in, when 
 he saw the servants step aside, the gate swing back, and M. de Coralth 
 
126 thb count's millions. 
 
 emerge, accompanied by a young, fair-haired man, whose moustaches were 
 waxed and turned up in the most audacious fashion. They were arm in 
 arm, and turned in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe. Pascal's heart 
 thrilled with joy. " Fate favours me 1 " he said to himself. " If it hadn't 
 been for Kami- Bey, who detained me a full quarter of an hour at Baron 
 Trigault's, I should have found myself face to face with that miserable vis- 
 count, and then all would have been lost. But now I'm safe ! " 
 
 It was with this encouraging thought that he approached the house. 
 
 "The marquis is very busy this morning," said the servant to whom 
 Pascal addressed himself at the gate. " I doubt if he can see you." But 
 when Pascal handed him one of his visiting cards, bearing the name of 
 Maum6jan, with this addition in pencil : " Who calls as the representative 
 of Baron Trigault," the valet's face changed as if by enchantment. " Oh !" 
 said he, " that's quite a different matter. If you come from Baron Tri- 
 gault, you will be received with all the respect due to the Messiah. Come 
 in. I will announce you myself." 
 
 Everything in M. de Valorsay's house, as at the baron's residence, indi- 
 cated great wealth, and yet a close observer would have detected a differ- 
 ence. The luxury of the Rue de la Ville-l'Eveque was of a real and substan- 
 tial character, which one did not find in the Avenue des Champs Elysees. 
 Everything in the marquis's abode bore marks of the haste which mars the 
 merest trifle produced at the present age. " Take a seat here, and I will 
 see where the marquis is," said the servant, as he ushered Pascal into a 
 large drawing-room. The apartment was elegantly furnished, but had 
 somewhat lost its freshness ; the carpet, which had once been a marvel of 
 beauty, was stained in several places, and as the servants had not always 
 been careful to keep the shutters closed, the sunlight had perceptibly faded 
 the curtains. The attention of visitors was at once attracted by the num- 
 ber of gold and silver cups, vases, and statuettes scattered about on side- 
 tables and cheffoniers. Each of these objects bore an inscription, setting 
 forth that it had been won at such a race, in such a year, by such a horse, 
 belonging to the Marquis de Valorsay. These were indeed the marquis's 
 chief claims to glory, and had cost him at least half of the immense fortune 
 he had inherited. However, Pascal did not take much interest in these 
 trophies, so the time of waiting seemed long. ' ' Valorsay is playing the 
 diplomat," he thought. " He doesn't wish to appear to be anxious. Unfor- 
 tunately, his servant has betrayed him." 
 
 At last the valet returned. " The marquis will see you now, monsieur," 
 said he. 
 
 This summons affected Pascal's heart like the first roll of a drum 
 beating the charge. But his coolness did not desert him. " Now is the 
 decisive moment," he thought. "Heaven grant that he may not recognize 
 me ! " And with a firm step he followed the valet. 
 
 M. de Valorsay was seated in the apartment he usually occupied when he 
 remained at home a little smoking-room connected with his bedroom. 
 He was to all intents busily engaged in examining some sporting journals. 
 A bottle of Madeira and a partially filled glass stood near him. As the 
 servant announced " Monsieur Maum6jan !" he looked up and his eyes met 
 Pascal's. But his glance did not waver ; not a muscle of his face moved ; 
 his countenance retained its usually cold and disdainful expression. 
 Evidently he had not the slightest suspicion that the man he had tried to 
 ruin his mortal enemy was standing there before him. 
 
 " M. Maum6jan," said he, " Baron Trigault's agent ? " 
 
the count's millions. 127 
 
 " Yes, monsieur" 
 
 " Pray be seated. I am just finishing here ; I shall be at leisure in a 
 moment." 
 
 Pascal took a chair. He had feared that he might not be able to retain 
 his self-control when he found himself in the presence of the scoundrel who, 
 after destroying his happiness, ruining his future, and depriving him of his 
 honour dearer than life itself was at that moment endeavouring, by the 
 most infamous manoeuvres, to rob him of the woman he loved. "If my 
 blood mounted to my brain," he had thought, " I should spring upon him 
 and strangle him ! " But no. His arteries did not throb more quickly ; it 
 was with perfect calmness the calmness of a strong nature that he 
 stealthily watched M. de Valorsay. If he had seen him a week before he 
 would have been startled by the change which the past few days had 
 wrought in this brilliant nobleman's appearance. He was little more than 
 a shadow of his former self. And seen at this hour, before placing himself 
 in his valet's hands, before his premature decrepitude had been concealed by 
 the artifices of the toilet, he was really frightful. His face was haggard, 
 and his red and swollen eyelids betrayed a long-continued want of sleep. 
 
 The fact is he had suffered terribly during the past week. A man may 
 be a scapegrace and a spendthrift and may boast of it ; he may have no 
 principle and no conscience ; he may be immoral, he may defy God and the 
 devil, but it is nevertheless true that he suffers fearful anguish of mind 
 when he is guilty, for the first time, of a positive crime, forbidden by the 
 laws and punishable with the galleys. And who can say how many crimes 
 the Marquis de Valorsay had committed since the day he provided his 
 accomplice, the Viscount de Coralth, with those fatal cards ? And apart 
 from this there was something extremely appalling in the position of this 
 ruined millionaire, who was contending desperately against his creditors 
 for the vain appearance of splendour, with the despairing energy of a ship- 
 wrecked mariner struggling for the possession of a floating spar. Had he 
 not confessed to M. Fortunat that he had suffered the tortures of the 
 damned in his struggle to maintain a show of wealth, while he was often 
 without a penny in his pocket, and was ever subject to the pitiless surveil- 
 lance of thirty servants ? His agony, when he thought of his precarious 
 condition, could only be compared to that of a miner, who, while ascending 
 from the bowels of the earth, finds that the rope, upon which his life 
 depends, is slowly parting strand by strand, and who asks himself, in terror, 
 if the few threads that still remain unsevered will be strong enough to raise 
 him to the mouth of the pit. 
 
 However, the moment which M. de Valorsay had asked for had lengthened 
 into a quarter of an hour, and he had not yet finished his work. ' ' What 
 the devil is he doing ? " wondered Pascal, who was following his enemy's 
 slightest moment with eager curiosity. 
 
 Countless sporting newspapers were strewn over the table, the chairs, and 
 the floor around the marquis, who took them up one after another, glanced 
 rapidly through their columns, and threw them on the floor again, or placed 
 them on a pile before him, first marking certain passages with a red pencil. 
 At last, probably fearing that Pascal was growing impatient, he looked up 
 and said : 
 
 "I am really very sorry to keep you waiting so long, but some one is 
 waiting for this work to be completed. " 
 
 * ' Oh ! pray continue, Monsieur le Marquis, " interrupted Pascal. 
 " Strange to say, I have a little leisure at my command just now." 
 
128 
 
 The marquis seemed to feel that it was necessary to make some remark 
 in acknowledgment of this courtesy on his visitor's part, and so, as he con- 
 tinued his work, he condescended to explain its purpose. " I am playing 
 the part of a commentator," he remarked. " I sold seven of my horses a 
 few days ago, and the purchaser, before paying the stipulated price, 
 naturally required an exact and authentic statement of each animal's per- 
 formances. However, even this does not seem to have satisfied the gentle- 
 man, for he has now taken it into his head to ask for such copies of the 
 sporting journals as record the victories or defeats of the animals he has 
 purchased. A gentleman is not so exacting generally. It is true, however, 
 that I have a foreigner to deal with one of those half-civilized nabobs who 
 come here every year to astonish the Parisians with their wealth and display, 
 and who, by their idiotic prodigality, have so increased the price of every- 
 thing that life has become well-nigh an impossibility to such of us as don't 
 care to squander an entire fortune in a couple of years. These folks are the 
 curse of Paris, for, with but few exceptions, they only use their millions to 
 enrich notorious women, scoundrels, hotel -keepers, and jockeys." 
 
 Pascal at once thought of the foreigner, Kami-Bey, whom he had met at 
 Baron Trigault's half-an-hour before, and who had complained so bitterly 
 of having had worthless scrubs palmed off upon him when he fancied he had 
 purchased valuable animals. ' Kami-Bey must be this exacting purchaser, " 
 thought Pascal, " and it's probable that the marquis, desperately 
 straitened as he is, has committed one of those frauds which lead their 
 perpetrator to prison ? " The surmise was by no means far-fetched, for in 
 sporting matters, at least, there was cause to suspect Valorsay of great 
 elasticity of conscience. Had he not already been accused of defrauding 
 Domingo's champions by a conspiracy ? 
 
 At last the marquis heaved a sigh of relief. " I've finished," he muttered, 
 as he tied up the bundle of papers he had laid aside, and after ringing the 
 bell, he said to the servant who answered the summons : " Here, take this 
 package to Prince Kami at the Grand Hotel." 
 
 Pascal's presentiments had not deceived him, and he said to himself : 
 " This is a good thing to know. Before this evening I shall look into this 
 affair a little." 
 
 A storm was decidedly gathering over the Marquis de Valorsay's head. 
 Did he know it ? Certainly he must have expected it. Still he had sworn 
 to stand fast until the end. Besides, he would not concede that all was 
 lost ; and, like most great gamblers, he told himself that since he had so 
 much at stake, he might reasonably hope to succeed. Ho rose, stretched 
 himself, as a man is apt to do after the conclusion of a tiresome task, and 
 then, leaning against the mantel-shelf, he exclaimed: "Now, Monsieur 
 Maumejan, let us speak of the business that brings you here." His 
 negligent attitude and his careless tone were admirably assumed, but a 
 shrewd observer would not have been deceived by them, or by the 
 indifferent manner in which he added : " You bring me some money from 
 Baron Trigault ? " 
 
 Pascal shook his head, as he replied: "I regret to say that I don't, 
 Monsieur le Marquis." 
 
 This response had the same effect as a heavy rock falling upon M. de 
 Valorsay's bald pate. He turned whiter than his linen, and even tottered, 
 as if his lame leg, which was so much affected by sudden changes in the 
 weather, had utterly refused all service. " What ! you haven't this is 
 undoubtedly a joke." 
 
the count's millions. 129 
 
 41 It is only too serious ! " * 
 
 " But I had the baron's word." 
 
 "Oh ! his word 1" 
 
 ' ' I had his solemn promise. " 
 
 " It is sometimes impossible to keep one's promises, sir." 
 
 The consequences of this disappointment must have been terrible, for the 
 marquis could not maintain his self-control. Still he strove valiantly to 
 conceal his emotion. He thought to himself that if he allowed this man to 
 see what a terrible blow this really was, he would virtually confess his 
 absolute ruin, and have to renounce the struggle, and own himself 
 vanquished and lost. So, summoning all his energy, he mastered his 
 emotion in some degree, and, instead of appearing desperate, succeeded in 
 looking only irritated and annoyed. "In short," he resumed, angrily, 
 " you have brought no money ! I counted on a hundred thousand francs 
 this morning. Nothing ! This is kind on the baron's part ! But probably 
 he doesn't understand the embarrassing position in which he places me." 
 
 "Excuse me, Monsieur le Marquis, he understands it so well that, 
 instead of informing you by a simple note, he sent me to acquaint you with 
 his sincere regret. When I left him an hour ago, he was really disconsolate. 
 He was particularly anxious I should tell you that it was not his fault. He 
 counted upon the payment of two very large amounts, and both of these 
 have failed him." 
 
 The marquis had now recovered a little from the shock, though he was 
 still very pale. He looked at Pascal with evident distrust, for he knew 
 with what sweet excuses well-bred people envelope their refusals. " So the 
 baron is disconsolate," he remarked, in a tone of perceptible irony. 
 
 " He is indeed ! " 
 
 " Poor baron ! Ah 1 I pity him pity him deeply." 
 
 As cold and as unmoved as a statue, Pascal seemed quite unconscious of 
 the effect of the message he had brought quite unconscious of Valorsay's 
 sufferings and self-constraint. " You think I am jesting, monsieur," he 
 said, quietly, " but I assure you that the baron is very short of money just 
 now." 
 
 " Nonsense ! a man worth seven or eight millions of francs." 
 
 " I should say ten millions, at least." 
 
 " Then the excuse is all the more absurd." 
 
 Pascal shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. " It astonishes me, Monsieur 
 le Marquis, to hear you speak in this way. It is not the magnitude of a 
 man's income that constitutes affluence, but rather the way in which that 
 income is spent. In this foolish age, almost all rich people are in arrears. 
 What income does the baron derive from his ten millions of francs ? Not 
 more than five hundred thousand. A very handsome fortune, no doubt, 
 and I should be more than content with it. But the baron gambles, and 
 the baroness is the most elegant in other words, the most extravagant 
 woman in Paris. They both of them love luxury, and their establishment 
 is kept up in princely style. What are five hundred thousand francs under 
 such circumstances as those ? Their situation must be something like that 
 of several millionaires of my acquaintance, who are obliged to take their 
 silver to the pawnbroker's while waiting for their rents to fall due." 
 
 This excuse might not be true, but it was certainly a very plausible one. 
 
 Had not a recent lawsuit revealed the fact that certain rich folks, who had 
 
 an income of more than a hundred thousand francs a year, had kept 
 
 a thieving coachman for six months, simply because, in all that time, they 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
130 the count's millions. 
 
 were not able to raise the eight hundred francs they owed him, and which 
 must be paid before he was dismissed ? M. de Valorsay knew this, but a 
 terrible disquietude seized him. Had people begun to suspect his embarrass- 
 ment ? Had any rumour of it reached Baron Trigault's ears ? This was 
 what he wished to ascertain. ' ' Let us understand each other, Monsieur 
 Maum6jan," aaid he ; " the baron was unable to procure this money he had 
 promised me to-day but when will he let me have it ? " 
 
 Pascal opened his eyes in pretended astonishment, and it was with an air 
 of the utmost simplicity that he replied, "I concluded the baron would 
 take no further action in the matter. I judged so from his parting words. 
 ' It consoles me a little,' he said, ' to think that the Marquis de Valorsay is 
 very rich and very well known, and that he has a dozen friends who will 
 be delighted to do him this trifling service. ' " 
 
 Until now, M. de Valorsay had cherished a hope that the loan was only 
 delayed, and the certainty that the decision was final, crushed him. "My 
 ruin's known," he thought, and feeling that his strength was deserting him, 
 he poured out a brimming glass of Madeira, which he emptied at a single 
 draught. The wine lent him fictitious energy. Fury mounted to his 
 brain; he lost all control over himself, and springing up, with his face 
 purple with rage, he exclaimed : " It's a shame ! an infamous shame ! and 
 Trigault deserves to be severely punished. He has no business to keep a 
 man in hot water for three days about such a trifle. If he had said ' No ' 
 in the first place, I should have made other arrangements, and I shouldn't 
 now find myself in a dilemma from which I see no possible way of escape. 
 No gentleman would have been guilty of such a contemptible act no one 
 but a shopkeeper or a thief would have stooped to such meanness ! This is 
 the result of admitting these ridiculous parvenus into society, just because 
 they happen to have money." 
 
 It certainly hurt Pascal to hear these insults heaped upon the baron, and 
 it hurt him all the more since they were entirely due to the course he had 
 personally adopted. 
 
 However, a gesture, even a frown, might endanger the success of his un- 
 dertaking, so he preserved an impassive countenance. " I must say that I 
 don't understand your indignation, Monsieur le Marquis, " he said coldly. * ' I 
 can see why you might feel annoyed, but why you should fly into a passion " 
 
 " Ah ! you don't know " began M. de Valorsay, but he stopped short. 
 It was time. The truth had almost escaped his lips. 
 
 " Know what ? " inquired Pascal. 
 
 But the marquis was again upon his guard. * ' I have a debt that must 
 be paid this evening, at all hazards a sacred obligation in short, a debt 
 of honour." 
 
 " A debt of one hundred thousand francs ? " 
 
 "No, it is only twenty-five thousand." 
 
 "Is it possible that a rich man like you can be troubled about such a 
 trifling sum, which any one would lend you ? " 
 
 M. de Valorsay interrupted him a with contemptuous sneer. ' ' Didn't you 
 just tell me that we were living in an age when no one has any money ex- 
 cept those who are in business ? The richest of my friends have only 
 enough for themselves, even if they have enough. The time of old stock- 
 ings, stuffed full of savings, is past ! Shall I apply to a banker ? He would 
 ask two days for reflection, and he would require the names of two or 
 three of my friends on the note. If I go to my notary, there will be endless 
 forms to be gone through, and remonstrances without number. " 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 131 
 
 For a moment or more already, Pascal had been moving about uneasily 
 on his chair, like a man who is waiting for an opportunity to make a sug- 
 gestion, and as soon as M. de Valorsay paused to take breath, he ex- 
 claimed : " Upon my word ! if I dared " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I would offer to obtain you these twenty-five thousand francs." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes, I." 
 
 " Before six o'clock this evening ? " 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 A glass of ice- water presented to a parched traveller while journeying 
 over the desert sands of Sahara could not impart greater relief and delight 
 than the marquis experienced on hearing Pascal's offer. He literally felt 
 that he was restored to life. 
 
 For ruin was inevitable if he did not succeed in obtaining twenty-five 
 thousand francs that day. If he could procure that amount he might ob- 
 tain a momentary respite, and to gain time was the main thing. More- 
 over, the offer was a sufficient proof that his financial difficulties were not 
 known. " Ah ! I have had a fortunate escape," he thought. " What if 
 I had revealed the truth ! " 
 
 But he was careful to conceal the secret joy that filled his heart. He 
 feared lest he might say " Yes " too quickly, so betray his secret, and 
 place himself at the mercy of the baron's envoy. " I would willingly ac- 
 cept your offer," he exclaimed, " if " 
 
 "If what?" 
 
 "Would it be proper for me, after the baron has treated me in such a 
 contemptible manner, to have any dealings with one of his subordinates ? " 
 
 Pascal protested vigorously. " Allow me to say," he exclaimed, " that 
 I am not any one's subordinate. Trigault is my client, like thirty or 
 forty others nothing more. He employs me in certain difficult and 
 delicate negotiations, which I conduct to the best of my ability. He pays 
 me, and we are each of us perfectly independent of the other. " 
 
 From the look which Valorsay gave Pascal, one would have sworn that 
 he suspected who his visitor really was. But such was not the case. It 
 was simply this : a strange, but by no means impossible, idea had flashed 
 through the marquis's mind " Oh ! " thought he, " this unknown party 
 with whom Maume^jan offers to negotiate the loan, is probably none other 
 than the baron himself. That worthy gambler has invented this ingenious 
 method of obliging me so as to extort a rate of interest which he would not 
 dare to demand openly. And why not ? There have been plenty of such 
 
 instances. Isn't it a well-known fact that the N Brothers, the most 
 
 rigidly honest financiers in the world, have never under any circumstances 
 directly obliged one of their friends ? If their own father, of whom they 
 always speak with the greatest veneration, asked them to lend him fifty 
 francs for a month, they would say to him as they do to every one else : 
 
 ' We are rather cramped just now ; but see that rascal B ' And that 
 
 rascal B , who is the mostjpliable tool in existence, will, providing father 
 
 N offers unquestionable security, lend the old gentleman his son's 
 
 money at from twelve to fifteen per cent, interest, plus a small com- 
 mission." 
 
 These ideas and recollections were of considerable assistance in restoring 
 Valorsay 's composure. "Enough said, then," he answered, lightly. "I 
 accept with pleasure. But " 
 
1 32 the count's millions. 
 
 " Ah ! so there is a but ! " 
 
 "There is always one. I must warn you that it will be difficult for ine 
 to repay this loan in less than two months." 
 
 This, then, was the time he thought neoessary for the accomplishment of 
 his designs. 
 
 " That does not matter," replied Pascal, " and even if you desire a longer 
 delay " 
 
 " That will be unnecessary, thank you ! But there is one thing more." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " What will this negotiation cost me? " 
 
 Pascal had expected this question, and he had prepared a reply which 
 was in perfect keeping with the spirit of the rdle he had assumed. " I shall 
 charge you the ordinary rates," he answered, "six per cent, interest, plus 
 one and-a-half per cent, commission." 
 
 "Bah!" 
 
 " Plus the remuneration for my trouble and services." 
 
 " And what remuneration will satisfy you ? " 
 
 " One thousand francs. Is it too much ? " 
 
 If the marquis had retained the shadow of a doubt, it vanished now. 
 "Ah ! " he sneered, " that strikes me as a very liberal compensation for 
 your services ! " 
 
 But he would gladly have recalled the sneer when he saw how the agent 
 received it. Pascal drew up his head with a deeply injured air, and re- 
 marked in the chilling tone of a person who is strongly tempted to retract 
 his word, ' Then there is nothing more to he said, M. le Marquis ; and 
 since you find the conditions onerous " 
 
 "I did not say so," interrupted M. de Valorsay, quickly "I did not 
 even think it ! " 
 
 This gave Pascal an opportunity to present his programme, and he availed 
 himself of it. ' ' Others may pretend to oblige people merely from motives 
 of friendship," he remarked. " But I am more honest. If I do anything 
 in the way of business, I expect to be paid for it ; and I vary my terms ac- 
 cording to my clients' need. It would be impossible to have a fixed price 
 for services like mine. When, on two different occasions, I saved a gen- 
 tleman of your acquaintance from bankruptcy, I asked ten thousand francs 
 the first time, and fifteen thousand the second. Was that an exaggerated 
 estimate of my services ? I might boast with truth that I once assured the 
 marriage of a brilliant viscount by keeping his creditors quiet while his 
 courtship was in progress. The day after the wedding he paid me twenty 
 thousand francs. Didn't he owe them to me ? If, instead of being a trifle 
 short of money, you happened to be ruined, I should not ask you merely 
 for a thousand francs. I should study your position, and fix my terms ac- 
 cording to the magnitude of the peril from wheh I rescued you. " 
 
 There was not a sentence, not a word of this cynical explanation which 
 had not been carefully studied beforehand. There was not an expression 
 which was not a tempting bait to the marquis's evil instincts. But M. de 
 Valorsay made no sign. "I see that you are a shrewd man, Monsieur 
 Maum6jan," said he, "and if I am ever in difficulty I shall apply to you." 
 
 Pascal bowed with an air of assumed modesty ; but he was inwardly 
 jubilant, for he felt that his enemy would certainly fall into the trap which 
 had been set for him. "And now, when shall I have this money?" in- 
 quired the marquis. 
 
 " By four o'clock." 
 
the count's millions. 133 
 
 " And I need fear no disappointment as in the baron's case ? " 
 
 ' ' Certainly not. What interest would M. Trigault have in lending you 
 a hundred thousand francs? None whatever. With me it is quite a 
 different thing. The profit I'm to realise is your security. In business 
 matters distrust your friends. Apply to usurers rather than to them. 
 Question people who are in difficulties, and ninety-five out of a hundred 
 will tell you that their worst troubles have been caused by those who called 
 themselves their best friends." 
 
 He had risen to take leave, when the door of the smoking-room opened, 
 and a servant appeared and said in an undertone : "Madame LCon is in the 
 drawing-room with Dr. Jodon. They wish to see you, monsieur." 
 
 Though Pascal had armed himself well against any unexpected mischance, 
 he changed colour on hearing the name of the worthy housekeeper. " All 
 is lost if this creature sees and recognises me ! " he thought. 
 
 Fortunately the marquis was too much engrossed in his own affairs to 
 note the momentary agitation of Baron Trigault's envoy. "It is strange 
 that I can't have five minutes' peace and quietness," he said. " I told you 
 that I was at home to no one. " 
 
 " But" 
 
 " Enough ! Let the lady and gentleman wait." 
 
 The servant withdrew. 
 
 The thought of passing out through the drawing-room filled Pascal with 
 consternation. How could he hope to escape Madame Leon's keen eyes. 
 Fortunately M. de Valorsay came to his relief, for as Pascal was about to 
 open the same door by which he had entered, the marquis exclaimed : 
 " Not that way ! Pass out here this is the shortest way." 
 
 And leading him through his bedroom the marquis conducted him to the 
 staircase, where he even feigned to offer him his hand, saying : "A speedy 
 return, dear M. Maume"jan." 
 
 It is not at the moment of peril that people endure the worst agony ; it 
 is afterwards, when they have escaped it. As he went down the staircase, 
 Pascal wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. "Ahl it was a narrow 
 escape ! " he exclaimed, under his breath. 
 
 He felt proud of the manner in which he had sustained a part so repug- 
 nant to his nature. He was amazed to find that he could utter falsehoods 
 with such a calm, unblushing face he was astonished at his own audacity. 
 And what a success he had achieved ! He felt certain that he had just 
 slipped round M. de Valorsay's neck the noose which would strangle him 
 later on. Still he was considerably disturbed by Madame L6on's visit to 
 the marquis. "What is she doing here with this physician ?" he asked 
 himself again and again. " Who is this man ? What new piece of infamy 
 are they plotting to require his services ? " One of those presentiments 
 which are prompted by the logic of events, told him that this physician 
 had been, or would be, one of the actors in the vile conspiracy of which he 
 and Mademoiselle Marguerite were the victims. But he had no leisure 
 to devote to the solution of this enigma. Time was flying, and before re- 
 turning to the marquis's house he must find out what had aroused the sus- 
 picions of the purchaser of those horses, the biographies of which had been so 
 rigidly exacted. Through the baron, he might hope to obtain an interview 
 with Kami-Bey and so it was to the baron's house that Pascal directed his 
 steps. 
 
 After the more than cordial reception which the baron had granted him 
 that morning, it was quite natural that the servants should receive him ua 
 
134 THE COtJNT's MILLIONS. 
 
 a friend of the household. They would scarcely allow him to explain what 
 he desired. It was the pompous head valet in person who ushered him 
 into one of the small reception-rooms, exclaiming : "The baron's engaged, 
 but I'm sure he would be annoyed if he failed to see you ; and I will inform 
 him at once." 
 
 A moment later, the baron entered quite breathless from his hurried de- 
 scent of the staircase. " Ah ! you have been successful," he exclaimed, on 
 seeing Pascal's face. 
 
 " Everything is progressing as favourably as I could wish, Monsieur 
 le Baron, but I must speak with that foreigner whom I met here this 
 morning." 
 
 "Kami-Bey?" 
 
 " Yes>" And in a few words, Pascal explained the situation. 
 
 " Providence is certainly on our side," said the baron, thoughtfully. 
 " Kami is still here." 
 
 "Is it possible? " 
 
 " It's a fact. Did you think it would be easy to get rid of this con- 
 founded Turk ! He invited himself to breakfast without the slightest 
 ceremony, and would give me no peace until I promised to play with him 
 for two hours. I was closeted with him, cards in hand, when they told me 
 you were here. Come, we'll go and question him." 
 
 They found the interesting foreigner in a savage mood. He had been 
 winning when the servant came for the baron, and he feared that an inter- 
 ruption would change the luck. "What the devil took you away?" he 
 exclaimed, with that coarseness of manner which was habitual with him, 
 and which the flatterers around him styled " form." "A man should no 
 more be disturbed when he's playing than when he's eating." 
 
 "Come, come, prince," said the baron, good-naturedly, " don't be angry, 
 and I'll give you three hours instead of two. But I have a favour to ask of 
 you." 
 
 The foreigner at once thrust his hand into his pocket, with such a natural 
 gesture, that neither the baron nor Pascal could repress a smile, and he 
 himself understanding the cause of their merriment broke into a hearty 
 laugh. " It's purely from force of habit," said he. " Ah ! since I've been 
 in Paris But what do you wish ? " 
 
 The baron sat down, and gravely replied : " You told us scarcely an 
 hour ago that you had been cheated in the purchase of some horses." 
 
 " Cheated ! it was worse than highway robbery." 
 
 " Would it be indiscreet to ask you by whom you have been defrauded?" 
 
 Kami-Bey's purple cheeks became a trifle pale. " Hum ! " said he, in an 
 altered tone of voice, " that is a delicate question. My defrauder appears 
 to be a dangerous fellow a duellist and if I disclose his knavery, he is 
 quite capable of picking a quarrel with me not that I am afraid of him, I 
 assure you, but my principles don't allow me to fight. When a man has 
 an income of a million, he doesn't care to expose himself to the dangers of 
 a duel." 
 
 "But, prince, in France folks don't do a scoundrel the honour to cross 
 swords with him." 
 
 "That's just what my steward, who is a Frenchman, told me; but no 
 matter. Besides, I am not sufficiently sure of the man's guilt to noise it 
 abroad. I have no positive proofs as yet. " 
 
 He was evidently terribly frightened, and the first thing to be done was 
 to reassure him. "Come," insisted the baron, "tell us the man's name. 
 
the count's millions. 135 
 
 This gentleman here " pointing to Pascal " is one of my most esteemed 
 friends. I will answer for him as I would for myself ; and we will swear 
 upon our honour not to reveal the secret we ask you for, without your per- 
 mission." 
 
 "Truly?" 
 
 "You have our word of honour," replied both the baron and Pascal in a 
 breath. 
 
 After casting a half-frightened glance around him, the worthy Turk 
 seemed to gather courage. But no ! He deliberated some time, and then 
 rejoined : "Really, I'm not sufficiently convinced of the accuracy of my 
 suspicions to incur the risk of accusing a man who belongs in the very best 
 society ; a man who is very rich and very highly respected, and who would 
 tolerate no imputations upon his character." 
 
 It was plain that he would not speak. The baron shrugged his shoulders, 
 but Pascal stepped bravely forward. "Then I will tell you, prince," he 
 said, " the name that you are determined to hide from us." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " But you must allow me to remark that the baron and myself retract 
 the promise we made you just now." 
 
 "Naturally." 
 
 " Then, your defrauder is the Marquis de Valorsay ? " 
 
 If Kami-Bey had seen an emissary of his sovereign enter the room carry- 
 ing the fatal bow-string he would not have seemed more terror-stricken. 
 He sprang nervously on to his short, fat legs, his eyes wildly dilating and 
 his hands fluttering despairingly. "Don't speak so loud ! don't speak so 
 loud ! " he exclaimed, imploringly. 
 
 As he did not even attempt to deny it, the truth of the assertion might 
 be taken for granted. But Pascal was not content with this. " Now that 
 we know the fact, I hope, prince, that you will be sufficiently obliging to 
 tell us how it all happened," he remarked. 
 
 Poor Kami. He was in despair. "Alas!" he replied, reluctantly, 
 " nothing could be more simple. I wanted to set up a racing stable. Not 
 that I care much for sport. I can scarcely distinguish a horse from a mule 
 but morning and evening, everybody says to me : * Prince, a man like 
 you ought to make your name celebrated on the turf.' Besides I never 
 open a paper without reading : ' Such a man ought to be a patron of the 
 noblest of sports.' At last, I said to myself: 'Yes they are right. I ought 
 to take part in racing.' So I began to look about for some horses. I had 
 purchased several, when the Marquis de Valorsay proposed to sell me some 
 of his, some that were very well known and that had so he assured me 
 won at least ten times the amount they had cost him. I accepted his offer, 
 and visited his stables, where I selected seven of his best horses and paid 
 for them ; and I paid a good round price, I assure you. Now comes the 
 knavery. He has not given me the horses I purchased. The real animals, 
 the valuable ones have been sold in England under false names, and 
 although the horses sent to me may be like the others in appearance, they 
 are really only common animals, wanting both in blood and speed." 
 
 Pascal and the baron exchanged astonished glances. It must be confessed 
 that frauds of every description are common enough in the racing world, 
 and a great deal of dishonest manoeuvring results from greed for gain united 
 with the fever for gambling. But never before had any one been accused 
 of such an audacious and impudent piece of rascality as that which Kami- 
 Bey imputed to Valorsay. 
 
136 
 
 f'How did you fail to discover this at the outsejfc, prince ? " inquired Pas- 
 cal in an incredulous tone. 
 
 " Because my time was so much occupied." 
 
 " But your servants ? " 
 
 " Ah ! that's another thing. I shouldn't be at all surprised if it were 
 proved that the man who has charge of my stables had been bribed by the 
 marquis. " 
 
 "Then, how were your suspicions aroused ? " 
 
 " It was only by the merest chance. A jockey whom I thought of em- 
 ploying had often ridden one of the animals which I fancied myself the 
 owner of. Naturally, I showed him the horse, but he had no sooner set 
 eyes on it than he exclaimed : * That the horse ! Never ! You've been 
 cheated, prince ! ' Then we examined the others, and the fraud became 
 apparent." 
 
 Knowing Kami's character better than Pascal, the baron had good reason 
 to distrust the accuracy of these statements. For the Turkish millionaire's 
 supberb contempt of money was only affected. Vanity alone unloosed his 
 purse strings. He was quite capable of presenting Jenny Fancy with a necklace 
 costing five-and-twenty thousand francs for the sake of seeing his generosity 
 recorded in the Oaulois or the Figaro the next day ; but he would refuse to 
 give a trifle to the mother of a starving family. Besides, it was his ambition 
 to be regarded as the most swindled man in Europe. But though he was 
 shamefully imposed upon, it was not voluntarily for there was a strong 
 dose of Arabian avarice and distrust in his composition. 
 
 " Frankly, prince," said the baron, "your story sounds like one of the 
 wild legends of your native land. Valorsay is certainly no fool. How is 
 it possible that he could have been guilty of so gross a fraud a fraud which 
 might be, which could not fail to be discovered in twenty-four hours and 
 which, once proven, would dishonour him forever ? " 
 
 " Before perpetrating such a piece of deception upon any one else, he 
 would have thought twice ; but upon me it's different. Isn't it an 
 established fact that a person incurs no risk in robbing Kami-Bey ? " 
 
 " Had I been in your place I should have quietly instituted an investiga- 
 tion." 
 
 "What good would that have done? Besides, the sale was only con- 
 ditional, and took place under the seal of secrecy. The marquis reserved 
 the right to take his horses back on payment of a stipulated sum, and the 
 time he was to have for consideration only expired on the day before yester- 
 day." 
 
 " Eh ! why didn't you tell us that at first? " cried the baron. 
 
 The marquis's rascality was now easily explained. Finding himself in a 
 desperate strait, and feeling that his salvation was certain if he could only 
 gain a little time, he had yielded to temptation, saying to himself, like un- 
 faithful cashiers when they first appropriate their employers' money: "I 
 will pay it back, and no one will ever know it ! " However when the day of 
 settlement came he had found himself in as deplorable a plight as on the 
 day of the robbery, and he had been compelled to yield to the force of cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 " And what do you intend to do, prince ? " asked Pascal. 
 
 "Ah ! I am still in doubt. I have compelled the marquis to give me the 
 papers in which the exploits of these horses are recorded. These state- 
 ments will be of service in case of a law-suit. But shall I or shall I not 
 enter a complaint against him ? If it were a mere question of money I 
 
THE count's millions. 137 
 
 should let the matter drop ; but he has defrauded and deceived me so out- 
 rageously that it annoys me. On the other hand, to confess that he has 
 cheated me in this fashion would cover me with ridicule. Besides, the 
 man is a dangerous enemy. And what would become of me if I happened to 
 side against him ? I should be compelled to leave Paris. Ah ! I'd give ten 
 thousand francs to any one who'd settle this cursed affair for me I " 
 
 His perplexity was so great, and his anger so intense, for that once he 
 tore off his eternal fez and flung it on to the table, swearing like a drayman. 
 However, controlling himself at last, he exclaimed in a tone of assumed in- 
 difference : " No matter, there's been enough said on this subject for one 
 day I'm here to play so let us begin, baron. For we are wasting precious 
 time, as you so often remark." 
 
 Pascal had nothing more to learn ; so he shook hands with the baron, 
 made an appointment with him for the same evening, and went away. 
 
 It was only half past two ; a good hour and a half remained at his dis- 
 posal. " I will profit by this opportunity to eat something," he thought ; 
 a sudden faintness reminding him that he had taken nothing but a cup of 
 chocolate that day. Thereupon perceiving a cafe" near by, he entered it, 
 ordered breakfast, and lingered there until it was time to return to the 
 Marquis de Valorsay's. He would have gone there before the appointed time 
 if he had merely listened to the promptings of his impatience, so thoroughly 
 was he persuaded that this second interview would be decisive. But pru- 
 dence advised him not to expose himself to the danger of an encounter with 
 Madame L6on and Dr. Jodon. 
 
 " Well ! Monsieur Maumejan," cried the marquis, as soon as Pascal made 
 his appearance. He had been counting the seconds with intense anxiety, 
 as his tone of voice unmistakeably revealed. 
 
 In reply Pascal gravely drew from his pocket twenty-four bank-notes, of 
 a thousand francs each, and he placed them upon the table, saying : " Here 
 is the amount, Monsieur le Marquis. I have, of course, deducted my com- 
 mission. Now, if you will write and sign a note for twenty-five thousand 
 francs, payable to my order two months hence, our business for to-day will 
 be concluded." 
 
 M. de Valorsay's hand trembled nervously as he penned the desired note, 
 for, until the very last moment, he had doubted the promises of this un- 
 known agent who had made his appearance so opportunely. Then, when 
 the document was signed, he carelessly slipped the money into a drawer 
 and exclaimed : " So here's the needful to pay my debt of honour ; but my 
 embarrassment is none the less great. These twenty-four thousand francs 
 won't take the place of the hundred thousand which Baron Trigault pro- 
 mised me." 
 
 And, as Pascal made no reply, the marquis began a desultory tramp up 
 and down the smoking-room. He was very pale, his brows were knit ; he 
 looked like a man who was meditating a decisive step, and who was cal- 
 culating the consequences. But having no time to waste in hesitation, he 
 soon paused in front of Pascal, and exclaimed : "Since you have just lent 
 me twenty-four thousand francs, why won't you lend me the rest t " 
 
 But Pascal shook his head. ' ' One risks nothing by advancing twenty- 
 five thousand francs to a person in your position, Monsieur le Marquis. 
 Whatever happens, such a sum as that can always be gathered from the 
 wreck. But double or triple the amount ! The deuce ! that requires reflec- 
 tion, and I must understand the situation thoroughly." 
 
 " And if I told you that I am almost ruined, what would you reply ? " 
 
138 tsb count's MILLIONS. 
 
 " I shouldn't be so very much surprised." 
 
 M. de Valorsay had now gone too far to draw back. "Ah, well ! " he 
 resumed, " the truth is this my affairs are terribly involved." 
 
 " The devil ! You should have told me that sooner." 
 
 " Wait ; I am about to retrieve my fortune to make it even larger than 
 it has ever been. I am on the point of contracting a marriage which will 
 make me one of the richest men in Paris ; but I must have a little time to 
 bring the affair to a successful termination, and I need money and my 
 creditors are pressing me unmercifully. You told me this morning that 
 you once assisted a man who was in a similar position. Will you help me ? 
 You can set your own price on your services." 
 
 More easily overcome by joy than by sorrow, Pascal almost betrayed 
 himself. He had attained his object. Still, he succeeded in conquering 
 his emotion, and it was in a perfectly calm voice that he replied : " I can 
 promise nothing until I understand the situation, Monsieur le Marquis. 
 Will you explain it to me ? I am listening." 
 
 xrv. 
 
 It was nearly midnight when M. Wilkie left the H6tel d'Argeles after the 
 terrible scene in which he had revealed his true character. On seeing him 
 pass out with haggard eyes, colourless lips, and disordered clothing, the 
 servants gathered in the vestibule took him at first for another of those 
 ruined gamblers who not unfrequently left the house with despair in their 
 hearts. 
 
 " Another fellow who's had bad luck ! " they remarked sneeringly to 
 one another. 
 
 " No doubt about that. He is pretty effectually used up, judging from 
 appearances," one of them remarked. 
 
 It was not until some moments later that they learned a portion of the 
 truth through the servants who had been on duty up-stairs, and who now 
 ran down in great terror, crying that Madame d'Argeles was dying, and 
 that a physician must be summoned at once. 
 
 M. Wilkie was already far away, hastening up the boulevard with an 
 agile step. Any one else would have been overcome with shame and 
 sorrow would have been frightened by the thought of what he had done, 
 and have striven to find some way to conceal his disgrace ; but he, not in 
 the least. In this frightful crisis, he was only conscious of one fact that 
 just as he raised his hand to strike Madame Lia d'Argeles, his mother, a 
 big, burly individual had burst into the room, like a bombshell, caught 
 him by the throat, forced him upon his knees, and compelled him to ask 
 the lady's pardon. He, Wilkie, to be humiliated in this style ! He would 
 never endure that. This was an affront he could not swallow, one of 
 those insults that cry out for vengeance and for blood. " Ah ! the great 
 brute shall pay for it," he repeated, again and again, grinding his teeth. 
 And if he hastened up the boulevard, it was only because he hoped to 
 meet his two chosen friends, M. Costard and the Viscount de Serpillon, 
 the co-proprietors of Pompier de Nanterre. 
 
 For he intended to place his outraged honour in their care. They should 
 be his seconds, and present his demand for satisfaction to the man who had 
 insulted him. A duel was the only thing that could appease his furious 
 anger and heal his wounded pride. And a great scandal, which he would 
 
the count's millions. 139 
 
 be the hero of, was not without a certain charm for him. What a glorious 
 chance to win notoriety at an epoch when newspapers have become public 
 laundries, in which every one washes his soiled linen and dries it in the 
 glare of publicity 1 He saw his already remarkable reputation enhanced by 
 the interest that always attaches to people who are talked about, and he 
 could hear in advance the flattering whisper which would greet his appear- 
 ance everywhere: "You see that young man ? he is the hero of that 
 famous adventure," &c. Moreover, he was already twisting and turning 
 the terms of the notice which his seconds must have inserted in the Figaro, 
 hesitating between two or three equally startling beginnings : ' ' Another 
 famous duel," or "Yesterday, after a scandalous scene, an encounter," 
 &c, &c. 
 
 Unfortunately, he did not meet either M. Costard or the Viscount do 
 Serpillon. Strange to say, they were not in any of the caf6s, where the 
 flower of French chivalry usually congregates, in the company of golden- 
 haired young women, from nine in the evening until one o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. This disappointment grieved M. Wilkie sorely, although he derived some 
 benefit from it, for his disordered attire attracted attention at each place 
 he entered, and acquaintances eagerly inquired.: "Where have you come 
 from, and what has happened to you ? " Whereupon he replied with an 
 air of profound secrecy : " Pray don't speak of it. A shocking affair ! If 
 \t were noised abroad I should be inconsolable. " 
 
 At last the cafes began to close, and promenaders became rare. M. 
 Wilkie, much to his regret, was obliged to go home. When he had locked 
 nis door and donned his dressing-gown, he sat down to think over the 
 events of the day, and collect his scattered wits. What most troubled and 
 disquieted him was not the condition in which he had left Madame Lia 
 d'Argeles, his mother, who was, perhaps, dying, through his fault ! It 
 was not the terrible sacrifice that this poor woman had made for him in a 
 transport of maternal love ! It was not the thought of the source from 
 which the money he had squandered for so many years had been derived. 
 No, M. Wilkie was quite above such paltry considerations good enougli 
 for commonplace and antiquated people. "He was too clever for that. 
 Ah ! yes. He had a stronger stomach, and was up with the times ! " If 
 he were sorely vexed in spirit it was because he thought that the immense 
 property which he had believed his own had slipped, perhaps for ever, 
 from his grasp. For rising threateningly between the Chalusse millions 
 and himself, he pictured the form of his father, this man whom he did not 
 know, but whose very name had made Madame d'Argeles shudder. 
 
 M. Wilkie was seized with terror when he looked his actual situation in 
 the face. What was to become of him ? He was certain that Madame 
 d'Argeles would not give him another sou. She could not he recognised 
 that fact. His intelligence was equal to that. On the other hand if he 
 ever obtained anything from the count's estate, which was more than doubt- 
 ful, would he not be obliged to wait a long time for it ? Yes, in all pro- 
 bability such would be the case. Then how should he live, how would he 
 be able to obtain food in the meantime ? His despair was so poignant that 
 tears came to his eyes ; and he bitterly deplored the step he had taken. 
 Yes, he actually sighed for the past ; he longed to live over again the very 
 years in which he had so often complained of his destiny. Then, though 
 not a millionaire by any means, he at least wanted for nothing. Every 
 quarter-day a very considerable allowance was promptly paid him, and, in 
 great emergencies, he could apply to Mr, Patterson, who always sent a 
 
uo 
 
 favourable answer if not drawn upon too heavily. Yes, he sighed for that 
 time I Ah 1 if he had only then realised, how fortunate he was ! Had he 
 not been one of the most opulent members of the society in which he moved ? 
 Had he not been flattered and admired more than any of his companions ? 
 Had he not found the most exquisite happiness in his part ownership of 
 Pompier de Nanterre ! 
 
 Now, what remained? Nothing, save anxiety concerning the future, and 
 all sorts of uncertainties and terrors ! What a mistake ! What a blunder 
 he had made ! Ah ! if he could only begin again. He sincerely wished 
 that the great adversary of mankind had the Viscount de Coralth in his 
 clutches. For, in his despair, it *vas the once dear viscount that he blamed, 
 accused, and cursed. 
 
 He was in this ungrateful frame of mind when a loud almost savage ring 
 came at his door. As his servant slept in an attic upstairs, Wilkie was 
 quite alone in his rooms, so he took the lamp and went to open the door 
 himself. At this hour of the night, the visitor could only be M. Costard or 
 the Viscount de Serpillon, or perhaps both of them. " They have heard 
 that I was looking for them, and so they have hastened here," he thought. 
 
 But he was mistaken. The visitor was neither of these gentlemen, but 
 M. Ferdinand de Coralth in person. Prudence had compelled the viscount 
 to leave Madame d'Argeles' card-party one of the last, but as soon as he was 
 out of the house he had rushed to the Marquis de Valorsay's to hold a con- 
 ference with him, far from suspecting that he was followed, and that an 
 auxiliary of Pascal Ferailleur and Mademoiselle Marguerite was even then 
 waiting for him below an enemy as formidable as he was humble Victor 
 Chupin. 
 
 At sight of the man who had so long been his model the friend who had 
 advised what he styled his blunder Wilkie was so surprised that he almost 
 dropped his lamp. Then as his wrath kindled, " Ah ! so it's you ! " he ex- 
 claimed, angrily. " You come at a good time !" 
 
 But M. de Coralth was too much exasperated to notice Wilkie's 
 strange greeting. Seizing him roughly by the arm, and closing the door 
 with a kick, he dragged Wilkie back into the little drawing-room. " Yes, 
 it's I," he said, curtly, " It's I come to inquire if you have gone mad ? 
 
 "Viscount ! " 
 
 " I can find no other explanation of your conduct I What ! You choose 
 Madame d'Argeles' reception day, and an hour when there are fifty guests 
 in her drawing-room to present yourself ! " 
 
 "Ah, well! it wasn't from choice. I had been there twice before, and 
 had the doors shut in my face." 
 
 "You ought to have gone back ten times, a hundred times, a thousand 
 time, rather than have accomplished such an idiotic prank as this.'" 
 
 "Excuse me." 
 
 "What did I recommend? Prudence, calmness and moderation, per- 
 suasive gentleness, sentiments of the loftiest nature, tenderness, a shower 
 of tears " 
 
 " Possibly, but ' ! 
 
 "But instead of that, you fall upon this woman like a thunderbolt, and 
 set the whole household in the wildest commotion. What could you be 
 thinking of, to make such an absurd and frightful scene ? For you howled 
 and shrieked like a street hawker, and we could hear you in the drawing- 
 room. If all is not irretrievably lost, there must be a special Providence 
 for the benefit of fools ! 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 141 
 
 In his dismay, Wilkie endeavoured to falter some excuses, but he was 
 
 only able to begin a few sentences which died away, uncompleted in his 
 
 throat. The violence shewn by M. de Coral th, who was usually as cold 
 land as polished as marble, quieted his own wrath. Still towards the last 
 ! he felt disposed to rebel against the insults that were being heaped upon 
 
 him. "Do you know, viscount, that I begin to think this very strange," 
 he exclaimed. " If any one else had led me into such a scrape, I should 
 have called him to account in double quick time. " 
 
 M. de Coralth shrugged his shoulders with an air of contempt, and threat- 
 eningly replied : ' ' Understand, once for all, that you had better not 
 attempt to bully me ! Now, tell me what passed between your mother 
 and vourself ? " 
 
 " First I should like " 
 
 "Dash it all ! Do you suppose that I intend to remain here all night? 
 Tell me what occurred, and be quick about it. And try to speak the 
 truth." 
 
 It was one of M. Wilkie's greatest boasts that he had an indomitable will 
 an iron nature. But the viscount exercised powerful influence over 
 him, and, to tell the truth, inspired him with a form of emotion which was 
 nearly akin to fear. Moreover a glimmer of reason had at last penetrated 
 his befogged brain : he saw that M. de Coralth was right that he had acted 
 like a fool, and that, if he hoped to escape from the dangers that threatened 
 him, he must take the advice of more experienced men than himself. So, 
 ceasing his recriminations, he began to describe what he styled his explana- 
 tion with Madame d'Argeles. All went well at first ; for he dared not mis- 
 represent the facts. 
 
 But when he came to the intervention of the man who had prevented him 
 from striking his mother, he turned crimson, and rage again filled his heart. 
 " I'm sorry I let myself get into such a mess ! " he exclaimed. " You should 
 have seen my condition. My shirt-collar was torn, and my cravat hung in 
 tatters. He was much stronger than I the contemptible scoundrel ! ah ! 
 if it hadn't been for that But I shall have my revenge. Yes, he shall 
 learn that he can't trample a man under foot with impunity. To-morrow 
 two of my friends will call upon him ; and if he refuses to apologize or to 
 give me satisfaction, I'll cane him." 
 
 It was evident enough that M. de Coralth had to exercise considerable 
 constraint to listen to these fine projects. ' ' I must warn you that you 
 ought to speak in other terms of an honourable and honoured gentleman," 
 he interrupted, at last. 
 
 " Eh ! what ! You know him then ? " 
 
 " Yes, Madame d'Argeles defender is Baron Trigault." 
 
 M. Wilkie's heart bounded with joy, as he heard this name. " Ah ! this 
 is capital !" he exclaimed. "What ! So it was Baron Trigault the noted 
 gambler who owns such a magnificent house in the Rue de la Ville 
 l'Ev^que, the husband of that extremely stylish lady, that notorious 
 cocotte " 
 
 The viscount sprang from his chair, and interrupting M. Wilkie : " I 
 advise you, for the sake of your own safety," he said, measuring his words 
 to give them greater weight, "never to mention the Baroness Trigault's 
 name except in terms of the most profound respect." 
 
 There was no misunderstanding M. de Coralth's tone, and his glance said 
 plainly that he would not allow much time to pass before putting his threat 
 into execution. Having always ljved in a lower circle to that in which the 
 
142 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 baroness sparkled with such lively brilliancy, M. Wilkie was ignorant of j 
 the reasons that induced his distinguished friend to defend her so warmly ; 
 but he did understand that it would be highly imprudent to insist, or even 
 to discuss the matter. So, in his most persuasive manner, he resumed : ] 
 " Let us say no more about the wife, but give our attention to the husband. 
 So it was the baron who insulted me ! A duel with him what good luck ! 
 Well ! he may sleep in peace to-night, but as soon as he is up in the morning 
 he will find Costard and Serpillon on hand. Serpillon has not an equal as 
 a second. First, he knows the best places for a meeting ; then he lends the 
 combatants weapons when they have none ; he procures a physician ; and 
 he is on excellent terms with the journalists, who publish reports of these 
 encounters." 
 
 The viscount had never had a very exalted opinion of Wilkie's intelli- 
 gence, but now he was amazed to see how greatly he had over-estimated 
 it. "Enough of such foolishness," he interrupted, curtly. "This duel ' 
 will never take place." 
 
 " I should like to know who will prevent it ? " 
 
 " I will, if you persist in such an absurd idea. You ought to have sense 
 enough to know that the baron would kick Serpillon out of the house, and 
 that you would only cover yourself with ridicule. So, between your duel 
 and my help make your choice, and quickly." 
 
 The prospect of sending his seconds to demand satisfaction from Baron 
 Trigault was certainly a very attractive one. But, on the other hand, 
 Wilkie could not afford to dispense with M. de Coralth's services. " But 
 the baron has insulted me," he urged. 
 
 "Well, you can demand satisfaction when you obtain possession of ' 
 your property ; but the least scandal now would spoil your last chances." 
 
 "I will abandon the project, then," sighed Wilkie, despondently ; " but 
 pray advise me. What do you think of my situation ? " 
 
 M. de Coralth seemed to consider a moment, and then gravely replied : 
 "I think that, unassisted, you have no chance whatever. You have no 
 standing, no influential connections, no position you are not even a 
 Frenchman." 
 
 "Alas ! that is precisely what I have said to myself." 
 
 "Still, I am convinced that with some assistance you might overcome j 
 your mother's resistance, and even your father's pretentions." 
 
 " Yes, but where could I find protectors ? " 
 
 The viscount's gravity seemed to increase. " Listen to me," said Jie ; 
 " I will do for you what I would not do for any one else. I will endeavour 
 to interest in your cause one of my friends, who is all powerful by reason 
 of his name, his fortune, and his connections the Marquis de Valorsay, 
 in fact." 
 
 " The one who is so well known upon the turf ? " 
 
 "The same." 
 
 " And you will introduce me to him? " 
 
 ' ' Yes. Be ready to-morrow at eleven o'clock, and I will call for you 
 and take you to his house. If he interests himself in your cause, it is 
 good as gained." And as his companion overwhelmed him with thanks, h 
 rose, and said : "I must go now. No more foolishness, and be ready to- 
 morrow at the appointed time." 
 
 Thanks to the surprising mutability of temper which was the most strik- 
 ing characteristic of his nature, M. Wilkie was already consoled for his 
 blunder. 
 
the count's millions. 143 
 
 He had received M. de Coralth as an enemy ; but he now escorted him 
 to the door with every obsequious attention in fact, just as if he looked 
 upon him as his preserver. A word which the viscount had dropped during 
 the conversation had considerably helped to bring about this sudden 
 revulsion of feelings. "You cannot fail to understand that if the Marquis 
 de Valorsay espouses your cause, you will want for nothing. And if a law- 
 suit is unavoidable, he will be perfectly willing to advance the necessary 
 funds," How could M. Wilkie lack confidence after that ? The brightest 
 hopes, the most ecstatic visions had succeeded the gloomy forebodings of a 
 few hours before. The mere thought of being presented to M. de Valorsay, 
 a nobleman celebrated for his adventures, his horses, and his fortune, more 
 than sufficed to make him forget his troubles. What rapture to become 
 that illustrious nobleman's acquaintance, perhaps his friend ! To move in 
 the same orbit as this star of the first magnitude which would inevitably 
 cast some of its lustre upon him ! Now he would be a somebody in the 
 world. He felt that he had grown a head taller, and Heaven only knows 
 with what disdain poor Costard and Serpillon would have been received 
 had they chanced to present themselves at that moment. 
 
 It is needless to say that Wilkie dressed with infinite care on the follow- 
 ing morning, no doubt in the hope of making a conquest of the marquis at 
 first sight. He tried his best to solve the problem of appearing at the same 
 time most recherche but at ease, excessively elegant and yet unostentatious ; 
 and he devoted himself to the task so unreservedly that he lost all concep- 
 tion of the flight of time : so that on seeing M. de Coralth enter his rooms, 
 he exclaimed in unfeigned astonishment : " You here already ? " 
 
 It seemed to him that barely five minutes had elapsed since he took his 
 place before the looking-glass to study attitudes and gestures, with a new 
 and elegant mode of bowing and sitting down, like an actor practising the 
 effects which are to win him applause. 
 
 " Why do you say already ? ' " replied the viscount. "I am a quarter 
 of an hour behind time. Are you not ready ? " 
 
 "Yes, certainly." 
 
 " Let us start at once, then ; my brougham is outside." 
 
 The drive was a silent one. M. Ferdinand de Coralth, whose smooth white 
 skin would ordinarily have excited the envy of a young girl, did not look 
 like himself. His face was swollen and covered with blotches, and there 
 were dark blue circles round his eyes. He seemed, moreover, to be in a 
 most savage humour. " He hasn't had sleep enough," thought M. Wilkie, 
 with his usual discernment : "he hasn't a bronze constitution like myself." 
 
 M. Wilkie himself was insensible to fatigue, and although he had not 
 closed his eyes the previous night, he only felt that nervous trepidation 
 which invariably attacks debutants, and makes the throat so marvellously 
 dry. For the first, and probably the last time in his life, M. Wilkie dis- 
 trusted his own powers, and feared that he was not "quite up to the mark," 
 as he elegantly expressed it. 
 
 The sight of the Marquis de Valorsay's handsome mansion was not likely 
 to restore his assurance. When he entered the courtyard, where the 
 master's mail-phaeton stood in waiting ; when through the open doors of 
 the handsome stables he espied the many valuable horses neighing in their 
 stalls, and the numerous carriages shrouded in linen covers ; when he 
 counted the valets on duty in the vestibule, and when he ascended the 
 staircase behind a lackey attired in a black dress-coat, and as serious in 
 mien as a notary ; when he passed through the handsome drawing-rooms, 
 
144 
 
 filled to overflowing with pictures, armour, statuary, and all the trophies 
 gained by the marquis's horses upon the turf, M. Wilkie mentally acknow- 
 ledged that he knew nothing of high life, and that what he had considered 
 luxury was scarcely the shadow of the reality. He felt actually ashamed 
 of his own ignorance. This feeling of inferiority became so powerful that 
 he was almost tempted to turn and fly, when the man clothed in black 
 opened the door and announced, in a clear voice : " M. le Vicomte de 
 Coralth !-M. Wilkie." 
 
 With a most gracious and dignified air the air of a true grand seigneur 
 the only portion of his inheritance which he had preserved intact, the 
 marquis rose to his feet, and, offering his hand to M. de Coralth, exclaimed : 
 "You are most welcome, viscount. This gentleman is undoubtedly the 
 young friend you spoke of in the note I received from you this morning ? " 
 
 " The same ; and really he stands greatly in need of your kindness. He 
 finds himself in an extremely delicate position, and knows no one who can 
 lend him a helping hand." 
 
 " Ah, well, I will lend him one with pleasure, since he is your friend. 
 But I must know the circumstances before I can act. Sit down, gentle- 
 men, and enlighten me." 
 
 M. Wilkie had prepared his story in advance, a touching and witty 
 narrative ; but when the moment came to begin it, he found himself 
 unable to speak. He opened his mouth, but no sound issued from his lips, 
 and it seemed as if he had been stricken dumb. Accordingly it was M. 
 de Coralth who made a statement of the case, and he did it well. The 
 narrative thus gained considerably in clearness and precision ; and even M. 
 Wilkie noticed that his friend understood how to present the events in their 
 most favourable light, and how to omit them altogether when his heartless 
 conduct would have appeared too odious. He also noticed and he con- 
 sidered it an excellent omen that M. de Valorsay was listening with the 
 closest attention. 
 
 Worthy marquis ! if his own interests had been in jeopardy he could not 
 have appeared more deeply concerned. When the viscount had concluded 
 his story, he gravely exclaimed : " Your young friend is indeed in a most 
 critical position, a position from which he cannot escape without being 
 terribly victimized, if he's left dependent on his own resources." 
 
 " But it is understood that you will help him, is it not? " 
 
 M. de Valorsay reflected for a little, and then, addressing M. Wilkie, 
 replied: "Yes, I consent to assist you, monsieur. First, because your 
 cause seems to me just, and, also, because you are M. de Coralth's friend. 
 I promise you my aid on one condition that you will follow my advice im- 
 plicitly," 
 
 The interesting young man lifted his hand, and, by dint of a powerful 
 effort, he succeeded in articulating : " Anything you wish ! upon my 
 sacred word ! " 
 
 " You must understand that when I engage in an enterprise, it must not 
 fail. The eye of the public is upon me, and I have my prestige to maintain. 
 I have given you a great mark of confidence, for in lending you my influence 
 I become, in some measure at least, your sponsor. But I cannot accept 
 this great responsibility unless I am allowed absolute control of the affair." 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 "And I think that we ought to begin operations this very day. The 
 main thing is to circumvent your father, the terrible man with whom your 
 mother has threatened you." 
 
 
the count's millions. 145 
 
 "Ah! but how?" 
 
 "I shall dress at once and go to the H6tel de Chalusse, in order to 
 ascertain what has occurred there. You on your side must hasten to 
 Madame d'Argeles and request her politely, but firmly, to furnish you 
 with the necessary proofs to assert your rights. If she consents, well and 
 good ! If she refuses, we will consult some lawyer as to the next step. In 
 any case call here again at four o'clock." 
 
 But the thought of meeting Madame d'Argeles again was anything but 
 pleasing to Wilkie. " I would willingly yield that undertaking to some one 
 else, " said he. ' ' Cannot some one else go in my place ? " 
 
 Fortunately M. de Coralth knew how to encourage him. " What ! are 
 you afraid ? " he asked. 
 
 Afraid ! he ? never ! It was easy to see that by the way he settled his 
 hat on his head and went off, slamming the door noisily behind hi in. 
 
 " What an idiot ! " muttered M. de Coralth. " And to think that there 
 are ten thousand in Paris built upon the very same plan ! " 
 
 M. de Valorsay gravely shook his head. " Let us thank fortune that he 
 is as he is. No youth who possessed either heart or intelligence would play 
 the part that I intend for him, and enable me to obtain proud Marguerite 
 and her millions. But I fear he won't go to Madame d'Argeles' house. 
 You noticed his repugnance ! " 
 
 " Oh, you needn't trouble yourself in the least on that account he'll go. 
 He would go to the devil if the noble Marquis de Valorsay ordered him to 
 do so." 
 
 M. de Coralth understood Wilkie perfectly. The fear of being con- 
 sidered a coward by a nobleman like the Marquis de Valorsay was more 
 than sufficient, not only to divest him of all his scruples, but even to 
 induce him to commit any act of folly, or actually a crime. For if he had 
 looked upon M. de Coralth as an oracle, he considered the marquis to be a 
 perfect god. 
 
 Accordingly, as he hastened towards Madame d'Argeles' residence, he 
 said to himself: "Why shouldn't I go to her house? I've done her no 
 injury. Besides, she won't eat me." And remembering that he should be 
 obliged to render a report of this interview, he resolved to assert his 
 superiority and to remain cool and unmoved, as he had seen M. de Coralth 
 do so often. 
 
 However, the unusual aspect of the house excited his surprise, and 
 puzzled him not a little. Three huge furniture vans, heavily laden, were 
 standing outside the gate. In the courtyard there were two more vehicles 
 of the same description, which a dozen men or so were busily engaged in 
 loading. " Ah, ha ! " muttered M. Wilkie, " it was fortunate that I came 
 very fortunate ; so she was going to run away ! " Thereupon, approach- 
 ing a group of servants who were in close conference in the hall, hu 
 demanded, in his most imperious manner : " Madame d'Argeles ! " 
 
 The servants remembered the visitor perfectly ; they now knew who he 
 really was, and they could not understand how he could have the im- 
 pudence and audacity to come there again so soon after the shameful scene 
 of the previous evening. M Madame is at home,'' replied one of the men, 
 in anything but a polite tone ; " and I will go and see if she will consent 
 to see you. Wait here." 
 
 He went off, leaving M. Wilkie in the vestibule to settle his collar and 
 twirl his puny moustaches, with affected indifference ; but in reality he 
 was far from comfortable. For the servants did not hesitate to stare at him, 
 
146 
 
 and it was quite impossible not to read their contempt in their glances. 
 They even sneered audibly and pointed at him ; and he heard five or six 
 epithets more expressive than elegant which could only have been meant 
 for himself. "The fools!" thought he, boiling with anger. "The 
 scoundrels ! Ah ! if I dared If a gentleman like myself was allowed to 
 notice such blackguards, how I'd chastise them ! " 
 
 But the valet who had gone to warn Madame d'Argeles soon reappeared 
 and put an end to his sufferings. " Madame will see you," said the man, 
 impudently. "Ah ! if I were in her place " 
 
 "Come, make haste," rejoined Wilkie, indignantly, and following the 
 servant, he was ushered into a room which had already been divested of its 
 hangings, curtains, and furniture. He here found Madame d'Argeles en- 
 gaged in packing a large trunk with household linen and sundry articles of 
 clothing. 
 
 By a sort of miracle the unfortunate woman had survived the terrible 
 shock which had at first threatened to have an immediately fatal effect. Still 
 she had none the less received her death-blow. It was only necessary to 
 look at her to be assured of that. She was so greatly changed that when 
 M. Wilkie's eyes first fell on her, he asked himself if this were really the 
 same person whom he had met on the previous evening. Henceforth she 
 would be an old woman. You would have taken her for over fifty, so 
 terrible had been the sufferings caused her by the shameful conduct of her 
 son. In this sad-eyed, haggard-faced woman, clad in black, no one would 
 have recognized the notorious Lia d'Argeles, who, only the evening before, 
 had driven round the lake, reclining on the cushions of her victoria, and 
 eclipsing all the women around her by the splendour of her toilette. Nothing 
 now remained of the gay worldling but the golden hair which she was con- 
 demned to see always the same, since its tint had been fixed by dyes as 
 indelible as the stains upon her past. 
 
 She rose with difficulty when M. Wilkie entered, and in the expression- 
 less voice of those who are without hope, she asked : " What do you wish 
 of me ? " 
 
 As usual, when the time came to carry out his happiest conceptions, his 
 courage failed him. " I came to talk about our affairs, you know," he re- 
 plied, " and I find you moving." 
 
 " I am not moving." 
 
 "Nonsense ! you can't make me believe that ! What's the meaning of 
 these carts in the courtyard ? " 
 
 ' * They are here to convey all the furniture in the house to the auction- 
 rooms." 
 
 Wilkie was struck dumb for a moment, but eventually recovering himself 
 a little, he exclaimed : " What ! you are going to sell everything ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Astonishing, upon my honour ! But afterwards ? " 
 
 "I shall leave Paris." 
 
 " Bah I and where are you going ? " 
 
 With a gesture of utter indifference, she gently replied : " I don't know ; 
 I shall go where no one will know me, and where it will be possible for me 
 to hide my shame. " 
 
 A terrible disquietude seized hold of Wilkie. This sudden change of re- 
 sidence, this departure which so strongly resembled flight, this cold greet- 
 ing when he expected passionate reproaches, seemed to indicate that 
 Madame d'Argeles' resolution would successfully resist any amount of en- 
 
the count's millions. 147 
 
 treaty on his part. " The devil," he remarked, " I don't think this at all 
 pleasant ! What is to become of me ? How am I to obtain possession of the 
 Count de Chalusse's estate ? That's what I am after ! It's rightfully mine, 
 and I'm determined to have it, as I told you once before. And when I've 
 once taken anything into my head " 
 
 He paused, for he could no longer face the scornful glances that Madame 
 d'Argeles was giving him. "Don't be alarmed," she replied bitterly, "I 
 shall leave you the means of asserting your right to my parents' estate. " 
 
 " Ah so " 
 
 " Your threats obliged me to decide contrary to my own wishes. I felt 
 that no amount of slander or disgrace would daunt you." 
 
 " Of course not, when so many millions are at stake." 
 
 " I reflected, and I saw that nothing would arrest you upon your down- 
 ward path except a large fortune. If you were poor and compelled to earn 
 your daily bread a task which you are probably incapable of performing 
 who can tell what depths of degradation you might descend to ? With your 
 instincts and your vices, who knows what crime you wouldn't commit to 
 obtain money ? It wouldn't be long before you were in the dock, and I 
 should hear of you only through your disgrace. But, on the other hand, if 
 you were rich, you would probably lead an honest life, like many others, 
 who, wanting for nothing, are not tempted to do wrong, who, in fact, shew 
 virtue in which there is nothing worthy of praise. For real virtue im- 
 plies temptation a struggle and victory. " 
 
 Although he did not understand these remarks very well, M. Wilkie 
 evinced a desire to offer some objections ; but Madame d'Argeles had already 
 resumed : " So I went to my notary this morning. I told him everything ; 
 and by this time my renunciation of my rights to the estate of the Count de 
 Chalusse is already recorded. " 
 
 "What! your renunciation. Oh! no." 
 
 "Allow me to finish since you don't understand me. As soon as I re- 
 nounce the inheritance it becomes yours." 
 
 "Truly?" 
 
 " I have no wish to deceive you. I only desire that the name of Lia 
 d'Argeles should not be mentioned. I will give you the necessary proofs to 
 establish your identity ; my marriage contract and your certificate of birth. " 
 
 It was joy that made M. Wilkie speechless now. "And when will you 
 give me these documents ? " he faltered, after a short pause. 
 
 "You shall have them before you leave this house; but first of all I 
 must talk with you." 
 
 XV. 
 
 Agitated and excited though he was, M. Wilkie had not once ceased to 
 think of M. de Coralth and the Marquis de Valorsay. What would they 
 do in such a position, and how should he act to conform himself to the pro- 
 bable example of these models of deportment ? Manifestly he ought to 
 assume that stolid and insolent air of boredom which is considered a sure in- 
 dication of birth and breeding. Convinced of this, and seized with a laud- 
 able desire to emulate such distinguished examples, he had perched himself 
 upon a trunk, where he still sat with his legs crossed. He now pretended 
 to suppress a yawn, as he growled, "What ! some more long phrases and 
 another melodramatic display ? " 
 Absorbed in the memories she had invoked, Madame d'Argeles paid no 
 
148 THE count's millions. 
 
 heed to Wilkie's impertinence. "Yes, I must talk with you," she said, 
 " and more for your sake than for my own. I must tell you who I am, 
 and through what strange vicissitudes I have passed. You know what 
 family I belong to. I will tell you, however for you may be ignorant of 
 the fact that our house is the equal of any in France in lineage, splendour 
 of alliance, and fortune. When I was a child, my parents lived at the 
 Hotel de Chalusse, in the Faubourg Saint Germain, a perfect palace, sur- 
 rounded by one of those immense gardens, which are no longer seen in 
 Paris a real park, shaded with century-old trees. Certainly everything 
 that money could procure, or vanity desire, was within my reach ; and yet 
 my youth was wretchedly unhappy. I scarcely knew my father, who was 
 devoured by ambition, and had thrown himself body and soul into the 
 vortex of politics. Either my mother did not love me, or thought it be- 
 neath her dignity to make any display of sensibility ; but at all events her 
 reserve had raised a wall of ice between herself and me. As for my brother 
 he was too much engrossed in pleasure to think of a mere child. So I lived 
 quite alone, too proud to accept the love and friendship of my inferiors 
 abandoned to the dangerous inspirations of solitude, and with no other 
 consolation than my books books which had been chosen for me by my 
 mother's confessor, and which were calculated to fill my imagination .with 
 visionary and romantic fancies. The only conversation I heard dealt with 
 the means of leaving all the family fortune to my brother, so that he might 
 uphold the splendour of the name, and with the necessity of marrying me 
 to some superannuated nobleman who would take me without a dowry, or 
 of compelling me to enter one of those aristocratic convents, which are the 
 refuge, and often the prison, of poor girls of noble birth. 
 
 "I do not pretend to justify my fault, I am only explaining it. I 
 thought myself the most unfortunate being in the world and such I really 
 was, since I honestly believed it when I happened to meet Arthur Gordon, 
 your father. I saw him for the first time at a/^e given at the house of the 
 Comte de Commarin. How he, a mere adventurer, had succeeded in forc- 
 ing his way into the most exclusive society in the world, is a point which I 
 have never been able to explain. But, alas ! it is only too true that when 
 our glances met for the first time, my heart was stirred to its inmost 
 depths ; I felt that it was no longer mine that I was no longer free ! Ah ! 
 why does not God allow a man's face to reflect at least something of his 
 nature ? This man, who was a corrupt and audacious hypocrite, had that 
 air of apparent nobility and frankness which inspires you with unlimited 
 confidence, and the melancholy expression on his features seemed to in- 
 dicate that he had known sorrow, and had good cause to rail at destiny. 
 In his whole appearance there was certainly a mysterious and fatal charm. 
 I afterwards learned that this was only a natural result of the wild life he 
 had led. He was only twenty-six, and he had already been the commander 
 of a slave ship, and had fought in Mexico at the head of one of those 
 guerilla bands which make politics an excuse for pillage and murder. He 
 divined only too well the impression he had made upon my heart. I met 
 him twice afterwards in society. He did not speak to me ; he even pre- 
 tended to avoid me, but standing a little on one side, he watched my every 
 movement with burning eyes in which I fancied I could read a passion as 
 absorbing as my own. At last he ventured to write to me. The moment 
 a letter addressed to me in an unknown hand was covertly handed me by 
 my maid, I divined that it came from him. I was frightened, and my first 
 impulse was to take it, not to my mother whom I regarded as my natural 
 
the count's millions. 149 
 
 enemy but to my father. However, he chanced to be absent ; I kept the 
 letter, I read it, I answered it and he wrote again. 
 
 " Alas ! from that moment my conduct was inexcusable. I knew that it 
 was worse than a fault to continue this clandestine correspondence. I 
 knew my parents would never give my hand in marriage to a man who was 
 not of noble birth. I knew that I was risking my reputation, the spotless 
 honour of our house, my happiness, and life ! Still I persisted I was pos- 
 sessed with a strange madness that made me ready to brave every danger. 
 Besides, he gave me no time to breathe, or reflect. Everywhere, con- 
 stantly, every instant, he compelled me to think of him. By some miracle 
 of address and audacity, he had discovered a means of intruding upon my 
 presence, even in my father's house. For instance, every morning I found 
 the vases in my room full of choice flowers, though I was never able to dis- 
 cover what hands had placed them there. Ah ! how can one help believing 
 in an omni-present passion which one inhales with the very air one breathes ! 
 How can one resist it ? 
 
 11 1 only discovered Arthur Gordon's object when it was too late. He 
 had come to Paris with the fixed determination of trapping some rich 
 heiress, and forcing her family to give her to him with a large dowry, after 
 one of those disgraceful scandals which render a marriage inevitable. At 
 the very same time he was pursuing two other rich young girls, persuaded 
 that one of the three would certainly become his victim. 
 
 " I was the first to yield. One of those unforeseen events which are the 
 work of Providence, was destined to decide my fate. Several times, 
 already, in compliance with Arthur's urgent entreaties, I had met him at 
 night time in a little pavilion in our garden. This pavilion contained a 
 billiard-room and a spacious gallery in which my brother practised fencing 
 and pistol shooting with his masters and friends. There, thanks to the 
 liberty I enjoyed, we thought ourselves perfectly secure from observation, 
 and we were imprudent enough to light the candles. One night when I 
 had just joined Arthur in the pavilion, I thought I heard the sound of 
 hoarse heavy breathing behind me. I turned round in a fright and saw 
 my brother standing on the threshold. Oh ! then I realised how guilty I 
 had been ! I felt that one or the other of these two men my lover or my 
 brother would not leave that room alive. 
 
 M I tried to speak, to throw myself between them, but I found I could 
 neither speak nor move ; it was as if I had been turned to stone. Nor did 
 they exchange a word at first. But at last my brother drew two swords 
 from their scabbards, and throwing one at Arthur's feet, exclaimed : * I 
 have no wish to assassinate you. Defend yourself, and save your life if 
 you can ! ' And as Arthur hesitated, and seemed to be trying to gain time 
 instead of picking up the weapon that was lying on the floor near him, my 
 brother struck him in the face with the flat side of his sword, and cried : 
 ' Now will you fight, you coward ! * In an instant it was all over. ^Arthur 
 caught up the sword, and springing upon my brother, disarmed him, and 
 wounded him in the breast. I saw this. I saw the blood spurt out upon 
 my lover's hands. I saw my brother stagger, beat the air wildly with his 
 hands, and fall apparently lifeless to the floor. Then I, too, lost conscious- 
 ness and fell ! " 
 
 Any one who had seen Madame d'Argeles as she stood there recoiling in 
 horror, with her features contracted, and her eyes dilated, would have 
 realised that by strength of will she had dispelled the mists enshrouding 
 the past, and distinctly beheld the scene she was describing. She seemed 
 
150 the count's millions. 
 
 to experience anew the same agony of terror she had felt twenty years be- 
 fore ; and this lent such poignant intensity to the interest of her narrative 
 that if M. Wilkie's heart was not exactly touched, he was, as he afterwards 
 confessed, at least rather interested. But Madame d'Argeles seemed to 
 have forgotten his existence. She wiped away the foam-flecked blood 
 wjiich had risen to her lips, and in the same mournful voice resumed her 
 story. 
 
 "When I regained my senses it was morning, and I was lying, still 
 dressed, on a bed in a strange room. Arthur Gordon was standing at the 
 foot of the bed anxiously watching my movements. He did not give me 
 time to question him. ' You are in my house,' said he. * Your brother is 
 dead ! ' Almighty God ! I thought I should die as well. I hoped so. I 
 prayed for death. But, in spite of my sobs, he pitilessly continued : ' It is 
 a terrible misfortune which I shall never cease to regret. And yet, it was 
 his own fault. You, who witnessed the scene, know that it was so. You 
 can still see on my face the mark of the blow he dealt me. I only defended 
 myself and you.' I was ignorant then of the accepted code of duelling. I 
 I did not know that by throwing himself upon my brother before h was on 
 guard, Arthur Gordon had virtually assassinated him. He relied upon my 
 ignorance for the success of the sinister farce he was playing. 'When I 
 saw your brother fall,' he continued, ' I was wild with terror ; and not 
 knowing what I did, I caught you up in my arms and brought you here. 
 But don't tremble, I know that you are not in my house of your own free 
 will. A carriage is below and awaits your orders to convey you to your 
 parents' home. It will be easy to find an explanation for last night's catas- 
 trophe. Slander will not venture to attack such a family as yours.' He 
 spoke in the constrained tone, and with that air which a brave man, con- 
 demned to death, would assume in giving utterance to his last wishes. I 
 felt as if I were going mad. ' And you ! ' I exclaimed, ' you ! What will 
 become of you ? ' He shook his head, and with a look of anguish, replied : 
 1 Me ! What does it matter about me ! I am ruined undoubtedly. So 
 much the better. Nothing matters now that I must live apart from you ! ' 
 Ah ! he knew my heart. He knew his power ! Swayed by an emotion 
 which was madness rather than heroism, I sprang towards him, and clasped 
 him in my arms : ' Then I, too, am lost ! ' I cried. ' Since fate united us, 
 nothing but death shall separate us. I love you. I am your accomplice. 
 Let the curse fall upon both ! ' 
 
 " A keen observer would certainly have detected a gleam of fiendish joy 
 in his eyes. But he protested, or pretended to protest. With feigned 
 energy he refused to accept such a sacrifice. He could not link my destiny to 
 his, for misery had ever been his lot ; and now that this last and most terrible 
 misfortune had overtaken him, he was more than ever convinced that there 
 was a curse hanging over him ! He would not suffer me to bring misery 
 upon myself, and eternal remorse upon him. But the more he repulsed 
 me, the more obstinately I clung to him. The more forcibly he showed 
 the horror of the sacrifice, the more I was convinced that my honour com- 
 pelled me to make it. So at last he yielded, or seemed to yield, with 
 transports of gratitude and love. 'Well I yes, I accept your sacrifice, my 
 darling ! ' he exclaimed. ' I accept it ; and before the God who is looking 
 down upon us, I swear that I will do all that is in human power to repay 
 such sublime and marvellous devotion.' And, bending over me, he printed 
 a kiss upon my forehead. ' But we must fly I ' he resumed, quickly. ' I 
 have my happiness to defend now 1 I will not suffer any one to discover 
 
151 
 
 us and separate us now. We must start at once, without losing a moment, 
 and gain my native land, America. There, we shall be safe. For rest 
 assured they will search for us. Who knows but even now the officers of 
 the law are upon our track ? Your family is all-powerful I am a mere 
 nobody we should be crushed if they discovered us. They would bury you 
 in a gloomy cloister, and I should be tried as a common thief, or as a vile 
 assassin.' My only answer was : * Let us go! Let us go at once ! ' 
 
 " It had been easy for him to foresee what the result of this interview 
 would be. A vehicle was indeed waiting at the door, but not for the pur- 
 pose of conveying me to the Hotel de Chalusse as was proved conclusively 
 by the fact that his trunks were already strapped upon it. Besides, the 
 coachman must have received his instructions in advance, for he drove us 
 straight to the Havre Railway station without a word. It was not until 
 some months afterwards that these trifles, which entirely escaped my notice 
 at the time, opened my eyes to the truth. When we reached the station 
 we found a train ready to start, and we took our places in it. I tried to 
 quiet my conscience with miserable sophistries. Remembering that God 
 has said to woman : To follow thy husband thou shalt abandon all else, 
 native land, paternal home, parents and friends, I told myself that this 
 was the husband whom my heart had instinctively chosen, and that it was 
 my duty to follow him and share his destiny. And thus I fled with him, 
 although I thought I left a corpse behind me the corpse of my only brother. " 
 
 M. Wilkie was actually so much interested that he forgot his anxiety 
 Concerning his attitude, and no longer thought of M. de Coralth and the 
 Marquis de Valorsay. He even sprang up, and exclaimed : "Amazing !" 
 
 But Madame d'Argeles had already resumed : " Such was my great, in- 
 excusable, irreparable fault. I have told you the whole truth, without 
 trying either to conceal or justify anything. Listen to my chastisement ! 
 On our arrival at Le Havre the next day, Arthur confessed that he was 
 greatly embarrassed financially. Owing to our precipitate flight, he had 
 not had time to realize the property he possessed at least so he told me 
 a banker, on whom he had depended, had moreover failed him, and he had 
 not sufficient money to pay our passage to New York. This amazed me. 
 My education had been absurd, like that of most young girls in my station. 
 I knew nothing of real life, of its requirements and difficulties. I knew, 
 of course, that there were rich people and poor people, that money was a 
 necessity, and that those who did not possess it would stoop to any mean- 
 ness to obtain it. But all this was not very clear in my mind, and I never 
 suspected that a few francs more or less would be a matter of vital im- 
 portance. So I was not in the least prepared for the request to which this 
 confession served as preface, and Arthur Gordon was obliged to ask me 
 point blank if I did not happen to have some money about me, or some 
 jewellery which could be converted into money. I gave him all I had, my 
 purse containing a few louis, a ring and a necklace, with a handsome 
 diamond eross attached to it. However, the total value was comparatively 
 small, and such was Arthur's disappointment that he made a remark which 
 frightened me even then, though I did not fully understand its shameful 
 meaning until afterwards : * A woman who repairs to a rendezvous should 
 always have all the valuables she possesses about her. One never knows 
 what may happen.' 
 
 " Want of money was keeping us prisoners at Le Havre, when Arthur 
 Gordon chanced to meet an old acquaintance, who was the captain of an 
 American sailing vessel. He confided his embarrassment to his friend, and 
 
152 the count's millions. 
 
 the latter, whose vessel was to sail at the end of the same week, kindly 
 offered us a free passage. The voyage was one long torture to me, for it 
 was then that I first served my apprenticeship in shame and disgrace. By 
 the captain's offensive gallantry, the lower officers' familiarity of manner, 
 and the sailors' ironical glances whenever I appeared on deck, I saw that 
 my position was a secret for no one. Everybody knew that I was the 
 mistress and not the wife of the man whom I called my husband ; and, 
 without being really conscious of it, perhaps, they made me cruelly expiate 
 my fault. Moreover, reason had regained its ascendency, my eyes were 
 gradually opening to the truth, and I was beginning to learn the real 
 character of the scoundrel for whom I had sacrificed all that makes life 
 desirable. 
 
 "Not that he had wholly ceased to practise dissimulation. But after 
 the evening meal he often lingered at table smoking and drinking with his 
 friend the captain, and when he joined me afterwards, heated with alcohol, 
 he shocked me by advocating theories which were both novel and repulsive 
 to me. Once, after drinking more than usual, he entirely forgot his as- 
 sumed part, and revealed himself in his true character. He declared he 
 bitterly regretted that our love affair had ended so disastrously. It was 
 deplorable to think that so happily conceived and so skilfully conducted a 
 scheme should have terminated in bloodshed. And the blow had fallen 
 just as he fancied he had reached the goal ; just as he thought he would 
 reap the reward of his labour. In a few weeks' more time he would un- 
 doubtedly have gained sufficient influence over me to persuade me to elope 
 with him. This would, of course, have caused a great scandal ; the next 
 day there would have been a family conclave ; a compromise would have 
 been effected, and finally, a marriage arranged with a large dowry, to hush 
 up the affair. ' And I should now be a rich man,' he added, a very rich 
 man I should be rolling through the streets of Paris in my .carriage, 
 instead of being on board this cursed ship, eating salt cod twice a day, and 
 living on charity.' 
 
 " Ah 1 it was no longer possible to doubt. The truth was as clear as day- 
 light. I had never been loved, not even an hour, not even a moment. The 
 loving letters which had blinded me, the protestations of affection which 
 had deceived me, had been addressed to my father's millions, not to myself. 
 And not unfrequently I saw Arthur Gordon's face darken, as he talked 
 with evident anxiety about what he could do to earn a living for himself 
 and me in America. ' I have had trouble enough to get on alone,' he 
 grumbled. * What will it be now ? To burden myself with a penniless 
 wife ! What egregious folly ! And yet I couldn't have acted differently 
 I was compelled to do it. ' Why had he been compelled to do it ? why had 
 he not acted differently ? that was what I vainly puzzled my brain to ex- 
 plain. However, his gloomy fears of poverty were not realized. A de- 
 lightful surprise awaited him at New York. A relative had recently died, 
 leaving him a legacy of fifty thousand dollars a small fortune. I hoped 
 that he would now cease his constant complaints, but he seemed even more 
 displeased than before ' Such is the irony of fate,' he repeated again, and 
 again. * With this money, I might easily have married a wife worth a 
 hundred thousand dollars, and then I should be rich at last ! ' After that, 
 I had good reason to expect that I should soon be forsaken but no, shortly 
 after our arrival, he married me. Had he done so out of respect for his 
 word ? I believed so. But, alas ! this marriage was the result of calcula- 
 tion, like everything else he did. 
 
153 
 
 " We were living in New York, when one evening he came home, look- 
 ing very pale and agitated. He had a French newspaper in his hand. 
 'Read this,' he said, handing it to me. I took the paper as he bade me, 
 and read that my brother had not been killed, that he was improving, and 
 that his recovery was now certain. And as I fell on my knees, bursting 
 into tears, and thanking God for freeing me from such terrible remorse, he 
 exclaimed : ' We are in a nice fix ! I advise you to congratulate yourself ! ' 
 From that time forward, I noticed he displayed the feverish anxiety of a 
 man who feels that he is constantly threatened with some great danger. 
 A few days afterwards, he said to me : ' I cannot endure this ! Have our 
 trunks ready to-morrow, and we will start South. Instead of calling our- 
 selves Gordon, we'll travel under the name of Grant.' I did not venture to 
 question him. He had quite mastered me by his cruel tyranny, and I was 
 accustomed to obey him like a slave in terror of the lash. However, dur- 
 ing our long journey, I learned the cause of our flight and change of name. 
 
 'Your brother, d n him,' he said, one day, 'is hunting for me every- 
 where ! He wants to kill me or to deliver me up to justice, I don't know 
 which. He pretends that I tried to murder him ! ' It was strange ; but 
 Arthur Gordon, who was bravery personified, and who exposed himself 
 again and again to the most frightful dangers, felt a wild, unreasoning, in- 
 conceivable fear of my brother. It was this dread that had decided him to 
 burden himself with me. He feared that if he left me, lying unconscious 
 beside my brother's lifeless form, I might on recovering my senses reveal 
 the truth, and unconsciously act as his accuser. You were born in 
 Richmond, Wilkie, where we remained nearly a month, during which time 
 I saw but little of your father. He had formed the acquaintance of several 
 rich planters, and spent his time hunting and gambling with them. Un- 
 fortunately, fifty thousand dollars could not last long at this rate ; and, in 
 spite of his skill as a gambler, he returned home one morning ruined. A 
 fortnight later when he had sold our effects, and borrowed all the money he 
 could, we embarked again for France. It was not until we reached Paris 
 that I discovered the reasons that had influenced him in returning to 
 Europe. He had heard of my father and mother's death, and intended to 
 compel me to claim my share of the property. He dared not appear in 
 person on account of my brother. At last the hour of my vengeance had 
 arrived ; for I had taken a solemn oath that this scoundrel who had ruined 
 me should never enjoy the fortune which had been his only object in 
 seducing me. I had sworn to die inch by inch and by the most frightful 
 tortures rather than give him one penny of the Chalusse millions. And I 
 kept my word. 
 
 " When I told him that I was resolved not to assert my rights, he seemed 
 utterly confounded. He could not understand how the down trodden slave 
 dared to revolt against him. And when he found that my decision was 
 irrevocable, I thought he would have an attack of apoplexy. It made him wild 
 with rage to think that he was only separated from this immense fortune the 
 dream of his life by a single word of mine, and to find that he had not the 
 power to extort that word from me. Then began a struggle between us, 
 which became more and more frightful as the money he possessed gradually 
 dwindled away. But it was in vain that he resorted to brutal treatment ; 
 in vain that he struck me, tortured me, and dragged me about the floor 
 by the hair of my head ! The thought that I was avenged, that his 
 sufferings equalled mine, increased my courage a hundredfold, and made me 
 almost insensible to physical pain. He would certainly have been the first 
 
154 the count's millions. 
 
 to grow weary of the struggle, if a fiendish plan had not occurred to him. 
 He said to himself that if he could not conquer the wife, he covld conquer 
 the mother, and he threatened to turn his brutality to you, Wilkie. To 
 save you for I knew what he was capable of I pretended to waver, and I 
 asked twenty-four hours for reflection. He granted them. But the next 
 day I left him forever, flying from him with you in my arms." 
 
 M. Wilkie turned white, and a cold chill crept up his spine. However, 
 it was not pity for his mother's sufferings, nor shame for his father's infamy 
 that agitated him, but ever the same terrible fear of incurring the enmity 
 of this dangerous coveter of the Chalusse millions. Would he be able to 
 hold his father at bay even with the assistance of M. de Coralth and the 
 Marquis de Valorsay ? A thousand questions rose to his lips, for he was 
 eager to hear the particulars of his mother's flight ; but Madame d'Argeles 
 hurried on with her story as if she feared her strength would fail before she 
 reached the end. 
 
 " I was alone with you, Wilkie, in this great city," she resumed. " A 
 hundred francs was all that I possessed. My first care was to find a place 
 of shelter. For sixteen francs a moni-h, which I was compelled to pay in 
 advance, I found a small, meagrely furnished room in the Faubourg Saint 
 Martin. It was badly ventilated and miserably lighted, but still it was 
 shelter. I said to myself that we could live there together by my work, 
 Wilkie. I was a proficient in feminine accomplishments ; I was an ex- 
 cellent musician, and I thought I should have no difficulty in earning the 
 four or five francs a day which I considered absolutely necessary for our 
 subsistence. Alas ! I discovered only too soon what chimerical hopes I had 
 cherished. To give music lessons it is necessary to obtain pupils. Where 
 should I find them ? I had no one to recommend me, and I scarcely dared 
 show myself in the streets, so great was my fear that your father would 
 discover our hiding-place. At last, I decided to try to find some employ- 
 ment in needle-work, and timidly offered my services at several shops. 
 Alas ! it is only those who have gone about from door to door soliciting 
 work who know the misery of the thing. To ask alms would be scarcely 
 more humiliating. People sneered at me, and replied (when they deigned 
 to reply at all) that * there was no business doing, and they had all the 
 help they wanted.' My evident inexperience was probably the cause of 
 many of these refusals, as well as my attire, for I still had the appearance 
 of being a rich woman. Who knows what they took me for ? Still the 
 thought of you sustained me, Wilkie, and nothing daunted me. 
 
 "I finally succeeded in obtaining some bands of muslin to embroider, 
 and some pieces of tapestry work to fill in. Unremunerative employment, 
 no doubt, especially to one ignorant of the art of working quickly, rather 
 than well. By rising with daylight, and working until late at night, I 
 scarcely succeeded in earning twenty sous a day. And it was not long 
 before even this scanty resource failed me. Winter came, and the cold 
 weather with it. One morning I changed my last five-franc piece it lasted 
 us a week. Then I pawned and sold everything that was not absolutely 
 indispensable until nothing was left me but my patched dress and a single 
 skirt. And soon an evening came when the owner of our miserable den 
 turned us into the street because I could no longer pay the rent. 
 
 " This was the final blow ! I tottered away, clinging to the walls for 
 support ; too weak from lack of food to carry you. The rain was falling, 
 and chilled us to the bones. You were crying bitterly. And all that night 
 and all the next day, aimless and hopeless, we wandered about the streets. 
 
the count's millions. 155 
 
 I must either die of want or return to your father. I preferred death. 
 Towards evening instinct having led me to the Seine I sat down on one 
 of the stone benches of the Point-Neuf, holding you on my knees and 
 watching the flow of the dark river below. There was a strange fascination 
 a promise of peace in its depths that impelled me almost irresistibly to 
 plunge into the flood. If I had been alone in the world, I should not have 
 stopped to consider a second, but on your account, Wilkie, I hesitated." 
 
 Moved by the thought of the danger he had escaped, M. Wilkie 
 shuddered. " B-r-r-r ! " he growled. " You did well to hesitate. " 
 
 She did not even hear him, but continued : " I at last decided that it was 
 best to put an end to this misery, and rising with difficulty, I was approach- 
 ing the parapet, when a gruff voice beside us exclaimed : ' What are you 
 doing there ? ' I turned, thinking some police officer had spoken, but I was 
 mistaken. By the light of the street lamp, I perceived a man who looked 
 some thirty years of age, and had a frank and rather genial face. Why 
 this stranger instantly inspired me with unlimited confidence I don't know. 
 Perhaps it was an unconscious horror of death that made me long for any 
 token of human sympathy. However it may have been, I told him my 
 story, but not without changing the names, and omitting many particulars. 
 He had taken a seat beside me on the bench, and I saw big tears roll down 
 his cheeks as I proceeded with my narrative. ' It is ever so 1 it is ever so ! ' 
 he muttered. ' To love is to incur the risk of martyrdom. It is to offer 
 one's self as a victim to every perfidy, to the basest treason and ingratitude.' 
 The man who spoke in this fashion was Baron Trigault. He did not allow 
 me to finish my story. Enough ! ' he suddenly exclaimed, ' follow me ! ' 
 A cab was passing, he made us get in, and an hour later we were in a com- 
 fortable room, beside a blazing fire, with a generously spread table before 
 us. The next day, moreover, we were installed in a pleasant home. Alas ! 
 why wasn't the baron generous to the last ? You were saved, Wilkie, but 
 at what a price ! " 
 
 She paused for a moment, her face redder than fire ; but soon mastering 
 her agitation, she resumed: "There was one great cause of dissension 
 between the baron and myself. I wished you to be educated, Wilkie, like 
 the son of a noble family, while he desired you should receive the practical 
 training suited to a youth who would have to make his own way in the 
 world, and win position, fortune, and even name for himself. Ah ! he was 
 a thousand times right, as events have since proved only too well ! But 
 maternal love blinded me, and, after an angry discussion, he went away, 
 declaring he would not see me again until I became more reasonable. He 
 thought that reflection would cure me of my folly. Unfortunately, he was 
 not acquainted with the fatal obstinacy which is the distinguishing 
 characteristic of the Chalusse family. While I was wondering how I could find 
 the means of carrying the plans I had formed for you into execution, two of 
 the baron's acquaintances presented themselves, with the following pro- 
 posal : Aware of the enormous profits derived by clandestine^ gambling 
 dens, they had conceived the project of opening a public establishment on 
 a large scale, where any Parisian or foreigner, if he seemed to be a gentle- 
 man, and possessed of means, would find no difficulty in obtaining admis- 
 sion. By taking certain precautions, and by establishing this gambling 
 den in a private drawing-room, they believed the scheme practicable, and 
 came to suggest that I should keep the drawing-room in question, and be 
 their partner in the enterprise. Scarcely knowing what I pledged myself 
 to, I accepted their offer, influenced I should rather say decided by the 
 
156 Tan count's millions* 
 
 exalted positions which both these gentlemen occupied, by the public con- 
 sideration they enjoyed, and the honoured names they bore. And that 
 same week this house was rented and furnished, and I was installed in it 
 under the name of Lia d'Argeles. 
 
 "But this was not all. There still remained the task of creating for 
 myself one of those scandalous reputations that attract public attention. 
 This proved an easy task, thanks to the assistance of my silent partners, 
 and the innocent simplicity of several of their friends and certain journalists. 
 As for myself, I did my best to insure the success of the horrible farce 
 which was to lend infamous notoriety to the name of Lia d'Argeles. I had 
 magnificent equipages and superb dresses, and I made myself conspicuous 
 at the theatres and all places of public resort. As is generally the case 
 when one is acting contrary to conscience, I called the most absurd 
 sophistries to my assistance. I tried to convince myself that appearances 
 are nothing, that reality is everything, and that it did not matter if I were 
 known as a courtesan since rumour lied, and my life was really chaste. 
 When the baron hastened to me and tried to rescue me from the abyss into 
 which I had flung myself, it was too late. I had discovered that the 
 business would prove successful ; and for your sake, I longed for money as 
 passionately, as madly, as any miser. Last year my gammg-room yielded 
 more than one hundred and fifty thousand francs clear profit, and I received 
 as my share the thirty-five thousand francs which you squandered. Now 
 you know me as I really am. My associates, my partners, the men whose 
 secret I have faithfully kept, walk the streets with their heads erect. 
 They boast of their unsullied honour, and they are respected by every one. 
 Such is the truth, and I have no reason to make their disgrace known. 
 Besides, if 1 proclaimed it from the house-tops, no one would believe me. 
 But you are my son, and I owe you the truth, the whole truth ! " 
 
 In any age but the present, Madame d'Argeles' story would have seemed 
 absolutely incredible. Now-a-days, however, such episodes are by no 
 means rare. Two men two men of exalted rank and highly respected, to 
 use a common expression associate in opening a gaming-house under the 
 very eyes of the police, and in coining money out of a woman's supposed 
 disgrace. 'Tis after all but an every day occurrence. 
 
 The unhappy woman had told her story with apparent coldness, and yet, 
 in her secret heart, she perhaps hoped that by disclosing her terrible 
 sacrifice and long martyrdom, she would draw a burst of gratitude and 
 tenderness from her son, calculated to repay her for all her sufferings. But 
 the hope was vain. It would have been easier to draw water from a solid 
 rock than to extract a sympathetic tear from Wilkie's eyes. He was only 
 alive to the practical side of this narrative, and what impressed him most 
 was the impudent assurance of Madame d'Argeles' business associates. 
 "Not a bad idea ; not bad at all," he exclaimed. And, boiling over with 
 curiosity, he continued : "I would give something handsome to know those 
 men's names. Really you ought to tell me. It would be worth one's while 
 to know." 
 
 Any other person than this interesting young man would have been 
 crushed by the look his mother gave him a look embodying the deepest 
 disappointment and contempt. " I think you must be mad," she remarked 
 coldly. And as he sprang up, astonished that any one should doubt his 
 abundant supply of good sense, "Let us put an end to this," she sternly 
 added. 
 
 Thereupon she hastily went into the adjoining room, reappearing a 
 
TSB COUNT'S MILLIONS. 157 
 
 moment later with a roll of papers in her hand. " Here," she remarked, 
 " is my marriage certificate, your certificate of birth, and a copy of my 
 renunciation a perfectly valid document, since the court has authorised it, 
 owing to my husband's absence. All these proofs I am ready and willing 
 to place at your disposal, but on one condition." 
 
 This last word fell like a cold shower-bath upon Wilkie's exultant joy. 
 11 What is this condition ? " he anxiously inquired. 
 
 " It is that you should sign this deed, which has been drawn up by my 
 notary a deed by which you pledge yourself to hand me the sum of two 
 million francs on the day you come into possession of the Chalusse property." 
 
 Two millions ! The immensity of the sum struck Wilkie dumb with 
 consternation. Nor did he forget that he would be compelled to give the 
 Viscount de Coralth the large reward he had promised him a reward pro- 
 mised in writing, unfortunately. " I shall have nothing left," he began, 
 piteously. 
 
 But with a disdainful gesture Madame d'Argeles interrupted him. 
 11 Set your mind at rest," said she. "You will still be immensely rich. All 
 the estimates which have been made are far below the mark. When I was 
 a girl I often heard my father say that his income amounted to more than 
 eight hundred thousand francs a year. My brother inherited the whole 
 property, and I would be willing to swear that he never spent more than 
 half of his income. " 
 
 Wilkie's nerves had never been subjected to so severe a shock. He 
 tottered and his brain whirled. " Oh ! oh ! " he stammered. This was all 
 he could say. 
 
 "Only I must warn you of a more than probable deception," pursued 
 Madame d'Argeles. ' As my brother was firmly resolved to deprive mo 
 even of my rightful portion of the estate, he concealed his fortune in every 
 possible way. It will undoubtedly require considerable time and trouble 
 to gain possession of the whole. However I know a man, formerly the 
 Count de Chalusse's confidential agent, who might aid you in this task." 
 
 "And this man's name? " 
 
 " Is Isidore Fortunat. I saved his card for you. Here it is." 
 
 M. Wilkie took it up, placed it carefully in his pocket, and then ex- 
 claimed : " That being the case, I consent to sign, but after thia you need 
 not complain. Two millions at five per cent, ought to greatly alleviate one's 
 sufferings." 
 
 Madame d'Argeles did not deign to notice this delicate irony. " I will 
 tell you in advance to what purpose I intend to apply this sum," she said. 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 "I intend one of these two millions to serve as the dowry of a young girl 
 who would have been the Count de Chalusse's sole legatee, if his death had 
 not been so sudden and so unexpected." 
 
 "And the other one?" 
 
 " The other I intend to invest for you in such a way that you can only 
 touch the interest of it, so that you will not want for bread after you have 
 squandered your inheritance, even to the very last penny. " 
 
 This wise precaution could not fail to shock such a brilliant young man 
 as M. Wilkie. " Do you take me for a fool ? " he exclaimed. " I may ap- 
 pear very generous, but I am shrewd enough, never you fear." 
 
 " Sign," interrupted Madame d'Argeles, coldly. 
 
 But he attempted to prove that he was no fool by reading and re-reading 
 the contract before he would consent to append his name to it. At last, 
 
158 the count's millions. 
 
 however, he did so, and stowed away the proofs which insured him the 
 much-coveted property. 
 
 "Now," said Madame d'Argeles, "I have one request to make of you. 
 Whenever your father makes his appearance and lays claim to this fortune, 
 I entreat you to avoid a law-suit, which would only make your mother's 
 shame and the disgrace attached to the hitherto stainless name of Chalusse 
 still more widely known. Compromise with him. You will be rich enough 
 to satisfy his greed without feeling it." 
 
 M. Wilkie remained silent for a moment, as if he were deliberating upon 
 the course he ought to pursue. " If my father is reasonable, I will be the 
 same," he said at last. "I will choose as an arbiter between us one of my 
 friends a man who acts on the square, like myself the Marquis de Valorsay . " 
 
 " My God 1 do you know him ? " 
 
 " He is one of my most intimate friends." 
 
 Madame d'Argeles had become very pale. "Wretched boy I " she ex- 
 claimed. " You don't know that it's the marquis " She paused abruptly. 
 One word more and she would have betrayed Pascal Ferailleur's secret 
 plans, with which she had been made acquainted by Baron Trigault. Had 
 she a right to do this, even to put her son on his guard against a man whom 
 she considered the greatest villain in the world ? 
 
 " Well ? " insisted M. Wilkie, in surprise. 
 
 But Madame d'Argeles had recovered her self-possession. "I only 
 wished to warn you against too close a connection with the Marquis de 
 Valorsay. He has an excellent position in society, but yours will be far 
 more brilliant. His star is on the wane ; yours is just rising. All that he 
 is regretting, you have a right to hope for. Perhaps even now he is jealous 
 of you, and wishes to persuade you to take some false step." 
 
 " Ah ! you little know him ! " 
 
 " I have warned you." 
 
 M. Wilkie took up his hat, but, though he was longing to depart, em- 
 barrassment kept him to the spot. He vaguely felt that he ought not to 
 leave his mother in this style. " I hope I shall soon have some good news 
 to bring you," he began. 
 
 " Before night I shall have left this house," she answered. 
 
 " Of course. But you are going to give me your new address." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " What ? No ! " 
 
 She shook her head sadly, and in a scarcely audible voice responded : 
 " It is not likely that we shall meet again." 
 
 " And the two millions that I am to turn over to you ? " 
 
 "Mr. Patterson will collect the money. As for me, say to yourself that 
 I'm dead. You have broken the only link that bound me to life, by prov- 
 ing the futility of the most terrible sacrifices. However I am a mother, 
 and I forgive you." Then as he did not move, and as she felt that her 
 strength was deserting her, she dragged herself from the room, murmuring, 
 " Farewell ! " 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Stupefied with astonishment, M. Wilkie stood for a moment silent and 
 motionless. "Allow me," he faltered at last; " allow me I wish to ex- 
 
 Elain." But Madame d'Argeles did not even turn her head ; the door closed 
 ehind her and he was left alone. 
 
159 
 
 However strong a mans nature may be, he always has certain moments 
 of weakness. For instance, at the present moment Wilkie was completely 
 at a loss what to do. Not that he repented, he was incapable of that ; but 
 there are hours when the most hardened conscience is touched, and when 
 long-dormant instincts at last assert their rights. If he had obeyed his 
 first impulse, he would have darted after his mother and thrown himself on 
 his knees before her. But reflection, remembrance of the Viscount de Cor- 
 alth, and the Marquis de Valorsay, made him silent the noblest voice that 
 had spoken in his soul for many a long day. So, with his head proudly 
 erect, he went off, twirling his moustaches and followed by the whispers of 
 the servants whispers which were ready to change into hisses at any moment. 
 
 But what did he care for the opinion of 'these plebeians ! Before he was a 
 hundred paces from the house his emotion had vanished, and he was 
 thinking how he could most agreeably spend the time until the hour ap- 
 pointed for his second interview with M. de Valorsay. He had not break- 
 fasted, but "his stomach was out of sorts," as he said to himself, and it 
 would really have been impossible for him to swallow a morsel. Thus not 
 caring to return home, he started in quest of one of his former intimates, 
 with the generous intention of overpowering him with the great news. 
 Unfortunately he failed to find this friend, and eager to vent the pride that 
 was suffocating him, in some way or other, he entered the shop of an en- 
 graver, whom he crushed by his importance, and ordered some visiting 
 cards bearing the inscription W. de Gordon-Chalusse, with a count's coro- 
 net in one of the corners. 
 
 Thus occupied, time flew by so quickly that he was a trifle late in keeping 
 his appointment with his dear friend the marquis. Wilkie found M. de 
 Valorsay as he had left him in his smoking-room, talking with the Vis- 
 count de Coralth. Not that the marquis had been idle, but it had barely 
 taken him an hour to set in motion the machinery which he had had in 
 complete readiness since the evening before. " Victory ! " cried Wilkie, as 
 he appeared on the threshold. "It was a hard battle, but I asserted my 
 rights. I am the acknowledged heir ! the millions are mine ! " And with- 
 out giving his friends time to congratulate him, he began to describe his 
 interview with Madame d'Argeles, presenting his conduct in the most 
 odious light possible, pretending he had indulged in all sorts of harsh 
 rejoinders, and making himself out to be "a man of bronze," or " a block 
 of marble, " as he said. 
 
 "You are certainly more courageous than I fancied," said M. de Valorsay 
 gravely, when the narrative was ended. 
 
 " Is that really so ? " 
 
 " It is, indeed. Now the world is before you. Let your story be noised 
 abroad and it will be noised abroad and you will become a hero. Im- 
 agine the amazement of Paris when it learns that Lia d'Argeles was a 
 virtuous woman, who sacrificed her reputation for the sake of her son a 
 martyr, whose disgrace was only a shameful falsehood invented by two men 
 of rank to increase the attractions of their gambling-den ! It will take the 
 newspapers a month to digest this strange romance. And whom will all 
 this notoriety fall upon ? Upon you, my dear sir ; and as your millions 
 will lend an additional charm to the romance, you will become the lion of 
 the season." 
 
 M. Wilkie was really too much overwhelmed to feel elated. " Upon 
 my word, you overpower me, my dear marquis you quite overpower me," 
 he stammered. 
 
160 the count's millions. 
 
 " I too have been at work," resumed the marquis. " And I have made 
 numerous inquiries, in accordance with my promise. I almost regret it, 
 for what I have discovered is very singular, to say the least. I was just 
 saying so to Coralth when you came in. What I have learned makes it 
 extremely unpleasant for me, to find myself mixed up in the affair ; ac- 
 cordingly, I have requested the persons who gave me this information to 
 call here. You shall hear their story, and then you must decide for your- 
 self." So saying, he rang the bell, and as soon as a servant answered the 
 summons, he exclaimed : " Show M. Casimir in." 
 
 When the lackey had retired to carry out this order, the marquis re- 
 marked : " Casimir was the deceased count's valet. He is a clever fellow, 
 honest, intelligent, and well up in his business such a man as you will 
 need, in fact, and I won't try to conceal the fact that the hope of entering 
 your service has aided considerably in unloosening his tongue." 
 
 M. Casimir, who was irreproachably clad in black, with a white cambric tie 
 round his neck, entered the room at this very moment, smiling and bowing 
 obsequiously. " This gentleman, my good fellow," said M. de Valorsay, 
 pointing to Wilkie, ' ' is your former master's only heir. A proof of devo- 
 tion might induce him to keep you with him. What you told me a little 
 while ago is of great importance to him ; see if you can repeat it now for 
 his benefit." 
 
 In his anxiety to secure a good situation, M. Casimir had ventured to 
 apply to the Marquis de Valorsay ; he had talked a good deal, and the 
 marquis had conceived the plan of making him an unsuspecting accomplice. 
 " I never deny my words, " replied the valet, "and since monsieur is the 
 heir to the property, I won't hesitate to tell him that immense sums have 
 been stolen from the late count's estate." 
 
 M. Wilkie bounded from his chair. " Immense sums ! " he exclaimed. "Is 
 it possible ! " 
 
 "Monsieur shall judge. On the morning preceding his death, the count 
 had more than two millions in bank-notes and bonds stowed away in his 
 escritoire, but when the justice of the peace came to take the inventory, 
 the money could not be found. We servants were terribly alarmed, for we 
 feared that suspicion would fall upon us." 
 
 Ah 1 if Wilkie had only been alone he would have given vent to his true 
 feelings. But here, under the eyes of the marquis and M. de Coralth, he 
 felt that he must maintain an air of stoical indifference. He almost suc- 
 ceeded in doing so, and in a tolerably firm voice he remarked : " This is 
 not very pleasant news. Two millions ! that's a good haul. Tell me, my 
 friend, have you any clue to the thief ? " 
 
 The valet's troubled glance betrayed an uneasy conscience, but he had 
 gone too far to draw back. "I shouldn't like to accuse an innocent person," 
 he replied, " but there was some one who constantly had access to that 
 escritoire." 
 
 "And who was that ? " 
 
 "Mademoiselle Marguerite." 
 
 " I don't know the lady." 
 
 " She's a young girl who is at least people say the count's illegitimate 
 daughter. Her word was law in the house." 
 
 " What has become of her ? " 
 
 "She has gone to live with General de Fondege, one of the count's 
 friends. She wouldn't take her jewels and diamonds away with her, which 
 seemed very strange, for they are worth more than a hundred thousand 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 161 
 
 francs. Even Bourigeau said to me: * That's unnatural M. Casimir.' 
 Bourigeau is the concierge of the house, a very worthy man. Monsieur will 
 not find his equal." 
 
 Unfortunately, this tribute to the merits of the valet's friend was inter- 
 rupted by the arrival of a footman, who, after tapping respectfully at the 
 door, entered the room and exclaimed : " The doctor is here, and desires 
 to speak with Monsieur le Marquis." 
 
 " Very well," replied M. de Valorsay, "ask him to wait. When I ring, 
 you can usher him in." Then addressing M. Casimir, he added : 
 
 " You may retire for the present, but don't leave the house. M. Wilkie 
 will acquaint you with his intentions by-and-by." 
 
 The valet thereupon backed out of the room, bowing profoundly. 
 
 " There is a story for you ! " exclaimed M. Wilkie as soon as the door 
 was closed. "A robbery of two millions ! " 
 
 The marquis shook his head, and remarked, gravely : " That's a mere 
 nothing. I suspect something far more terrible." 
 
 " What, pray ? Upon my word ! you frighten me." 
 
 " Wait ! I may be mistaken. Even the doctor may be deceived. But 
 you shall judge for yourself." As he spoke, he pulled the bell-rope, and an 
 instant after, the servant announced : "Dr. Jodon." 
 
 It was, indeed, the same physician who had annoyed Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite by his persistent curiosity and impertinent questions, at the 
 Count de Chalusse's bed-side ; the same crafty and ambitious man, con- 
 stantly tormented by covetousness, and ready to do anything to gratify it 
 the man of the period, in short, who sacrificed everything to the display 
 by which he hoped to deceive other people, and who was almost starving in 
 the midst of his mock splendour. 
 
 M. Casimir was an innocent accomplice, but the doctor knew what he 
 was doing. Interviewed on behalf of ; the Marquis de Valorsay by Madame 
 L6on, he had fathomed the whole mystery at once. These two crafty 
 natures had read and understood each other. No definite words had 
 passed between them they were both too shrewd for that ; and yet, a 
 compact had been concluded by which each had tacitly agreed to serve the 
 other according to his need. 
 
 As soon as the physician appeared, M. de Valorsay rose and shook hands 
 with him ; then, offering him an arm-chair, he remarked : "I will not con- 
 ceal from you, doctor, that I have in some measure prepared this gentle- 
 man " designating M. Wilkie " for your terrible revelation." 
 
 By the doctor's attitude, a keen observer might have divined the secret 
 trepidation that always precedes a bad action which has been conceived and 
 decided upon in cold blood. 
 
 " To tell the truth," he began, speaking slowly, and with some difficulty, 
 " now that the moment for speaking has come, I almost hesitate. Our pro- 
 fession has painful exigencies. Perhaps it is now too late. If there had 
 been any of the count s re atives in the house, or even an heir at the time, I 
 should have insisted upon an autopsy. But now " 
 
 On hearing the word "autopsy," M. Wilkie looked round with startled 
 eyes. He opened his lips toi nterrupt the speaker, but the physician had 
 already resumed his narrative. "Besides, I had only suspicions," he said, 
 " suspicions based, it is true, upon strange and alarming circumstances. I 
 am a man, that is to say, I am liable to error. In the kingdom of science 
 it would be unpardonable temerity on my part to affirm " 
 
 "To affirm what ? " interrupted M. Wilkie. 
 VOL. II. F 
 
162 the count's millions. 
 
 The physician did not seem to hear him, but continued in the same dog- 
 matic tone. " The count apparently died from an attack of apoplexy, but 
 certain poisons produce similar and even identical symptoms which are apt 
 to deceive the most experienced medical men. The persistent efforts of the 
 count's intellect, his muscular rigidity alternating with utter relaxation, 
 the dilation of the pupils of his eyes, and more than aught else the violence 
 of his last convulsions, have led me to ask myself if some criminal had not 
 hastened his end." 
 
 Whiter than his shirt, and trembling like a leaf, M. Wilkie sprang from 
 his chair. "I understand ! " he exclaimed. "The count was murdered 
 poisoned." 
 
 But the physician replied with an energetic protest. " Oh, not so fast ! " 
 said he. " Don't mistake my conjectures for assertions. Still, I ought not 
 to conceal the circumstances which awakened my suspicions. On the morn- 
 ing preceding his attack, the count took two spoonfuls of the contents of a 
 vial which the people in charge could not or would not produce. When I 
 asked what this vial contained, the answer was : ' A medicine to prevent 
 apoplexy.' I don't say that this is false, but prove it. As for the motive 
 that led to the crime, it is apparent at once. The escritoire contained two 
 millions of francs, and the money has disappeared. Show me the vial, find 
 the money, and I will admit that I am wrong. But until then, I shall have 
 my suspicions." 
 
 He did not speak like a physician but like an examining magistrate, and 
 his alarming deductions found their way even to M. Wilkie's dull brain. 
 " Who could have committed the crime ? " he asked. 
 
 " It could only have been the person likely to profit by it ; and only one 
 person besides the count knew that the money was in the house, and had 
 possession of the key of this escritoire." 
 
 " And this person ? " 
 
 11 Is the count's illegitimate daughter, who lived in the house with him 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite." 
 
 M. Wilkie sank into his chair again, completely overwhelmed. The 
 coincidence between the doctor's deposition and M. Casimir's testimony was 
 too remarkable to pass unnoticed. Further doubt seemed impossible. 
 " Ah ! this is most unfortunate ! " faltered Wilkie. "What a pity ! Such 
 difficulties never assail any one but me ! What am I to do ? " And in his 
 distress he glanced from the doctor to the Marquis de Valorsay, and then 
 at M. de Coralth, as if seeking inspiration from each of them. 
 
 " My profession forbids my acting as an adviser in such cases," replied 
 the physician, " but these gentlemen have not the same reasons for keeping 
 silent." 
 
 "Excuse me," interrupted the marquis quickly; "but this is one of 
 those cases in which a man must be left to his own inspirations. The most 
 I can do, is to say what course I should pursue if I were one of the deceased 
 count's relatives or heirs. " 
 
 " Pray tell me, my dear marquis," sighed Wilkie. " You would rendei 
 me an immense service by doing so." 
 
 M. de Valorsay seemed to reflect for a moment ; and then he solemnly 
 exclaimed : "I should feel that my honour required me to investigate every 
 circumstance connected with this mysterious affair. Before receiving a 
 man's estate, one must know the cause of his death, so as to avenge him ii 
 he has been foully murdered." 
 
 For M. Wilkie the oracle had spoken. "Such is my opinion exactly," 
 
the count's millions. 163 
 
 he declared. "But what course would you pursue, my dear marquis? 
 How would you set about solving this mystery ? " 
 " I should appeal to the authorities." 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " And this very day, this very hour, without losing a second, I should 
 address a communication to the public prosecutor, informing him of the 
 robbery which is patent to any one, and referring to the possibility of foul 
 play," 
 
 1 Yes, that would be an excellent idea ; but there is one slight drawback 
 I don't know how to draw up such a communication." 
 
 "I know no more about it than you do yourself; but any lawyer or 
 notary will give you the necessary information. Are you acquainted with 
 any such person ? Would you like me to give you the address of my busi- 
 ness man ? He is a very clever fellow, who has almost all the members of 
 my club as his clients." 
 
 This last reason was more than sufficient to fix M. Wilkie's choice. 
 " Where can I find him ? " he inquired. 
 
 "At his house he is always there at this hour. Come ! here is a scrap 
 of paper and a pencil. You had better make a note of his address. Write : 
 Maumejan, Route de la Revolte. Tell him that I sent you, and he will 
 treat you with the same consideration as he would show to me. He lives a 
 long way off, but my brougham is standing in the courtyard ; so take it, 
 and when your consultation is over, come back and dine with me." 
 
 " Ah ! you are too kind ! " exclaimed M. Wilkie. " You overpower me, 
 my dear marquis, you do, upon my word ! I shall fly and be back in a 
 moment. " 
 
 He went off looking radiant ; and a moment later the carriage which was 
 to take him to M. Maumejan's was heard rolling out of the courtyard. 
 
 The doctor had already taken up his hat and cane. " You will excuse 
 me for leaving you so abruptly Monsieur le Marquis," said he, " but I have 
 an engagement to discuss a business matter." 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "I am negotiating for the purchase of a dentist's establishment." 
 "What, you?" 
 
 "Yes, I. You may tell me that this is a downfall, but I will answer, 
 ' It will give me a living.' Medicine is becoming a more and more unre- 
 munerative profession. However, hard a physician my work, he can 
 scarcely pay for the water he uses in washing his hands. I have an oppor- 
 tunity of purchasing the business of a well-established and well-known 
 dentist, in an excellent neighbourhood. Why not avail myself of it? 
 Only one thing worries me the lack of funds." 
 
 The marquis had expected that the doctor 'would require remuneration 
 for his services. Before compromising himself any further, M. Jodon 
 wished to know what compensation he was to receive. The marquis was so 
 sure of this, that he quickly exclaimed, " Ah, my dear doctor, if you have 
 need of twenty thousand francs, I shall be only too happy to offer them to 
 you." 
 
 " Really ? " 
 1 ' Upon my honour ! " 
 
 " And when can you let me have the money ? " 
 " In three or four days' time." 
 
 The bargain was concluded. The doctor was now ready to find traces of 
 any poison whatsoever in the Count de Chalusse's exhumed remains. He 
 
164: the count's millions. 
 
 pressed the marquis's hand and then went off, exclaiming: " Whatever 
 happens you can count upon me." 
 
 Left alone with the Viscount de Coralth, and consequently freed from 
 all restraint, M. de Valorsay rose with a long-drawn sigh of relief. " What 
 an interminable stance I " he growled. And, approaching his acolyte, who 
 was sitting silent and motionless in an arm-chair, he slapped him on the 
 shoulder, exclaiming : ' ' Are you ill that you sit there like that, as still 
 as a mummy ? " 
 
 The viscount turned as if he had been suddenly aroused from slumber. 
 "I'm well enough," he answered somewhat roughly. "I was only 
 thinking." 
 
 " Your thoughts are not very pleasant, to judge from the look on your 
 face." 
 
 " No. I was thinking of the fate that you are preparing for us." 
 "Oh J A truce to disagreeable prophecies, please ! Besides, it's too 
 late to draw back, or to even think of retreat. The Rubicon is passed. " 
 
 "Alas! that is the cause of my anxiety. If it hadn't been for my 
 wretched past, which you have threatened me with like a dagger, I should 
 long ago have left you to incur this danger alone. You were useful to me 
 in times past, I admit. You presented me to the Baroness Trigault, to 
 whose patronage I owe my present means, but I am paying too dearly for 
 your services in allowing myself to be made the instrument of your danger- 
 ous schemes. Who aided you in defrauding Kami-Bey ? Who bet for you 
 against your own horse Domingo ? Who risked his life in slipping those 
 cards in the pack which Pascal Ferailleur held? It was Coralth, always 
 Coralth." 
 
 A gesture of anger escaped the marquis, but resolving to restrain himself, 
 he made no rejoinder. It was not until after he had walked five or six 
 times round the smoking-room and grown more calm that he returned to 
 the viscount's side. "Really, I don't recognize you," he began. "Is it 
 really you who have turned coward ? And at what a moment, pray ? Why, 
 on the very eve of success. " 
 " I wish I could believe you." 
 
 " Facts shall convince you. This morning I might have doubted, but 
 now, thanks to that vain idiot who goes by the name of Wilkie, I am sure, 
 perfectly, mathematically sure of success. Maum6jan, who is entirely de- 
 voted to me, and who is the greediest, most avaricious scoundrel alive, will 
 draw up such a complaint that Marguerite will sleep in prison. Moreover, 
 other witnesses will be summoned. By what Casimir has said, you can 
 judge what the other servants will say. This testimony will be sufficient 
 to convict her of the robbery. As for the poisoning, you heard Dr. Jodon. 
 Can I depend upon him ? Evidently, if I pay without haggling. Very 
 well ; I shall pay." 
 
 But all this did not reassure M. de Coralth. "The accusation will fall 
 to the ground," said he, "as soon as the famous vial from which M. de 
 Chalusse took two spoonfuls is found." 
 " Excuse me ; it won't be found." 
 "But why?" 
 
 "Because I know where it is, my dear friend. It is in the count's escri- 
 toire, but it won't be there any longer on the day after to-morrow. " 
 " Who will remove it ? " 
 
 "A skilful fellow whom Madame L6on has found for me. Everything 
 has been carefully arranged. To-morrow night at the latest Madame Le"on 
 

 the count's millions. 165 
 
 will let this man into the Hotel de Chalusse by the garden gate, which she 
 has kept the key of. Vantrasson, as the man is called, knows the manage- 
 ment of the house, and he will break open the escritoire and take the vial 
 away. You may say that there are seals upon the furniture, placed there 
 by the justice of the peace. That's true, but this man tells me that he can 
 remove and replace them in such a way as to defy detection ; and as the 
 lock has been forced once already the day after the count's death a 
 second attempt to break the escritoire open will not be detected. " 
 
 The viscount remarked, with an ironical air : " All that is perfect ; but 
 the autopsy will reveal the falseness of the accusation." 
 
 "Naturally but an autopsy will require time, and that will suit my 
 plans admirably. After eight or ten days' solitary confinement and several 
 rigid examinations, Mademoiselle Marguerite's energy and courage will 
 flag. What do you think she will reply to the man who says to her : * I 
 love you, and for your sake I will attempt the impossible. Swear to be- 
 come my wife and I will establish your innocence ? '" 
 
 " I think she will say : c Save me and I will marry you ! ' " 
 
 M. de Valorsay clapped his hands. "Bravo!" he exclaimed; "you 
 have spoken the truth. Remember, now, that your dark forebodings are 
 only chimeras ! Yes, she will swear it, and I know she is the woman to 
 keep her vow, even if she died of sorrow. And the very next day I will 
 go to the examining magistrate and say to him : ' Marguerite a thief 1 Ah, 
 what a frightful mistake. A robbery has been committed, it's true ; but I 
 know the real culprit a scoundrel who fancied that by destroying a single 
 letter he would annihilate all traces of the breach of fidelity he had com- 
 mitted. Fortunately, the Count de Chalusse distrusted this man, and 
 proof of his breach of trust is in existence. I have this proof in my hands.' 
 And I will show a letter establishing the truth of my assertion." 
 
 No forebodings clouded the marquis's joy ; he saw no obstacles ; it 
 seemed to him as if he had already triumphed. " And the day following," 
 he resumed, "when Marguerite becomes my wife, I shall take from a 
 certain drawer a certain document, given to me by M. de Chalusse when I 
 was on the point of becoming his son-in-law, and in which he recognizes 
 Marguerite as his daughter, and makes her his sole legatee. And this 
 document is perfectly en regie, and unattackable. Maum6jan, who has 
 examined it, guarantees that the value of the count's estate cannot be less 
 than ten millions. Five will go to Madame d'Argeles, or her son Wilkie, 
 as their share of the property. The remaining five will be mine. Come, 
 confess that the plan is admirable ! " 
 
 "Admirable, undoubtedly; but terribly complicated. When there are 
 so many Wheels within wheels, one of them is always sure to get out of 
 order." 
 
 " Nonsense I" 
 
 "Besides, you have I don't know how many accomplices Maumepn, 
 the doctor, Madame L6on, and Vantrasson, not counting myself. Will all 
 these people perform their duties satisfactorily ?" 
 
 " Each of them is as much interested in my success as I am myself." 
 
 "But we have enemies Madame d'Argeles, Fortunat " 
 
 " Madame d'Argeles is about to leave Paris. If Fortunat is troublesome 
 I will purchase his silence ; Maumejan has promised me money." 
 
 But M. de Coralth had kept his strongest argument until the last. 
 " And Pascal Ferailleur ? " said he. " You have forgotten him." 
 
 No ; M. de Valorsay had not forgotten him. You do not forget the 
 
166 the count's millions. 
 
 man you have ruined and dishonoured. Still, it was in a careless tone that 
 ill-accorded with his state of mind that the marquis replied : "The poor 
 devil must be en route for America by this time." 
 
 The viscount shook his head. "That's what I've in vain been trying to 
 convince myself of," said he. "Do you know that Pascal was virtually 
 expelled from the Palais de Justice, and that his name has been struck off 
 the list of advocates ? If he hasn't blown his brains out, it is only because 
 he hopes to prove his innocence. Ah ! if you knew him as well as I do, 
 you wouldn't be so tranquil in mind ! " 
 
 He stopped short for the door had suddenly opened. The interruption 
 made the marquis frown, but anger gave way to anxiety when he perceived 
 Madame Leon, who entered the room out of breath and extremely red in 
 the face. 
 
 " There wasn't a cab to be had ! " she groaned. " Just my luck. I came 
 on foot, and ran the whole way. I'm utterly exhausted ; " and so saying 
 she sank into an arm-chair. 
 
 M. de Valorsay had turned very pale. ' ' Defer your complaints until 
 another time," he said, harshly. " What has happened ? Tell me." 
 
 The estimable woman raised her hands to heaven, as she plaintively 
 replied: "There is so much to tell ? First, Mademoiselle Marguerite has 
 written two letters, but I have failed to discover to whom they were sent. 
 Secondly, she remained for more than an hour yesterday evening in the 
 drawing-room with the General's son, Lieutenant Gustave, and, on parting, 
 they shook hands like a couple of friends, and said, ' It is agreed.' " 
 
 " And is that all ? " 
 
 * ' One moment and you'll see. This morning Mademoiselle went out with 
 Madame de Fondege to call on the Baroness Trigault. I do not know what 
 took place there, but there must have been a terrible scene ; for they 
 brought Mademoiselle Marguerite back unconscious, in one of the baron's 
 carriages." 
 
 " Do you hear that, viscount ? " exclaimed M. de Valorsay. 
 
 "Yes! You shall have the explanation to-morrow," answered M. de 
 Coralth. 
 
 " And last, but not least," resumed Madame Leon. " On returning 
 home this evening at about five o'clock, I fancied I saw Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite leave the house and go up the Rue Pigalle. I had thought she was 
 ill and in bed, and I said to myself, ' This is very strange.' So I hastened 
 after her. It was indeed she. Of course, I followed her. And what did 
 I see ? Why, Mademoiselle paused to talk with a vagabond, clad in a 
 blouse. They exchanged notes, and Mademoiselle Marguerite returned 
 home. And here I am. She must certainly suspect something. What is 
 to be done ? " 
 
 If M. de'fValorsay were frightened, he did not show it. " Many thanks 
 for your zeal, my dear lady," he replied, " but all this is a mere nothing. 
 Return home at once ; you will receive my instructions to-morrow. " 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite had been greatly surprised on the occasion of 
 her visit to M. Fortunat when she saw Victor Chupin suddenly step forward 
 and eagerly exclaim : " I shall be unworthy of the name I bear if I do not 
 find M. Ferailleur for you in less than a fortnight." 
 
the count's millions. 167 
 
 It is true that M. Fortunat's clerk did not appear to the best advantage 
 on this occasion. In order to watch M. de Coralth, he had again arrayed 
 himself in his cast-off clothes, and with his blouse and his worn-out shoes, 
 his " knockers " and his glazed cap, he looked the vagabond to perfection. 
 Still, strange as it may seem, Mademoiselle Marguerite did not once doubt 
 the devotion of this strange auxiliary. Without an instant's hesitation she 
 replied, " I accept your services, monsieur." 
 
 Chupin felt at least a head taller as he heard this beautiful young girl 
 speak to him in a voice as clear and as sonorous as crystal. ' ' Ah ! you are 
 right to trust me," he rejoined, striking his chest with his clinched hand, 
 "for I have a heart but M 
 
 "But what, monsieur?" 
 
 " I am wondering if you would consent to do what I wish. It would be 
 a very good plan, but if it displeases you, we will say no more about it." 
 
 " And what do you wish ? " 
 
 %i To see you every day, so as to tell you what I've done, and to obtain 
 such directions as I may require. I'm well aware that I can't go to M. de 
 Fondege's door and ask to speak to you ; but there are other ways of seeing 
 each other. For instance, every evening at five o'clock precisely, I might 
 pass along the Rue Pigalle, and warn you of my presence by such a signal as 
 this : * Pi-ouit ! '" So saying he gave vent to the peculiar call, half whistle 
 half ejaculation, which is familiar to the Parisian working-classes. " Then," 
 he resumed, "you might come down and I would tell you the news; 
 besides, I might often help you by doing errands." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite reflected for a moment, and then bowing her 
 head, she replied : 
 
 " What you suggest is quite practicable. On and after to-morrow even- 
 ing I will watch for you ; and if I don't come down at the end of half an 
 hour, you will know that I am unavoidably detained." 
 
 Chupin ought to have been satisfied. But no, he had still another re- 
 quest to make ; and instinct, supplying the lack of education, told him that 
 it was a delicate one. Indeed, he dared not present his petition ; but his 
 embarrassment was so evident, and he twisted his poor cap so despairingly, 
 that at last the young girl gently asked him: "Is there anything 
 more ? " 
 
 He still hesitated, but eventually, mustering all his courage, he replied : 
 "Well, yes, Mademoiselle. I've never seen Monsieur Ferailleur. Is he 
 tall or short, light or dark, stout or thin ? I do not know. I might stand 
 face to face with him without being able to say, ' It's he. ' But it would be 
 quite a different thing if I only had a photograph of him. " 
 
 A crimson flush spread over Mademoiselle Marguerite's face. Still she 
 answered, unaffectedly, " I will give you M. Ferailleur's photograph to- 
 morrow, monsieur." 
 
 "Then I shall be all right!" exclaimed Chupin. "Have no fears, 
 mademoiselle, we shall outwit these scoundrels ! " 
 
 So far a silent witness of this scene, M. Fortunat now felt it his duty to 
 interfere. He was not particularly pleased by his clerk's suddenly in- 
 creased importance ; and yet it mattered little to him, for his only object 
 was to revenge himself on Valorsay. " Victor is a capable and trustworthy 
 3 r oung fellow, mademoiselle" he declared ; " he has grown up under my 
 training, and I think you will find him a faithful servant." 
 
 A ' have you finished, you old liar ? " rose to Chupin's lips, but respect 
 for Mademoiselle Marguerite prevented him from uttering the words. 
 
16S the count's millions. . 
 
 "Then everything is decided," she said, pleasantly. And with a smile 
 she offered her hand to Chupin as one does in concluding a bargain. 
 
 If he had yielded to his first impulse he would have thrown himself on 
 his knees and kissed this hand of hers, the whitest and most beautiful he 
 had ever seen. As it was, he only ventured to touch it with his finger tips, 
 and yet he changed colour two or three times. " What a woman ! " he ex- 
 claimed, when she had left them. "A perfect queen! A man would 
 willingly allow himself to be chopped in pieces for her sake ; and she's as 
 good and as clever as she's handsome. Did you notice, monsieur, that she 
 did not offer to pay me. She understood that I offered to work for her for 
 my own pleasure, for my own satisfaction and honour. Heavens ! how I 
 should have chafed if she had offered me money. How provoked I should 
 have been ! " 
 
 Chupin so fascinated that he wished no reward for his toil ! This was so 
 astonishing that M. Fortunat remained for a moment speechless with sur- 
 prise. " Have you gone mad, Victor? " he inquired at last. 
 
 " Mad ! I ? not at all ; I'm only becoming " He stopped short. He 
 was going to add : "an honest man." But it is scarcely proper to talk 
 about the rope in the hangman's house, and there are certain words which 
 should never be pronounced in the presence of certain people. Chupin 
 knew this, and so he quickly resumed : " When I become rich, when I'm a 
 great banker, and have a host of clerks who spend their time in counting 
 my gold behind a grating, I should like to have a wife of my own like 
 that. But I must be off about my business now, so till we meet again, 
 monsieur." 
 
 The foregoing conversation will explain how it happened that Madame 
 L6on chanced to surprise her dear young lady in close conversation with a 
 vagabond clad in a blouse. Victor Chupin was not a person to make promises 
 and then leave them unfulfilled. Though he was usually unimpressionable, 
 like all who lead a precarious existence, still, when his emotions were once 
 aroused, they did not spend themselves in empty protestations. It became 
 his fixed determination to find Pascal Ferailleur, and the difficulties of the 
 task in no wise weakened his resolution. His starting point was that 
 Pascal had lived in the Rue d'Ulm, and had suddenly gone off with his 
 mother, with the apparent intention of sailing for America. This was all 
 he knew positively, and everything else was mere conjecture. Still Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite had convinced him that instead of leaving Paris, 
 Pascal was really still there, only waiting for an opportunity to establish 
 his innocence, and to wreak his vengeance upon M. de Coralth and the 
 Marquis de Valorsay. On the other hand, with such a slight basis to depend 
 upon, was it not almost madness to hope to discover a man who had such 
 strong reasons for concealing himself ? Chupin did not think so ; in fact, 
 when he declared his determination to perform this feat, his plan was 
 already perfected. 
 
 On leaving M. Fortunat's office, he hastened straight to the Rue d'Ulm, 
 at the top of his speed. The concierge of the house where Pascal had for- 
 merly resided was by no means a polite individual. He was the very same 
 man who had answered Mademoiselle Marguerite's questions so rudely ; but 
 Chupin had a way of conciliating even the most crabbish doorkeeper, and 
 of drawing from him such information as he desired. He learned that at 
 nine o'clock on the sixteenth of October, Madame Ferailleur, after seeing her 
 trunks securely strapped on to a cab, had entered the vehicle, ordering the 
 driver to take her to the Railway Station in the Place du Havre ! Chupin 
 
the count's millions. 169 
 
 wished to ascertain the number of the cab, but the concierge could not give 
 it. He mentioned, however, that this cab had been procured by Madame 
 Ferailleur's servant-woman, who lived only a few steps from the house. 
 A moment later Chupin was knocking at this woman's door. She was a 
 very worthy person, and bitterly regretted the misfortunes which had 
 befallen her former employers. She confirmed the doorkeeper's story ; but 
 unfortunately she, too, had quite forgotten the number of the vehicle. 
 All she could say was that she had hired it at the cab stand in the Rue 
 Soufflot, and that the driver was a portly, pleasant-faced man. 
 
 Chupin repaired at once to the Rue Soufflot, where he found the man in 
 charge of the stand in the most savage mood imaginable. He began by 
 asking Chupin what right he had to question him, why he wished to do so, 
 and if he took him for a spy. He added that his duty only consisted in 
 noting the arrivals and departures of the drivers, and that he could give 
 no information whatever. There was evidently nothing to be gained from 
 this ferocious personage ; and yet Chupin bowed none the less politely as 
 he left the little office. "This is bad," he growled, as he walked away, for 
 he was really at a loss what to do next ; and if not discouraged, he was at 
 least extremely disconcerted and perplexed. Ah ! if he had only had a 
 card from the prefecture of police in his pocket, or if he had been more im- 
 posing in appearance, he would have encountered no obstacles ; he might 
 then have tracked this cab through the streets of Paris as easily as he could 
 have followed a man bearing a lighted lantern through the darkness. But 
 poor and humble, without letters of recommendation, and with no other 
 auxiliaries than his own shrewdness and experience, he had a great deal to 
 contend against. Pausing in his walk, he had taken off his cap and was 
 scratching his head furiously, when suddenly he exclaimed: "What an 
 ass I am ! " in so loud a tone that several passers-by turned to see who was 
 applying this unflattering epithet to himself. 
 
 Chupin had just remembered one of M. Isidore Fortunat's debtors, a 
 man whom he often visited in the hope of extorting some trifling amount 
 from him, and who was employed in the Central office of the Paris Cab 
 Company. " If any one can help me out of this difficulty, it must be that 
 fellow," he said to himself. " I hope I shall find him at his desk ! Come, 
 Victor, my boy, you must look alive ! " 
 
 However, he could not present himself at the office in the garb he then 
 wore, and so, much against his will, he went home and changed his clothes. 
 Then he took a cab at his own expense, and drove with all possible speed 
 to the main office of the Cab Company, in the Avenue de Segur. Never- 
 theless it was already ten o'clock when he arrived there. He was more 
 fortunate than he had dared to hope. The man he wanted had charge of a 
 certain department, and was compelled to return to the office every even- 
 ing after dinner. He was there now. 
 
 He was a poor devil who, while receiving a salary of fifteen hundred 
 francs a year, spent a couple of thousand, and utilized his wits in defending 
 his meagre salary from his creditors. On perceiving Chupin, he made a 
 wrathful gesture, and his first words were : "I haven't got a penny." 
 
 But Chupin smiled his most genial smile. " What ! " said he, "do you 
 fancy I've come to collect money from you here, and at this hour ? You 
 don't know me. I merely came to ask a favour of you." 
 
 The clerk's clouded face brightened. " Since that is the case, pray take 
 a seat, and tell me how I can serve you," he replied. 
 
 " Very well. At nine o'clock in the evening, on the sixteenth of October, 
 
170 the count's millions. 
 
 a lady living in the Rue d'Ulm sent to the stand in the Rue Soufflot for a 
 cab. Her baggage was placed upon it, and she went away no one knows 
 where. However, this lady is a relative of my employer, and he so much 
 wishes to find her that he would willingly give a hundred francs over and 
 above the amount you owe him, to ascertain the number of the vehicle. 
 He pretends that you can give him this number if you choose ; and it isn't 
 an impossibility, is it ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, nothing could be easier," replied the clerk, glad of an 
 opportunity to explain the ingenious mechanism of the office to an outsider. 
 " Have you ten minutes to spare ? " 
 
 " Ten days, if necessary," rejoined Chupin. 
 
 "Then you shall see." So saying the clerk rose and went into the 
 adjoining room, whence a moment later he returned carrying a large green 
 box. ' This contains the October reports sent in every evening by the 
 branch offices," he remarked in explanation. He next opened the box, 
 glanced over the documents it contained, and joyfully exclaimed : " Here 
 we have it. This is the report sent in by the superintendent of the cab- 
 stand in the Rue Soufflot on the 16th October. Here is a list of the vehicles 
 that arrived or left from a quarter to nine o'clock till a quarter past nine. 
 Five cabs came in, but we need not trouble ourselves about them. Three 
 went out bearing the numbers 1781, 3025, and 2140. One of these three 
 must have taken your employer's relative. " 
 
 " Then I must question the three drivers." 
 
 The clerk shrugged his shoulders. " What is the use of doing that? ' 
 he said, disdainfully. " Ah ! you don't understand the way in which we 
 manage our business ! The drivers are artful, but the company isn't a fool. 
 By expending a hundred and fifty thousand francs on its detective force 
 every year, it knows what each cab is doing at each hour of the day. I will 
 now look for the reports sent in respecting these three drivers. One of the 
 three will give us the desired information. " 
 
 This time the search was a considerably longer one, and Chupin was be- 
 ginning to grow impatient, when the clerk waved a soiled and crumpled 
 sheet of paper triumphantly in the air, and cried : " What did I tell you ? 
 This is the report concerning the driver of No. 2140. Listen : Friday, at ten 
 minutes past nine, sent to the Rue d'Ulm What do you think of that ? " 
 
 " It's astonishing ! But where can I find this driver ? " 
 
 " I can't say, just at this moment ; he's on duty now. But as he belongs 
 to this division he will be back sooner or later, so you had better wait. " 
 
 " I will wait then ; only as I've had no dinner, I'll go out and get a 
 mouthful to eat. I can promise you that M. Fortunat will send you back 
 your note cancelled." 
 
 Chupin was really very hungry, and so he rushed off to a little eating- 
 house which he had remarked on his way to the office. There for eighteen 
 sous he dined, or rather supped, like a prince ; and as he subsequently 
 treated himself to a cup of coffee and a glass of brandy, as a reward for 
 his toil, some little time had elapsed when he returned to the office. How- 
 ever, No. 2140 had not returned in his absence, so he stationed himself at 
 the door to wait for it. 
 
 His patience was severely tried, for it was past midnight when Chupin 
 saw the long-looked-for vehicle enter the courtyard. The driver slowly 
 descended from his box and then went into the cashier's office to pay over 
 his day's earnings, and hand in his report. Then he came out again 
 evidently bound for home. As the servant- woman had said, he was a stout, 
 
171 
 
 jovial-faced man, and he did not hesitate to accept a glass of "no matter 
 what " in a wine-shop that was still open. Whether he believed the story 
 that Chupin told to excuse his questions or not, at all events he answered 
 them very readily. He perfectly remembered having been sent to the Rue 
 d'Ulm, and spoke of his " fare " as a respectable-looking old lady, enumer- 
 ated the number of her trunks, boxes, and packages, and even described 
 their form. He had taken her to the railway station, stopping at the 
 entrance in the Rue d'Amsterdam ; and when the porters inquired, as 
 usual, "Where is this baggage to go ? " the old lady had answered, "To 
 London." 
 
 Chupin felt decidedly crestfallen on hearing this. He had fancied that 
 Madame Feraiileur had merely announced her intention of driving to the 
 Havre railway station so as to set possible spies on the wrong track, and 
 he would have willingly wagered anything, that after going a short dis- 
 tance she had given the cabman different instructions. Not so, however, he 
 had taken her straight to the station. Was Mademoiselle Marguerite deceived 
 then ? Had Pascal really fled from his enemies without an attempt at resist- 
 ance? Such a course seemed impossible on his part. Thinking over all this, 
 Chupin slept but little that night, and the next morning, before five o'clock, 
 he was wandering about the Rue d'Amsterdam peering into the wine-shops 
 in search of some railway porter. It did not take him long to find one, and 
 having done so, he made him the best of friends in less than no time. Al- 
 though this porter knew nothing about the matter himself, he took Chupin 
 to a comrade who remembered handling the baggage of an old lady bound 
 for London, on the evening of the sixteenth. However, this baggage was 
 not put into the train after all ; the old lady had left it in the cloak-room, 
 and the next day a fat woman of unprepossessing appearance had called 
 for the things, and had taken them away, after paying the charges for 
 storage. This circumstance had been impressed on the porter's mind by 
 the fact that the woman had not given him a farthing gratuity, although 
 he had been much more obliging than the regulations required. However, 
 when she went off, she remarked in a honeyed voice, but with an ex- 
 ceedingly impudent air : " I'll repay you for your kindness, my lad. I 
 keep a wine-shop on the Route d'Asnieres, and. if you ever happen to pass 
 that way with one of your comrades, come in, and I'll reward you with a 
 famous drink ! " 
 
 What had exasperated the porter almost beyond endurance, was the cer- 
 tainty he felt that she was mocking him. " For she didn't give me her 
 name or address, the old witch ! " he growled. "She had better look out, if I 
 ever get hold of her again ! " 
 
 But Chupin had already gone off, unmoved by his informant's^ griev- 
 ances. Now that he had discovered the stratagem which Madame 
 Feraiileur had employed to elude her pursuers, his conjectures were 
 changed into certainties. This information proved that Pascal was con- 
 cealed somewhere in Paris ; but where ? If he could only find out this woman 
 who had called for the trunks, it would lead to the discovery of Madame 
 Feraiileur and her son, but how was he to ascertain the woman's where- 
 abouts? She had said that she kept a wine-shop on the Route d'Asnieres. 
 Was this true ? Was it not more likely that this vague direction was only 
 a fresh precaution ? 
 
 This much was certain : Chupin,, who knew every wine-shop on the 
 Route d'Asnieres, did not remember any such powerful matron as the 
 porter had described. He had not forgotten Madame Vantrasson. But to 
 
172 the count's millions. 
 
 Imagine any bond of interest between Pascal and such a woman as she was, 
 seemed absurd in the extreme. However, as he found himself in such a 
 plight and could not afford to let any chance escape, he repaired merely for 
 form's sake to the Vantrasson establishment. It had not changed in the 
 least since the evening he visited it in company with M. Fortunat but 
 seen in the full light of day, it appeared even more dingy and dilapidated. 
 Madame Vantrasson was not in her accustomed place, behind the counter, 
 between her black cat her latest idol and the bottles from which sh 
 prepared her ratafia, now her supreme consolation here below. There was 
 no one in the shop but the landlord. Seated at a table, with a lighted 
 candle near him, he was engaged in an occupation which would have set 
 Chupin's mind working if he had noticed it. Vantrasson had taken some 
 wax from a sealed bottle, and, after melting it at the flame of the candle, 
 he let it drop slowly on to the table. He then pressed a sou upon it, and 
 when the wax had become sufficiently cool and stiff, he removed it from 
 the table without destroying the impression, by means of a thin bladed 
 knife similar to those which glaziers use. However, Chupin did not remark 
 this singular employment. He was engaged in mentally ejaculating, 
 "Good ! the old woman isn't here." And as his plan of campaign was al- 
 ready prepared, he entered without further hesitation. 
 
 As Vantrasson heard the door turn upon its hinges, he rose so awkwardly, 
 or rather so skilfully, as to let all his implements, wax, knife, and impres- 
 sions fall on the floor behind the counter. " What can I do to serve you ?" 
 he asked, in a husky voice. 
 
 "Nothing. I wished to speak with your wife." 
 
 " She has gone out. She works for a family in the morning." 
 
 This was a gleam of light. Chupin had not thought of the only hy- 
 pothesis that could explain what seemed inexplicable to him. However, 
 he knew how to conceal his satisfaction, and so with an air of disappoint- 
 ment, he remarked : " That's too bad ! I shall be obliged to call again." 
 
 ' ' So you have a secret to tell my wife ? " 
 
 "Not at all." 
 
 " Won't I do as well, then ? " 
 
 "I'll tell you how it is. I'm employed in the baggage room of the 
 western railway station, and I wanted to know if your wife didn't call 
 there a few days ago for some trunks ? " 
 
 The landlord's features betrayed the vague perturbation of a person who 
 can count the days by his mistakes, and it was with evident hesitation that 
 he replied : 
 
 "Yes, my wife went to the Havre station for some baggage last 
 Sunday." 
 
 " I thought so. Well, this is my errand : either the clerk forgot to ask 
 her for her receipt, or else he lost it. He can't find it anywhere. I came 
 to ask your wife if she hadn't kept it. When she returns, please deliver 
 my message ; and if she has the receipt, pray send it to me through the 
 post." 
 
 The ruse was not particularly clever, but it was sufficiently so to deceive 
 Vantrasson. " To whom am I to send this receipt? " he asked. 
 
 " To me, Victor Chupin, Faubourg Saint Denis," was the reply. 
 
 Imprudent youth ! alas, he little suspected what a liberty M. Fortunat 
 had taken with his name on the evening he visited the Vantrassons. But 
 on his side the landlord of the Model Lodging House had not forgotten the 
 name mentioned by the agent. He turned pale with anger on beholding 
 
the count's millions. 173 
 
 his supposed creditor, and quickly slipping between the visitor and the 
 door, he said : "So your name is Victor Chupin ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 "And you are in the employment of the Railway Company ? " 
 
 " As I just told you." 
 
 4< That doesn't prevent you from acting as a collector, does it? " 
 
 Chupin instinctively recoiled, convinced that he had betrayed himself by 
 some blunder, but unable to discover in what he had erred. "I did do 
 something in that line formerly," he faltered. 
 
 Vantrasson doubted no longer. "So you confess that you are a vile 
 scoundrel ! " he exclaimed. " You confess that you purchased an old 
 promissory note of mine for fourpence, and then sent a man here to seize my 
 goods ! Ah ! you'd like to trample the poor under foot, would you ! Very 
 well. I have you now, and I'll settle your account ! Take that ! " And 
 so saying, he dealt his supposed creditor a terrible blow with his clinched 
 fist that sent him reeling to the other end of the shop. 
 
 Fortunately, Chupin was very nimble. He did not lose his footing, but 
 sprung over a table and used it as a rampart to shield himself from his 
 dangerous assailant. In the open field, he could easily have protected him- 
 self ; but here in this narrow space, and hemmed in a corner, he felt that 
 despite this barrier he was lost. "What a devil of a mess ! " he thought, 
 as with wonderful agility he avoided Vantrasson's fist, a fist that would 
 have felled an ox. He had an idea of calling for assistance. But would 
 any one hear him ? Would any one reply ? And if help came, would not 
 the police be sure to hear of the broil ? And if they did, would there not 
 be an investigation which would perhaps disturb Pascal's plans ? Fearing 
 to injure those whom he wished to serve, he resolved to let himself be 
 hacked to pieces rather than allow a cry to escape him ; but he changed 
 his tactics, and instead of attempting to parry the blows as he had done 
 before, he now only thought of gaining the door, inch by inch. 
 
 He had almost reached it, but not without suffering considerable injury, 
 when it suddenly opened, and a young man clad in black, with a smooth 
 shaven face, entered the shop, and sternly exclaimed : " Why ! what's all 
 this ? " 
 
 The sight of the new-comer seemed to stupefy Vantrasson. " Ah ! it is 
 you, Monsieur Maumejan ? " he faltered, with a crestfallen air. "It's noth- 
 ing ; we were only in fun. " 
 
 M. Maumejan seemed perfectly satisfied with this explanation ; and in 
 the indifferent tone of a man who is delivering a message, the meaning of 
 which he scarcely understood, he said : "A person who knows that your 
 wife is in my employ requested me to ask you if you would be ready to at- 
 tend to that little matter she spoke of." 
 
 " Certainly. I was preparing for it a moment ago." 
 
 Chupin heard no more. He had hurried out, his clothes in disorder, and 
 himself not a little hurt ; but his delight made him lose all thought of his 
 injuries. "That's M. Ferailleur," he muttered, " I'm sure of it, and I'm 
 going to prove it. " So saying he hid himself in the doorway of a vacant 
 house a few paces distant from the Vantrasson's, and waited. 
 
 Then as soon as M. Maum6jan emerged from the Model Lodging House, 
 he followed him. The young man with the clean shaven face walked up 
 the Route d'Asnieres, turned to the right into the Route de la Revolte, and 
 at last paused before a house of humble aspect. At that moment Chupin 
 darted towards him, and softly called, " M'sieur Ferailleur ! " 
 
174 the count's millions. 
 
 The young man turned instinctively. Then seeing his mistake, and 
 feeling that he had betrayed himself, he sprang upon Chupin, and caught 
 him by the wrists: "Scoundrel! who are you? "he exclaimed. "Who 
 has hired you to follow me ? What do you want of me ? " 
 
 " Not so fast, m'sieur ! Don't be so rough ! You hurt me. I'm sent by 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite ! " 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " God ! send Pascal to my aid," prayed Mademoiselle Marguerite, as she 
 left M. Fortunat's house. Now she understood the intrigue she had been 
 the victim of ; but, instead of reassuring her the agent had frightened her, 
 by revealing the Marquis de Valorsay's desperate plight. She realised 
 what frenzied rage must fill this man's heart a3 he felt himself gradually 
 slipping from the heights of opulence, down into the depths of poverty and 
 crime. What might he not dare, in order to preserve even the semblance 
 of grandeur for a year, or a month, or a day longer ! Had they measured 
 the extent of his villainy ? Would he even hesitate at murder ? And the 
 poor girl asked herself with a shudder if Pascal were still living ; and a 
 vision of his bleeding corpse, lying lifeless in some deserted street, rose be- 
 fore her. And who could tell what dangers threatened her personally ? 
 For, though she knew the past, she could not read the future. What did 
 M. de Valorsay's letter mean ? and what was the fate that he held in re- 
 serve for her, and that made him so sanguine of success ? The impression 
 produced upon her mind was so terrible that for a moment she thought of 
 hastening to the old justice of the peace to ask for his protection and a 
 refuge. But this weakness did not last long. Should she lose her energy ? 
 Should her will fail her at the decisive moment ? " No, a thousand times 
 no ! " she said to herself again and again. " I will die if needs be, but I 
 will die fighting ! " And the nearer she approached the Rue Pigalle, the 
 more energetically she drove away her apprehension, and sought for 
 an excuse calculated to satisfy any one who might have noticed her long 
 absence. 
 
 An unnecessary precaution. She found the house as when she left it, 
 abandoned to the mercy of the servants the strangers sent the evening 
 before from the employment office. Important matters still kept the 
 General and his wife from home. The husband had to show his horses ; and 
 the wife was intent upon shopping. As for Madame Leon, most of her 
 time seemed to be taken up by the family of relatives she had so suddenly 
 discovered. Alone, free from all espionage, and wishing to ward off des- 
 pondency by occupation, Mademoiselle Marguerite was just beginning a 
 letter to her friend the old magistrate, when a servant entered and an- 
 nounced that her dressmaker was there and wished to speak with her. 
 " Let her come in," replied Marguerite, with unusual vivacity. "Let her 
 come in at once. " 
 
 A lady who looked some forty years of age, plainly dressed, but of dis- 
 tinguished appearance, was thereupon ushered into the room. Like any 
 well-bred modiste, she bowed respectfully while the servant was present, 
 but as soon as he had left the room she approached Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite and took hold of her hands : " My dear young lady," said she, 
 " I am the sister-in-law of your old friend, the magistrate. Having an 
 important message to send to you he was trying to find a person whom he 
 could trust to play the part of a dressmaker, as had been agreed upon be- 
 
THE COUNT *8 MILLIONS. 175 
 
 tween you, when I offered my serviced, thinking he could find no one more 
 trusty than myself." 
 
 Tears glittered in Mademoiselle Marguerite's eyes. The slightest token 
 of sympathy is so sweet to the heart of the lonely and unfortunate ! " How 
 can I ever thank you, madame ? " she faltered. 
 
 1 * By not attempting to thank me at all, and by reading this letter as soon 
 as possible." 
 
 The note she now produced ran as follows : " My Dear Child At last I 
 am on the track of the thieves. By conferring with the people from whom 
 M. de Chalusse received the money a couple of days before his death, I have 
 been fortunate enough to obtain from them some minute details respecting 
 the missing bonds, as well as the numbers of the bank-notes which were 
 deposited in the escritoire. With this information, we cannot fail to prove 
 the guilt of the culprits sooner or later. You write me word that the 
 Fondeges are spending money lavishly ; try and find out the names of the 
 people they deal with, and communicate them to me. Once more, I tell 
 you that I am sure of success. Courage ! " 
 
 "Well !" said the spurious dressmaker, when she saw that Marguerite 
 had finished reading the letter. " What answer shall I take my brother- 
 in-law?" 
 
 ' ' Tell him that he shall certainly have the information he requires to- 
 morrow. To-day, I can only give him the name of the carriage builder, 
 from whom M. de Fondege has purchased his new carriages." 
 
 "Give it to me in writing, it is much the safest way." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite did so, and her visitor who, as a woman, was 
 delighted to find herself mixed up in an intrigue, then went off repeating 
 the old magistrate's advice : * Courage ! " 
 
 But it was no longer necessary to encourage Mademoiselle Marguerite. 
 The assurance of being so effectually helped, had already increased her 
 courage an hundredfold. The future that had seemed so gloomy only a 
 moment before, had now suddenly brightened. By means of the negative in 
 the keeping of the photographer, Carjat, she had the Marquis de Valorsay 
 in her power ; and the magistrate, thanks to the numbers of the bank- 
 notes, could soon prove the guilt of the Fondeges. The protection of Pro- 
 vidence was made evident in an unmistakeable manner. Thus it was with 
 a placid and almost smiling face that she successively greeted Madame 
 Leon, who returned home quite played out, then Madame de Fondege, who 
 made her appearance attended by two shop-boys overladen with packages, 
 and finally, the General, who brought his son, Lieutenant Gustave, with 
 him to dinner. 
 
 The lieutenant was a good-looking fellow of twenty-seven, or thereabouts, 
 with laughing eyes and a heavy moustache. He made a great clanking 
 with his spurs, and wore the somewhat theatrical uniform of the 13th Hus- 
 sars rather ostentatiously. He bowed to Mademoiselle Marguerite with a 
 3mile that was too becoming to be displeasing ; and he offered her his arm 
 with an air of triumph to lead her to the dining-room, as soon as the servant 
 came to announce that " Madame la Comtesse was served." 
 
 Seated opposite to him at table, the young girl could not refrain from 
 furtively watching the man whom they wished to compel her to marry. 
 Never had she seen such intense self-complacency coupled with such utter 
 mediocrity. It was evident that he was doing his best to produce a favour- 
 able impression ; but as the dinner progressed, his conversation became 
 rather venturesome. He gradually grew extremely animated ; and three or 
 
176 the count's millions. 
 
 four adventures of garrison life which he persisted in relating despite his 
 mother's frowns, were calculated to convince his hearers that he was a great 
 favourite with the fair sex. It was the good cheer, that loosened his 
 tongue. There could be no possible doubt on that score ; and, indeed, while 
 drinking a glass of the Chateau Laroze, to which Madame Leon had taken 
 such a liking, he was indiscreet enough to declare that if his mother had 
 always kept house in this fashion, he should have been inclined to ask for 
 more frequent leaves of absence. 
 
 However, strange to say, after the coffee was served, the conversation 
 languished till at last it died out almost entirely. Madame de Fondege 
 was the first to disappear on the pretext that some domestic affairs required 
 her attention. The General was the next to rise and go out, in order to 
 smoke a cigar ; and finally Madame L6on made her escape without saying 
 a word. So Mademoiselle Marguerite was left quite alone with Lieuten- 
 ant Gustave. It was evident enough to the young girl that this had been 
 preconcerted; and she asked herself what kind of an opinion M. and 
 Madame de Fondege could have of her delicacy. The proceeding made her 
 so indignant that she was on the point of rising from the table and of re- 
 tiring like the others, when reason restrained her. She said to herself that 
 perhaps she might gain some useful information from this young man, and 
 so she remained. 
 
 His face was crimson, and he seemed by far the more embarrassed of the 
 two. He sat with one elbow resting on the table, and with his gaze per- 
 sistently fixed upon a tiny glass half-full of brandy which he held in his 
 hand, as if he hoped to gain some sublime inspiration from it. At last, 
 after an interval of irksome silence, he ventured to exclaim : "Mademoiselle, 
 should you like to be an officer's wife ? " 
 
 "I don't know," answered Marguerite. 
 
 " Really ! But at least you understand my motive in asking this ques- 
 tion ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 Any one but the complacent lieutenant would have been disconcerted by 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite's dry tone ; but he did not even notice it. The 
 effort that he was making in his intense desire to be eloquent and persuas- 
 ive absorbed the attention of all his faculties. " Then permit me to ex- 
 plain, mademoiselle," he resumed. " We meet this evening for the first 
 time, but our acquaintance is not the affair of a day. For I know not how 
 long my father and mother have continually been chanting your praises. 
 * Mademoiselle Marguerite does this ; Mademoiselle Marguerite does that.' 
 They never cease talking of you, declaring that heart, wit, talent, beauty, 
 all womanly charms are united in your person. And they have never 
 wearied of telling me that the man whom you honoured with your preference 
 would be the happiest of mortals. However so far I had no desire to marry, 
 and I distrusted them. In fact, I had conceived a most violent prejudice 
 against you. Yes, upon my honour ! I felt sure that I should dislike you ; 
 but I have seen you and all is changed. As soon as my eyes fell upon you, 
 I experienced a powerful revulsion of feeling. I was never so smitten in 
 my life and I said to myself, Lieutenant, it is all over you are caught 
 at last ! '" 
 
 t Pale with anger, astonished and humiliated beyond measure, the young 
 girl listened with her head lowered, vainly trying to find words to express 
 the feelings which disturbed her ; but M. Gustave, misunderstanding her 
 silence, and congratulating himself upon the effect he had produced, grew 
 
177 
 
 bolder, and with the tenderest and most impassioned inflection he could 
 impart to his voice, continued : "Who could fail to be impressed as I have 
 been ? How could one behold, without rapturous admiration, such beauti- 
 ful eyes, such glorious black hair, such smiling lips, such a graceful mien, 
 such wonderful charms of person and of mind ? How would it be possible 
 to listen, unmoved, to a voice which is clearer and purer than crystal ? 
 Ah ! my mother's descriptions fell far short of the truth. But how can 
 one describe the perfections of an angel ? To any one who has the happi- 
 ness or the misfortune of knowing you, there can only be one woman in the 
 world ! " 
 
 He had gradually approached her chair, and now extended his hand to 
 take hold of Marguerite's, and probably raise it to his lips. But she shrank 
 from the contact as from red-hot iron, and rising hurriedly, with her eyes 
 flashing, and her voice quivering with indignation : " Monsieur ! " she ex- 
 claimed, "Monsieur!" 
 
 He was- so surprised that he stood as if petrified, with his eyes wide open 
 and his hand still extended. "Permit me allow me to explain," he 
 stammered. But she declined to listen. "Who has told you that you 
 could address such words to me with impunity? " she continued. " Your 
 parents, I suppose ; I daresay they told you to be bold. And that is why 
 they have left us, and why no servant has appeared. Ah ! they make me 
 pay dearly for the hospitality they have given me ! " As she spoke the 
 tears started from her eyes and glistened on her long lashes. " Whom did 
 you fancy you were speaking to ? " she added. " Would you have been so 
 audacious if I had a father or a brother to resent your insults ? " 
 
 The lieutenant started as if he had been lashed with a whip. " Ah ! you 
 are severe ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 And a happy inspiration entering his mind, he continued : "A man 
 does not insult a woman, mademoiselle, when, while telling her that he 
 loves her and thinks her beautiful, he offers her his name and life." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite shrugged her shoulders ironically, and remained 
 for a moment silent. She was very proud, and her pride had been cruelly 
 wounded ; but reason told her that a continuation of this scene would 
 render a prolonged sojourn in the General's house impossible ; and where 
 could she go, without exciting malevolent remarks? Whom could she ask an 
 asylum of ? Still this consideration alone would not have sufficed to silence 
 her. But she remembered that a quarrel and a rupture with the Fondeges 
 would certainly imperil the success of her plans. " So I will swallow even 
 this affront, " she said to herself ; and then in a tone of melancholy bitterness, 
 she remarked, aloud : "A man cannot set a very high value on his name 
 when he offers it to a woman whom he knows absolutely nothing about." 
 
 " Excuse me you forget that my mother " 
 
 " Your mother has only known me for a week." 
 
 An expression of intense surprise appeared on the lieutenant's face. " Is 
 it possible ? " he murmured. 
 
 " Your father has met me five or six times at the table of the Count de 
 Chalusse, who was his friend but what does he know of me ? " resumed 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite. " That I came to the Hotel de Chalusse a year 
 ago, and that the count treated me like a daughter that is all ! Who I 
 am, where was I reared, and how, and what my past life has been, these 
 are matters that M. de Fondege knows nothing whatever about." 
 
 " My parents told me that you were the daughter of the Count de 
 Chalusse mademoiselle." 
 
178 the count's millions. 
 
 " What proof have they of it ? They ought to have told you that I was 
 an unfortunate foundling, with no other name than that of Marguerite." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " They ought to have told you that I am poor, very poor, and that I 
 should probably have been reduced to the necessity of toiling for my daily 
 bread, if it had not been for them. " 
 
 An incredulous smile curved the lieutenant's lips. He fancied that 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite only wished to prove his disinterestedness, and 
 this thought restored his assurance. "Perhaps you are exaggerating a 
 little, mademoiselle," he replied. 
 
 "lam not exaggerating I possess but ten thousand francs in the world 
 I swear it by all that I hold sacred. " 
 
 " That would not even be the dowry required of an officer's wife by law,' 
 muttered the lieutenant. 
 
 Was his incredulity sincere or affected ? What had his parents really 
 told him ? Had they confided everything to him, and was he their accom- 
 plice ? or had they told him nothing ? All these questions flashed rapidly 
 through Marguerite's mind. " You suppose that I am rich, monsieur," 
 she resumed at last. " I understand that only too well. If I was, you 
 ought to shun me as you would shun a criminal, for I could only be wealthy 
 through a crime." 
 
 " Mademoiselle " 
 
 " Yes, through a crime. After M. de Chalusse's death, two million 
 francs that had been placed in his escritoire for safe keeping, could not be 
 found. Who stole the money ? I myself have been accused of the theft. 
 Your father must have told you of this, as well as of the cloud of suspicion 
 that is still hanging over me." 
 
 She paused, for the lieutenant had become whiter than his shirt. " Good 
 God ! " he exclaimed in a tone of horror, as if a terrible light had suddenly 
 broken upon his mind. He made a movement as if to leave the room, but 
 suddenly changing his mind, he bowed low before Mademoiselle Marguerite, 
 and said, in a husky voice : "Forgive me, mademoiselle, I did not know 
 what I was doing. I have been misinformed. I have been beguiled by 
 false hopes. I entreat you to say that you forgive me." 
 
 " I forgive you, monsieur." 
 
 But still he lingered. "I am only a poor devil of a lieutenant," he 
 resumed, " with no other fortune than my epaulettes, no other prospects 
 than an uncertain advancement. I have been foolish and thoughtless. I 
 have committed many acts of folly ; but there is nothing in my past life for 
 which I have cause to blush." He looked fixedly at Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite, as if he were striving to read her inmost soul ; and in a solemn 
 tone, that contrasted strangely with his usual levity of manner, he added : 
 "If the name I bear should ever be compromised, my prospects would be 
 blighted forever ! The only course left for me Would be to tender my 
 resignation. I will leave nothing undone to preserve my honour in the 
 eyes of the world, and to right those who have been wronged. Promise me 
 not to interfere with my plans." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite trembled like a leaf. She now realized her 
 terrible imprudence. He had divined everything. As she remained 
 silent, he continued wildly : "I entreat you. Do you wish me to beg you 
 at your feet?" 
 
 Ah ! it was a terrible sacrifice that he demanded of her. But how could 
 she remain obdurate in the presence of such intense anguish ? "I will 
 
the count's millions. 179 
 
 remain neutral," she replied, "that is all I can promise. Providence shall 
 decide." 
 
 " Thank you," he said, sadly, suspecting that perhaps it was already too 
 late "thank you." Then he turned to go, and, in fact, he had already 
 opened the door, when a forlorn hope brought him back to Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite, whose hand he took, timidly faltering, " We are friends, are 
 we not ? " 
 
 She did not withdraw her icy hand, and in a scarcely audible voice, she 
 repeated : " We are friends ? " 
 
 Convinced that he could obtain nothing more from her than her promised 
 neutrality, the lieutenant thereupon hastily left the room, and she sank 
 back in her chair more dead than alive. "Great God ! what is coming 
 now ? " she murmured. 
 
 She thought she could understand the unfortunate young man's inten- 
 tions, and she listened with a throbbing heart, expecting to hear a stormy 
 explanation between his parents and himself. In point of fact, she almost 
 immediately afterwards heard the lieutenant inquire in a stern imperious 
 voice : " Where is my father ? " 
 
 " The General has just gone to his club." 
 
 " And my mother ? " 
 
 " A friend of hers called a few moments ago to take her to the opera." 
 
 " What madness ! " 
 
 That was all. The outer door opened and closed again with extreme 
 violence, and then Marguerite heard nothing save the sneering remarks of 
 the servants. 
 
 It was, indeed, madness on the part of M. and Madame de Fondkge not 
 to have waited to learn the result of this interview, planned by themselves, 
 and upon which their very lives depended. But delirium seemed to have 
 seized them since, thanks to a still inexplicable crime, they had suddenly 
 found themselves in possession of an immense fortune. Perhaps in this 
 wild pursuit of pleasure, in the haste they displayed to satisfy their covetous 
 longings, they hoped to forget or silence the threatening voice of conscience. 
 Such was Mademoiselle Marguerite's conclusion ; but she was not long left 
 to undisturbed meditation. By the lieutenant's departure the restrictions 
 which had been placed upon the servants' movements had evidently been 
 removed, for they came in to clear the table. 
 
 Having with some little difficulty obtained a candle from one of these 
 model servants, Mademoiselle Marguerite now retired to her own room. 
 In her anxiety, she forgot Madame LCon, but the latter had not forgotten 
 her ; she was even now listening at the drawing-room door, inconsolable to 
 think that she had not succeeded in hearing at least part of the conver- 
 sation between the lieutenant and her dear young lady. Marguerite had 
 no wish to reflect over what had occurred. As she was determined to keep 
 toe promise which Lieutenant Gustave had wrung from her, it mattered 
 little whether she had committed a great mistake in allowing him to dis- 
 cover her knowledge of his parent's guilt, and in listening to his entreaties. 
 A secret presentiment warned her that the punishment which would over- 
 take the General and his wife would be none the less terrible, despite her 
 own forbearance, and that they would find their son more inexorable than 
 the severest judge. 
 
 The essential thing was to warn the old magistrate ; and so in a couple 
 of pages she summarized the scene of the evening, feeling sure that she 
 would find an opportunity to post her letter on the following day. This 
 
180 
 
 duty accomplished, she took a book and went to bed, hoping to drive away 
 her gloomy thoughts by reading. But the hope was vain. Her eyes read 
 the words, followed the lines and crossed the pages, but her mind utterly 
 refused to obey her will, and in spite of all her efforts persisted in turning 
 to the shrewd youth who had solemnly sworn to find Pascal for her. A 
 little after midnight Madame de Fondege returned from the opera, and at 
 once proceeded to reprimand her maid for not having lighted a fire. The 
 General returned some time afterwards, and he was evidently in the best of 
 spirits. 
 
 "They have not seen their son," said Mademoiselle Marguerite to her- 
 self, and this anxiety, combined with many others, tortured her so cruelly, 
 that she did not fall asleep until near daybreak. Even then she did not 
 slumber long. It was scarcely half-past seven when she was aroused by a 
 strange commotion and a loud sound of hammering. She was trying to 
 imagine the cause of all this uproar, when Madame de Fondege, already 
 arrayed in a marvellous robe composed of three skirts and an enormous 
 puff, entered the room. "I have come to take you away, my dear child," 
 she exclaimed. " The owner of the house has decided to make some 
 repairs, and the workmen have already invaded our apartments. The 
 General has taken flight, let us follow his example so make yourself 
 beautiful and we'll go at once. " 
 
 Without a word, the young girl hastened to obey, while Madame de 
 Fondege expatiated on the delightful drive they would take together in the 
 wonderful brougham which the general had purchased a couple of days 
 before. As for Lieutenant Gustave, she did not even mention his name. 
 
 Accustomed to the superb equipages of the Chalusse establishment, Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite did not consider the much lauded brougham at all 
 remarkable. At the most, it was very showy, having apparently been 
 selected with a view to attracting as much attention as possible. Madame 
 de Fondege was not in a mood to consider this an objection that morning. 
 She was evidently in a nervous state of mind, extremely restless and excited, 
 indeed it seemed impossible for her to keep still. In default of something 
 better to do, she visited at least a dozen shops, asking to see everything, 
 finding everything frightful, and purchasing without regard to price. It 
 might have been fancied that she wished to buy all Paris. About ten 
 o'clock she dragged Marguerite to Van Klopen's. Received as a habitvde 
 of the establishment, thanks to the numerous orders she had given within 
 the past few days, she was even allowed to enter the mysterious saloon in 
 which the illustrious ruler of Fashion served such of his clients as had a 
 predeliction for absinthe or madeira. On leaving the place, and before 
 entering the carriage again, Madame de Fondege turned to Marguerite and 
 inquired : " Where shall we go now ? I have given the servants an 'outing' 
 on account of the workmen, and we cannot breakfast at home. Why can't 
 we go to a restaurant, we two ? Many of the most distinguished ladies are 
 in the habit of doing so. You will see how people will look at us ! I am 
 sure it will amuse you immensely." 
 
 " Ah ! madame, you forget that it is not a fortnight since the count's 
 death ! " 
 
 Madame de Fondege was about to make an impatient reply, but she 
 mastered the impulse, and in a tone of hypocritical compassion, exclaimed: 
 " Poor child ! poor, dear child ! that's true. I had forgotten. Well, such 
 being the case, we'll go and ask Baroness Trigault to give us our breakfast. 
 You will see a lovely woman." And addressing the coachman she in- 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 181 
 
 structed him to drive to the Trigault mansion in the Rue de la Ville* 
 l'Ev6que. 
 
 When Madame de Fondege's brougham drew up before the door, the 
 baron was standing in the courtyard with a cigar between his teeth, 
 examining a pair of horses which had been sent him on approbation. He 
 did not like his wife's friend, and he usually avoided her. But precisely 
 because he was acquainted with the General's crime and Pascal's plans, he 
 thought it politic to seem amiable. So, on recognising Madame de Fondege 
 through the carriage window, he hastened forward with outstretched hand 
 to assist her in alighting. " Did you come to take breakfast with us ? " 
 he asked. " That would be a most delightful 
 
 The remainder of the sentence died unuttered upon his lips. His face 
 became crimson, and the cigar he was holding slipped from his fingers. He 
 had just perceived Mademoiselle Marguerite, and his consternation was so 
 apparent that Madame de Fondege could not fail to remark it ; however 
 she attributed it to the/girl's remarkable beauty. " This is Mademoiselle 
 de Chalusse, my dear baron," said she, "the daughter of the noble and es- 
 teemed friend whom we so bitterly lament. " 
 
 Ah ! it was not necessary to tell the baron who this young girl was ; he 
 knew it only too well. He was not overcome for long ; a thought of ven- 
 geance speedily flashed through his mind. It seemed to him that Provi- 
 dence itself offered him the means of putting an end to an intolerable 
 situation. Regaining his self-control by a powerful effort, he preceded 
 Madame de Fondege through the magnificent apartments of the mansion, 
 Sghtly saying : " My wife is in her boudoir. She will be delighted to see 
 you. But first of all, I have a good secret to confide to you. So let me 
 take this young lady to the baroness, and you and I can join them in a 
 moment ! " Thereupon, without waiting for any rejoinder, he took Mar- 
 guerite's arm and led her towards the end of the hall. Then opening a 
 door, he exclaimed in a mocking voice : " Madame Trigault, allow me to 
 present to you the daughter of the Count de Chalusse." And adding in a 
 whisper: " This is your mother, young girl," he pushed the astonished 
 Marguerite into the room, closed the door, and returned to Madame de 
 Fondege. 
 
 Paler than her white muslin wrapper, the Baroness Trigault sprang from 
 her chair. This was the woman who, while her husband was braving 
 death to win fortune for her, had been dazzled by the Count de Chalusse's 
 wealth, and who, later in life, when she was the richest of the rich, had 
 sunk into the very depths of degradation had stooped, indeed, to a 
 Coralth ! The baroness had once been marvellously beautiful, and even 
 now, many murmurs of admiration greeted her when she dashed through 
 the Champs Elys6es in her magnificent equipage, attired in one of those 
 eccentric costumes which she alone dared to wear. She was a type of the 
 wife created by the customs of fashionable society ; the woman who feels 
 elated when her name appears in the newspapers, and in the chronicles of 
 Parisian * ' high life ; " who has no thought of her deserted fireside, but is 
 ever tormented by a terrible thirst for bustle and excitement ; whose head 
 is empty, and whose heart is dry the woman who only exists for the 
 world ; and who is devoured by unappeasable covetousness, and who, at 
 times, envies an actress's liberty, and the notoriety of the leaders of the 
 demi-monde ; the woman who is always in quest of fresh excitement, and 
 fails to find it ; the woman who is biases, and prematurely old in mind and 
 b-dy, and who yet still clings despairingly to her fleeting youth. 
 
182 the count's millions. 
 
 Inaccessible to any emotion but vanity, the baroness had never shed a 
 tear over her husband's sufferings. She was sure of her absolute power 
 over him. What did the rest matter ? She even gloried in her knowledge 
 that she could make this man who loved her in spite of everything at 
 one moment furious with rage or wild with grief, and then an instant after- 
 wards plunge him into the rapture of a senseless ecstasy by a word, a smile, 
 or a caress. For such was her power, and she often exercised it merci- 
 lessly. Even after the frightful scene that Pascal had witnessed, she had 
 made another appeal to the baron, and he had been weak enough to give 
 her the thirty thousand francs which M. de Coralth needed to purchase his 
 wife's silence. 
 
 However, this time the baroness trembled. Her usual shrewdness had 
 not deserted her, and she perfectly understood all that Marguerite's pres- 
 ence in that house portended. Since her husband brought this young girl 
 her daughter to her, he must know everything, and have taken some 
 fatal resolution. Had she, indeed, exhausted the patience which she had 
 fancied inexhaustible ? She was not ignorant of the fact that her husband 
 had disposed of his immense fortune in a way that would enable him to say 
 and prove that he was insolvent whenever occasion required ; and if he 
 found courage to apply for a legal separation, what could she hope to obtain 
 from the courts? A bare living, almost nothing. In such a case, how 
 could she exist ? She would be compelled to spend her last years in the 
 same poverty that had made her youth so wretched. She saw herself 
 ah ! what a frightful misfortune turned out of her princely home, and 
 reduced to furnished apartments rented for five hundred francs a year ! 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was no less startled and horror-stricken than 
 Madame Trigault, and she stood rooted to the spot, exactly where the 
 baron had left her. Silent and motionless, they confronted each other for 
 a moment which seemed a century to both of them. The resemblance 
 which had astonished Pascal could not fail to strike them, for it was still 
 more noticeable now that they stood face to face. But anything was pre- 
 ferable to this torturing suspense, and so, summoning all her courage, the 
 baroness broke the silence by saying : " You are the daughter of the 
 Count de Chalusse ? " 
 
 "I think so, but I have no proofs of it." 
 
 " And your mother ? " 
 
 " I do not know her, madame, and I have no desire to know her." 
 
 Disconcerted by this brief but implacable reply, Madame Trigault hung 
 her head. 
 
 "What could I have to say to my mother?" continued Marguerite. 
 " That I hate her ? My courage would fail me to do so. And yet, how 
 can I think without bitterness of the woman who, after abandoning me 
 herself, endeavoured to deprive me of my father's love and protection ? I 
 could have forgiven anything but that. Ah ! I have not always been 
 so patient and resigned ! The laws of our country do not forbid 
 illegitimate children to search for their parents, and more than once 
 I have said to myself that I would discover my mother, and have my 
 revenge." 
 
 " But you have no means of discovering her ? " 
 
 1 ' In this you are greatly mistaken, madame. After the Count de Chal- 
 usse's death, a package of letters, a glove, and some withered flowers were 
 found in one of the drawers of his escritoire." 
 
 The baroness started back as if a yawning chasm had suddenly opened at 
 
183 
 
 her feet. "My letters ! " she exclaimed. "Ah ! wretched woman that I 
 am, he kept them ! It is all over ! I am lost, for of course, they have been 
 read." 
 
 " The ribbon securing them together has not even been untied." 
 
 "Is that true ? Don't deceive me ! Where are they, then where are 
 they?" 
 
 " Under the protection of the seals affixed by the justice of the peace." 
 
 Madame Trigault tottered, as if she were about to fall. " Then it is only 
 a reprieve," she moaned, " and I am none the less ruined. Those cursed 
 letters will necessarily be read, and all will be discovered. They will see " 
 The thought of what they would see endowed her with the energy of 
 despair, and clutching hold of Marguerite s wrists : " Listen !" said she, 
 approaching so near that her hot breath scorched the girl's cheeks, ' no one 
 must be allowed to see those letters ! it must not be ! I will tell you what 
 they contain. I hated my husband ; I loved the Count de Chalusse madly, 
 and he had sworn that he would marry me if ever I became a widow. Do 
 you understand now ? The name of the poison I obtained how I proposed 
 to administer it, and what its effects would be all this is plainly written 
 in my own handwriting and signed yes, signed with my own name. The 
 plot failed, but it was none the less real, positive, palpable and those 
 letters are a proof of it. But they shall never be read no not if I am 
 obliged to set fire to the H6tel de Chalusse with my own hand." 
 
 Now the count's constant terror, the fear with which this woman had 
 inspired him, were explained. He was an accomplice he also had written 
 no doubt, and she had preserved his letters as he had preserved hers. Crime 
 had bound them indissolubly together. 
 
 Horrified beyond expression, Marguerite freed herself from Madame 
 Trigault's grasp. " I swear to you, madame, that everything any human 
 being can do to save your letters shall be done by me," she exclaimed. 
 
 " And have you any hope of success ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied the girl, remembering her friend, the magistrate. 
 
 Moved by a far more powerful emotion than any she had ever known be- 
 fore, the baroness uttered an exclamation of joy. " Ah ! how good you are ! " 
 she exclaimed " how generous ! how noble ! You take your revenge in 
 giving me back life, honour, everything for you are my daughter ; do you 
 not know it ? Did they not tell you, before bringing you here that I was 
 the hated and unnatural mother who abandoned you ? " 
 
 She advanced with tearful eyes and outstretched arms, but Marguerite 
 sternly waved her back. " Spare yourself, madame, and spare me, the 
 humiliation of an unnecessary explanation." 
 
 "Marguerite ! Good God ! you repulse me. After all you have promised 
 to do for me, will you not forgive me ? " 
 
 "I will try to forget, madame," replied the girl and she was already 
 stepping towards the door when the baroness threw herself at her feet, cry- 
 ing, in a heart-rending tone. "Have pity, Marguerite, I am your mother. 
 One has no right to deny one's own mother." 
 
 But the young girl passed on. ' My mother is dead, madame ; I do not 
 know you ! " And she left the room without even turning her head, with- 
 out even glancing at the baroness, who had fallen upon the floor in a deep 
 swoon. 
 
18-i THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Baron Trigault still held Madame de Fondege a prisoner in the hall. 
 What did he say to her in justification of the expedient he had improvised ? 
 His own agitation was so great that he himself scarcely knew, and it 
 mattered but little after all, for the good lady did not even pretend to listen 
 to his apologies. Although by no means over shrewd, she suspected some 
 great mystery, some choice bit of scandal, perhaps, and her eyes never once 
 wandered from the door leading to the boudoir. At last this door opened 
 again, and Mademoiselle Marguerite reappeared. ' ' Great heavens ! " ex- 
 claimed Madame de Fondege ; " what has happened to my poor child ? " 
 
 For the unfortunate girl advanced with an automatic tread, her eyes 
 fixed on vacancy, and her hands outstretched, as if feeling her way. It 
 indeed seemed to her as if the floor swayed to and fro under her feet, as 
 if the walls tottered, as if the ceiling were about to fall upon her and 
 crush her. 
 
 Madame de Fondege sprang forward. " What is the matter, my 
 dearest ? " 
 
 Alas! the poor girl was utterly overcome. "It is but a trifle," she 
 faltered. But her eyes closed, her hands clutched wildly for some support, 
 and she would have fallen to the ground if the baron had not caught her in 
 his arms and carried her to a sofa. * ' Help 1 " cried Madame de Fondege, 
 " help, she is dying ! a physician ! " 
 
 But there was no need of a physician. One of the maids came with some 
 fresh water and a bottle of smelling salts, and Marguerite soon recovered 
 sufficiently to sit up, and cast a frightened glance around her, while she 
 mechanically passed her hand again and again over her cold forehead. 
 " Do you feel better, my darling ? " inquired Madame de Fondege at last. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Ah ! you gave me a terrible fright; see how I tremble." But the 
 worthy lady's fright was as nothing in comparison with the curiosity that 
 tortured her. It was so powerful, indeed, that she could not control it. 
 " What has happened ? " she asked. 
 
 "Nothing, madame, nothing." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "I am subject to such attacks. I was very cold, and the heat of the 
 room made me feel faint." 
 
 Although she could only speak with the greatest difficulty, the baron 
 realised by her tone that she would never reveal what had taken place, and 
 his gratitude and relief knew no bounds, " Don't tire the poor child," he 
 said to Madame de Fondege. " The best thing you can do would be to 
 take her home and put her to bed." 
 
 " I agree with you ; but, unfortunately, I have sent away my brougham 
 with orders not to return for me until one o'clock. " 
 
 " Is that the only difficulty? If so, you shall have a carriage at once, 
 my dear madame. " So saying, the baron made a sign to one of the servants, 
 and the man started on his mission at once. 
 
 Madame de Fondege was silent but furious. ' ' He is actually putting me 
 out of doors," she thought. " This is a little too much ! And why 
 doesn't the baroness make her appearance she must certainly have heard 
 
the count's millions. 185 
 
 my voice ? What does it all mean ? However, I'm sure Marguerite will 
 tell me when we are alone." 
 
 But Madame de Fondege was wrong, for she vainly plied the girl with 
 questions all the way from the Rue de la Ville l'Eveque to the Rue Pigalle, 
 She could only obtain this unvarying and obstinate reply: " Nothing 
 has happened. What do you suppose could have happened ? 
 
 Never in her whole life had Madame de Fondege been so incensed. 
 "The blockhead!" she mentally exclaimed. "Who ever saw such 
 obstinacy ! Hateful creature ! I could beat her ! " 
 
 She did not beat her, but on reaching the house she eagerly asked : " Do 
 you feel strong enough to go up stairs alone ? " 
 
 "Yes, madame." 
 
 * ' Then I will leave you. You know Van Klopen expects me again at 
 one o'clock precisely ; and I have not breakfasted yet. Remember that my 
 servants are at your disposal, and don't hesitate to call them. You are at 
 home, recollect." 
 
 It was not without considerable difficulty not without being compelled 
 to stop and rest several times on her way up stairs that Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite succeeded in reaching the apartments of the Fondege family. 
 " Where is madame ? " inquired the servant who opened the door. 
 
 "She is still out." 
 
 "Will she return to dinner ? " 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "M. Gustave has been here three times already; he was very angry 
 when he found that there was no one at home he went on terribly. 
 Besides, the workmen have turned everything topsy-turvy." 
 
 However, Marguerite had already reached her own room, and thrown 
 herself on the bed. She was suffering terribly. Her brave spirit still 
 retained its energy ; but the flesh had succumbed. Every vein and artery 
 throbbed with violence, and while a chill seemed to come to her heart, her 
 head burned as if it had been on fire. "My Lord," she thought, "am I 
 going to fall ill at the last moment, just when I have most need of all my 
 strength?" 
 
 She tried to sleep, but was unable to do so. How could she free herself 
 from the thought that haunted her ? Her mother ! To think that such a 
 woman was her mother ! Was it not enough to make her die of sorrow and 
 shame ? And yet this woman must be saved the proofs of her crime must 
 be annihilated with her letters. Marguerite asked herself whether the old 
 magistrate would have it in his power to help her in this respect. Perhaps 
 not, and then what could she do ? She asked herself if she had not been 
 too cruel, too severe. Guilty or not, the baroness was still her mother. 
 Had she the right to be pitiless, when by stretching out her hand she 
 might, perhaps, have rescued the wretched woman from her terrible life. 
 
 Thus thinking, the young girl sat alone and forgotten in her little room. 
 The hours went by, and daylight had begun to wane, when suddenly a 
 shrill whistle resounded in the street, under her windows. "Pi ouit." 
 It came upon her like an electric shock, and with a bound she sprang to 
 her feet. For this cry was the signal that had been agreed upon between 
 herself and the young man who had so abruptly offered to help her on the 
 occasion of her visit to M. Fortunat's office. Was she mistaken ? No for 
 on listening she heard the cry resound a second time, even more shrill and 
 prolonged than before. 
 
 This was no time for hesitation, and so she went down stairs at once. 
 
186 the count's millions. 
 
 Hope sent new blood coursing through her veins and endowed her with 
 invincible energy. On reaching the street-door, she paused and looked 
 around her. At a short distance off she perceived a young fellow clad in a 
 blouse, who was apparently engaged in examining the goods displayed in a 
 shop window. Despite his position, he saw her also, for coming nearer, he 
 hurriedly exclaimed : " Follow me at a little distance in the rear until I 
 stop." 
 
 Marguerite obeyed him in breathless suspense. The young fellow was 
 our friend Victor Chupin, now somewhat the worse for his encounter with 
 Vantrasson that same morning. His face was considerably disfigured, and 
 one of his eyes was black and swollen ; nevertheless he was in a state of 
 ecstatic happiness. Happy, and yet anxious; for, as he preceded 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite, he said to himself : " How shall I tell her that 
 I have succeeded? There must be no folly. If I tell her the news 
 suddenly, she will most likely faint, so I must break the news gently." 
 
 On reaching the Rue Boursault, he turned the corner, and paused, wait- 
 ing for Mademoiselle Marguerite to join him. " What is the news ? " she 
 anxiously asked. 
 
 "Everything is progressing finely slowly, but finely." 
 
 " You know something, monsieur ! Speak 1 Don't you see how anxious 
 lam?" 
 
 He did see it only too well ; and his embarrassment increased to such a 
 pitch that he began to scratch his head furiously. At last he decided on a 
 plan. " First of all, mademoiselle, brace yourself against the wall, and now 
 stand firm. Yes, like that. Xow, are you all right ? Well, I have found 
 M. Ferailleur ! " 
 
 Chupin's precaution was a wise one, for Marguerite tottered. Such a 
 success, so quickly gained, was indeed astounding. "Is it possible ? " she 
 murmured. 
 
 "So possible that I have a letter for you from M. Ferailleur in my 
 pocket, mademoiselle. Here it is I am to wait for an answer." 
 
 She took the note he handed her, broke the seal with trembling hand, 
 and read as follows : " We are approaching the end, my dearest. One step 
 more, and we shall triumph. But I must see you to-day at any risk. 
 Leave the house this evening at eight o'clock. My mother will be waiting 
 for you in a cab, at the corner of the Rue Pigalle and the Rue Boursault. 
 Come, and let no fear of arousing the suspicions of the Fondeges deter you. 
 They are henceforth powerless to injure you. Pascal." 
 
 " I will go ! " replied Marguerite at once, careless of the obstacles that 
 might impede the fulfilment of her promise. For it was quite possible 
 that serious difficulties might arise. Madame Leon, who had been invis- 
 ible since the morning, might suddenly reappear, or the General and his 
 wife might return to dinner. And what could Marguerite answer if they 
 asked her where she wanted to go alone, and at such an hour of the even- 
 ing ? And if they attempted to prevent her from keeping her appointment, 
 how could she resist ? AH these were weighty questions and yet she did 
 not hesitate. Pascal had spoken ; that sufficed, and she was determined 
 to obey him implicitly, cost what it might. If he advised such a step, it 
 was because he deemed it best and necessary; and she willingly submitted 
 to the instructions of the man in whom she felt such unbounded confi- 
 dence. 
 
 Having told Chupin that she might be relied upon for the evening, she 
 was retracing her way home, when suddenly the thought occurred to her 
 
the count's millions. 187 
 
 that she ought not to neglect this opportunity to place a decisive weapon 
 in Pascal's hands. She was close to the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette and so 
 without more ado she hurried to the establishment of Carjat the photo- 
 grapher. He was fortunately disengaged, and she at once obtained from 
 him a proof of the compromising letter written by the Marquis de Valorsay 
 to Madame Leon. She placed it carefully in her pocket, thanked the 
 photographer, and then hurried back to the Rue Pigalle to wait for the 
 hour appointed in Pascal's letter. Fortunately none of her unpleasant ap- 
 prehensions were realised. The dinner-hour came and passed, and still 
 the house remained deserted. The workmen had gone off and the laughter 
 and chatter of the servants in the kitchen were the only sounds that broke 
 the stillness. Faint for want of food for she had taken no nourishment 
 during the day Marguerite had considerable difficulty in obtaining some- 
 thing to eat from the servants. At last, however, they gave her some soup 
 and cold meat, served on a comer of the bare table in the dining-room. It 
 was half-past seven when she finished this frugal meal. She waited a 
 moment, and then fearing she might keep Madame Ferailleur waiting, she 
 went down into the street. 
 
 A cab was waiting at the corner of the Rue Boursault, as indicated. Its 
 windows were lowered, and in the shade one could discern the face and 
 white hair of an elderly lady. Glancing behind her to assure herself that 
 she had not been followed, Marguerite eagerly approached the vehicle, 
 whereupon a kindly voice exclaimed : " Jump in quickly, mademoiselle." 
 
 Marguerite obeyed, and the door was scarcely closed behind her before 
 the driver had urged his horse into a gallop. He had evidently received 
 his instructions in advance, as well as the promise of a magnificent 
 gratuity. 
 
 Sitting side by side on the back seat, the old lady and the young girl re- 
 mained silent, but this did not prevent them from casting stealthy glances 
 at each other, and striving to distinguish one another's features whenever 
 the vehicle passed in front of some brilliantly lighted shop. They had 
 never met before, and their anxiety to become acquainted was intense, for 
 they each felt that the other would exert a decisive influence upon her life. 
 All of Madame Ferailleur's friends would undoubtedly have been sur- 
 prised at the step she had taken, and yet it was quite in accordance with 
 her character. As long as she had entertained any hope of preventing this 
 marriage she had not hesitated to express and even exaggerate her ob- 
 jections and repugnance. But her point of view was entirely changed when, 
 conquered by the strength of her son's passion, she at last yielded a reluct- 
 ant consent. The young girl who was destined to be her daughter-in-law 
 at once became sacred in her eyes ; and it seemed to her an act of duty to 
 watch over Marguerite, and shield her reputation. Having considered the 
 subject, she had decided that is was not proper for her son's betrothed to 
 run about the streets alone in the evening. Might it not compromise her 
 honour ? and later on might it not furnish venomous Madame de Fond^ge 
 with an opportunity to exercise her slanderous tongue ? Thus the puritan- 
 ical old lady had come to fetch Marguerite, so that whenever occasion re- 
 quired she might be able to say : " I was there ! " 
 
 As for Marguerite, after the trials of the day, she yielded without re- 
 serve to the feeling of rest and happiness that now filled her heart. Again 
 and again had Pascal spoken of his mother's prejudices and the inflexibility 
 of her principles. But he had also spoken of her dauntless energy, the nobil- 
 ty of her nature, and of her love and devotion to him. With Marguerite 
 
188 the count's millions. 
 
 moreover, one consideration one which she would scarcely have admitted, 
 perhaps outweighed all others : Madame Ferailleur was Pascal's mother. 
 For that reason alone, if for no other, she was prepared to worship her. 
 How fervently she blessed this noble woman, who, a w'dow, and ruined 
 in fortune by an unprincipled scoundrel, had bravely toiled to educate her 
 son, making him the man whom Marguerite had freely chosen from among all 
 others. She would have knelt before this grand but simple-hearted mother 
 had she dared ; she would have kissed her hands. And a poignant regret 
 came to her heart when she remembered her own mother, Baroness Trigault, 
 and compared her with this matchless woman. 
 
 Meanwhile the cab had passed the outer boulevards, and was now whirl- 
 ing along the Route d'Asnieres, as fast as the horse could drag it. " We 
 are almost there," remarked Madame Ferailleur, speaking for the first time. 
 
 Marguerite's response was inaudible ; she was so overcome with emotion. 
 The driver had just turned the corner of the Route de la Re" volte ; and it 
 was not long before he checked his panting horse. " Look, mademoiselle," 
 said Madame Ferailleur again, " this is our home." 
 
 Upon the threshold, bareheaded, and breathless with impatience and 
 hope, stood a man who was counting the seconds with the violent throb- 
 bings of his heart. He did not wait for the cab to stop, but springing to 
 the door, he opened it ; and then, catching Marguerite in his arms, he carried 
 her into the house with a cry of joy. She had not even time to look around 
 her, ere he had placed her in an arm-chair, and fallen on his knees before 
 her. " At last I see you again, my beloved Marguerite," he exclaimed. 
 11 You are mine nothing shall part us again ! " 
 
 They sobbed in each other's arms. They could bear adversity unmoved ; 
 but their composure deserted them in this excess of happiness ; and stand- 
 ing in the door- way, Madame Ferailleur felt the tears come to her eyes as 
 she stood watching them. 
 
 "How can I tell you all that I have suffered ! " said Pascal, whose voice 
 was hoarse with feeling. " The papers have told you all the details, I 
 suppose. How I was accused of cheating at cards ; how the vile epithet 
 ' thief ' was cast in my face ; how they tried to search me ; how my most 
 intimate friends deserted me ; how I was virtually expelled from the Palais 
 de Justice. All this is terrible, is it not ? Ah, well ! it is nothing in com- 
 parison with the intense, unendurable anguish I experienced in thinking 
 that you believed the infamous calumny which disgraced me." 
 
 Marguerite rose to her feet. ' ' You thought that ! " she exclaimed. 
 1 ' You believed that I doubted you ? I ! Like you, I have been accused 
 of robbery myself. Do you believe me guilty ? " 
 
 " Good Gosl ! / suspect you ! " 
 'Then why " 
 
 " I was mad, Marguerite, my only love, I was mad ! But who would 
 not have lost his senses under such circumstances? It was the very day after 
 this atrocious conspiracy. I had seen Madame Leon, and had trusted her 
 with a letter for you in which I entreated you to grant me five minutes' 
 conversation." 
 
 " Alas ! I never received it." 
 
 " I know that now ; but then I was deceived. I went to the little gar- 
 den gate to await your coming, but it was Madame Leon who appeared. 
 She brought me a note written in pencil and signed with your name, bid- 
 ding me an eternal farewell. And, fool that I was, I did not see that the 
 note was a forgery ! " 
 
THE count's millions. 189 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was amazed. The veil was now torn aside, 
 and the truth revealed to her. Now she remembered Madame Leon's em- 
 barrassment when she met her returning from the garden on the night 
 following the count's death. " Ah, well ! Pascal," she said, "do you know 
 what I was doing at almost the same moment ? Alarmed at having re- 
 ceived no news from you, I hastened to the Rue d'Ulm, where I learned 
 that you had sold your furniture and started for America. Any other 
 woman might have believed herself deserted under such circumstances, but 
 not I. I felt sure that you had not fled in ignominious fashion. I was 
 convinced that you had only concealed yourself for a time in order to strike 
 your enemies more surely." 
 
 " Do not shame me, Marguerite. It is true that of us two I showed my- 
 self the weaker." 
 
 Lost in the rapture of the present moment, they had forgotten the past 
 and the future, the agony they had endured, the dangers that still threat- 
 ened them, and even the existence of their enemies. 
 
 But Madame Ferailleur was watching. She pointed to the clock, and 
 earnestly exclaimed : " Time is passing, my son. Each moment that is 
 wasted endangers our success. Should any suspicion bring Madame Van- 
 trasson here, all would be lost. " 
 
 ' She cannot come upon us unawares, my dear mother. Chupin has 
 promised not to lose sight of her. If she stirs from her shop, he will hasten 
 here and throw a stone against the shutters to warn us." 
 
 But even this did not satisfy Madame Ferailleur. 
 
 "You forget, Pascal," she insisted, "that Mademoiselle Marguerite 
 must be at home again by ten o'clock, if she consents to the ordeal you feel 
 obliged to impose upon her." 
 
 This was the voice of duty recalling Pascal to the stern realities of life. 
 He slowly rose, conquered his emotion, and, after reflecting for a moment, 
 said : " First of all, Marguerite, I owe you the truth and an exact state- 
 ment of our situation. Circumstances have compelled me to act without 
 consulting you. Have I done right or wrong? You shall judge." And 
 without stopping to listen to the girl's protestations, he rapidly explained 
 how he had managed to win M. de Valorsay's confidence, discover his 
 plans, and become his trusted accomplice. " This scoundrel's plan is very 
 simple," he continued. "He is determined to marry you. Why? Be- 
 cause, though you are not aware of it, you are rich, and the sole heiress to 
 the fortune of the Count de Chalusse, your father. This surprises you, 
 does it not ? Very well I listen to me. Deceived by the Marquis de Val- 
 orsay, the Count de Chalusse had promised him your hand. These arrange- 
 ments were nearly completed, though you had not been informed of them. 
 In fact, everything had been decided. At the outset, however, a grave 
 difficulty had presented itself. The marquis wished your father to ac- 
 knowledge you before your marriage, but this he refused to do. ' It would 
 expose me to the most frightful dangers,' he declared. * However, I will 
 recognize Marguerite as my daughter in my will, and, at the same time, 
 leave all my property to her.' But the marquis would not listen to this 
 proposal. ' I don't doubt your good intentions, my dear count,' said he, 
 * but suppose this will should be contested, your property might pass into 
 other hands.' This difficulty put a stop to the proceedings for some time. 
 The marquis asked for guarantees ; the other refused to give them until, 
 at last, M. de Chalusse discovered an expedient which would satisfy both 
 parties. He confided to M. de Valorsay's keeping a will in which he re- 
 
190 THE count's millions. 
 
 cognized you as his daughter, and bequeathed you his entire fortune. 
 This document, the validity of which is unquestionable, has been carefully 
 preserved by the marquis. He has not spoken of its existence ; and he 
 would destroy it rather than restore it to you at present. But as soon as 
 you became his wife, he intended to produce it and thus obtain possession 
 of the count's millions." 
 
 " Ah ! the old justice of the peace was not mistaken," murmured Made- 
 moiselle Marguerite. 
 
 Pascal did not hear her. All his faculties were absorbed in the attempt 
 he was making to give a clear and concise explanation, for he had much to 
 say, and it was growing late. " As for the enormous sum you have been 
 accused of taking," he continued, " I know what has become of it ; it is in 
 the hands of M. de Fondege." 
 
 " I know that, Pascal I'm sure of it ; but the proof, the proof !" 
 
 " The proof exists, and, like the will, it is in the hands of the Marquis 
 de Valorsay." 
 
 " Is it possible ! Great Heavens ! You are sure you are not deceived ?" 
 
 " I have seen the proof, and it is overpowering, irrefutable ! I have 
 touched it I have held it in my hands. And it explains everything which 
 may have seemed strange and incomprehensible to you. The letter which 
 M. de Chalusse received on the day of his death was written by his sister. 
 She asked in it for her share of the family estate, threatening him with a 
 terrible scandal if he refused to comply with her request. Had the count 
 decided to brave this scandal rather than yield 1 We have good reason to 
 suppose so. However, this much is certain : he had a terrible hatred, not 
 so much for his sister, perhaps, as for the man who had seduced her, and 
 afterwards married her, actuated by avaricious motives alone. He had 
 sworn thousands of times that neither husband nor wife should ever have a 
 penny of the large fortune which really belonged to them. Believing that 
 a lawsuit was now inevitable, and wishing to conceal his wealth, he was 
 greatly embarrassed by the large amount of money he had on hand. What 
 should he do with it ? Where could he hide it ? He finally decided to 
 intrust it to the keeping of M. de Fondege, who was known as an eccentric 
 man, but whose honesty seemed to be above suspicion. So, when he left 
 home, on the afternoon of his illness, he took the package of bank-notes 
 and bonds, which you had noticed in the escritoire that morning, away 
 with him. We shall never know what passed between your father and 
 the General we can only surmise. But what I do know, and what I shall 
 be able to prove, is that M. de Fondege accepted the trust, and that he 
 gave an acknowledgment of it in the form of a letter, which read as fol- 
 lows : My Dear Count de Chalusse, I hereby acknowledge the receipt, 
 on Thursday, October 15, 186 , of the sum of two millions, two hundred and 
 fifty thousand francs, which I shall deposit, in my name, at the Bank of 
 France, subject to the orders of Mademoiselle Marguerite, your daughter, 
 on the day she presents this letter. And believe, my dear count, in the 
 absolute devotion of your old comrade, General de Fondege.' " 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite was thunderstruck. " Who can have furnished 
 you with these particulars ?" she inquired. 
 
 "The Marquis de Valorsay, my dearest ; and I will explain how he was 
 enabled to do so. M. de Fondege wrote the address of his * old comrade I 
 on this letter, which was folded and sealed, but not enclosed in an envelope. 
 M. de Chalusse proposed to post it himself, so that the official stamp might 
 authenticate its date. But on reflection, he became uneasy. He felt that 
 
191 
 
 this tiny, perishable scrap of paper would be the only proof of the deposit 
 which he had confided to M. de Fondege's honour. This scrap might be 
 lost, burned, or stolen. Then what would happen ? He had so often seen 
 trustees betray the confidence of which they had seemed worthy. So 
 M. de Chalusse racked his brains to discover a means of protection from 
 an improbable but possible misfortune. He found it. Passing a stationer's 
 shop, he went in, purchased one of those letter-presses which merchants 
 use in their correspondence, and, under pretext of trying it, took a copy of 
 M. de Fondege's letter. Having done this, he placed the copy in an 
 envelope addressed to the Marquis de Valorsay, and, with his heart re- 
 lieved of all anxiety, posted it at the same time as the original letter. A 
 few moments later he got into the cab in which he was stricken down with 
 apoplexy. " 
 
 Extraordinary as Pascal's explanations must have seemed to her, Mar- 
 guerite did not doubt their accuracy in the least. " Then it is the copy of 
 this letter which you saw in the possession of the Marquis de Valorsay ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And the original ? " 
 
 " M. de Fondege alone can tell what has become of that. It is evident 
 that he has somehow succeeded in obtaining possession of it. Would he 
 have dared to squander money as he has done if he had not been convinced 
 that there was no proof of his guilt in existence ? Perhaps on hearing of 
 the count's sudden death he bribed the concierge at the H6tel de Chalusse 
 to watch for this letter and return it to him. But on this subject I have 
 only conjectures to offer. If they wish you to marry their son, it is pro- 
 bably because it seems too hard that you should be left in abject poverty 
 while they are enjoying the fortune they have stolen from you. The vilest 
 scoundrels have their scruples. Besides, a marriage with their son would 
 protect them against any possible mischance in the future." 
 
 He was silent for a moment, and then more slowly resumed : " You see, 
 Marguerite, we have clear, palpable, and irrefutable proofs of your innocence ; 
 but in my efforts to clear my own name of disgrace, I have been far less 
 fortunate. I have tried in vain to collect material proofs of the conspiracy 
 against me. It is only by proving the guilt of the Marquis de Valorsay 
 and the Viscount de Coralth that I can establish my innocence, and so far 
 I am powerless to do so. " 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite's face brightened with supreme joy : " Then I 
 can serve you, in my turn, my only love," she exclaimed. "Ah ! blessed 
 be God who inspired me, and who thus rewards me for an hour of courage. 
 My poor father's plan also occurred to me, Pascal. Was it not strange? 
 The material proof of your innocence which you have sought for in vain, is 
 in my possession, written and signed by the Marquis de Valorsay. Like 
 ! M. de Fondege, he believes that the letter which proves his guilt is anni- 
 ! hilated. He burned it himself, and yet it exists." So saying, she drew 
 from her bosom one of the copies which she had received from Car j at the 
 photographer, and handed it to Pascal, adding, " Look !" 
 
 Pascal eagerly perused the marvellous fac-simile of the letter which the 
 marquis had written to Madame Leon. " Ah ! this is the scoundrel's death 
 warrant," he exclaimed exultantly. And approaching Madame Ferailleur, 
 who still stood leaning against the door, silent and motionless: "Look, 
 mother," he repeated, " look ! " 
 
 And he pointed to this paragraph which was so convincing and so ex- 
 plicit, that the most exacting jury would have asked for no further evi- 
 
192 the count's millions. 
 
 dence. "I have formed a plan which will completely efface all remem- 
 brance of that cursed P. F., in case any one could condescend to think ot 
 him, after the disgrace we fastened upon him the other evening at the 
 house of Madame d'A ." 
 
 "Nor is this all," resumed Mademoiselle Marguerite. " There are other 
 letters which will prove that this plot was the marquis's work and which 
 give the name of his accomplice, Coralth. And these letters are in the 
 possession of a man of dubious integrity, who was once the marquis's ally, 
 but who has now become his enemy. He is known as Isidore Fortunat, 
 and lives in the Place de la Bourse." 
 
 Marguerite felt that Madame Ferailleur's keen glance was riveted upon 
 her. She intuitively divined what was passing in the mind of the 
 puritanical old lady, and realised that her whole future, and the happiness 
 of her entire wedded life, depended upon her conduct at that moment. 
 So, desirous of making a full confession, she hastily exclaimed : " My con- 
 duct may have seemed strange in a young girl, Pascal. A timid, inex- 
 perienced girl, who had been carefully kept from all knowledge of life and 
 evil, would have been crushed by such a burden of disgrace, and could 
 only have wept and prayed. I did weep and pray ; but I also struggled 
 and fought. In the hour of peril I found myself endowed with some of 
 the courage and energy which distinguished the poor women of the people 
 among whom I formerly earned my bread. The teachings and miseries of the 
 past were not lost to me ! " And as simply as if she were telling the most 
 natural thing in the world, she described the struggle she had undertaken 
 against the world, strong in her faith in Pascal and in his love. 
 
 "Ah, you are a noble and courageous girl!" exclaimed Madam 
 Ferailleur. " You are worthy of my son, and you will proudly guard our 
 honest name ! " 
 
 For some little time already the obstinate old lady had been struggling 
 against the sympathetic emotion that filled her heart, and big tears were 
 coursing down her wrinkled cheeks. 
 
 Unable to restrain herself any longer, she now threw both arms around 
 Marguerite's neck, and drew her towards her in a long embrace, murmur- 
 ing : "Marguerite, my daughter ! Ah ! how unjust my prejudices were !" 
 
 It might be thought that Pascal was transported with joy on hearing this : 
 but no ; the lines of care on his forehead deepened, as he said : " Happines 
 is so near ! Why must a final test, another humiliation, separate U3 
 from it ? " 
 
 But Marguerite now felt strong enough to meet even martyrdom with a 
 smile. "Speak, Pascal !" said she, "don't you see that it is almost ten 
 o'clock?" 
 
 He hesitated ; there was grief in his eyes and his breath came quick and 
 hard, as he resumed : "For your sake and mine, we must conquer, at any 
 price. This is the only reason that can justify the horrible expedient I 
 have to suggest. M. de Valorsay, as you know, has boasted of his power to 
 overcome your resistance, and he really believes that he possesses this 
 power. Why I have not killed him again and again when he has been at 
 my mercy, I can scarcely understand. The only thing that gave me power 
 to restrain myself was my desire for as sure, as terrible, and as public a re- 
 venge as the humiliation he inflicted on me. His plan for your ruin is such 
 as only a scoundrel like himself could conceive. With the assistance of his 
 vile tool, Coralth, he has formed a league, offensive and defensive, with the 
 son of the Count de Chalusse's sister, who is the only acknowledged heir at 
 
the count's millions. 193 
 
 this moment a young man destitute of heart and intelligence, and inordin- 
 ately vain, but neither better nor worse than many others who figure re- 
 spectably in society. His name is Wilkie Gordon. The marquis has ac- 
 quired great influence over him, and has persuaded him that it is his duty 
 to denounce you to the authorities. He has, in short, accused you of de- 
 frauding the heirs of the Chalusse estate of two millions of francs and also 
 of poisoning the count." 
 
 The girl shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. "As for the robbery, we 
 have an answer to that," she answered, " and as regards the poisoning 
 really the accusation is too absurd ! " 
 
 But Pascal still looked gloomy. " The matter is more serious than you sup- 
 pose," he replied. " They have found a physician a vile, cowardly 
 scoundrel who for a certain sum has consented to appear in support of the 
 accusation." 
 
 " Dr. Jodon, I presume I " 
 
 " Yes ; and this is not all. The count's escritoire contains the vial of 
 medicine of which he drank a portion on the day of his death. Well, to- 
 morrow night, Madame Lon will open the garden gate of the H6tel de 
 Chalusse and admit a rascal who will abstract the vial." 
 
 Marguerite shuddered. Now she understood the fiendish cunning of the 
 plot. " It might ruin me ! " she murmured. 
 
 Pascal nodded affirmatively. " M. de Valorsay wishes you to consider 
 yourself as irretrievably lost, and then he intends to offer to save you on 
 conditions that you consent to marry him. I should say, however, that M. 
 Wilkie is ignorant of the atrocious projects he is abetting. They are known 
 only to the marquis and M. de Coralth ; and it is I who, under the name of 
 Maum6jan, act as their adviser. It was to me that the marquis sent M. 
 Wilkie for assistance in drawing up this accusation. I myself wrote out 
 the denunciation, which was as terrible and as formidable as our bitterest 
 enemy could possibly desire, combining, as it did, with perfidious art, the 
 reports of the valets and the suspicions of the physician, and establishing 
 the connection between the robbery and the murder. It finished by de- 
 manding a thorough investigation. And M. Wilkie copied and signed this 
 document, and carried it to the prosecution office himself." 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite sank half -fainting into an arm-chair. " You 
 have done this ! " she faltered. 
 
 " It was necessary, my daughter," whispered Madame Ferailleur. 
 
 "Yes, it was necessary, absolutely necessary," repeated Pascal, "as you 
 will see. Justice, which is a human institution, and limited in its powers, 
 cannot fathom motives, read thoughts, or interfere with plans, however 
 abominable they may be, or however near realization. Before it can inter- 
 fere, the law must have material, tangible proof, convincing to the senses. 
 Until you are arrested, the crimes committed by M. de Valorsay, and 
 those associated with him, do not come within the reach of human justice ; 
 but as soon as you are in prison, I can hasten to our friend the justice of 
 the peace, and we shall go at once to the investigating magistrate and ex- 
 plain everything. Now, when your innocence and the guilt of your ac- 
 cusers have been established, what do you fancy the authorities will do ? 
 They will wait until your enemies declare themselves, in order to capture 
 them all at once, and prevent the escape of a single one. To-morrow night 
 some clever detectives will watch the Hotel de Chalusse, and just as 
 Madame LCon and the wretch with her think themselves sure of success, 
 | they will be caught in the very act and arrested. When they are examined 
 VOL. II G 
 
194 the count's mtltjons. 
 
 by a magistrate, who is conversant with the whole affair, can they deny 
 their guilt ? No ; certainly not. Acting upon their confession, the authorities 
 will force an entrance into Valorsay's house, where they will find your 
 father's will and the receipt given by M. de Fondege in a word, all the 
 proofs of their guilt. And while this search is going on, all your enemies, 
 reassured by your arrest, will be at a grand soirie given by Baron Trigault. I 
 shall be there as well. " 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite had mastered her momentary weakness. She 
 rose to her feet, and in a firm voice exclaimed : " You have acted rightly." 
 
 "Ah ! there was no other way. And yet I wished to see you, to learn if 
 this course were too repugnant to you." 
 
 She interrupted him with a gesture. " When shall I be arrested ? " she 
 asked, quietly. 
 
 " This evening or to-morrow," was his answer. 
 
 " Very well ! I have only one request to make. The Fondeges have a 
 son who has no hand in the affair, but who will be more severely punished 
 than his parents, if we do not spare them. Could you not " 
 
 " I can do nothing, Marguerite. I am powerless now." 
 
 Everything was soon arranged. Marguerite raised her forehead to Pascal 
 for his parting kiss, and went away accompanied by Madame Ferailleur, who 
 escorted her to the corner of the Rue Boursault. The General and his wife 
 had returned home in advance of Marguerite. She found them sitting in 
 the drawing-room, with distorted faces and teeth chattering with fear. 
 With them was a bearded man who, as soon as she appeared, exclaimed : 
 
 " You are Mademoiselle Marguerite, are you not ? I arrest you in the 
 name of the law. There is my warrant." And without more ado he led 
 her away. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Money, which now-a-days has taken the place of the good fairies of former 
 times, had gratified M. Wilkie's every longing in a single night. Without 
 any period of transition, dreamlike as it were, he had passed from what he 
 called " straitened circumstances " to the splendid enjoyment of a princely 
 fortune. Madame d'Argeles' renunciation had been so correctly drawn up, 
 that as soon as he presented his claims and displayed his credentials he was 
 placed in possession of the Chalusse estate. It is true that a few trifling 
 difficulties presented themselves. For instance, the old justice of the peace 
 who had affixed the seals refused to remove them from certain articles of 
 furniture, especially from the late count's escritoire, without an order from 
 the court, and several days were needed to obtain this. But what did that 
 matter to M. Wilkie? The house, with its splendid reception-rooms, 
 pictures, statuary and gardens, was at his disposal, and he installed himself 
 therein at once. Twenty horses neighed and stamped in his stables : there 
 were at least a dozen carriages in the coach-house. He devoted his attention 
 exclusively to the horses and vehicles ; but acting upon the advice of Casimir, 
 who had become his valet and oracle, he retained all the former servants of 
 the house, from Bourigeau the concierge down to the humblest scullery 
 maid. Still, he gave them to understand that this was only a temporary 
 arrangement. A man like himself, living in this progressive age, could 
 scarcely be expected to content himself with what had satisfied the Count 
 de Chalusse. " For I have my plans," he remarked to Casimir, " but let 
 Paris wait awhile." 
 
TfiE count's millions. 195 
 
 He wpudiated his former friends. Costard and Serpillon, pretended vis- 
 counts though they were, were quite beneath the notice of a Gordon Chalusse, 
 as M. Wilkie styled himself on his visiting cards. However, he purchased 
 their share of Pompier de Nanterre, feeling convinced that this remarkable 
 steeple chaser had a brilliant future before him. He did not trouble him 
 self to any great extent about his mother. Like everyone else, he knew 
 that she had disappeared, but nothing further. On the other hand, the 
 thought of his father, the terrible chevalier d'industrie, hung over his joy 
 like a pall ; and each time the great entrance bell announced a visitor, he 
 trembled, turned pale, and muttered : " Perhaps it's he ! " 
 
 Tortured by this fear, he clung closely to the Marquis de Valorsay as if 
 he felt that this distinguished friend was a powerful support. Besides, 
 people of rank and distinction naturally exercised a powerful attraction 
 over him, and he fancied he grew several inches taller when, in some public 
 place, in the street, or a restaurant, he was able to call out, "I say, Valorsay, 
 my good friend," or, " Upon my word ! my dear marquis ! " 
 
 M. de Valorsay received these effusions graciously enough, although, in 
 point of fact, he was terribly bored by the platitudes of his new acquaint- 
 ance. He intended to send him to Coventry later on, but just now M. 
 Wilkie was too useful to be ignored. So he had introduced him to his club, 
 and was seen with him everywhere in the Bois, at the restaurants, and the 
 theatres. At times, some of his friends inquired: "Who is that queer 
 little fellow ? " with a touch of irony in their tone, but when the marquis 
 carelessly answered : " A poor devil who has just come into possession of a 
 property worth twenty millions ! " they became serious, and requested 
 the pleasure and honour of an introduction to this fortunate young man. 
 
 So M. de Valorsay had invited Gordon Chalusse to accompany him to 
 Baron Trigault's approaching f$te. It was to be an entertainment for 
 gentlemen only, a monster card-party; but every one knew the wealthy 
 baron, and no doubt with a view of stimulating curiosity he had declared, 
 and the Figaro had repeated, that he had a great surprise in store for his 
 guests. Oh 1 such a surprise 1 They could have no idea what it was ! 
 Thia/Ste was to take place on the second day after Mademoiselle Marguerite's 
 arrest : and on the appointed evening, between nine and ten o'clock, M. de 
 Valorsay and his friend Coralth sat together in the former's smoking room 
 waiting for Wilkie to call for them, as had been agreed upon. They were 
 both in the best of spirits. The viscount's apprehensions had been entirely 
 dispelled ; and the marquis had quite forgotten the twinges of pain in his 
 injured limb. " Marguerite will only leave prison to marry me," said M. de 
 Valorsay, triumphantly ; and he added : " What a willing tool this Wilkie 
 is ! A single word sufficed to make him give all his servants leave of 
 absence. The Hotel de Chalusse will be deserted, and Madame Leon and 
 Vantrasson can operate at their leisure." 
 
 It was ten o'clock when M. Wilkie made his appearance. " Come, my 
 good friends ! " said he, "my carriage is below." 
 
 They started off at once, and five minutes later they were ushered into 
 the presence of Baron Trigault, who received M. Wilkie as if he had never 
 seen him before. There was quite a crowd already. At least three or four 
 hundred people had assembled in the Baron's reception-rooms, and among 
 them were several former habitue's of Madame d'Argeles' house ; one could 
 also espy M. de Fondege ferociously twirling his moustaches as usual, to- 
 gether with Kami-Bey, who was conspicuous by reason of his portly form 
 and eternal red fez. However, among these men, all noticeable for their 
 
196 THE count's millions. 
 
 studied elegance of attire and manner, and all of them known to M. de 
 Valorsay, there moved numerous others of very different appearance. Their 
 waistcoats were less open, and their clothes did not fit them as perfectly ; 
 on the other hand, there was something else than a look of idiotic self-com- 
 placency on their faces. "Who can these people be?" whispered the 
 marquis to M. de Coralth. " They look like lawyers or magistrates." But 
 although he said this he did not really believe it, and it was without the 
 slightest feeling of anxiety that he strolled from group to group, shaking 
 hands with his friends and introducing M. Wilkie. 
 
 A strange rumour was in circulation among the guests. Many of them 
 declared where could they have heard such a thing ? that in consequence 
 of a quarrel with her husband, Madame Trigault had left Paris the evening 
 before. They even went so far as to repeat her parting words to the Baron : 
 " You will never see me again," she had said. "You are amply avenged. 
 Farewell ! " However, the best informed among the guest, the folks who 
 were thoroughly acquainted with all the scandals of the day, declared the 
 story false, and said that if the baroness had really fled, handsome Viscount 
 de Coralth would not appear so calm and smiling. 
 
 The report was true, however. But M. de Coralth did not trouble him- 
 self much about the baroness now. Had he not got in his pocket M. Wilkie's 
 signature insuring him upwards of half a million ? Standing near one of 
 the windows in the main reception-room, between the Marquis de Valorsay 
 and M. Wilkie, the brilliant viscount was gaily chatting with them, when 
 a footman, in a voice loud enough to interrupt all conversation, suddenly 
 announced : " M. Maum6jan ! " 
 
 It seemed such a perfectly natural thing to M. de Valorsay that Maume" jan, 
 as one of the baron's business agents, should be received at his house, that 
 he was not in the least disturbed. But M. de Coralth, having heard the 
 name, wished to see the man who had aided and advised the marquis so 
 effectually. He abruptly turned, and as he did so the words he would 
 have spoken died upon his lips. He became livid, his eyes seemed to start 
 from their sockets, and it was with difficulty that he ejaculated : " He ! " 
 
 " Who? " inquired the astonished marquis. 
 
 "Look!" 
 
 M. de Valorsay did so, and to his utter amazement he perceived a 
 numerous party in the rear of the man announced under the name of 
 Maumejan. First came Mademoiselle Marguerite, leaning on the arm of 
 the white-haired magistrate, and then Madame Ferailleur ; next M. Isidore 
 Fortunat, and finally Chupin Victor Chupin, resplendent in a handsome, 
 bran-new, black dress-suit. 
 
 The marquis could no longer fail to understand the truth. He realized 
 who Maumejan really was, and the audacious comedy he had been duped 
 by. He was so frightfully agitated that five or six persons sprang forward 
 exclaiming : " What is the matter, marquis ? Are you ill ? " But he made 
 no reply. He felt that he was caught in a trap, and he glanced wildly 
 around him seeking for some loop-hole of escape. 
 
 However, the word of command had evidently been given. Suddenly 
 all the guests scattered about the various drawing-rooms poured into the 
 main hall, and the doors were closed. Then, with a solemnity of manner 
 which no one had ever seen him display before, Baron Trigault took the so- 
 called Maumejan by the hand and led him into the centre of the apartment 
 opposite the lofty chimney-piece. "Gentlemen," he began, in a command- 
 ing tone, "this is M. Pascal Ferailleur, the honourable man who was 
 
 
the count's millions 197 
 
 falsely accused of cheating at cards at Madame d'Argeles' house. You owe 
 him a hearing." 
 
 Pascal was greatly agitated. The strangeness of the situation, the 
 certainty of speedy and startling rehabilitation, perhaps the joy of ven- 
 geance, the silence, which was so profound that he could hear his own 
 panting breath, and the many eyes riveted upon him, all combined to un- 
 nerve him. But only for a moment. He swiftly conquered his weakness, 
 and surveying his audience with flashing eyes, he explained, in a clear and 
 ringing voice, the shameful conspiracy to obtain possession of the count's 
 millions, and the abominable machinations by which Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite and himself had been victimized. Then when he had finished his 
 explanations he added, in a still more commanding voice, " Now look ; you 
 can read the culprits' guilt on their faces. One is the scoundrel known to 
 you as the Viscount de Coralth, but Paul Violaine is his true name. He 
 was formerly an accomplice of the notorious Mascarot ; he is a cowardly 
 villain, for he is married, and leaves his wife and children to die of starva- 
 tion ! " The Viscount de Coralth fairly bellowed with rage. But Pascal 
 did not heed him. " The other criminal is the Marquis de Volarsay," he 
 added, in the same ringing tone. There was, moreover, a third culprit who 
 would have inspired mingled pity and disgust if any one had noticed 
 him shrinking into a corner, terrified and muttering : "It wasn't my fault, 
 my wife compelled me to do it 1 " This was General de Fondege. 
 
 Pascal did not mention his name. But it was not absolutely necessary 
 he should do so, and besides, he remembered Marguerite's entreaty respect- 
 ing the son. 
 
 However, while the young lawyer was speaking, the marquis had sum- 
 moned all his energy and assurance to his aid. Desperate as his plight 
 might be, he would not surrender. " This is an infamous conspiracy," he 
 exclaimed. "Baron, you shall atone for this. The man's an impostor! 
 he lies ! all that he says is false ! " 
 
 "Yes, it is false ! " echoed M. de Coralth. 
 
 But a clamour arose, drowning these protestations, and the most oppro- 
 brious epithets could be heard on ever side. 
 
 " How will you prove your assertion ? " cried M. de Valorsay. 
 
 "Don't try that dodge on us!" shouted Chupin. "Vantrasson and 
 mother Leon have confessed everything." 
 
 "Who defrauded us all with Domingo?" cried several people; and, 
 loud above all the others, Kami-Bey bawled out : "To say nothing of the 
 fact that the sale of your racing stud was a complete swindle ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, Pascal's former friends and associates, his brother advocates 
 and the magistrates who had listened to his first efforts at the bar, crowded 
 round him, pressing his hands, embracing him almost to suffocation, censuring 
 themselves for having suspected him, the very soul of honour, and pleading 
 in self-justification the degenerate age in which we live an age in which 
 we daily see those whom we had considered immaculate suddenly yield to 
 temptation. And a murmur of respectful admiration rose from the throng 
 when the excitement had subsided a little, and the guests had an oppor- 
 tunity to observe Mademoiselle Marguerite, whose eyes sparkled more 
 brightly than ever through her happy tears ; and whose beauty acquired an 
 almost sublime expression from her deep emotion. 
 
 The wretched Valorsay felt that all was over that he was irretrievably 
 lost. Seized by a blind fury like that which impels a hunted animal to 
 turn and face the hounds that pursue him, and bid them defiance, he con- 
 
198 THE COUNTS MILLIONS. 
 
 fronted the throng with his face distorted with passion, his eyes bloodshot, 
 and foam upon his lips ; he was absolutely frightful in his cynicism, hatred, 
 and scorn. " Ah ! well, yes 1 " he exclaimed " yes, all that you have just 
 heard is true. I was sinking, and I tried to save myself as best I could. 
 Beggars cannot be choosers ; I staked my all upon a single die. If I had 
 won, you would have been at my feet ; but I have lost and you spurn me. 
 Cowards ! hypocrites ! that you are, insult me if you like, but tell me how 
 many among you all are sufficiently pure and upright to have a right to 
 despise me ! Are there a hundred among you ? are there even fifty ? " 
 
 A tempest' of hisses momentarily drowned his voice, but as soon as the 
 uproar had ceased, he resumed, sneeringly : " Ah ! the truth wounds you, 
 my dear friends. Pray don't pretend to be so distressingly virtuous ! I 
 was ruined that is the long and short of it. But what man of you is not 
 embarrassed ? Who among you finds his income sufficient ? Which one of 
 you is not encroaching upon his capital ? And when you have come to 
 your last louis, you will do what I have done, or something worse. Do not 
 deny it, for not one among you has a more uncompromising conscience, 
 more moral firmness, or more generous aspirations than I once possessed. 
 You are pursuing what I pursued. You desire what I desired a life of 
 luxury, brief if it must be, but happy a life of gaiety, wild excitement, 
 and dissipation. You, too, have a passion for pleasure and gambling, 
 race-horses, and notorious women, a table always bountifully spread, 
 glasses ever over-flowing with wine, all the delights of luxury, and every- 
 thing that gratifies your vanity ! But an abyss of shame awaits you at the 
 end of it all. I am in it now. I await you there, for there you will surely, 
 necessarily, inevitably come. Ah, ha ! you will not then think my down- 
 fall so very strange. Let me pass ! make way ! if you please." 
 
 He advanced with his head haughtily erect, and would actually have 
 made his escape if a frightened servant had not at that moment appeared, 
 crying : " Monsieur Monsieur le Baron 1 a^commissary of police is down- 
 stairs. He is coming up. He has a warrant ! " 
 
 The marquis's frenzied assurance deserted him. He turned even paler 
 than he already was if that were possible, and reeled like an ox but 
 partially stunned by the butcher's hammer. Suddenly a desperate resolu- 
 tion could be read in his eyes, the resolution of the condemned criminal, 
 who, knowing that he cannot escape the scaffold, ascends it with a firm step. 
 
 He hastily approached Baron Trigault, and asked in a husky voice : 
 4 'Will you allow me to be arrested in your house, baron? me a Valorsay !" 
 
 It might have been supposed that the baron had expected this reproach, 
 for without a word he led the marquis and M. de Coralth to a little room 
 at the end of the hall, pushed them inside, and closed the door again. 
 
 It was time he did so, for the commissary of police was already upon the 
 threshold. "Which of you gentlemen is the Marquis de Valorsay?" he 
 asked. " Which of you is Paul Violaine, alias the Viscount de " 
 
 The sharp report of fire-arms suddenly interrupted him. Every one at 
 once rushed to the little room, where the wretched men had been conducted. 
 There extended, face upwards, on the floor, lay the Marquis de Valorsay, 
 with his brains oozing from his fractured skull, and his right hand still 
 clutching a revolver. He was dead. " And the other ! " cried the 
 throng ; " the other ! " 
 
 The open window, and a curtain rudely torn from its fastenings and 
 secured to the balustrade, told how M. de Coralth had made his escape. It 
 was not till later that people learned what precautions the baron had taken. 
 
THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. 100 
 
 On the table in that room he had laid two revolvers, and two packages 
 containing ten thousand francs each. The viscount had not hesitated. 
 
 * * * * * * * 
 
 Pascal Ferailleur and Mademoiselle Marguerite de Chalusse were married 
 at the church of Saint Etienne du Mont, only a few steps from the Rue 
 d'Ulm. Those who knew the mystery connected with the bride's parentage 
 were greatly astonished when they saw Baron Trigault act as a witness on 
 this occasion, in company with the venerable justice of the peace. But 
 such was the fact, nevertheless. Treated more and more outrageously by 
 his daughter and her husband, separated from his wife, who had nearly lost 
 her reason, although her letters were saved, the baron has now-a-days 
 found affection and a home with Pascal and his wife. He playsTcards but 
 seldom now only an occasional game of piquet with Madame Ferailleur, 
 and he amuses himself by making her start when she is too long in dis- 
 carding, by ejaculating, in a stentorian voice : "We are wasting precious 
 time ! " Sometimes they go out together, to the great astonishment of 
 such as chance to meet the puritanical old lady leaning on the baron's arm. 
 She often goes to visit and console the widow Gordon, formerly known as 
 Lia d'Argeles, who now keeps an establishment near Montrouge, where she 
 provides poor betrayed and forsaken girls with a home and employment. 
 She has yet to receive any token of remembrance from her son. As for 
 her husband, she supposes he is dead or incarcerated in some prison. 
 
 It is to Madame Gordon that the Fondeges are often indebted for bread. 
 Obliged to disgorge their plunder, and left with no resources save the fifty 
 francs a month allowed them by their son, who has been promoted to the 
 rank of captain, their poverty is necessarily extreme. Oh ! those Fon- 
 deges ! M. Fortunat only speaks of them with horror. But he is loud in 
 his praises of Madame Marguerite, who repaid him the forty thousand 
 francs he had advanced to M. de Valorsay. He speaks in the highest 
 terms of Chupin also ; but in this, he is scarcely sincere, for Victor, who 
 has been set up in business by Pascal, told him very plainly that he was 
 determined not to put his hand to any more dirty work, and that expres- 
 sion, " dirty work," rankles in M. Fortunat's heart. 
 
 Chupin's resolution did not, however, prevent him from attending the 
 trial of Vantrasson and Madame Leon the former of whom was sentenced 
 to hard labour for life, and the latter to ten years' imprisonment. Nothing 
 is known concerning M. de Coralth ; but his wife has disappeared, to the 
 great disappointment of M. Mouchon. As a dentist, Dr. Jodon is success- 
 ful. As for M. Wilkie, you can learn anything you wish to know concern- 
 ing him in the newspapers, for his sayings, doings, and movements, are con- 
 stantly being chronicled. The reporters exhaust all the resources of their 
 vocabulary in describing his horses, carriages, and stables, and the gorgeous 
 liveries of his servants. His changes of residence are always mentioned ; 
 his brilliant sayings are quoted. He is a social success ; ne is admired, 
 fondled, and flattered. He makes a great stir in the fashionable world in 
 fact he reigns over it like a king. After all, assurance is the winning card 
 in the game of life ! 
 
 THE END, 
 
Jffiorft* htr eorge Augustus Sala. 
 
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