IE SNATCHED UP A HEAVY BRONZE CANDELABRUM, AND BLANDISHED IT IN THE AIR, CRYING: "THE FIRST WHO APPROACHES IS A DEAD MAN!" THE COUNT'S MILLIONS Translated from the French of EMILE GABORIAU Illustrated by JOHN SLOAN Charles Scribner's Sons New York 1913 COPYRIGHT, igis, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS :<: : 4 "i** ILLUSTRATIONS He snatched up a heavy bronze candelabrum, and brandished it in the air, crying: "The first who approaches is a dead man!" . . . Frontispiece FACING PAGE "What is this bill? Give it me to look at!" , 34 She pointed to the paper lying upon the floor, and gasped: "There! There!" 218 The young men whom Chupin was watching were far from suspecting that they were under sur- veillance , . 334 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS PASCAL AND MARGUERITE. I. 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 Hotel 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. Bouri- geau, 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. Casimir, the count's head valet, was serving 2 J-HEv&DtJNT'S MILLIONS coffije : for the ibtenefiVof. all the retainers. 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 housekeeper, who has entire charge of everything, is not too lynx-eyed." "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 receptions, no dinners nothing. Would you believe it, I have never seen the reception-rooms ! They are always closed; and the furniture is 'dropping to pieces under its coverings. There are not three vis- itors 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 sev- eral millions." "Yes, millions; you may safely say it and perhaps ten, perhaps twenty millions too." "Then all the more reason why there should be THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 3 something going on here. What does he do with him- self 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. Pve been in the house for six months, and I've never heard him say anything but : c 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," re- sponded 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 hid- den 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. 4 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS " There he comes ! " exclaimed the concierge ; " but he's in too much of a hurry; he'll have to wait awhile." 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 ! " continued the driver. " I was bring- ing a gentleman here you must know him. He's out- side, 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 for- ward, face downward, 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 ap- proaching, when suddenly he drew back, uttering a cry of horror. " Ah, my God ! it is the count ! " 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 circumstance 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 : " 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 COUNT'S MILLIONS 5 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 skilfully guided the cab through the gateway. Having escaped the scrutiny of the crowd, it now re- mained 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 inti- mate friend would scarcely have recognized him. His features were swollen and discolored; 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 pre- caution, he had been wounded as he was removed from the cab.v 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 lis- tening attentively, one could distinguish a faint rattling in his throat. The servants, who had been so garrulous a few mo- ments before, were silent now. They lingered in the room, exchanging glances of mute consternation. 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 uncon- 6 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS querable fear which sudden and unexpected death al- ways 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 know- ing 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 were 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 resignation, 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." 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 cham- ber, 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 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 7 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 re- ceived 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 forward to sup- port her, but she gently repulsed them, murmuring, " Thanks ! thanks ! I am strong now." She was, in fact, sufficiently strong to conquer her weakness. She summoned all her resolution, and, paler than a statue, with set teeth and dry, glittering eyes, she approached the alcove. She stood there for a mo- ment perfectly motionless, murmuring a few unintelligi- ble 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 ser- vants 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. " A physician ! " she said, eagerly. " I have sent for one, mademoiselle," replied M. Casimir. And hearing a voice and a sound of foot- steps on the staircase, he added: "And fortunately, here he comes." The doctor entered. He was a young man, although his head was almost quite bald. He was short, very 8 THE COUNTS MILLIONS 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 uncovered his chest, applying his ear to it. " 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, mon- sieur ? " 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 instruments from his pocket, and was test- ing 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 her- self upon the lower step of the staircase near the door, counting the seconds, and drawing a thousand conjec- tures from the slightest sound. Meanwhile, inside the room, the physician was pro- ceeding slowly, not 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 pow- der as his teacher had employed, he hoped to obtain the THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 9 same results : a large practice and an immense fortune. In his secret heart he was by no means disconcerted by his patient's condition ; on the contrary, he did not con- sider 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 endeav- ors fruitless, the doctor at last declared that all im- mediate remedies were exhausted, that "the women" might be allowed to return, and that nothing now re- mained 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 contained in the glance that Made- moiselle Marguerite cast upon the physician as she re- turned 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 him- self near the fireplace, 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 favor. Tell me have you ever heard him complain of vertigo, or of a buzzing in his ears ? " 10 THE COUNTS MILLIONS " Never." Mademoiselle Marguerite seemed inclined to volun- teer 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 thoughtful- ness, his head slightly inclined forward, his brow con- tracted, and his under lip puffed out, while from time to time he stroked his beardless chin. He was copying his master. i( 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 toward Mademoiselle Marguerite : " Do you know, mademoi- selle, whether the count has experienced any very vio- lent 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. "Why did you not tell me all this at first? It will be necessary for you to give me the par- ticulars, mademoiselle." The young girl hesitated. The servants were dazed by the doctor's manner; but Mademoiselle Marguerite was far from sharing their awe and admiration. She would have given anything to have had the regular physician of the household there instead of him ! As for this coarse examination 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 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 11 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 his 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 par- ticularly 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 pro- duced, and addressing herself to the physician alone, the girl continued : " After the letter was destroyed, 12 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS M. de Chalusse seemed himself again. Coffee was served, and he afterward lighted a cigar as usual. How- ever, he soon let it go out. I dared not disturb him by any remarks ; but suddenly he said to me : ' 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 favor 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. I fancied that any annoyance the letter had caused him was forgotten ; but I was wrong, for in the afternoon he sent a mes- sage, 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 window 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 of flying through the air, THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 13 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 ex- changed 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 every- thing was explained. " I was much grieved at the count's disappointment," continued Mademoiselle Marguerite, "but suddenly he exclaimed, joyfully : ' That address why, such a per- son 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 per- son ? " he inquired eagerly, without apparently realizing the impropriety of his question. But the girl felt indignant. She silenced her indis- creet questioner with a haughty glance, and in the dri- est possible tone, replied : " I have forgotten 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, mademoi- selle, that interest alone a most respectful interest " She did not even seem to hear his excuse, but re- sumed : " I know, however, monsieur, that M. de Cha- lusse intended applying to the police if he failed to ob- tain 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 gayly, and left 14 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS the house on foot, telling me that he was confident of success, and that he did not expect to return before midnight/ 7 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. However, 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. " Come make haste, you are wanted," said the ser- vants. He emptied his glass and followed them with very bad grace, muttering and swearing between his set teeth. The doctor, strange to say, was considerate enough to go out into the hall to question him ; but no information of value was gained by the man's answers. He declared that the gentleman had hired him at twelve o'clock, hoping by this means to extort pay for five hours' driving, which, joined to the liberal gratuity THE COUNTS MILLIONS 15 he could not fail to obtain, would remunerate him hand- somely for his day's work. Living is dear, it should be remembered, and a fellow makes as much as he can. When the cabby had gone off, still growling, al- though a couple of louis had been placed in his hand, the doctor returned to his patient. He involuntarily as- sumed 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 sus- picions 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 lamentable 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 increased 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 Made- moiselle 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, mademoi- selle," 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 ! no, monsieur/ 3 16 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS " It is very important that I should know. The ac- curacy of my diagnosis 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 fireplace : There? " he asked. 101 your heart and your intelligence, my dear madame, to be sure that you would not speak a word to my dis- paragement." " 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, un- fortunately, 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 sud- denly 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 him- self compelled to answer an idle question, and assum- ing an air of hypocritical commiseration, 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 con- duct this favored youth to Italy, Egypt, and Greece. He is now studying law; and four times a year, with unvarying punctuality, he receives a letter from Lon- don 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 watch- 192 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS ing over him; but I know that he believes himself to be the illegitimate son of some great English noble- man. 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 extremely 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 caus- ing 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 your 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 suf- fering agony. " It is as I feared ! " she moaned, in a scarcely audible voice. 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 1 had not known the secret of THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 103 your maternal tenderness, delicacy of feeling, and de- votion ? " 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 in- vite 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 assertion than the fact that I can repeat it, almost word for word, even now. ' DEAR SIR/ you 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 see- ing him in the Rue de Helder, and I found him looking pale and careworn. 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 honorable posi- tion for himself; but think of the dangers and tempta- tion that beset him, alone and friendless, in this cor- rupt 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 104 THE COUNTS MILLIONS 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 understand 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 beseechingly: " 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." 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. THE COUNTS MILLIONS 105 " A truce to these disagreeable truths/ 5 said he, coldly. " If we expressed 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 when I slipped the cards into the pack. If that had happened,. / should have been ruined/ 5 " 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; but to-morrow it will be for- gotten." " And will he have no suspicions ? " " He will have no proofs to offer, in any case/ 5 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, consult- ing 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." 106 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS V. IF through the length and breadth of Paris there is a really quiet, peaceful street, a refuge for the thought- fully 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 cor- ner 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 the right-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 sur- 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 occa- sional 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. THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 107 It was in this street "out of the world," as M. de Coralth expressed it that Pascal Ferailleur resided with his mother. They occupied a second floor, a pretty suite of five rooms, looking out upon a garden. Their rent was high. Indeed, they paid fourteen hun- dred 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 ser- vant 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. Besides, 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 108 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS up in a single sentence: she had loved; she had mourned. The daughter of a petty clerk in one of the govern- ment 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 indus- trious, 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 himself, 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 manufac- turing establishment, his services soon became so in- valuable to his employers that they gave him a con- siderable interest in the business. His name even obtained an honorable place among modern inventors; and we are indebted to him for the discovery of one of those brilliant colors that are extracted from com- mon 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 every- thing 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 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 109 of fter husband's friends, who acted as administrator to the estate, took a contemptible advantage of her in- experience. 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, but she was sadly affected by the thought that her son's future was, perhaps, irrevocably blighted, and that, in any case, this disaster would condemn 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 inter- rupted, even if she had to labor with her own hands. And when she spoke of manual toil, it was no wild, inmeaning 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 bookkeep- ing, but she was amply repaid for her trouble; for the situation 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 110 THE COUNTS MILLIONS she was able to save nearly eight hundred francs a year. It must be admitted that she was admirably seconded in her efforts by hef 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-humor 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 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 111 which so often accompanies poverty. For three years in succession the highest prizes at the competitions re- warded 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 pre- sented herself as usual to make her quarterly payment, the steward replied : " You owe us nothing, madame ; everything has been paid by your son." She almost fainted ; after bearing adversity so brave- ly, this happiness proved too much for her. She could scarcely believe it. A long explanation 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 insurmount- able 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 familiarizing 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 112 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 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 practise, his patron raised him to the position of head- clerk, with a salary of three thousand francs, which Pascal was moreover able to increase considerably by drawing up documents for busy attorneys, and assist- ing 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 accomplished. 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 threat- ened 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 start- ing 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 without 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 predic- tion : " That young man will rise in his profession." THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 113 He had not desired to make any display of his knowl- edge or talent, but merely to win the cases confided to him ; and, unlike many beginners, he evinced no inclina- tion to shine at his clients' expense. Rare modesty, and it served him well. His first ten months of prac- tice 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 was consequently doubled; but the income he derived from his profession increased so rapidly that he soon had twelve thousand francs safely invested as j. 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 happi- ness left for her on earth, her heart rejoiced at her son's success. Pascal was thus on the high-road 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. Ferdinand had engaged in an affair which savored 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 al- 114 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS most dazzled by his brilliant vices, his wit, his hardi- hood, conceit, marvellous assurance, and careless im- pudence; 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 Pascai but the latter' s intelligence should have told him to distiust a man who treated the requirements of morality even more than cavalierly, and who had in- finitely more wants than scruples. However, the young advocate seemed to have no suspicions ; they exchanged 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 de- scribe 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's 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 re- plied; "and it is probable 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 fore- THE COUNTS MILLIONS 115 head to her son's lips, she gayly 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 cer- tainly had no cause for anxiety, and yet the thought that her son was not at home filled her heart with vague misgivings 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 disliked the viscount. Her woman's instinct warned her that there was something unwhole- some 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 neighboring 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 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 hast- ened 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; 116 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS and such an act on the part of a man of his character was sufficient proof that something extraordinary had occurred. 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 footfall 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 over- coat, and he was bareheaded. He looked very pale, and his teeth were chattering. 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 reassured; "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 in- THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 117 toxicated 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- Elysees, 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's 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 court- yard, he had thrown away the candelabrum with which he had defended himself. After that, he remembered nothing distinctly. On reaching the street he had been overcome by the fresh air, just as a carouser is over- come on emerging from a heated dining-room. Per- haps the champagne which he had drank had con- tributed 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 succeed 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 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 en- tered, 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 118 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS work. Heavens ! how surprised and mortified he will foe 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 simul- taneously and visionlike 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 realized 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 in- centive 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'Argeles'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 dishonored. 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, in- comprehensive calumny would crush him. The bar was THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 119 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 him. " Pascal, in heaven's name, what has happened ? " she cried. "A slight difficulty a mere trifle," he replied. " 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 stair- case 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 unfortunate man at once realized 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 entrance, two of them at once left the hall, while two of the others pretended 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 120 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS college comrade named Dartelle. Pascal walked straight toward 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 magni- tude. 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 evi- dence against him, he allowed himself to be searched, and without much demur consented 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 reputation for integrity; and, un- fortunately, this prank cannot be attributed to a mo- mentary fit of madness, for the fact that he had pro- vided himself with these cards in advance proves the act to have been premeditated. One of the persons present was especially displeased. This was the Vis- count de C , who had introduced M. F to Madame d'A . Extremely annoyed by this contre- temps, he took umbrage at an offensive remark made by M. de R , and it was rumored that these gentle- men would cross swords at daybreak this morning. "LATER INTELLIGENCE. We learn at the moment of going to press that an encounter has just taken place between M. de R and M. de C . M. de R THE COUNTS MILLIONS 121 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 unrecognizable in his passion and despair. " It is an infamous lie ! " he said, hoarsely. " I am innocent ; I swear it upon my honor ! " Dartelle avert- ed his face, but not quickly enough to prevent Pascal from noticing the look of withering scorn in his eyes. Then, feeling that he was condemned, 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." 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 122 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 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 re- press the cry of terror which sprang to her lips. She realized that the danger was terrible, imminent, ex- treme. 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 contented himself with locking the door leading to the ante-room. He had forgotten this one, or neglected it, not thinking that anybody would ap- proach his office through his bedroom. But his mother perceived that this door opened toward 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 THE COUNTS MILLIONS 123 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, tore the envelope open, and read : " Forgive me I'm about to die. It must be so. I cannot survive dishonor ; and I am dishonored/' " Dishonored ! you ! " exclaimed the heartbroken 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 im- perious behest, and related in a despairing voice the events which had wrought his woe. He did not omit a single particular, but tried rather to exaggerate than palliate the horrors of his situation. Perhaps he found a strange satisfaction 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 realized whether she were awake or in the midst of some fright- ful 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, that your death would give an appearance of truth to this vile calumny ? " With a mother's wonderful, sublime instinct, she had 124 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS found the most powerful reason that could be urged to induce Pascal to live. " Did you not feel, my son, that it showed a lack of courage on your part to brand your- self 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 op- probrium, you must live to defend it." He lowered his head despondently, and in a tone of profound discouragement, 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 mo- ment of the accusation, I might have defended and justified myself, perhaps. But now the misfortune 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 strug- gle, there is, at least, the satisfaction 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 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS 125 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 fear you, Pascal? Has he con- fided 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 being. Reflect, my son. Have you wounded any of your friends? Are you sure that you are in nobody's way? Consider carefully. Your pro- fession 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 uncer- tain 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 reflections 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 profound and rever- ent love for a young girl, the most beautiful and chaste being on earth a girl who, in intelligence and heart, is worthy of you, my own mother." Madame Ferailleur nodded her head gravely, as 126 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS much as to say that she had expected to find a woman at the bottom of the mystery. " And who is this young girl ? " she inquired. " What is her name ? " " 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 any- thing 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.