Part 31

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 reward, 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. “Return!” he muttered; “not I! I thought for a moment they had their hands on my precious bank-note.”

But he had already recovered from his fright, and as he 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 savory 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 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?”

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. Fortunat’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 barrieres. 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 transformation. “Ah!” 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 watching him. “You have changed your clothes, Toto,” she remarked.

“Yes, mother.”

“But why have you put on your blouse, my son?”

Although accustomed to his mother’s remarkable quickness 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 necessary to disguise yourself,” she said, gravely.

“But, mother----”

“Hush, my son! When a man doesn’t wish to be recognized, he’s evidently 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 of urging 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 good 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 concierge, and a valet in a red waistcoat, were removing the plants from the vehicle and arranging them in a line 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 certainly 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 called me, and said: ‘M. de Coralth lives in the Rue d’Anjou, but I’ve forgotten 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? Are there any elegant ladies who give five francs for YOUR address?”