Part 54

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! do you know him?”

“He is one of my most intimate friends.”

Madame d’Argeles had become very pale. “Wretched boy!” she exclaimed. “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, embarrassment 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 proving 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 explain.” But Madame d’Argeles did not even turn her head; the door closed behind her and he was left alone.

However strong a man’s 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 Coralth, 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 mustaches 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 appointed for his second interview with M. de Valorsay. He had not breakfasted, 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 engraver, whom he crushed by his importance, and ordered some visiting cards bearing the inscription W. de Gordon-Chalusse, with a count’s coronet 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 Viscount 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 without 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. Imagine 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.

“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; accordingly, I have requested the persons who gave me this information to call here. You shall hear their story, and then you must decide for yourself.” 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 remarked: “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 devotion 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.”