Part 44

This did not suit M. Fortunat’s fancy. He would infinitely have preferred 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 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 exclaimed; “that is exactly like all the rest! 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 myself afterward? I thought of doing so, but I lacked the courage. And what I 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 starvation 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 son’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 inquiries about this Madame Lucy Huntley--a feigned name, evidently. I 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 toward 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 extended 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 desire, to rid himself of M. Casimir. But this was 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! 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 goes.”

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 realized the valet’s condition at the first glance, and his face clouded. He bowed politely 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 thought of his condition, and the responsibility he had accepted, coming upon him at the same time, he continued: “Good Heavens! I’m in a nice state! It is all I can do to stand. What will they think at the house? 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.”

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 Poivriere.”

“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 only 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?”