XI
The Rue St. Lazare was adorned by the palatial residences of theJandidier brothers, two celebrated financiers, who, if deprived of theprestige of immense wealth, would still be looked up to as remarkablemen. Why cannot the same be said of all men?
These two mansions, which were thought marvels at the time they werebuilt, were entirely distinct from each other, but so planned that theycould be turned into one immense house when so desired.
When MM. Jandidier gave parties, they always had the movable partitionstaken away, and thus obtained the most superb salon in Paris.
Princely magnificence, lavish hospitality, and an elegant, gracefulmanner of receiving their guests, made these entertainments eagerlysought after by the fashionable circles of the capital.
On Saturday, the Rue St. Lazare was blocked up by a file of carriages,whose fair occupants were impatiently awaiting their turn to drive upto the door, through which they could catch the tantalizing strains of awaltz.
It was a fancy ball; and nearly all of the costumes were superb, thoughsome were more original than elegant.
Among the latter was a clown. Everything was in perfect keeping: theinsolent eye, coarse lips, high cheek-bones, and a beard so red that itseemed to emit flames in the reflection of the dazzling lights.
He wore top-boots, a dilapidated hat on the back of his head, and ashirt-ruffle trimmed with torn lace.
He carried in his left hand a canvas banner, upon which were paintedsix or eight pictures, coarsely designed like those found in strollingfairs. In his right he waved a little switch, with which he would everynow and then strike his banner, like a quack retailing his wares.
Quite a crowd surrounded this clown, hoping to hear some witty speechesand puns; but he kept near the door, and remained silent.
About half-past ten he quitted his post.
M. and Mme. Fauvel, followed by their niece Madeleine, had just entered.
A compact group immediately formed near the door.
During the last ten days, the affair of the Rue de Provence had been theuniversal topic of conversation; and friends and enemies were alikeglad to seize this opportunity of approaching the banker, some to tendertheir sympathy, and others to offer equivocal condolence, which of allthings is the most exasperating and insulting.
Belonging to the battalion of grave, elderly men, M. Fauvel had notassumed a fancy costume, but merely threw over his shoulders a shortsilk domino.
On his arm leaned Mme. Fauvel, _nee_ Valentine de la Verberie, bowingand gracefully greeting her numerous friends.
She had once been remarkably beautiful; and to-night the effect of thesoft wax-lights, and her very becoming dress, half restored heryouthful freshness and comeliness. No one would have supposed her to beforty-eight years old.
She wore a dress of the later years of Louis the Fourteenth's reign,magnificent and severe, of embroidered satin and black velvet, withoutthe adornment of a single jewel.
She looked so graceful and elegant in this court dress and powderedhair, that some ill-natured gossips said it was a pity to see a realLa Verberie, so well fitted to adorn a queen's drawing-room, as all herancestors had done before her, thrown away upon a man whom she had onlymarried for his money.
But Madeleine was the object of universal admiration, so dazzlinglybeautiful and queenlike did she appear in her costume of maid of honor,which seemed to have been especially invented to set forth her beautifulfigure.
Her loveliness expanded in the perfumed atmosphere and soft light ofthe ball-room. Never had her hair looked so black, her complexion soexquisite, or her large eyes so brilliant.
Having greeted the hosts, Madeleine took her aunt's arm, while M. Fauvelwandered through the rooms in search of the card-table, the usual refugeof bored men, when they are enticed to the ball-room by their womankind.
The ball was now at its height.
Two orchestras, led by Strauss and one of his lieutenants, filled thetwo mansions with intoxicating music. The motley crowd whirled in thewaltz until they presented a curious confusion of velvets, satins,laces, and diamonds. Almost every head and bosom sparkled with jewels;the palest cheeks were rosy; heavy eyes now shone like stars; and theglistening shoulders of fair women were like drifted snow in an Aprilsun.
Forgotten by the crowd, the clown had taken refuge in the embrasure ofa window, and seemed to be meditating upon the gay scene before him; atthe same time, he kept his eye upon a couple not far off.
It was Madeleine, dancing with a splendidly dressed doge. The doge wasthe Marquis de Clameran.
He appeared to be radiant, rejuvenated, and well satisfied with theimpression he was making upon his partner; at the end of a quadrillehe leaned over her, and whispered compliments with the most unboundedadmiration; and she seemed to listen, if not with pleasure, at leastwithout repugnance. She now and then smiled, and coquettishly shruggedher shoulders.
"Evidently," muttered the clown, "this noble scoundrel is paying courtto the banker's niece; so I was right yesterday. But how can Mlle.Madeleine resign herself to so graciously receive his insipid flattery?Fortunately, Prosper is not here now."
He was interrupted by an elderly man wrapped in a Venetian mantle, whosaid to him:
"You remember, M. Verduret,"--this name was uttered half seriously, halfbanteringly--"what you promised me?"
The clown bowed with great respect, but not the slightest shade ofhumility.
"I remember," he replied.
"But do not be imprudent, I beg you."
"M. the Count need not be uneasy; he has my promise."
"Very good. I know the value of it."
The count walked off; but during this short colloquy the quadrille hadended, and M. de Clameran and Madeleine were lost to sight.
"I shall find them near Mme. Fauvel," said the clown.
And he at once started in search of the banker's wife.
Incommoded by the stifling heat of the room, Mme. Fauvel had soughta little fresh air in the grand picture-gallery, which, thanks to thetalisman called gold, was now transformed into a fairy-like garden,filled with orange-trees, japonicas, laurel, and many rare exotics.
The clown saw her seated near a grove, not far from the door of thecard-room. Upon her right was Madeleine, and near her stood Raoul deLagors, dressed in a costume of Henri III.
"I must confess," muttered the clown from his post of observation, "thatthe young scamp is a very handsome man."
Madeleine appeared very sad. She had plucked a japonica from a tree nearby, and was mechanically pulling it to pieces as she sat with her eyesdowncast.
Raoul and Mme. Fauvel were engaged in earnest conversation. Their faceswere composed, but the gestures of one and the trembling of the otherbetrayed a serious discussion.
In the card-room sat the doge, M. de Clameran, so placed as to havefull view of Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine, although himself concealed by anangle of the room.
"It is the continuation of yesterday's scene," thought the clown. "IfI could only get behind the oleander-tree, I might hear what they aresaying."
He pushed his way through the crowd, and, just as he had reached thedesired spot, Madeleine arose, and, taking the arm of a bejewelledPersian, walked away.
At the same moment Raoul went into the card-room, and whispered a fewwords to De Clameran.
"There they go," muttered the clown. "The two scoundrels certainly holdthese poor women in their power; and they are determined to make themsuffer before releasing them. What can be the secret of their power?"
His attention was attracted by a commotion in the picture-gallery; itwas caused by the announcement of a wonderful minuet to be danced in theball-room; the arrival of the Countess de Commarin as Aurora; and thepresence of the Princess Korasoff, with her superb emeralds, which werereported to be the finest in the world.
In an instant the gallery became almost deserted. Only a fewforlorn-looking people remained; mostly sulky husbands, and somemelancholy youths looking awkward and unhappy in their g
ay fancydresses.
The clown thought it a favorable opportunity for carrying out hisproject.
He abruptly left his corner, flourishing his switch, and beating hisbanner, and, crossing the gallery, seated himself in a chair betweenMme. Fauvel and the door. As soon as the people had collected in acircle around him, he commenced to cough in an affected manner, like astump orator about to make a speech.
Then he struck a comical attitude, standing up with his body twistedsideways, and his hat on one ear, and with great buffoonery andvolubility made the following remarks:
"Ladies and gentlemen, this very morning I obtained a license from theauthorities of this town. And what for? Why gentlemen, for the purposeof exhibiting to you a spectacle which has already won the admiration ofthe four quarters of the globe, and several universities besides. Insideof this booth, ladies, is about to commence the representation of a mostremarkable drama, acted for the first time at Pekin, and translated intoseveral languages by our most celebrated authors. Gentlemen, you cantake your seats; the lamps are lighted, and the actors are changingtheir dress."
Here he stopped speaking, and imitated to perfection the feats whichmountebanks play upon horns and kettle-drums.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen," he resumed, "you wish to know what I amdoing outside, if the piece is to be performed under the tent. The factis, gentlemen, that I wish to give you a foretaste of the agitations,sensations, emotions, palpitations, and other entertainments whichyou may enjoy by paying the small sum of ten sous. You see this superbpicture? It represents eight of the most thrilling scenes in the drama.Ah, I see you begin to shudder already; and yet this is nothing comparedto the play itself. This splendid picture gives you no more idea of theacting than a drop of water gives an idea of the sea, or a spark of fireof the sun. My picture, gentlemen, is merely to give you a foretaste ofwhat is in the tent; as the steam oozing from a restaurant gives you ataste, or rather a smell, of what is within."
"Do you know this clown?" asked an enormous Turk of a melancholy Punch.
"No, but he can imitate a trumpet splendidly."
"Oh, very well indeed! But what is he driving at?"
The clown was endeavoring to attract the attention of Mme. Fauvel, who,since Raoul and Madeleine had left her, sat by herself in a mournfulrevery.
He succeeded in his object.
The showman's shrill voice brought the banker's wife back to a senseof reality; she started, and looked quickly about her, as if suddenlyawakened from a troubled dream.
"Now, ladies, we are in China. The first picture on my canvas, here,in the left corner"--here he touched the top daub--"represents thecelebrated Mandarin Li-Fo, in the bosom of his family. This pretty womanleaning over him is his wife; and these children playing on the carpetare the bonds of love between this happy pair. Do you not inhale theodor of sanctity and happiness emanating from this speaking picture,gentlemen?
"Mme. Li-Fo is the most virtuous of women, adoring her husband andidolizing her children. Being virtuous she is happy; for the wiseConfucius says, 'The ways of virtue are more pleasant than the ways ofvice.'"
Mme. Fauvel had left her seat, and approached nearer to the clown.
"Do you see anything on the banner like what he is describing?" askedthe melancholy Punch of his neighbor.
"No, not a thing. Do you?"
The fact is, that the daubs of paint on the canvas represented one thingas well as another, and the clown could call them whatever he pleased.
"Picture No. 2!" he cried, after a flourish of music. "This old lady,seated before a mirror tearing out her hair--especially the grayones--you have seen before; do you recognize her? No, you do not. She isthe fair mandarine of the first picture. I see the tears in your eyes,ladies and gentlemen. Ah! you have cause to weep; for she is no longervirtuous, and her happiness has departed with her virtue. Alas, it isa sad tale! One fatal day she met, on the streets of Pekin, a youngruffian, fiendish, but beautiful as an angel, and she loved him--theunfortunate woman loved him!"
The last words were uttered in the most tragic tone as he raised hisclasped hands to heaven.
During this tirade he had whirled around, so that he found himselffacing the banker's wife, whose countenance he closely watched while hewas speaking.
"You are surprised, gentlemen," he continued; "I am not. The greatBilboquet has proved to us that the heart never grows old, and that themost vigorous wall-flowers flourish on old ruins. This unhappy woman isnearly fifty years old--fifty years old, and in love with a youth! Hencethis heart-rending scene which should serve as a warning to us all."
"Really!" grumbled a cook dressed in white satin, who had passed theevening in carrying around bills of fare, which no one read, "I thoughthe was going to amuse us."
"But," continued the clown, "you must go inside of the booth towitness the effects of the mandarine's folly. At times a ray of reasonpenetrates her diseased brain, and then the sight of her anguish wouldsoften a heart of stone. Enter, and for the small sum of ten sous youshall hear sobs such as the Odeon never echoed in its halcyon days. Theunhappy woman has waked up to the absurdity and inanity of her blindpassion; she confesses to herself that she is madly pursuing a phantom.She knows but too well that he, in the vigor and beauty of youth, cannotlove a faded old woman like herself, who vainly makes pitiable effortsto retain the last remains of her once entrancing beauty. She feelsthat the sweet words he once whispered in her charmed ear were deceitfulfalsehoods. She knows that the day is near when she will be left alone,with nothing save his mantle in her hand."
As the clown addressed this voluble description to the crowd before him,he narrowly watched the countenance of the banker's wife.
But nothing he had said seemed to affect her. She leaned back in herarm-chair perfectly calm, and occasionally smiled at the tragic mannerof the showman.
"Good heavens!" muttered the clown uneasily, "can I be on the wrongtrack?"
He saw that his circle of listeners was increased by the presence of thedoge, M. de Clameran.
"The third picture," he said, after a roll of drums, "depicts theold mandarine after she has dismissed that most annoying ofguests--remorse--from her bosom. She promises herself that interestshall supply the place of love in chaining the too seductive youth toher side. It is with this object that she invests him with false honorsand dignity, and introduces him to the chief mandarins of the capitalof the Celestial Empire; then, since so handsome a youth must cut a finefigure in society, and as a fine figure cannot be cut without money,the lady must needs to sacrifice all of her possessions for his sake.Necklaces, rings, bracelets, diamonds, and pearls, all are surrendered.The monster carries all these jewels to the pawnbrokers on Tien-TsiStreet, and then has the cruelty to refuse her the tickets, so that shemay have a chance of redeeming her treasures."
The clown thought that at last he had hit the mark. Mme. Fauvel began tobetray signs of agitation.
Once she made an attempt to rise from her chair; but it seemed as if herstrength failed her, and she sank back, forced to listen to the end.
"Finally, ladies and gentlemen," continued the clown, "the richly storedjewel-cases became empty. The day came when the mandarine had nothingmore to give. It was then that the young scoundrel conceived the projectof carrying off the jasper button belonging to the Mandarin Li-Fo--asplendid jewel of incalculable value, which, being the badge of hisdignity, was kept in a granite chest, and guarded by three soldiersnight and day. Ah! the mandarine resisted a long time! She knew theinnocent soldiers would be accused and crucified, as is the custom inPekin; and this thought restrained her. But her lover besought her sotenderly, that she finally yielded to his entreaties; and--the jasperbutton was stolen. The fourth picture represents the guilty couplestealthily creeping down the private stairway: see their frightenedlook--see--"
He abruptly stopped. Three or four of his auditors rushed to theassistance of Mme. Fauvel, who seemed about to faint; and at the sametime he felt his arm roughly seized by someone behind him.
He turned around and faced De Clameran and Lagors, both of whom werepale with anger.
"What do you want, gentlemen?" he inquired politely.
"To speak to you," they both answered.
"I am at your service."
And he followed them to the end of the picture-gallery, near a windowopening on a balcony.
Here they were unobserved except by the man in the Venetian cloak, whomthe clown had so respectfully addressed as "M. the Count."
The minuet having ended, the orchestras were resting, and the crowdbegan to rapidly fill the gallery.
The sudden faintness of Mme. Fauvel had passed off unnoticed save by afew, who attributed it to the heat of the room. M. Fauvel had been sentfor; but when he came hurrying in, and found his wife composedlytalking to Madeleine, his alarm was dissipated, and he returned to thecard-tables.
Not having as much control over his temper as Raoul, M. de Clameranangrily said:
"In the first place, monsieur, I would like to know who you are."
The clown determined to answer as if he thought the question were ajest, replied in the bantering tone of a buffoon:
"You want my passport, do you, my lord doge? I left it in the hands ofthe city authorities; it contains my name, age, profession, domicile,and every detail--"
With an angry gesture, M. de Clameran interrupted him.
"You have just committed a gross insult!"
"I, my lord doge?"
"Yes, you! What do you mean by telling this abominable story in thishouse?"
"Abominable! You may call it abominable; but I, who composed it, have adifferent opinion of it."
"Enough, monsieur; you will at least have the courage to acknowledgethat your performance was a vile insinuation against Mme. Fauvel?"
The clown stood with his head thrown back, and mouth wide open, as ifastounded at what he heard.
But anyone who knew him would have seen his bright black eyes sparklingwith malicious satisfaction.
"Bless my heart!" he cried, as if speaking to himself. "This is thestrangest thing I ever heard of! How can my drama of the Mandarine Li-Fohave any reference to Mme. Fauvel, whom I don't know from Adam or Eve?I can't think how the resemblance----unless----but no, that isimpossible."
"Do you pretend," said M. de Clameran, "to be ignorant of M. Fauvel'smisfortune?"
The clown looked very innocent, and asked:
"What misfortune?"
"The robbery of which M. Fauvel was the victim. It has been ineveryone's mouth, and you must have heard of it."
"Ah, yes, yes; I remember. His cashier ran off with three hundred andfifty thousand francs. Pardieu! It is a thing that almost daily happens.But, as to discovering any connection between this robbery and my play,that is another matter."
M. de Clameran made no reply. A nudge from Lagors had calmed him as ifby enchantment.
He looked quietly at the clown, and seemed to regret having uttered thesignificant words forced from him by angry excitement.
"Very well," he finally said in his usual haughty tone; "I must havebeen mistaken. I accept your explanation."
But the clown, hitherto so humble and silly-looking, seemed to takeoffence at the word, and, assuming a defiant attitude, said:
"I have not made, nor do I intend making, any explanation."
"Monsieur," began De Clameran.
"Allow me to finish, if you please. If, unintentionally, I have offendedthe wife of a man whom I highly esteem, it is his business to seekredress, and not yours. Perhaps you will tell me he is too old to demandsatisfaction: if so, let him send one of his sons. I saw one of them inthe ball-room to-night; let him come. You asked me who I am; in return Iask you who are you--you who undertake to act as Mme. Fauvel's champion?Are you her relative, friend, or ally? What right have you to insulther by pretending to discover an allusion to her in a play invented foramusement?"
There was nothing to be said in reply to this. M. de Clameran sought ameans of escape.
"I am a friend of M. Fauvel," he said, "and this title gives me theright to be as jealous of his reputation as if it were my own. If thisis not a sufficient reason for my interference, I must inform you thathis family will shortly be mine: I regard myself as his nephew."
"Ah!"
"Next week, monsieur, my marriage with Madeleine will be publiclyannounced."
This news was so unexpected, so startling that for a moment the clownwas dumb; and now his surprise was genuine.
But he soon recovered himself, and, bowing with deference, said, withcovert irony:
"Permit me to offer my congratulations, monsieur. Besides being thebelle to-night, Mlle. Madeleine is worth, I hear, half a million."
Raoul de Lagors had anxiously been watching the people near them, to seeif they overheard this conversation.
"We have had enough of this gossip," he said, in a disdainful tone;"I will only say one thing more, master clown, and that is, that yourtongue is too long."
"Perhaps it is, my pretty youth, perhaps it is; but my arm is stilllonger."
De Clameran here interrupted them by saying:
"It is impossible for one to seek an explanation from a man who concealshis identity under the guise of a fool."
"You are at liberty, my lord doge, to ask the master of the house who Iam--if you dare."
"You are," cried Clameran, "you are--"
A warning look from Raoul checked the forge-master from using an epithetwhich would have led to an affray, or at least a scandalous scene.
The clown stood by with a sardonic smile, and, after a moment's silence,stared M. de Clameran steadily in the face, and in measured tones said:
"I was the best friend, monsieur, that your brother Gaston ever had. Iwas his adviser, and the confidant of his last wishes."
These few words fell like a clap of thunder upon De Clameran.
He turned deadly pale, and stared back with his hands stretched outbefore him, as if shrinking from a phantom.
He tried to answer, to protest against this assertion, but the wordsfroze on his lips. His fright was pitiable.
"Come, let us go," said Lagors, who was perfectly cool.
And he dragged Clameran away, half supporting him, for he staggered likea drunken man, and clung to every object he passed, to prevent falling.
"Oh," exclaimed the clown, in three different tones, "oh, oh!"
He himself was almost as much astonished as the forge-master, andremained rooted to the spot, watching the latter as he slowly left theroom.
It was with no decided object in view that he had ventured to use thelast mysteriously threatening words, but he had been inspired to doso by his wonderful instinct, which with him was like the scent of ablood-hound.
"What can this mean?" he murmured. "Why was he so frightened? Whatterrible memory have I awakened in his base soul? I need not boast of mypenetration, or the subtlety of my plans. There is a great master, who,without any effort, in an instant destroys all my chimeras; he is called'Chance.'"
His mind had wandered far from the present scene, when he was broughtback to his situation by someone touching him on the shoulder. It wasthe man in the Venetian cloak.
"Are you very satisfied, M. Verduret?" he inquired.
"Yes, and no, M. the Count. No, because I have not completely achievedthe object I had in view when I asked you for an invitation hereto-night; yes, because these two rascals behaved in a manner whichdispels all doubt."
"And yet you complain--"
"I do not complain, M. the Count: on the contrary, I bless chance, orrather Providence, which has just revealed to me the existence of asecret that I did not before even suspect."
Five or six people approached the count, and he went off with them aftergiving the clown a friendly nod.
The latter instantly threw aside his banner, and started in pursuit ofMme. Fauvel. He found her sitting on a sofa in the large salon, engagedin an animated conversation with Madeleine.
"Of course they are talking over the s
cene; but what has become ofLagors and De Clameran?"
He soon saw them wandering among the groups scattered about the room,and eagerly asking questions.
"I will bet my head these honorable gentlemen are trying to find outwho I am. Keep it up, my friends, ask everybody in the room; I wish yousuccess!"
They soon gave it up, but were so preoccupied, and anxious to be alonein order to reflect and deliberate, that, without waiting for supper,they took leave of Mme. Fauvel and her niece, saying they were goinghome.
The clown saw them go up to the dressing-room for their cloaks, and in afew minutes leave the house.
"I have nothing more to do here," he murmured; "I might as well go too."
He completely covered his dress with a domino, and started for home,thinking the cold frosty air would cool his confused brain.
He lit a cigar, and, walking up the Rue St. Lazare, crossed the RueNotre Dame de Lorette, and struck into the Faubourg Montmartre.
A man suddenly started out from some place of concealment, and rushedupon him with a dagger.
Fortunately the clown had a cat-like instinct, which enabled himto protect himself against immediate danger, and detect any whichthreatened.
He saw, or rather divined, the man crouching in the dark shadow of ahouse, and had the presence of mind to strike an attitude which enabledhim to ward off the assassin by spreading out his arms before him.
This movement certainly saved his life; for he received in his arm afurious stab, which would have instantly killed him had it penetratedhis breast.
Anger, more than pain, made him cry out:
"Ah, you villain!"
And recoiling a few feet, he put himself on the defensive.
But the precaution was useless.
Seeing his blow miss, the assassin did not return to the attack, butmade rapidly off.
"That was certainly Lagors," said the clown, "and Clameran must besomewhere near. While I walked around one side of the church, they musthave gone the other and lain in wait for me."
His wound began to pain him; he stood under a gas-lamp to examine it.
It did not appear to be dangerous, but the arm was cut through to thebone.
He tore his handkerchief into four bands, and tied his arm up with thedexterity of a surgeon.
"I must be on the track of some great crime, since these fellows areresolved upon murder. When such cunning rogues are only in danger of thepolice court, they do not gratuitously risk the chance of being triedfor murder."
He thought by enduring a great deal of pain he might still use his arm;so he started in pursuit of his enemy, taking care to keep in the middleof the road, and avoid all dark corners.
Although he saw no one, he was convinced that he was being pursued.
He was not mistaken. When he reached the Boulevard Montmartre, hecrossed the street, and, as he did so, distinguished two shadows whichhe recognized. They crossed the same street a little higher up.
"I have to deal with desperate men," he muttered. "They do not even takepains to conceal their pursuit of me. They seem to be accustomed to thiskind of adventure, and the carriage trick which fooled Fanferlot wouldnever succeed with them. Besides, my light hat is a perfect beacon tolead them on in the night." He continued his way up the boulevard, and,without turning his head, was sure that his enemies were thirty feetbehind him.
"I must get rid of them somehow," he said to himself. "I can neitherreturn home nor to the Archangel with these devils at my heels. They arefollowing me to find out where I live, and who I am. If they discoverthat the clown is M. Verduret, and that M. Verduret is M. Lecoq, myplans will be ruined. They will escape abroad with the money, and Ishall be left to console myself with a wounded arm. A pleasant ending toall my exertions!"
The idea of Raoul and Clameran escaping him so exasperated him that foran instant he thought of having them arrested at once.
This was easy; for he had only to rush upon them, scream for help,and they would all three be arrested, carried to the watch-house, andconsigned to the commissary of police.
The police often resort to this ingenious and simple means of arrestinga malefactor for whom they are on the lookout, and whom they cannotseize without a warrant.
The next day there is a general explanation, and the parties, ifinnocent, are dismissed.
The clown had sufficient proof to sustain him in the arrest of Lagors.He could show the letter and the mutilated prayer-book, he could revealthe existence of the pawnbroker's tickets in the house at Vesinet, hecould display his wounded arm. He could force Raoul to confess howand why he had assumed the name of Lagors, and what his motive was inpassing himself off for a relative of M. Fauvel.
On the other hand, in acting thus hastily, he was insuring the safety ofthe principal plotter, De Clameran. What proofs had he against him? Notone. He had strong suspicions, but no well-grounded charge to produceagainst him.
On reflection the clown decided that he would act alone, as he had thusfar done, and that alone and unaided he would discover the truth of allhis suspicions.
Having reached this decision, the first step to be taken was to put hisfollowers on the wrong scent.
He walked rapidly up the Rue Sebastopol, and, reaching the square ofthe Arts et Metiers, he abruptly stopped, and asked some insignificantquestions of two constables who were standing talking together.
The manoeuvre had the result he expected; Raoul and Clameran stoodperfectly still about twenty steps off, not daring to advance.
Twenty steps! That was as much start as the clown wanted. While talkingwith the constables, he had pulled the bell of the door before whichthey were standing, and its hollow sound apprised him that the door wasopen. He bowed, and entered the house.
A minute later the constables had passed on, and Lagors and Clameran intheir turn rang the bell. When the concierge appeared, they asked who itwas that had just gone in disguised as a clown.
They were told that no such person had entered, and that none ofthe lodgers had gone out disguised that night. "However," added theconcierge, "I am not very sure, for this house has a back door whichopens on the Rue St. Denis."
"We are tricked," interrupted Lagors, "and will never know who the clownis."
"Unless we learn it too soon for our own good," said Clameran musingly.
While Lagors and Clameran were anxiously trying to devise some means ofdiscovering the clown's identity, Verduret hurried up the back street,and reached the Archangel as the clock struck three.
Prosper, who was watching from his window, saw him in the distance, andran down to open the door for him.
"What have you learned?" he said; "what did you find out? Did you seeMadeleine? Were Raoul and Clameran at the ball?"
But M. Verduret was not in the habit of discussing private affairs wherehe might be overheard.
"First of all, let us go into your room, and get some water to wash thiscut, which burns like fire."
"Heavens! Are you wounded?"
"Yes, it is a little souvenir of your friend Raoul. Ah, I will soonteach him the danger of chopping up a man's arm!"
Prosper was surprised at the look of merciless rage on his friend'sface, as he calmly washed and dressed his arm.
"Now, Prosper, we will talk as much as you please. Our enemies are onthe alert, and we must crush them instantly, or not at all. I have madea mistake. I have been on the wrong track; it is an accident liableto happen to any man, no matter how intelligent he may be. I took theeffect for the cause. The day I was convinced that culpable relationsexisted between Raoul and Mme. Fauvel, I thought I held the end ofthe thread that must lead us to the truth. I should have been moremistrustful; this solution was too simple, too natural."
"Do you suppose Mme. Fauvel to be innocent?"
"Certainly not. But her guilt is not such as I first supposed. Iimagined that, infatuated with a seductive young adventurer, Mme. Fauvelhad first bestowed upon him the name of one of her relatives, and thenintroduced him as her nephew. This was a
n adroit stratagem to gain himadmission to her husband's house.
"She began by giving him all the money she could could dispose of; latershe let him take her jewels to the pawnbrokers; when she had nothingmore to give, she allowed him to steal the money from her husband'ssafe. That is what I first thought."
"And in this way everything was explained?"
"No, this did not explain everything, as I well knew at the time, andshould, consequently, have studied my characters more thoroughly. Howis Clameran's position to be accounted for, if my first idea was thecorrect one?"
"Clameran is Lagors's accomplice of course."
"Ah, there is the mistake! I for a long time believed Lagors to be theprincipal person, when, in fact, he is not. Yesterday, in a disputebetween them, the forge-master said to his dear friend, 'And, above allthings, my friend, I would advise you not to resist me, for if you do Iwill crush you to atoms.' That explains all. The elegant Lagors is notthe lover of Mme. Fauvel, but the tool of Clameran. Besides, did ourfirst suppositions account for the resigned obedience of Madeleine? Itis Clameran, and not Lagors, whom Madeleine obeys."
Prosper began to remonstrate.
M. Verduret shrugged his shoulders. To convince Prosper he had only toutter one word: to tell him that three hours ago Clameran had announcedhis intended marriage with Madeleine; but he did not.
"Clameran," he continued, "Clameran alone has Mme. Fauvel in his power.Now, the question is, what is the secret of this terrible influence hehas gained over her? I have positive proof that they have not metsince their early youth until fifteen months ago; and, as Mme. Fauvel'sreputation has always been above the reach of slander, we must seek inthe past for the cause of her resigned obedience to his will."
"We can never discover it," said Prosper mournfully.
"We can discover it as soon as we know Clameran's past life. Ah,to-night he turned as white as a sheet when I mentioned his brotherGaston's name. And then I remembered that Gaston died suddenly, whilehis brother Louis was making a visit."
"Do you think he was murdered?"
"I think the men who tried to assassinate me would do anything. Therobbery, my friend, has now become a secondary detail. It is quiteeasily explained, and, if that were all to be accounted for, I would sayto you, My task is done, let us go ask the judge of instruction for awarrant of arrest."
Prosper started up with sparkling eyes.
"Ah, you know--is it possible?"
"Yes, I know who gave the key, and I know who told the secret word."
"The key might have been M. Fauvel's. But the word----"
"The word you were foolish enough to give. You have forgotten, Isuppose. But fortunately Gypsy remembered. You know that, two daysbefore the robbery, you took Lagors and two other friends to sup withMme. Gypsy? Nina was sad, and reproached you for not being more devotedto her."
"Yes, I remember that."
"But do you remember what you replied to her?"
"No, I do not," said Prosper after thinking a moment.
"Well, I will tell you: 'Nina, you are unjust in reproaching me withnot thinking constantly of you; for at this very moment your dear nameguards M. Fauvel's safe.'"
The truth suddenly burst upon Prosper like a thunderclap. He wrung hishands despairingly, and cried:
"Yes, oh, yes! I remember now."
"Then you can easily understand the rest. One of the scoundrels went toMme. Fauvel, and compelled her to give up her husband's key; then, ata venture, placed the movable buttons on the name of Gypsy, opened thesafe, and took the three hundred and fifty thousand francs. And Mme.Fauvel must have been terribly frightened before she yielded. The dayafter the robbery the poor woman was near dying; and it was she who atthe greatest risk sent you the ten thousand francs."
"But which was the thief, Raoul or Clameran? What enables them to thustyrannize over Mme. Fauvel? And how does Madeleine come to be mixed upin the affair?"
"These questions, my dear Prosper, I cannot yet answer; therefore Ipostpone seeing the judge. I only ask you to wait ten days; and, if Icannot in that time discover the solution of this mystery, I will returnand go with you to report to M. Patrigent all that we know."
"Are you going to leave the city?"
"In an hour I shall be on the road to Beaucaire. It was from thatneighborhood that Clameran came, as well as Mme. Fauvel, who was a Mlle.de la Verberie before marriage."
"Yes, I knew both families."
"I must go there to study them. Neither Raoul nor Clameran can escapeduring my absence. The police are watching them. But you, Prosper, mustbe prudent. Promise me to remain a prisoner here during my trip."
All that M. Verduret asked, Prosper willingly promised. But he did notwish to be left in complete ignorance of his projects for the future, orof his motives in the past.
"Will you not tell me, monsieur, who you are, and what reasons you hadfor coming to my rescue?"
The extraordinary man smiled sadly, and said:
"I tell, in the presence of Nina, on the day before your marriage withMadeleine."
Once left to his own reflections, Prosper began to appreciate thepowerful assistance rendered by his friend.
Recalling the field of investigation gone over by his mysteriousprotector, he was amazed at its extent.
How many facts had been discovered in a week, and with what precision,although he had pretended to be on the wrong track! Verduret had groupedhis evidence, and reached a result which Prosper felt he never couldhave hoped to attain by his own exertions.
He was conscious that he possessed neither Verduret's penetration norhis subtlety. He did not possess this art of compelling obedience,of creating friends at every step, and the science of making men andcircumstances unite in the attainment of a common result.
He began to regret the absence of his friend, who had risen up in thehour of adversity. He missed the sometimes rough but always kindlyvoice, which had encouraged and consoled him.
He felt wofully lost and helpless, not daring to act or think forhimself, more timid than a child when deserted by his nurse.
He had the good sense to follow the recommendations of his mentor. Heremained shut up in the Archangel, not even appearing at the windows.
Twice he had news of M. Verduret. The first time he received a letter inwhich this friend said he had seen his father, and had had a long talkwith him. Afterward, Dubois, M. de Clameran's valet, came to tell himthat his "patron" reported everything as progressing finely.
On the ninth day of his voluntary seclusion, Prosper began to feelrestless, and at ten o'clock at night set forth to take a walk, thinkingthe fresh air would relieve the headache which had kept him awake theprevious night.
Mme. Alexandre, who seemed to have some knowledge of M. Verduret'saffairs, begged Prosper to remain at home.
"What can I risk by taking a walk at this time, in a quiet part ofthe city?" he asked. "I can certainly stroll as far as the Jardin desPlantes without meeting anyone."
Unfortunately he did not strictly follow this programme; for, havingreached the Orleans railway station, he went into a cafe near by, andcalled for a glass of ale.
As he sat sipping his glass, he picked up a daily paper, _The Sun_, andunder the head of "Fashionable Gossip," signed Jacques Durand, read thefollowing:
"We understand that the niece of one of our most prominent bankers,M. Andre Fauvel, will shortly be married to M. le Marquis Louis deClameran. The engagement has been announced."
This news, coming upon him so unexpectedly, proved to Prosper thejustness of M. Verduret's calculations.
Alas! why did not this certainty inspire him with absolute faith? whydid it not give him courage to wait, the strength of mind to refrainfrom acting on his own responsibility?
Frenzied by distress of mind, he already saw Madeleine indissolublyunited to this villain, and, thinking that M. Verduret would perhapsarrive too late to be of use, determined at all risks to throw anobstacle in the way of the marriage.
He called for pe
n and paper, and forgetting that no situation can excusethe mean cowardice of an anonymous letter, wrote in a disguised hand thefollowing lines to M. Fauvel:
"DEAR SIR--You consigned your cashier to prison; you acted prudently,since you were convinced of his dishonesty and faithlessness.
"But, even if he stole three hundred and fifty thousand francs fromyour safe, does it follow that he also stole Mme. Fauvel's diamonds, andpawned them at the Mont-de-Piete, where they now are?
"Warned as you are, if I were you, I would not be the subject of publicscandal. I would watch my wife, and would be distrustful of handsomecousins.
"Moreover, I would, before signing the marriage contract of Mlle.Madeleine, inquire at the Prefecture of Police, and obtain someinformation concerning the noble Marquis de Clameran.
"A FRIEND."
Prosper hastened off to post his letter. Fearing that it would not reachM. Fauvel in time, he walked up to the Rue Cardinal Lemoine, and put itin the main letter-box, so as to be certain of its speedy delivery.
Until now he had not doubted the propriety of his action.
But now when too late, when he heard the sound of his letter fallinginto the box, a thousand scruples filled his mind. Was it not wrong toact thus hurriedly? Would not this letter interfere with M. Verduret'splans? Upon reaching the hotel, his doubts were changed into bitterregrets.
Joseph Dubois was waiting for him; he had received a despatch from hispatron, saying that his business was finished, and that he would returnthe next evening at nine o'clock.
Prosper was wretched. He would have given all he had to recover theanonymous letter.
And he had cause for regret.
At that very hour M. Verduret was taking his seat in the cars atTarascon, meditating upon the most advantageous plan to be adopted inpursuance of his discoveries.
For he had discovered everything, and now must bring matters to acrisis.
Adding to what he already knew, the story of an old nurse of Mlle. dela Verberie, the affidavit of an old servant who had always lived in theClameran family, and the depositions of the Vesinet husband and wife whoattended M. Lagors at his country house, the latter having been sent tohim by Dubois (Fanferlot), with a good deal of information obtained fromthe prefecture of police, he had worked up a complete case, and couldnow act upon a chain of evidence without a missing link.
As he had predicted, he had been compelled to search into the distantpast for the first causes of the crime of which Prosper had been thevictim.
The following is the drama, as he wrote it out for the benefit of thejudge of instruction, knowing that it would contain grounds for anindictment against the malefactors.
Le dossier no. 113. English Page 10