Le dossier no. 113. English

by Emile Gaboriau

  XV

  Louis de Clameran, the second son of the marquis, was one of thoseself-controlled men who, beneath a cool, careless manner, conceal afiery temperament, and ungovernable passions.

  All sorts of extravagant ideas had begun to ferment in his disorderedbrain, long before the occurrence which decided the destiny of theClameran family.

  Apparently occupied in the pursuit of pleasure, this precocioushypocrite longed for a larger field in which to indulge his evilinclinations, secretly cursing the stern necessity which chained himdown to this dreary country life, and the old chateau, which to him wasmore gloomy than a prison, and as lifeless as the grave.

  This existence, dragged out in the country and the small neighboringtowns, was too monotonous for his restless nature. The paternalauthority, though so gently expressed, exasperated his rebellioustemper. He thirsted for independence, riches, excitement, and all theunknown pleasures that pall upon the senses simultaneously with theirattainment.

  Louis did not love his father, and he hated his brother Gaston.

  The old marquis, in his culpable thoughtlessness, had kindled thisburning envy in the heart of his second son.

  A strict observer of traditional rights, he had always declared that theeldest son of a noble house should inherit all the family possessions,and that he intended to leave Gaston his entire fortune.

  This flagrant injustice and favoritism inspired Louis with envioushatred for his brother.

  Gaston always said that he would never consent to profit by thispaternal partiality, but would share equally with his brother. Judgingothers by himself, Louis placed no faith in this assertion, which hecalled an ostentatious affectation of generosity.

  Although this hatred was unsuspected by the marquis and Gaston, it wasbetrayed by acts significant enough to attract the attention of theservants, who often commented upon it.

  They were so fully aware of Louis's sentiments toward his brother that,when he was prevented from escaping because of the stumbling horse, theyrefused to believe it an accident; and, whenever Louis came near wouldmutter, "Fratricide!"

  A deplorable scene took place between Louis and St. Jean, who wasallowed, on account of his fifty years' faithful service, to takeliberties which he sometimes abused by making rough speeches to hissuperiors.

  "It is a great pity," said the old servant, "that a skilful rider likeyourself should have fallen at the very moment when your brother's lifedepended upon your horsemanship."

  At this broad insinuation, Louis turned pale, and threateningly criedout:

  "You insolent dog, what do you mean?"

  "You know well enough what I mean, monsieur," the old man said,significantly.

  "I do not know! Explain your impertinence: speak, I tell you!"

  The man only answered by a meaning look, which so incensed Louis thathe rushed toward him with upraised whip, and would have beaten himunmercifully, had not the other servants interfered, and dragged St.Jean from the spot.

  This altercation occurred while Gaston was in the madder-field trying toescape his pursuers.

  After a while the gendarmes and hussars returned, with slow tread andsad faces, to say that Gaston de Clameran had plunged into the Rhone,and was instantly drowned.

  This melancholy news was received with groans and tears by everyone saveLouis, who remained calm and unmoved: not a single muscle of his facequivered.

  But his eyes sparkled with triumph. A secret voice cried within him,"Now you are assured of the family fortune, and a marquis's coronet."

  He was no longer the poverty-stricken younger son, but the sole heir ofthe Clamerans.

  The corporal of the gendarmes had said:

  "I would not be the one to tell the poor old man that his son isdrowned."

  Louis felt none of the tender-hearted scruples of the brave old soldier.He instantly went to his father's sick-room, and said, in a firm voice:

  "My brother had to choose between disgrace and death; he is dead."

  Like a sturdy oak stricken by lightning, the marquis tottered and fellwhen these fatal words sounded in his ears. The doctor soon arrived, butalas! only to say that science was of no avail.

  Toward daybreak, Louis, without a tear, received his father's last sigh.

  Louis was now the master.

  All the unjust precautions taken by the marquis to elude the law, andinsure beyond dispute the possession of his entire fortune to his eldestson, turned against him.

  By means of a fraudulent deed of trust drawn by his dishonest lawyer,M. de Clameran had disposed everything so that, on the day of his death,every farthing he owned would be Gaston's.

  Louis alone was benefited by this precaution. He came into possessionwithout even being called upon for the certificate of his brother'sdeath.

  He was now Marquis of Clameran; he was free, he was comparatively rich.He who had never had twenty-five crowns in his pocket at once, now foundhimself the possessor of two hundred thousand francs.

  This sudden, unexpected fortune so completely turned his head that heforgot his skilful dissimulation. His demeanor at the funeral of themarquis was much censured. He followed the coffin, with his head bowedand his face buried in a handkerchief; but this did not conceal thebuoyancy of his spirit, and the joy which sparkled in his eyes.

  The day after the funeral, Louis sold everything that he could disposeof, horses, carriages, and family plate.

  The next day he discharged all the old servants, who had hoped to endtheir days beneath the hospitable roof of Clameran. Several, withtears in their eyes, took him aside, and entreated him to let them staywithout wages. He roughly ordered them to be gone, and never appearbefore his eyes again.

  He sent for his father's lawyer, and gave him a power of attorney tosell the estate, and received in return the sum of twenty thousandfrancs as the first payment in advance.

  At the close of the week, he locked up the chateau, with a vow never tocross its sill again, and left the keys in the keeping of St. Jean, whoowned a little house near Clameran, and would continue to live in theneighborhood.

  Poor St. Jean! little did he think that, in preventing Valentine fromseeing Louis, he had ruined the prospects of his beloved Gaston.

  On receiving the keys he asked one question:

  "Shall we not search for your brother's body, M. the marquis?" heinquired in broken-hearted tones. "And, if it is found, what must bedone with it?"

  "I shall leave instructions with my notary," replied Louis. And hehurried away from Clameran as if the ground burnt his feet. He wentto Tarascon, where he had already forwarded his baggage, and took thestage-coach which travelled between Marseilles and Paris, the railroadnot yet being finished.

  At last he was off. The lumbering old stage rattled along, drawn by sixhorses; and the deep gullies made by the wheels seemed so many abyssesbetween the past and the future.

  Lying back in a corner of the stage, Louis de Clameran enjoyed inanticipation the fields of pleasure spread before his dazzled eyes. Atthe end of the journey, Paris rose up before him, radiant, brilliantlydazzling as the sun.

  Yes, he was going to Paris, the promised land, the city of wonders,where every Aladdin finds a lamp. There all ambitions are crowned,all dreams realized, all passions, all desires, good and evil, can besatisfied.

  There the fast-fleeting days are followed by nights of ever-variedpleasure and excitement. In twenty theatres tragedy weeps, or comedylaughs; whilst at the opera the most beautiful women in the world,sparkling with diamonds, are ready to die with ecstasy at the sound ofdivine music; everywhere noise, excitement, luxury, and pleasure.

  What a dream! The heart of Louis de Clameran was swollen with desire,and he felt that he should go mad if the horses crawled with suchtorturing slowness: he would like to spring from the old stage, and flyto his haven of delight.

  He never once thought of the past with a pang of regret. What matteredit to him how his father and brother had died? All his energies weredevoted to penetrating the mysterious fu
ture that now awaited him.

  Was not every chance in his favor? He was young, rich, handsome, anda marquis. He had a constitution of iron; he carried twenty thousandfrancs in his pocket, and would soon have ten times as many more.

  He, who had always been poor, regarded this sum as an exhaustlesstreasure.

  And at nightfall, when he jumped from the stage upon the brilliantlylighted street of Paris, he seemed to be taking possession of the grandcity, and felt as though he could buy everything in it.

  His illusions were those natural to all young men who suddenly come intopossession of a patrimony after years of privation.

  It is this ignorance of the real value of money that squanders fortunes,and fritters away accumulated patrimonies so laboriously earned andsaved in the frugal provinces.

  Imbued with his own importance, accustomed to the deference of thecountry people, the young marquis came to Paris with the expectationof being a lion, supposing that his name and fortune were sufficient toplace him upon any pinnacle he might desire.

  He was mortified to discover his error. To his great surprise hediscovered that he possessed nothing which constituted a position inthis immense city. He found that in the midst of this busy, indifferentcrowd, he was lost, as unnoticed as a drop of water in a torrent.

  But this unflattering reality could not discourage a man who wasdetermined to gratify his passion at all costs. His ancestral namegained him but one privilege, disastrous for his future: it opened tohim the doors of the Faubourg St. Germain.

  There he became intimate with men of his own age and rank, whose incomeswere larger than his principal.

  Nearly all of them confessed that they only kept up their extravagantstyle of living by dint of skilful economy behind the scenes, and byregulating their vices and follies as judiciously as a hosier wouldmanage his Sunday holidays.

  This information astonished Louis, but did not open his eyes. Heendeavored to imitate the dashing style of these economically wastefulyoung men, without pretending to conform to their prudential rules. Helearned how to spend, but not how to settle his accounts as they did.

  He was Marquis of Clameran, and, having given himself a reputation ofgreat wealth, he was welcomed by the _elite_ of society; if he made nofriends, he had at least many acquaintances. Among the set into which hewas received immediately upon his arrival, he found ten satellites whotook pleasure in initiating him into the secrets of fashionable life,and correcting any little provincialisms betrayed in his manners andconversation.

  He profited well and quickly by their lessons. At the end of threemonths he was fairly launched; his reputation as a skilful gambler andone of the fastest men in Paris was fully established.

  He had rented handsome apartments, with a coach-house and stable forthree horses.

  Although he only furnished this bachelor's establishment with what wasnecessary and comfortable, he found that comforts were very costly inthis instance.

  So that the day he took possession of his apartments, and lookedover his bills, he made the startling discovery that this shortapprenticeship of Paris had cost him fifty-thousand francs, one-fourthof his fortune.

  Still he clung to his brilliant friends, although in a state ofinferiority which was mortifying to his vanity, like a poor squirestraining every nerve to make his nag keep up with blooded horses in arace.

  Fifty thousand francs! For a moment Louis had a faint idea of retreatingfrom the scene of temptation. But what a fall! Besides, his vicesbloomed and flourished in this charming centre. He had heretoforeconsidered himself fast; but the past was a state of unsophisticatedverdancy, compared with the thousand attractive sins in which he nowindulged.

  Then the sight of suddenly acquired fortunes, and the many examples ofthe successful results of hazardous ventures, inflamed his mind, andpersuaded him to try his fortune in the game of speculation.

  He thought that in this great, rich city, he certainly could succeed inseizing a share of the loaves and fishes.

  But how? He had no idea, and he did not seek to find one. He imaginedthat his good fortune would some day come, and that all he had to do wasto wait for it.

  This is one of the errors which it is time to destroy.

  Fortune is not to be wasted upon idle fools.

  In this furious race of self-interest, it requires great skill tobestride the capricious mare called Opportunity, and make her lead tothe end in view. Every winner must possess a strong will and a dexteroushand. But Louis did not devote much thought to the matter. Like thefoolish man who wished to draw the prize without contributing to theraffle, he thought:

  "Bast! opportunity, chance, a rich marriage will put me all rightagain!"

  The rich bride failed to appear, and his last louis had gone the way ofits predecessors.

  To a pressing demand for money, his notary replied by a refusal.

  "Your lands are all gone," he wrote; "you now possess nothing but thechateau. It is very valuable, but it is difficult, if not impossible,to find a purchaser of so large an amount of real estate, in itspresent condition. I will use every effort to make a good sale, andif successful, will inform you of the fact immediately." Louis wasthunderstruck at this final catastrophe, as much surprised as if hecould have expected any other result. But what could he do?

  Ruined, with nothing to look forward to, the best course was to imitatethe large number of poor fools who each year rise up, shine a moment,then suddenly disappear.

  But Louis could not renounce this life of ease and pleasure which he hadbeen leading for the last three years. After leaving his fortune on thebattle-ground, he was willing to leave the shreds of his honor.

  He first lived on the reputation of his dissipated fortune; on thecredit remaining to a man who has spent much in a short space of time.

  This resource was soon exhausted.

  The day came when his creditors seized all they could lay their handsupon, the last remains of his opulence, his carriages, horses, andcostly furniture.

  He took refuge in a quiet hotel, but he could not keep away from thewealthy set whom he considered his friends.

  He lived upon them as he had lived upon the tradesmen who furnished hissupplies. Borrowing from one louis up to twenty-five, from anybody whowould lend to him, he never pretended to pay them. Constantly betting,no one ever saw him pay a wager. He piloted all the raw young men whofell into his hands, and utilized, in rendering shameful services, anexperience which had cost him two hundred thousand francs; he was halfcourtier, half adventurer.

  He was not banished, but was made to cruelly expiate the favor of beingtolerated. No one had the least regard for his feelings, or hesitated totell him to his face what was thought of his unprincipled conduct.

  Thus, when alone in his little den, he would give way to fits of violentrage. He had not yet reached a state of callousness to be able to endurethese humiliations without the keenest torture to his false pride andvanity.

  Envy and covetousness had long since stifled every sentiment of honorand self-respect in his base heart. For a few years of opulence he wasready to commit any crime.

  And, though he did not commit a crime, he came very near it, and wasthe principal in a disgraceful affair of swindling and extortion, whichraised such an outcry against him that he was obliged to leave Paris.

  Count de Commarin, an old friend of his father, hushed up the matter,and furnished him with money to take him to England.

  And how did he manage to live in London?

  The detectives of the most corrupt capital in existence were the onlypeople who knew his means of support.

  Descending to the last stages of vice, the Marquis of Clameran finallyfound his level in a society composed of shameless women and gamblers.

  Compelled to quit London, he travelled over Europe, with no othercapital than his knavish audacity, deep depravity, and his skill atcards.

  Finally, in 1865, he had a run of good luck at Homburg, and returned toParis, where he imagined himself entirely forgotten.
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  Eighteen years had passed since he left Paris.

  The first step which he took on his return, before even settling himselfin Paris, was to make a visit to his old home.

  Not that he had any relative or friend in that part of the country, fromwhom he could expect any assistance; but he remembered the old manor,which his notary had been unable to sell.

  He thought that perhaps by this time a purchaser had appeared, and hedetermined to go himself and ascertain how much he should receive forthis old chateau, which had cost one hundred thousand francs in thebuilding.

  On a beautiful October evening he reached Tarascon, and there learnedthat he was still the owner of the chateau of Clameran. The nextmorning, he set out on foot to visit the paternal home, which he had notseen for twenty-five years.

  Everything was so changed that he scarcely recognized this country,where he had been born, and passed his youth.

  Yet the impression was so strong, that this man, tried by such varied,strange adventures, for a moment felt like retracing his steps.

  He only continued his road because a secret, hopeful voice cried in him,"Onward, onward!"--as if, at the end of the journey, was to be found anew life and the long-wished-for good fortune.

  As Louis advanced, the changes appeared less striking; he began to befamiliar with the ground.

  Soon, through the trees, he distinguished the village steeple, then thevillage itself, built upon the gentle rising of a hill, crowned by awood of olive-trees.

  He recognized the first houses he saw: the farrier's shed covered withivy, the old parsonage, and farther on the village tavern, where he andGaston used to play billiards.

  In spite of what he called his scorn of vulgar prejudices, he felt athrill of strange emotion as he looked on these once familiar objects.

  He could not overcome a feeling of sadness as scenes of the past rose upbefore him.

  How many events had occurred since he last walked along this path, andreceived a friendly bow and smile from every villager.

  Then life appeared to him like a fairy scene, in which his every wishwas gratified. And now, he had returned, dishonored, worn out, disgustedwith the realities of life, still tasting the bitter dregs of the cupof shame, stigmatized, poverty-stricken, and friendless, with nothing tolose, and nothing to look forward to.

  The few villagers whom he met turned and stood gazing after thisdust-covered stranger, and wondered who he could be.

  Upon reaching St. Jean's house, he found the door open; he walked intothe immense empty kitchen.

  He rapped on the table, and was answered by a voice calling out:

  "Who is there?"

  The next moment a man of about forty years appeared in the doorway, andseemed much surprised at finding a stranger standing in his kitchen.

  "What will you have, monsieur?" he inquired.

  "Does not St. Jean, the old valet of the Marquis of Clameran, livehere?"

  "My father died five years ago, monsieur," replied the man in a sadtone.

  This news affected Louis painfully, as if he had expected this oldman to restore him some of his lost youth; the last link was gone. Hesighed, and, after a silence, said:

  "I am the Marquis of Clameran."

  The farmer, at these words, uttered an exclamation of joy. He seizedLouis's hand, and, pressing it with respectful attention, cried:

  "You are the marquis! Alas!" he continued, "why is not my poor fatheralive to see you? he would be so happy! His last words were about hisdear masters, and many a time did he sigh and mourn at not receiving anynews of you. He is beneath the sod now, resting after a well-spent life;but I, Joseph, his son, am here to take his place, and devote my life toyour service. What an honor it is to have you in my house! Ah, my wifewill be happy to see you; she has all her life heard of the Clamerans."

  Here he ran into the garden, and called: "Toinette! I say, Toinette!Come here quickly!"

  This cordial welcome delighted Louis. So many years had gone by since hehad been greeted with an expression of kindness, or felt the pressure ofa friendly hand.

  In a few moments a handsome, dark-eyed young woman entered the room, andstood blushing with confusion at sight of the stranger.

  "This is my wife, monsieur," said Joseph, leading her toward Louis, "butI have not given her time to put on her finery. This is M. the marquis,Antoinette."

  The farmer's wife bowed, and, having nothing to say, gracefully upliftedher brow upon which the marquis pressed a kiss.

  "You will see the children in a few minutes, M. the marquis," saidJoseph; "I have sent to the school for them."

  The worthy couple overwhelmed the marquis with attentions.

  After so long a walk he must be hungry, they said; he must take a glassof wine now, and breakfast would soon be ready; they would be so proudand happy if M. the marquis would partake of a country breakfast!

  Louis willingly accepted their invitation; and Joseph went to the cellarafter the wine, while Toinette ran to catch her fattest pullet.

  In a short time, Louis sat down to a table laden with the best ofeverything on the farm, waited upon by Joseph and his wife, who watchedhim with respectful interest and awe.

  The children came running in from school, smeared with the juice ofberries. After Louis had embraced them they stood off in a corner, andgazed at him with eyes wide open, as if he were a rare curiosity.

  The important news had spread, and a number of villagers and countrymenappeared at the open door, to speak to the Marquis of Clameran.

  "I am such a one, M. the marquis; don't you remember me?" "Ah! I shouldhave recognized you anywhere." "The late marquis was very good to me."Another would say, "Don't you remember the time when you lent me yourgun to go hunting?"

  Louis welcomed with secret delight all these protestations and proofs ofdevotion which had not chilled with time.

  The kindly voices of these honest people recalled many pleasant momentsof the past, and made him feel once more the fresh sensations of hisyouth.

  Here, at least, no echoes of his stormy life had been heard; nosuspicions of his shameful career were entertained by these humblevillagers on the borders of the Rhone.

  He, the adventurer, the bully, the base accomplice of London swindlers,delighted in these marks of respect and veneration, bestowed upon him asthe representative of the house of Clameran; it seemed to make himonce more feel a little self-respect, as if the future were not utterlyhopeless.

  Ah, had he possessed only a quarter of his squandered inheritance, howhappy he would be to peacefully end his days in this his native village!

  But this rest after so many vain excitements, this haven after so manystorms and shipwrecks, was denied him. He was penniless; how could helive here when he had nothing to live upon?

  This thought of his pressing want gave him courage to ask Joseph for thekey of the chateau, that he might go and examine its condition.

  "You won't need the key, except the one to the front door, M. themarquis," replied Joseph.

  It was but too true. Time had done its work, and the lordly manorof Clameran was nothing but a ruin. The rain and sun had rotted theshutters so that they were crumbling and dilapidated.

  Here and there were traces of the friendly hand of St. Jean, who hadtried to retard the total ruin of the old chateau; but of what use werehis efforts?

  Within, the desolation was still greater. All of the furniture whichLouis had not dared to sell stood in the position he left it, but inwhat a state! All of the tapestry hangings and coverings were moth-eatenand in tatters; nothing seemed left but the dust-covered woodwork of thechairs and sofas.

  Louis was almost afraid to enter these grand, gloomy rooms, where everyfootfall echoed until the air seemed to be filled with sounds strangeand ominous.

  He almost expected to see the angry old marquis start from some darkcorner, and heap curses on his head for having dishonored the name.

  He turned pale with terror, when he suddenly recalled the scene of hisfatal stumble an
d poor Gaston's death. The room was surely inhabited bythe spirits of these two murdered men. His nerves could not bear it, andhe hurried out into the open air and sunshine.

  After a while, he recovered sufficiently to remember the object of hisvisit.

  "Poor St. Jean was foolish to let the furniture in the chateau drop topieces. Why did he not use it?"

  "My father would not have dared to touch anything without receiving anorder, M. the marquis."

  "He was very unwise to wait for an order, when anything was goingto destruction without benefiting anyone. As the chateau is fastapproaching the condition of the furniture, and my fortune does notpermit me to repair it, I will sell it before the walls crumble away."

  Joseph could scarcely believe his ears. He regarded the selling of thechateau of Clameran as a sacrilege; but he was not bold of speech, likehis father, so he dared not express an opinion.

  "Would there be difficulty in selling this ruin?" continued Louis.

  "That depends upon the price you ask, M. the marquis; I know a man whowould purchase the property if he could get it cheap."

  "Who is he?"

  "M. Fougeroux, who lives on the other side of the river. He came fromBeaucaire, and twelve years ago married a servant-maid of the lateCountess de la Verberie. Perhaps M. the marquis remembers her--a plump,bright-eyed brunette, named Mihonne."

  Louis did not remember Mihonne.

  "When can we see this Fougeroux?" he inquired.

  "To-day; I will engage a boat to take us over."

  "Well, let us go now. I have no time to lose."

  An entire generation has passed away since Louis had last crossed theRhone in old Pilorel's boat.

  The faithful ferryman had been buried many years, and his duties werenow performed by his son, who, possessing great respect for traditionalopinions, was delighted at the honor of rowing the Marquis of Clameranin his boat, and soon had it ready for Louis and Joseph to take theirseats.

  As soon as they were fairly started, Joseph began to warn the marquisagainst the wily Fougeroux.

  "He is a cunning fox," said the farmer; "I have had a bad opinion of himever since his marriage, which was a shameful affair altogether. Mihonnewas over fifty years of age, and he was only twenty-four, when hemarried her; so you may know it was money, and not a wife, that hewanted. She, poor fool, believed that the young scamp really loved her,and gave herself and her money up to him. Women will be trusting foolsto the end of time! And Fougeroux is not the man to let money lie idle.He speculated with Mihonne's gold, and is now very rich. But she, poorthing, does not profit by his wealth; one can easily understand his notfeeling any love for her, when she looks like his grandmother; but hedeprives her of the necessaries of life, and beats her cruelly."

  "He would like to plant her six feet under ground," said the ferryman.

  "Well, it won't be long before he has the satisfaction of burying her,"said Joseph; "the poor old woman has been in almost a dying conditionever since Fougeroux brought a worthless jade to take charge of thehouse, and makes his wife wait upon her like a servant."

  When they reached the opposite shore, Joseph asked young Pilorel toawait their return.

  Joseph knocked at the gate of the well-cultivated farm, and inquired forthe master; the farm-boy said that "M. Fougeroux" was out in the field,but he would go and tell him.

  He soon appeared. He was an ill-looking little man, with a red beard andsmall, restless eyes.

  Although M. Fougeroux professed to despise the nobility and the clergy,the hope of driving a good bargain made him obsequious to Louis. Heinsisted upon ushering his visitor into "the parlor," with may bows andrepetitions of "M. the marquis."

  Upon entering the room, he roughly ordered an old woman, who wascrouching over some dying embers, to make haste and bring some wine forM. the marquis of Clameran.

  At this name, the old woman started as if she had received an electricshock. She opened her mouth to say something, but a look from her tyrantfroze the words upon her lips. With a frightened air she hobbled out toobey his orders, and in a few minutes returned with a bottle of wine andthree glasses.

  Then she resumed her seat by the fire, and kept her eyes fastened uponthe marquis.

  Could this really be the merry, pretty Mihonne, who had been theconfidant of the little fairy of Verberie?

  Valentine herself would never have recognized this poor, shrivelled,emaciated old woman.

  Only those who are familiar with country life know what hard work andworry can do to make a woman old.

  The bargain, meanwhile, was being discussed between Joseph andFougeroux, who offered a ridiculously small sum for the chateau, sayingthat he would only buy it to tear down, and sell the materials. Josephenumerated the beams, joists, ashlars, and the iron-work, and volublypraised the old domain.

  As for Mihonne, the presence of the marquis had a wonderful effect uponher.

  If the faithful servant had hitherto never breathed the secret confidedto her probity, it was none the less heavy for her to bear.

  After marrying, and being so harshly treated that she daily prayed fordeath to come to her relief, she began to blame everybody but herselffor her misfortunes.

  Weakly superstitious, she traced back the origin of her sorrows to theday when she took the oath on the holy gospel during mass.

  Her constant prayers that God would send her a child to soothe herwounded heart, being unanswered, she was convinced that she was cursedwith barrenness for having assisted in the abandonment of an innocent,helpless babe.

  She often thought, that by revealing everything, she could appease thewrath of Heaven, and once more enjoy a happy home. Nothing but herlove for Valentine gave her strength to resist a constant temptation toconfess everything.

  But to-day the sight of Louis decided her to relieve her mind. Shethought there could be no danger in confiding in Gaston's brother. Alasfor woman's tongue!

  The sale was finally concluded. It was agreed that Fougeroux should givefive thousand two hundred and eighty francs in cash for the chateau, andland attached; and Joseph was to have the old furniture.

  The marquis and the new owner of the chateau shook hands, and noisilycalled out the essential word:

  "Agreed!"

  Fougeroux went himself to get the "bargain bottle" of old wine.

  The occasion was favorable to Mihonne; she walked quickly over to wherethe marquis stood, and said in a nervous whisper:

  "M. the marquis, I must speak with you apart."

  "What can you want to tell me, my good woman?"

  "It is a secret of life and death. This evening, at dusk, meet me in thewalnut wood, and I will tell you everything."

  Hearing her husband's approaching step, she darted back to her corner bythe fire.

  Fougeroux filled the glasses, and drank to the health of Clameran.

  As they returned to the boat, Louis tried to think what could be theobject of this singular rendezvous.

  "Joseph, what the deuce can that old witch want with me?" he saidmusingly.

  "Who can tell? She used to be in the service of a lady who was veryintimate with M. Gaston; so my father used to say. If I were in yourplace I would go and see what she wanted, monsieur. You can dine withme, and, after dinner, Pilorel will row you over."

  Curiosity decided Louis to go, about seven o'clock, to the walnut wood,where he found Mihonne impatiently awaiting him.

  "Ah, here you are, at last, M. the marquis," she said, in a tone ofrelief. "I was afraid you would disappoint me."

  "Yes, here I am, my good woman, to listen to what you have to say."

  "I have many things to say. But first tell me some news of yourbrother."

  Louis regretted having come, supposing from this request that the oldwoman was childish, and might bother him for hours with her senselessgabble.

  "You know well enough that my poor brother was drowned in the Rhone."

  "Good heavens!" cried Mihonne, "are you ignorant, then, of his escape?Yes, he did what has n
ever been done before; he swam across the swollenRhone. The next day Mlle. Valentine went to Clameran to tell the news;but St. Jean prevented her from seeing you. Afterward I carried a letterfrom her, but you had left the country."

  Louis could not believe this strange revelation.

  "Are you not mixing up dreams with real events, my good woman?" he saidbanteringly.

  "No," she replied, mournfully shaking her head. "If Pere Menoul werealive, he would tell you how he took charge of your brother until heembarked for Marseilles. But that is nothing compared to the rest. M.Gaston has a son."

  "My brother had a son! You certainly have lost your mind, my poorwoman."

  "Alas, no. Unfortunately for my happiness in this world and in theworld to come, I am only telling the truth; he had a child, and Mlle.Valentine was its mother. I took the poor babe, and carried it to awoman whom I paid to take charge of it."

  Then Mihonne described the anger of the countess, the journey to London,and the abandonment of little Raoul.

  With the accurate memory natural to people unable to read and write,she related the most minute particulars--the names of the village, thenurse, the child's Christian name, and the exact date of everythingwhich had occurred.

  Then she told of Valentine's wretched suffering, of the impending ruinof the countess, and finally how everything was happily settled by thepoor girl's marriage with an immensely rich man, who was now one of therichest bankers in Paris, and was named Fauvel.

  A harsh voice calling, "Mihonne! Mihonne!" here interrupted the oldwoman.

  "Heavens!" she cried in a frightened tone, "that is my husband, lookingfor me."

  And, as fast as her trembling limbs could carry her, she hurried to thefarm-house.

  For several minutes after her departure, Louis stood rooted to the spot.

  Her recital had filled his wicked mind with an idea so infamous, sodetestable, that even his vile nature shrank for a moment from itsenormity.

  He knew Fauvel by reputation, and was calculating the advantages hemight gain by the strange information of which he was now possessed bymeans of the old Mihonne. It was a secret, which, if skilfully managed,would bring him in a handsome income.

  The few faint scruples he felt were silenced by the thought of an oldage spent in poverty. After the price of the chateau was spent, to whatcould he look forward? Beggary.

  "But first of all," he thought, "I must ascertain the truth of the oldwoman's story; then I will decide upon a plan."

  This was why, the next day, after receiving the five thousand twohundred and eighty francs from Fougeroux, Louis de Clameran set out forLondon.