The Widow Lerouge Part 5

"He never even kept them in the least degree, my old friend."

"That now," cried the old fellow indignantly, "is even more infamous than all the rest."

"Do not accuse my father," answered Noel gravely; "his connection with Madame Gerdy lasted a long time. I remember a haughty-looking man who used sometimes to come and see me at school, and who could be no other than the count. But the rupture came."

"Naturally," sneered M. Tabaret, "a great n.o.bleman-"

"Wait before judging," interrupted the advocate. "M. de Commarin had his reasons. His mistress was false to him, he learnt it, and cast her off with just indignation. The ten lines which I mentioned to you were written then."

Noel searched a considerable time among the papers scattered upon the table, and at length selected a letter more faded and creased than the others. Judging from the number of folds in the paper one could guess that it had been read and re-read many times. The writing even was here and there partly obliterated.

"In this," said he in a bitter tone, "Madame Gerdy is no longer the adored Valerie: 'A friend, cruel as all true friends, has opened my eyes. I doubted. You have been watched, and today, unhappily, I can doubt no more. You, Valerie, you to whom I have given more than my life, you deceive me and have been deceiving me for a long time past. Unhappy man that I am! I am no longer certain that I am the father of your child.'"

"But this note is a proof," cried old Tabaret, "an overwhelming proof. Of what importance to the count would be a doubt of his paternity, had he not sacrificed his legitimate son to his b.a.s.t.a.r.d? Yes, you have said truly, his punishment has been severe."

"Madame Gerdy," resumed Noel, "wished to justify herself. She wrote to the count; but he returned her letters unopened. She called on him, but he would not receive her. At length she grew tired of her useless attempts to see him. She knew that all was well over when the count's steward brought her for me a legal settlement of fifteen thousand francs a year. The son had taken my place, and the mother had ruined me!"

Three or four light knocks at the door of the study interrupted Noel.

"Who is there?" he asked, without stirring.

"Sir," answered the servant from the other side of the door, "madame wishes to speak to you."

The advocate appeared to hesitate.

"Go, my son," advised M. Tabaret; "do not be merciless, only bigots have that right."

Noel arose with visible reluctance, and pa.s.sed into Madame Gerdy's sleeping apartment.

"Poor boy!" thought M. Tabaret when left alone. "What a fatal discovery! and how he must feel it. Such a n.o.ble young man! such a brave heart! In his candid honesty he does not even suspect from whence the blow has fallen. Fortunately I am shrewd enough for two, and it is just when he despairs of justice, I am confident of obtaining it for him. Thanks to his information, I am now on the track. A child might now divine whose hand struck the blow. But how has it happened? He will tell me without knowing it. Ah! if I had one of those letters for four and twenty hours. He has probably counted them. If I ask for one, I must acknowledge my connection with the police. I had better take one, no matter which, just to verify the handwriting."

Old Tabaret had just thrust one of the letters into the depths of his capacious pocket, when the advocate returned.

He was one of those men of strongly formed character, who never lose their self-control. He was very cunning and had long accustomed himself to dissimulation, that indispensable armour of the ambitious.

As he entered the room nothing in his manner betrayed what had taken place between Madame Gerdy and himself. He was absolutely as calm as, when seated in his arm-chair, he listened to the interminable stories of his clients.

"Well," asked old Tabaret, "how is she now?"

"Worse," answered Noel. "She is now delirious, and no longer knows what she says. She has just a.s.sailed me with the most atrocious abuse, upbraiding me as the vilest of mankind! I really believe she is going out of her mind."

"One might do so with less cause," murmured M. Tabaret; "and I think you ought to send for the doctor."

"I have just done so."

The advocate had resumed his seat before his bureau, and was rearranging the scattered letters according to their dates. He seemed to have forgotten that he had asked his old friend's advice; nor did he appear in any way desirous of renewing the interrupted conversation. This was not at all what old Tabaret wanted.

"The more I ponder over your history, my dear Noel," he observed, "the more I am bewildered. I really do not know what resolution I should adopt, were I in your situation."

"Yes, my old friend," replied the advocate sadly, "it is a situation that might well perplex even more profound experiences than yours."

The old amateur detective repressed with difficulty the sly smile, which for an instant hovered about his lips.

"I confess it humbly," he said, taking pleasure in a.s.suming an air of intense simplicity, "but you, what have you done? Your first impulse must have been to ask Madame Gerdy for an explanation."

Noel made a startled movement, which pa.s.sed unnoticed by old Tabaret, preoccupied as he was in trying to give the turn he desired to the conversation.

"It was by that," answered Noel, "that I began."

"And what did she say?"

"What could she say! Was she not overwhelmed by the discovery?"

"What! did she not attempt to exculpate herself?" inquired the detective greatly surprised.

"Yes! she attempted the impossible. She pretended she could explain the correspondence. She told me ... But can I remember what she said? Lies, absurd, infamous lies."

The advocate had finished gathering up his letters, without noticing the abstraction. He tied them together carefully, and replaced them in the secret drawer of his bureau.

"Yes," continued he, rising and walking backwards and forward across his study, as if the constant movement could calm his anger, "yes, she pretended she could show me I was wrong. It was easy, was it not, with the proofs I held against her? The fact is she adores her son, and her heart is breaking at the idea that he may be obliged to rest.i.tute what he has stolen from me. And I, idiot, fool, coward, almost wished not to mention the matter to her. I said to myself, I will forgive, for after all she has loved me! Loved? no. She would see me suffer the most horrible tortures, without shedding a tear, to prevent a single hair falling from her son's head."

"She has probably warned the count," observed old Tabaret, still pursuing his idea.

"She may have tried, but cannot have succeeded, for the count has been absent from Paris for more than a month and is not expected to return until the end of the week."

"How do you know that?"

"I wished to see the count my father, to speak with him."

"You?"

"Yes, I. Do you think that I shall not reclaim my own? Do you imagine that I shall not raise my voice. On what account should I keep silent, who have I to consider? I have rights, and I will make them good. What do you find surprising in that?"

"Nothing, certainly, my friend. So then you called at M. de Commarin's house?"

"Oh! I did not decide on doing so all at once," continued Noel. "At first my discovery almost drove me mad. Then I required time to reflect. A thousand opposing sentiments agitated me. At one moment, my fury blinded me; the next, my courage deserted me. I would, and I would not. I was undecided, uncertain, wild. The scandal that must arise from the publicity of such an affair terrified me. I desired, I still desire to recover my name, that much is certain. But on the eve of recovering it, I wish to preserve it from stain. I was seeking a means of arranging everything, without noise, without scandal."

"At length, however, you made up your mind?"

"Yes, after a struggle of fifteen days, fifteen days of torture, of anguis.h.!.+ Ah! what I suffered in that time! I neglected my business, being totally unfit for work. During the day, I tried by incessant action to fatigue my body, that at night I might find forgetfulness in sleep. Vain hope! since I found these letters, I have not slept an hour."

From time to time, old Tabaret slyly consulted his watch. "M. Daburon will be in bed," thought he.

"At last one morning," continued Noel, "after a night of rage, I determined to end all uncertainty. I was in that desperate state of mind, in which the gambler, after successive losses, stakes upon a card his last remaining coin. I plucked up courage, sent for a cab, and was driven to the de Commarin mansion."

The old amateur detective here allowed a sigh of satisfaction to escape him.

"It is one of the most magnificent houses, in the Faubourg St. Germain, my friend, a princely dwelling, worthy a great n.o.ble twenty times millionaire; almost a palace in fact. One enters at first a vast courtyard, to the right and left of which are the stables, containing twenty most valuable horses, and the coach-houses. At the end rises the grand facade of the main building, majestic and severe, with its immense windows, and its double flight of marble steps. Behind the house is a magnificent garden, I should say a park, shaded by the oldest trees which perhaps exist in all Paris."

This enthusiastic description was not at all what M. Tabaret wanted. But what could he do, how could he press Noel for the result of his visit! An indiscreet word might awaken the advocate's suspicions, and reveal to him that he was speaking not to a friend, but to a detective.

"Were you then shown over the house and grounds?" asked the old fellow.

"No, but I have examined them alone. Since I discovered that I was the only heir of the Rheteau de Commarin, I have found out the antecedents of my new family.

"Standing before the dwelling of my ancestors," continued Noel, "you cannot comprehend the excess of my emotion. Here, said I, is the house in which I was born. This is the house in which I should have been reared; and, above all, this is the spot where I should reign to-day, whereon I stand an outcast and a stranger, devoured by the sad and bitter memories, of which banished men have died. I compared my brother's brilliant destinies with my sad and labourious career; and my indignation well nigh overmastered reason. The mad impulse stirred me to force the doors, to rush into the grand salon, and drive out the intruder,-the son of Madame Gerdy,-who had taken the place of the son of the Countess de Commarin! Out, usurper, out of this. I am master here. The propriety of legal means at once recurred to my distracted mind, however, and restrained me. Once more I stood before the habitation of my fathers. How I love its old sculptures, its grand old trees, its shaded walls, worn by the feet of my poor mother! I love all, even to the proud escutcheon, frowning above the princ.i.p.al doorway, flinging its defiance to the theories of this age of levellers."

This last phrase conflicted so directly with the code of opinions habitual to Noel, that old Tabaret was obliged to turn aside, to conceal his amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Poor humanity!" thought he; "he is already the grand seigneur."

"On presenting myself," continued the advocate, "I demanded to see the Count de Commarin. A Swiss porter, in grand livery, answered, the count was travelling, but that the viscount was at home. This ran counter to my designs; but I was embarked; so I insisted on speaking to the son in default of the father. The Swiss porter stared at me with astonishment. He had evidently seen me alight from a hired carriage, and so deliberated for some moments as to whether I was not too insignificant a person to have the honour of being admitted to visit the viscount."

"But tell me, have you seen him?" asked old Tabaret, unable to restrain his impatience.

"Of course, immediately," replied the advocate in a tone of bitter raillery. "Could the examination, think you, result otherwise than in my favour? No. My white cravat and black costume produced their natural effect. The Swiss porter entrusted me to the guidance of a cha.s.seur with a plumed hat, who, led me across the yard to a superb vestibule, where five or six footmen were lolling and gaping on their seats. One of these gentlemen asked me to follow him. He led me up a s.p.a.cious staircase, wide enough for a carriage to ascend, preceded me along an extensive picture gallery, guided me across vast apartments, the furniture of which was fading under its coverings, and finally delivered me into the hands of M. Albert's valet. That is the name by which Madame Gerdy's son is known, that is to say, my name."

"I understand, I understand."

"I had pa.s.sed an inspection; now I had to undergo an examination. The valet desired to be informed who I was, whence I came, what was my profession, what I wanted and all the rest. I answered simply, that, quite unknown to the viscount, I desired five minutes' conversation with him on a matter of importance. He left me, requesting me to sit down and wait. I had waited more than a quarter of an hour, when he reappeared. His master graciously deigned to receive me."

It was easy to perceive that the advocate's reception rankled in his breast, and that he considered it an insult. He could not forgive Albert his lackeys and his valet. He forgot the words of the ill.u.s.trious duke, who said, "I pay my lackeys to be insolent, to save myself the trouble and ridicule of being so." Old Tabaret was surprised at his young friend's display of bitterness, in speaking of these trivial details.

"What narrow-mindedness," thought he, "for a man of such intelligence! Can it be true that the arrogance of lackeys is the secret of the people's hatred of an amiable and polite aristocracy?"

"I was ushered into a small apartment," continued Noel, "simply furnished, the only ornaments of which were weapons. These, ranged against the walls, were of all times and countries. Never have I seen in so small a s.p.a.ce so many muskets, pistols, swords, sabres, and foils. One might have imagined himself in a fencing master's a.r.s.enal."

The weapon used by Widow Lerouge's a.s.sa.s.sin naturally recurred to the old fellow's memory.

"The viscount," said Noel, speaking slowly, "was half lying on a divan when I entered. He was dressed in a velvet jacket and loose trousers of the same material, and had around his neck an immense white silk scarf. I do not cherish any resentment against this young man; he has never to his knowledge injured me: he was in ignorance of our father's crime; I am therefore able to speak of him with justice. He is handsome, bears himself well, and n.o.bly carries the name which does not belong to him. He is about my height, of the same dark complexion, and would resemble me, perhaps, if he did not wear a beard. Only he looks five or six years younger; but this is readily explained, he has neither worked, struggled, nor suffered. He is one of the fortunate ones who arrive without having to start, or who traverse life's road on such soft cus.h.i.+ons that they are never injured by the jolting of their carriage. On seeing me, he arose and saluted me graciously."

"You must have been dreadfully excited," remarked old Tabaret.

"Less than I am at this moment. Fifteen preparatory days of mental torture exhausts one's emotions. I answered the question I saw upon his lips. 'Sir,' said I, 'you do not know me; but that is of little consequence. I come to you, charged with a very grave, a very sad mission, which touches the honour of the name you bear.' Without doubt he did not believe me, for, in an impertinent tone, he asked me, 'Shall you be long?' I answered simply, 'Yes.'"

"Pray," interrupted old Tabaret, now become very attentive, "do not omit a single detail; it may be very important, you understand."

"The viscount," continued Noel, "appeared very much put out. 'The fact is,' he explained, 'I had already disposed of my time. This is the hour at which I call on the young lady to whom I am engaged, Mademoiselle d'Arlange. Can we not postpone this conversation?'"

"Good! another woman!" said the old fellow to himself.

"I answered the viscount, that an explanation would admit of no delay; and, as I saw him prepare to dismiss me, I drew from my pocket the count's correspondence, and presented one of the letters to him. On recognizing his father's handwriting, he became more tractable, declared himself at my service, and asked permission to write a word of apology to the lady by whom he was expected. Having hastily written the note he handed it to his valet, and ordered him to send at once to Madame d'Arlange, He then asked me to pa.s.s into the next room, which was his library."

"One word," interrupted the old fellow; "was he troubled on seeing the letters?"

"Not the least in the world. After carefully closing the door, he pointed to a chair, seated himself, and said, 'Now, sir, explain yourself.' I had had time to prepare myself for this interview whilst waiting in the ante-room. I had decided to go straight to the point. 'Sir,' said I, 'my mission is painful. The facts I am about to reveal to you are incredible. I beg you, do not answer me until you have read the letters I have here. I beseech you, above all, to keep calm.' He looked at me with an air of extreme surprise, and answered, 'Speak! I can hear all.' I stood up, and said, 'Sir, I must inform you that you are not the legitimate son of M. de Commarin, as this correspondence will prove to you. The legitimate son exists; and he it is who sends me.' I kept my eyes on his while speaking, and I saw there a pa.s.sing gleam of fury. For a moment I thought he was about to spring at my throat. He soon recovered himself. 'The letters,' said he in a short tone. I handed them to him."

"How!" cried old Tabaret, "these letters,-the true ones? How imprudent!"

"And why?"

"If he had-I don't know; but-" the old fellow hesitated.

The advocate laid his hand upon his friend's shoulder. "I was there," said he in a hollow tone; "and I promise you the letters were in no danger."

Noel's features a.s.sumed such an expression of ferocity that the old fellow was almost afraid, and recoiled instinctively. "He would have killed him," thought he.

"That which I have done for you this evening, my friend," resumed the advocate, "I did for the viscount. I obviated, at least for the moment, the necessity of reading all of these hundred and fifty-six letters. I told him only to stop at those marked with a cross, and to carefully read the pa.s.sages indicated with a red pencil."

"It was an abridgment of his penance," remarked old Tabaret.

"He was seated," continued Noel, "before a little table, too fragile even to lean upon. I was standing with my back to the fireplace in which a fire was burning. I followed his slightest movements; and I scanned his features closely. Never in my life have I seen so sad a spectacle, nor shall I forget it, if I live for a thousand years. In less than five minutes his face changed to such an extent that his own valet would not have recognized him. He held his handkerchief in his hand, with which from time to time he mechanically wiped his lips. He grew paler and paler, and his lips became as white as his handkerchief. Large drops of sweat stood upon his forehead, and his eyes became dull and clouded, as if a film had covered them; but not an exclamation, not a sigh, not a groan, not even a gesture, escaped him. At one moment, I felt such pity for him that I was almost on the point of s.n.a.t.c.hing the letters from his hands, throwing them into the fire and taking him in my arms, crying, 'No, you are my brother! Forget all; let us remain as we are and love one another!'"

M. Tabaret took Noel's hand, and pressed it. "Ah!" he said, "I recognise my generous boy."

"If I have not done this, my friend, it is because I thought to myself, 'Once these letters destroyed, would he recognise me as his brother?'"

"Ah! very true."

"In about half an hour, he had finished reading; he arose, and facing me directly, said, 'You are right, sir. If these letters are really written by my father, as I believe them to be, they distinctly prove that I am not the son of the Countess de Commarin.' I did not answer. 'Meanwhile,' continued he, 'these are only presumptions. Are you possessed of other proofs?' I expected, of course, a great many other objections. 'Germain,' said I, 'can speak.' He told me that Germain had been dead for several years. Then I spoke of the nurse, Widow Lerouge-I explained how easily she could be found and questioned, adding that she lived at La Jonchere."

"And what said he, Noel, to this?" asked old Tabaret anxiously.

"He remained silent at first, and appeared to reflect. All on a sudden he struck his forehead, and said, 'I remember; I know her. I have accompanied my father to her house three times, and in my presence he gave her a considerable sum of money.' I remarked to him that this was yet another proof. He made no answer, but walked up and down the room. At length he turned towards me, saying, 'Sir, you know M. de Commarin's legitimate son?' I answered: 'I am he.' He bowed his head and murmured 'I thought so.' He then took my hand and added, 'Brother, I bear you no ill will for this.'"

"It seems to me," remarked old Tabaret, "that he might have left that to you to say, and with more reason and justice."

"No, my friend, for he is more ill-used than I. I have not been lowered, for I did not know, whilst he! ... ."

The old police agent nodded his head, he had to hide his thoughts, and they were stifling him.

"At length," resumed Noel, after a rather long pause, "I asked him what he proposed doing. 'Listen,' he said, 'I expect my father in about eight or ten days. You will allow me this delay. As soon as he returns I will have an explanation with him, and justice shall be done. I give you my word of honour. Take back your letters and leave me to myself. This news has utterly overwhelmed me. In a moment I lose everything: a great name that I have always borne as worthily as possible, a magnificent position, an immense fortune, and, more than all that, perhaps, the woman who is dearer to me than life. In exchange, it is true, I shall find a mother. We will console each other. And I will try, sir, to make her forget you, for she must love you, and will miss you.'"

"Did he really say that?"

"Almost word for word."

"Hypocrite!" growled the old fellow between his teeth.

"What did you say?" asked Noel.

"I say that he is a fine young man; and I shall be delighted to make his acquaintance."

"I did not show him the letter referring to the rupture," added Noel; "it is best that he should ignore Madame Gerdy's misconduct. I voluntarily deprived myself of this proof, rather than give him further pain."

"And now?"

"What am I to do? I am waiting the count's return. I shall act more freely after hearing what he has to say. Tomorrow I shall ask permission to examine the papers belonging to Claudine. If I find the letters, I am saved; if not,-but, as I have told you, I have formed no plan since I heard of the a.s.sa.s.sination. Now, what do you advise?"