Had Andre known a little more of the
man he had to deal with, he would have learned that
no one could fall like an earthquake upon Van Klopen.
Shut up in the sanctum where he composed the numberless
costumes that were the wonder and delight of Paris,
Van Klopen made as careful arrangements to secure
himself from the interview as the Turk does to guard
the approaches to his seraglio; and so Andre and Gandelu
were accosted in the entrance hall by his stately
footmen, clad in gorgeous liveries, glittering with
gold.
“M. van Klopen is of the utmost
importance,” asserted Andre.
“Our master is composing.”
Entreaties, threats, and even a bribe
of one hundred francs were alike useless; and Andre,
seeing that he was about to be checkmated, was half
tempted to take the men by the collar and hurl them
on one side, but he calmed himself, and, already repenting
of his violence at Verminet’s, he determined
on a course of submission, and so meekly followed the
footmen into the famous waiting-room, styled by Van
Klopen his purgatory. The footmen, however, had
spoken the truth, for several ladies of the highest
rank and standing were awaiting the return of this
arbiter elegantiarum. All of them turned
as the young men entered — all save one,
who was gazing out of the window, drawing with her
pretty fingers on the window panes. Andre recognized
her in an instant as Madame de Bois Arden.
“Is it possible?” thought
he. “Can the Countess have returned here
after what has occurred?”
Gaston felt that five charming pairs
of eyes were fixed upon him, and studied to assume
his most graceful posture.
After a brief time given to arrangement,
Andre grew disgusted.
“I wish that she would look
round,” said he to himself. “I think
she would feel rather ashamed. I will say a word
to her.”
He rose from his chair, and, without
thinking how terribly he might compromise the lady,
he took up a position at her side. She was, however,
intently watching something that was going on in the
street, and did not turn her head.
“Madame,” said he.
She started, and, as she turned and
recognized Andre, she uttered a little cry of surprise.
“Great heavens! is that you?”
“Yes, it is I.”
“And here? I dare say that
my presence in this place surprises you,” she
went on, “and that I have a short memory, and
no feelings of pride.”
Andre made no reply, and his silence
was a sufficient rejoinder to the question.
“You do me a great injustice,”
muttered the Countess. “I am here because
De Breulh told me that in your interests I ought to
pardon Van Klopen, and go to him again as I used to
do; so you see, M. Andre, that it is never safe to
judge by appearance, and a woman more than anything
else.”
“Will you forgive me?” asked Andre earnestly.
The lady interrupted him by a little
wave of her hand, invisible to all save to him, which
clearly said, —
“Take care; we are not alone.”
She once more turned her eyes towards
the street, and he mechanically did the same.
By this means their faces were hidden from observation.
“De Breulh,” went on the
lady, “has heard a good deal about De Croisenois,
and, as no doubt you can guess, but very little to
his credit, and quite enough to justify any father
in refusing him his daughter’s hand; but in
this case it is evident to me that De Mussidan is
yielding to a secret pressure. We must ferret
out some hidden crime in De Croisenois’ past
which will force him to withdraw his proposal.”
“I shall find one,” muttered Andre.
“But remember there is no time
to be lost. According to our agreement, I treat
him in the most charming manner, and he thinks that
I am entirely devoted to his interests, and to-morrow
I have arranged to introduce him to the Count and
Countess at the Hotel de Mussidan, where the Count
and Countess have agreed to receive him.”
Andre started at this news.
“I saw,” continued the
lady, “that you were quite right in the opinion
you had formed, for in the first place the common danger
has almost reconciled the Count and Countess affectionately
to each other, though it is notorious that they have
always lived in the most unhappy manner. Their
faces are careworn and full of anxiety, and they watch
every movement of Sabine with eager eyes. I think
that they look upon her as a means of safety, but
shudder at the sacrifice she is making on their account.”
“And Sabine?”
“Her conduct is perfectly sublime,
and she is ready to consummate the sacrifice without
a murmur. Her self-sacrificing devotion is perfectly
admirable; but what is more admirable still is the
way in which she conceals the suffering that she endures
from her parents. Noble-hearted girl! she is
calm and silent, but she has always been so. She
has grown thinner, and perhaps her cheek is a trifle
paler, but her forehead was burning and seemed to
scorch my lips as I kissed her. With this exception,
however, there was nothing else about her that would
betray her tortures. Modeste, her maid, told
me, moreover, that when night came she seemed utterly
worn out, and the poor girl, with tears in her eyes,
declared ‘that her dear mistress was killing
herself.’”
Andre’s eyes overflowed with tears.
“What have I done to deserve such love?”
asked he.
A door suddenly opened, and Andre
and the Viscountess turned hastily at the sound.
It was Van Klopen who came in, crying, according to
his usual custom, —
“Well, and whose turn is it next?”
When, however, he saw Gaston, his
face grew white, and it was with a smile that he stepped
towards him, motioning back the lady whose turn it
was, and who protested loudly against this injustice.
“Ah, M. de Gandelu,” said
he, “you have come, I suppose, to bespeak some
fresh toilettes for that exquisite creature, Zora
de Chantemille?”
“Not to-day,” returned
Gaston. “Zora is a little indisposed.”
Andre, however, who had arranged the
narrative that he was about to pour into the ears
of the famous Van Klopen, was in too much haste to
permit of any unnecessary delay.
“We have come here,” said
he hurriedly, “upon a matter of some moment.
My friend, M. Gaston de Gandelu, is about to leave
Paris for some months, and, before doing so, is anxious
to settle all outstanding accounts, and retire all
his bills, which may not yet have fallen due.”
“Have I any bills of M. de Gandelu?”
said Van Klopen slowly. “Ah, yes, I remember
that I had some now. Yes, five bills of one thousand
francs each, drawn by Gandelu, and accepted by Martin
Rigal. I received them from the Mutual Loan Society,
but they are no longer in my hands.”
“Is that the case?” murmured
Gaston, growing sick with apprehension.
“Yes, I sent them to my cloth
merchants at St. Etienne, Rollón and Company.”
Van Klopen was a clever scoundrel,
but he sometimes lacked the necessary perception of
when he had said enough; and this was proved to-day,
for, agitated by the steady gaze that Andre kept upon
him, he added, —
“If you do not believe my word,
I can show you the acknowledgment that I received
from that firm.”
“It is unnecessary,” replied
Andre. “Your statement is quite sufficient.”
“I should prefer to let you see the letter.”
“No, thank you,” replied
Andre, not for a moment duped by the game that was
being played. “Pray take no more trouble.
We shall, I presume, find that the bills are at St.
Etienne. There is no use in taking any more trouble
about them, and we will wait until they arrive at maturity.
I have the honor to wish you good morning.”
And with these words he dragged away
Gaston, who was actually about to consult Van Klopen
as to the most becoming costume for Zora to appear
in on leaving the prison of St. Lazare. When
they were a few doors from the man-milliner’s,
Andre stopped and wrote down the names of Van Klopen’s
cloth merchants. Gaston was now quite at his ease.
“I think,” remarked he,
“that Van Klopen is a sharp fellow; he knows
that I am to be relied on.”
“Where do you think your bills are?”
“At St. Etienne’s, of course.”
The perfect innocence of the boy elicited
from Andre a gesture of impatient commiseration.
“Listen to me,” said he,
“and see if you can comprehend the awful position
in which you have placed yourself.”
“I am listening, my dear fellow; pray go on.”
“You drew these bills through
Verminet because Van Klopen would not give you credit.”
“Exactly so.”
“How, then, do you account for
the fact that this man, who was at first disinclined
to trust you, should without rhyme or reason, offer
to supply you now as he did to-day?”
“The deuce! That never
struck me. It does seem queer. Does he want
to play me a nasty trick? But which of them is
it — Verminet or Van Klopen?”
“It is plain to me that the
pair of them have entered into a pleasant little plot
to blackmail you.”
Young Gandelu did not at all like
this turn, and he exclaimed, —
“Blackmail me, indeed! why,
I know my way about better than that. They won’t
get much out of me, I can tell you.”
Andre shrugged his shoulders.
“Then,” said he, “just
tell me what you intend to say to Verminet when he
comes to you upon the day your bills fall due, and
says to you, ’Give me one hundred thousand francs
for these five little bits of paper, or I go straight
to your father with them’?”
“I should say, of course — ah,
well, I really do not know what I should say.”
“You could say nothing, except
that you had been imposed on in the most infamous
way. You would plead for time, and Verminet would
give it to you if you would execute a deed insuring
him one hundred thousand francs on the day you came
of age.”
“A hundred thousand devils are
all the rogue would get from me. That’s
the way I do things, do you see? If people try
and ride roughshod over me, I merely hit out, and
then just look out for broken bones. Pay this
chap? Not I! I know the governor would make
an almighty shine, but I’ll choose that sooner
than be had like that.”
He was quite serious but could only
put his feelings into the language he usually spoke.
“I think,” answered Andre,
“that your father would forgive this imprudence,
but that it will be even harder for him to do so than
it was to send a doctor to number the hours he had
to live. He will forgive you because he is your
father, and because he loves you; but Verminet, when
he finds that the threat to go to your father does
not appall you, will menace you with criminal proceedings.”
“Hulloo!” said Gandelu,
stopping short. “I say, that is very poor
fun,” gasped he.
“There is no fun in it, for
such fun, when brought to the notice of a court of
justice, goes by the ugly name of forgery, and forgery
means a swinging heavy sentence.”
Gaston turned pale, and trembled from head to foot.
“Tried and sentenced,”
faltered he. “No, I don’t believe
you, but I hold no honors and will turn up my cards.”
He quite forgot that he was in the public street,
and was talking at the top of his shrill falsetto voice,
and gesticulating violently.
“The poor old governor, I might
have made him so happy, and, after all, I have only
been a torment to him. Ah, could I but begin once
more; but then the cards are dealt, and I must go
on with the game, and I have made a nice muddle of
the whole thing before I am twenty years of age; but
no criminal courts for me, no, the easiest way out
of it is a pistol shot, for I am an honest man’s
son, and I will not bring more disgrace on him than
I have already done.”
“Do you really mean what you say?” asked
Andre.
“Of course I do. I can be firm enough sometimes.”
“Then we will not despair yet,”
answered the young painter. “I think that
we shall be able to settle this ugly business, but
you cannot be too cautious. Keep indoors, and
remember that I may have urgent need of you at almost
any time of day or night.”
“I agree, but remember this, Zora is not to
be forgotten.”
“Don’t fret over that;
I will call and see her to-morrow. And now, farewell
for to-day, as I have not an instant to lose,”
and with these words Andre hurried off.
Andre’s reason for haste was
that he had caught a few words addressed by Verminet
to Croisenois — “I shall see Mascarin
at four o’clock.” And he determined
to loiter about the Rue St. Anne, and watch the Managing
Director when he came out, and so find out who this
Mascarin was, who he was certain was mixed up in the
plot. He darted down the Rue de Grammont like
an arrow from a bow, and as the clock in a neighboring
belfry chimed half-past three, he was in the Rue St.
Anne. There was a small wine-shop almost opposite
to the office of the Mutual Loan Society, and there
Andre ensconced himself and made a frugal meal, while
he was waiting for Verminet’s appearance, and
just as he had finished his light refreshment he saw
the man he wanted come out of the office, and crept
cautiously after him like a Red Indian on the trail
of his enemy.