File No. 113 by Emile Gaboriau (ebook reader browser TXT) 📖

lulling any suspicions which might arise in her breast.

The task was difficult, but not impossible.

Mme. Fauvel had been distressed by Raoul’s wild extravagance, but had never ceased to love him.

Whatever faults he had committed, whatever future follies he might indulge in, he would always remain her best-loved child, her first-born, the living image of her noble, handsome Gaston, the lover of her youth.

She adored her two sons, Lucien and Abel; but she could not overcome an indulgent weakness for the unfortunate child, torn from her arms the day of his birth, abandoned to the mercies of hired strangers, and for twenty years deprived of home influences and a mother’s love.

She blamed herself for Raoul’s misconduct, and accepted the responsibility of his sins, saying to herself, “It is my fault. But for me, he would not have been exposed to the temptations of the world.”

Knowing these to be her sentiments, Raoul did not hesitate to take advantage of them.

Never were more irresistible fascinations employed for the accomplishment of a wicked object. Beneath an air of innocent frankness, this precocious scoundrel concealed wonderful astuteness and penetration. He could at will adorn himself with the confiding artlessness of youth, so that angels might have yielded to the soft look of his large dark eyes. There were few women living who could have resisted the thrilling tones of his sympathetic voice.

During the month of Louis’s absence, Mme. Fauvel was in a state of comparative happiness.

Never had this mother and wife—this pure, innocent woman, in spite of her first and only fault—enjoyed such tranquillity. She felt as one under the influence of enchantment, while revelling in the sunshine of filial love, which almost bore the character of a lover’s passion; for Raoul’s devotion was ardent and constant, his manner so tender and winning, that anyone would have taken him for Mme. Fauvel’s suitor.

As she was still at her country-seat, and M. Fauvel went into the city every morning at nine o’clock, and did not return till six, she had the whole of her time to devote to Raoul. When she had spent the morning with him at his house in Vesinet, she would often bring him home to dine and spend the evening with her.

All his past faults were forgiven, or rather the whole blame of them was laid upon Clameran; for, now that he was absent, had not Raoul once more become her noble, generous, affectionate son, the pride and consolation of her life?

Raoul enjoyed the life he was leading, and took such an interest in the part that he was playing, that his acting was perfect. He possessed the faculty which makes cheats successful, faith in his own impostures. Sometimes he would stop to think whether he was telling the truth, or acting a shameful comedy.

His success was wonderful. Even Madeleine, the prudent, distrustful Madeleine, without being able to shake off her prejudice against the young adventurer, confessed that perhaps she had been influenced by appearances, and had judged unjustly.

Raoul not only never asked for money, but even refused it when offered; saying that, now that his uncle was away, his expenses were but trifling.

Affairs were in this happy state when Louis arrived from Oloron.

Although now immensely rich, he resolved to make no change in his style of living, but returned to his apartments at the Hotel du Louvre.

His only outlay was the purchase of a handsome carriage; and this was driven by Manuel, who consented to enter his service, although Gaston had left him a handsome little fortune, more than sufficient to support him comfortably.

Louis’s dream, the height of his ambition, was to be ranked among the great manufacturers of France.

He was prouder of being called “iron-founder” than of his marquisate.

During his adventurous life, he had met with so many titled gamblers and cut-throats, that he no longer believed in the prestige of nobility. It was impossible to distinguish the counterfeit from the genuine. He thought what was so easily imitated was not worth the having.

Dearly bought experience had taught him that our unromantic century attaches no value to armorial bearings, unless their possessor is rich enough to display them upon a splendid coach.

One can be a marquis without a marquisate, but it is impossible to be a forge-master without owning iron-works.

Louis now thirsted for the homage of the world. All the badly digested humiliations of the past weighed upon him.

He had suffered so much contempt and scorn from his fellow-men, that he burned to avenge himself. After a disgraceful youth, he longed to live a respected and honored old age.

His past career disturbed him little. He was sufficiently acquainted with the world to know that the noise of his coach-wheels would silence the jeers of those who knew his former life.

These thoughts fermented in Louis’s brain as he journeyed from Pau to Paris. He troubled his mind not in the least about Raoul, determined to use him as a tool so long as he needed his services, and then pay him a large sum if he would go back to England.

All these plans and thoughts were afterward found noted down in the diary which he had in his pocket at the time of the journey.

The first interview between the accomplices took place at the Hotel du Louvre.

Raoul, having a practical turn of mind, said he thought that they both ought to be contented with the result already obtained, and that it would be folly to try and grasp anything more.

“What more do we want?” he asked his uncle. “We now possess over a million; let us divide it and keep quiet. We had better be satisfied with our good luck, and not tempt Providence.”

But this moderation did not suit Louis.

“I am rich,” he replied, “but I desire more than wealth. I am determined to marry Madeleine: I swear she shall be my wife! In the first place, I madly love her, and then, as the nephew of the most eminent banker in Paris, I at once gain high position and public consideration.”

“I tell you, uncle, your courtship will involve you in great risks.”

“I don’t care if it does. I choose to run them. My intention is to share my fortune with you; but I will not do so till the day after my wedding. Madeleine’s fortune will then be yours.”

Raoul was silent. Clameran held the money, and was therefore master of the situation.

“You don’t seem to anticipate any difficulty in carrying out your wishes,” he said discontentedly; “how are you to account for your suddenly acquired fortune? M. Fauvel knows that a Clameran lived at Oloron, and had money in his bank. You tell him that you never heard of this person bearing your name, and then, at the end of the month, you come and say that you have