Baron Trigault's Vengeance by Emile Gaboriau (graded readers .TXT) 📖

the fear of being made the victim of a practical joke. “Come, my friend,” he said at last, “do you want to poke fun at me? That wouldn’t be polite. A debtor is always sacred, and I owe you twenty-five louis. This is scarcely the time to talk of millions. My relatives have cut off my supplies; and my creditors are overwhelming me with their bills——”

But M. de Coralth checked him, saying gravely: “Upon my honor, I am not jesting. What would you give a man who—”

“I would give him half of the fortune he gave me.”

“That’s too much!”

“No, no!”

He was in earnest, certainly. What wouldn’t a man promise in all sincerity of soul to a fellow mortal who gave him money when he had none—when he needed it urgently and must have it to save himself from ruin?

At such a moment no commission, however large, seems exorbitant. It is afterward, when the day of settlement comes, that people begin to find fault with the rate of interest.

“If I tell you that one-half is too much, it is because such is really the case. And I am the best judge of the matter, since I am the man who can put you in possession of this enormous fortune.”

M. Wilkie started back in speechless amazement.

“This astonishes you!” said the viscount; “and why, pray? Is it because I ask for a commission?”

“Oh! not at all!”

“It is not perhaps a very gentlemanly proceeding, but it is a sensible one. Business is business. In the afternoon, when I am in a restaurant, at the club, or in a lady’s boudoir, I am merely the viscount and the grand seigneur. All money questions sicken me. I am careless, liberal, and obliging to a fault. But in the morning I am simply Coralth, a man of the middle classes who doesn’t pay his bills without examining them, and who watches his money, because he doesn’t wish to be ruined and end his brilliant career as a common soldier in some foreign legion.”

M. Wilkie did not allow him to continue. He believed, and his joy was wild—delirious. “Enough, enough!” he interrupted. “A difficulty between us! Never! I am yours without reserve! Do you understand me? How much must you have? Do you wish for it all?”

But the viscount was unmoved. “It is not fitting that I should fix upon the indemnity which is due to me. I will consult a man of business; and I will decide upon this point on the day after to-morrow, when I shall explain everything to you.”

“On the day after to-morrow! You won’t leave me in suspense for forty-eight hours?”

“It is unavoidable. I have still some important information to procure. I lost no time in coming to you, so that I might put you on your guard. If any scoundrel comes to you with proposals, be extremely careful. Some agents, when they obtain a hold on an estate, leave nothing for the rightful owner. So don’t treat with any one.”

“Oh, no! You may rest assured I won’t.”

“I should be quieter in mind if I had your promise in writing.”

Without a word, Wilkie darted to a table, and wrote a short contract by which he bound himself to give M. Ferdinand de Coralth one-half of the inheritance which the aforesaid Coralth might prove him to be entitled to. The viscount read the document, placed it in his pocket, and then said, as he took up his hat:

“Very well. I will see you again on Monday.”

But M. Wilkie’s doubts were beginning to return. “Monday, so be it!” said he; “but swear that you are not deceiving me.”

“What, do you still doubt me?”

M. Wilkie reflected for a moment; and suddenly a brilliant inspiration darted through his brain. “If you are speaking the truth, I shall soon be rich,” said he. “But, in the meantime, life is hard. I haven’t a penny, and it isn’t a pleasant situation. I have a horse entered for the race to-morrow, Pompier de Nanterre. You know the animal very well. The chances are enormously in his favor. So, if it wouldn’t inconvenience you to lend me fifty louis.”

“Certainly,” interrupted the viscount, cordially. “Certainly; with the greatest pleasure.”

And drawing a beautiful little notebook from his pocket he took from it not one, but two bank-notes of a thousand francs, and handed them to M. Wilkie, saying: “Monsieur believes me now, does he not?”

As will be readily believed, it was not for his own pleasure that M. de Coralth postponed his confidential disclosures for a couple of days. He knew Wilkie perfectly well, and felt that it was dangerous to let him roam about Paris with half of an important secret. Postponement generally furnishes fate with weapons against oneself. But it was impossible for the viscount to act otherwise. He had not seen the Marquis de Valorsay since the Count de Chalusse’s death and he dared not conclude the contract with Wilkie before he had conferred with him, for he was completely in the marquis’s power. At the least suspicion of treason, M. de Valorsay would close his hand, and he, Coralth, would be crushed like an egg-shell. It was to the house of his formidable associate that he repaired on leaving M. Wilkie; and in a single breath he told the marquis all that he knew, and the plans that he had formed.

M. de Valorsay’s astonishment must have been intense when he heard that Lia d’Argeles was a Chalusse, but he knew how to maintain his composure. He listened quietly, and when the viscount had completed his story, he asked: “Why did you wait so long before telling me all this?”

“I didn’t see how it could interest you in the least.”

The marquis looked at him keenly, and then calmly said: “In other words, you were waiting to see whether it would be most advantageous to you to be with me or against me.”

“How can you think——”

“I don’t think, I’m sure of it. As long as I was strong support for you, you were devoted to me. But now I am tottering, and you are ready to betray me.”

“Excuse me! The step I am about to take——”

“What, haven’t you taken it already?” interrupted the marquis, quickly. And shrugging his shoulders, he added: “Observe that I don’t reproach you in the least. Only remember this: we survive or we perish together.”

By the angry gleam in M. de Coralth’s eyes, the marquis must have realized that his companion was disposed to rebel; still this knowledge did not seem to disquiet him, for it was in the same icy tone that he continued: “Besides, your plans, far from conflicting with mine, will be of service to me. Yes, Madame d’Argeles must lay claim to the count’s estate. If she hesitates, her son will compel her to urge her claims, will he not?”

“Oh, you may rest