The Count's Millions by Emile Gaboriau (big screen ebook reader .txt) 📖

a retreat, the magistrate was hidden in a dark corner, and Mademoiselle Marguerite, who was accustomed to the General’s manner, remained silent, being well aware that there was no chance of putting in a word as long as he had possession of the floor. “Fortunately, poor Chalusse was a prudent man,” continued M. de Fondege. “He loved you devotedly, my dear, as his testamentary provisions must have shown you.”

“His provisions?”

“Yes, most certainly. Surely you don’t mean to try and conceal anything from one who knows all. Ah! you will be one of the greatest catches in Europe, and you will have plenty of suitors.”

Mademoiselle Marguerite sadly shook her head. “You are mistaken, General; the count left no will, and has made no provision whatever for me.”

M. de Fondege trembled, turned a trifle pale, and in a faltering voice, exclaimed: “What! You tell me that? Chalusse! A thousand thunderclaps! It isn’t possible.”

“The count was stricken with apoplexy in a cab. He went out about five o’clock, on foot, and a little before seven he was brought home unconscious. Where he had been we don’t know.”

“You don’t know? you don’t know?”

“Alas! no; and he was only able to utter a few incoherent words before he died.” Thereupon the poor girl began a brief account of what had taken place during the last four-and-twenty hours. Had she been less absorbed in her narrative she would have noticed that the General was not listening to her. He was sitting at the count’s desk and was toying with the letters which Madame Leon had brought into the room a short time previously. One of them especially seemed to attract his attention, to exercise a sort of fascination over him as it were. He looked at it with hungry eyes, and whenever he touched it, his hand trembled, or involuntarily clinched. His face, moreover, had become livid; his eyes twitched nervously; he seemed to have a difficulty in breathing, and big drops of perspiration trickled down his forehead. If the magistrate were able to see the General’s face, he must certainly have been of opinion that a terrible conflict was raging in his mind. The struggle lasted indeed for fully five minutes, and then suddenly, certain that no one saw him, he caught up the letter in question and slipped it into his pocket.

Poor Marguerite was now finishing her story: “You see, monsieur, that, far from being an heiress, as you suppose, I am homeless and penniless,” she said.

The General had risen from his chair, and was striding up and down the room with every token of intense agitation. “It’s true,” he said apparently unconscious of his words. “She’s ruined—lost—the misfortune is complete!” Then, suddenly pausing with folded arms in front of Mademoiselle Marguerite: “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“God will not forsake me, General,” she replied.

He turned on his heel and resumed his promenade, wildly gesticulating and indulging in a furious monologue which was certainly not very easy to follow. “Frightful! terrible!” he growled. “The daughter of an old comrade—zounds!—of a friend of thirty years’ standing—to be left in such a plight! Never, a thousand thunderclaps!—never! Poor child!—a heart of gold, and as pretty as an angel! This horrible Paris would devour her at a single mouthful! It would be a crime—an abomination! It sha’n’t be!—the old veterans are here, firm as rocks!”

Thereupon, approaching the poor girl again, he exclaimed in a coarse but seemingly feeling voice: “Mademoiselle Marguerite.”

“General?”

“You are acquainted with my son, Gustave Fondege, are you not?”

“I think I have heard you speak of him to M. de Chalusse several times.”

The General tugged furiously at his mustaches as was his wont whenever he was perplexed or embarrassed. “My son,” he resumed, “is twenty-seven. He’s now a lieutenant of hussars, and will soon be promoted to the rank of captain. He’s a handsome fellow, sure to make his way in the world, for he’s not wanting in spirit. As I never attempt to hide the truth, I must confess that he’s a trifle dissipated; but his heart is all right, and a charming little wife would soon turn him from the error of his ways, and he’d become the pearl of husbands.” He paused, passed his forefinger three or four times between his collar and his neck, and then, in a half-strangled voice, he added: “Mademoiselle Marguerite, I have the honor to ask for your hand in marriage on behalf of Lieutenant Gustave de Fondege, my son.”

There was a dangerous gleam of anger in Mademoiselle Marguerite’s eyes, as she coldly replied: “I am honored by your request, monsieur; but my future is already decided.”

Some seconds elapsed before M. de Fondege could recover his powers of speech. “This is a piece of foolishness,” he faltered, at last with singular agitation. “Let me hope that you will reconsider the matter. And if Gustave doesn’t please you, we will find some one better. But under no circumstances will Chalusse’s old comrade ever desert you. I shall send Madame de Fondege to see you this evening. She’s a good woman and you will understand each other. Come, answer me, what do you say to it?”

His persistence irritated the poor girl beyond endurance, and to put an end to the painful scene, she at last asked: “Would you not like to look—for the last time—at M. de Chalusse?”

“Ah! yes, certainly—an old friend of thirty years’ standing.” So saying he advanced toward the door leading into the death-room, but on reaching the threshold, he cried in sudden terror: “Oh! no, no, I could not.” And with these words he withdrew or rather he fled from the room down the stairs.

As long as the General had been there, the magistrate had given no sign of life. But seated beyond the circle of light cast by the lamps, he had remained an attentive spectator of the scene, and now that he found himself once more alone with Mademoiselle Marguerite he came forward, and leaning against the mantelpiece and looking her full in the face he exclaimed: “Well, my child?”

The girl trembled like a culprit awaiting sentence of death, and it was in a hollow voice that she replied: “I understood—”

“What?” insisted the pitiless magistrate.

She raised her beautiful eyes, in which angry tears were still glittering, and then answered in a voice which quivered with suppressed passion, “I have fathomed the infamy of those two men who have just left the house. I understood the insult their apparent generosity conceals. They had questioned the servants, and had ascertained that two millions were missing. Ah, the scoundrels! They believe that I have stolen those millions; and they came to ask me to share the ill-gotten wealth with them. What an insult! and to think that I am powerless to avenge it! Ah! the servants’ suspicions were nothing in comparison with this. At least, they did not ask for a share of the booty as the price of their silence!”

The magistrate shook his head as if this explanation scarcely satisfied him. “There is something else, there is certainly something else,” he repeated. But the doors were still open, so he closed them carefully, and then returned to the girl he was so desirous of advising. “I wish to tell