Other People's Money by Emile Gaboriau (superbooks4u txt) 📖

“And yet it is not all.  How do you explain your father’s silence when M. de Thaller was heaping upon him the most outrageous insults?”

“My father was stunned, as it were.”

“And at the moment of escaping, if he did have any accomplices, how is it that he did not mention their names to you, to your mother, or to your sister?”

“Because, doubtless, he had no proofs of their complicity to offer.”

“Would you have asked him for any?”

“O sir!”

“Therefore such is not evidently the motive of his silence; and it might better be attributed to some secret hope that he still had left.”

The commissary now had all the information, which, voluntarily or otherwise, Maxence was able to give him.  He rose, and in the kindest tone,

“You have come,” he said to him, “to ask me for advice.  Here it is:  say nothing, and wait.  Allow justice and the police to pursue their work.  Whatever may be your suspicions, hide them.  I shall do for you as I would for Lucienne, whom I love as if she were my own child; for it so happens, that, in helping you, I shall help her.”

He could not help laughing at the astonishment, which at those words depicted itself upon Maxence’s face; and gayly,

“You don’t understand,” he added.  “Well, never mind.  It is not necessary that you should.”

Two o’clock struck as Mlle. Lucienne and Maxence left the office of the commissary of police, she pensive and agitated, he gloomy and irritated.  They reached the Hotel des Folies without exchanging a word.  Mme. Fortin was again at the door, speechifying in the midst of a group with indefatigable volubility.  Indeed, it was a perfect godsend for her, the fact of lodging the son of that cashier who had stolen twelve millions, and had thus suddenly become a celebrity.  Seeing Maxence and Mlle. Lucienne coming, she stepped toward them, and, with her most obsequious smile,

“Back already?” she said.

But they made no answer; and, entering the narrow corridor, they hurried to their fourth story.  As he entered his room, Maxence threw his hat upon his bed with a gesture of impatience; and, after walking up and down for a moment, he returned to plant himself in front of Mlle. Lucienne.

“Well,” he said, “are you satisfied now?”

She looked at him with an air of profound commiseration, knowing his weakness too well to be angry at his injustice.

“Of what should I be satisfied?” she asked gently.

“I have done what you wished me to.”

“You did what reason dictated, my friend.”

“Very well:  we won’t quarrel about words.  I have seen your friend the commissary.  Am I any better off?”

She shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly.

“What did you expect of him, then?” she asked.  “Did you think that he could undo what is done?  Did you suppose, that, by the sole power of his will, he would make up the deficit in the Mutual Credit’s cash, and rehabilitate your father?”

“No, I am not quite mad yet.”

“Well, then, could he do more than promise you his most ardent and devoted co-operation?”

But he did not allow her to proceed.

“And how do I know,” he exclaimed, “that he is not trifling with me?  If he was sincere, why his reticence and his enigmas?  He pretends that I may rely on him, because to serve me is to serve you.  What does that mean?  What connection is there between your situation and mine, between your enemies and those of my father?  And I—I replied to all his questions like a simpleton.  Poor fool!  But the man who drowns catches at straws; and I am drowning, I am sinking, I am foundering.”

He sank upon a chair, and, hiding his face in his hands,

“Ah, how I do suffer!” he groaned.

Mlle. Lucienne approached him, and in a severe tone, despite her emotion,

“Are you, then, such a coward?” she uttered.  “What! at the first misfortune that strikes you,—and this is the first real misfortune of your life, Maxence,—you despair.  An obstacle rises, and, instead of gathering all your energy to overcome it, you sit down and weep like a woman.  Who, then, is to inspire courage in your mother and in your sister, if you give up so?”

At the sound of these words, uttered by that voice which was all-powerful over his soul, Maxence looked up.

“I thank you, my friend,” he said.  “I thank you for reminding me of what I owe to my mother and sister.  Poor women!  They are wondering, doubtless, what has become of me.”

“You must return to them,” interrupted the girl.

He got up resolutely.

“I will,” he replied.  “I should be unworthy of you if I could not raise my own energy to the level of yours.”

And, having pressed her hand, he left.  But it was not by the usual route that he reached the Rue St. Gilles.  He made a long detour, so as not to meet any of his acquaintances.

“Here you are at last,” said the servant as she opened the door.  “Madame was getting very uneasy, I can tell you.  She is in the parlor, with Mlle. Gilberte and M. Chapelain.”

It was so.  After his fruitless attempt to reach M. de Thaller, M. Chapelain had breakfasted there, and had remained, wishing, he said, to see Maxence.  And so, as soon as the young man appeared, availing himself of the privileges of his age and his old intimacy,

“How,” said he, “dare you leave your mother and sister alone in a house where some brutal creditor may come in at any moment?”

“I was wrong,” said Maxence, who preferred to plead guilty rather than attempt an explanation.

“Don’t do it again then,” resumed M. Chapelain.  “I was waiting for you to say that I was unable to see M. de Thaller, and that I do not care to face once more the impudence of his valets.  You will, therefore, have to take back the fifteen thousand francs he had brought to your father.  Place them in his own hands; and don’t give them up without a receipt.”

After some further recommendations, he went off, leaving Mme. Favoral alone at last with her children.  She was about to call Maxence to account for his absence, when Mlle. Gilberte interrupted her.

“I have to speak to you, mother,” she said with a singular precipitation, “and to you also, brother.”

And at once she began telling them of M. Costeclar’s