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

Maxence was fairly stamping with rage.

“And I was not here,” he exclaimed, “to put him out of the house!”

But another was there; and this was just what Mlle. Gilberte wished to come to.  But the avowal was difficult, painful even; and it was not without some degree of confusion that she resumed at last,

“You have suspected for a long time, mother, that I was hiding something from you.  When you questioned me, I lied; not that I had any thing to blush for, but because I feared for you my father’s anger.”

Her mother and her brother were gazing at her with a look of blank amazement.

“Yes, I had a secret,” she continued.  “Boldly, without consulting any one, trusting the sole inspirations of my heart, I had engaged my life to a stranger:  I had selected the man whose wife I wished to be.”

Mme. Favoral raised her hands to heaven.

“But this is sheer madness!” she said.

“Unfortunately,” went on the girl, “between that man, my affianced husband before God, and myself, rose a terrible obstacle.  He was poor:  he thought my father very rich; and he had asked me a delay of three years to conquer a fortune which might enable him to aspire to my hand.”

She stopped:  all the blood in her veins was rushing to her face.

“This morning,” she said, “at the news of our disaster, he came . . .”

“Here?” interrupted Maxence.

“Yes, brother, here.  He arrived at the very moment, when, basely insulted by M. Costeclar, I commanded him to withdraw, and, instead of going, he was walking towards me with outstretched arms.”

“He dared to penetrate here!” murmured Mme. Favoral.

“Yes, mother:  he came in just in time to seize M. Costeclar by his coat-collar, and to throw him at my feet, livid with fear, and begging for mercy.  He came, notwithstanding the terrible calamity that has befallen us.  Notwithstanding ruin, and notwithstanding shame, he came to offer me his name, and to tell me, that, in the course of the day, he would send a friend of his family to apprise you of his intentions.”

Here she was interrupted by the servant, who, throwing open the parlor-door, announced,

“The Count de Villegre.”

If it had occurred to the mind of Mme. Favoral or Maxence that Mlle. Gilberte might have been the victim of some base intrigue, the mere appearance of the man who now walked in must have been enough to disabuse them.

He was of a rather formidable aspect, with his military bearing, his bluff manners, his huge white mustache, and the deep scar across his forehead.

But in order to be re-assured, and to feel confident, it was enough to look at his broad face, at once energetic and debonair, his clear eye, in which shone the loyalty of his soul, and his thick red lips, which had never opened to utter an untruth.

At this moment, however, he was hardly in possession of all his faculties.

That valiant man, that old soldier, was timid; and he would have felt much more at ease under the fire of a battery than in that humble parlor in the Rue St. Gilles, under the uneasy glance of Maxence and Mme. Favoral.

Having bowed, having made a little friendly sign to Mlle. Gilberte, he had stopped short, two steps from the door, his hat in his hand.

Eloquence was not his forte.  He had prepared himself well in advance; but though he kept coughing:  hum! broum! though he kept running his finger around his shirt-collar to facilitate his delivery, the beginning of his speech stuck in his throat.

Seeing how urgent it was to come to his assistance,

“I was expecting you, sir,” said Mlle. Gilberte.  With this encouragement, he advanced towards Mme. Favoral, and, bowing low,

“I see that my presence surprises you, madame,” he began; “and I must confess that—hum!—it does not surprise me less than it does you.  But extraordinary circumstances require exceptional action.  On any other occasion, I would not fall upon you like a bombshell.  But we had no time to waste in ceremonious formalities.  I will, therefore, ask your leave to introduce myself:  I am General Count de Villegre.”

Maxence had brought him a chair.

“I am ready to hear you, sir,” said Mme. Favoral.  He sat down, and, with a further effort,

“I suppose, madame,” he resumed, “that your daughter has explained to you our singular situation, which, as I had the honor of telling you—hum!—is not strictly in accordance with social usage.”

Mlle. Gilberte interrupted him.

“When you came in, general, I was only just beginning to explain the facts to my mother and brother.”

The old soldier made a gesture, and a face which showed plainly that he did not much relish the prospect of a somewhat difficult explanation—broum!  Nevertheless, making up his mind bravely,

“It is very simple,” he said:  “I come in behalf of M. de Tregars.”

Maxence fairly bounced upon his chair.  That was the very name which he had just heard mentioned by the commissary of police.

“Tregars!” he repeated in a tone of immense surprise.

“Yes,” said M. de Villegre.  “Do you know him, by chance?”

“No, sir, no!”

“Marius de Tregars is the son of the most honest man I ever knew, of the best friend I ever had,—of the Marquis de Tregars, in a word, who died of grief a few years ago, after—hum!—some quite inexplicable—broum!—reverses of fortune.  Marius could not be dearer to me, if he were my own son.  He has lost his parents:  I have no relatives; and I have transferred to him all the feelings of affection which still remained at the bottom of my old heart.

“And I can say that never was a man more worthy of affection.  I know him.  To the most legitimate pride and the most scrupulous integrity, he unites a keen and supple mind, and wit enough to get the better of the toughest rascal.  He has no fortune for the reason that—hum!—he gave up all he had to certain pretended creditors of his father.  But whenever he wishes to be rich, he shall be; and —broum!—he may be so before long.  I know his projects, his hopes, his resources.”

But, as if feeling that he was treading on dangerous ground, the Count de Villegre stopped short, and, after taking breath for a moment,

“In short,” he went on, “Marius has been unable to see Mlle. Gilberte, and to appreciate the rare qualities of her heart, without falling desperately in love with her.”