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

Mme. Favoral made a gesture of protest,

“Allow me, sir,” she began.

But he interrupted her.

“I understand you, madame,” he resumed.  “You wonder how M. de Tregars can have seen your daughter, have known her, and have appreciated her, without your seeing or hearing any thing of it.  Nothing is more simple, and, if I may venture to say—hum!—more natural.”

And the worthy old soldier began to explain to Mme. Favoral the meetings in the Place-Royale, his conversations with Marius, intended really for Mlle. Gilberte, and the part he had consented to play in this little comedy.  But he became embarrassed in his sentences, he multiplied his hum! and his broum! in the most alarming manner; and his explanations explained nothing.

Mlle. Gilberte took pity on him; and, kindly interrupting him, she herself told her story, and that of Marius.

She told the pledge they had exchanged, how they had seen each other twice, and how they constantly heard of each other through the very innocent and very unconscious Signor Gismondo Pulei.

Maxence and Mme. Favoral were dumbfounded.  They would have absolutely refused to believe such a story, had it not been told by Mlle. Gilberte herself.

“Ah, my dear sister!” thought Maxence, “who could have suspected such a thing, seeing you always so calm and so meek!”

“Is it possible,” Mme. Favoral was saying to herself; “that I can have been so blind and so deaf?”

As to the Count de Villegre, he would have tried in vain to express the gratitude he felt towards Mlle. Gilberte for having spared him these difficult explanations.

“I could not have done half as well myself, by the eternal!” he thought, like a man who has no illusions on his own account.

But, as soon as she had done, addressing himself to Mme. Favoral,

“Now, madame,” he said, “you know all; and you will understand that the irreparable disaster that strikes you has removed the only obstacle which had hitherto stood in the way of Marius.”

He rose, and in a solemn tone, without any hum or broum, this time,

“I have the honor, madame,” he uttered, “to solicit the hand of Mlle. Gilberte, your daughter, for my friend Yves-Marius de Genost, Marquis de Tregars.”

A profound silence followed this speech.  But this silence the Count de Villegre doubtless interpreted in his own favor; for, stepping to the parlor-door, he opened it, and called, “Marius!”

Marius de Tregars had foreseen all that had just taken place, and had so informed the Count de Villegre in advance.

Being given Mme. Favoral’s disposition, he knew what could be expected of her; and he had his own reasons to fear nothing from Maxence.  And, if he mistrusted somewhat the diplomatic talents of his ambassador, he relied absolutely upon Mlle. Gilberte’s energy.

And so confident was he of the correctness of his calculations, that he had insisted upon accompanying his old friend, so as to be on hand at the critical moment.

When the servant had opened the door to them, he had ordered her to introduce M. de Villegre, stating that he would himself wait in the dining-room.  This arrangement had not seemed entirely natural to the girl; but so many strange things had happened in the house for the past twenty-four hours, that she was prepared for any thing.

Besides recognizing Marius as the gentleman who had had a violent altercation in the morning with M. Costeclar, she did as he requested, and, leaving him alone in the dining-room, went to attend to her duties.

He had taken a seat, impassive in appearance, but in reality agitated by that internal trepidation of which the strongest men cannot free themselves in the decisive moments of their life.

To a certain extent, the prospects of his whole life were to be decided on the other side of that door which had just closed behind the Count de Villegre.  To the success of his love, other interests were united, which required immediate success.

And, counting the seconds by the beatings of his heart,

“How very slow they are!” he thought.

And so, when the door opened at last, and his old friend called him, he jumped to his feet, and collecting all his coolness and self-possession, he walked in.

Maxence had risen to receive him; but, when he saw him, he stepped back, his eyes glaring in utter surprise.

“Ah, great heavens!” he muttered in a smothered voice.

But M. de Tregars seemed not to notice his stupor.  Quite self-possessed, notwithstanding his emotion, he cast a rapid glance over the Count de Villegre, Mme. Favoral and Mlle. Gilberte.  At their attitude, and at the expression of their countenance, he easily guessed the point to which things had come.

And, advancing towards Mme. Favoral, he bowed with an amount of respect which was certainly not put on.

“You have heard the Count de Villegre, madame,” he said in a slightly altered tone of voice.  “I am awaiting my fate.”

The poor woman had never before in all her life been so fearfully perplexed.  All these events, which succeeded each other so rapidly, had broken the feeble springs of her soul.  She was utterly incapable of collecting her thoughts, or of taking a determination.

“At this moment, sir,” she stammered, taken unawares, “it would be impossible for me to answer you.  Grant me a few days for reflection.  We have some old friends whom I ought to consult.”

But Maxence, who had got over his stupor, interrupted her.

“Friends, mother!” he exclaimed.  “And who are they?  People in our position have no friends.  What! when we are perishing, a man of heart holds out his hand to us, and you ask to reflect?  To my sister, who bears a name henceforth disgraced, the Marquis de Tregars offers his name, and you think of consulting.”

The poor woman was shaking her head.

“I am not the mistress, my son,” she murmured; “and your father—”

“My father!” interrupted the young man,—“my father!  What rights can he have over us hereafter?”  And without further discussion, without awaiting an answer, he took his sister’s hand, and, placing it in M. de Tregars’ hand,

“Ah! take her, sir,” he uttered.  “Never, whatever she may do, will she acquit the debt of eternal gratitude which we this day contract towards you.”

A tremor that shook their frames, a long look which they exchanged, betrayed alone the feelings of Marius and Mlle. Gilberte.  They had of life a too cruel experience not to mistrust their joy.

Returning to Mme. Favoral,

“You do not understand, madame,” he went on,