THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. Emile Gaboriau
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all sorts of excesses had greatly marred them, and their present expression was one of ferocious brutishness. “What’s that you are talking about?” he asked in a harsh, grating voice. “Is it to mock people that you come and ask for money on the 15th of October—rent day? Where have you seen any money left after the landlord has made his round? Besides, what is this bill? Give it me to look at.”
M. Fortunat was not guilty of such folly; he did not intrust the paper to Vantrasson’s hand, but held it a little distance from him, and then read it aloud.
When he had finished: “That note fell due eighteen months ago,” declared Vantrasson. “It is worth nothing now.”
“You are mistaken—a note of this kind is of value any time within five years after the day it goes to protest.”
“Possibly; but as Barutin has failed, and gone no one knows where, I am released——”
“Another mistake on your part. You owe these five hundred and eighty-three francs to the person who bought this note at Barutin’s sale, and who has given my employer orders to prosecute——”
The blood had risen to Vantrasson’s face. “And what of that? Do you suppose I’ve never been sued for debts before? Even the king can’t take anything from a person who possesses nothing; and I own nothing. My furniture is all pawned or mortgaged, and my stock is not worth a hundred francs. When your employer finds it useless to waste money in worrying me, he’ll let me alone. You can’t injure a man like me.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Unfortunately you are again mistaken, for although the holder of the note doesn’t care so very much about obtaining his dues, he’ll spend his own money like water to make trouble for you.” And thereupon M. Fortunat began to draw a vivid and frightful picture of a poor debtor pursued by a rich creditor who harassed him, and tortured him, and hounded him everywhere, until not even a change of clothing was left him.
Vantrasson rolled his eyes and brandished his formidable fist in the most defiant manner; but his wife was evidently much alarmed. At last she could bear it no longer, and rising hastily she led her husband to the rear of the shop, saying: “Come, I must speak with you.”
He followed her, and they remained for some little time conversing together in a low tone, but with excited gestures. When they returned, the woman opened the conversation. “Alas! sir,” she said to M. Fortunat, “we have no money just now; business is so very bad, and if you prosecute us, we are lost. What can be done? You look like an honest man; give us your advice.”
M. Fortunat did not reply at once; he was apparently absorbed in thought, but suddenly he exclaimed: “One owes a duty to unfortunate folks, and I’m going to tell you the exact truth. My employer, who isn’t a bad man at heart, hasn’t the slightest desire for revenge. He said to me: ‘Go and see these Vantrassons, and if they seem to be worthy people, propose a compromise. If they choose to accept it, I shall be quite satisfied.’”
“And what is this compromise?”
“It is this: you must write an acknowledgment of the debt on a sheet of stamped paper, together with a promise to pay a little on account each month. In exchange I will give you this note of hand.”
The husband and wife exchanged glances, and it was the woman who said: “We accept.”
But to carry out this arrangement it was necessary to have a sheet of stamped paper, and the spurious clerk had neglected to provide himself with some. This circumstance seemed to annoy him greatly, and you might almost have sworn that he regretted the concession he had promised. Did he think of going? Madame Vantrasson feared so, and turning eagerly to her husband, she exclaimed: “Run to the tobacco shop in the Rue de Levis; you will find some paper there!”
He started off at once, and M. Fortunat breathed freely again. He had certainly retained his composure admirably during the interview, but more than once he had fancied that Vantrasson was about to spring on him, crush him with his brawny hands, tear the note from him, burn it, and then throw him, Fortunat, out into the street, helpless and nearly dead. But now that danger had passed and Madame Vantrasson, fearing he might tire of waiting, was prodigal in her attentions. She brought him the only unbroken chair in the establishment, and insisted that he should partake of some refreshment—a glass of wine at the very least. While rummaging among the bottles, she alternately thanked him and complained, declaring she had a right to repine, since she had known better days—but fate had been against her ever since her marriage, though she had little thought she would end her days in such misery, after having been so happy in the Count de Chalusse’s household many years before.
To all appearance, M. Fortunat listened with the mere superficial interest which ordinary politeness requires one to show, but in reality his heart was filled with intense delight. Coming here without any clearly-defined plan, circumstances had served him a thousand times better than he could reasonably have hoped. He had preserved his power over the Vantrassons, had won their confidence, had succeeded in obtaining a tete-a-tete with the wife, and to crown all, this woman alluded, of her own accord, to the very subject upon which he was longing to question her.
“Ah! if I were only back in the Count’s household again,” she exclaimed. “Six hundred francs a year, and gifts worth double that amount. Those were good times for me. But you know how it is—one is never content with one’s lot, and then the heart is weak——”
She had not succeeded in finding the sweet wine which she proposed to her guest; so in its place she substituted a mixture of ratafia and brandy in two large glasses which she placed upon the counter. “One evening, to my sorrow,” she resumed, “I met Vantrasson at a ball. It was the 13th day of the month. I might have known no good would come of it. Ah, you should have seen him at that time, in full uniform. He belonged to the Paris Guards then. All the women were crazy about soldiers, and my head was turned, too——” Her tone, her gestures, and the compression of her thin lips, revealed the bitterness of her disappointment and her unavailing regret. “Ah, these handsome men!” she continued; “don’t talk to me about them! This one had heard of my savings. I had nineteen thousand francs, so he begged me to marry him, and I was fool enough to consent. Yes, fool—for I was forty, and he was only thirty. I might have known it was my money that he wanted, and not me. However, I gave up my situation, and even purchased a substitute for him, in order that I might have him all to myself.”
She had gradually warmed with her theme, as she described her confidence and blind credulity, and then, with a tragic gesture, as if she desired to drive away these cruel memories, she suddenly seized her glass and emptied it at a draught.
Chupin, who was still at his post outside, experienced a thrill of envy, and involuntarily licked his lips. “A mixed ratafia,” he said, longingly. “I shouldn’t object to one myself.”
However, this choice compound seemed to inspire Madame Vantrasson with renewed energy, for, with still greater earnestness, she resumed: “At first, all went well. We employed my savings in purchasing the Hotel des Espagnes, in the Rue Notre Dame des Victoires, and business prospered; there was never a vacant room. But any person who has drank, sir, will drink again. Vantrasson kept sober for a few months, but gradually he fell into his old habits. He was in such a condition most of the time that he was scarcely able to ask for food. And if that had been all! But, unfortunately, he was too handsome a man to be a good husband. One night he didn’t come home, and the next day, when I ventured to reproach him—very gently, I assure you—he answered me with an oath and a blow. All our happiness was over! Monsieur declared that he was master, and would do as he liked. He drank and carried away all the wine from the cellar—he took all the money—he remained away for weeks together; and if I complained—more blows!”
Her voice trembled, and a tear gathered in her eye; but, wiping it away with the back of her hand, she resumed: “Vantrasson was always drunk, and I spent my time in crying my very eyes out. Business became very bad, and soon everybody left the house. We were obliged to sell it. We did so, and bought a small cafe. But by the end of the year we lost that. Fortunately,