CLASSIC MYSTERIES - The Émile Gaboriau Edition (Detective Novels & Murder Cases). Emile Gaboriau
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Mme. Fauvel had no defence against the scoundrels who were torturing her, save prayers and tears; these availed her little.
Sometimes Mme. Fauvel betrayed such heart-broken suffering when Raoul begged her for money which she had no means of obtaining, that he would hurry away disgusted at his own brutal conduct, and say to Clameran:
“You must end this dirty business; I cannot stand it any longer. I will blow any man’s brains out, or fight a crowd of cut-throats, if you choose; but as to killing by agony and fright these two poor miserable women, whom I am really fond of, I am not going to do it. You ask for more than I can do. I am not quite the cowardly hound you take me for.”
Clameran paid no attention to these remonstrances: indeed, he was prepared for them.
“It is not pleasant, I know,” he replied; “but necessity knows no law. Have a little more perseverance and patience; we have almost got to the end.”
The end was nearer than Clameran supposed. Toward the latter part of November, Mme. Fauvel saw that it was impossible to postpone the catastrophe any longer, and as a last effort determined to apply to the marquis for assistance.
She had not seen him since his return from Oloron, except once, when he came to announce his accession to wealth. At that time, persuaded that he was the evil genius of Raoul, she had received him very coldly, and did not invite him to repeat his visit.
She hesitated about speaking to her niece of the step she intended taking, because she feared violent opposition.
To her great surprise Madeleine warmly approved of it.
Trouble had made her keen-sighted and suspicious. Reflecting on past events, comparing and weighing every act and speech of Raoul, she was now convinced that he was Clameran’s tool.
She thought that Raoul was too shrewd to be acting in this shameful way, ruinously to his own interests, if there were not some secret motive at the bottom of it all. She saw that this persecution was more feigned than real.
So thoroughly was she convinced of this, that, had it only concerned herself alone, she would have firmly resisted the oppression, certain that the threatened exposure would never take place.
Recalling, with a shudder, certain looks of Clameran, she guessed the truth, that the object of all this underhand work was to force her to become his wife.
Determined on making the sacrifice, in spite of her repugnance toward the man, she wished to have the deed done at once; anything was preferable to this terrible anxiety, to the life of torture which Raoul made her lead. She felt that her courage might fail if she waited and suffered much longer.
“The sooner you see M. de Clameran the better for us, aunt,” she said, after talking the project over.
The next day Mme. Fauvel called on the marquis at the Hotel du Louvre, having sent him a note announcing her intended visit.
He received her with cold, studied politeness, like a man who had been misunderstood and had been unjustly wounded.
After listening to her report of Raoul’s scandalous behavior, he became very indignant, and swore that he would soon make him repent of his heartlessness.
But when Mme. Fauvel told of the immense sums of money forced from her, Clameran seemed confounded, as if he could not believe it.
“The worthless rascal!” he exclaimed, “the idea of his audacity! Why, during the last four months, I have given him more than twenty thousand francs, which I would not have done except to prevent him from applying to you, as he constantly threatened to do.”
Seeing an expression of doubtful surprise upon Mme. Fauvel’s face, Louis arose, and took from his desk some receipts signed by Raoul. The total amount was twenty-three thousand five hundred francs.
Mme. Fauvel was shocked and amazed.
“He has obtained forty thousand francs from me,” she faintly said, “so that altogether he has spent sixty thousand francs in four months.”
“I can’t imagine what he does with it,” said Clameran, “unless he spends it on actresses.”
“Good heavens! what can these creatures do with all the money lavished on them?”
“That is a question I cannot answer, madame.”
He appeared to pity Mme. Fauvel sincerely; he promised that he would at once see Raoul, and reason with him about the shameful life he was leading; perhaps he could be persuaded to reform. Finally, after many protestations of friendship, he wound up by placing his fortune at her disposal.
Although Mme. Fauvel refused his offer, she appreciated the kindness of it, and on returning home said to Madeleine:
“Perhaps we have mistaken his character; he may be a good man after all.”
Madeleine sadly shook her head. She had anticipated just what happened. Clameran’s magnanimity and generosity confirmed her presentiments.
Raoul came to see his uncle, and found him radiant.
“Everything is going on swimmingly, my smart nephew,” said Clameran; “your receipts acted like a charm. Ah, you are a partner worth having. I congratulate you upon your success. Forty thousand francs in four months!”
“Yes,” said Raoul carelessly. “I got about that much from pawnbrokers.”
“Pests! Then you must have a nice little sum laid by.”
“That is my business, uncle, and not yours. Remember our agreement. I will tell you this much: Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine have turned everything they could into money; they have nothing left, and I have had enough of my role.”
“Your role is ended. I forbid you to hereafter ask for a single centime.”
“What are you about to do? What has happened?”
“The mine is loaded, nephew, and I am awaiting an opportunity to set fire to it.”
Louis de Clameran relied upon making his rival, Prosper Bertomy, furnish him this ardently desired opportunity.
He loved Madeleine too passionately to feel aught save the bitterest hate toward the man whom she had freely chosen, and who still possessed her heart.
Clameran knew that he could marry her at once if he chose; but in what way? By holding a sword of terror over her head, and forcing her to be his. He became frenzied at the idea of possessing her person, while her heart and soul would always be with Prosper.
Thus he swore that, before marrying, he would so cover Prosper with shame and ignominy that no honest person would speak to him. He had first thought of killing him, but, fearing that Madeleine would enshrine and worship his memory, he determined to disgrace him.
He imagined that there would be no difficulty in ruining the unfortunate young man. He soon found himself mistaken.
Though Prosper led a life of reckless dissipation, he preserved order in his disorder. If in a state of miserable entanglement, and obliged to resort to all sorts of make-shifts to escape his creditors, his caution prevented the world from knowing it.
Vainly did Raoul, with his pockets full of gold, try to tempt him to play high; every effort to hasten his ruin failed.
When he played he did not seem to care whether he lost or won; nothing aroused him from his cold indifference.
His friend Nina Gypsy was extravagant, but her devotion to Prosper restrained her from going beyond certain limits.
Raoul’s great intimacy with Prosper enabled him to fully understand the state of his mind; that he was trying to drown his disappointment in excitement, but had not given up all hope.
“You need not hope to beguile Prosper into committing any piece of folly,” said Raoul to his uncle; “his head is as cool as a usurer’s. He never goes beyond a certain degree of dissipation. What object he has in view I know not.