Other People's Money by Emile Gaboriau (ebook smartphone txt) 📕

by the experience of a professional man, I went first to No. 3, Rue des Bergers, in Grenelle.  I found there some old people, the foreman of a neighboring factory and his wife, who had been living in the house for nearly twenty-five years.  At my first question, they exchanged a glance, and commenced laughing.  They remembered perfectly the Marquise de Javelle, which was but a nickname for a young and pretty laundress, whose real name was Euphrasie Taponnet.  She had lived for eighteen months on the same landing as themselves:  she had a lover, who passed himself off for a clerk, but who was, in fact, she had told them, a very wealthy nobleman.  They added that she had given birth to a little girl, and that, two weeks later she had disappeared, and they had never heard a word from her.  When I left them, they said to me, ‘If you see Phrasie, ask her if she ever knew old Chandour and his wife.  I am sure she’ll remember us.’”

For the first time Mme. de Thaller shuddered slightly; but it was almost imperceptible.

“From Grenelle,” continued M. de Tregars, “I went to the house where my father’s mistress had lived under the name of Mme. Devil.  I was in luck.  I found there the same concierge as in 1853.  As soon as I mentioned Mme. Devil, she answered me that she had not in the least forgotten her, but, on the contrary, would know her among a thousand.  She was, she said, one of the prettiest little women she had ever seen, and the most generous tenant.  I understood the hint, handed her a couple of napoleons, and heard from her every thing she knew on the subject.  It seemed that this pretty Mme. Devil had, not one lover, but two,—the acknowledged one, who was the master, and footed the bills; and the other an anonymous one, who went out through the back-stairs, and who did not pay, on the contrary.  The first was called the Marquis de Tregars:  of the second, she had never known but the first name, Frederic.  I tried to ascertain what had become of Mme. Devil; but the worthy concierge swore to me that she did not know.

“One morning, like a person who is going abroad, or who wishes to cover up her tracks, Mme. Devil had sent for a furniture-dealer, and a dealer in second-hand clothes, and had sold them every thing she had, going away with nothing but a little leather satchel, in which were her jewels and her money.”

The Baroness de Thaller still kept a good countenance.  After examining her for a moment, with a sort of eager curiosity, Marius de Tregars went on,

“When I communicated this information to my friend, the commissary of police, he shook his head.  ‘Two years ago,’ he told me, ‘I would have said, that’s more than we want to find those people; for the public records would have given us at once the key of this enigma.  But we have had the war and the Commune; and the books of record have been burnt up.  Still we must not give up.  A last hope remains; and I know the man who is capable of realizing it.’

“Two days after, he brought me an excellent fellow, named Victor Chupin, in whom I could have entire confidence; for he was recommended to me by one of the men whom I like and esteem the most, the Duke de Champdoce.  Giving up all idea of applying at the various mayors’ offices, Victor Chupin, with the patience and the tenacity of an Indian following a scent, began beating about the districts of Grenelle, Vargirard, and the Invalids.  And not in vain; for, after a week of investigations he brought me a nurse, residing Rue de l’Universite, who remembered perfectly having once attended, on the occasion of her confinement, a remarkably pretty young woman, living in the Rue des Bergers, and nicknamed the Marquise de Javelle.  And as she was a very orderly woman, who at all times had kept a very exact account of her receipts, she brought me a little book in which I read this entry:  ‘For attending Euphrasie Taponnet, alias the Marquise de Javelle (a girl), one hundred francs.’  And this is not all.  This woman informed me, moreover, that she had been requested to present the child at the mayor’s office, and that she had been duly registered there under the names of Euphrasie Cesarine Taponnet, born of Euphrasie Taponnet, laundress, and an unknown father.  Finally she placed at my disposal her account-book and her testimony.”

Taxed beyond measure, the energy of the baroness was beginning to fail her; she was turning livid under her rice-powder.  Still in the same icy tone,

“You can understand, madame,” said Marius de Tregars, “that this woman’s testimony, together with the letters which are in my possession, enables me to establish before the courts the exact date of the birth of a daughter whom my father had of his mistress.  But that’s nothing yet.  With renewed zeal, Victor Chupin had resumed his investigations.  He had undertaken the examination of the marriage-registers in all the parishes of Paris, and, as early as the following week, he discovered at Notre Dame des Lorettes the entry of the marriage of Euphrasie Taponnet with Frederic de Thaller.”

Though she must have expected that name, the baroness started up violently and livid, and with a haggard look.

“It’s false!” she began in a choking voice.

A smile of ironical pity passed over Marius’ lips.

“Five minutes’ reflection will prove to you that it is useless to deny,” he interrupted.  “But wait.  In the books of that same church, Victor Chupin has found registered the baptism of a daughter of M. and Mme de Thaller, bearing the same names as the first one, —Euphrasie Cesarine.”

With a convulsive motion the baroness shrugged her shoulder.

“What does all that prove?” she said.

“That proves, madame, the well-settled intention of substituting one child for another; that proves that my father was imprudently deceived when he was made to believe that the second Cesarine was his daughter, the daughter in whose favor he had formerly disposed of over five hundred thousand francs; that proves that there is somewhere in the world a poor girl who has been basely forsaken by her mother, the Marquise de Javelle, now become the Baroness de Thaller.”

Beside herself with terror and anger,

“That is an infamous lie!” exclaimed the baroness.  M. de Tregars bowed.

“The evidence of the truth of my statements,” he said, “I shall find at Louveciennes, and at the Hotel des Folies, Boulevard du Temple, Paris.”

Night had come.  A footman came in carrying lamps, which he placed upon the mantelpiece.  He was not all together one minute in the little parlor; but that one minute was enough to enable the Marquise de Thaller to recover her coolness, and to collect her ideas.  When the footman retired, she had made up her mind, with the resolute promptness of a person accustomed to perilous situations.  She gave up the discussion, and, drawing near to M. de Tregars,

“Enough allusions,” she said:  “let us speak frankly, and face to face now.  What do you want?”

But the change was too sudden not to arouse Marius’s suspicions.

“I want a great many things,” he replied.

“Still you must specify.”