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

him I am as a second father; and it is with the confidence of a son that he explains to me his labors and his hopes.”

Thus Mlle. Gilberte learned through the old maestro, that the newspaper article she had read was almost exactly true, and that M. de Tregars and M. Marcolet had become associated for the purpose of working, in joint account, certain recent discoveries, which bid fair to yield large profits in a near future.

“And yet it is for my sake alone that he has thus thrown himself into the turmoil of business, and has become as eager for gain as that M. Marcolet himself.”

And, at the height of her father’s persecutions, she felt glad of what she had done, and of her boldness in placing her destiny in the hands of a stranger.  The memory of Marius had become her refuge, the element of all her dreams and of all her hopes; in a word, her life.

It was of Marius she was thinking, when her mother, surprising her gazing into vacancy, would ask her, “What are you thinking of?”  And, at every new vexation she had to endure, her imagination decked him with a new quality, and she clung to him with a more desperate grasp.

“How much he would grieve,” thought she, “if he knew of what persecution I am the object!”

And very careful was she not to allow the Signor Gismondo Pulei to suspect any thing of it, affecting, on the contrary, in his presence, the most cheerful serenity.

And yet she was a prey to the most cruel anxiety, since she observed a new and most incredible transformation in her father.

That man so violent and so harsh, who flattered himself never to have been bent, who boasted never to have forgotten or forgiven any thing, that domestic tyrant, had become quite a debonair personage.  He had referred to the expedient imagined by Mlle. Gilberte only to laugh at it, saying that it was a good trick, and he deserved it; for he repented bitterly, he protested, his past brutalities.

He owned that he had at heart his daughter’s marriage with M. Costeclar; but he acknowledged that he had made use of the surest means for making it fail.  He should, he humbly confessed, have expected every thing of time and circumstances, of M. Costeclar’s excellent qualities, and of his beautiful, darling daughter’s good sense.

More than of all his violence, Mme. Favoral was terrified at this affected good nature.

“Dear me!” she sighed, “what does it all mean?”

But the cashier of the Mutual Credit was not preparing any new surprise to his family.  If the means were different, it was still the same object that he was pursuing with the tenacity of an insect.  When severity had failed, he hoped to succeed by gentleness, that’s all.  Only this assumption of hypocritical meekness was too new to him to deceive any one.  At every moment the mask fell off, the claws showed, and his voice trembled with ill-suppressed rage in the midst of his most honeyed phrases.

Moreover, he entertained the strangest illusions.  Because for forty-eight hours he had acted the part of a good-natured man, because one Sunday he had taken his wife and daughter out riding in the Bois de Vincennes, because he had given Maxence a hundred-franc note, he imagined that it was all over, that the past was obliterated, forgotten, and forgiven.

And, drawing Gilberte upon his knees,

“Well, daughter,” he said, “you see that I don’t importune you any more, and I leave you quite free.  I am more reasonable than you are.”

But on the other hand, and according to an expression which escaped him later, he tried to turn the enemy.

He did every thing in his power to spread in the neighborhood the rumor of Mlle. Gilberte’s marriage with a financier of colossal wealth,—that elegant young man who came in a coupe with two horses.  Mme. Favoral could not enter a shop without being covertly complimented upon having found such a magnificent establishment for her daughter.

Loud, indeed, must have been the gossip; for its echo reached even the inattentive ears of the Signor Gismondo Pulei.

One day, suddenly interrupting his lesson,—“You are going to be married, signora?” he inquired.

Mlle. Gilberte started.

What the old Italian had heard, he would surely ere long repeat to Marius.  It was therefore urgent to undeceive him.

“It is true,” she replied, “that something has been said about a marriage, dear maestro.”

“Ah, ah!”

“Only my father had not consulted me.  That marriage will never take place:  I swear it.”

She expressed herself in a tone of such ardent conviction, that the old gentleman was quite astonished, little dreaming that it was not to him that this energetic denial was addressed.

“My destiny is irrevocably fixed,” added Mlle. Gilberte.  “When I marry, I will consult the inspirations of my heart only.”

In the mean time, it was a veritable conspiracy against her.  M. Favoral had succeeded in interesting in the success of his designs his habitual guests, not M. and Mme. Desclavettes, who had been seduced from the first, but M. Chapelain and old Desormeaux himself.  So that they all vied with each other in their efforts to bring the “dear child” to reason, and to enlighten her with their counsels.

“Father must have a still more considerable interest in this alliance than he has allowed us to think,” she remarked to her brother.  Maxence was also absolutely of the same opinion.

“And then,” he added, “our father must be terribly rich; for, do not deceive yourself, it isn’t solely for your pretty blue eyes that this Costeclar persists in coming here twice a week to pocket a new mortification.  What enormous dowry can he be hoping for?  I am going to speak to him myself, and try to find out what he is after.”

But Mlle. Gilberte had but slight confidence in her brother’s diplomacy.

“I beg of you,” she said, “don’t meddle with that business!”

“Yes, yes, I will!  Fear nothing, I’ll be prudent.”

Having taken his resolution, Maxence placed himself on the lookout; and the very next day, as M. Costeclar was stepping out of his carriage at the door, he walked straight up to him.

“I wish to speak to you, sir,” he said.  Self-possessed as he was, the brilliant financier succeeded but poorly in concealing a surprise that looked very much like fright.

“I am going in to call on your parents, sir,” he replied; “and whilst waiting for your father, with whom I have an appointment, I shall be at your command.”

“No, no!” interrupted Maxence.  “What I have to say must be heard by you alone.  Come along this way, and we shall not be interrupted.”

And he led M. Costeclar away as far