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

to become your mistress?  There she is, you thought, without resources, literally without bread, without relatives, without friends to protect her:  this is the time to come forward.  And thinking you could be cowardly, vile, and infamous with impunity, you came.”

To be thus treated, he, the successful man, in presence of this young girl, whom, a moment before, he was crushing with his impudent opulence, no, M. Costeclar could not stand it.  Losing completely his head,

“You should have let me know, then,” he exclaimed, “that she was your mistress.”

Something like a flame passed over M. de Tregars’ face.  His eyes flashed.  Rising in all the height of his wrath, which broke out terrible at last,

“Ah, you scoundrel!” he exclaimed.

M. Costeclar threw himself suddenly to one side.

“Sir!”

But at one bound M. de Tregars had caught him.

“On your knees!” he cried.

And, seizing him by the collar with an iron grip, he lifted him clear off the floor, and then threw him down violently upon both knees.

“Speak!” he commanded.  “Repeat,—‘Mademoiselle’”

M. Costeclar had expected worse from M. de Tregars’ look.  A horrible fear had instantly crushed within him all idea of resistance.

“Mademoiselle,” he stuttered in a choking voice.  “I am the vilest of wretches,” continued Marius.  M. Costeclar’s livid face was oscillating like an inert object.

“I am,” he repeated, “the vilest of wretches.”

“And I beg of you—”

But Mlle. Gilberte was sick of the sight.

“Enough,” she interrupted, “enough!”

Feeling no longer upon his shoulders the heavy hand of M. de Tregars, the stock-broker rose with difficulty to his feet.  So livid was his face, that one might have thought that his whole blood had turned to gall.

Dusting with the end of his glove the knees of his trousers, and restoring as best he could the harmony of his toilet, which had been seriously disturbed,

“Is it showing any courage,” he grumbled, “to abuse one’s physical strength?”

M. de Tregars had already recovered his self-possession; and Mlle. Gilberte thought she could read upon his face regret for his violence.

“Would it be better to make use of what you know?”  M. Costeclar joined his hands.

“You would not do that,” he said.  “What good would it do you to ruin me?”

“None,” answered M. de Tregars:  “you are right.  But yourself?”

And, looking straight into M. Costeclar’s eyes,—“If you could be of service to me,” he inquired, “would you be willing?”

“Perhaps.  That I might recover possession of the papers you have.”

M. de Tregars was thinking.

“After what has just taken place,” he said at last, “an explanation is necessary between us.  I will be at your house in an hour.  Wait for me.”

M. Costeclar had become more pliable than his own lavender kid gloves:  in fact, alarmingly pliable.

“I am at your command, sir,” he replied to M. de Tregars.

And, bowing to the ground before Mlle. Gilberte, he left the parlor; and, a few moments after, the street-door was heard to close upon him.

“Ah, what a wretch!” exclaimed the girl, dreadfully agitated.  “Marius, did you see what a look he gave us as he went out?”

“I saw it,” replied M. de Tregars.

“That man hates us:  he will not hesitate to commit a crime to avenge the atrocious humiliation you have just inflicted upon him.”

“I believe it too.”

Mlle. Gilberte made a gesture of distress.

“Why did you treat him so harshly?” she murmured.

“I had intended to remain calm, and it would have been politic to have done so.  But there are some insults which a man of heart cannot endure.  I do not regret what I have done.”

A long pause followed; and they remained standing, facing each other, somewhat embarrassed.  Mlle. Gilberte felt ashamed of the disorder of her dress.  M. de Tregars wondered how he could have been bold enough to enter this house.

“You have heard of our misfortune,” said the young girl at last.

“I read about it this morning, in the papers.”

“What! the papers know already?”

“Every thing.”

“And our name is printed in them?”

“Yes.”

She covered her face with her two hands.

“What disgrace!” she said.

“At first,” went on M. de Tregars, “I could hardly believe what I read.  I hastened to come; and the first shopkeeper I questioned confirmed only too well what I had seen in the papers.  From that moment, I had but one wish,—to see and speak to you.  When I reached the door, I recognized M. Costeclar’s equipage, and I had a presentiment of the truth.  I inquired from the concierge for your mother or your brother, and heard that Maxence had gone out a few moments before, and that Mme. Favoral had just left in a carriage with M. Chapelain, the old lawyer.  At the idea that you were alone with Costeclar, I hesitated no longer.  I ran up stairs, and, finding the door open, had no occasion to ring.”

Mlle. Gilberte could hardly repress the sobs that rose to her throat.

“I never hoped to see you again,” she stammered; “and you’ll find there on the table the letter I had just commenced for you when M. Costeclar interrupted me.”

M. de Tregars took it up quickly.  Two lines only were written.  He read:  “I release you from your engagement, Marius.  Henceforth you are free.”

He became whiter than his shirt.

“You wish to release me from my engagement!” he exclaimed.  “You—”

“Is it not my duty?  Ah! if it had only been our fortune, I should perhaps have rejoiced to lose it.  I know your heart.  Poverty would have brought us nearer together.  But it’s honor, Marius, honor that is lost too!  The name I bear is forever stained.  Whether my father is caught, or whether he escapes, he will be tried all the same, condemned, and sentenced to a degrading penalty for embezzlement and forgery.”

If M. de Tregars was allowing her to proceed thus, it was because he felt all his thoughts whirling in