Baron Trigault's Vengeance by Emile Gaboriau (you can read anyone txt) 📕

“A friend of hers called a few moments ago to take her to the opera.”

“What madness!”

That was all. The outer door opened and closed again with extreme violence, and then Marguerite heard nothing save the sneering remarks of the servants.

It was, indeed, madness on the part of M. and Madame de Fondege not to have waited to learn the result of this interview, planned by themselves, and upon which their very lives depended. But delirium seemed to have seized them since, thanks to a still inexplicable crime, they had suddenly found themselves in possession of an immense fortune. Perhaps in this wild pursuit of pleasure, in the haste they displayed to satisfy their covetous longings, they hoped to forget or silence the threatening voice of conscience. Such was Mademoiselle Marguerite’s conclusion; but she was not long left to undisturbed meditation. By the lieutenant’s departure the restrictions which had been placed upon the servants’ movements had evidently been removed, for they came in to clear the table.

Having with some little difficulty obtained a candle from one of these model servants, Mademoiselle Marguerite now retired to her own room. In her anxiety, she forgot Madame Leon, but the latter had not forgotten her; she was even now listening at the drawing-room door, inconsolable to think that she had not succeeded in hearing at least part of the conversation between the lieutenant and her dear young lady. Marguerite had no wish to reflect over what had occurred. As she was determined to keep the promise which Lieutenant Gustave had wrung from her, it mattered little whether she had committed a great mistake in allowing him to discover her knowledge of his parent’s guilt, and in listening to his entreaties. A secret presentiment warned her that the punishment which would overtake the General and his wife would be none the less terrible, despite her own forbearance, and that they would find their son more inexorable than the severest judge.

The essential thing was to warn the old magistrate; and so in a couple of pages she summarized the scene of the evening, feeling sure that she would find an opportunity to post her letter on the following day. This duty accomplished, she took a book and went to bed, hoping to drive away her gloomy thoughts by reading. But the hope was vain. Her eyes read the words, followed the lines and crossed the pages, but her mind utterly refused to obey her will, and in spite of all her efforts persisted in turning to the shrewd youth who had solemnly sworn to find Pascal for her. A little after midnight Madame de Fondege returned from the opera, and at once proceeded to reprimand her maid for not having lighted a fire. The General returned some time afterward, and he was evidently in the best of spirits.

“They have not seen their son,” said Mademoiselle Marguerite to herself, and this anxiety, combined with many others, tortured her so cruelly, that she did not fall asleep until near daybreak. Even then she did not slumber long. It was scarcely half-past seven when she was aroused by a strange commotion and a loud sound of hammering. She was trying to imagine the cause of all this uproar, when Madame de Fondege, already arrayed in a marvellous robe composed of three skirts and an enormous puff, entered the room. “I have come to take you away, my dear child,” she exclaimed. “The owner of the house has decided to make some repairs, and the workmen have already invaded our apartments. The General has taken flight, let us follow his example—so make yourself beautiful and we’ll go at once.”

Without a word, the young girl hastened to obey, while Madame de Fondege expiated on the delightful drive they would take together in the wonderful brougham which the General had purchased a couple of days before. As for Lieutenant Gustave, she did not even mention his name.

Accustomed to the superb equipages of the Chalusse establishment, Mademoiselle Marguerite did not consider the much-lauded brougham at all remarkable. At the most, it was very showy, having apparently been selected with a view to attracting as much attention as possible. Madame de Fondege was not in a mood to consider an objection that morning. She was evidently in a nervous state of mind, extremely restless and excited indeed, it seemed impossible for her to keep still. In default of something better to do, she visited at least a dozen shops, asking to see everything, finding everything frightful, and purchasing without regard to price. It might have been fancied that she wished to buy all Paris. About ten o’clock she dragged Marguerite to Van Klopen’s. Received as a habituee of the establishment, thanks to the numerous orders she had given within the past few days, she was even allowed to enter the mysterious saloon in which the illustrious ruler of Fashion served such of his clients as had a predilection for absinthe or madeira. On leaving the place, and before entering the carriage again, Madame de Fondege turned to Marguerite and inquired: “Where shall we go now? I have given the servants an ‘outing’ on account of the workmen, and we cannot breakfast at home. Why can’t we go to a restaurant, we two? Many of the most distinguished ladies are in the habit of doing so. You will see how people will look at us! I am sure it will amuse you immensely.”

“Ah! madame, you forget that it is not a fortnight since the count’s death!”

Madame de Fondege was about to make an impatient reply, but she mastered the impulse, and in a tone of hypocritical compassion, exclaimed: “Poor child! poor, dear child! that’s true. I had forgotten. Well, such being the case, we’ll go and ask Baroness Trigault to give us our breakfast. You will see a lovely woman.” And addressing the coachman she instructed him to drive to the Trigault mansion in the Rue de la Ville l’Eveque.

When Madame de Fondege’s brougham drew up before the door, the baron was standing in the courtyard with a cigar between his teeth, examining a pair of horses which had been sent him on approbation. He did not like his wife’s friend, and he usually avoided her. But precisely because he was acquainted with the General’s crime and Pascal’s plans, he thought it politic to seem amiable. So, on recognizing Madame de Fondege through the carriage window, he hastened forward with outstretched hand to assist her in alighting. “Did you come to take breakfast with us?” he asked. “That would be a most delightful——”

The remainder of the sentence died unuttered upon his lips. His face became crimson, and the cigar he was holding slipped from his fingers. He had just perceived Mademoiselle Marguerite, and his consternation was so apparent that Madame de Fondege could not fail to remark it; however, she attributed it to the girl’s remarkable beauty. “This is Mademoiselle de Chalusse, my dear baron,” said she, “the daughter of the noble and esteemed friend whom we so bitterly lament.”

Ah! it was not necessary to tell the baron who this young girl was; he knew it only too well. He was not overcome for long; a thought of vengeance speedily flashed through his mind. It seemed to him that Providence itself offered him the means of putting an end to an intolerable situation. Regaining his self-control by a powerful effort, he preceded Madame de Fondege through the magnificent apartments of the mansion, lightly saying: “My wife is in her boudoir. She will be delighted to see you. But first of all, I have a good secret to confide to you. So let me take this young lady to the baroness, and you and I can join them in a moment!” Thereupon, without waiting for any rejoinder, he took