The Slaves of Paris by Émile Gaboriau (good book recommendations .txt) 📕

A woman, who acted as Daumon’s housekeeper, served the refreshments. The office⁠—for he called his room an office, just as if he was a professional man⁠—was a strange-looking place. On one side was a desk covered with account books, and against the wall were sacks of seed. A number of books on legal matters crowded the shelves, and from the ceiling hung a quantity of dried herbs. The Counsellor welcomed the heir to the dukedom of Champdoce with the greatest deference, seated him in his own capacious leathern armchair, and pressed the brandy which he had refused upon him.

“I got this brandy from a man down Arcachon way in return for a kindness that I did him; for, without boasting, I may say that I have done kindnesses for many people in my time.” He raised his glass to his lips as he spoke. “It is good, is it not?” said he. “You can’t get stuff with an aroma like that hereabouts.”

The extreme deference of the man, coupled with the excellence of the spirit, opened Norbert’s heart in a very short space of time. Up to the present the conduct of poor Norbert had been blameless, but now, without knowing anything of the Counsellor’s character or reputation, he poured out all the secret sorrows of his heart, while Daumon chuckled secretly, preserving all the time the imperturbable face of a physician called in to visit a patient.

“Dear me! dear me!” said he; “this is really too bad. Poor fellow! I really pity you. Were it not for the deep respect that I have for the Duke, your father, I should feel inclined to say that he was not quite in his right senses.”

“Yes,” continued Norbert, the tears starting to his eyes, “this is just how I am situated. My destiny has been marked out for me, and I am helpless to alter it. I had better a thousand times be lying under the cold greensward, than vegetate thus above ground.”

The peculiar smile on Daumon’s lips caused him to pause in his complaint.

“Perhaps,” he went on, “you think that I am childish in talking thus?”

“Not at all, Marquis, you have suffered too deeply; but forgive me if I say that you are foolish to despond so much over the future that lies before you.”

“Future!” repeated Norbert angrily, “what is the use of speaking to me of the future, when I may be kept in this horrible servitude for the next thirty years? My father is still hale and hearty.”

“What of that? You will be of age soon, and then you will have full right to claim your mother’s fortune.”

The extreme surprise displayed by Norbert at this intelligence convinced the Counsellor that he was much more unsophisticated than he had supposed him to be.

“A man,” continued he, “can, when he attains his majority, dispose of his inheritance as he thinks fit, and your mother’s fortune will render you independent of your father.”

“But I should never dare to claim it; how could I venture to do so?”

“You need not make the application personally; your solicitor would manage all that for you; but, of course, you must wait until you are of age.”

“But I cannot wait until then,” said Norbert; “I must at once free myself from this tyranny.”

“Luckily there are ways.”

“Do you really think so, Daumon?”

“Yes, and I will show you what is done every day. Nothing is more common in noble families. Would you like to be a soldier?”

“No, I do not care for that, and yet⁠—”

“That is your last resource, Marquis. First, then, we could lay a plaint before the court.”

“A plaint?”

“Certainly. Do you suppose that our laws do not provide for such a case as a father exceeding the proper bounds of parental authority? Tell me, has the Duke, your father, ever struck you?”

“Never once.”

“Well, that is almost a pity. We will say that your father’s property is worth two millions, and yet you derive so slight a benefit from this that you are known everywhere as the ‘Young Savage of Champdoce’!”

Norbert started to his feet.

“Who dares speak of me like that?” said he furiously. “Tell me his name.”

This outburst of passion did not in the smallest degree discompose Daumon.

“Your father has many enemies, Marquis,” he resumed, “for his manners are overbearing and exacting; but you have many friends, and among them all you will find none more devoted than myself, humble though my position may be. Many ladies of high rank take a great interest in you. Only a day or two ago some persons were speaking of you in the presence of Mademoiselle de Laurebourg, and she blushed crimson at your name. Do you know Mademoiselle Diana?”

Norbert colored.

“Ah, I understand,” replied Daumon. “And when you have broken the fetters that now bind you, we shall see something one of these days. And now⁠—”

But at this moment Norbert’s eyes caught a glimpse of the old-fashioned cuckoo clock that hung on the wall in one corner of the room. He started to his feet.

“Why, it is dinnertime!” said he. “What upon earth will my father say?”

“What, does he keep you in such order as that?”

But, never heeding the sarcastic question of the Counsellor, Norbert had regained his cart, and was driving off at full speed.

III A Bold Adventure

Daumon had in no way exaggerated when he said that Norbert was spoken of as the “Young Savage of Champdoce,” though no one used this appellation in an insulting form. Public opinion had changed considerably regarding the Duke of Champdoce. The first time that he had made his appearance, wearing wooden shoes and a leathern jacket, everyone had laughed, but this did not affect him at all, and in the end people began to term his dogged obstinacy indomitable perseverance. The gleam that shone from his hoarded millions imparted a brilliant lustre to his shabby garments. Why should they waste their pity upon a man who would eventually come into a gigantic fortune, and have the means of gratifying