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

in England, for he spoke that language with tolerable fluency. André knew nothing of these details, but he had heard of the existence of the valet from M. de Breulh, when he had asked where the Marquis lived.

At eight o’clock on the morning after he had surreptitiously left his home in the manner described, André took up his position in a small wine-shop not far from the abode of the Marquis de Croisenois. He had done this designedly, for he knew enough of the manner and customs of Parisian society to know that this was the hour usually selected by domestics in fashionable quarters to come out for a gossip while their masters were still in bed. André had more confidence in himself than heretofore, for he had succeeded in saving Gaston; and these were the means he had employed. After much trouble, and even by the use of threats, he had persuaded the boy to return to his father’s house. He had gone with him; and though it was two in the morning, he had not hesitated to arouse M. Gandelu, senior, and tell him how his son had been led on to commit the forgery, and how he threatened to commit suicide.

The poor old man was much moved.

“Tell him to come to me at once,” said he, “and let him know that we two will save him.”

André had not far to go, for Gaston was waiting in the next room in an agony of suspense.

As soon as he came into the old man’s presence he fell upon his knees, with many promises of amendment for the future.

“I do not believe,” remarked old Gandelu, “that these miscreants will venture to carry their threats into execution and place the matter in the hands of the police; but for all that, my son must not remain in a state of suspense. I will file a complaint against the Mutual Loan Society before twelve today, and we will see how an association will be dealt with that lends money to minors and urges them to forge signatures as security. It will, however, be as well for my son to leave for Belgium by the first train this morning; but, as you will see, he will not remain very many days.”

André remained for the rest of the hours of darkness at the kind old man’s house, and it was in Gaston’s room that he renewed his “makeup” before leaving. The future looked very bright to him as he walked gayly up the Boulevard Malesherbes. The wine-shop in which he had taken up his position was admirably adapted for keeping watch on De Croisenois, for he could not avoid seeing all who came in and went out of the house; and as there was no other wine-shop in the neighborhood, André felt sure that all the servants in the vicinity, and those of the Marquis, of course, among the number, would come there in the course of the morning; so that here he could get into conversation with them, offer them a glass of wine, and, perhaps, get some information from them. The room was large and airy, and was full of customers, most of whom were servants. André was racking his brain for a means of getting into conversation with the proprietor, when two newcomers entered the room. These men were in full livery, while all the other servants had on morning jackets. As soon as they entered, an old man, with a calm expression of face, who was struggling perseveringly with a tough beefsteak at the same table as that by which André was seated, observed⁠—

“Ah! here comes the De Croisenois’ lot.”

“If they would only sit here,” thought André, “by the side of this fellow, who evidently knows them, I could hear all they said.”

By good luck they did so, begging that they might be served at once, as they were in a tremendous hurry.

“What is the haste this morning?” asked the old man who had recognized them.

“I have to drive the master to his office, for he has one now. He is chairman of a Copper Mining Company, and a fine thing it is, too. If you have any money laid by, M. Benoit, this is a grand chance for you.”

Benoit shook his head gravely.

“All is not gold that glitters,” said he sententiously; “nor, on the other hand, are things as bad as they are painted.”

Benoit was evidently a prudent man, and was not likely to commit himself.

“But if your master is going out, you, M. Mouret, will be free, and we can have a game at cards together.”

“No, sir,” answered the valet.

“What! are you engaged too?”

“Yes; I have to carry a bouquet of flowers to the young lady my master is engaged to. I have seen the young lady; she seems to be rather haughty.”

The man, who wore an enormously high and stiff collar, was absolutely speaking of Sabine, and André could have twisted his neck with pleasure.

“Let us hope,” remarked the coachman, as he hastily swallowed his breakfast, “that the Marquis does not intend to invest his wife’s dowry in this new venture of his.”

The men then ceased to speak of their master, and began to busy themselves with their own affairs, and went out again without alluding to him any further, leaving André to reflect what a difficult business the detective line was.

The customers looked upon him with distrustful eyes, for it must be confessed that his appearance was decidedly against him, and he had not yet acquired the necessary art of seeing and hearing while affecting to be doing neither; and it was easy for the dullest observer to be certain that it was not for the sake of obtaining a breakfast that he had entered the establishment. André had penetration enough to see the effect he had produced, and he became more and more embarrassed. He had finished his meal now and had lighted a cigar, and had ordered a small glass of brandy. Nearly all the customers had withdrawn,