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

hand. But, my dear Gontran, an utter stranger to the family could not exercise this power. Now M. de Croisenois has never entered the doors of the house, and came to me to ask for an introduction.”

The justness of this remark silenced De Breulh, but André took another view of the matter.

“This seems all right at a first glance, but still, after the extraordinary scene that the Viscountess has described, I should like to ask a few questions. Was not Van Klopen’s behavior very unexpected?”

“It was brutal and infamous.”

“Are you not one of his best customers?”

“I am, and I have spent an enormous sum with him.”

“But Van Klopen is nasty sometimes; did he not sue Mademoiselle de Riversac?” asked De Breulh.

“But he did not, I expect, force his way into her drawing-room and behave outrageously before a perfect stranger. Do you know M. de Croisenois?” returned André.

“Very slightly; he is of good family, and his brother George was much esteemed by all who knew him.”

“Has he plenty of money?”

“I do not think so, but in time he will inherit a large fortune; very likely he is over head and ears in debt.”

“And yet he had twenty thousand francs in his pocketbook; is not that rather a large sum to carry when you are simply making a morning call? and it is curious, too, that it should have been the exact sum wanted. Then there is another point; the pocketbook was hurled into Van Klopen’s face. Did he submit without a word to such treatment?”

“He certainly said nothing,” replied Madame de Bois Arden.

“One question more, if you please. Did Van Klopen open the book and count the notes before he gave the receipt?”

The Viscountess thought for a moment.

“I was a good deal excited,” said she at length, “but I am almost sure that I saw no notes in Van Klopen’s hands.”

André’s face grew radiant.

“Good, very good; he was told to pay himself, and yet he never looked to see if the money was there, but gave a receipt at once. Of course, as Van Klopen kept the pocketbook, the Marquis could have had nothing in it besides the exact sum that was required.”

“It does seem odd,” muttered De Breulh.

“But,” said André, “your bill was not exactly twenty thousand francs, was it?”

“No,” answered the Viscountess. “I ought to have had change to the amount of a hundred or a hundred and twenty francs, but I suppose he was too much excited to give it me.”

“But for all that he could remember that he had writing materials with him, and gave you a receipt?”

The Viscountess was utterly bewildered.

“And,” continued André, “how is it that Van Klopen knew De Croisenois’ name? And now, lastly, where is the receipt?”

Madame de Bois Arden turned very pale and trembled violently.

“Ah,” said she, “I felt sure that something was going to happen, and it was on this very point that I wanted your advice. Well, I have not got the receipt. M. de Croisenois crumpled it up in his hand and threw it on the table. After a while, however, he took it up and put it in his pocket.”

“It is all perfectly clear,” said André in jubilant tones; “M. de Croisenois had need of your aid, he saw that he could not easily obtain it, and so sought to bind you by the means of a loan made to you at a time of great need.”

“You are right,” said De Breulh.

The Viscountess’ giddy mode of action had brought her into many scrapes, but never into so terrible a one as this.

“Great heavens!” cried she, “what do you think that M. de Croisenois will do with this receipt?”

“He will do nothing,” answered M. de Breulh, “if you do everything to advance his suit; but pause for an instant, and he will show the hand of steel which has up to now been covered by the velvet glove.”

“I am not alarmed at a new slander?” returned the Viscountess.

“And why not?” answered De Breulh. “You know very well that in these days of lavish expenditure and unbridled luxury there are many women in society who are so basely vile that they ruin their lovers with as little compunction as their frailer sisters. Tomorrow even De Croisenois may say at the club, ‘On my word that little Bois Arden costs me a tremendous lot,’ and hands about this receipt for twenty thousand francs. What do you imagine that people will think then?”

“The world knows me too well to think so ill of me.”

“No, no, Clotilde, there is no charity in society; they will simply say that you are his mistress, and finding that the allowance from your husband is not enough for your needs, you are ruining your lover. There will be a significant laugh among the members, and in time, a very short time, the scandal in a highly sensational form will come to the ears of your husband.”

The Viscountess wrung her hands.

“It is too horrible,” wailed she. “And do you know that Bois Arden would put the worst construction on the whole affair, for he declares that a woman will sacrifice anything in order to outshine her sex in dress. Ah, I will never run up another bill anywhere; tell me, Gontran, what I had better do. Can you not get the receipt from De Croisenois?”

M. de Breulh paused for a moment and then replied, “Of course I could do so, but such a step would be very damaging to your reputation. I have no proof; and if I went to him, he would deny everything of course, and it would make him your enemy for life.”

“Besides,” added André, “you would put him on his guard, and he would escape us.”

The unhappy woman glanced from one to the other in utter despair.

“Then I am lost,” she exclaimed. “Am I to remain for the rest of my days in this villain’s power?”

“Not so,” returned André, “for I hope soon to put it out of M. de Croisenois’ power to injure anyone. What did he say when he asked