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

“Nothing pointed.”

“Then, madame, do not disturb yourself tonight. So long as he hopes you will be useful, so long he will stay his hand. Do as he wishes; never allude to the receipt; introduce him and speak well of him, while I, aided by M. de Breulh, will do my utmost to unmask this scoundrel; and as long as he believes himself to be in perfect security, our task will be an easy one.”

Just then the servant returned from the bank, and as soon as the man had left the room De Breulh took the notes and placed them in his cousin’s hand.

“Here is the money for De Croisenois,” said he. “Take my advice, and give it to him this evening with a polite letter of thanks.”

“A thousand thanks, Gontran; I will act as you advise.”

“Remember you must not allude in your letter to his introduction to the Mussidans. What do you think, André?”

“I think a receipt for the money would be a great thing,” answered he.

“But such a demand would arouse his suspicions.”

“I think not, madame, and I see a way of doing it; have you a maid upon whom you could rely?”

“Yes, I have one.”

“Good, then give the girl a letter and the notes done up in a separate parcel, and tell her exactly what she is to do. When she sees the Marquis, let her pretend to be alarmed at the great responsibility that she is incurring in carrying this large sum, and insist upon a receipt for her own protection.”

“There is sound sense in that,” said De Breulh.

“Yes, yes,” said the Viscountess, “Josephine will do⁠—as sharp a girl as you could find in a day’s journey⁠—and will manage the thing admirably. Trust to me,” she continued, as a smile of hope spread over her face; “I will keep De Croisenois in a good humor; he will confide in me, and I will tell you everything. But, oh dear! what shall I do without Van Klopen? Why, there is not another man in Paris fit to stand in his shoes.”

With these words the Viscountess rose to leave.

“I am completely worn out,” remarked she; “and I have a dinner-party tonight. Goodbye then, until we meet again;” and with her spirits evidently as joyous as ever, she tripped into her carriage.

“Now,” said André, as soon as they were once more alone, “we are on the track of De Croisenois. He evidently holds Madame de Mussidan as he holds Madame de Bois Arden. His is a really honorable mode of action; he surprises a secret, and then turns extortioner.”

Dr. Hortebise’s private arrangements were sadly upset by his being compelled to accede to the desire of Tantaine and Mascarin, and in granting hospitality to Paul Violaine; and in spite of the brilliant visions of the future, he often devoutly wished that Mascarin and his young friend were at the other side of the world; but for all that he never thought of attempting to evade the order he had received. He therefore set himself steadily to his task, endeavoring to form Paul’s mind, blunt his conscience, and prepare him for the inevitable part that he would soon have to play.

Paul found in him a most affable companion, pleasant, witty, and gifted with great conversational powers. Five days were thus spent breakfasting at well-known restaurants, driving in the Bois, and dining at clubs of which the doctor was a member, while the evenings were passed at the banker’s. The doctor played cards with his host, while Paul and Flavia conversed together in low whispers, or else hung over the piano together. But every kind of agreeable existence comes to an end, and one day Daddy Tantaine entered the room, his face radiant with delight.

“I have secured you the sweetest little nest in the world,” cried he merrily. “It is not so fine as this, but more in accordance with your position.”

“Where is it?” asked Paul.

Tantaine waited. “You won’t wear out much shoe leather,” said he, “in walking to a certain banker’s, for your lodgings are close to his house.”

That Tantaine had a splendid talent for arrangement Paul realized as soon as he entered his new place of abode, which was in the Rue Montmartre, and consisted of some neat, quiet rooms, just such as an artist who had conquered his first difficulties would inhabit. The apartments were on the third floor, and comprised a tiny entrance hall, sitting-room, bed and dressing room. A piano stood near the window in the sitting-room. The furniture and curtains were tasteful and in good order, but nothing was new. One thing surprised Paul very much; he had been told that the apartments had been taken and furnished three days ago, and yet it seemed as if they had been inhabited for years, and that the owner had merely stepped out a few minutes before. The unmade bed, and the half-burnt candles in the sleeping-room added to this impression, while on the rug lay a pair of worn slippers. The fire had not gone out entirely, and a half-smoked cigar lay on the mantelpiece.

On the table in the sitting-room was a sheet of music paper, with a few bars jotted down upon it. Paul felt so convinced that he was in another person’s rooms, that he could not help exclaiming, “But surely someone has been living in these chambers.”

“We are in your own home, my dear boy,” said Tantaine.

“But you took over everything, I suppose, and the original proprietor simply walked out?”

Tantaine smiled, as though an unequivocal compliment had been paid him.

“Why, do you not know your own home?” asked he; “you have been living here for the last twelve months.”

“I can’t understand you,” answered Paul, opening his eyes in astonishment; “you must be jesting.”

“I am entirely in earnest; for more than a year you have been established here. If you want a proof of the correctness of my assertion, call up the porter.” He ran