Chapter 28

Raoul was startled at the passionate, vindictive tone of Louis’s voice as he uttered these last words.

“You must hate these women, if you are so determined to make them miserable,” he said.

“I hate them?” cried Louis. “Can’t you see that I madly love Madeleine, love her as only a man of my age can love? Is not her image ever in my mind? Does not the very mention of her name fire my heart, and make me tremble like a school-boy?”

“Your great devotion does not prevent you planning the destruction of her present happiness.”

“Necessity compels me to do so. Nothing but the most cruel deceptions and the bitterest suffering would ever induce her to become my wife, to take me as the lesser of two evils. The day on which you have led Mme. Fauvel and her niece to the extreme edge of the precipice, pointed out its dark depths, and convinced them that they are irretrievably lost, I shall appear, and rescue them. I will play my part with such grandeur, such lofty magnanimity, that Madeleine will be touched, will forget her past enmity, and regard me with favorable eyes. When she finds that it is her sweet self, and not her money, that I want, she will soften, and in time yield to my entreaties. No true woman can be indifferent to a grand passion. I don’t pretend to say that she will love me at first; but, if she will only consent to be mine, I ask for nothing more; time will do much, even for a poor devil like myself.”

Raoul was shocked at this cold-blooded perversity of his uncle; but Clameran showed his immense superiority in wickedness, and the apprentice admired the master.

“You would certainly succeed, uncle,” he said, “were it not for the cashier. Between you and Madeleine, Prosper will always stand; if not in person, certainly in memory.”

Louis smiled scornfully, and, throwing away his cigar, which had died out, said:

“I don’t mind Prosper, or attach any more importance to him than to that cigar.”

“But she loves him.”

“So much the worse for him. Six months hence, she will despise him; he is already morally ruined, and at the proper time I will make an end of him socially. Do you know whither the road of dissipation leads, my good nephew? Prosper supports Gypsy, who is extravagant; he gambles, keeps fast horses, and gives suppers. Now, you gamble yourself, and know how much money can be squandered in one night; the losses of baccarat must be paid within twenty-four hours. He has lost heavily, must pay, and--has charge of a money-safe.”

Raoul protested against this insinuation.

“It is useless to tell me that he is honest, that nothing would induce him to touch money that does not belong to him. I know better. Parbleu! I was honest myself until I learned to gamble. Any man with a grain of sense would have married Madeleine long ago, and sent us flying bag and baggage. You say she loves him! No one but a coward would be defrauded of the woman he loved and who loved him. Ah, if I had once felt Madeleine’s hand tremble in mine, if her rosy lips had once pressed a kiss upon my brow, the whole world could not take her from me. Woe to him who dared stand in my path! As it is, Prosper annoys me, and I intend to suppress him. With your aid I will so cover him with disgrace and infamy, that Madeleine will drive every thought of him from her mind, and her love will turn to hate.”

Louis’s tone of rage and vengeance startled Raoul, and made him regard the affair in a worse light than ever.

“You have given me a shameful, dastardly role to play,” he said after a long pause.

“My honorable nephew has scruples, I suppose,” said Clameran sneeringly.

“Not exactly scruples; yet I confess--”

“That you want to retreat? Rather too late to sing that tune, my friend. You wish to enjoy every luxury, have your pockets filled with gold, cut a fine figure in high society, and remain virtuous. Are you fool enough to suppose a poor man can be honest? ‘Tis a luxury pertaining to the wealthy. Did you ever see people such as we draw money from the pure fount of virtue? We must fish in muddy waters, and then wash ourselves clean, and enjoy the result of our labor.”

“I have never been rich enough to be honest,” said Raoul humbly; “but I must say it goes hard with me to torture two defenceless, frightened women, and ruin the character of a poor devil who regards me as his best friend. It is a low business!”

This resistance exasperated Louis to the last degree.

“You are the most absurd, ridiculous fool I ever met,” he cried. “An opportunity occurs for us to make an immense fortune. All we have to do is to stretch out our hands and take it; when you must needs prove refractory, like a whimpering baby. Nobody but an ass would refuse to drink when he is thirsty, because he sees a little mud at the bottom of the bucket. I suppose you prefer theft on a small scale, stealing by driblets. And where will your system lead you? To the poor-house or the police-station. You prefer living from hand to mouth, supported by Mme. Fauvel, having small sums doled out to you to pay your little gambling debts.”

“I am neither ambitious nor cruel.”

“And suppose Mme. Fauvel dies to-morrow: what will become of you? Will you go cringing up to the widower, and implore him to continue your allowance?”

“Enough said,” cried Raoul, angrily interrupting his uncle. “I never had any idea of retreating. I made these objections to show you what infamous work you expect of me, and at the same time prove to you that without my assistance you can do nothing.”

“I never pretended to the contrary.”

“Then, my noble uncle, we might as well settle what my share is to be. Oh! it is not worth while for you to indulge in idle protestations. What will you give me in case of success? and what if we fail?”

“I told you before. I will give you twenty-five thousand livres a year, and all you can secure between now and my wedding-day.”

“This arrangement suits me very well; but where are your securities?”

This question was discussed a long time before it was satisfactorily settled by the accomplices, who had every reason to distrust each other.

“What are you afraid of?” asked Clameran.

“Everything,” replied Raoul. “Where am I to obtain justice, if you deceive me? From this pretty little poniard? No, thank you. I would be made to pay as dear for your hide, as for that of an honest man.”

Finally, after long debate and much recrimination, the matter was arranged, and they shook hands before separating.

Alas! Mme. Fauvel and her niece soon felt the evil effects of the understanding between the villains.

Everything happened as Louis had arranged.

Once more, when Mme. Fauvel had begun to breathe freely, and to hope that her troubles were over, Raoul’s conduct suddenly changed; he became more extravagant and dissipated than ever.

Formerly, Mme. Fauvel would have said, “I wonder what he does with all the money I give him?” Now she saw where it went.

Raoul was reckless in his wickedness; he was intimate with actresses, openly lavishing money and jewelry upon them; he drove about with four horses, and bet heavily on every race. Never had he been so exacting and exorbitant in his demands for money; Mme. Fauvel had the greatest difficulty in supplying his wants.

He no longer made excuses and apologies for spending so much; instead of coaxingly entreating, he demanded money as a right, threatening to betray Mme. Fauvel to her husband if she refused him.

At this rate, all the possessions of Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine soon disappeared. In one month, all their money had been squandered. Then they were compelled to resort to the most shameful expedients in the household expenses. They economized in every possible way, making purchases on credit, and making tradesmen wait; then they changed figures in the bills, and even invented accounts of things never bought.

These imaginary costly whims increased so rapidly, that M. Fauvel one day said, as he signed a large check, “Upon my word, ladies, you will buy out all the stores, if you keep on this way. But nothing pleases me better than to see you gratify every wish.”

Poor women! For months they had bought nothing, but had lived upon the remains of their former splendor, having all their old dresses made over, to keep up appearances in society.

More clear-sighted than her aunt, Madeleine saw plainly that the day would soon come when everything would have to be explained.

Although she knew that the sacrifices of the present would avail nothing in the future, that all this money was being thrown away without securing her aunt’s peace of mind, yet she was silent. A high-minded delicacy made her conceal her apprehensions beneath an assumed calmness.

The fact of her sacrificing herself made her refrain from uttering anything like a complaint or censure. She seemed to forget herself entirely in her efforts to comfort her aunt.

“As soon as Raoul sees we have nothing more to give,” she would say, “he will come to his senses, and stop all this extravagance.”

The day came when Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine found it impossible to give another franc.

The evening previous, Mme. Fauvel had a dinner-party, and with difficulty scraped together enough money to defray the expenses.

Raoul appeared, and said that he was in the greatest need of money, being forced to pay a debt of two thousand francs at once.

In vain they implored him to wait a few days, until they could with propriety ask M. Fauvel for money. He declared that he must have it now, and that he would not leave the house without it.

“But I have no way of getting it for you,” said Mme. Fauvel desperately; “you have taken everything from me. I have nothing left but my diamonds: do you want them? If they can be of use, take them.”

Hardened as the young villain was, he blushed at these words.

He felt pity for this unfortunate woman, who had always been so kind and indulgent to him, who had so often lavished upon him her maternal caresses. He felt for the noble girl who was the innocent victim of a vile plot.

But he was bound by an oath; he knew that a powerful hand would save these women at the brink of the precipice. More than this, he saw an immense fortune at the end of his road of crime, and quieted his conscience by saying that he would redeem his present cruelty by honest kindness in the future. Once out of the clutches of Clameran, he would be a better man, and try to return some of the kind affection shown him by these poor women.

Stifling his better impulses, he said harshly to Mme. Fauvel, “Give me the jewels; I will take them to the pawnbroker’s.” Mme. Fauvel handed him a box containing a set of diamonds. It was a present from her husband the day he became worth a million.

And so pressing was the want of these women who were surrounded by princely luxury, with their ten servants, beautiful blooded horses, and jewels which were the admiration of Paris, that they implored him to bring them some of the money which he would procure on the diamonds, to meet their daily wants.

He promised, and kept his word.

But they had revealed a new source, a mine to be worked; he took advantage of it.

One by one, all Mme. Fauvel’s jewels followed the way of the diamonds; and, when hers were all gone, those of Madeleine were given up.

A recent law-suit, which showed how a young and beautiful woman had been kept in a state of terror and almost poverty, by a rascal who had possession of her letters, a sad case which no honest man could read without blushing for his sex, has revealed to what depths human infamy can descend.

And such abominable crimes are not so rare as people suppose.

How many men are supported entirely by stolen secrets, from the coachman who claims ten louis every month of the foolish girl whom he drove to a rendezvous, to the elegant dandy in light kids, who discovered a financial swindle, and makes the parties interested buy his silence, cannot be known.

This is called the extortion of hush-money, the most cowardly and infamous of crimes, which the law, unfortunately, can rarely overtake and punish.

“Extortion of hush-money,” said an old prefect of police, “is a trade which supports at least a thousand scamps in Paris alone. Sometimes we know the black-mailer and his victim, and yet we can do nothing. Moreover, if we were to catch the villain in the very act, and hand him over to justice, the victim, in her fright at the chance of her secret being discovered, would turn against us.”

It is true, extortion has become a business. Very often it is the business of loafers, who spend plenty of money, when everyone knows they have no visible means of support, and of whom people ask, “What do they live upon?”

The poor victims do not know how easy it would be to rid themselves of their tyrants. The police are fully capable of faithfully keeping secrets confided to them. A visit to the Rue de Jerusalem, a confidential communication with a head of the bureau, who is as silent as a father confessor, and the affair is arranged, without noise, without publicity, without anyone ever being the wiser. There are traps for “master extortioners,” which work well in the hands of the police.

Mme. Fauvel had no defence against the scoundrels who were torturing her, save prayers and tears; these availed her little.

Sometimes Mme. Fauvel betrayed such heart-broken suffering when Raoul begged her for money which she had no means of obtaining, that he would hurry away disgusted at his own brutal conduct, and say to Clameran:

“You must end this dirty business; I cannot stand it any longer. I will blow any man’s brains out, or fight a crowd of cut-throats, if you choose; but as to killing by agony and fright these two poor miserable women, whom I am really fond of, I am not going to do it. You ask for more than I can do. I am not quite the cowardly hound you take me for.”

Clameran paid no attention to these remonstrances: indeed, he was prepared for them.

“It is not pleasant, I know,” he replied; “but necessity knows no law. Have a little more perseverance and patience; we have almost got to the end.”

The end was nearer than Clameran supposed. Toward the latter part of November, Mme. Fauvel saw that it was impossible to postpone the catastrophe any longer, and as a last effort determined to apply to the marquis for assistance.

She had not seen him since his return from Oloron, except once, when he came to announce his accession to wealth. At that time, persuaded that he was the evil genius of Raoul, she had received him very coldly, and did not invite him to repeat his visit.

She hesitated about speaking to her niece of the step she intended taking, because she feared violent opposition.

To her great surprise Madeleine warmly approved of it.

Trouble had made her keen-sighted and suspicious. Reflecting on past events, comparing and weighing every act and speech of Raoul, she was now convinced that he was Clameran’s tool.

She thought that Raoul was too shrewd to be acting in this shameful way, ruinously to his own interests, if there were not some secret motive at the bottom of it all. She saw that this persecution was more feigned than real.

So thoroughly was she convinced of this, that, had it only concerned herself alone, she would have firmly resisted the oppression, certain that the threatened exposure would never take place.

Recalling, with a shudder, certain looks of Clameran, she guessed the truth, that the object of all this underhand work was to force her to become his wife.

Determined on making the sacrifice, in spite of her repugnance toward the man, she wished to have the deed done at once; anything was preferable to this terrible anxiety, to the life of torture which Raoul made her lead. She felt that her courage might fail if she waited and suffered much longer.

“The sooner you see M. de Clameran the better for us, aunt,” she said, after talking the project over.

The next day Mme. Fauvel called on the marquis at the Hotel du Louvre, having sent him a note announcing her intended visit.

He received her with cold, studied politeness, like a man who had been misunderstood and had been unjustly wounded.

After listening to her report of Raoul’s scandalous behavior, he became very indignant, and swore that he would soon make him repent of his heartlessness.

But when Mme. Fauvel told of the immense sums of money forced from her, Clameran seemed confounded, as if he could not believe it.

“The worthless rascal!” he exclaimed, “the idea of his audacity! Why, during the last four months, I have given him more than twenty thousand francs, which I would not have done except to prevent him from applying to you, as he constantly threatened to do.”

Seeing an expression of doubtful surprise upon Mme. Fauvel’s face, Louis arose, and took from his desk some receipts signed by Raoul. The total amount was twenty-three thousand five hundred francs.

Mme. Fauvel was shocked and amazed.

“He has obtained forty thousand francs from me,” she faintly said, “so that altogether he has spent sixty thousand francs in four months.”

“I can’t imagine what he does with it,” said Clameran, “unless he spends it on actresses.”

“Good heavens! what can these creatures do with all the money lavished on them?”

“That is a question I cannot answer, madame.”

He appeared to pity Mme. Fauvel sincerely; he promised that he would at once see Raoul, and reason with him about the shameful life he was leading; perhaps he could be persuaded to reform. Finally, after many protestations of friendship, he wound up by placing his fortune at her disposal.

Although Mme. Fauvel refused his offer, she appreciated the kindness of it, and on returning home said to Madeleine:

“Perhaps we have mistaken his character; he may be a good man after all.”

Madeleine sadly shook her head. She had anticipated just what happened. Clameran’s magnanimity and generosity confirmed her presentiments.

Raoul came to see his uncle, and found him radiant.

“Everything is going on swimmingly, my smart nephew,” said Clameran; “your receipts acted like a charm. Ah, you are a partner worth having. I congratulate you upon your success. Forty thousand francs in four months!”

“Yes,” said Raoul carelessly. “I got about that much from pawnbrokers.”

“Pests! Then you must have a nice little sum laid by.”

“That is my business, uncle, and not yours. Remember our agreement. I will tell you this much: Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine have turned everything they could into money; they have nothing left, and I have had enough of my role.”

“Your role is ended. I forbid you to hereafter ask for a single centime.”

“What are you about to do? What has happened?”

“The mine is loaded, nephew, and I am awaiting an opportunity to set fire to it.”

Louis de Clameran relied upon making his rival, Prosper Bertomy, furnish him this ardently desired opportunity.

He loved Madeleine too passionately to feel aught save the bitterest hate toward the man whom she had freely chosen, and who still possessed her heart.

Clameran knew that he could marry her at once if he chose; but in what way? By holding a sword of terror over her head, and forcing her to be his. He became frenzied at the idea of possessing her person, while her heart and soul would always be with Prosper.

Thus he swore that, before marrying, he would so cover Prosper with shame and ignominy that no honest person would speak to him. He had first thought of killing him, but, fearing that Madeleine would enshrine and worship his memory, he determined to disgrace him.

He imagined that there would be no difficulty in ruining the unfortunate young man. He soon found himself mistaken.

Though Prosper led a life of reckless dissipation, he preserved order in his disorder. If in a state of miserable entanglement, and obliged to resort to all sorts of make-shifts to escape his creditors, his caution prevented the world from knowing it.

Vainly did Raoul, with his pockets full of gold, try to tempt him to play high; every effort to hasten his ruin failed.

When he played he did not seem to care whether he lost or won; nothing aroused him from his cold indifference.

His friend Nina Gypsy was extravagant, but her devotion to Prosper restrained her from going beyond certain limits.

Raoul’s great intimacy with Prosper enabled him to fully understand the state of his mind; that he was trying to drown his disappointment in excitement, but had not given up all hope.

“You need not hope to beguile Prosper into committing any piece of folly,” said Raoul to his uncle; “his head is as cool as a usurer’s. He never goes beyond a certain degree of dissipation. What object he has in view I know not. Perhaps, when he has spent his last napoleon, he will blow his brains out; he certainly never will descend to any dishonorable act. As to tampering with the money-safe intrusted to his keeping----”

“We must force him on,” replied Clameran, “lead him into extravagances, make Gypsy call on him for costly finery, lend him plenty of money.”

Raoul shook his head, as if convinced that his efforts would be vain.

“You don’t know Prosper, uncle: we can’t galvanize a dead man. Madeleine killed him the day she discarded him. He takes no interest in anything on the face of the earth.”

“We can wait and see.”

They did wait; and, to the great surprise of Mme. Fauvel, Raoul once more became an affectionate and dutiful son, as he had been during Clameran’s absence. From reckless extravagance he changed to great economy. Under pretext of saving money, he remained at Vesinet, although it was very uncomfortable and disagreeable there in the winter. He said he wished to expiate his sins in solitude. The truth was, that, by remaining in the country, he insured his liberty, and escaped his mother’s visits.

It was about this time that Mme. Fauvel, charmed with the improvement in Raoul, asked her husband to give him some employment.

M. Fauvel was delighted to please his wife, and at once offered Raoul the place of corresponding clerk with a salary of five hundred francs a month.

The appointment pleased Raoul; but, in obedience to Clameran’s command, he refused it, saying his vocation was not banking.

This refusal so provoked the banker, that he told Raoul, if he was so idle and lazy, not to call on him for money again, or expect him to do anything to assist him. Raoul seized this pretext for ostensibly ceasing his visits.

When he wanted to see his mother, he would come in the afternoon, when he knew that M. Fauvel would be from home; and he only came often enough to keep informed of what was going on in the household.

This sudden lull after so many storms appeared ominous to Madeleine. She was more certain that ever that the plot was now ripe, and would suddenly burst upon them, without warning. She did not impart her presentiment to her aunt, but prepared herself for the worst.

“What can they be doing?” Mme. Fauvel would say; “can they have ceased to persecute us?”

“Yes: what can they be doing?” Madeleine would murmur.

Louis and Raoul gave no signs of life, because, like expert hunters, they were silently hiding, and watching for a favorable opportunity of pouncing upon their victims.

Never losing sight of Prosper for a day, Raoul had exhausted every effort of his fertile mind to compromise his honor, to insnare him into some inextricable entanglement. But, as he had foreseen, the cashier’s indifference offered little hope of success.

Clameran began to grow impatient at this delay, and had fully determined to bring matters to a crisis himself, when one morning, about three o’clock, he was aroused by Raoul.

He knew that some event of great importance must have happened, to make his nephew come to his house at this hour of the morning.

“What is the matter?” he anxiously inquired.

“Perhaps nothing; perhaps everything. I have just left Prosper.”

“Well?”