CHAPTER XIX

HOPE AT LAST

Messrs. Perissard and Merivel were not hopelessly shocked and grief-stricken over the death of Laroque. They were grateful to his memory, inasmuch as he had put them in the way of making 125,000 francs with more ease and less risk than they had expected to incur in collecting, at the outside, three-fifths of that amount in Bordeaux. They were doubly grateful when they reflected that his timely death had saved them ten per cent of that amount.

While he would have been useful in the matter of the public official of Bordeaux, they felt that they would eventually find as trustworthy an agent. On the whole, from the viewpoint of the partners in Confidential Missions, nothing in his life became him as the leaving it. The fact that he had been murdered by the wife of the President of the Court of Toulouse put that gentleman in position where he could not possibly refuse to pay for "discretion."

They went over all this as they sat in a café not far from the Floriot house in Bordeaux and waited for M. Floriot's return. It had taken them nearly three months to finally fix upon him as the husband of the homicide of the Three Crowns. They went to Toulouse to interview him and found that he had just gone to Bordeaux to attend the trial in which his son was to appear for the defense. They fairly hugged themselves with pious joy when they saw the shocking corruption of the whole proceedings.

"We have got him, my dear Merivel," declared M. Perissard. "And he has actually come to Bordeaux to see the trial!"

"A most shrewd man!" rumbled his colleague.

"I should say so!" returned M. Perissard. "He has his own son chosen for the defense, and according to gossip, his son is to marry the daughter of the Public Prosecutor!"

"A _most_ clever man!" insisted M. Merivel in a voice like the roar of the surf.

"And they tell me that Floriot's wife refused to say a word to the Examining Magistrate."

"Of course! The husband has been telling her what to do!"

"Obviously! Obviously!" agreed the senior partner with a vigorous nod. "In this way, you see, her name won't even be mentioned, and as nobody knows her in Bordeaux----" A two-handed gesture and a shrug of the shoulders filled the hiatus.

"None of the trouble will get out of the family," concluded M. Merivel heavily.

"The jury will find her guilty or acquit her--that is of no interest whatever. But no one will ever know the inner interest!"

"Excepting ourselves, my dear Perissard," corrected the ex-schoolmaster.

"Exactly! Exactly! It is _most_ providential!"

It was with the situation thus reasoned out that the defenders of society presented themselves for the second time at the house of M. Floriot, when they were conducted to the garden. M. the President received them with grave courtesy and invited them to take seats. With all three comfortably settled, M. Merivel being a little in the background, he asked:

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?"

"Have I the honor of speaking to President Floriot?" inquired M. Perissard in his most polished manner.

"Yes, monsieur. And your name is----?"

"Perissard! This is M. Merivel, my associate," he added, rising with a bow to that gentleman who also rose and saluted M. the President with a profound obeisance.

"And what business brings you to Bordeaux?" M. Floriot inquired once more when they had all resumed their seats.

"A--a matter of some delicacy, M. the President," began the senior partner, clearing his throat impressively. "A matter which interests you personally."

M. Floriot raised his eyebrows a trifle.

"Well?"

M. Perissard fidgeted slightly. When he spoke again it was in his most "inspiring" manner.

"Every man has, at one time or another in his life, reason to regret the past, and these regrets--however secretly we may hide them--remain open wounds," he began, heavily.

"Alas!" exclaimed M. Merivel in gloomy thunder. M. Floriot stirred impatiently.

"Probably true. But kindly explain yourself!" he commanded, shortly.

M. Perissard at once decided that nothing was to be gained by moralizing, so he went directly to business.

"M. the President, you were Deputy Attorney in Paris twenty years ago, were you not?"

"Yes."

"And if I am correctly informed you married a lady named Jacqueline Lefevre, at the Town Hall in the Rue Drouot. She brought you a dot of 125,000 francs."

Floriot's glance was troubled and uneasy.

"Your information is perfectly correct," he said. "But why all these questions?"

"Because they are indispensable," M. Perissard assured him, and he was backed up by a ponderous nod from his colleague. "In family matters of this kind one cannot take too many precautions. In matters of honor, I have always said----"

Floriot half-rose. His face had paled slightly and his manner was nervous.

"My time is limited!" he broke in, abruptly.

"I beg your pardon, monsieur! I beg your pardon!"

And four fat hands motioned him back to his seat.

"I will be brief!" M. Perissard assured him. "Your marriage was not altogether as happy as it might have been, and one day you had a violent scene. You turned out of your house the lady who had the honor of bearing your name!"

"How do you know this? Who told you?" demanded Floriot. His voice was low and menacing.

"Ah, it is true, then!" exclaimed M. Perissard. The other gave no sign and Perissard took the silence as an assent.

"Very good! After this incident," he continued, hastily. "Madame Floriot traveled. She traveled very far and was more or less--happy. More or less!"

Floriot sprang up, white-faced and trembling.

"She is dead!" he cried. "You have come to tell me she is dead!"

M. Perissard smiled cunningly. He could appreciate good acting.

"Oh, no, I haven't!" he replied.

"She is _alive_?"

"Undoubtedly!"

"_Most_ certainly!" thundered M. Merivel.

"And where is she? In Paris! In France! Where?" cried Floriot, almost too excited for coherency.

M. Perissard was beginning to be really puzzled. Was it possible that this man did not know who the woman of the Three Crowns was? Was it possible that he had not arranged the whole defense?

"Do you really mean that you don't know where your wife is now?" he demanded.

"No! No! But you've come to tell me, haven't you?" He was feverishly eager. He walked up and down before them with quick nervous strides? and looked from one to the other with burning eyes.

"This is really most extraordinary!" declared M. Perissard. "I should have thought with all your means of getting information----"

"I have never heard from her or of her since the day she disappeared!"

"Never?" insisted the other, wonderingly.

"Never! I thought she was dead!"

"Extraordinary! Isn't it?" M. Perissard appealed to his partner.

"_Most_ extraordinary!" was the prompt response.

Floriot was fairly dancing with excitement and impatience.

"You know where she is and where I can see her?" he demanded.

"Indeed, I do!" declared M. Perissard.

"Tell me, man! Tell me!" he cried.

M. Perissard stroked his chin a moment. All this excitement indicated excellent opportunities for financial advancement and he did not want to spoil anything through unwary haste.

"I have not been instructed to tell you," he said, guardedly.

"Good God, man! You don't mean to say you refuse?"

"My--my client has so instructed me----" began M. Perissard in his most professional tone.

"You come from her?" interrupted the other. "She's your client? What does she want? What can I do?"

M. Perissard drew a quick breath.

"She wants the money she brought with her on her marriage!" he plumped out.

"Her dot? Her 125,000 francs?"

"She wants that sum refunded to her!" affirmed M. Perissard, pursing up his lips impressively.

"She would have had it long ago if I had known where to find her!" cried Floriot.

"Then you will raise no objections?" There was a triumphant gleam in M. Perissard's pig-like I eyes.

"None whatever! The money is here!"

The two partners rose as one and held out their hands.

"I will tell her what you say--word for word!" declared the senior.

"Give me her address so I can go and see her at once!" pleaded Floriot, eagerly.

"M. the President," replied M. Perissard in his heaviest manner. "I must beg you to excuse me: I have no authority from my client to give you her address."

"But----"

"I am only acting on instructions!"

"But what reason can she have for refusing to see me?" he protested, wildly.

"I don't know that she has any reason, but before giving you her address I must ask her permission!" was the firm response.

"Then you are going to see her?"

"I shall write to her," replied M. Perissard. "I may confide one thing in you, I think, without exceeding my professional duty."

"Yes?" questioned Floriot eagerly.

"May I count on your discretion?"

"Absolutely! You have my word for it!"

M. Perissard appeared to hesitate.

"Madame Floriot is just now in--ah--er--tight place," he said.

"A very tight place!" echoed his partner.

"She is absolutely penniless!"

"Great heavens!" gasped Floriot, horror-stricken. He dropped into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

"Are--are you willing to send her some money?" inquired the senior partner. Floriot sprang up, his face flushed.

"By all means!" he cried, his hand darting into his coat pocket. "Will you see that she gets it? _Immediately_?"

"Without a moment's delay!" M. Perissard assured him, heartily. Floriot bowed his head as he worked with the leather tongue of his pocket-book, and when he looked up his eyes were misty with tears.

"Gentlemen," he said, brokenly, "you must excuse my emotion--when I think that--she--is without a penny----! Here are 300 francs--all I have with me. Send it to her at once and----"

"She shall receive the money to-day!" M. Perissard broke in. "Allow me to give you a receipt. And when can I see you again, M. the President? Will the day after to-morrow suit you?"

"Can you have an answer by then?"

"I hope so!"

"I'll expect you in the morning then." He smiled almost joyously and held out his hands to the visitors. "We can go and see her together! I need not ask you to be discreet, need I? Nobody must know!" he added anxiously. M. Perissard drew himself up haughtily.

"M. the President!" he said stiffly, "I have not the honor of being known to you, but remember these words: Whatever may happen, we are engaged by our word of honor to remain silent--my partner, you and I!"

"Silent as the tomb!" echoed M. Merivel.

"And you may always reckon--always, I repeat--on our entire discretion!"

Floriot put out a hand which was eagerly gripped.

"Gentlemen, I thank you!" he said in a grave, unsteady voice. And with many a scrape and hand-shake and assurance of their perfect discretion the firm of Perissard and Merivel bowed itself out.

For a moment, after they had gone, Floriot stood with head raised and fists clenched.

"Oh, Jacqueline! Jacqueline!" he murmured aloud, as if he felt that the cry from his heart must reach her ears. "Forgive--forgive me!"

Then he darted across the garden and into the house like a boy. Up the steps he raced, three at a time, and burst into Noel's room with tears streaming down his face, speechless with emotion. Noel started up from the suit-case he was unpacking and stared at his friend in alarm.

"For God's sake, Louis!" he cried. "What's the matter?"

"Jacqueline--Jacqueline is alive!"

In a bound Noel was across the room, with a grip on his friend's shoulder.

"What do you mean?" he cried, shaking him fiercely. "Alive! Who told you?"

In broken, gasping phrases Floriot told the story; and as Noel finally grasped the details, he clutched his friend's arms, and with a shout of joy hurled him on to the bed. Floriot bounded back to his feet and swung his fist into the other's back. Then these two gray-haired men threw each other around the room, rolled over together on the bed, knocked chairs over and tables upside down, shouting and laughing at the top of their lungs.

"Day after to-morrow! Twenty years, old man! I knew we'd win out at last!"

The uproar reached Raymond in his studio at the other end of the house and he ran up to see what was the matter. As he threw open the door of the disordered room he saw his father and M. Noel shaking hands as enthusiastically as if they had not met for years.

"Why, father, what's the matter?" he cried.

Floriot ran over and threw an arm across his son's shoulders.

"Raymond, my boy!" he shouted, "A wonderful--an unbelievable happiness has come to your father! I can't tell you anything yet but, my God! I'm happy!"