The Count's Millions [113]
He must be a new member of the force."
But M. Fortunat was quite indifferent as to what impression he had left behind him at the Hotel de Homburg, for he never expected to set foot there again. The one essential thing was that he had obtained the information he wished for, and even a description of the lady, and he felt that he was now really on the track. The vehicle soon reached the Rue de Berry, and drew up in front of a charming little private house. "Here we are, monsieur," said the driver, bowing at the door.
M. Fortunat sprang nimbly on to the pavement, and handed five francs to the coachman, who went off growling and swearing, for he thought the reward a contemptibly small one, coming as it did from a man whose life had been saved, according to his own confession. However, the person the Jehu anathematized certainly did not hear him. Standing motionless where he had alighted, M. Fortunat scrutinized the house in front of him with close attention. "So she lives here," he muttered. "This is the place; but I can't present myself without knowing her name. I must make some inquiries."
There was a wine-shop some fifty paces distant, and thither M. Fortunat hastened, and ordered a glass of currant syrup. As he slowly sipped the beverage, he pointed to the house in question, with an air of well-assumed indifference, and asked: "Whom does that pretty dwelling belong to?"
"To Madame Lia d'Argeles," answered the landlady.
M. Fortunat started. He well remembered that this was the name the Marquis de Valorsay had mentioned when speaking of the vile conspiracy he had planned. It was at this woman's house that the man whom Mademoiselle Marguerite loved had been disgraced! Still he managed to master his surprise, and in a light, frank tone he resumed: "What a pretty name! And what does this lady do?"
"What does she do? Why, she amuses herself."
M. Fortunat seemed astonished. "Dash it!" said he. "She must amuse herself to good purpose to have a house like that. Is she pretty?"
"That depends on taste. She's no longer young, at any rate; but she has superb golden hair. And, oh! how white she is--as white as snow, monsieur--as white as snow! She has a fine figure as well, and a most distinguished bearing--pays cash, too, to the very last farthing."
There could no longer be any doubt. The portrait sketched by the wine-vendor fully corresponded with the description given by the hotelkeeper in the Rue de Helder. Accordingly, M. Fortunat drained his glass, and threw fifty centimes on the counter. Then, crossing the street, he boldly rang at the door of Madame d'Argeles's house. If any one had asked him what he proposed doing and saying if he succeeded in effecting an entrance, he might have replied with perfect sincerity, "I don't know." The fact is, he had but one aim, one settled purpose in his mind. He was obstinately, FURIOUSLY resolved to derive some benefit, small or great, from this mysterious affair. As for the means of execution, he relied entirely on his audacity and sang-froid, convinced that they would not fail him when the decisive moment came. "First of all, I must see this lady," he said to himself. "The first words will depend solely upon my first impressions. After that, I shall be guided by circumstances."
An old serving-man, in a quiet, tasteful livery, opened the door, whereupon M. Fortunat, in a tone of authority, asked: "Madame Lia d'Argeles?"
"Madame does not receive on Friday," was the reply.
With a petulant gesture, M. Fortunat rejoined: "All the same I must speak with her to-day. It is on a matter of the greatest importance. Give her my card." So saying, he held out a bit of pasteboard, on which, below his name, were inscribed the words: "Liquidations. Settlements effected for insolvent parties."
"Ah! that's a different thing," said the servant. "Will monsieur take the trouble to follow me?"
M. Fortunat did take the trouble; and he was conducted into a large drawing-room where he was requested to sit down and await madame's coming. Left to
But M. Fortunat was quite indifferent as to what impression he had left behind him at the Hotel de Homburg, for he never expected to set foot there again. The one essential thing was that he had obtained the information he wished for, and even a description of the lady, and he felt that he was now really on the track. The vehicle soon reached the Rue de Berry, and drew up in front of a charming little private house. "Here we are, monsieur," said the driver, bowing at the door.
M. Fortunat sprang nimbly on to the pavement, and handed five francs to the coachman, who went off growling and swearing, for he thought the reward a contemptibly small one, coming as it did from a man whose life had been saved, according to his own confession. However, the person the Jehu anathematized certainly did not hear him. Standing motionless where he had alighted, M. Fortunat scrutinized the house in front of him with close attention. "So she lives here," he muttered. "This is the place; but I can't present myself without knowing her name. I must make some inquiries."
There was a wine-shop some fifty paces distant, and thither M. Fortunat hastened, and ordered a glass of currant syrup. As he slowly sipped the beverage, he pointed to the house in question, with an air of well-assumed indifference, and asked: "Whom does that pretty dwelling belong to?"
"To Madame Lia d'Argeles," answered the landlady.
M. Fortunat started. He well remembered that this was the name the Marquis de Valorsay had mentioned when speaking of the vile conspiracy he had planned. It was at this woman's house that the man whom Mademoiselle Marguerite loved had been disgraced! Still he managed to master his surprise, and in a light, frank tone he resumed: "What a pretty name! And what does this lady do?"
"What does she do? Why, she amuses herself."
M. Fortunat seemed astonished. "Dash it!" said he. "She must amuse herself to good purpose to have a house like that. Is she pretty?"
"That depends on taste. She's no longer young, at any rate; but she has superb golden hair. And, oh! how white she is--as white as snow, monsieur--as white as snow! She has a fine figure as well, and a most distinguished bearing--pays cash, too, to the very last farthing."
There could no longer be any doubt. The portrait sketched by the wine-vendor fully corresponded with the description given by the hotelkeeper in the Rue de Helder. Accordingly, M. Fortunat drained his glass, and threw fifty centimes on the counter. Then, crossing the street, he boldly rang at the door of Madame d'Argeles's house. If any one had asked him what he proposed doing and saying if he succeeded in effecting an entrance, he might have replied with perfect sincerity, "I don't know." The fact is, he had but one aim, one settled purpose in his mind. He was obstinately, FURIOUSLY resolved to derive some benefit, small or great, from this mysterious affair. As for the means of execution, he relied entirely on his audacity and sang-froid, convinced that they would not fail him when the decisive moment came. "First of all, I must see this lady," he said to himself. "The first words will depend solely upon my first impressions. After that, I shall be guided by circumstances."
An old serving-man, in a quiet, tasteful livery, opened the door, whereupon M. Fortunat, in a tone of authority, asked: "Madame Lia d'Argeles?"
"Madame does not receive on Friday," was the reply.
With a petulant gesture, M. Fortunat rejoined: "All the same I must speak with her to-day. It is on a matter of the greatest importance. Give her my card." So saying, he held out a bit of pasteboard, on which, below his name, were inscribed the words: "Liquidations. Settlements effected for insolvent parties."
"Ah! that's a different thing," said the servant. "Will monsieur take the trouble to follow me?"
M. Fortunat did take the trouble; and he was conducted into a large drawing-room where he was requested to sit down and await madame's coming. Left to