The Count's Millions [141]
oh!"
However, the effect of this discovery was to dispel his anger, or rather to restore his calmness, and, addressing M. de Coralth, he exclaimed: "Don't be angry at what I've said, m'sieur; it was only a jest--I know that there's a wide difference between a poor devil like me and a viscount like you--I haven't a sou, you see, and that maddens me. But I'm not so very bad-looking, fortunately, and I'm always hoping that the daughter of some rich banker will fall in love with me and marry me. Some people have such luck, you know. If I meet with any you may be sure I shall pass myself off as the lost child of some great personage--of a duke, for instance--and if the real son exists, and troubles me, why I'll quietly put him out of the way, if possible."
With but one exception the persons present did not understand a single word of this apparent nonsense; and indeed the yellow- haired damsels stared at the speaker in amazement. Still it was evident that each of these words had a meaning, and a terrible meaning for M. de Coralth. Accustomed for years to control his features, he remained apparently unmoved--he even smiled; but a close observer could have detected anguish in his eyes, and he had become very pale. At last, unable to endure the scene any longer, he drew a hundred-franc bank-note from his pocketbook, crumpled it in his hand and threw it at Chupin, saying: "That's a very pretty story you are telling, my boy; but we've had enough of it. Take your pay and leave us."
Unfortunately, the note struck Chupin full in the face. He uttered a hoarse cry of rage, and, by the way in which he seized and brandished an empty bottle, it might have been imagined that M. de Coralth was about to have his head broken. But no. Thanks to a supreme effort of will, Chupin conquered this mad fury; and, dropping the bottle, he remarked to the young women who were uttering panic-stricken shrieks: "Be quiet; don't you see that I was only in fun."
But even M. Wilkie had found the fun a little rough, and even dangerous. Several of the young fellows present sprang up, with the evident intention of pushing Chupin out of the room, but he checked them with a gesture. "Don't disturb yourselves, gentlemen," he said. "I'm going, only let me find the bank-note which this gentleman threw at me."
"That's quite proper," replied M. Wilkie, approvingly; "look for it."
Chupin did so, and at last found it lying almost under the piano. "Now," he remarked, "I should like a cigar."
A score or so were lying in a dish. He gravely selected one of them and coolly cut off the end of it before placing it in his mouth. Those around watched him with an air of profound astonishment, not understanding this ironical calmness following so closely upon such a storm of passion. Then he, Victor Chupin, who had, it seems to me, but one aim in life--to become rich-- Victor Chupin, who loved money above anything else, and had stifled all other passions in his soul--he who often worked two whole days to earn five francs--he who did not disdain to claim his five sous when he went to hire a cab for his employer--he, Chupin, twisted the bank-note in his fingers, lit it at the gas, and used it to light his cigar.
"Ah! he's crazy!" murmured the yellow-haired damsels, with despair in their voices.
But M. Wilkie was enthusiastic. "There's form!" said he. "Fine form and no mistake!"
But Chupin did not even deign to turn his head. He opened the door, and standing on the threshold, he bowed to M. de Coralth with an ironical smile. "Until we meet again, Monsieur Paul," said he. "And kindly remember me to Madame Paul, if you please."
If the others had been less astonished, they would have no doubt have remarked the prodigious effect of this name upon their brilliant friend. He became ghastly pale and fell back in his chair. Then, suddenly, he bounded up as if he wished to attack his enemy. But pursuit seemed likely to yield no result, for Chupin was already on the boulevard.
It was daybreak. Paris was waking up; the bakers were standing
However, the effect of this discovery was to dispel his anger, or rather to restore his calmness, and, addressing M. de Coralth, he exclaimed: "Don't be angry at what I've said, m'sieur; it was only a jest--I know that there's a wide difference between a poor devil like me and a viscount like you--I haven't a sou, you see, and that maddens me. But I'm not so very bad-looking, fortunately, and I'm always hoping that the daughter of some rich banker will fall in love with me and marry me. Some people have such luck, you know. If I meet with any you may be sure I shall pass myself off as the lost child of some great personage--of a duke, for instance--and if the real son exists, and troubles me, why I'll quietly put him out of the way, if possible."
With but one exception the persons present did not understand a single word of this apparent nonsense; and indeed the yellow- haired damsels stared at the speaker in amazement. Still it was evident that each of these words had a meaning, and a terrible meaning for M. de Coralth. Accustomed for years to control his features, he remained apparently unmoved--he even smiled; but a close observer could have detected anguish in his eyes, and he had become very pale. At last, unable to endure the scene any longer, he drew a hundred-franc bank-note from his pocketbook, crumpled it in his hand and threw it at Chupin, saying: "That's a very pretty story you are telling, my boy; but we've had enough of it. Take your pay and leave us."
Unfortunately, the note struck Chupin full in the face. He uttered a hoarse cry of rage, and, by the way in which he seized and brandished an empty bottle, it might have been imagined that M. de Coralth was about to have his head broken. But no. Thanks to a supreme effort of will, Chupin conquered this mad fury; and, dropping the bottle, he remarked to the young women who were uttering panic-stricken shrieks: "Be quiet; don't you see that I was only in fun."
But even M. Wilkie had found the fun a little rough, and even dangerous. Several of the young fellows present sprang up, with the evident intention of pushing Chupin out of the room, but he checked them with a gesture. "Don't disturb yourselves, gentlemen," he said. "I'm going, only let me find the bank-note which this gentleman threw at me."
"That's quite proper," replied M. Wilkie, approvingly; "look for it."
Chupin did so, and at last found it lying almost under the piano. "Now," he remarked, "I should like a cigar."
A score or so were lying in a dish. He gravely selected one of them and coolly cut off the end of it before placing it in his mouth. Those around watched him with an air of profound astonishment, not understanding this ironical calmness following so closely upon such a storm of passion. Then he, Victor Chupin, who had, it seems to me, but one aim in life--to become rich-- Victor Chupin, who loved money above anything else, and had stifled all other passions in his soul--he who often worked two whole days to earn five francs--he who did not disdain to claim his five sous when he went to hire a cab for his employer--he, Chupin, twisted the bank-note in his fingers, lit it at the gas, and used it to light his cigar.
"Ah! he's crazy!" murmured the yellow-haired damsels, with despair in their voices.
But M. Wilkie was enthusiastic. "There's form!" said he. "Fine form and no mistake!"
But Chupin did not even deign to turn his head. He opened the door, and standing on the threshold, he bowed to M. de Coralth with an ironical smile. "Until we meet again, Monsieur Paul," said he. "And kindly remember me to Madame Paul, if you please."
If the others had been less astonished, they would have no doubt have remarked the prodigious effect of this name upon their brilliant friend. He became ghastly pale and fell back in his chair. Then, suddenly, he bounded up as if he wished to attack his enemy. But pursuit seemed likely to yield no result, for Chupin was already on the boulevard.
It was daybreak. Paris was waking up; the bakers were standing