The Count's Millions [21]
to stop him at the city gate, and remind him that the cab was waiting.
"That's true," was M. Fortunat's only answer. He entered the vehicle, certainly without knowing it; and as they rolled homeward, the thoughts that filled his brain to overflowing found vent in a sort of monologue, of which Chupin now and then caught a few words. "What a piece of business!" he muttered--"what a piece of business! I've had seven years' experience in such matters, and yet I've never met with an affair so shrouded in mystery. My forty thousand francs are in a precarious condition. Certainly I've lost money before through heirs whose existence I hadn't even suspected; but by reinstating these same heirs in their rights, I've regained my lost money, and received a handsome reward in addition; but in this case all is darkness; there isn't a single gleam of light--not the slightest clew. If I could only find them! But how can I search for people whose names I don't even know--for people who have escaped all the inquiries of the police? And where shall I look for them--in Europe, in America? It would be sheer madness! To whom, then, will the count's millions go?"
It was only the sudden stoppage of the cab in front of his own door that recalled M. Fortunat to the realities of life. "Here are twenty francs, Victor," he said to Chupin. "Pay the driver, and keep the rest yourself."
As he spoke, he sprang nimbly to the ground. A handsome brougham, drawn by two horses, was standing before the house. "The Marquis de Valorsay's carriage," muttered M. Fortunat. "He has been very patient; he has waited for me--or, rather, he has waited for my ten thousand francs. Well, we shall see."
III.
M. Fortunat had scarcely started off on his visit to the Vantrassons when the Marquis de Valorsay reached the Place de la Bourse.
"Monsieur has gone out," said Madame Dodelin, as she opened the door.
"You must be mistaken, my good woman."
"No, no; my master said you would, perhaps, wait for him."
"Very well; I will do so."
Faithful to the orders she had received, the servant conducted the visitor to the drawing-room, lit the tapers in the candelabra, and retired. "This is very strange!" growled the marquis. "Monsieur Fortunat makes an appointment, Monsieur Fortunat expects me to wait for him! What will happen next?" However, he drew a newspaper from his pocket, threw himself into an arm-chair, and waited.
By his habits and tastes, the Marquis de Valorsay belonged to that section of the aristocracy which has coined the term "high life" in view of describing its own manners and customs. The matters that engrossed the marquis's frivolous mind were club-life and first performances at the opera and the leading theatres, social duties and visits to the fashionable watering-places, racing and the shooting and hunting seasons, together with his mistress and his tailor.
He considered that to ride in a steeple-chase was an act of prowess worthy of his ancestors; and when he galloped past the stand, clad as a jockey, in top-boots and a violet silk jacket, he believed he read admiration in every eye. This was his every-day life, which had been enlivened by a few salient episodes: two duels, an elopement with a married woman, a twenty-six hours' seance at the gaming table, and a fall from his horse, while hunting, which nearly cost him his life. These acts of valor had raised him considerably in the estimation of his friends, and procured him a celebrity of which he was not a little proud. The newspaper reporters were constantly mentioning his name, and the sporting journals never failed to chronicle his departure from Paris or his arrival in the city.
Unfortunately, such a life of busy idleness has its trials and its vicissitudes, and M. de Valorsay was a living proof of this. He was only thirty-three, but in spite of the care he expended upon his toilette, he looked at least forty. Wrinkles were beginning to show themselves; it required all the skill of his valet to conceal the bald spots on his cranium; and since
"That's true," was M. Fortunat's only answer. He entered the vehicle, certainly without knowing it; and as they rolled homeward, the thoughts that filled his brain to overflowing found vent in a sort of monologue, of which Chupin now and then caught a few words. "What a piece of business!" he muttered--"what a piece of business! I've had seven years' experience in such matters, and yet I've never met with an affair so shrouded in mystery. My forty thousand francs are in a precarious condition. Certainly I've lost money before through heirs whose existence I hadn't even suspected; but by reinstating these same heirs in their rights, I've regained my lost money, and received a handsome reward in addition; but in this case all is darkness; there isn't a single gleam of light--not the slightest clew. If I could only find them! But how can I search for people whose names I don't even know--for people who have escaped all the inquiries of the police? And where shall I look for them--in Europe, in America? It would be sheer madness! To whom, then, will the count's millions go?"
It was only the sudden stoppage of the cab in front of his own door that recalled M. Fortunat to the realities of life. "Here are twenty francs, Victor," he said to Chupin. "Pay the driver, and keep the rest yourself."
As he spoke, he sprang nimbly to the ground. A handsome brougham, drawn by two horses, was standing before the house. "The Marquis de Valorsay's carriage," muttered M. Fortunat. "He has been very patient; he has waited for me--or, rather, he has waited for my ten thousand francs. Well, we shall see."
III.
M. Fortunat had scarcely started off on his visit to the Vantrassons when the Marquis de Valorsay reached the Place de la Bourse.
"Monsieur has gone out," said Madame Dodelin, as she opened the door.
"You must be mistaken, my good woman."
"No, no; my master said you would, perhaps, wait for him."
"Very well; I will do so."
Faithful to the orders she had received, the servant conducted the visitor to the drawing-room, lit the tapers in the candelabra, and retired. "This is very strange!" growled the marquis. "Monsieur Fortunat makes an appointment, Monsieur Fortunat expects me to wait for him! What will happen next?" However, he drew a newspaper from his pocket, threw himself into an arm-chair, and waited.
By his habits and tastes, the Marquis de Valorsay belonged to that section of the aristocracy which has coined the term "high life" in view of describing its own manners and customs. The matters that engrossed the marquis's frivolous mind were club-life and first performances at the opera and the leading theatres, social duties and visits to the fashionable watering-places, racing and the shooting and hunting seasons, together with his mistress and his tailor.
He considered that to ride in a steeple-chase was an act of prowess worthy of his ancestors; and when he galloped past the stand, clad as a jockey, in top-boots and a violet silk jacket, he believed he read admiration in every eye. This was his every-day life, which had been enlivened by a few salient episodes: two duels, an elopement with a married woman, a twenty-six hours' seance at the gaming table, and a fall from his horse, while hunting, which nearly cost him his life. These acts of valor had raised him considerably in the estimation of his friends, and procured him a celebrity of which he was not a little proud. The newspaper reporters were constantly mentioning his name, and the sporting journals never failed to chronicle his departure from Paris or his arrival in the city.
Unfortunately, such a life of busy idleness has its trials and its vicissitudes, and M. de Valorsay was a living proof of this. He was only thirty-three, but in spite of the care he expended upon his toilette, he looked at least forty. Wrinkles were beginning to show themselves; it required all the skill of his valet to conceal the bald spots on his cranium; and since