The Count's Millions [52]
spite of his unwieldy appearance, this wealthy man was endowed with great natural shrewdness and an unusually active mind. And while he pretended to be engaged in recovering his breath he studied the room and its occupants. A revolver was lying on the floor beside a torn and crumpled letter, and tears were still glittering in the eyes of Madame Ferailleur and her son. A keen observer needed no further explanation of the scene.
"I will not conceal from you, monsieur," began the baron, "that I have been led here by certain compunctions of conscience." And, misinterpreting a gesture which Pascal made, "I mean what I say," he continued; "compunctions of conscience. I have them occasionally. Your departure this morning, after that deplorable scene, caused certain doubts and suspicions to arise in my mind; and I said to myself, 'We have been too hasty; perhaps this young man may not be guilty.'"
"Monsieur!" interrupted Pascal, in a threatening tone.
"Excuse me, allow me to finish, if you please. Reflection, I must confess, only confirmed this impression, and increased my doubts. 'The devil!' I said to myself again; 'if this young man is innocent, the culprit must be one of the habitues of Madame d'Argeles's house--that is to say, a man with whom I play twice a week, and whom I shall play with again next Monday.' And then I became uneasy, and here I am!" Was the absurd reason which the baron gave for his visit the true one? It was difficult to decide. "I came," he continued, "thinking that a look at your home would teach me something; and now I have seen it, I am ready to take my oath that you are the victim of a vile conspiracy."
So saying he noisily blew his nose, but this did not prevent him from observing the quiet joy of Pascal and his mother. They were amazed. But although these words were calculated to make them feel intensely happy, they still looked at their visitor with distrust. It is not natural for a person to interest himself in other people's misfortunes, unless he has some special motive for doing so; and what could this singular man's object be?
However, he did not seem in the slightest degree disconcerted by the glacial reserve with which his advances were received. "It is clear that you are in some one's way," he resumed, "and that this some one has invented this method of ruining you. There can be no question about it. The intention became manifest to my mind the moment I read the paragraph concerning you in the Figaro. Have you seen it? Yes? Well, what do you think of it? I would be willing to swear that it was written from notes furnished by your enemy. Moreover, the particulars are incorrect, and I am going to write a line of correction which I shall take to the office myself." So saying he transported his unwieldy person to Pascal's desk, and hastily wrote as follows:
"MR. EDITOR,
"As a witness of the scene that took place at Madame d'A----s's house last night, allow me to make an important correction. It is only too true that extra cards were introduced into the pack, but that they were introduced by M. F---- is not proven, since he was NOT SEEN to do it. I know that appearances are against him, but he nevertheless possesses my entire confidence and esteem. "BARON TRIGAULT."
Meanwhile Madame Ferailleur and her son had exchanged significant glances. Their impressions were the same. This man could not be an enemy. When the baron had finished his letter, and had read it aloud, Pascal, who was deeply moved, exclaimed: "I do not know how to express my gratitude to you, monsieur; but if you really wish to serve me, pray don't send that note. It would cause you a great deal of trouble and annoyance, and I should none the less be obliged to relinquish the practice of my profession--besides, I am especially anxious to be forgotten for a time."
"So be it--I understand you; you hope to discover the traitor, and you do not wish to put him on his guard. I approve of your prudence. But remember my words: if you ever need a helping
"I will not conceal from you, monsieur," began the baron, "that I have been led here by certain compunctions of conscience." And, misinterpreting a gesture which Pascal made, "I mean what I say," he continued; "compunctions of conscience. I have them occasionally. Your departure this morning, after that deplorable scene, caused certain doubts and suspicions to arise in my mind; and I said to myself, 'We have been too hasty; perhaps this young man may not be guilty.'"
"Monsieur!" interrupted Pascal, in a threatening tone.
"Excuse me, allow me to finish, if you please. Reflection, I must confess, only confirmed this impression, and increased my doubts. 'The devil!' I said to myself again; 'if this young man is innocent, the culprit must be one of the habitues of Madame d'Argeles's house--that is to say, a man with whom I play twice a week, and whom I shall play with again next Monday.' And then I became uneasy, and here I am!" Was the absurd reason which the baron gave for his visit the true one? It was difficult to decide. "I came," he continued, "thinking that a look at your home would teach me something; and now I have seen it, I am ready to take my oath that you are the victim of a vile conspiracy."
So saying he noisily blew his nose, but this did not prevent him from observing the quiet joy of Pascal and his mother. They were amazed. But although these words were calculated to make them feel intensely happy, they still looked at their visitor with distrust. It is not natural for a person to interest himself in other people's misfortunes, unless he has some special motive for doing so; and what could this singular man's object be?
However, he did not seem in the slightest degree disconcerted by the glacial reserve with which his advances were received. "It is clear that you are in some one's way," he resumed, "and that this some one has invented this method of ruining you. There can be no question about it. The intention became manifest to my mind the moment I read the paragraph concerning you in the Figaro. Have you seen it? Yes? Well, what do you think of it? I would be willing to swear that it was written from notes furnished by your enemy. Moreover, the particulars are incorrect, and I am going to write a line of correction which I shall take to the office myself." So saying he transported his unwieldy person to Pascal's desk, and hastily wrote as follows:
"MR. EDITOR,
"As a witness of the scene that took place at Madame d'A----s's house last night, allow me to make an important correction. It is only too true that extra cards were introduced into the pack, but that they were introduced by M. F---- is not proven, since he was NOT SEEN to do it. I know that appearances are against him, but he nevertheless possesses my entire confidence and esteem. "BARON TRIGAULT."
Meanwhile Madame Ferailleur and her son had exchanged significant glances. Their impressions were the same. This man could not be an enemy. When the baron had finished his letter, and had read it aloud, Pascal, who was deeply moved, exclaimed: "I do not know how to express my gratitude to you, monsieur; but if you really wish to serve me, pray don't send that note. It would cause you a great deal of trouble and annoyance, and I should none the less be obliged to relinquish the practice of my profession--besides, I am especially anxious to be forgotten for a time."
"So be it--I understand you; you hope to discover the traitor, and you do not wish to put him on his guard. I approve of your prudence. But remember my words: if you ever need a helping