The Count's Millions [94]
at first assumed, eventually became natural ones. He seemed to be the conventional old soldier--irascible and jovial at the same time; brusk and kind; at once frank, sensible and brutal; as simple as a child, and yet as true as steel. He swore the most tremendous oaths in a deep bass voice, and whenever he talked his arms revolved like the sails of a windmill. However, Madame de Fondege, who was a very angular lady, with a sharp nose and very thin lips, assured people that her husband was not so terrible as he appeared. He was not considered very shrewd, and he pretended to have an intense dislike for business matters. No one knew anything precise about his fortune, but he had a great many friends who invited him to dinner, and they all declared that he was in very comfortable circumstances.
On entering the study this worthy man did not pay the slightest attention to the Marquis de Valorsay, although they were intimate friends. He walked straight up to Mademoiselle Marguerite, caught her in his long arms, and pressed her to his heart, brushing her face with his huge mustaches as he pretended to kiss her. "Courage, my dear," he growled; "courage. Don't give way. Follow my example. Look at me!" So saying he stepped back, and it was really amusing to see the extraordinary effort he made to combine a soldier's stoicism with a friend's sorrow. "You must wonder at my delay, my dear," he resumed, "but it was not my fault. I was at Madame de Rochecote's when I was informed that your messenger was at home waiting for me. I returned, and heard the frightful news. It was a thunderbolt. A friend of thirty years' standing! A thousand thunderclaps! I acted as his second when he fought his first duel. Poor Chalusse!
A man as sturdy as an oak, and who ought to have outlived us all. But it is always so; the best soldiers always file by first at dress-parade."
The Marquis de Valorsay had beaten a retreat, the magistrate was hidden in a dark corner, and Mademoiselle Marguerite, who was accustomed to the General's manner, remained silent, being well aware that there was no chance of putting in a word as long as he had possession of the floor. "Fortunately, poor Chalusse was a prudent man," continued M. de Fondege. "He loved you devotedly, my dear, as his testamentary provisions must have shown you."
"His provisions?"
"Yes, most certainly. Surely you don't mean to try and conceal anything from one who knows all. Ah! you will be one of the greatest catches in Europe, and you will have plenty of suitors."
Mademoiselle Marguerite sadly shook her head. "You are mistaken, General; the count left no will, and has made no provision whatever for me."
M. de Fondege trembled, turned a trifle pale, and in a faltering voice, exclaimed: "What! You tell me that? Chalusse! A thousand thunderclaps! It isn't possible."
"The count was stricken with apoplexy in a cab. He went out about five o'clock, on foot, and a little before seven he was brought home unconscious. Where he had been we don't know."
"You don't know? you don't know?"
"Alas! no; and he was only able to utter a few incoherent words before he died." Thereupon the poor girl began a brief account of what had taken place during the last four-and-twenty hours. Had she been less absorbed in her narrative she would have noticed that the General was not listening to her. He was sitting at the count's desk and was toying with the letters which Madame Leon had brought into the room a short time previously. One of them especially seemed to attract his attention, to exercise a sort of fascination over him as it were. He looked at it with hungry eyes, and whenever he touched it, his hand trembled, or involuntarily clinched. His face, moreover, had become livid; his eyes twitched nervously; he seemed to have a difficulty in breathing, and big drops of perspiration trickled down his forehead. If the magistrate were able to see the General's face, he must certainly have been of opinion that a terrible conflict was raging in his mind. The struggle lasted
On entering the study this worthy man did not pay the slightest attention to the Marquis de Valorsay, although they were intimate friends. He walked straight up to Mademoiselle Marguerite, caught her in his long arms, and pressed her to his heart, brushing her face with his huge mustaches as he pretended to kiss her. "Courage, my dear," he growled; "courage. Don't give way. Follow my example. Look at me!" So saying he stepped back, and it was really amusing to see the extraordinary effort he made to combine a soldier's stoicism with a friend's sorrow. "You must wonder at my delay, my dear," he resumed, "but it was not my fault. I was at Madame de Rochecote's when I was informed that your messenger was at home waiting for me. I returned, and heard the frightful news. It was a thunderbolt. A friend of thirty years' standing! A thousand thunderclaps! I acted as his second when he fought his first duel. Poor Chalusse!
A man as sturdy as an oak, and who ought to have outlived us all. But it is always so; the best soldiers always file by first at dress-parade."
The Marquis de Valorsay had beaten a retreat, the magistrate was hidden in a dark corner, and Mademoiselle Marguerite, who was accustomed to the General's manner, remained silent, being well aware that there was no chance of putting in a word as long as he had possession of the floor. "Fortunately, poor Chalusse was a prudent man," continued M. de Fondege. "He loved you devotedly, my dear, as his testamentary provisions must have shown you."
"His provisions?"
"Yes, most certainly. Surely you don't mean to try and conceal anything from one who knows all. Ah! you will be one of the greatest catches in Europe, and you will have plenty of suitors."
Mademoiselle Marguerite sadly shook her head. "You are mistaken, General; the count left no will, and has made no provision whatever for me."
M. de Fondege trembled, turned a trifle pale, and in a faltering voice, exclaimed: "What! You tell me that? Chalusse! A thousand thunderclaps! It isn't possible."
"The count was stricken with apoplexy in a cab. He went out about five o'clock, on foot, and a little before seven he was brought home unconscious. Where he had been we don't know."
"You don't know? you don't know?"
"Alas! no; and he was only able to utter a few incoherent words before he died." Thereupon the poor girl began a brief account of what had taken place during the last four-and-twenty hours. Had she been less absorbed in her narrative she would have noticed that the General was not listening to her. He was sitting at the count's desk and was toying with the letters which Madame Leon had brought into the room a short time previously. One of them especially seemed to attract his attention, to exercise a sort of fascination over him as it were. He looked at it with hungry eyes, and whenever he touched it, his hand trembled, or involuntarily clinched. His face, moreover, had become livid; his eyes twitched nervously; he seemed to have a difficulty in breathing, and big drops of perspiration trickled down his forehead. If the magistrate were able to see the General's face, he must certainly have been of opinion that a terrible conflict was raging in his mind. The struggle lasted