The Count's Millions [99]
diplomatist turn pale with envy. Occasionally, the heir suspects the truth, sneers at the proposition, and hurries off to claim the whole of the inheritance that belongs to him. The agent may then bid his hopes farewell. He has worked and spent money for nothing.
However, such a misfortune is of rare occurrence. On hearing of the unexpected good fortune that has befallen him, the heir is generally unsuspicious, and willingly promises to pay the amount demanded of him. A contract is drawn up and signed; and then, but only then, does the agent take his client into his confidence. "You are the relative of such a person, are you not?" "Yes." "Very well. He is dead, and you are his heir. Thank Providence, and make haste to claim your money."
As a rule, the heir loyally fulfils his obligation. But sometimes it happens that, when he has obtained undisputed possession of the property, he declares that he has been swindled, and refuses to fulfil his part of the contract. Then the case must go to the courts. It is true, however, that the judgment of the tribunals generally recalls the refractory client to a sense of gratitude and humility.
Now our friend M. Isidore Fortunat was a hunter of missing heirs. Undoubtedly he often engaged in other business which was a trifle less respectable; but heir-hunting was one of the best and most substantial sources of his income. So we can readily understand why he so quickly left off lamenting that forty thousand francs lent to the Marquis de Valorsay.
Changing his tactics, he said to himself that, even if he had lost this amount through M. de Chalusse's sudden death, it was much less than he might obtain if he succeeded in discovering the unknown heirs to so many millions. And he had some reason to hope that he would be able to do so. Having been employed by M. de Chalusse when the latter was seeking Mademoiselle Marguerite, M. Fortunat had gained some valuable information respecting his client, and the additional particulars which he had obtained from Madame Vantrasson elated him to such an extent that more than once he exclaimed: "Ah, well! it is, perhaps, a blessing in disguise, after all."
Still, M. Isidore Fortunat slept but little after his stormy interview with the Marquis de Valorsay. A loss of forty thousand francs is not likely to impart a roseate hue to one's dreams--and M. Fortunat prized his money as if it had been the very marrow of his bones. By way of consolation, he assured himself that he would not merely regain the sum, but triple it; and yet this encouragement did not entirely restore his peace of mind. The gain was only a possibility, and the loss was a certainty. So he twisted, and turned, and tossed on his bed as if it had been a hot gridiron, exhausting himself in surmises, and preparing his mind for the difficulties which he would be obliged to overcome.
His plan was a simple one, but its execution was fraught with difficulties. "I must discover M. de Chalusse's sister, if she is still living--I must discover her children, if she is dead," he said to himself. It was easy to SAY this; but how was he to do it? How could he hope to find this unfortunate girl, who had abandoned her home thirty years previously, to fly, no one knew where, or with whom? How was he to gain any idea of the life she had lived, or the fate that had befallen her? At what point on the social scale, and in what country, should he begin his investigations? These daughters of noble houses, who desert the paternal roof in a moment of madness, generally die most miserably after a wretched life. The girl of the lower classes is armed against misfortune, and has been trained for the conflict. She can measure and calculate the force of her fall, and regulate and control it to a certain extent. But the others cannot. They have never known privation and hardship, and are, therefore, defenceless. And for the very reason that they have been hurled from a great height, they often fall down into the lowest depths of infamy.
"If morning would only come," sighed
However, such a misfortune is of rare occurrence. On hearing of the unexpected good fortune that has befallen him, the heir is generally unsuspicious, and willingly promises to pay the amount demanded of him. A contract is drawn up and signed; and then, but only then, does the agent take his client into his confidence. "You are the relative of such a person, are you not?" "Yes." "Very well. He is dead, and you are his heir. Thank Providence, and make haste to claim your money."
As a rule, the heir loyally fulfils his obligation. But sometimes it happens that, when he has obtained undisputed possession of the property, he declares that he has been swindled, and refuses to fulfil his part of the contract. Then the case must go to the courts. It is true, however, that the judgment of the tribunals generally recalls the refractory client to a sense of gratitude and humility.
Now our friend M. Isidore Fortunat was a hunter of missing heirs. Undoubtedly he often engaged in other business which was a trifle less respectable; but heir-hunting was one of the best and most substantial sources of his income. So we can readily understand why he so quickly left off lamenting that forty thousand francs lent to the Marquis de Valorsay.
Changing his tactics, he said to himself that, even if he had lost this amount through M. de Chalusse's sudden death, it was much less than he might obtain if he succeeded in discovering the unknown heirs to so many millions. And he had some reason to hope that he would be able to do so. Having been employed by M. de Chalusse when the latter was seeking Mademoiselle Marguerite, M. Fortunat had gained some valuable information respecting his client, and the additional particulars which he had obtained from Madame Vantrasson elated him to such an extent that more than once he exclaimed: "Ah, well! it is, perhaps, a blessing in disguise, after all."
Still, M. Isidore Fortunat slept but little after his stormy interview with the Marquis de Valorsay. A loss of forty thousand francs is not likely to impart a roseate hue to one's dreams--and M. Fortunat prized his money as if it had been the very marrow of his bones. By way of consolation, he assured himself that he would not merely regain the sum, but triple it; and yet this encouragement did not entirely restore his peace of mind. The gain was only a possibility, and the loss was a certainty. So he twisted, and turned, and tossed on his bed as if it had been a hot gridiron, exhausting himself in surmises, and preparing his mind for the difficulties which he would be obliged to overcome.
His plan was a simple one, but its execution was fraught with difficulties. "I must discover M. de Chalusse's sister, if she is still living--I must discover her children, if she is dead," he said to himself. It was easy to SAY this; but how was he to do it? How could he hope to find this unfortunate girl, who had abandoned her home thirty years previously, to fly, no one knew where, or with whom? How was he to gain any idea of the life she had lived, or the fate that had befallen her? At what point on the social scale, and in what country, should he begin his investigations? These daughters of noble houses, who desert the paternal roof in a moment of madness, generally die most miserably after a wretched life. The girl of the lower classes is armed against misfortune, and has been trained for the conflict. She can measure and calculate the force of her fall, and regulate and control it to a certain extent. But the others cannot. They have never known privation and hardship, and are, therefore, defenceless. And for the very reason that they have been hurled from a great height, they often fall down into the lowest depths of infamy.
"If morning would only come," sighed