When Mascarin was asked what was the best way to achieve certain results, his invariable reply was, “Keep moving, keep moving.” He had one great advantage over other men, he put in practice the doctrines he preached, and at seven o’clock the morning after his interview with the Count de Mussidan he was hard at work in his room. A thick fog hung over the city, even penetrating into the office, which had begun to fill with clients. This crowd had but little interest for the head of the establishment, as it consisted chiefly of waiters from small eating houses, and cooks who knew little or nothing of what was going on in the houses where they were in service. Finding this to be the case, Mascarin handed them all over to Beaumarchef, and only occasionally nodded to the serviteur of some great family, who chanced to stroll in.
He was busily engaged in arranging those pieces of cardboard which had so much puzzled Paul in his first visit, and was so much occupied with his task, that all he could do was to mutter broken exclamations: “What a stupendous undertaking! but I have to work single-handed, and hold in my hands all these threads, which for twenty years, with the patience of a spider, I have been weaving into a web. No one, seeing me here, would believe this. People who pass me by in the street say, ‘That is Mascarin, who keeps a servants’ registry office;’ that is the way in which they look upon me. Let them laugh if they like; they little know the mighty power I wield in secret. No one suspects me, no, not one. I may seem too sanguine, it is true,” he continued, still glancing over his papers, “or the net may break and some of the fishes slip out. That idiot, Mussidan, asked me if I was acquainted with the Penal code. I should think I was, for no one has studied them more deeply than I have, and there is a clause in volume 3, chapter 2, which is always before me. Penal servitude for a term of years; and if I am convicted under Article 306, then it means a life sentence.” He shuddered, but soon a smile of triumph shone over his face as he resumed, “Ah, but to send a man like Mascarin for change of air to Toulon, he must be caught, and that is not such an easy task. The day he scents danger he disappears, and leaves no trace behind him. I fear that I cannot look for too much from my companions, Catenac and Hortebise; I have up to now kept them back. Croisenois would never betray me, and as for Beaumarchef, La Candele, Toto Chupin, and a few other poor devils, they would be a fine haul for the police. They couldn’t split, simply because they know nothing.” Mascarin chuckled, and then adjusting his spectacles with his favorite gesture, said, “I shall go on in the course I have commenced, straight as the flight of an arrow. I ought to make four millions through Croisenois. Paul shall marry Flavia, that is all arranged, and Flavia will make a grand duchess with her magnificent income.”
He had by this time arranged his pasteboard squares, then he took a small notebook, alphabetically arranged, from a drawer, wrote a name or two in it, and then closing it said with a deadly smile, “There, my friends, you are all registered, though you little suspect it. You are all rich, and think that you are free, but you are wrong, for there is one man who owns you, soul and body, and that man is Baptiste Mascarin; and at his bidding, high as you hold your heads now, you will crawl to his feet in humble abasement.” His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. He struck the bell on his writing table, and the last sound of it was hardly died away, when Beaumarchef stood on the threshold.
“You desired me, sir,” said he, with the utmost deference, “to complete my report regarding young M. Gandelu, and it so happens that the cook whom he has taken into his service in the new establishment he has started is on our list. She has just come in to pay us eleven francs that she owed us, and is waiting outside. Is not this lucky?”
Mascarin made a little grimace. “You are an idiot, Beaumarchef,” said he, “to be pleased at so trivial a matter. I have often told you that there is no such thing as luck or chance, and that all comes to those who work methodically.”
Beaumarchef listened to his master’s wisdom in silent surprise.
“And pray, who is this woman?” asked Mascarin.
“You will know her when you see her, sir. She is registered under class D, that is, for employment in rather fast establishments.”
“Go and fetch her,” observed Mascarin, and as the man left the room, he muttered, “Experience has taught me that it is madness to neglect the smallest precaution.”
In another moment the woman appeared, and Mascarin at once addressed her with that air of friendly courtesy which made him so popular among such women. “Well, my good girl,” said he, “and so you have got the sort of place you wanted, eh?”
“I hope so, sir, but you see I have only been with Madame Zora de Chantemille since yesterday.”
“Ah, Zora de Chantemille, that is a fine name, indeed.”
“It is only a fancy name, and she had an awful row over it with master. She wanted to be called Raphaela, but he stood out for Zora.”
“Zora is a very pretty name,” observed Mascarin solemnly.
“Yes, sir, just what the maid and I told her. She is a splendid woman, and doesn’t she just squander the shiners? Thirty thousand francs have gone since yesterday.”
“I can hardly credit it.”
“Not cash, you understand, but tick. M. de Gandelu has not a sou of his own in the world, so a waiter at Potier’s told me, and he knew what was what; but the governor is rolling in money. Yesterday they had a house-warming--the dinner, with wine, cost over a thousand francs.”
Not seeing how to utilize any of this gossip, Mascarin made a gesture of dismissal, when the woman exclaimed,--
“Stop, sir, I have something to tell you.”
“Well,” said Mascarin, throwing himself back in his chair with an air of affected impatience, “let us have it.”
“We had eight gents to dinner, all howling swells, but my master was the biggest masher of the lot. Madame was the only woman at table. Well, by ten o’clock, they had all had their whack of drink, and then they told the porter to keep the courtyard clear. What do you think they did then? Why, they threw plates, glasses, knives, forks, and dishes bang out of the window. That is a regular swell fashion, so the waiter at Potier’s told me, and was introduced into Paris by a Russian.”
Mascarin closed his eyes and answered languidly, “Go on.”
“Well, sir, there was one gent who was a blot on the whole affair. He was tall, shabbily dressed, and with no manners at all. He seemed all the time to be sneering at the rest. But didn’t Madame make up to him just. She kept heaping up his plate and filling his glass. When the others got to cards, he sat down by my mistress, and began to talk.”
“Could you hear what they said?”
“I should think so. I was in the bedroom, and they were near the door.”
“Dear me,” remarked Mascarin, appearing much shocked, “surely that was not right?”
“I don’t care a rap whether it was right or not. I like to hear all about the people whom I engage with. They were talking about a M. Paul, who had been Madame’s friend before, and whom the gentleman also knew. Madame said that this Paul was no great shakes, and that he had stolen twelve thousand francs.”
Mascarin pricked up his ears, feeling that his patience was about to meet its reward.
“Can you tell me the gentleman’s name, to whom Madame said all this?” asked he.
“Not I. The others called him ‘The painter.’”
This explanation did not satisfy Mascarin.
“Look here, my good girl,” said he, “try and find out the fellow’s name. I think he is an artist who owes me money.”
“All right! Rely on me; and now I must be off, for I have breakfast to get ready, but I’ll call again to-morrow;” and with a curtsy she left the room.
Mascarin struck his hand heavily on the table.
“Hortebise has a wonderful nose for sniffing out danger,” said he. “This Rose and the young fool who is ruining himself for her must both be suppressed.”
Beaumarchef again made a motion of executing a thrust with the rapier.
“Pooh, pooh!” answered his master; “don’t be childish. I can do better than that. Rose calls herself nineteen, but she is more, she is of age, while Gandelu is still a minor. If old Gandelu had any pluck, he would put Article 354 in motion.”
“Eh, sir?” said Beaumarchef, much mystified.
“Look here. Before twenty-four hours have elapsed I must know everything as to the habits and disposition of Gandelu senior. I want to know on what terms he is with his son.”
“Good. I will set La Candele to work.”
“And as the young fellow will doubtless need money, contrive to let him know of our friend Verminet, the chairman of the Mutual Loan Society.”
“But that is M. Tantaine’s business.”
Mascarin paid no heed to this, so occupied was he by his own thoughts.
“This young artist seems to have more brains than the rest of the set, but woe to him if he crosses my path. Go back to the outer office, Beaumarchef, I hear some clients coming in.”
The man, however, did not obey.
“Pardon me, sir,” said he, “but La Candele, who is outside, will see them. I have my report to make.”
“Very good. Sit down and go on.”
Enchanted at this mark of condescension, Beaumarchef went on. “Yesterday there was nothing of importance, but this morning Toto Chupin came.”
“He had not lost Caroline Schimmel, I trust?”
“No, sir; he had even got into conversation with her.”
“That is good. He is a cunning little devil; a pity that he is not a trifle more honest.”
“He is sure,” continued Beaumarchef, “that the woman drinks, for she is always talking of persons following her about who menace her, and she is so afraid of being murdered that she never ventures out alone. She lives with a respectable workingman and his wife, and pays well for her board, for she seems to have plenty of money.”
“That is a nuisance,” remarked Mascarin, evidently much annoyed. “Where does she live?”
“At Montmartre, beyond the Chateau Rouge.”
“Good. Tantaine will inquire and see if Toto has made no mistake, and does not let the woman slip through his fingers.”
“He won’t do that, for he told me that he was on the right road to find out who she was, and where she got her money from. But I ought to warn you against the young scamp, for I have found out that he robs us and sells our goods far below their value.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have long had my suspicions, and yesterday I wormed it all out from a disreputable looking fellow, who came here to ask for his friend Chupin.”
Men accustomed to danger are over prompt in their decisions. “Very well,” returned Mascarin, “if this is the case, Master Chupin shall have a taste of prison fare.”
Beaumarchef withdrew, but almost immediately reappeared.
“Sir,” said he, “a servant from M. de Croisenois is here with a note.”
“Send the man in,” said Mascarin.
The domestic was irreproachably dressed, and looked what he was, the servant of a nobleman.
He had something the appearance of an Englishman, with a high collar, reaching almost to his ears. His face was clean shaved, and of a ruddy hue. His coat was evidently the work of a London tailor, and his appearance was as stiff as though carved out of wood. Indeed, he looked like a very perfect piece of mechanism.
“My master,” said he, “desired me to give this note into your own hands.”
Under cover of breaking the seal, Mascarin viewed this model servant attentively. He was a stranger to him, for he had never supplied Croisenois with a domestic.
“It seems, my good fellow,” said he, “that your master was up earlier than usual this morning?”
The man frowned a little at this familiar address, and then slowly replied,--
“When I took service with the Marquis, he agreed to give me fifteen louis over my wages for the privilege of calling me ‘a good fellow,’ but I permit no one to do so gratis. I think that my master is still asleep,” continued the man solemnly. “He wrote the note on his return from the club.”
“Is there any reply.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good; then wait a little.”
And Mascarin, opening the note, read the following:
“MY DEAR FRIEND,--
“Baccarat has served me an ugly turn, and in addition to all my ready cash I have given an I.O.U. for three thousand francs. To save my credit I must have this by twelve to-morrow.”
“His credit,” said Mascarin. “His credit! That is a fine joke indeed.” The servant stood up stiffly erect, as one seeming to take no notice, and the agent continued reading the letter.
“Am I wrong in looking to you for this trifle? I do not think so. Indeed, I have an idea that you will send me a hundred and fifty louis over and above, so that I may not be left without a coin in my pocket. How goes the great affair? I await your decision on the brink of a precipice.
“Yours devotedly,
“HENRY DE CROISENOIS.”
“And so,” growled Mascarin, “he has flung away five thousand francs, and asks me to find it for him in my coffers. Ah, you fool, if I did not want the grand name that you have inherited from your ancestors, a name that you daily bespatter and soil, you might whistle for your five thousand francs.”
However, as Croisenois was absolutely necessary to him, Mascarin slowly took from his safe five notes of a thousand francs each, and handed them to the man.
“Do you want a receipt?” asked the man.
“No; this letter is sufficient, but wait a bit;” and Mascarin, with an eye to the future, drew a twenty franc piece from his pocket, and placing it on the table, said in his most honeyed accents,--
“There, my friend, is something for yourself.”
“No, sir,” returned the man; “I always ask wages enough to prevent the necessity of accepting presents.” And with this dignified reply he bowed with the stiff air of a Quaker, and walked rigidly out of the room.
The agent was absolutely thunderstruck. In all his thirty years’ experience he had never come across anything like this.
“I can hardly believe my senses,” muttered he; “where on earth did the Marquis pick this fellow up? Can it be that he is sharper than I fancied?”
Suddenly a new and terrifying idea flashed across his mind. “Can it be,” said he, “that the fellow is not a real servant, after all? I have so many enemies that one day they may strive to crush me, and however skilfully I may play my cards, some one may hold a better hand.” This idea alarmed him greatly, for he was in a position in which he had nothing to fear; for when a great work is approaching completion, the anxiety of the promoter becomes stronger and stronger. “No, no,” he continued; “I am getting too full of suspicions;” and with these words he endeavored to put aside the vague terrors which were creeping into his soul.
Suddenly Beaumarchef, evidently much excited, appeared upon the threshold.
“What, you here again!” cried Mascarin, angrily; “am I to have no peace to-day?”
“Sir, the young man is here.”
“What young man? Paul Violaine?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why, I told him not to come until twelve; something must have gone wrong.” He broke off his speech, for at the half-open door stood Paul. He was very pale, and his eyes had the expression of some hunted creature. His attire was in disorder and betokened a night spent in aimless wanderings to and fro.
“Ah, sir!” said he, as he caught sight of Mascarin.
“Leave us, Beaumarchef,” said the latter, with an imperious wave of his hand; “and now, my dear boy, what is it?”
Paul sank into a chair.
“My life is ended,” said he; “I am lost, dishonored for ever.”
Mascarin put on a face of the most utter bewilderment, though he well knew the cause of Paul’s utter prostration; but it was with the air of a ready sympathizer that he drew his chair nearer to that of Paul, and said,--
“Come, tell me all about it; what can possibly have happened to affect you thus?”
In deeply tragic tones, Paul replied,--
“Rose has deserted me.”
Mascarin raised his hands to heaven.
“And is this the reason that you say you are dishonored? Do you not see that the future is full of promise?”
“I loved Rose,” returned Paul, and his voice was so full of pathos that Mascarin could hardly repress a smile. “But this is not all,” continued the unhappy boy, making a vain effort to restrain his tears; “I am accused of theft.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Mascarin.
“Yes, sir; and you who know everything are the only person in the world who can save me. You were so kind to me yesterday that I ventured to come here before the time appointed, in order to entreat your help.”
“But what do you think I can do?”
“Everything, sir; but let me tell you the whole hideous complication.”
Mascarin’s face assumed an air of the deepest interest, as he answered, “Go on.”
“After our interview,” began Paul, “I went back to the Hotel de Perou, and on the mantelpiece in my garret found this note from Rose.”
He held it out as he spoke, but Mascarin made no effort to take it.
“In it,” resumed Paul, “Rose tells me she no longer loves me, and begs me not to seek to see her again; and also that, wearied out of poverty, she has accepted the offer of unlimited supplies of money, a carriage, and diamonds.”
“Are you surprised at this?” asked Mascarin, with a sneer.
“How could I anticipate such an infidelity, when only the evening before she swore by all she held most sacred that she loved me only? Why did she lie to me? Did she write to make the blow fall heavier? When I ascended the staircase, I was picturing to myself her joy when I told her of your kind promises to me. For more than an hour I remained in my garret, overwhelmed with the terrible thought that I should never see her again.”
Mascarin watched Paul attentively, and came to the conclusion that his words were too fine for his grief to be sincere.
“But what about the accusation of theft?”
“I am coming to that,” returned the young man. “I then determined to obey your injunctions and leave the Hotel de Perou, with which I was more than ever disgusted. I went downstairs to settle with Madame Loupins, when ah! hideous disgrace! As I handed her the two weeks’ rent, she asked me with a contemptuous sneer, where I had stolen the money from?”
Mascarin secretly chuckled over the success of his plans thus announced by Paul.
“What did you say?” asked he.
“Nothing, sir; I was too horror-stricken; the man Loupins came up, and both he and his wife scowled at me threateningly. After a short pause, they asserted that they were perfectly sure that Rose and I had robbed M. Tantaine.”
“But did you not deny this monstrous charge?”
“I was utterly bewildered, for I saw that every circumstance was against me. The evening before, Rose, in reply to Madame Loupin’s importunities, had told her that she had no money, and did not know where to get any. But, as you perceive, on the very next day I appeared in a suit of new clothes, and was prepared to pay my debts, while Rose had left the house some hours before. Does not all this form a chain of strange coincidences? Rose changed the five hundred franc note that Tantaine had lent me at the shop of a grocer, named Melusin, and this suspicious fool was the first to raise a cry against us, and dared to assert that a detective had been ordered to watch us.”
Mascarin knew all this story better than Paul, but here he interrupted his young friend.
“I do not understand you,” said he, “nor whether your grief arises from indignation or remorse. Has there been a robbery?”
“How can I tell? I have never seen M. Tantaine from that day. There is a rumor that he has been plundered and important papers taken from him, and that he has consequently been arrested.”
“Why did you not explain the facts?”
“It would have been of no use. It would clearly prove that Tantaine was no friend of mine, not even an acquaintance, and they would have laughed me to scorn had I declared that the evening before he came into my room and made me a present of five hundred francs.”
“I think that I can solve the riddle,” remarked Mascarin. “I know the old fellow so well.”
Paul listened with breathless eagerness.
“Tantaine,” resumed Mascarin, “is the best and kindest fellow in the world, but he is not quite right in the upper story. He was a wealthy man once, but his liberality was his ruin. He is as poor as a church-mouse now, but he is as anxious as ever to be charitable. Unfortunately in the place I procured for him he had a certain amount of petty cash at his disposal, and moved to pity at the sight of your sufferings, he gave you the money that really belonged to others. Then he sent in his accounts, and the deficiency was discovered. He lost his head, and declared that he had been robbed. You lived in the next room; you were known to be in abject poverty on the one day and in ample funds on the next; hence these suspicions.”
All was too clear to Paul, and a cold shiver ran through his frame as he saw himself arrested, tried, and condemned.
“But,” stammered he, “M. Tantaine holds my note of hand, which is a proof that I acted honestly.”
“My poor boy, do you think that if he hoped to save himself at your expense he would produce it?”
“Luckily, sir, you know the real state of the case.”
Mascarin shook is head.
“Would my story be credited?” asked he. “Justice is not infallible, and I must confess that appearances are against you.”
Paul was crushed down beneath this weight of argument. “There is no resource for me then but death,” murmured he, “for I will not live a dishonored man.”
The conduct of Paul was precisely what Mascarin had expected, and he felt that the moment had arrived to strike a final blow.
“You must not give way to despair, my boy,” said he.
But Paul made no reply; he had lost the power of hearing. Mascarin, however, had no time to lose, and taking him by the arm, shook him roughly. “Rouse yourself. A man in your position must help himself, and bring forward proofs of his innocence.”
“There is no use in fighting,” replied Paul. “Have you not just shown me that it is hopeless to endeavor to prove my innocence?”
Mascarin grew impatient at this unnecessary exhibition of cowardice, but he concealed his feelings as best he could.
“No, no,” answered he; “I only wished to show you the worst side of the affair.”
“There is only one side.”
“Not so, for it is only a supposition that Tantaine had made away with money entrusted to him, and we are not certain of it. And we only surmise that he has been arrested, and thrown the blame on you. Before giving up the game, would it not be best to be satisfied on these points?”
Paul felt a little reassured.
“I say nothing,” continued Mascarin, “of the influence I exercise over Tantaine, and which may enable me to compel him to confess the truth.”
Weak natures like Paul’s are raised in a moment from the lowest depths of depression to the highest pitch of exultation, and he already considered that he was saved.
“Shall I ever be able to prove my gratitude to you?” said he impulsively.
Mascarin’s face assumed a paternal expression.
“Perhaps you may,” answered he; “and as a commencement you must entirely forget the past. Daylight dispels the hideous visions of the night. I offer you a fresh lease of life; will you become a new man?”
Paul heaved a deep sigh. “Rose,” he murmured; “I cannot forget her.”
Mascarin frowned. “What,” said he, “do you still let your thoughts dwell on that woman? There are people who cringe to the hand that strikes them, and the more they are duped and deceived, the more they love. If you are made of this kind of stuff, we shall never get on. Go and find your faithless mistress, and beg her to come back and share your poverty, and see what she will say.”
These sarcasms roused Paul. “I will be even with her some day,” muttered he.
“Forget her; that is the easiest thing for you to do.”
Even now Paul seemed to hesitate. “What,” said his patron reproachfully, “have you no pride?”
“I have, sir.”
“You have not, or you would never wish to hamper yourself with a woman like Rose. You should keep your hands free, if you want to fight your way through the battle of life.”
“I will follow your advice, sir,” said Paul hurriedly.
“Very soon you will thank Rose deeply for having left you. You will climb high, I can tell you, if you will work as I bid you.”
“Then,” stammered Paul, “this situation at twelve thousand francs a year----”
“There never has been such a situation.”
A ghastly pallor overspread Paul’s countenance, as he saw himself again reduced to beggary.
“But, sir,” he murmured, “will you not permit me to hope--”
“For twelve thousand francs! Be at ease, you shall have that and much more. I am getting old. I have no ties in the world--you shall be my adopted son.”
A cloud settled on Paul’s brow, for the idea that his life was to be passed in this office was most displeasing to him. Mascarin divined his inmost thoughts with perfect ease. “And the young fool does not know where to go for a crust of bread,” thought he. “Ah, if there were no Flavia, no Champdoce;” then, speaking aloud, he resumed, “don’t fancy, my dear boy, that I wish to condemn you to the treadmill that I am compelled to pass my life in. I have other views for you, far more worthy of your merits. I have taken a great liking to you, and I will do all I can to further your ambitious views. I was thinking a great deal of you, and in my head I raised the scaffolding of your future greatness. ‘He is poor,’ said I, ‘and at his age, and with his tastes, this is a cruel thing. Why, pray, should I not find a wife for him among those heiresses who have a million or two to give the man they marry? When I talk like this, it is because I know of an heiress, and my friend, Dr. Hortebise, shall introduce her to you. She is nearly, if not quite, as pretty as Rose, and has the advantage of her in being well-born, well-educated, and wealthy. She has influential relatives, and if her husband should happen to be a poet, or a composer, she could assist him in becoming famous.”
A flush came over Paul’s face, This seemed like the realization of some of his former dreams.
“With regard to your birth,” continued Mascarin, “I have devised a wonderful plan. Before ‘93, you know, every bastard was treated as a gentleman, as he might have been the son of some high and mighty personage. Who can say that your father may not have been of the noblest blood of France, and that he has not lands and wealth? He may even now be looking for you, in order to acknowledge you and make you his heir. Would you like to be a duke?”
“Ah, sir,” stammered the young man.
Mascarin burst into a fit of laughter. “Up to now,” said he, “we are only in the region of suppositions.”
“Well, sir, what do you wish me to do?” asked Paul, after a short pause.
Mascarin put on a serious face. “I want absolute obedience from you,” said he; “a blind and undeviating obedience, one that makes no objections and asks no questions.”
“I will obey you, sir; but, oh! do not desert me.”
Without making any reply, Mascarin rang for Beaumarchef, and as soon as the latter appeared, said, “I am going to Van Klopen’s, and shall leave you in charge here.” Then, turning to Paul, he added, “I always mean what I say; we will go and breakfast at a neighboring restaurant. I want to have a talk with you, and afterward--afterward, my boy, I will show you the girl I intend to be your wife. I am curious to know how you like her looks.”
