The Lerouge Case, Emile Gaboriau [e books for reading TXT] 📗

bitter tone, “Madame Gerdy is no longer the adored Valerie: ‘A friend, cruel as all true friends, has opened my eyes. I doubted. You have been watched, and today, unhappily, I can doubt no more. You, Valerie, you to whom I have given more than my life, you deceive me and have been deceiving me for a long time past. Unhappy man that I am! I am no longer certain that I am the father of your child.’”

“But this note is a proof,” cried old Tabaret, “an overwhelming proof. Of what importance to the count would be a doubt of his paternity, had he not sacrificed his legitimate son to his bastard? Yes, you have said truly, his punishment has been severe.”

“Madame Gerdy,” resumed Noel, “wished to justify herself. She wrote to the count; but he returned her letters unopened. She called on him, but he would not receive her. At length she grew tired of her useless attempts to see him. She knew that all was well over when the count’s steward brought her for me a legal settlement of fifteen thousand francs a year. The son had taken my place, and the mother had ruined me!”

Three or four light knocks at the door of the study interrupted Noel.

“Who is there?” he asked, without stirring.

“Sir,” answered the servant from the other side of the door, “madame wishes to speak to you.”

The advocate appeared to hesitate.

“Go, my son,” advised M. Tabaret; “do not be merciless, only bigots have that right.”

Noel arose with visible reluctance, and passed into Madame Gerdy’s sleeping apartment.

“Poor boy!” thought M. Tabaret when left alone. “What a fatal discovery! and how he must feel it. Such a noble young man! such a brave heart! In his candid honesty he does not even suspect from whence the blow has fallen. Fortunately I am shrewd enough for two, and it is just when he despairs of justice, I am confident of obtaining it for him. Thanks to his information, I am now on the track. A child might now divine whose hand struck the blow. But how has it happened? He will tell me without knowing it. Ah! if I had one of those letters for four and twenty hours. He has probably counted them. If I ask for one, I must acknowledge my connection with the police. I had better take one, no matter which, just to verify the handwriting.”

Old Tabaret had just thrust one of the letters into the depths of his capacious pocket, when the advocate returned.

He was one of those men of strongly formed character, who never lose their self-control. He was very cunning and had long accustomed himself to dissimulation, that indispensable armour of the ambitious.

As he entered the room nothing in his manner betrayed what had taken place between Madame Gerdy and himself. He was absolutely as calm as, when seated in his arm-chair, he listened to the interminable stories of his clients.

“Well,” asked old Tabaret, “how is she now?”

“Worse,” answered Noel. “She is now delirious, and no longer knows what she says. She has just assailed me with the most atrocious abuse, upbraiding me as the vilest of mankind! I really believe she is going out of her mind.”

“One might do so with less cause,” murmured M. Tabaret; “and I think you ought to send for the doctor.”

“I have just done so.”

The advocate had resumed his seat before his bureau, and was rearranging the scattered letters according to their dates. He seemed to have forgotten that he had asked his old friend’s advice; nor did he appear in any way desirous of renewing the interrupted conversation. This was not at all what old Tabaret wanted.

“The more I ponder over your history, my dear Noel,” he observed, “the more I am bewildered. I really do not know what resolution I should adopt, were I in your situation.”

“Yes, my old friend,” replied the advocate sadly, “it is a situation that might well perplex even more profound experiences than yours.”

The old amateur detective repressed with difficulty the sly smile, which for an instant hovered about his lips.

“I confess it humbly,” he said, taking pleasure in assuming an air of intense simplicity, “but you, what have you done? Your first impulse must have been to ask Madame Gerdy for an explanation.”

Noel made a startled movement, which passed unnoticed by old Tabaret, preoccupied as he was in trying to give the turn he desired to the conversation.

“It was by that,” answered Noel, “that I began.”

“And what did she say?”

“What could she say! Was she not overwhelmed by the discovery?”

“What! did she not attempt to exculpate herself?” inquired the detective greatly surprised.

“Yes! she attempted the impossible. She pretended she could explain the correspondence. She told me . . . But can I remember what she said? Lies, absurd, infamous lies.”

The advocate had finished gathering up his letters, without noticing the abstraction. He tied them together carefully, and replaced them in the secret drawer of his bureau.

“Yes,” continued he, rising and walking backwards and forward across his study, as if the constant movement could calm his anger, “yes, she pretended she could show me I was wrong. It was easy, was it not, with the proofs I held against her? The fact is she adores her son, and her heart is breaking at the idea that he may be obliged to restitute what he has stolen from me. And I, idiot, fool, coward, almost wished not to mention the matter to her. I said to myself, I will forgive, for after all she has loved me! Loved? no. She would see me suffer the most horrible tortures, without shedding a tear, to prevent a single hair falling from her son’s head.”

“She has probably warned the count,” observed old Tabaret, still pursuing his idea.

“She may have tried, but cannot have succeeded, for the count has been absent from Paris for more than a month and is not expected to return until the end of the week.”

“How do you know that?”

“I wished to see the count my father, to speak with him.”

“You?”

“Yes, I. Do you think that I shall not reclaim my own? Do you imagine that I shall not raise my voice. On what account should I keep silent, who have I to consider? I have rights, and I will make them good. What do you find surprising in that?”

“Nothing, certainly, my friend. So then you called at M. de Commarin’s house?”

“Oh! I did not decide on doing so all at once,” continued Noel. “At first my discovery almost drove me mad. Then I required time to reflect. A thousand opposing sentiments agitated