The Count's Millions, Emile Gaboriau [top 100 books of all time checklist TXT] 📗

barking in the garden. I thought she had been forgotten in all the confusion, and that the poor creature had been shut out, so I summoned all my courage, and——”

Mirza was an old spaniel that M. de Chalusse had been very fond of, and the animal’s caprices were respected by all the inmates of the house.

“That’s very strange,” remarked Mademoiselle Marguerite, “for when you rose to leave the room, half an hour ago, Mirza was sleeping at your feet.”

“What—really—is it possible?”

“It’s certain.”

But the worthy woman had already recovered her self-possession and her accustomed loquacity at the same time. “Ah! my dear young lady,” she said, bravely, “I’m in such sorrow that I’m losing my senses completely. Still, it was only from the kindest of motives that I ventured into the garden, and I had scarcely entered it before I saw something white run away from me—I felt sure it was Mirza—and so I ran after it. But I could find nothing. I called ‘Mirza! Mirza!’ and still nothing. I searched under all the trees, and yet I could not find her. It was as dark as pitch, and suddenly a terrible fear seized hold of me—such a terrible fright that I really believe I called for help, and I ran back to the house half crazed.”

Any one hearing her would have sworn that she was telling the truth. But, unfortunately, her earlier manner had proved her guilt.

Mademoiselle Marguerite was not deceived when she said to herself: “I am on the track of some abominable act.” However, she had sufficient self-control to conceal her suspicions; and she pretended to be perfectly satisfied with the explanation which the house-keeper had concocted. “Ah, my dear Leon, you are altogether too timid; it’s absurd,” she said, kindly.

The housekeeper hung her head. “I know that I make myself ridiculous,” she said, humbly. “But how can I help it? When a person’s frightened, she can’t reason. And that white object which I saw, as plainly as I see you, what could it have been?” And, convinced that her fable was believed, she grew bolder, and ventured to add: “Oh, my dear young lady, I shall tremble all night if the garden isn’t searched. Pray send the servants out to look. There are so many thieves and rascals in Paris!”

Under any other circumstances Mademoiselle Marguerite would have refused to listen to this ridiculous request; but, determined to repay the hypocrite in her own coin, she replied. “Very well; it shall be done.” And calling M. Casimir and Bourigeau, the concierge, she ordered them to take a lantern and explore the garden carefully.

They obeyed, though with rather bad grace, not being particularly courageous, either of them, and, of course, they found nothing.

“No matter,” said Madame Leon, “I feel safe now.” And she did indeed feel more tranquil in mind. “I had a lucky escape!” she said to herself. “What would have become of me, if Mademoiselle Marguerite had discovered the truth?”

But the housekeeper congratulated herself on her victory too soon. Mademoiselle Marguerite not only suspected her of treason, but she was endeavoring to procure proofs of it. She felt certain that the plausible housekeeper had deceived her, and cruelly wronged her as well. But what she could not understand was, how Madame Leon had been able to do so. She had spent a long time in fruitless conjectures, when suddenly she remembered the little garden gate. “The deceitful creature must have used that gate,” she thought.

It was easy for her to verify her suspicion. The little gate had not been exactly condemned, but many months had elapsed since it had been used; so it would be a very simple matter to ascertain whether it had been recently opened or not. “And I will know for certain before an hour has passed,” said Mademoiselle Marguerite to herself.

Having come to this conclusion, she feigned sleep, keeping a sharp watch over Madame Leon from between her half-closed eyelids. The housekeeper, after twisting uneasily in her arm-chair, at last became quiet again; and it was soon evident that she was sleeping soundly. Thereupon Mademoiselle Marguerite rose to her feet and stole noiselessly from the room downstairs into the garden. She had provided herself with a candle and some matches, and as soon as she struck a light, she saw that her surmises were correct. The little gate had just been opened and closed again. The cobwebs round about the bolts were torn and broken; the rust which had filled the keyhole had been removed, and on the dust covering the lock the impress of a hand could be detected. “And I have confided my most precious secrets to this wicked woman!” thought Mademoiselle Marguerite. “Fool that I was!”

Already thoroughly convinced, she extinguished her candle. Still, having discovered so much, she wished to pursue her investigation to the end, and so she opened the little gate. The ground outside had been soaked by the recent rains, and had not yet dried, and by the light of the neighboring street-lamp, she plainly distinguished a number of well-defined footprints on the muddy soil. An experienced observer would have realized by the disposition of these footprints that something like a struggle had taken place here; but Mademoiselle Marguerite was not sufficiently expert for that. She only understood what a child would have understood—that two people had been standing here for some time. Poor girl! She had not seen Pascal when he was sitting in front of the mansion some hours before! And now no presentiment warned her that these footprints were his. In her opinion, the man who had been talking with Madame Leon was either M. de Fondege, or the Marquis de Valorsay—that is to say, Madame Leon was hired to watch her and to render an account of all she said and did.

Her first impulse was to denounce and dismiss this miserable hypocrite; but as she was returning to the house, an idea which an old diplomatist need not have been ashamed of entered her mind. She said to herself that as Madame Leon was unmasked she was no longer to be feared; so why should she be sent away? “A known spy can undoubtedly be made a most valuable auxiliary. Why shouldn’t I make use of this wicked woman?” thought Mademoiselle Marguerite. “I can conceal from her what I don’t wish her to know, and with a little skill I can make her carry to her employers such information as will serve my plans. By watching her, I shall soon discover my enemy; and who knows if, by this means, I may not succeed in finding an explanation of the fatality that pursues me?”

When Mademoiselle Marguerite returned to her place beside the count’s bedside, she had calmly and irrevocably made up her mind. She would not only retain Madame Leon in her service, but she would display even greater confidence in her than before. Such a course was most repugnant to Marguerite’s loyal, truthful nature; but reason whispered to her that in fighting with villains, it is often necessary to use their weapons; and she had her honor, her life, and her future to defend. A strange and but imperfectly defined suspicion had entered her mind. To-night, for the first time, she thought she could discover a mysterious connection between Pascal’s misfortunes and her own. Was it mere chance which had struck them at the same time, and in much the same manner? Who would have profited by the abominable crime which had dishonored her lover, had it not been for M. de Chalusse’s death and her own firmness? Evidently the Marquis de Valorsay, for whom Pascal’s flight had left the field clear.