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

two courses for you to adopt. Either to ask the protection of some respectable family, or to enter a convent. This is your only hope of safety.”

Mademoiselle Marguerite bowed her head, without replying. To learn the plans which the General’s wife had formed she must let her disclose them. However, the girl’s silence seemed to make Madame de Fondege uncomfortable, and at last she resumed: “Is it possible that you think of braving the perils of life alone? I cannot believe it! It would be madness. Young, beautiful, and attractive as you are, it is impossible for you to live unprotected. Even if you had sufficient strength of character to lead a pure and honest life, the world would none the less refuse you its esteem. Mere prejudice, you say? You are quite right; but it is nevertheless true that a young girl who braves public opinion is lost.”

It was easy to see by Madame de Fondege’s earnestness that she feared Mademoiselle Marguerite would avail herself of this opportunity of recovering her liberty. “What shall I do, then?” asked the girl.

“There is the convent.”

“But I love life.”

“Then ask the protection of some respectable family.”

“The idea of being in any one’s charge is disagreeable to me.”

Strange to say, Madame de Fondege did not protest, did not speak of her own house. She was too proud for that. Having once offered hospitality, she thought it would arouse suspicion if she insisted. So she contented herself with enumerating the arguments for and against the two propositions, remarking from time to time: “Come, you must decide! Don’t wait until the last moment!”

Mademoiselle Marguerite had already decided but before announcing her decision she wished to confer with the only friend she had in the world—the old justice of the peace. On the previous evening he had said to her: “Farewell until to-morrow,” and knowing that his work in the house had not been concluded, she was extremely surprised that he had not yet put in an appearance.

While conversing with Madame de Fondege she had dexterously avoided compromising herself in any way when suddenly a servant appeared and announced the magistrate’s arrival. He entered the room, with his usual benevolent smile upon his lips, but his searching eyes were never once taken off Madame de Fondege’s face. He bowed, made a few polite remarks, and then addressing Marguerite, he said: “I must speak with you, mademoiselle, at once. You may tell madame, however, that you will certainly return in less than a quarter of an hour.”

Marguerite followed him, and when they were alone in the count’s study and the doors had been carefully closed, the magistrate exclaimed: “I have been thinking a great deal of you, my child, a great deal; and it seems to me that I can explain certain things which worried you yesterday. But first of all, what has happened since I left you?”

Briefly, but with remarkable precision, Marguerite recounted the various incidents which had occurred—her useless journey to the Rue d’Ulm, Madame Leon’s strange midnight ramble and conversation with the Marquis de Valorsay, Madame de Fondege’s letter, and lastly, her visit and all that she had said.

The magistrate listened with his eyes fixed on his ring “This is very serious, very serious,” he said at last. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps M. Ferailleur is innocent. And yet, why should he abscond? why should he leave the country?”

“Ah! monsieur, Pascal’s flight is only feigned. He is in Paris—concealed somewhere—I’m sure of it; and I know a man who will find him for me. Only one thing puzzles me—his silence. To disappear without a word, without giving me any sign of life——”

The magistrate interrupted her by a gesture. “I see nothing surprising in that since your companion is the Marquis de Valorsay’s spy. How do you know that she has not intercepted or destroyed some letter from M. Pascal?”

Mademoiselle Marguerite turned pale. “Great Heavens! how blind I have been!” she exclaimed. “I did not think of that. Oh, the wretch! if one could only question her and make her confess her crime. It is horrible to think that if I wish to arrive at the truth, I must remain with her and treat her in the future just as I have treated her till now.”

But the magistrate was not the man to wander from the subject he was investigating. “Let us return to Madame de Fondege,” said he. “She is extremely unwilling to see you go out into the world alone. Why?—through affection? No. Why, then? This is what we must ascertain. Secondly, she seems indifferent as to whether you accept her hospitality or enter a convent.”

“She seems to prefer that I should enter a convent.”

“Very well. What conclusion can we draw from that? Simply, that the Fondege family don’t particularly care about keeping you with them, or marrying you to their son. If they don’t desire this, it is because they are perfectly sure that the missing money was not taken by you. Now, let me ask, how can they be so certain? Simply because they know where the missing millions are—and if they know——”

“Ah! monsieur, it is because they’ve stolen them!”

The magistrate was silent. He had turned the bezel of his ring inside, a sure sign of stormy weather, so his clerk would have said—and though he had his features under excellent control he could not entirely conceal some signs of a severe mental conflict he was undergoing. “Well, yes, my child,” he said, at last. “Yes, it is my conviction that the Fondeges possess the millions you saw in the count’s escritoire, and which we have been unable to find. How they obtained possession of the money I can’t conceive—but they have it, or else logic is no longer logic.” He paused again for a moment, and then he resumed, more slowly: “In acquainting you with my opinion on this subject, I have given you, a young girl, almost a child, a proof of esteem and confidence which, it seems to me, few men are worthy of; for I may be deceived, and a magistrate ought not to accuse a person unless he is absolutely certain of his guilt. So you must forget what I have just told you, Mademoiselle Marguerite.”

She looked at him with an air of utter astonishment. “You advise me to forget,” she murmured, “you wish me to forget.”

“Yes; you must conceal these suspicions in the deepest recesses of your heart, until the time comes when you have sufficient proof to convict the culprits. It is true that it will be a difficult task to collect such proofs; but it is not impossible, with the aid of time, which divulges so many crimes. And you may count upon me; I will give you the benefit of all my influence and experience. It shall never be said that I allowed a defenceless girl to be crushed while I saw any chance of saving her.”

Tears came to Mademoiselle Marguerite’s eyes. So the world was not composed entirely of scoundrels! “Ah! how kind you are, monsieur,” she said; “how kind you are!”

“To be sure!” he interrupted, in a benevolent tone. “But, my child, you must help yourself. Remember this: if the Fondeges suspect our suspicions, all is lost. Repeat this to yourself at every moment in the day—and