File No. 113, Émile Gaboriau [best ereader for graphic novels .TXT] 📗

money, and was therefore master of the situation.

“You don’t seem to anticipate any difficulty in carrying out your wishes,” he said discontentedly; “how are you to account for your suddenly acquired fortune? M. Fauvel knows that a Clameran lived at Oloron, and had money in his bank. You tell him that you never heard of this person bearing your name, and then, at the end of the month, you come and say that you have inherited his fortune. People don’t inherit fortunes from perfect strangers; so you had better trump up some relationship.”

“You are an innocent youth, nephew; your ingenuousness is amusing.”

“Explain yourself.”

“Certainly. The banker, his wife, and Madeleine must be informed that the Clameran of Oloron was a natural son of my father, consequently my brother, born at Hamburg, and recognized during the emigration. Of course, he wished to leave his fortune to his own family. This is the story which you must tell Mme. Fauvel tomorrow.”

“That is a bold step to take.”

“How so?”

“Inquiries might be made.”

“Who would make them? The banker would not trouble himself to do so. What difference is it to him whether I had a brother or not? My title as heir is legally authenticated; and all he has to do is to pay the money he holds, and there his business ends.”

“I am not afraid of his giving trouble.”

“Do you think that Mme. Fauvel and her niece will ask any questions? Why should they? They have no grounds for suspicion. Besides, they cannot take a step without compromising themselves. If they knew all our secrets I would not have the least fear of their making revelations. They have sense enough to know that they had best keep quiet.”

Not finding any other objections to make, Raoul said:

“Very well, then, I obey you; but I am not to call upon Mme. Fauvel for any more money, am I?”

“And why not, pray?”

“Because, my uncle, you are rich now.”

“Suppose I am rich,” replied Louis, triumphantly; “what is that to you? Have we not quarrelled about the means of making this money? and did you not heap abuse upon me until I consider myself justified in refusing you any assistance whatever? However, I will overlook the past. And, when I explain my present plan, you will feel ashamed of your former doubts and suspicion. You will say with me, ‘Success is certain.’ ”

Louis de Clameran’s scheme was very simple, and therefore unfortunately presented the strongest chances of success.

“We will go back and look at our balance-sheet. As heretofore, my brilliant nephew, you seem to have misunderstood my management of this affair; I will now explain it to you.”

“I am listening.”

“In the first place, I presented myself to Mme. Fauvel, and said not, ‘Your money or your life,’ but ‘Your money or your reputation!’ It was a rude blow to strike, but effective. As I expected, she was frightened, and regarded me with the greatest aversion.”

“Aversion is a mild term, uncle.”

“I know that. Then I brought you upon the scene; and, without flattering you in the least, I must say that your opening act was a perfect success. I was concealed behind the curtain, and saw your first interview; it was sublime! She saw you, and loved you: you spoke a few words and won her heart.”

“And but for you?”

“Let me finish. This was the first act of our comedy. Let us pass to the second. Your extravagant follies⁠—your grandfather would have said, your dissoluteness⁠—soon changed our respective situations. Mme. Fauvel, without ceasing to worship you⁠—you resemble Gaston so closely⁠—was uneasy about you. She was so frightened that she was forced to come to me for assistance.”

“Poor woman!”

“I acted my part very well, as you must confess. I was grave, cold, indignant, and represented the distressed uncle to perfection. I spoke of the old probity of the Clamerans, and bemoaned that the family honor should be dragged in the dust by a degenerate descendant. For a short time I triumphed at your expense; Mme. Fauvel forgot her former prejudice against me, and soon showed that she esteemed and liked me.”

“That must have been a long time ago.”

Louis paid no attention to this ironical interruption.

“Now we come to the third scene,” he went on to say, “the time when Mme. Fauvel, having Madeleine for an adviser, judged us at our true value. Oh! you need not flatter yourself that she did not fear and despise us both. If she did not hate you, Raoul, it was because a mother’s heart always forgives a sinful child. A mother can despise and worship her son at the same time.”

“She has proved it to me in so many touching ways, that!⁠—yes, even I, hardened as I am⁠—was moved, and felt remorse.”

“Parbleu! I have felt some pangs myself. Where did I leave off? Oh, yes! Mme. Fauvel was frightened, and Madeleine, bent on sacrificing herself, had discarded Prosper, and consented to marry me, when the existence of Gaston was suddenly revealed. And what has happened since? You have succeeded in convincing Mme. Fauvel that you are pure, and that I am blacker than hell. She is blinded by your noble qualities, and she and Madeleine regard me as your evil genius, whose pernicious influence led you astray.”

“You are right, my venerated uncle; that is precisely the position you occupy.”

“Very good. Now we come to the fifth act, and our comedy needs entire change of scenery. We must veer around.”

“Change our tactics?”

“You think it difficult, I suppose? Nothing easier. Listen attentively, for the future depends upon your skilfulness.”

Raoul leaned back in his chair, with folded arms, as if prepared for anything, and said:

“I am ready.”

“The first thing for you to do,” said Louis, “is to go to Mme. Fauvel tomorrow, and tell her the story about my natural brother. She will not believe you, but that makes no difference. The important thing is, for you to appear convinced of the truth of what you tell her.”

“Consider me convinced.”

“Five days hence, I will call on M. Fauvel, and confirm the notification sent him by my notary at Oloron,