Caught In The Net

E >> Emile Gaboriau >> Caught In The Net


"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."



CHAPTER XI.

THE MAN-MILLINER.

Gaston de Gandelu was much surprised at finding that Andre should be
ignorant of the existence of Van Klopen, the best-known man in Paris.
To assure oneself of this, it was only necessary to glance at his
circulars, which were ornamented with the representations of medals won
at all sorts of exhibitions in different quarters of the world, together
with various decorations received from foreign potentates. One had
been presented to him by the Queen of Spain, while he had a diploma
appointing him the supplier to the Court of the Czar. The great Van
Klopen was not an Alsatian, as was generally supposed, but a stout,
handsome Dutchman, who, in the year 1850, had been a tailor in his small
native town, and manufactured in cloth, purchased on credit, the
long waistcoats and miraculous coats worn by the wealthy citizens of
Rotterdam. Van Klopen, however, was not successful in his business, and
was compelled to close his shop and abscond from his creditors. He took
refuge in Paris, where he seemed likely to die of hunger. One day over
a magnificent establishment in the Rue de Grammont appeared a signboard
with the name of Van Klopen, dressmaker, and in the thousands of
handbills distributed with the utmost profusion, he called himself
the "Regenerator of Fashion." This was an idea that would have never
originated in the brain of the phlegmatic Dutchman, and whence came the
funds to carry on the business? On this point he was discreetly silent.
The enterprise was at first far from a success, for during nearly a
month Paris almost split its sides laughing at the absurd pretensions
of the self-dubbed "Regenerator of Fashion." Van Klopen bent before the
storm he had aroused, and in due time his advertisements brought him two
customers, who were the first to blow the trumpet of his fame. One was
the Duchess de Suirmeuse, a very great lady indeed, and renowned for her
eccentricities and extravagant manner, while the other was an example of
another class being no less than the celebrated Jennie Fancy, who was
at that time under the protection of the Count de Tremouselle; and
for these two Van Klopen invented such dresses as had never been
seen before. From this moment his success was certain; indeed, it was
stupendous, and Paris resounded with his praises. Now he has achieved a
world-wide reputation, and has nothing to fear from the attacks of his
rivals. He would not execute orders for every one, saying that he must
pick and choose his customers, and he did so, excising the names of
such as he did not think would add to his reputation. Rank and wealth
disputed the honor of being his customers. The haughtiest dames did not
shrink from entrusting to him secrets of form and figure, which they
even hid from their husbands. They endured without shrinking the touch
of his coarse hands as he measured them. He was the rage, and his
showrooms were a species of neutral ground, where women of all circles
of society met and examined each other. The Duchess of --- did not
shrink from being in the same room with the celebrated woman for whom
the Baron de --- had blown out the few brains he possessed. Perhaps the
Duchess thought that by employing the same costumier, she might also
gain some of the venal beauteous attractions. Mademoiselle D---, of the
Gymnase Theatre, who was well known to earn just one thousand francs per
annum, took a delight in astonishing the haughty ladies of fashion by
the reckless extravagance of her orders. Van Klopen, who was a born
diplomatist, distributed his favors between his different customers;
consequently he was termed the most charming and angelic of men. Many
a time had he heard the most aristocratic lips let fall the words, "I
shall die, Van Klopen, if my dress is not ready." On the evenings of the
most aristocratic balls a long line of carriages blocked up the road in
front of his establishment, and the finest women in Paris crowded the
showrooms for a word of approval from him.

He gave credit to approved customers, and also, it was whispered,
lent money to them. But woe to the woman who permitted herself to be
entrapped in the snare of credit that he laid for her; for the woman who
owed him a bill was practically lost, never knowing to what depths she
might be degraded to obtain the money to settle her account. It was not
surprising that such sudden prosperity should have turned Van Klopen's
head. He was stout and ruddy, impudent, vain, and cynical. His admirers
said that he was witty.

It was to this man's establishment that Mascarin conducted Paul after a
sumptuous breakfast at Philipe's.

It is necessary to give a slight description of Van Klopen's
establishment. Carpets of the most expensive description covered the
stairs to his door on the first floor, at which stood the liveried
menials resplendent in gold lace and scarlet. As soon as Mascarin made
his appearance, one of these gorgeous creatures hastened to him and
said, "M. Van Klopen is just now engaged with the Princess Korasoff, but
as soon as he hears of your arrival he will manage to get rid of her.
Will you wait for him in his private room?"

But Mascarin answered,--

"We are in no hurry, and may as well wait in the public room with the
other customers. Are there many of them?"

"There are about a dozen ladies, sir."

"Good; I am sure that they will amuse me."

And, without wasting any more words, Mascarin opened a door which led
into a magnificent drawing-room, decorated in very florid style. The
paper on the walls almost disappeared beneath a variety of watercolor
sketches, representing ladies in every possible style of costume. Each
picture had an explanatory note beneath it, such as "Costume of Mde.
de C--- for a dinner at the Russian Ambassador's," "Ball costume of the
Marchioness de V--- for a ball at the Hotel de Ville," etc.

Paul, who was a little nervous at finding himself among such splendor,
hesitated in the doorway; but Mascarin seized his young friend by the
arm, and, as he drew him to a settee, whispered in his ear,--

"Keep your eyes about you; the heiress is here."

The ladies were at first a little surprised at this invasion of the
room by the male element, but Paul's extreme beauty soon attracted their
attention. The hum of conversation ceased, and Paul's embarrassment
increased as he found a battery of twelve pairs of eyes directed full
upon him.

Mascarin, however, was quite at his ease, and upon his entrance had made
a graceful though rather old-fashioned bow to the fair inmates of the
room. His coolness was partly due to the contempt he felt for the
human race in general, and also to his colored glasses, which hid the
expression of his countenance. When he saw that Paul still kept his eyes
on the ground, he tapped him gently on the arm.

"Is this the first time you ever saw well-dressed women? Surely you are
not afraid of them. Look to the right," continued Mascarin, "and you
will see the heiress."

A young girl, not more than eighteen, was seated near one of the
windows. She was not perhaps so beautiful as Mascarin had described,
but her face was a very striking one nevertheless. She was slight and
good-looking, with the clear complexion of a brunette. Her features
were not perhaps very regular, but her glossy black hair was a beauty
in itself. She had a pair of dark, melting eyes, and her wide, high
forehead showed that she was gifted with great intelligence. There was
an air of restrained voluptuousness about her, and she seemed the very
embodiment of passion.

Paul felt insensibly attracted toward her. Their eyes met, and both
started at the same moment. Paul was fascinated in an instant, and the
girl's emotion was so evident that she turned aside her head to conceal
it.

The babel had now commenced again, and general attention was being paid
to a lady who was enthusiastically describing the last new costume which
had made its appearance in the Bois de Boulogue.

"It was simply miraculous," said she; "a real triumph of Van Klopen's
art. The ladies of a certain class are furious, and Henry de Croisenois
tells me that Jenny Fancy absolutely shed tears of rage. Imagine three
green skirts of different shades, each draped----"

Mascarin, however, only paid attention to Paul and the young girl, and a
sarcastic smile curled his lips.

"What do you think of her?" asked he.

"She is adorable!" answered Paul, enthusiastically.

"And immensely wealthy."

"I should fall at her feet if she had not a sou."

Mascarin gave a little cough, and adjusted his glasses.

"Should you, my lad?" said he to himself; "whether your admiration is
for the girl or her money, you are in my grip."

Then he added, aloud,--

"Would you not like to know her name?"

"Tell me, I entreat you."

"Flavia."

Paul was in the seventh heaven, and now boldly turned his eyes on the
girl, forgetting that owing to the numerous mirrors, she could see his
every movement.

The door was at this moment opened quietly, and Van Klopen appeared on
the threshold. He was about forty-four, and too stout for his height.
His red, pimply face had an expression upon it of extreme insolence,
and his accent was thoroughly Dutch. He was dressed in a ruby velvet
dressing-gown, with a cravat with lace ends. A huge cluster-diamond ring
blazed on his coarse, red hand.

"Who is the next one?" asked he, rudely.

The lady who had been talking so volubly rose to her feet, but the
tailor cut her short, for catching sight of Mascarin, he crossed the
room, and greeted him with the utmost cordiality.

"What!" said he; "is it you that I have been keeping waiting? Pray
pardon me. Pray go into my private room; and this gentleman is with you?
Do me the favor, sir, to come with us."

He was about to follow his guests, when one of the ladies started
forward.

"One word with you, sir, for goodness sake!" cried she.

Van Klopen turned sharply upon her.

"What is the matter?" asked he.

"My bill for three thousand francs falls due to-morrow."

"Very likely."

"But I can't meet it."

"That is not my affair."

"I have come to beg you will renew it for two months, or say one month,
on whatever terms you like."

"In two months," answered the man brutally, "you will be no more able to
pay than you are to-day. If you can't pay it, it will be noted."

"Merciful powers! then my husband will learn all."

"Just so; that will be what I want; for he will then have to pay me."

The wretched woman grew deadly pale.

"My husband will pay you," said she; "but I shall be lost."

"That is not my lookout. I have partners whose interests I have to
consult."

"Do not say that, sir! He has paid my debts once, and if he should be
angry and take my children from me--Dear M. Van Klopen, be merciful!"

She wrung her hands, and the tears coursed down her cheeks; but the
tailor was perfectly unmoved.

"When a woman has a family of children, one ought to have in a
needlewoman by the hour."

She did not desist from her efforts to soften him, and, seizing his
hand, strove to carry it to her lips.

"Ah! I shall never dare to go home," wailed she; "never have the courage
to tell my husband."

"If you are afraid of your own husband, go to some one else's," said he
roughly; and tearing himself from her, he followed Mascarin and Paul.