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If I was such an annoyance to them when I came into existence, why didn't they throw me into the river? Then they would have been well rid of me, and I should be out of my misery!" He stopped short, struck dumb with amazement, for Madame d'Argeles had thrown herself on her knees at his feet. "Have mercy!" she faltered; "Wilkie; my son, forgive me!"
He succeeded, however, in distributing it in his pockets, and was about to join the other guests in the dining-room, when Madame d'Argeles abruptly barred his passage. "I desire a word with you, monsieur," she said. Her face still retained its strange immobility, and the same stereotyped smile played about her lips.
As he slowly sipped the beverage, he pointed to the house in question, with an air of well-assumed indifference, and asked: "Whom does that pretty dwelling belong to?" "To Madame Lia d'Argeles," answered the landlady. M. Fortunat started. He well remembered that this was the name the Marquis de Valorsay had mentioned when speaking of the vile conspiracy he had planned.
This man had addressed her by the ancient and illustrious name of Chalusse which she had not heard for twenty years, and which she had forbidden her own lips to pronounce. This man knew that she, Lia d'Argeles, was really a Durtal de Chalusse. This frightful certainty overwhelmed her. It is true this man Fortunat had declared that his visit was entirely disinterested.
The play is made! Banco!" "What a strange gathering!" thought Pascal Ferailleur. "What singular people!" And he turned his attention to the mistress of the house, as if he hoped to decipher the solution of the enigma on her face. But Madame Lia d'Argeles defied all analysis.
I have formed a plan which will completely, and forever, efface all remembrance of that cursed P. F., in case any one condescended to think of him after the disgrace we fastened upon him the other evening at the house of Madame d'Argeles." P. F. these initials of course meant Pascal Ferailleur. Then he was innocent, and she held an undeniable, irrefutable proof of his innocence in her hands.
At that moment, after a night passed in meditating upon his mother's prophetic warnings, Chupin was again beset by the same scruples which had so greatly disturbed him on the previous evening. However, they soon vanished when he heard the wine-vendor, in reply to M. Fortunat's skilful questions, begin to relate all he knew concerning Madame Lia d'Argeles, and the scandalous doings at her house.
"Allow me," he faltered at last; "Allow me I wish to explain." But Madame d'Argeles did not even turn her head; the door closed behind her and he was left alone. However strong a man's nature may be, he always has certain moments of weakness. For instance, at the present moment Wilkie was completely at a loss what to do.
Thanks to the "High Life" reporters, every newspaper reader is aware that twice a week Mondays and Thursdays Madame Lia d'Argeles holds a reception at her charming mansion in the Rue de Berry. Her guests find plenty of amusement there. They seldom dance; but card-playing begins at midnight, and a dainty supper is served before the departure of the guests.
About a quarter of an hour afterward her emissaries returned. They had made all possible haste in contrary directions, but they had seen no one in the street who at all resembled the person they were looking for. They had questioned the shopkeepers, but no one had seen him pass. "It doesn't matter," faltered Madame d'Argeles, in a tone that belied her words.
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