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"Eighty-nine francs." M. Isidore Fortunat's grimace was expressive of satisfaction. "Not bad," said he, "not at all bad." Then a singular performance began. M. Fortunat called over the names of his debtors, one by one, and the cashier answered each name by reading a memorandum written against it on the margin of a list he held.
"Excuse me, monsieur it must be a vile rascal named Coralth." It was a bellow rather than a cry of rage that escaped M. Fortunat's lips. To a man of his experience, only a glimmer of light was required to reveal the whole situation. "Ah! I understand! I see!" he exclaimed. "Yes, you are right, Victor; it's he Coralth Valorsay's tool!
I don't know if I explain what I mean very clearly." This doubt was awakened in M. Fortunat's mind by Chupin's features, which were expressive of lively astonishment and discontent. "Excuse me, monsieur," he said, at last, "I do not understand at all." "It's very simple, however. The lady in question has a son about twenty. I know it I'm sure of it.
This information agreed so perfectly with M. Fortunat's presentiments that he did not even wince, but calmly asked: "Will Casimir keep his appointment?" "He told me that he would endeavor to come, and I'd wager a hundred to one that he will be there; he would travel ten leagues to put something good into his stomach." M. Fortunat's opinion coincided with Chupin's. "Very well," said he.
Still, as it will appear that she merely has a fortune of two hundred thousand francs, no one will accuse me of marrying for money on the strength of my name. On the contrary, it will seem to be a love-match, and people will suppose that I have grown young again." He paused, incensed by M. Fortunat's lack of enthusiasm.
"I can confess now that I am slightly acquainted with the Count de Chalusse, and that I have frequently visited the house in the Rue de Courcelles, where he now resides." "You!" exclaimed the woman, taking a hasty inventory of M. Fortunat's toilette. "Yes, I on the part of my employer, understand.
Take it." Meanwhile M. Fortunat's expression of countenance had undergone a marked change. "Well!" thought he, "I have just made a mess of it! M. Valorsay is unmasked; and now, may I be hung, if he ever marries Mademoiselle Marguerite. Certainly, I do not owe much to the scoundrel, for he has defrauded me of forty thousand francs, but what will he say when he discovers what I've done?
"The count has no relatives." "Impossible!" "He hasn't, indeed. During the ten years I was in his service, I heard him say more than a dozen times that he alone was left of all his family that all the others were dead. People pretend that this is the reason why he is so immensely rich." M. Fortunat's interest was no longer assumed; he was rapidly approaching the real object of his visit.
It was the one which Pascal Ferailleur had armed himself with, when they talked of searching him, and which he had thrown down in the courtyard, as he left the house. But this detail did not attract M. Fortunat's attention. The only thing that puzzled him was the large reflector placed above the chandelier, and it took him some time to fathom with what object it was placed there.
On the other hand, with such a slight basis to depend upon, was it not almost madness to hope to discover a man who had such strong reasons for concealing himself? Chupin did not think so in fact, when he declared his determination to perform this feat, his plan was already perfected. On leaving M. Fortunat's office, he hastened straight to the Rue d'Ulm, at the top of his speed.
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