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Updated: June 27, 2025
In a few minutes Fanferlot was completely disguised by a thick beard, a wig, and one of those long linen blouses worn by dishonest workmen, who go about seeking labor, and, at the same time, hoping they may not find any. "Have you your handcuffs?" asked the solicitous Mme. Alexandre. "Yes, yes: make haste and put that letter to M. de Clameran in the post-office, and and keep good watch."
"May I inquire, madame, why you regard Mlle. Madeleine's becoming the Marchioness of Clameran as a disgrace and a sacrifice?" "My niece chose, of her own free will, a husband whom she will shortly marry. She loves M. Prosper Bertomy." The marquis disdainfully shrugged his shoulders. "A school-girl love-affair," said he; "she will forget all about it, if you wish her to do so." "I do not wish it.
The detectives of the most corrupt capital in existence were the only people who knew his means of support. Descending to the last stages of vice, the Marquis of Clameran finally found his level in a society composed of shameless women and gamblers. Compelled to quit London, he travelled over Europe, with no other capital than his knavish audacity, deep depravity, and his skill at cards.
"The sooner you see M. de Clameran the better for us, aunt," she said, after talking the project over. The next day Mme. Fauvel called on the marquis at the Hotel du Louvre, having sent him a note announcing her intended visit. He received her with cold, studied politeness, like a man who had been misunderstood and had been unjustly wounded.
I accept your explanation." But the clown, hitherto so humble and silly-looking, seemed to take offence at the word, and, assuming a defiant attitude, said: "I have not made, nor do I intend making, any explanation." "Monsieur," began De Clameran. "Allow me to finish, if you please.
Clameran burst into a loud laugh, and said: "That is sensible: now that you are rich, you can afford to be honest. Set your conscience at rest, for I promise you I will require nothing more of you save a few trifling services. You can retire behind the scenes now, while I appear upon the stage; my role begins." For more than an hour after Raoul's departure, Mme.
They joined the other guests. But, if their conversation had not been overheard their movements had been watched. Madeleine looked through the half-open door, and saw Clameran consulting her uncle's note-book, and whispering to Raoul. But what benefit would she derive from this proof of the marquis's villany?
The delighted Joseph disappeared in a twinkling; while Prosper and M. Verduret remained at the window observing Clameran, who, according to the movements of the crowd, was sometimes lost to sight, and sometimes just in front of the window, but was evidently determined not to quit his post until he had obtained the information he sought.
Raoul was shocked at this cold-blooded perversity of his uncle; but Clameran showed his immense superiority in wickedness, and the apprentice admired the master. "You would certainly succeed, uncle," he said, "were it not for the cashier. Between you and Madeleine, Prosper will always stand; if not in person, certainly in memory."
But, happening to look up at the windows of Clameran, she saw lights hurrying to and fro in an unusual manner, even in rooms that she knew to be unoccupied. A presentiment of impending misfortune chilled her blood, and stopped the beatings of her heart. A secret and imperious voice within told her that something extraordinary was going on at the chateau of Clameran. What was it?
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