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In the year 1807 the old Marquis of Fougereuse died; in his last hours his son, the Vicomte of Talizac, sneaked into the chamber of death and, sinking on his knees beside the bedside of the dying man, implored his father to make him his sole heir.
"If you let me implore hopelessly to-day, Pierre," he whispered, gritting his teeth, "the name of Fougereuse will be eternally dishonored." "The name of Fougereuse?" asked Pierre, with faint malice; "thank God, my lord, that it is not in your power to stain it; you are only the Vicomte de Talizac."
A rescue was at hand, in a marriage of the vicomte with the young Countess of Salves, but this rescue rested on a weak footing, as a new escapade of "The Talizac Buckle," as the heir of the Fougereuse was mockingly called, might destroy the planned union.
"I will first speak of the service," replied Velletri, calmly; "it is of such a nature that the one intrusted with it can be thankful, for he will be able to do a great deal of good to His Holiness the Pope and the Catholic world." Fougereuse closed his eyes this outlook was dazzling.
As soon as he had sufficiently recovered, Pierre told him, in short outlines, who he was. The young man listened with deep emotion to the story, and then he swore a sacred oath that he would never call another man father than the one who had taken pity on him, the helpless child; the Marquis of Fougereuse had no right to him, and he would rather have died than touch a penny of his money.
She was aware that a powerful magnet in the person of Louison attracted him across the ocean, and when the young nobleman landed in France again, after the lapse of a few months, he was accompanied by a handsome young wife, whom the old Marquis of Montferrand warmly welcomed to the home of his fathers for was she not a scion of the house of Fougereuse, and the sole heiress of all the property of that family?
Fougereuse trembled with fear and his teeth chattered as he stammeringly said: "I do not understand you." "Then listen. The papers are drafts whose signatures have been forged by the Vicomte de Talizac, and which are in our hands." "Drafts? Forged drafts? Impossible my son is not a criminal!" cried the marquis, desperately.
"Marquis, the house of Fougereuse possesses a fortune which is fabulous in comparison to the demands of the society." "If it were only so," groaned Fougereuse, "but unfortunately you are mistaken; I am ruined, totally ruined!" "Impossible! The fortune your father left behind him was too immense to have been spent in a few years!
Listen then," continued the marquis, placing his lips to the old man's ears: "to rescue myself from going under, I committed an act of despair, and if assistance does not come to me, the name of the Fougereuse will be exposed to the world, with the brand of the forger upon it." The old man's face showed no traces of surprise.
With trembling hands Fougereuse opened the ones on top and tried to read, but a veil was before his eyes and he tremblingly said: "Read them, Pierre, I cannot see anything."
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