"What can be going forward at the d'Esgrignons'?"
At the sight of
mademoiselle, Chesnel opened the door circumspectly
and set down the light which he was carrying; but when he looked out
and saw Victurnien, Mlle. Armande's first whispered word made the
whole thing plain to him. He looked up and down the street; it seemed
quite deserted; he beckoned, and the young Count
sprang out of the
carriage and entered the
courtyard. All was lost. Chesnel's
successorhad discovered Victurnien's hiding place.
Victurnien was
hurried into the house and installed in a room beyond
Chesnel's private office. No one could enter it except across the old
man's dead body.
"Ah! M. le Comte!" exclaimed Chesnel, notary no longer.
"Yes, monsieur," the Count answered, understanding his old friend's
exclamation. "I did not listen to you; and now I have fallen into the
depths, and I must perish."
"No, no," the good man answered, looking
triumphantly from Mlle.
Armande to the Count. "I have sold my
connection. I have been working
for a very long time now, and am thinking of retiring. By noon to-
morrow I shall have a hundred thousand francs; many things can be
settled with that. Mademoiselle, you are tired," he added; "go back to
the
carriage and go home and sleep. Business to-morrow."
"Is he safe?" returned she, looking at Victurnien.
"Yes."
She kissed her
nephew; a few tears fell on his
forehead. Then she
went.
"My good Chesnel," said the Count, when they began to talk of
business, "what are your hundred thousand francs in such a position as
mine? You do not know the full
extent of my troubles, I think."
Victurnien explained the situation. Chesnel was
thunderstruck. But for
the strength of his
devotion, he would have succumbed to this blow.
Tears streamed from the eyes that might well have had no tears left to
shed. For a few moments he was a child again, for a few moments he was
bereft of his senses; he stood like a man who should find his own
house on fire, and through a window see the
cradle ablaze and hear the
hiss of the flames on his children's curls. He rose to his full height
--il se dressa en pied, as Amyot would have said; he seemed to grow
taller; he raised his withered hands and wrung them despairingly and
wildly.
"If only your father may die and never know this, young man! To be a
forger is enough; a parricide you must not be. Fly, you say? No. They
would
condemn you for
contempt of court! Oh,
wretched boy! Why did you
not forge MY
signature? _I_ would have paid; I should not have taken
the bill to the public prosecutor.--Now I can do nothing. You have
brought me to a stand in the lowest pit in hell!--Du Croisier! What
will come of it? What is to be done?--If you had killed a man, there
might be some help for it. But forgery--FORGERY! And time--the time is
flying," he went on, shaking his fist towards the old clock. "You will
want a sham
passport now. One crime leads to another. First," he
added, after a pause, "first of all we must save the house of
d'Esgrignon."
"But the money is still in Mme. de Maufrigneuse's keeping," exclaimed
Victurnien.
"Ah!" exclaimed Chesnel. "Well, there is some hope left--a faint hope.
Could we
soften du Croisier, I wonder, or buy him over? He shall have
all the lands if he likes. I will go to him; I will wake him and offer
him all we have.--Besides, it was not you who forged that bill; it was
I. I will go to jail; I am too old for the hulks, they can only put me
in prison."
"But the body of the bill is in my handwriting," objected Victurnien,
without a sign of surprise at this
recklessdevotion.
"Idiot! . . . that is,
pardon, M. le Comte. Josephin should have been
made to write it," the old notary cried wrathfully. "He is a good
creature; he would have taken it all on his shoulders. But there is an
end of it; the world is falling to pieces," the old man continued,
sinking exhausted into a chair. "Du Croisier is a tiger; we must be
careful not to rouse him. What time is it? Where is the draft? If it
is at Paris, it might be bought back from the Kellers; they might
accommodate us. Ah! but there are dangers on all sides; a single false
step means ruin. Money is wanted in any case. But there! nobody knows
you are here, you must live buried away in the
cellar if needs must. I
will go at once to Paris as fast as I can; I can hear the mail coach
from Brest."
In a moment the old man recovered the faculties of his youth--his
agility and vigor. He packed up clothes for the journey, took money,
brought a six-pound loaf to the little room beyond the office, and
turned the key on his child by
adoption.