14Van Klopen, the man-milliner, knew Paris and its people thoroughlylike all tradesmen who are in the habit of giving large credit. Heknew all about the business of his customers, and never forgot an itemof information when he received one. Thus, when Mascarin spoke to himabout the father of the lovely Flavia, whose charms had set thesusceptible heart of Paul Violaine in a blaze, the arbiter of fashionhad replied,--"Martin Rigal; yes, I know him; he is a banker." And a banker, indeed,Martin Rigal was, dwelling in a magnificent house in the RueMontmartre. The bank was on the ground floor, while his private roomswere in the story above. Though he did not do business in a very largeway, yet he was a most respectable man, and his connection was chieflywith the smaller trades-people, who seem to live a strange kind ofhand-to-mouth existence, and who might be happy were it not for theconstant reappearance of that grim phantom--bills to be met. Nearlyall these persons were in the banker's hands entirely. Martin Rigalused his power despotically and permitted no arguments, and speedilyquelled rebellion on the part of any new customer who ventured toobject to his arbitrary rules. In the morning the banker was never tobe seen, being engaged in his private office, and not a clerk wouldventure to knock at his door. Even had one done so, no reply wouldhave been returned; for the experiment had been tried, and it wasbelieved that nothing short of an alarm of fire would have brought himout.
The banker was a big man, quite bald, his face was clean shaved, andhis little gray eyes twinkled incessantly. His manner was charminglycourteous, and he said the most cruel things in the most honiedaccents, and invariably escorted to the door the man whom he wouldsell up the next day. In his dress he affected a fashionable style,much used by the modern school of Shylocks. When not in business, hewas a pleasant, and, as some say, a witty companion. He was not lookedon as an ascetic, and did not despise those little pleasures whichenable us to sustain life's tortuous journey. He liked a good dinner,and had always a smile ready for a young and attractive face. He was awidower, and all his love was concentrated on his daughter. He did notkeep a very extravagant establishment, but the report in theneighborhood was that Mademoiselle Flavia, the daughter of the eminentbanker, would one day come into millions. The banker always did hisbusiness on foot, for the sake of his health, as he said; but Flaviahad a sweet little Victoria, drawn by two thoroughbred horses, todrive in the Bois de Boulogne, under the protection of an old woman,half companion and half servant, who was driven half mad by hercharge's caprices. As yet her father has never denied her anything. Heworked harder than all his clerks put together, for, after havingspent the morning in his counting house over his papers, he receivedall business clients.
On the day after Flavia and Paul Violaine had met at Van Klopen's, M.
Martin Rigal was, at about half-past five, closeted with one of hisfemale clients. She was young, very pretty, and dressed with simpleelegance, but the expression of her face was profoundly melancholy.
Her eyes were overflowing with tears, which she made vain efforts torestrain.
"If you refuse to renew our bill, sir, we are ruined," said she. "Icould meet it in January. I have sold all my trinkets, and we areexisting on credit.""Poor little thing!" interrupted the banker.
Her hopes grew under these words of pity.
"And yet," continued she, "business has never been so brisk. Newcustomers are constantly coming in, and though our profits are small,the returns are rapid."As Martin Rigal heard her exposition of the state of affairs, henodded gravely.
"That is all very well," said he at last, "but this does not make thesecurity you offer me of any more value. I have more confidence inyou.""But remember, sir, that we have thirty thousand francs' worth ofstock.""That is not what I was alluding to," and the banker accompanied thesewords with so meaning a look, that the poor woman blushed scarlet andalmost lost her nerve. "Your stock," said he, "is of no more value inmy eyes than the bill you offer me. Suppose, for instance, you were tobecome bankrupt, the landlord might come down upon everything, for hehas great power."He broke off abruptly, for Flavia's maid, as a privileged person,entered the room without knocking.
"Sir," said she, "my mistress wishes to see you at once."The banker got up directly. "I am coming," said he; then, taking thehand of his client, he led her to the door, repeating: "Do not worryyourself; all the difficulties shall be got through. Come again, andwe will talk them over;" and before she could thank him he was halfway to his daughter's apartment. Flavia had summoned her father toshow him a new costume which had just been sent home by Van Klopen,and which pleased her greatly. Flavia's costume was a masterpiece offashionable bad taste, which makes women look all alike and destroysall appearance of individuality. It was a mass of frills, furbelows,fringes, and flutings of rare hue and form, making a series ofwonderful contrasts. Standing in the middle of the room, with everyavailable candle alight, for the day was fading away, she was sodainty and pretty that even the /bizarre/ dress of Van Klopen's wasunable to spoil her appearance. As she turned round, she caught sightof her father in a mirror, panting with the haste he had made inrunning upstairs.
"What a time you have been!" said she pettishly.
"I was with a client," returned he apologetically.
"You ought to have got rid of him at once. But never mind that; lookat me and tell me plainly what you think of me."She had no need to put the question, for the most intense admirationbeamed in his face.
"Exquisite, delicious, heavenly!" answered he.
Flavia, accustomed as she was to her father's compliments, was highlydelighted. "Then you think that he will like me?" asked she.
She alluded to Paul Violaine, and the banker heaved a deep sigh as hereplied,--"Is it possible that any human being exists that you cannot please?""Ah!" mused she, "if it were any one but he, I should have no doubtsor misgivings."Martin Rigal took a seat near the fire, and, drawing his daughter tohim, pressed a fond kiss upon her brow, while she with the grace andactivity of a cat, nestled upon his knee. "Suppose, after all, that heshould not like me," murmured she; "I should die of grief."The banker turned away his face to hide the gloom that overspread it.
"Do you love him, then, even now?" asked he.
She paused for a moment, and he added, "More than you do me?"Flavia pressed her father's hand between both her palms and answeredwith a musical laugh, "How silly you are, papa! Why, of course I loveyou. Are you not my father? I love you too because you are kind and doall I wish, and because you are always telling me that you love me.
Because you are like the cupids in the fairy stories--dear old peoplewho give their children all their heart's desire; I love you for mycarriage, my horses, and my lovely dresses; for my purse filled withgold, for my beautiful jewelry, and for all the lovely presents youmake me."Every word she spoke betrayed the utter selfishness of her soul, andyet her father listened with a fixed smile of delight on his face.
"And why do you love him?" asked he.
"Because--because," stammered the girl, "first, because he is himself;and then,--well, I can't say, but I /do/ love him."Her accents betrayed such depth of passion that the father uttered agroan of anguish.
Flavia caught the expression of his features, and burst into a fit oflaughter.
"I really believe that you are jealous," said she, as if she werespeaking to a spoiled child. "That is very naughty of you; you oughtto be ashamed of yourself. I tell you that the first time I set eyesupon him at Van Klopen's, I felt a thrill of love pierce through myheart, such love as I never felt for a human being before. Since then,I have known no rest. I cannot sleep, and instead of blood, liquidfire seems to come through my veins."Martin Rigal raised his eyes to the ceiling in mute surprise at thisoutburst of feeling.
"You do not understand me," went on Flavia. "You are the best offathers, but, after all, you are but a man. Had I a mother, she wouldcomprehend me better.""What could your mother have done for you more than I? Have Ineglected anything for your happiness?" asked the banker, with a sigh.
"Perhaps nothing; for there are times when I hardly understand my ownfeelings."In gloomy silence the banker listened to the narrative of hisdaughter's state of mind; then he said,--"All shall be as you desire, and the man you love shall be yourhusband."The girl was almost beside herself with joy, and, throwing her armsaround his neck, pressed kiss upon kiss on his cheeks and forehead.
"Darling," said she, "I love you for this more than for anything thatyou have given me in my life."The banker sighed again; and Flavia, shaking her pretty little fist athim, exclaimed, "What is the meaning of that sigh, sir? Do you by anychance regret your promise? But never mind that. How do you mean tobring him here without causing any suspicion?"A benevolent smile passed over her father's face, as he answered,--"That, my pet, is my secret.""Very well, keep it; I do not care what means you use, as long as Isee him soon, very soon,--to-night perhaps, in an hour, or even in afew minutes. You say Dr. Hortebise will bring him here; he will sit atour table. I can look at him without trouble, I shall hear hisvoice--""Silly little puss!" broke in the banker; "or, rather, I should say,unhappy child.""Silly, perhaps; but why should you say unhappy?""You love him too fondly, and he will take advantage of your feelingfor him.""Never; I do not believe it," answered the girl.
"I hope to heaven, darling, that my fears may never be realized. Buthe is not the sort of husband that I intended for you; he is acomposer.""And is that anything against him!" exclaimed Flavia in angry tones;"one would think from your sneers that this was a crime. Not only ishe a composer, but he is a genius. I can read that in his face. He maybe poor, but I am rich enough for both, and he will owe all to me; somuch the better, for then he will not be compelled to give lessons forhis livelihood, and he will have leisure to compose an opera morebeautiful than any that Gounod has ever written, and I shall share allhis glory. Why, perhaps, he may even sing his own songs to me alone."Her father noticed her state of feverish excitement and gazed upon hersadly. Flavia's mother had been removed from this world at the earlyage of twenty-four by that insidious malady, consumption, which defiesmodern medical science, and in a brief space changes a beautiful girlinto a livid corpse, and the father viewed her excited manner, flushedcheeks, and sparkling eyes with tears and dismay.
"By heavens!" cried he, bursting into a sudden fit of passion; "ifever he ill treats you, he is a dead man."The girl was startled at the sudden ferocity of his manner.
"What have I done to make you angry?" asked she; "and why do you havesuch evil thoughts of him?""I tremble for you, in whom my whole soul is wrapped up," answered thebanker. "This man has robbed me of my child's heart, and you will behappier with him than you are with your poor old father. I tremblebecause of your inexperience and his weakness, which may prove asource of trouble to you.""If he is weak, all the better; my will can guide him.""You are wrong," replied her father, "as many other women have beenbefore you. You believe that weak and vacillating dispositions areeasily controlled, but I tell you that this is an error. Onlydetermined characters can be influenced, and it is on substantialfoundations that we find support."Flavia made no reply, and her father drew her closer to him.
"Listen to me, my child," said he. "You will never have a betterfriend than I am. You know that I would shed every drop of blood in myveins for you. He is coming, so search your heart to discover if thisis not some mere passing fancy.""Father!" cried she.
"Remember that your happiness is in your own hands now, so be carefuland conceal your feelings, and do not let him discover how deep yourlove is for him. Men's minds are so formed that while they blame awoman for duplicity, they complain far more if she acts openly andallows her feelings to be seen----"He paused, for the door-bell rang. Flavia's heart gave a bound ofintense joy.
"He has come!" gasped she, and, with a strong effort to retain hercomposure, she added, "I will obey you, my dear father; I will notcome here again until I have entirely regained my composure. Do notfear, and I will show you that your daughter can act a part as well asany other woman."She fled from the room as the door opened, but it was not Paul whomade his appearance, but some other guests--a stout manufacturer andhis wife, the latter gorgeously dressed, but with scarcely a word tosay for herself. For this evening the banker had issued invitations totwenty of his friends, and among this number Paul would scarcely benoticed. He in due time made his appearance with Dr. Hortebise, whohad volunteered to introduce him into good society. Paul felt ill atease; he had just come from the hands of a fashionable tailor, who,thanks to Mascarin's influence, had in forty-eight hours prepared anevening suit of such superior cut that the young man hardly knewhimself in it. Paul had suffered a good deal from conflicting emotionsafter the visit to Van Klopen's, and more than once regretted theadhesion that he had given to Mascarin's scheme; but a visit the nextday from Hortebise, and the knowledge that the fashionable physicianwas one of the confederates, had reconciled him to the position he hadpromised to assume.
He was moreover struck with Flavia's charms, and dazzled with theaccounts of her vast prospective fortune. To him, Hortebise, gay,rich, and careless, seemed the incarnation of happiness, andcontributed greatly to stifle the voice of Paul's conscience. Hewould, however, perhaps have hesitated had he known what the locketcontained that dangled so ostentatiously from the doctor's chain.
Before they reached the banker's door, driven in the doctor's elegantbrougham, a similar one to which Paul mentally declared he would have,as soon as circumstances would permit, the young man's mentor spoke.
"Let me say a few words to you. You have before you a chance which isseldom afforded to any young man, whatever his rank and socialstanding. Mind that you profit by it.""You may be sure I will," said Paul, with a smile of self-complacency.
"Good, dear boy; but let me fortify your courage with a little of myexperience. Do you know what an heiress really is?""Well, really----""Permit me to continue. An heiress and more so if she is an onlychild, is generally a very disagreeable person, headstrong,capricious, and puffed up with her own importance. She is utterlyspoiled by the flattery to which she has been accustomed from herearliest years, and thinks that all the world is made to bend beforeher.""Ah!" answered Paul, a little discomfited. "I hope it is notMademoiselle Flavia's portrait that you have been sketching?""Not exactly," answered the doctor, with a laugh. "But I must warn youthat even she has certain whims and fancies. For instance, I am quitesure that she would give a suitor every encouragement, and thenrepulse him without rhyme or reason."Paul, who up to this time had only seen the bright side of affairs,was a good deal disconcerted.
"Buy why should you introduce me to her then?""In order that you may win her. Have you not everything to insuresuccess? She will most likely receive you with the utmost cordiality;but beware of being too sanguine. Even if she makes desperate love toyou, I say, take care; it may be only a trap; for, between ourselves,a girl who has a million stitched to her petticoats is to be excusedif she endeavors to find out whether the suitor is after her or hermoney."Just then the brougham stopped, and Dr. Hortebise and his young friendentered the house in the Rue Montmartre, where they were cordiallygreeted by the banker.
Paul glanced round, but there were no signs of Flavia, nor did shemake her appearance until five minutes before the dinner hour, whenthe guests flocked round her. She had subdued all her emotions, andnot a quiver of the eyelids disclosed the excitement under which shewas laboring. Her eye rested on Paul, and he bowed ceremoniously. Thebanker was delighted, for he had not believed much in her self-command. But Flavia had taken his advice to heart, and when seated attable abstained from casting a glance in Paul's direction. When dinnerwas over and many of the guests had sat down to whist; Flavia venturedto approach Paul, and in a low voice, which shook a little in spite ofher efforts, said,--"Will you not play me one of your own compositions, M. Violaine?"Paul was but a medium performer, but Flavia seemed in the seventhheaven, while her father and Dr. Hortebise, who had taken their seatsnot far away, watched the young couple with much anxiety.
"How she adores him!" whispered the banker. "And yet I cannot judge ofthe effect that she has produced upon him.""Surely Mascarin will worm it all out of him to-morrow," returned thedoctor. "To-morrow the poor fellow will have his hands full, for thereis to be a general meeting, when we shall hear all about Catenac'sideas, and I shall be glad to know what Croisenois's conduct will bewhen he knows what he is wanted for."It was growing late, and the guests began to drop off. Dr. Hortebisesignalled to Paul, and they left the house together. According to thepromise to her father, Flavia had acted her part so well, that Pauldid not know whether he had made an impression or not.