The Red Lottery Ticket

III

The Countess de Lescombat's residence on the Boulevard de Courcelles was an imposing structure which, in Italy, would certainly have been styled the Lescombat Palace. Standing majestically between a large court-yard and spacious grounds, this seigneurial mansion seemed intended to accommodate some exiled king. M. de Lescombat, who had erected this residence, had been a blasé sceptic, knowing no law save his own caprice. After amusing himself for several years, he had crowned his career as an eccentric millionaire by marrying the pretended ward of a middle class libertine, a certain Octavia Crochard, whose story had been accurately related by Blanche Pornic, the actress. The result of this marriage was that M. de Lescombat suddenly took his departure for a better world after bequeathing his entire fortune to his wife, and whatever Blanche might say to the contrary, it was scarcely likely that he had committed suicide, for he had certainly had every reason to desire to remain alive. However, the countess, as soon as she became a widow, behaved with the utmost tact. She retained the services of the old Marchioness de Monastier, a dowager who had long assisted the count in doing the honours of his princely mansion, and who was now quite willing to act as chaperon to his widow; and a most complaisant chaperon she proved, winking at such secret peccadillos as Octavia indulged in. The countess now meant to lead a quiet, independent life, but a woman's plans are rarely carried out. Shortly after her husband's death, Dargental was introduced to her by a mutual friend, and she soon became so infatuated with him, that she promised to marry him at the expiration of the ten months' delay prescribed by law.

This promise had failed to take effect, as her intended husband had been taken from her by a most terrible, unforeseen catastrophe. It may be asked, how had she borne this terrible blow? Madame de Monastier alone could have answered the question, for since Dargental's death Madame de Lescombat had not left her house, and he had been buried without her showing herself at the funeral. Moreover, all Puymirol's efforts to enter into communication with her had proved unavailing. Everything seemed to indicate that she meant to let a suitable interval elapse before she emerged from seclusion, and, indeed, when Puymirol met her at the horse show it was the first time that she had appeared in public since her lover's death. She had thought it an excellent opportunity to let people understand that she had no intention of immuring herself forever, and so she had repaired to the Palais de l'Industrie in a toilet suited to the occasion. She there received the friends who approached her with perfect serenity, and cut their expressions of condolence short by a few well-chosen words.

Puymirol knew her but slightly. Dargental had taken him to two or three of her entertainments, and as he was a superb waltzer she had noticed him at the time; but he feared that she had now well-nigh forgotten him, and that she would pay no more attention to his remarks than she had paid to his letters. He was thus agreeably surprised when he saw her smile upon him in the most engaging manner while he approached the tribune where she was seated. He then stationed himself at the foot of the staircase, and, deciding to bide his time, waited for the countess's departure, when he might have an opportunity of saying a few words to her in private. Indeed, when the show was about to close for the day, the countess descended the steps, and leaving the two or three gentlemen who were in obsequious attendance upon her, came straight towards him, apologized for not having received him at her house, and inquired if it would suit him to come and see her that very afternoon. Puymirol eagerly accepted the invitation, although her unexpected cordiality aroused his distrust. However, on catching sight of George, he forthwith determined to place the letters in his keeping as a precaution against a fascination he feared. He reached the countess's house but a quarter of an hour after her own return, and a footman at once escorted him through a suite of magnificent apartments to the boudoir where the lovely widow usually received her intimate friends. He found her armed for conquest. She was certainly a superb creature. Tall, with faultless shoulders, she had a head like that of a Grecian statue, and her white brow was crowned with heavy coils of ruddy hair, of the tint which the Venetian masters were so fond of. Puymirol seated himself in a low chair near her, and was wondering how he should open the conversation when, without any preamble, she exclaimed: "Let us talk of poor Pierre, shall we not?"

"Pierre Dargental?" said Puymirol. "Yes, that was what brought me here."

This was only partially true, however, for he admired the countess exceedingly, and, besides, now that he was in her presence, he experienced the wonderful charm that she exercised over all the men who approached her. She, no doubt, realised it, for, fixing her large green eyes, full of a strange fire, upon him, she softly said: "I thought you had called partially on my account."

"And you are right," exclaimed Puymirol, impulsively.

"Then I forgive you for your almost rude remark. We are already old friends, you and I, for it was more than a year ago that poor Pierre introduced you to me. Do you recollect the ball at which you led the cotillon?"

"I remember it as if it were but yesterday."

"And so do I, for I have never met your equal as a waltzer since. But you have made no effort to see me since last winter."

"I feared annoying Dargental."

"Yes, he was terribly jealous, but, poor fellow, I forgive him. His terrible death has been a sad blow for me. I see by your face that you don't believe that – no doubt, because you saw me at the show just now in a spring toilet. However, a woman is not obliged to put on a black dress to be deeply afflicted. My heart is in mourning, but I don't deem it necessary to publish my grief."

"Oh, I don't presume to criticise you, madame. On the contrary, I bless the chance that brought about a meeting between us, for you have repeatedly refused me an interview."

"I treated everyone alike. I even thought strongly of leaving Paris for a few months, but I finally came to the conclusion that absence would not cure my grief, and I summoned up courage to shake off the prostration to which my loss had reduced me."

"I trusted that you would at least reply to the letter in which I begged of you to grant me an interview."

"You must not be offended with me on account of my failure to do so. I never write to any one. It is against my principles."

"But you must break this rule sometimes," said Adhémar, gazing searchingly at the countess.

"Not often," was the calm response. "My autograph letters ought to fetch a good price, for there are certainly very few of them."

"It would, doubtless, surprise you very much if I told you that I have one in my possession."

"Indeed! I should really like to see it."

"Well, I regret that I haven't got it with me. I should add, however, that it is a very unimportant document; the telegraphic note you sent to Pierre at the Lion d'Or."

"Yes! I recollect that. But I cannot imagine how you came by it."

"Poor Dargental was dead when it was delivered. We were ignorant of the fact, and were breakfasting without him, at the time, and Charles Balmer, who was one of the guests, took the liberty to open the message and show it to us."

"That doesn't surprise me. Monsieur Balmer is always doing something stupid. But I am surprised you kept it."

"I meant to hand it to Dargental as soon as the lunch was over. But, alas! I arrived at his place too late."

"Yes," murmured Madame de Lescombat. "I know the terrible story."

"I should have returned the note to you if I had been able to see you, and I will return it now whenever you like, but I have read and re-read it many times, and I now know your writing as well as if I had received hundreds of letters from you."

"And what do you think of the contents of this famous missive?"

"I think you were most kind and indulgent as regards poor Pierre in letting him invite to that lunch – "

"Some of his old flames. Well, I felt tolerably sure of him, but in my secret heart I was a trifle anxious, as you may judge from the fact that I begged him to come and see me as soon as the repast was over. How many ladies were present?"

"Only one, Blanche Pornic."

"Ah! he had sworn never to see her again," sighed Octavia. "It grieves me to think she was there. She nearly ruined poor Pierre. I succeeded in getting him out of her clutches, and she has never forgiven me for it. She, no doubt, spoke about me during the lunch?"

"Yes, madame, and I won't conceal from you the fact that she isn't very kindly disposed towards you."

"Oh, I can guess what she said about me. She told you that I was the daughter of a Lyons' weaver, didn't she? That is the truth, and I'm not ashamed of it. She also told you that I didn't love my first husband, and that I deceived him, I suppose. The fact is, he never did inspire me with any other feeling than gratitude, but he asked nothing more, and he never had any reason to complain of me."

"Mademoiselle Blanche pretended that he poisoned himself."

"I scorn to notice that calumny. It is as unworthy of notice as she is. Fortunately, I shall never be obliged to hear her name mentioned again."

"Who knows?" said Puymirol. "She let me understand that she had some powerful weapons against you – letters."

"Letters! Why, didn't I tell you just now that I had never written to anyone but Pierre in my life?"

"That would be quite enough. A few lines suffice to compromise one at times, and if Dargental was ever foolish enough to show a note of yours to that girl, she may have managed to obtain possession of it."

The countess turned pale, and her assurance failed her. "I will never believe that," she said, in a voice that trembled in spite of all her efforts. "Pierre treated me badly at one time, but he was incapable of intrusting any damaging secret to this creature; besides, she wouldn't have kept it. I authorize you to tell her, from me, that what she says is false, and that I'm not afraid of her."

"Nothing would suit me better but I don't visit her, and there is very little probability of my meeting her anywhere."

Madame de Lescombat reflected for a moment, and then said: "But what if I asked you to see her again? What if I begged of you to question her, and discover what she referred to when she threatened to produce I don't know what proofs against me?"

"I should comply with your request, of course; but if Blanche suspected that I came on your behalf, she would probably be emboldened, and might publish your letters if she has any."

"She hasn't any," was the quick response, "but you are right. It is best to let the matter drop, and not to trouble ourselves any further about this creature."

Puymirol was satisfied. The countess had fallen into the trap set for her. The anxiety she had failed to conceal conclusively proved how much importance she attached to the recovery of some particular letter, and this letter was unquestionably one of those contained in the pocket-book.

However, before Puymirol could decide what use he should make of the advantage thus gained, his companion said, thoughtfully: "It is strange, but I talk to you exactly as I should talk to an intimate friend. It is true that I am much better acquainted with you than you suppose, for although Pierre seldom brought you to see me he was always talking about you."

"He was not particularly enthusiastic in his praises, I suppose?" interrupted Adhémar, smiling.

"Nor in his censure. He was inclined to be jealous of you; but he liked you, and could not refrain from doing justice to your qualities. He used to say that you were always brave, and that you never despaired, either at the card-table or in your love affairs. It was the same with him; and it was for that very reason that I loved him, though my love for him certainly cost me dear. Yes, why should I hide from you the fact that I have lent him large amounts over and over again. Still, I never even regretted the inroads that his passion for gambling made in my fortune. I was only too happy to help him, and I think I should almost have hated him if he had refused my proffered aid."

"You are presenting Dargental to me in a new light," said Puymirol, biting his lips.

"Oh, I see that you have your prejudices like all the rest of your sex. You think it perfectly right and natural to deceive a woman and reduce her to despair by deserting her, and yet your pride revolts at the mere thought of accepting a pecuniary favour from her. Well, for myself, I don't dislike the idea that my lover should treat me as an equal. Dargental, at first, had the same ideas as you have, but I succeeded in winning him over to my way of thinking; and if I ever pledge myself to another man, I shall require him to sacrifice the foolish pride you seem to admire so much."

"You would have great difficulty in converting me. I would rather resign you than submit."

"You are not my lover. If you were, I flatter myself that I should succeed in overcoming your opposition. I should say to you, 'You lost ten thousand francs last night, on parole, and you are miserable because you don't know how you will manage to pay the money. Here it is. Take it, or I shall know that you do not love me.'"

Adhémar started. He, himself, had lost exactly ten thousand francs on the evening before, and Madame de Lescombat's shot told. Was the remark really intended for him, or was it by a mere chance that she mentioned such a case, and that exact amount? He did not know, but however that might be, he must make some reply. "That is a test to which I should not like to be subjected," he exclaimed. "It would be a cruel alternative, you must admit."

"Perhaps so; but come, Fortune has frowned upon you. You admit it, do you not?"

"Well, I do admit it. For a fortnight past, I have done nothing but lose. One would think that Dargental's death had brought me bad luck."

"It will bring misfortune upon others as well. Your last evening at baccarat was most disastrous, was it not?"

"How do you know?"

"Why, there was a member of your club in the tribune at the horse show, and on seeing you bow to me he naturally spoke of you, and of the game you played last evening. He told me that you were an excellent player, as cool when you lost as when you won. That is all very well; but one must be able to pay one's debts of honour."

"I shall pay mine," said Adhémar drily.

"I have wounded you, I see," replied the countess. "Believe me, the offence was unintentional. I have a bad habit of not concealing my feelings, and of imagining that I have a right to oblige those I like. I heard that you were embarrassed pecuniarily, and my first impulse was to help you. It was for that reason that I asked you to call here. If you refuse my offer you will wound me deeply, I assure you."

"What would you think of me if I accepted it?"

"I should think that I inspired you with sufficient liking and confidence to make you willing to become my debtor. I merely propose a loan. With Pierre, it was different. Pierre was to marry me. We had the same interests, and my fortune was his; but I shall accommodate you exactly as one friend accommodates another, and if you insist upon it, I am willing to accept your note for the amount."

"My note would not be worth more than a verbal promise, for I have no security to give, and I should probably be unable to meet the note when it fell due. If I consented to accept your offer, I should never dare to set foot here again, and that would be a terrible deprivation for me."

"You wish to see me again, you say, and yet you hesitate to make this slight sacrifice of pride? It is not in this way that I wish to be loved."

"Then you would be willing to accept my love and devotion?" exclaimed Puymirol.

"A coquette might give you an evasive answer. But I am made of different stuff, and I frankly answer 'Yes.'"

Acting upon the impulse of the moment, Adhémar made a movement as if to throw himself at the countess's feet, but she checked him with a gesture, and said, smiling: "I desire no rash or premature protestations. Listen to me before you go any further. I have been sufficiently frank with you for you to believe me when I tell you what I think, and feel. At my age a woman can hardly resign herself to perpetual widowhood, and for that reason I was on the point of marrying Pierre, though I might have done much better, for I had serious reason to complain of him. But you are not going to ask me to marry you, or even to engage myself to you forthwith, I suppose?"

"No, for you would refuse."

"No doubt; and, besides, the man who cares to win me must be my friend and my ally against my enemies."

"Is it possible that you have any enemies?"

"Have you forgotten Blanche Pornic? She might injure me greatly; and I cannot contend unaided against a woman who has nothing to lose."

Puymirol now began to understand the countess's advances, and his self-possession returned to him, in a measure. It was evident that she wished to bind him to her at any cost.

"You may be right," he said, after a moment's silence. "Blanche is capable of anything; besides, she has good reason to feel anxious, for the authorities believe that Dargental died by violence, and she has been closely questioned, and may be examined again."

"Can she be accused of murdering him?"

"Not exactly, as she is still at large. But the police are looking for the murderer; and rumour attributes the crime to one of our friend's former sweethearts, who hired some one to kill him, so as to regain possession of certain letters."

"What did I tell you a moment ago? This creature undoubtedly wrote him something that revealed her in her true character. I am sure of it; for Pierre told me one day that he had something in his possession which would suffice to send her to the Assizes. I am perfectly willing to repeat that to the magistrate."

"That would be very imprudent; for Mademoiselle Pornic, in self-defence, might declare that you also had written to Pierre, and that you were even more interested than she was in regaining possession of your correspondence. At the beginning of our conversation, you yourself admitted that there were some danger in this."

"And I asked you to try and frighten Mademoiselle Pornic out of the notion of slandering me. You politely refused. I shall, perhaps, be obliged to apply to a bolder person. Where does this woman live?"

"At No. 34, Avenue de Messine. But it would be useless for you to apply to her. Not a single letter was found at Dargental's. Besides, his pocket-book had been stolen from him."

"A Russia-leather pocket-book, with his initial and a marquis's coronet upon it!" exclaimed the countess, greatly agitated. "I gave it to him."

"Well, the question is to ascertain into whose hands it has fallen," remarked Puymirol. "If it has come into Blanche Pornic's possession, she will have destroyed her own letters, and have preserved yours."

"I can compel her to return them to me."

"I doubt it. If I thought it possible, I should not hesitate to make the attempt."

"My hand and fortune shall be the reward of the man who will restore my letters to me," said the countess, boldly.

It was impossible to declare more plainly that she was at the mercy of the person who had possession of her missives to Dargental, and Puymirol, still under the charm of her wonderful beauty, felt anxious to win the promised reward. "I will do all in my power to serve you," he said, rising, after he had pressed a kiss upon her soft white hand.

"Then begin by taking the five hundred louis you need to pay your gambling debts," was the quick reply.

"Anything but that," rejoined Puymirol, firmly. "Will you permit me to call again to-morrow?"

"At any hour you like. I shall always be at home to you."

Puymirol certainly deserved some credit for refusing Madame de Lescombat's offers of pecuniary assistance, for never since the outset of his struggles in Parisian waters had he found himself in an equally trying position. A fortnight's continuous ill luck had reduced him to penury. It is true that he still had twenty-four hours' respite left him, but if he had had a month at his disposal, he would have been no better off, for he had nothing to expect from any one. George Caumont could render him no assistance, and his Aunt Bessèges would not send him a penny, even had he merely asked her to advance him a portion of his next quarter's allowance.

There is nothing really better than violent exercise for dispelling gloomy thoughts, and, being fully aware of this fact, Puymirol, after taking leave of the countess, repaired to his club, and entered the fencing-room, in the hope of finding some pleasant company, and of gaining an appetite by a bout with some foemen worthy of his steel. He fenced in turn with three of the best swordsmen present, even worsted the professor, and then having attained a tranquil state of mind, he began to consider where he should dine, and in what way he should spend his evening.

The club dinner not being quite ready, he decided to patronise the Lion d'Or, where he had not set foot since the catastrophe. He strolled there and went in without noticing a gentleman who was talking with the doorkeeper, and who entered immediately behind him. However, the first person he saw inside was Blanche Pornic, seated at table with a young and handsome officer. The meeting displeased him, but it was too late to beat a retreat. Blanche would think he was purposely avoiding her, and he did not wish to arouse her suspicions. She gave him a friendly smile as he passed by – a smile which made her companion turn to look at the new comer who was greeted so familiarly. Puymirol responded by touching his hat politely, and then walked on to the other end of the room, for he felt that the right moment for an interview with Blanche had not yet arrived, and he did not care to be in her immediate neighbourhood. Having ensconced himself in a corner, he ordered a first-rate dinner, and under the influence of some generous wine his ideas soon assumed a roseate hue. It was only when he had finished his dessert and had just poured himself out a little old brandy, that he noticed that a person dining in front of him – the gentleman who had followed him into the restaurant – was staring at him with strange persistency. Puymirol returned the stare with interest, and perceived that this stranger was a man considerably older than himself, carefully dressed, but with somewhat the look of a provincial. He did not once lower his eyes, but kept them persistently riveted on Puymirol, and the latter, who was by no means patient, soon called a waiter and ordered him in a loud voice to go and ask that gentleman why he was staring at him in such an extraordinary manner. The frightened servant did not seem at all anxious to deliver this disagreeable message, but the offender had heard the order, and laying his napkin on the table, he quietly rose, and came straight towards Puymirol, who prepared himself for an attack. However, the stranger, probably in order to convince Adhémar that he had no hostile intentions, began by bowing very politely, and then said, in a conciliatory tone: "Excuse me, sir, for having looked at you in an offensive manner. But I was trying to find some excuse for speaking to you, and now that you have furnished it, I will ask the favour of a moment's conversation."