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198 pages

English

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pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. Vengeance! that is the first, the only thought, when a man finds himself victimized, when his honor and fortune, his present and future, are wrecked by a vile conspiracy! The torment he endures under such circumstances can only be alleviated by the prospect of inflicting them a hundredfold upon his persecutors. And nothing seems impossible at the first moment, when hatred surges in the brain, and the foam of anger rises to the lips; no obstacle seems insurmountable, or, rather, none are perceived. But later, when the faculties have regained their equilibrium, one can measure the distance which separates the dream from reality, the project from execution. And on setting to work, how many discouragements arise! The fever of revolt passes by, and the victim wavers. He still breathes bitter vengeance, but he does not act. He despairs, and asks himself what would be the good of it? And in this way the success of villainy is once more assured.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	27 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819927624
Langue	English

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BARON TRIGAULT'S VENGEANCE
by Emile Gaboriau
A Sequel to
“The Count's Millions”
BARON TRIGAULT'S VENGEANCE
I
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BARON TRIGAULT'S VENGEANCE
I
Vengeance! that is the first, the only thought, whena man finds himself victimized, when his honor and fortune, hispresent and future, are wrecked by a vile conspiracy! The tormenthe endures under such circumstances can only be alleviated by theprospect of inflicting them a hundredfold upon his persecutors. Andnothing seems impossible at the first moment, when hatred surges inthe brain, and the foam of anger rises to the lips; no obstacleseems insurmountable, or, rather, none are perceived. But later,when the faculties have regained their equilibrium, one can measurethe distance which separates the dream from reality, the projectfrom execution. And on setting to work, how many discouragementsarise! The fever of revolt passes by, and the victim wavers. Hestill breathes bitter vengeance, but he does not act. He despairs,and asks himself what would be the good of it? And in this way thesuccess of villainy is once more assured.
Similar despondency attacked Pascal Ferailleur whenhe awoke for the first time in the abode where he had hiddenhimself under the name of Maumejan. A frightful slander had crushedhim to the earth— he could kill his slanderer, but afterward— ? Howwas he to reach and stifle the slander itself? As well try to holda handful of water; as well try to stay with extended arms theprogress of the poisonous breeze which wafts an epidemic on itswings. So the hope that had momentarily lightened his heart fadedaway again. Since he had received that fatal letter from MadameLeon the evening before, he believed that Marguerite was lost tohim forever, and in this case, it was useless to struggle againstfate. What would be the use of victory even if he conquered?Marguerite lost to him— what did the rest matter? Ah! if he hadbeen alone in the world. But he had his mother to think of; — hebelonged to this brave-hearted woman, who had saved him fromsuicide already. “I will not yield, then; I will struggle on forher sake, ” he muttered, like a man who foresees the futility ofhis efforts.
He rose, and had nearly finished dressing, when heheard a rap at his chamber door. “It is I, my son, ” said MadameFerailleur outside.
Pascal hastened to admit her. “I have come for youbecause the woman you spoke about last evening is already here, andbefore employing her, I want your advice. ”
“Then the woman doesn't please you, mother? ”
“I want you to see her. ”
On entering the little parlor with his mother,Pascal found himself in the presence of a portly, pale-faced woman,with thin lips and restless eyes, who bowed obsequiously. It wasindeed Madame Vantrasson, the landlady of the model lodging-house,who was seeking employment for the three or four hours which wereat her disposal in the morning, she said. It certainly was not forpleasure that she had decided to go out to service again; herdignity suffered terribly by this fall— but then the stomach has tobe cared for. Tenants were not numerous at the model lodging-house,in spite of its seductive title; and those who slept thereoccasionally, almost invariably succeeded in stealing something.Nor did the grocery store pay; the few half-pence which were leftthere occasionally in exchange for a glass of liquor were pocketedby Vantrasson, who spent them at some neighboring establishment;for it is a well-known fact that the wine a man drinks in his ownshop is always bitter in flavor. So, having no credit at thebutcher's or the baker's, Madame Vantrasson was sometimes reducedto living for days together upon the contents of the shop— mouldyfigs or dry raisins— which she washed down with torrents ofratafia, her only consolation here below.
But this was not a satisfying diet, as she wasforced to confess; so she decided to find some work, that wouldfurnish her with food and a little money, which she vowed she wouldnever allow her worthy husband to see.
“What would you charge per month? ” inquiredPascal.
She seemed to reflect, and after a great deal ofcounting on her fingers, she finally declared that she would becontent with breakfast and fifteen francs a month, on condition shewas allowed to do the marketing. The first question of Frenchcooks, on presenting themselves for a situation, is almostinvariably, “Shall I do the marketing? ” which of course means,“Shall I have any opportunities for stealing? ” Everybody knowsthis, and nobody is astonished at it.
“I shall do the marketing myself, ” declared MadameFerailleur, boldly.
“Then I shall want thirty francs a month, ” repliedMadame Vantrasson, promptly.
Pascal and his mother exchanged glances. They wereboth unfavorably impressed by this woman, and were equallydetermined to rid themselves of her, which it was easy enough todo. “Too dear! ” said Madame Ferailleur; “I have never given overfifteen francs. ”
But Madame Vantrasson was not the woman to be easilydiscouraged, especially as she knew that if she failed to obtainthis situation, she might have considerable difficulty in findinganother one. She could only hope to obtain employment fromstrangers and newcomers, who were ignorant of the reputation of themodel lodging-house. So in view of softening the hearts of Pascaland his mother, she began to relate the history of her life,skilfully mingling the false with the true, and representingherself as an unfortunate victim of circumstances, and the inhumancruelty of relatives. For she belonged, like her husband, to a veryrespectable family, as the Maumejans might easily ascertain byinquiry. Vantrasson's sister was the wife of a man named Greloux,who had once been a bookbinder in the Rue Saint-Denis, but who hadnow retired from business with a competency. “Why had this Grelouxrefused to save them from bankruptcy? Because one could never hopefor a favor from relatives, ” she groaned; “they are jealous if yousucceed; and if you are unfortunate, they cast you off. ”
However, these doleful complaints, far fromrendering Madame Vantrasson interesting, imparted a deceitful andmost disagreeable expression to her countenance. “I told you that Icould only give fifteen francs, ” interrupted Madame Ferailleur—“take it or leave it. ”
Madame Vantrasson protested. She expressed herwillingness to deduct five francs from the sum she had named, butmore— it was impossible! Would they haggle over ten francs tosecure such a treasure as herself, an honest, settled woman, whowas entirely devoted to her employers? “Besides, I have been agrand cook in my time, ” she added, “and I have not lost all myskill. Monsieur and madame would be delighted with my cooking, forI have seen more than one fine gentleman smack his lips over mysauces when was in the employment of the Count de Chalusse. ”
Pascal and his mother could not repress a start onhearing this name; but it was in a tone of well-assumedindifference that Madame Ferailleur repeated, “M. de Chalusse?”
“Yes, madame— a count— and so rich that he didn'tknow how much he was worth. If he were still alive I shouldn't becompelled to go out to service again. But he's dead and he's to beburied this very day. ” And with an air of profound secrecy, sheadded: “On going yesterday to the Hotel de Chalusse to ask for alittle help, I heard of the great misfortune. Vantrasson, myhusband, accompanied me, and while we were talking with theconcierge, a young woman passed through the hall, and he recognizedher as a person who some time ago was— well— no better than sheshould be. Now, however, she's a young lady as lofty as the clouds,and the deceased count has been passing her off as his daughter.Ah! this is a strange world. ”
Pascal had become whiter than the ceiling. His eyesblazed; and Madame Ferailleur trembled. “Very well, ” she said, “Iwill give you twenty-five francs— but on condition you come withoutcomplaining if I sometimes require your services of an evening. Onthese occasions I will give you your dinner. ” And taking fivefrancs from her pocket she placed them in Madame Vantrasson's hand,adding: “Here is your earnest money. ”
The other quickly pocketed the coin, not a littlesurprised by this sudden decision which she had scarcely hoped for,and which she by no means understood. Still she was so delightedwith this denouement that she expressed her willingness to enterupon her duties at once; and to get rid of her Madame Ferailleurwas obliged to send her out to purchase the necessary supplies forbreakfast. Then, as soon as she was alone with her son, she turnedto him and asked: “Well, Pascal? ”
But the wretched man seemed turned to stone, andseeing that he neither spoke nor moved, she continued in a severetone: “Is this the way you keep your resolutions and your oaths!You express your intention of accomplishing a task which requiresinexhaustible patience and dissimulation, and at the very firstunforeseen circumstance your coolness deserts you, and you loseyour head completely. If it had not been for me you would havebetrayed yourself in that woman's presence. You must renounce yourrevenge, and tamely submit to be conquered by the Marquis deValorsay if your face is to be an open book in which any one mayread your secret plans and thoughts. ”
Pascal shook his head dejectedly. “Didn't you hear,mother? ” he faltered.
“Hear what? ”
“What that vile woman said? This young lady whom shespoke of, whom her husband recognized, can be none other thanMarguerite. ”
“I am sure of it. ”
He recoiled in horror. “You are sure of it! ” herepeated; “and you can tell me this unmoved— coldly, as if it werea natural, a possible thing. Didn't you understand the shamefulmeaning of her insinuations? Didn't you see her hypocritical smileand the malice gleaming in her eyes? ” He pressed his hands to hisburning brow, and groaned “And I did not cr