



Produced by John Hamm









THE COUNT'S MILLIONS

By Emile Gaboriau

Translated from the French


A novel in two parts. Part Two of this novel is found in the volume:
Baron Trigault's Vengeance





PASCAL AND MARGUERITE.




I.


It was a Thursday evening, the fifteenth of October; and although only
half-past six o'clock, it had been dark for some time already. The
weather was cold, and the sky was as black as ink, while the wind blew
tempestuously, and the rain fell in torrents.

The servants at the Hotel de Chalusse, one of the most magnificent
mansions in the Rue de Courcelles in Paris, were assembled in the
porter's lodge, a little building comprising a couple of rooms standing
on the right hand side of the great gateway. Here, as in all large
mansions, the "concierge" or porter, M. Bourigeau, was a person of
immense importance, always able and disposed to make any one who was
inclined to doubt his authority, feel it in cruel fashion. As could be
easily seen, he held all the other servants in his power. He could
let them absent themselves without leave, if he chose, and conceal all
returns late at night after the closing of public balls and wine-shops.
Thus, it is needless to say that M. Bourigeau and his wife were treated
by their fellow-servants with the most servile adulation.

The owner of the house was not at home that evening, so that M. Casimir,
the count's head valet, was serving coffee for the benefit of all the
retainers. And while the company sipped the fragrant beverage which had
been generously tinctured with cognac, provided by the butler, they all
united in abusing their common enemy, the master of the house. For the
time being, a pert little waiting-maid, with an odious turn-up nose, had
the floor. She was addressing her remarks to a big, burly, and rather
insolent-looking fellow, who had been added only the evening before to
the corps of footmen. "The place is really intolerable," she was saying.
"The wages are high, the food of the very best, the livery just such
as would show off a good-looking man to the best advantage, and Madame
Leon, the housekeeper, who has entire charge of everything, is not too
lynx-eyed."

"And the work?"

"A mere nothing. Think, there are eighteen of us to serve only two
persons, the count and Mademoiselle Marguerite. But then there is never
any pleasure, never any amusement here."

"What! is one bored then?"

"Bored to death. This grand house is worse than a tomb. No receptions,
no dinners--nothing. Would you believe it, I have never seen the
reception-rooms! They are always closed; and the furniture is dropping
to pieces under its coverings. There are not three visitors in the
course of a month."

She was evidently incensed, and the new footman seemed to share her
indignation. "Why, how is it?" he exclaimed. "Is the count an owl? A
man who's not yet fifty years old, and who's said to be worth several
millions."

"Yes, millions; you may safely say it--and perhaps ten, perhaps twenty
millions too."

"Then all the more reason why there should be something going on here.
What does he do with himself alone, all the blessed day?"

"Nothing. He reads in the library, or wanders about the garden.
Sometimes, in the evening, he drives with Mademoiselle Marguerite to the
Bois de Boulogne in a closed carriage; but that seldom happens. Besides,
there is no such thing as teasing the poor man. I've been in the house
for six months, and I've never heard him say anything but: 'yes'; 'no';
'do this';'very well';'retire.' You would think these are the only
words he knows. Ask M. Casimir if I'm not right."

"Our guv'nor isn't very gay, that's a fact," responded the valet.

The footman was listening with a serious air, as if greatly interested
in the character of the people whom he was to serve. "And mademoiselle,"
he asked, "what does she say to such an existence?"

"Bless me! during the six months she has been here, she has never once
complained."

"If she is bored," added M. Casimir, "she conceals it bravely."

"Naturally enough," sneered the waiting-maid, with an ironical gesture;
"each month that mademoiselle remains here, brings her too much money
for her to complain."

By the laugh that greeted this reply, and by the looks the older
servants exchanged, the new-comer must have realized that he had
discovered the secret skeleton hidden in every house. "What! what!" he
exclaimed, on fire with curiosity; "is there really anything in that? To
tell the truth, I was inclined to doubt it."

His companions were evidently about to tell him all they knew, or rather
all they thought they knew, when the front-door bell rang vigorously.

"There he comes!" exclaimed the concierge; "but he's in too much of a
hurry; hell have to wait awhile."

He sullenly pulled the cord, however; the heavy door swayed on its
hinges, and a cab-driver, breathless and hatless, burst into the room,
crying, "Help! help!"

The servants sprang to their feet.

"Make haste!" continued the driver. "I was bringing a gentleman
here--you must know him. He's outside, in my vehicle----"

Without pausing to listen any longer, the servants rushed out, and the
driver's incoherent explanation at once became intelligible. At the
bottom of the cab, a roomy four-wheeler, a man was lying all of a heap,
speechless and motionless. He must have fallen forward, face downward,
and owing to the jolting of the vehicle his head had slipped under the
front seat.

"Poor devil!" muttered M. Casimir, "he must have had a stroke of
apoplexy." The valet was peering into the vehicle as he spoke, and his
comrades were approaching, when suddenly he drew back, uttering a cry of
horror. "Ah, my God! it is the count!"

Whenever there is an accident in Paris, a throng of inquisitive
spectators seems to spring up from the very pavement, and indeed more
than fifty persons had already congregated round about the vehicle. This
circumstance restored M. Casimir's composure; or, at least, some portion
of it. "You must drive into the courtyard," he said, addressing the
cabman. "M. Bourigeau, open the gate, if you please." And then, turning
to another servant, he added:

"And you must make haste and fetch a physician--no matter who. Run to
the nearest doctor, and don't return until you bring one with you."

The concierge had opened the gate, but the driver had disappeared; they
called him, and on receiving no