the force of the argument struck him; and he asked if he was capable of carrying out the duties which such a salary doubtless demanded.
“Were I not certain of your abilities, I should not offer it to you,” replied Mascarin. “I am in a hurry now, or I would explain the whole affair; but I must defer doing so until to-morrow, when please come at the same hour as you did to-day.”
Even in his state of surprise and stupefaction, Paul felt that this was a signal for him to depart.
“A moment more,” said Mascarin. “You understand that you can no longer remain at the Hotel de Perou? Try and find a room in this neighborhood; and when you have done so, leave the address at the office. Good-bye, my young friend, until to-morrow, and learn to bear good fortune.”
For a few minutes Mascarin stood at the door of the office watching Paul, who departed almost staggering beneath the burden of so many conflicting emotions; and when he saw him disappear round the corner, he ran to a glazed door which led to his bed chamber, and in a loud whisper called, “Come in, Hortebise. He has gone.”
A man obeyed the summons at once, and hurriedly drew up a chair to the fire. “My feet are almost frozen,” exclaimed he; “I should not know it if any one was to chop them off. Your room, my dear Baptiste, is a perfect refrigerator. Another time, please, have a fire lighted in it.”
This speech, however, did not disturb Mascarin’s line of thought. “Did you hear all?” asked he.
“I saw and heard all that you did.”
“And what do you think of the lad?”
“I think that Daddy Tantaine is a man of observation and powerful will, and that he will mould this child between his fingers like wax.”
Chapter III.
The Opinion of Dr. Hortebise
Dr. Hortebise, who had addressed Mascarin so familiarly by his Christian name of Baptiste, was about fifty-six years of age, but he carried his years so well, that he always passed for forty-nine. He had a heavy pair of red, sensual-looking lips, his hair was untinted by gray, and his eyes still lustrous. A man who moved in the best society, eloquent in manner, a brilliant conversationalist, and vivid in his perceptions, he concealed under the veil of good-humored sarcasm the utmost cynicism of mind. He was very popular and much sought after. He had but few faults, but quite a catalogue of appalling vices. Under this Epicurean exterior lurked, it was reported, the man of talent and the celebrated physician. He was not a hard-working man, simply because he achieved the same results without toil or labor. He had recently taken to homoeopathy, and started a medical journal, which he named The Globule, which died at its fifth number. His conversation made all society laugh, and he joined in the ridicule, thus showing the sincerity of his views, for he was never able to take the round of life seriously. To-day, however, Mascarin, well as he knew his friend, seemed piqued at his air of levity.
“When I asked you to come here to-day,” said he, “and when I begged you to conceal yourself in my bedroom—”
“Where I was half frozen,” broke in Hortebise.
“It was,” went on Mascarin, “because I desired your advice. We have started on a serious undertaking,—an undertaking full of peril both to you and to myself.”
“Pooh! I have perfect confidence in you,—whatever you do is done well, and you are not the man to fling away your trump cards.”
“True; but I may lose the game, after all, and then——”
The doctor merely shook a large gold locket that depended from his watch chain.
This movement seemed to annoy Mascarin a great deal. “Why do you flash that trinket at me?” asked he. “We have known each other for five and twenty years,—what do you mean to imply? Do you mean that the locket contains the likeness of some one that you intend to make use of later on? I think that you might render such a step unnecessary by giving me your present advice and attention.”
Hortebise threw himself back in his chair with an expression of resignation. “If you want advice,” remarked he, “why not apply to our worthy friend Catenac?—he knows something of business, as he is a lawyer.”
The name of Catenac seemed to irritate Mascarin so much, that calm, and self-contained as he usually was, he pulled off his cap and dashed it on his desk.
“Are you speaking seriously?” said he angrily.
“Why should I not be in earnest?”
Mascarin removed his glasses, as though without them he could the more easily peer into the depths of the soul of the man before him.
“Because,” replied he slowly, “both you and I distrust Catenac. When did you see him last?”
“More than three months ago.”
“True, and I allow that he seems to be acting fairly toward his old associates; but you will admit that, in keeping away thus, his conduct is without excuse, for he has made his fortune; and though he pretends to be poor, he is certainly a man of wealth.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Were he here, I would force him to acknowledge that he is worth a million, at least.”
“A million!” exclaimed the doctor, with sudden animation.
“Yes, certainly. You and I, Hortebise, have indulged our every whim, and have spent gold like water, while our friend garnered his harvest and stored it away. But poor Catenac has no expensive tastes, nor does he care for women or the pleasures of the table. While we indulged in every pleasure, he lent out his money at usurious interest. But, stop,—how much do you spend per annum?”
“That is a hard question to answer; but, say, forty thousand francs.”
“More, a great deal more; but calculate what a capital sum that would amount to during the twenty years we have done business together.”
The doctor was not clever at figures; he made several vain attempts to solve the problem, and at last gave it up in despair. “Forty and forty,” muttered he, tapping the tips of his fingers, “are eighty, then forty—”
“Call it eight hundred thousand francs,” broke in Mascarin. “Say I drew the same amount as you did. We have spent ours, and Catenac has saved his, and grown rich; hence my distrust. Our interests are no longer identical. He certainly comes here every month, but it is only to claim his share; he consents to take his share of the profits, but shirks the risks. It is fully ten years since he brought in any business. I don’t trust him at all. He always declines to join in any scheme that we propose, and sees danger in everything.”
“He would not betray us, however.”
Mascarin took a few moments for reflection. “I think,” said he, “that Catenac is afraid of us. He knows that the ruin of me would entail the destruction of the other two. This is our only safeguard; but if he dare not injure us openly, he is quite capable of working against us in secret. Do you remember what he said
