poor Gaston was a mere shadow of his former self. In one week he had aged ten years. His strong constitution was broken. He, who ten days ago was boasting of his vigorous health, was now weak and bent like an old man. He could hardly drag himself along, and shivered in the warm sun as if he were bloodless.
Leaning on Louis’s arm, he slowly walked down to look at the forge, and, seating himself before a furnace at full blast, he declared that he felt very much better, that this intense heat revived him.
His pains were all gone, and he could breathe without difficulty.
His spirits rose, and he turned to the workmen gathered around, and said cheerfully:
“I was not blessed with a good constitution for nothing, my friends, and I shall soon be well again.”
When the neighbors called to see him, and insisted that this illness was entirely owing to change of climate, Gaston replied that he supposed they were right, and that he would return to Rio as soon as he was well enough to travel.
What hope this answer roused in Louis’s breast!
“Yes,” he eagerly said, “I will go with you; a trip to Brazil would be charming! Let us start at once.”
But the next day Gaston had changed his mind.
He told Louis that he felt almost well, and was determined not to leave France. He proposed going to Paris to consult the best physicians; and then he would see Valentine.
That night he grew worse.
As his illness increased, he became more surprised and troubled at not hearing from Beaucaire.
He wrote again in the most pressing terms, and sent the letter by a courier who was to wait for the answer.
This letter was never received by Lafourcade.
At midnight, Gaston’s sufferings returned with renewed violence, and for the first time Dr. C—— was uneasy.
A fatal termination seemed inevitable. Gaston’s pain left him in a measure, but he was growing weaker every moment. His mind wandered, and his feet were as cold as ice. On the fourteenth day of his illness, after lying in a stupor for several hours, he revived sufficiently to ask for a priest, saying that he would follow the example of his ancestors, and die like a Christian.
The priest left him after half an hour’s interview, and all the workmen were summoned to receive the farewell greeting of their master.
Gaston spoke a few kind words to them all, saying that he had provided for them in his will.
After they had gone, he made Louis promise to carry on the iron-works, embraced him for the last time, and sank back on his pillow in a dying state.
As the bell tolled for noon he quietly breathed his last, murmuring, softly, “In three years, Valentine; wait for me.”
Now Louis was in reality Marquis of Clameran, and besides he was a millionaire.
Two weeks later, having made arrangements with the engineer in charge of the iron-works to attend to everything during his absence, he took his seat in the train for Paris.
He had sent the following significant telegram to Raoul the night previous: “I will see you to-morrow.”
XIX
Faithful to the programme laid down by his accomplice, while Louis watched at Oloron, Raoul remained in Paris with the purpose of recovering the confidence and affection of Mme. Fauvel, and of lulling any suspicions which might arise in her breast.
The task was difficult, but not impossible.
Mme. Fauvel had been distressed by Raoul’s wild extravagance, but had never ceased to love him.
Whatever faults he had committed, whatever future follies he might indulge in, he would always remain her best-loved child, her first-born, the living image of her noble, handsome Gaston, the lover of her youth.
She adored her two sons, Lucien and Abel; but she could not overcome an indulgent weakness for the unfortunate child, torn from her arms the day of his birth, abandoned to the mercies of hired strangers, and for twenty years deprived of home influences and a mother’s love.
She blamed herself for Raoul’s misconduct, and accepted the responsibility of his sins, saying to herself, “It is my fault. But for me, he would not have been exposed to the temptations of the world.”
Knowing these to be her sentiments, Raoul did not hesitate to take advantage of them.
Never were more irresistible fascinations employed for the accomplishment of a wicked object. Beneath an air of innocent frankness, this precocious scoundrel concealed wonderful astuteness and penetration. He could at will adorn himself with the confiding artlessness of youth, so that angels might have yielded to the soft look of his large dark eyes. There were few women living who could have resisted the thrilling tones of his sympathetic voice.
During the month of Louis’s absence, Mme. Fauvel was in a state of comparative happiness.
Never had this mother and wife—this pure, innocent woman, in spite of her first and only fault—enjoyed such tranquillity. She felt as one under the influence of enchantment, while revelling in the sunshine of filial love, which almost bore the character of a lover’s passion; for Raoul’s devotion was ardent and constant, his manner so tender and winning, that anyone would have taken him for Mme. Fauvel’s suitor.
As she was still at her country-seat, and M. Fauvel went into the city every morning at nine o’clock, and did not return till six, she had the whole of her time to devote to Raoul. When she had spent the morning with him at his house in Vesinet, she would often bring him home to dine and spend the evening with her.
All his past faults were forgiven, or rather the whole blame of them was laid upon Clameran; for, now that he was absent, had not Raoul once more become her noble, generous, affectionate son, the pride and consolation of her life?
Raoul enjoyed the life he was leading, and took such an interest in the part that he was playing, that his acting was perfect. He possessed the faculty which makes cheats successful, faith in his own impostures. Sometimes he would stop to think whether he was telling the truth, or acting a shameful comedy.
His success was wonderful. Even Madeleine, the prudent, distrustful Madeleine, without being able to shake off her prejudice against the young adventurer, confessed that perhaps she had been influenced by appearances, and had judged unjustly.
Raoul not only never asked for money, but even refused it when offered; saying that, now that his uncle was away, his expenses were but trifling.
Affairs were in this happy state when Louis arrived from Oloron.
Although now immensely rich, he resolved to make no change in his style of living, but returned to his apartments at the Hotel du Louvre.
His only outlay was the purchase of a handsome carriage; and this was driven by Manuel, who consented to
