Already unfavorable reports, vague as yet, were in circulation on the Bourse. Was it a manoeuvre of the enemy, of that Hemerlingue against whom Jansoulet was waging ruthless financial war, trying to defeat all his operations, and losing very considerable sums at the game, because he had against him his own excitable nature, his adversary's cool-headedness and the bungling of Paganetti, whom he used as a man of straw? In any event, the star of gold had turned pale. Paul de Gery learned as much from Pere Joyeuse, who had entered the employ of a broker as book-keeper, and was thoroughly posted on matters connected with the Bourse; but what alarmed him more than all else was the Nabob's strange agitation, the craving for excitement which had succeeded the admirable calmness of conscious strength, of serenity, the disappearance of his Southern sobriety, the way in which he stimulated himself before eating by great draughts of raki, talking loud and laughing uproariously like a common sailor during his watch on deck. One felt that the man was tiring himself out to escape some absorbing thought, which was visible nevertheless in the sudden contraction of all the muscles of his face when it passed through his mind, or when he was feverishly turning over the pages of his tarnished little memorandum-book. The serious interview, the decisive explanation that Paul was so desirous to have with him, Jansoulet would not have at any price. He passed his evenings at the club, his mornings in bed, and as soon as he was awake had his bedroom full of people, who talked to him while he was dressing, and to whom he replied with his face in his wash-bowl. If, by any miracle, de Gery caught him for a second, he would run away or cut him short with a: "Not now, I beg you." At last the young man resorted to heroic measures.

One morning about five o'clock, Jansoulet, on returning from his club, found on the table beside his bed a little note which he took at first for one of the anonymous denunciations which he received every day. It was a denunciation, in very truth, but signed, written with the utmost frankness, breathing the loyalty and youthful seriousness of the man who wrote it. De Gery set before him very clearly all the infamous schemes, all the speculations by which he was surrounded. He called the rascals by their names, without circumlocution. There was not one among the ordinary habitues of the house who was not a suspicious character, not one who came there for any other purpose than to steal or lie. From attic to cellar, pillage and waste. Bois-l'Hery's horses were unsound, the Schwalbach gallery a fraud, Moessard's articles notorious blackmail. De Gery had drawn up a long detailed list of those impudent frauds, with proofs in support of his allegations; but he commended especially to Jansoulet's attention the matter of the Caisse Territoriale, as the really dangerous element in his situation. In the other matters money alone was at risk; in this, honor was involved. Attracted by the Nabob's name, by his title of president of the council, hundreds of stockholders had walked into that infamous trap, seeking gold in the footsteps of that lucky miner. That fact imposed a terrible responsibility upon him which he would understand by reading the memorandum relating to the concern, which was falsehood and fraud, pure and simple, from beginning to end.

"You will find the memorandum to which I refer," said Paul de Gery in conclusion, "in the first drawer in my desk. Various receipts are affixed to it. I have not put it in your room, because I am distrustful of Noel as of all the rest. To-night, when I go away, I will hand you the key. For I am going away, my dear friend and benefactor, I am going away, overflowing with gratitude for the benefits you have conferred on me, and in despair because your blind confidence has prevented me from repaying them in part. My conscience as a man of honor would reproach me were I to remain longer useless at my post. I am looking on at a terrible disaster, the pillage of a Summer Palace, which I am powerless to check; but my heart rises in revolt at all that I see. I exchange grasps of the hand which dishonor me. I am your friend, and I seem to be their confederate. And who knows whether, by living on in such an atmosphere, I might not become so?"

This letter, which he read slowly, thoroughly, even to the spaces between the words and the lines, made such a keen impression on the Nabob that, instead of going to bed, he went at once to his young secretary. Paul occupied a study at the end of the suite of salons, where he slept on a couch, a provisional arrangement which he had never cared to change. The whole house was still asleep. As he walked through the long line of great salons, which were not used for evening receptions, so that the curtains were always open and at that moment admitted the uncertain light of a Parisian dawn, the Nabob paused, impressed by the melancholy aspect that his magnificent surroundings presented. In the heavy odor of tobacco and various liquors that filled the rooms, the furniture, the wainscotings, the decorations seemed faded yet still new. Stains on the crumpled satin, ashes soiling the beautiful marbles, marks of boots on the carpet reminded him of a huge first-class railway carriage, bearing the marks of the indolence, impatience and ennui of a long journey, with the destructive contempt of the public for a luxury for which it has paid. Amid that stage scenery, all in position and still warm from the ghastly comedy that was played there every day, his own image, reflected in twenty cold, pale mirrors, rose before him, at once ominous and comical, ill-at-ease in his fashionable clothes, with bloated cheeks and face inflamed and dirty.

What an inevitable and disenchanting morrow to the insane life he was leading!

He lost himself for a moment in gloomy thoughts; then, with the vigorous shrug of the shoulders which was so familiar in him, that packman's gesture with which he threw off any too painful preoccupation, he resumed the burden which every man carries with him, and which causes the back to bend more or less, according to his courage or his strength, and entered de Gery's room, where he found him already dressed and standing in front of his open desk, arranging papers.

"First of all, my boy," said Jansoulet, closing the door softly on their interview, "answer me this question frankly. Are the motives set forth in your letter your real motives for resolving to leave me? Isn't there underneath it all one of these infamous stories that I know are being circulated against me in Paris? I am sure you would be frank enough to tell me, and to give me a chance to—to set myself right in your eyes."

Paul assured him that he had no other reasons for going, but that those he had mentioned were surely sufficient, as it was a matter of conscience.

"Listen to me then, my child, and I am sure that I shall be able to keep you. Your letter, eloquent as it was with honesty and sincerity, told me nothing new, nothing that I had not been convinced of for three months. Yes, my dear Paul, you were right; Paris is more complicated than I thought. What I lacked when I arrived here was an honest, disinterested cicerone to put me on my guard against persons and things. I found none but people who wanted to make money out of me. All the degraded scoundrels in the city have left the mud from their boots on my carpets. I was looking at those poor salons of mine just now. They need a good thorough sweeping; and I promise you that they shall have, jour de Dieu! and from no light hand. But I am waiting until I am a deputy. All these rascals are of service to me in my election; and the election is too necessary to me for me to throw away the slightest chance. This is the situation in two words. Not only does the bey not intend to repay the money I loaned him a month ago; he has met my claim with a counter-claim for twenty-four millions, the figure at which he estimates the sums I obtained from his brother. That is infernal robbery, an impudent slander. My fortune is my own, honestly my own. I made it in my dealings as a contractor. I enjoyed Ahmed's favor; he himself furnished me with opportunities for making money. It is very possible that I have screwed the vise a little hard sometimes. But the matter must not be judged with the eyes of a European. The enormous profits that the Levantines make are a well-known and recognized thing over yonder; they are the ransom of the savages whom we introduce to western comforts. This wretched Hemerlingue, who is suggesting all this persecution of me to the bey, has done very much worse things. But what's the use of arguing? I am in the wolf's jaws. Pending my appearance to justify myself before his courts—I know all about justice in the Orient—the bey has begun by putting an embargo on all my property, ships, palaces and their contents. The affair has been carried on quite regularly, in pursuance of a decree of the Supreme Council. I can feel the claw of Hemerlingue Junior under it all. If I am chosen deputy, it is all a jest. The Council revokes its decree and my treasures are returned with all sorts of excuses. If I am not elected, I lose everything, sixty, eighty millions, even the possible opportunity of making another fortune; it means ruin, disgrace, the bottomless pit. And now, my son, do you propose to abandon me at such a crisis? Remember that I have nobody in the world but you. My wife? you have seen her, you know how much support, how much good advice she gives her husband. My children? It's as if I had none. I never see them, they would hardly know me in the street. My ghastly magnificence has made an empty void around me, so far as affections are concerned, has replaced them by shameless selfish interests. I have no one to love but my mother, who is far away, and you, who come to me from my mother. No, you shall not leave me alone among all the slanders that are crawling around me. It is horrible—if you only knew! At the club, at the theatre, wherever I go, I see Baroness Hemerlingue's little snake's head, I hear the echo of her hissing, I feel the venom of her hatred. Everywhere I am conscious of mocking glances, conversations broken off when I appear, smiles that lie, or kindness in which there is a mingling of pity. And then the defections, the people who move away as if a catastrophe were coming. For instance, here is Felicia Ruys, with my bust just finished, alleging some accident or other as an excuse for not sending it to the Salon. I said nothing, I pretended to believe it. But I understood that there was some infamy on foot in that quarter, too,—and it's a great disappointment to me. In emergencies as grave as that I am passing through, everything has its importance. My bust at the Exhibition, signed by that famous name, would have been of great benefit to me in Paris. But no, everything is breaking, everything is failing me. Surely you see that you must not fail me."

END OF VOL. I.