“I neither know their names nor their residence in England.”
Once more I gasped. “Will you explain?” I murmured.
“It seems, Monsieur, that while my dear mother lived she always refused to take a single sou from my father, who had so basely deserted her. Of course, she did not know that he was making a fortune over in England, nor that he was making diligent inquiries as to her whereabouts when he felt that he was going to die. Thus, he discovered that she had died the previous year and that I was working in the atelier of Madame Cécile, the well-known milliner. When the English lawyers wrote to me at that address they, of course, said that they would require all my papers of identification before they paid any money over to me, and so, when Mr. Farewell went over to England, he took all my papers with him and . . .”
She burst into tears and exclaimed piteously:
“Oh! I have nothing now, Monsieur—nothing to prove who I am! Mr. Farewell took everything, even the original letter which the English lawyers wrote to me.”
“Farewell,” I urged, “can be forced by the law to give all your papers up to you.”
“Oh! I have nothing now, Monsieur—he threatened to destroy all my papers unless I promised to become his wife! And I haven’t the least idea how and where to find the English lawyers. I don’t remember either their name or their address; and if I did, how could I prove my identity to their satisfaction? I don’t know a soul in Paris save a few irresponsible millinery apprentices and Madame Cécile, who, no doubt, is hand in glove with Mr. Farewell. I am all alone in the world and friendless. . . . I have come to you, Monsieur, in my distress . . . and you will help me, will you not?”
She looked more adorable in grief than she had ever done before.
To tell you that at this moment visions floated in my mind, before which Dante’s visions of Paradise would seem pale and tame, were but to put it mildly. I was literally soaring in heaven. For you see I am a man of intellect and of action. No sooner do I see possibilities before me than my brain soars in an empyrean whilst conceiving daring plans for my body’s permanent abode in elysium. At this present moment, for instance—to name but a few of the beatific visions which literally dazzled me with their radiance—I could see my fair client as a lovely and blushing bride by my side, even whilst Messieurs X. and X., the two still unknown English lawyers, handed me a heavy bag which bore the legend “One hundred thousand francs.” I could see . . . But I had not the time now to dwell on these ravishing dreams. The beauteous creature was waiting for my decision. She had placed her fate in my hands; I placed my hand on my heart.
“Mademoiselle,” I said solemnly, “I will be your adviser and your friend. Give me but a few days’ grace, every hour, every minute of which I will spend in your service. At the end of that time I will not only have learned the name and address of the English lawyers, but I will have communicated with them on your behalf, and all your papers proving your identity will be in your hands. Then we can come to a decision with regard to a happier and more comfortable home for you. In the meanwhile I entreat you to do nothing that may precipitate Mr. Farewell’s actions. Do not encourage his advances, but do not repulse them, and above all keep me well informed of everything that goes on in his house.”