M. Fortunat bowed with all the grace of manner he was wont to display in the circles where he went wife-hunting, and with a somewhat pretentious gesture he advanced an arm-chair, and asked his visitor to sit down. “Your letter reached me, mademoiselle,” he replied, “and I was expecting you—flattered and honored beyond expression by your confidence. My door, indeed, was closed to any one but you.”
Marguerite took the proffered seat, and there was a moment’s silence. M. Fortunat found it difficult to believe that this beautiful, imposing young girl could be the poor little apprentice whom he had seen in the book-bindery, years before, clad in a coarse serge frock, with dishevelled hair covered with scraps of paper. In the meantime, Marguerite was regretting the necessity of confiding in this man, for the more she looked at him, the more she was convinced that he was not an honest, straightforward person; and she would infinitely have preferred a cynical scoundrel to this plausible and polite gentleman, whom she strongly suspected of being a hypocrite. She remained silent, waiting for M. Fortunat to dismiss the young man in the blouse, whose presence she could not explain, and who stood in a sort of mute ecstasy, staring at her with eyes expressive of the most intense surprise and the liveliest admiration. But weary at last of this fruitless delay, she exclaimed: “I have come, monsieur, to confer with you respecting certain matters which require the most profound secrecy.”
Chupin understood her, for he blushed to the tips of his ears, and started as if to leave the room. But his employer detained him with a gesture.
“Remain, Victor,” he said kindly, and, turning to Mademoiselle Marguerite, he added: “You have no indiscretion to fear from this worthy fellow, mademoiselle. He knows everything, and he has already been actively at work—and with the best result—on your behalf.”
“I don’t understand you, sir,” replied the girl.
M. Fortunat smiled sweetly. “I have already taken your business in hand, mademoiselle,” said he. “An hour after the receipt of your letter I began the campaign.”
“But I had not told you——”
“What you wished of me—that’s true. But I allowed myself to suspect——”
“Ah!”
“I fancied I might conclude that you wished the help of my experience and poor ability in clearing an innocent man who has been vilely slandered, M. Pascal Ferailleur.”