He made haste to apologize; but while listening to the further details he asked for, he could not help remarking to himself; “What eyes! what a voice!—they can’t belong to a denizen of the Rue Saint-Denis!” His suspicions were confirmed by the reward of twenty thousand francs, which Blanche imprudently promised him in case of success, and by the five hundred francs which she paid in advance. “And where shall I have the honour of writing to you, madame?” he inquired.
“Nowhere,” replied Blanche. “I shall be passing by here from time to time, and I will call.”
When the two women left the house, Chefteux followed them. “For once,” thought he, “I believe that fortune smiles on me.” To discover his new client’s name and rank was but child’s play for Fouche’s former pupil; and indeed his task was all the easier since they had no suspicion whatever of his designs.
Blanche, who had heard his powers of discernment so highly praised, was confident of success, and all the way back to the hotel she was congratulating herself on the step she had taken. “In less than a month,” she said to Aunt Medea, “we shall have the child; and it will be a protection to us.”
But the following week she realised the extent of her imprudence. On visiting Chefteux again, she was received with such marks of respect that she at once saw she was known. Still, she would have made another attempt to deceive the detective, but he checked her. “First of all,” he said, with a good-humoured smile, “I ascertain the identity of the persons who honour me with their confidence. It is a proof of my ability, which I give gratis. But madame need have no fears. I am discreet by nature and by profession. Many ladies of the highest rank are in the position of Madame Duchesse.”
So Chefteux still believed that the Duchess de Sairmeuse was searching for her own child. She did not try to convince him to the contrary, for it was better he should believe this than suspect the truth.
Blanche’s position was now truly pitiable. She found herself entangled in a net, and each movement, far from freeing her, tightened the meshes round her. Three persons were acquainted with the secret which threatened her life and honour; and under these circumstances, how could she hope to prevent it from becoming more widely known? She was, moreover, at the mercy of three unscrupulous masters; and at a word, a gesture, or a look from them, her haughty spirit must bow in meek subservience. And her time, moreover, was no longer at her own disposal, for Martial had returned, and they had taken up their abode at the Hotel de Sairmeuse, where the young duchess was compelled to live under the scrutiny of fifty servants, more or less interested in watching her, in criticising her acts, and discovering her thoughts. Aunt Medea, it is true, was of great assistance. Blanche purchased a new dress for her whenever she bought one for herself, took her about with her on all occasions, and the dependent relative expressed her satisfaction in the most enthusiastic terms, declaring her willingness to do anything for her benefactress. Nor did Chefteux give Blanche much more annoyance. Every three months he presented a memorandum of investigation expenses, which usually amounted to some ten thousand francs; and so long as she paid him it was plain he would be silent. He had given her to understand, however, that he should expect an annuity of twenty-four thousand francs; and once, when Blanche remarked that he must abandon the search if nothing had been discovered at the end of two years. “Never,” replied he; “I shall continue the search as long as I live.”
In addition to these two there was Chupin, who proved a constant terror. Blanche had been compelled to give him twenty thousand francs, to begin with. He declared that his younger brother had come to Paris in pursuit of him, accusing him of having stolen their father’s hoard, and demanding his share with his knife in his hand. There had been a battle, and it was with his head bound up in blood-stained linen, that Chupin made his appearance before Blanche. “Give me the sum that the old man buried,” said he, “and I will allow my brother to think I stole it. It is not very pleasant to be regarded as a thief, when one’s an honest man, but I will bear it for your sake. If you refuse, however, I shall be compelled to tell him where I’ve obtained my money, and how.” Naturally enough Blanche complied with this demand, for how could she do otherwise?
If her tormentor possessed all his father’s vices, depravity, and cold-blooded perversity, he had certainly not inherited the parental intelligence or tact. Instead of taking the precautions which his interests required, he seemed to find a brutal pleasure in compromising the duchess. He was a constant visitor at the Hotel de Sairmeuse. He called at all hours, morning, noon, and night, without in the least troubling himself about Martial. And the servants were amazed to see their haughty mistress unhesitatingly leave everything to receive this suspicious-looking character, who smelt so strongly of tobacco and alcohol. One evening, while a grand entertainment was progressing at the Hotel de Sairmeuse, he made his appearance, half drunk, and imperiously ordered the servants to go and tell Madame Blanche that he was there, waiting for her. She hastened to him in her magnificent evening dress, her face white with rage and shame beneath her tiara of diamonds. And when, in her exasperation, she refused to give the wretch what he demanded: “So that’s to say I’m to starve while you are revelling here!” he exclaimed. “I am not such a fool. Give me some money at once, or I will tell everything I know on the spot!” What could she do? She was obliged to yield, as she had always done before. And yet he grew more and more insatiable every day. Money filtered through his fingers as fast as water filters through a sieve. But he did not think of raising his vices to the height of the fortune which he squandered. He did not even provide himself with decent clothing, and from his appearance he might have been supposed to be a penniless beggar. One night he was arrested for fomenting a row in a low drinking den, and the police, surprised at finding so much gold in such a beggarly-looking rascal’s possession, accused him of being a thief. But he mentioned the name of the Duchess de Sairmeuse, and on the following morning—Martial fortunately was in Vienna at the time—an inspector of police presented himself at the mansion in the Rue de Grenelle, and Blanche had to undergo the humiliation of confessing that she had given a large sum of money to this man, whose family she had known, and who, she added, had once rendered her an important service.
Sometimes her pertinaceous tormentor changed his tactics. For instance, he declared that he disliked coming to the Hotel de Sairmeuse, as the servants treated him as if he were a mendicant; so whenever he required money he would write. And effectively, every week or so, there came a letter bidding Blanche bring such a sum, to such a place, and at such an hour. And the proud duchess was always punctual at the rendezvous. Soon afterwards the rascal met, heaven knows where! a certain Aspasie Clapard, to whom he took a violent fancy, and although she was much older than himself, he wished to marry her. It was Blanche who paid for the wedding feast. Then Chupin again announced his desire of establishing himself in business, having resolved, he said, to live by his own exertions. So he purchased a wine merchant’s stock, which the duchess paid for, and which he drank in no time. Next, his wife gave birth to a child, and Madame de Sairmeuse must pay for the baptism as she had paid for the wedding, only too happy that Chupin did not require her to stand as god-mother to little Polyte, which idea he had at first entertained. On two occasions Blanche accompanied her husband to Vienna and to London, where he went on important diplomatic missions. She remained abroad during three years, and during all that time she received at least one letter every week from Chupin. Ah! many a time she envied her victim’s lot! What was Marie-Anne’s death compared with the life she led! Her sufferings were measured by years, Marie-Anne’s by minutes; and she said to herself, again and again, that the tortures of poison could not be so intolerable as was her agony.