He sprang out, assisted his employer into the cab, and bade the driver return to the Place de la Bourse. It was really pitiful to see the despair which had succeeded M. Fortunat’s joyful confidence. “This is the end of everything,” he groaned. “I’m robbed, despoiled, ruined! And such a sure thing as it seemed. These misfortunes happen to no one but me! Some one in advance of me! Some one else will capture the prize! Oh, if I knew the wretch, if I only knew him!”
“One moment,” interrupted Chupin; “I think know the man.”
M. Fortunat gave a violent start. “Impossible!” he exclaimed.
“Excuse me, monsieur—it must be a vile rascal named Coralth.”
It was a bellow rather than a cry of rage that escaped M. Fortunat’s lips. To a man of his experience, only a glimmer of light was required to reveal the whole situation. “Ah! I understand!—I see!” he exclaimed. “Yes, you are right, Victor; it’s he—Coralth—Valorsay’s tool! Coralth was the traitor who, in obedience to Valorsay’s orders, ruined the man who loved Mademoiselle Marguerite. The deed was done at Madame d’Argeles’s house. So Coralth knows her, and knows her secret. It’s he who has outwitted me.” He reflected for a moment, and then, in a very different tone, he said: “I shall never see a penny of the count’s millions, and my forty thousand francs are gone forever; but, as Heaven hears me, I will have some satisfaction for my money. Ah!—so Coralth and Valorsay combine to ruin me! Very well!—since this is the case, I shall espouse the cause of Mademoiselle Marguerite and of the unfortunate man they’ve ruined. Ah, my cherubs, you don’t know Fortunat yet! Now well see if the innocent don’t get the best of you, and if they don’t unmask you. I shall do my best, since you have forced me to do it—and gratis too!”
Chupin was radiant; his vengeance was assured. “And I, monsieur,” said he, “will give you some information about this Coralth. First of all, the scoundrel’s married and his wife keeps a tobacco-shop somewhere near the Route d’Asnieres. I’ll find her for you—see if I don’t.”
The sudden stopping of the vehicle which had reached the Place de la Bourse, cut his words short. M. Fortunat ordered him to pay the driver, while he himself rushed upstairs, eager to arrange his plan of campaign—to use his own expression. In his absence a commissionaire had brought a letter for him which Madame Dodelin now produced. He broke the seal, and read to his intense surprise: “Monsieur—I am the ward of the late Count de Chalusse. I must speak to you. Will you grant me an interview on Wednesday next, at a quarter-past three o’clock? Yours respectfully,
“MARGUERITE.”