On reaching the Place de l’Opéra, he felt calmer. The open air did him good. But the memory of those glorious eyes, and that quivering voice, as she held him in her arms, came back to him with painful intensity. Ah! What a woman!
But she was a monster of corruption and depravity. He had told her so without the slightest protest. She was, beyond doubt, an accomplice in several murders; perhaps even that white and delicate hand of hers had itself been stained in blood! She was the secret agent of threatening hostility and venal treason. Her beauty, grace, and intelligence were so many attractions which served to captivate her dupes. Her love was only a means to an end.
A feeling of revolt came over him. He said to himself, “Really, I am too much of a coward. The attraction this woman exercises over me is taking away my moral faculty! At the very moment she appears in such a despicable light before me, I yet love her. And yet, I scarcely know her. She loved me; that is the reason she left me, unwilling as she was to ruin me!” He laughed in a nervous fashion, and thought, “Very soon, I shall be obliged to feel grateful towards her! And yet she is an infamous wretch. Yes; but how beautiful!”
A prey to these contradictory thoughts, he reached the Rue de Provènce, and immediately retired to rest. The following morning, when he awoke, he was astonished to find his uncle Graff at his bedside. It was eight o’clock. He had had a dreamless sleep. The old man, feeling uneasy, had been turning over and over in his bed, and, at daybreak, had not been able to resist the desire of making sure that nothing had happened to Marcel. For some time he had been watching his nephew sleep, and now he wished to question him, but, finding him silent, or evasive in his answers, he abandoned all hope of learning anything just then, and called on Baradier for a cup of coffee. He had left his room, fasting, and was dying of hunger.
The same morning, in Lichtenbach’s study, about ten o’clock, Agostini and Hans were engaged in a tête-à-tête with the banker. Count Cesare was sitting in dreamy attitude, smoking a cigarette. Hans, impassive, was listening to Elias, who was speaking in even a duller voice than usual.
“The situation is certainly serious for you,” he was saying, “but for me it is becoming very grave. Relying on your information, I undertook a bear campaign, which was to place the Explosives Company in my hands, by permitting of my redeeming the shares for a mere trifle. It happens that my closest rivals, and deadly enemies, the firm of Baradier and Graff, have undertaken the counter-part of my operations, and all my efforts to shake them off have been unavailing. Then, I did not understand the causes of their firmness, but now I do. The notice read at the Academy of Science gives me the key to their calculations. They are in possession of the secret you have failed to find. They are in a position to exploit the Trémont powder, and the Dalgetty patent is worth nothing! This is the net result of all your intrigues. You have indeed something to be proud of!”
“What will all this cost you?” asked Agostini, coldly.
“How much will it cost me?” exclaimed the banker, furiously. “Almost all I possess! You seem to look at things in a very philosophical light! It is easy to say to a man one has ruined, ‘How much has it cost you?’ Can I rely on my physical attractions? To have money I must work, and it has been so with me for the past forty years!”
“Come, Lichtenbach,” said Hans, “don’t cry about it. We are aware that you will lose considerably, in case the affair does not succeed. But there will be something left. I will offer you ten million francs for whatever remains, if you like!”
“Stupid rogues as you are!” exclaimed Elias. “You are speaking of what you know nothing about! This filthy affair of yours, managed by such silly dolts, has cost me the labour of half my life, and even more—my pride! For I, who have always had the upper hand of Baradier and Graff, am now at their mercy. Your famous Sophia has, indeed, been brilliant in this matter! A man-eater who has never failed. A flower of rottenness, one need only breathe to be intoxicated, such corrupting ferments does she exhale! A simple young man is given into her hands; a mere child’s-play for her, and here she remains, inactive and powerless, either unable or unwilling to make him give up his secret. Meanwhile, I have been losing all my money. You idiots! You stupid rascals! Will you give me back my money? I know of nothing in the world more despicable than an imbecile bandit! And that is what you are, both of you, and your Sophia into the bargain!”