“Well,” exclaimed the latter in English, and in a very audible tone of voice, “I told you what you would expose yourself to if you came here. You see, Pearl, that's what comes of always insisting on visiting the most extraordinary places.”
That night, for the first time in his life, Frederick von Waldberg got drunk; the words of the young Englishman had shown him, more than anything else, to what depths he had sunk. Lady Margaret, the girl whom he had once fancied loved him, had not even recognized, in the degraded individual he had now become, the man who had aspired to her hand. Crimsoning to the very roots of his hair, he left the red-haired cocotte standing in the middle of the floor, directed his steps towards the buvette, and, ordering a demi-setier (about half a pint) of brandy to be served him, drained it at a gulp.
One evening, in the month of January, 1885, Frederick, who beyond the clothes on his back now possessed nothing but a well-worn suit of evening dress and a few shirts, happened to be strolling down the Champs Elysees, when suddenly his attention was attracted by sounds of a violent altercation. On approaching the spot whence they proceeded he found a middle-aged man, manifestly a foreigner, who was undergoing severe treatment at the hands of a couple of students from the Quartier Latin. The stranger was accompanied by a tall and exceedingly handsome blonde. The students, with the impudence peculiar to their class, had ventured on some remarks of a tender and even indiscreet nature to the lady, whose escort had been quick to resent the insult. The students, however, were decidedly getting the best of the scuffle when Frederick appeared on the scene. Not even the life of dissipation and debauchery into which he had allowed himself to sink had been able to diminish the power of his muscular arms. Dashing his fist into the face of the taller of the two students, he sent him sprawling on the ground at some distance, on seeing which the other prudently took to his heels. Then bending down Frederick picked up the little man's hat and returned it to him, at the same time expressing the hope that he had escaped without any serious damage. The stranger was most profuse in his expressions of gratitude, in which the lady cordially joined, and insisted that Frederick should accompany them to take supper at the Cafe “Americain.” Nothing loth, Frederick acquiesced, and it was almost daylight before they finally separated.
Frederick found that his new acquaintance was an American, whose name is equally well known in the highest social circles both of New York and New Orleans, and whose mature age and sedate appearance does not prevent him from burning the candle at both ends, in Europe as well as in the States. The lady by whom he was accompanied was a Mme. Varlay, who had deserted her husband some three months previous to this date, and had adopted the “nom de guerre” of Eugenie Forestier. During the course of the supper the fair Eugenie cast several admiring glances at the man who had displayed such muscular power in effecting their deliverance, and Frederick quickly perceived that he had made an impression upon her. Before they parted a mutual interchange of addresses took place, and arrangements were made for a theater party to take place some days later.
On the following afternoon Frederick called on Mme. Forestier, who soon became deeply infatuated with him. Indeed, from that time forth Frederick may be said to have practically lived at her expense—or rather at that of her American lover. When, however, in the month of April the latter took his departure for the United States, the finances of the lady underwent a disastrous change. The drafts received from New York and Newport were few and far between, and in course of time Eugenie found it necessary to dispose of her jewels, and even of her fine laces and dresses, in order to keep the wolf from the door.
It was during this period of penury that Frederick spent much of his time in dictating to Eugenie letters to her American friend, in which terms of endearment and devotion were most artistically blended with requests for money. Clever as were these compositions, they ended by dispelling any feelings of affection which might have existed on the part of her ex-lover, and in the month of October he sent her from New Orleans a draft on a bank at Boulogne-sur-Mer for a couple of thousand francs, announcing to her at the same time that it would be impossible for him to make any further remittances. Within a few weeks the money was spent, and in the month of January, 1886, almost every article of any value possessed by Eugenie or by Frederick had found its way to the mont-de-piete (pawnshop).
Frederick's companion during most of this time was a Spaniard of the name of Ybanez, his accomplice in many of his schemes for raising the wind by all kinds of questionable means. One night about the 15th or 16th of January, 1886, Ybanez came to Frederick and informed him that an Italian friend of his had a certain number of jewels in his possession which he (Ybanez) believed to be the proceeds of a robbery, and which his friend the Italian was anxious to get rid of on the sly. Ybanez added that as he himself had been afraid to take any action in the matter, and that as his friend had fully realized the danger of disposing of the jewels at Paris, he had advised him to sell them either at Marseilles, Bordeaux, or some other large provincial town at a distance from the metropolis.
“Well, where has he finally decided to take them to?” inquired Frederick, quickly.
“To Marseilles,” replied Ybanez.