The old man had lost four thousand dollars, and the steward, concluding he had made a mistake, performed the agreeable task of counting the gold a second time, but with the same result as before. After making the allowance for the fifty dollars found in the captain's state-room, the amount was one hundred dollars short. Mr. Ebénier had the impudence to ask himself if this could be the miser's money, since it did not hold out in the sum he had lost. But the bags were plainly marked, as the fourth had been, "N. Fairfield," in the cramped handwriting of the miser. Of course there could be no doubt in regard to the ownership of the treasure, and Mr. Ebénier could not but wonder at the stupidity of the thieves in hiding it in or under the old sail in the Hotel de Poisson. But he did them the justice to conclude that it had only been placed there for a short time, perhaps for but a few hours; at any rate, their presence in the shanty indicated that it was to have been removed during the night.
It had been removed during the night! The steward chuckled when he thought of it, but his capacious intellect was agitated by a great moral question. Thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars was an immense sum to a person in his station, who had never had even a hundred dollars in his possession at one time. Honesty was a precious jewel, but it was not possible for him to make thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars, at one stupendous haul, by being honest. He did not steal the money. He did not rob the old man. If the steward had not suffered the perils and discomforts of two broken heads, or rather one head broken twice, the robbers, whoever they were, would doubtless have divided the money between them, and the old man would never know what had become of his cherished gold.
Mr. Ebénier asked himself if this was not a freak of fortune in his favor; if the money was not a providential compensation for his twice-broken head. Thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars would be a very handsome atonement for two such raps as he had received, and he was Mammon-worshipper enough to feel willing that his head should be pounded to a jelly at this rate, so long as the germ of his mighty intellect was not extinguished.
The steward was a man of exquisite tastes, and was ambitious for social recognition and distinction. In Paris a colored man was just as good as, if not a little better than, a white man. His former master, in Louisiana, had believed in Paris, and seeing with his eyes, he had been fully converted to his master's faith. Mr. Ebénier wanted to go to Paris, wanted to live there, even as a waiter in a café, if no better situation presented itself. With the money before him, he could realize his dream of luxury and splendor. He could convert these half eagles into napoleons, and revel like a prince in the gay metropolis of France. He would wear the finest of broadcloth, eat the most sumptuous of dinners, and saunter up and down the Champs Elysées like a gentleman. In short, thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars, or nearly twenty thousand francs in the currency of France, would make a gentleman of him.
Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier was sorely tempted. It might be only once in his lifetime that such a chance to be a gentleman would be presented to him. He could put the gold into his carpet-bag, walk over to Gloucester, and take the first train for Boston. No one would know what had become of him; or, if they did, he would not be suspected of having the gold. But he would be missed, and his absence might cause a commotion. It would be better not to leave at present. The money could be concealed on board of the yacht, and when he was disposed to abandon the vessel it would be within his reach.
After more reflection on this important matter, the steward became convinced that it would be safer and better to hide the gold on board. At the stern of the vessel, under the standing-room, there was a space not available for cabin use, which formed a kind of store-room for extra supplies. It was reached by removing the cabin steps. The tempted man entered this contracted and low apartment with the lamp in his hand. He found a narrow aperture, which led to the space under the cabin floor, where the ballast was deposited, and over which a board had been nailed to prevent the odor of bilge water from penetrating the apartment of the passengers. He removed this board, and reaching down into the hold, placed the bags in a position where they were not likely to be discovered, even by a person searching for them. Nailing on the board again, he covered it with various articles, and returned to the cabin.
On the table lay a Bible, which the steward occasionally read. Though it was now two o'clock in the morning, he was not sleepy; he was too much excited to think of slumber. He opened the good book mechanically, turned its leaves, and read a verse here and there; but he was thinking all the time of the luxurious gayety of the French capital, and the pleasures which thirty-eight hundred and fifty dollars would purchase.
"For what is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?"
This was the last verse he read, and he closed the book, as though this appeal of Holy Writ grated harshly on his feelings.
"Lose his own soul," repeated he, almost in spite of himself.