Chapter XXII: An Inheritance

That same evening, after he had been home to get another hat, because the first one was entirely ruined, Chamoureau bent his steps toward Freluchon's. He was beside himself with rage and could hardly speak.

"I am going to Fre--Fre--Freluchon's," he stuttered to the concierge.

But Freluchon was not at home; he had gone with Edmond to the Champs-Elysées, at the time appointed by Thélénie, and there the two young men, concealed in the shadow, had witnessed part of the adventure, and had divined the rest when they saw Chamoureau tumbling out of the coupé very soon after he had entered. They laughed like maniacs when they saw the unlucky agent running after his hat. Then they returned to the centre of Paris.

"You say Freluchon isn't in?" stammered Chamoureau, when the concierge stopped him on his way upstairs. "Well, then I will come again to-morrow morning; tell him to wait for me! tell him that I forbid him to go out until he has seen me! and that he hasn't heard the last of this! You understand: he hasn't heard the last of this!"

The concierge heard doubtless; but he did not seem at all impressed by the way in which Chamoureau emphasized his words, and the latter went away, muttering:

"I have been victimized by Freluchon's jests too long; this thing has got to come to an end!"

The next morning, at seven o'clock, Chamoureau entered Freluchon's bedroom; his friend was still in bed and shouted when he saw him:

"May the devil take you for coming to wake me at this hour; I was sleeping like one of the blessed,--the blessed, you know, sleep splendidly;--you come too early!"

"I am glad to see, Freluchon, that you have followed the orders I gave your concierge--and waited for me."

"You! give orders to my concierge! that is delightful, on my word!"

"No joking; I didn't come here to joke. I am perfectly serious.--What! you are lying down again?"

"Yes, I am still sleepy; but that makes no difference, say on."

"Freluchon, your conduct is shameful! You laid a trap for me; you made a fool of me--of me, your intimate friend, formerly the husband of that Eléonore in whom you were so deeply interested! You send me to an assignation which was not for me. Alas! it was not I who was expected; I found that out only too soon!--If you had caused me to play that scene with a woman who was perfectly indifferent to me, I would be the first to laugh at it; but you know that I love Madame Sainte-Suzanne, that I adore her, that I would give the whole world to be on good terms with her, and you expose me to her wrath--what do I say?--to her fury!--When she saw that I was not the person she was waiting for, she was a tigress, a lioness; she drove me from her presence, and forbade me ever to show my face before her again!--Ah! it is that that distresses me above everything! forbidden to see her again! and this is your work. What have you to say in answer?--Come, what can you say to justify yourself?--He doesn't answer! May God forgive me if he isn't snoring! he's gone to sleep again!"

Chamoureau seized Freluchon's arm and shook it violently; whereupon the little man opened his eyes and cried:

"Go on! I am listening!"

"No, you were asleep; but I propose that you shall listen to me. I am going to begin over again what I have just said, and I shall keep on that way till night if you don't listen."

"In that case, I prefer to have done with it at once."

Freluchon rubbed his eyes and Chamoureau began his speech anew; when he had finished, the little man sat up in bed.

"And you have the audacity," he cried, "to come here and complain! Imbecile! I do what I can to make you happy, and you are not content! So much for obliging ungrateful curs! this is how they reward you!"

"What do you say? to make me happy by----"

"By sending you to the arms of the woman you adore, yes, monsieur; you weren't the man she expected; no, of course you weren't, since Edmond was. But I didn't tell you, because I knew that timid as you are, you wouldn't dare to go to that rendezvous if you had known that you were to take another man's place."

"No, most certainly I wouldn't have gone."

"Well! wasn't it very hard on you to go to meet a lovely woman, at night, in a carriage? A woman whom you adore, who is cruel to you--I arrange for you to have a nocturnal tête-à-tête with her, and you complain! But tell me, my poor fellow, how you behaved during that tête-à-tête, that you were sent about your business in such a hurry?"

"Why, I was no sooner inside the carriage, and the door closed--it was too dark to see anything--when the lady threw herself into my arms, calling me the most loving names and giving me the most burning kisses."

"My word! and still he complains!"

"I was enchanted, transported! but when she said: 'You won't leave me any more; this time it is forever!' I replied: 'Why, I never had any intention of leaving you, for I adore you.'"

"Ah! there spoke my blockhead! instead of keeping quiet, of making the most of the mistake--in short, of being happy! My chatterbox spoils everything by jabbering like a magpie! Why, you wretch, if you hadn't breathed a word, you would be at this moment the conqueror of the haughty Thélénie!"

"You should say, that if it had gone any further, she'd have killed me when she found that she'd been deceived, as she was so enraged by the few kisses she gave me!"

"She wouldn't have killed you; women don't kill men for that sort of offence."

"What about Lucretia?"

"What in the devil has Lucretia to do with it; what connection is there between Thélénie and Tarquin's wife?--I say, on the contrary, that she wouldn't have driven you away, because, when a thing is done, why, it's done! She'd have scolded you at first, but then she'd have forgiven you because she couldn't do anything else."

"Is it possible? Do you really think she would have forgiven me, Freluchon?--Oh! unlucky wretch that I am! why did I speak? why did I let her hear my voice? He is right; it began so well! _Nox erat! Ardebat Alexim!_ Oh! I am in despair to think that I spoke!"

"And when one has done one's utmost to make one's friend happy, to gratify his most ardent desires, monsieur appears in a rage, he complains, he almost threatens one with his wrath!"

"I was wrong, Freluchon; forgive me, my dear fellow. I realize now that I was wrong. But what can you expect? all these things upset me--these alternations of joy and sorrow; I no longer know where I am; I can't seem to see.--Come, my dear fellow; you have forgiven me--what do you advise now?"

"What do I advise? Oh! now, my poor friend, your case is ruined, totally ruined, the best thing that you can do is not to think of this woman any more, to forget her entirely!"

Chamoureau rushed about the room, crying:

"But I can't do it! it's impossible! every time that she maltreats me and spurns me, I am more in love than ever! Forget that magnificent woman!--for she is magnificent; and in her anger, when she glared at me like a panther that contemplates devouring you, she was superb! I have never seen anything so fine as those eyes when she said to me: 'I will be revenged; say to your friends that this jest will cost them dear!'"

"Ah! she said that, did she?"

"Yes; so you and Monsieur Edmond are duly warned."

"Oh! we have no fear of that woman's vengeance!"

"If I were in your place, I should dread it; she's one of the women who don't look as if they weren't up to snuff, as the plebeians say!"

"Forget her, Chamoureau; that's all I have to say to you."

"Forget her! why, it's more impossible than ever, now that I have tasted her kisses! now that I know her way of kissing!--Ah! my friend! I had never been kissed like that, even by Eléonore!"

"I can believe that! Your wife knew that it was you she was kissing, while this woman took you for another."

"That isn't it at all! it's because Eléonore wasn't passionate, loving, maddening, like the lovely Thélénie."

"Aha! you propose to cry down your wife now, do you? That's very pretty! We are becoming ungrateful! Chamoureau, you make me blush! I shall not be surprised to hear you say in a day or two: 'How glad I am that I'm a widower!'"

"That isn't what I meant."

"No, but that is your thought!--Look you, I am speaking seriously now, so be reasonable; your love for this woman is absolutely devoid of sense."

"Adieu, Freluchon!"

"Come some day and dine with me; we'll go to the _Folies-Nouvelles_, a charming little theatre, where one always sees some very light-hearted females; you will very soon find someone to divert your thoughts."

"Adieu, Freluchon!"

Chamoureau would not hear of any distractions.

He hurried away from his friend's rooms, went home, shut himself in his office, paid no heed to his charwoman, who told him that several clients had come to inquire for him, neglected all the business that had been entrusted to him, and when the persons who had employed him came to find out how their affairs were progressing, he stared at them with a dazed expression and replied:

"What? what is it? what do you want?"

"That little matter of mine, monsieur--what condition is it in?"

"What's that?--what matter? I don't know anything about it."

"What! you don't know anything about it! Do you mean to say that you haven't attended to it?"

"Apparently not."

"In that case, monsieur, if you don't propose to attend to it, I will employ another agent."

"As you please; it's all the same to me."

"Indeed! it's all the same to you, is it? Then give me my papers, instantly!"

Chamoureau gave up the papers, the clients went away in a rage, and the office gradually became deserted. Chamoureau passed the day seated at his desk, with his head resting on his hands.

"My master certainly's got a screw loose," said Madame Monin to the concierge; "he's been cracked ever since the night he dressed as a Spaniard. The man's going crazy; I don't dare to buy charcoal for him, I'm afraid of finding him suffocated to death some fine morning."

A fortnight had passed since our widower had become as despondent as Werther, when Madame Monin brought him a letter one morning. Chamoureau took the letter with an indifferent air, broke the seal, still thinking of Thélénie, and read without at first paying much attention to what he was reading.

But soon his face changed, became animated; he rubbed his eyes to assure himself that he read the letter aright, then read it again, this time with the utmost care. A cry of joy escaped from his lips and he slapped his thighs, saying:

"Is it possible! I am not mistaken! Rich! rich! twenty thousand francs a year--left me by that cousin--my godfather--for he was my godfather, but I have never heard a word from him. And he leaves me his fortune, his whole fortune! and he had saved, in America, property worth twenty thousand francs a year!--I must read the notary's letter again; I am still afraid that I read it wrong, that I have made a mistake!"

Chamoureau had made no mistake: a distant relation, who had been his godfather, and whose name he had never heard mentioned since the day he was baptized, had made his fortune in America, and had never married. Suddenly a longing to see his native country once more had come to him; he had turned his fortune into cash and had sailed for France. On landing at Havre, he was taken violently ill; he had barely time to send for a notary, and as he did not know what to do with the fortune he had brought back with him, he remembered that he had a godson and made that godson his sole legatee.

Such was the information which a notary of Paris, who had been communicated with by a confrère at Havre, had transmitted to Chamoureau, requesting him to call at his office as soon as possible, provided with all the documents necessary to establish his identity.

Having read once more the letter that announced this unexpected, unhoped-for good fortune, which instantly changed his whole future, Chamoureau ran to his bedroom to dress to go out; and he jumped and danced and sang and did a thousand foolish things, so that his servant, seeing him waltzing about the room as he put on his suspenders, stopped short, terrified beyond words.

"What in the world's the matter with you, monsieur?" she cried; "here you are dancing, waltzing all by yourself!"

"The matter, Madame Monin, the matter! Ah! you see before you the happiest of men!

"Wealth, in this world
Thou dost all for me!"

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, you were so dismal this morning! you looked like an undertaker's mute!"

"But now I am rich, Mère Monin, very rich! I have inherited twenty thousand francs a year! This letter tells me of it."

"Good God! is it possible, monsieur? An inheritance you didn't expect?"

"No more than I expect to be elected to the Academy.--Rich! wealthy! Now I shall no longer be despised; my homage will no longer be spurned; that adored woman will be mine!

"What a new life for me! ah! blessed change!
My grief has passed away like summer clouds."

My hat--my handkerchief--my gloves--I have all that I require. Ah! my certificates of birth and of baptism and marriage. No, I don't need the last; it's of no consequence. Now I'm off."

"Monsieur has not drunk his coffee."

"Drink it, Madame Monin, drink it; it is no more than fair that you should partake of my good fortune."

Chamoureau called on the notary, who confirmed what he had written and advised him to go at once to Havre, in order to obtain immediate possession of the fortune which was held at his disposal there.

That same day, our legatee took the express train for Havre. There he exhibited to the notary all the documents which proved that he was the Sigismond Chamoureau to whom Monsieur Eustache-Hector Chamoureau, his cousin and godfather, had bequeathed all his property.

Two days later the former business agent was back in Paris, armed with the well-filled wallet which his godfather had bequeathed to him. It had all come so suddenly and been done so quickly that, when he was in his own rooms once more, Chamoureau wondered if he were not the plaything of a dream, and if he had really become rich. But the rotund wallet was in his hands; he could feel and count the bank-notes, the government obligations, and several drafts accepted by the richest bankers in Paris. Thereupon he said to himself:

"No, I am not dreaming; I am really in possession of a very respectable fortune; therefore I may aspire to the woman whom I idolize. I must not delay; my fate must be decided at once."

He seated himself at his desk and wrote:

"Madame:

"It is no longer a humble real estate agent who lays his heart and
his hand at your feet; my position has changed. An inheritance
which I was far from expecting, but of which I have just come into
possession, gives me an income of twenty thousand francs, in
addition to twenty-five hundred which I already had.--I do not
refer to my business, which I have abandoned.--I am therefore
possessed of twenty-two thousand five hundred francs a year. This
fortune I place at your disposal, soliciting anew the title of your
husband, which I should be proud to bear.

"If I have offended you, forgive me; I was absolutely innocent in
the affair of the Champs-Elysées, where I went confident of my good
fortune, and no less deceived than yourself. But since I have known
you, my love for you has never diminished; on the contrary, it has
grown greater and greater every day. I will not ask any questions
concerning the past, and I shall always have the blindest
confidence with respect to the present and the future. I await your
reply."

Having signed this letter, Chamoureau went out and gave it to a messenger in whom he had confidence.

"Ten francs for you," he said, "if you bring me an answer. If she says that she will write, insist, implore her to give you a line on the spot. I will wait for you in this café, where I shall absorb much chartreuse, to give me patience and courage."

Since the adventure on the Champs-Elysées, the fair Thélénie's humor was uniformly morose; sometimes she passed whole days absorbed in her thoughts. Her friend Héloïse's society had not the power to divert her, and when that young woman said to her:

"Do you mean to pass your whole life regretting that little fellow?"

Thélénie would reply:

"I no longer regret him, I no longer love him; I hate him now! But I shall not be satisfied until I have had my revenge."

Chamoureau's messenger found Thélénie in this frame of mind. She read the letter which was brought to her, and to which she was told that an answer was expected. She read it a second time more carefully, then handed it to Mademoiselle Héloïse, saying:

"Here, read this proposal that is made to me."

Mademoiselle Héloïse punctured her perusal of the letter with many "ohs!" and "ahs!" and when she had read it through she exclaimed:

"Mon Dieu! why, this is magnificent!--twenty-two thousand five hundred francs a year! it's superb! And a man who will ask no questions concerning the past and will have blind confidence in the future! Why, that's a model husband! Is it possible that you can refuse all that?"

"I find it difficult to believe that it's true; I suppose it's another miserable joke on the part of those who played that detestable trick on me before. As for this Chamoureau, he is a downright idiot, who is quite capable of seconding the schemes of those men because he doesn't suspect them."

"But if it should be true! a splendid fortune, my dear!"

Thélénie rang for her maid.

"Who brought this letter, Mélie?"

"A messenger, madame."

"Is he still here?"

"Yes, madame, he absolutely insists on having an answer."

"Let him come in."

The messenger was ushered into the presence of the ladies. Thélénie examined him for some seconds, then asked him:

"Who gave you this letter?"

"Monsieur Chamoureau, madame."

"You know him, then?"

"Yes, madame, he often employs me. He keeps a real estate office; I know him well."

"Was he alone when he handed you this letter?"

"Yes, madame, he came to my stand for me; he was all alone."

"What did he say to you?"

"He said--Well! he seems to be very anxious to have a written answer from madame, for he promised me ten francs if I'd bring him just a line."

"Very well; you shall earn your ten francs."

Thélénie took her writing-case and wrote:

"I will receive you at my apartment this evening. But bring the proofs of what you tell me, or you won't leave my house with both your ears."

She handed the note to the messenger, who left the house with a radiant face. He had no sooner gone than the door opened again and Monsieur Beauregard entered the apartment, unannounced. At sight of him, Thélénie turned pale; then she motioned to her friend, saying:

"Go into the salon while I talk with monsieur."

Mademoiselle Héloïse rose and left the room, muttering:

"Well, well! I wonder if this is a brother, too! at all events, he isn't of the same type as the other!"