The Slaves of Paris - Émile Gaboriau (macos ebook reader .txt) 📗

Gandelu resumed his seat, and remained in gloomy silence for some time.

“My dear boy,” said he, in a voice broken by emotion, “a day or two back you saw something of the trouble that I am laboring under. I have no longer any respect or esteem for that wretched fool, my son, Pierre.”

André had already guessed that he had been incensed with reference to something connected with Gaston.

“Your son has behaved very foolishly,” said he; “but remember he is very young.”

A sad smile passed over the old man’s face.

“My son is old in vice,” replied he. “I have thought the matter over only too plainly. Yesterday he declared that he would kill himself. An absurd threat. Up to this time I have been culpably weak, and it is no use now to act in an opposite direction. The unhappy boy is infatuated with a degraded woman named Rose, and I have had her locked up; but I have made up my mind to let her out again, and also to pay his debts. It is weak folly, I allow; but what am I to do? I am his father after all; and while I cannot respect her, I must love him. He has almost broken my heart, but it was his to do as he liked with.”

André made no reply, and Gandelu went on.

“I have not deceived myself; my son is ruined. I can but stand by and wait for the end. If this Rose is not everything that is bad, her influence may be of some use to him. But I want someone to undertake these negotiations, and I had hopes, André, that you would have been able to do so.”

André felt that all his efforts ought to be devoted to the interests of Sabine, but at the same time he could not leave the kind old man to the mercy of others, and by a display of absolute heroism he determined to accede to the brokenhearted father’s desires and briefly told him that he was at his service. Gandelu thanked him warmly, and André seating himself at the table, the two men entered into a long discussion as to the best means to be adopted. It was finally decided that André should act with freedom and according to his own instincts, and that M. Gandelu should, to actual appearance, remain firm in the course he had entered upon, and should only be induced, by André’s intercession, to adopt milder measures. The result justified their anticipations, for Gaston was even more crushed and downcast than André had imagined, and it was in an agony of suspense that he awaited the return of the young painter. As soon as he saw him descending the steps he sprang forward to greet him.

“Well,” said he, in a tone of eager inquiry.

“Your father,” returned André, “is terribly angry with you, but I hope to be able to induce him to do something for you.”

“Will he set Zora at liberty?”

“Perhaps he will; but first he must have something more from you than promises⁠—he must have stable guarantees.”

At these words Gaston’s face fell. “Guarantees,” answered he sulkily. “Is not my word of honor enough? What sort of guarantees does he require?”

“That I cannot tell you, and you must find out for yourself; but I will do all I can for you.”

Gaston gazed upon André in surprise.

“Do you mean to tell me,” asked he, “that you can do pretty well what you like with the governor?”

“Not exactly; but surely you can see that I have a good deal of influence over him. If you want a proof of this, see, here is the money to take up these bills you told me of.”

“What, Verminet’s?”

“I suppose so. I am speaking of those to which you were mad enough to forge another man’s name.”

Foolish as the boy was, this act of his had caused him many a sleepless night, and he had reflected very often how he could possibly escape from the consequence of his act of rashness.

“Give me the money,” cried he.

André shook his head, however. “Forgive me,” said he, “but this money does not quit my hand until the bills are handed over to me. Your father’s orders on this point are decided; but the sooner we settle the affair the better.”

“That is too bad; the governor is as sly as a fox; but he must have his own way, I suppose, so come on. Only just wait till I slip on a coat more suitable to my position than this lounging suit.”

He rushed away, and was back again in ten minutes as neat as a new pin, and full of gayety and good spirits.

“We can walk,” said he, putting his arm through André’s. “We have to go to the Rue St. Anne.”

Verminet had his office in this street⁠—the office of the Mutual Loan Society, of which he was the managing director. The house, in spite of its grandiloquent title, was of excessively shabby exterior. The Mutual Loan Society was frequented by those who, having lost their credit, wished to obtain a fresh amount, and who, having no money, wanted to borrow some.

Verminet’s plan of financial operations was perfectly simple. A tradesman on the verge of bankruptcy would come to him, Verminet would look into his case and make him sign bills for the sum he required, handing him in exchange bills drawn by other tradesman in quite as serious a predicament as himself, and pocketed a commission of two percent upon both the transactions. Verminet obtained clients from the simple fact that an embarrassed tradesman is utterly reckless, cares not what he signs, and will clutch at a straw to keep his head above water. But there were many other transactions carried on at the office of the Mutual Loan Society, for its largest means of income was drawn from even less respectable sources, and it was alleged that many of these bogus bills which are occasionally cashed by