After leaving Valentine de la Verberie, Gaston underwent great peril and difficulty in effecting his escape.
But for the experienced and faithful Menoul, he never would have succeeded in embarking.
Having left his mother's jewels with Valentine, his sole fortune consisted of not quite a thousand francs; and with this paltry sum in his pocket, the murderer of two men, a fugitive from justice, and with no prospect of earning a livelihood, he took passage for Valparaiso.
But Menoul was a bold and experienced sailor.
While Gaston remained concealed in a farm-house at Camargue, Menoul went to Marseilles, and that very evening discovered, from some of his sailor friends, that a threemasted American vessel was in the roadstead, whose commander, Captain Warth, a not over-scrupulous Yankee, would be glad to welcome on board an able-bodied man who would be of assistance to him at sea.
After visiting the vessel, and finding, during a conversation over a glass of rum with the captain, that he was quite willing to take a sailor without disturbing himself about his antecedents, Menoul returned to Gaston.
"Left to my own choice, monsieur," he said, "I should have settled this matter on the spot; but you might object to it."
"What suits you, suits me," interrupted Gaston.
"You see, the fact is, you will be obliged to work very hard. A sailor's life is not boy's play. You will not find much pleasure in it. And I must confess that the ship's company is not the most moral one I ever saw. You never would imagine yourself in a Christian company. And the captain is a regular swaggering bully."
"I have no choice," said Gaston. "Let us go on board at once."
Old Menoul's suspicions were correct.
Before Gaston had been on board the Tom Jones forty-eight hours, he saw that chance had cast him among a collection of the most depraved bandits and cut-throats.
The vessel, which seemed to have recruited at all points of the compass, possessed a crew composed of every variety of thievish knaves; each country had contributed a specimen.
But Gaston's mind was undisturbed as to the character of the people with whom his lot was cast for several months.
It was only his miserable wounded body, that the vessel was carrying to a new country. His heart and soul rested in the shady park of La Verberie, beside his lovely Valentine. He took no note of the men around him, but lived over again those precious hours of bliss beneath the old tree on the banks of the Rhone, where his beloved had confided her heart to his keeping, and sworn to love him forever.
And what would become of her now, poor child, when he was no longer there to love, console, and defend her?
Happily, he had no time for sad reflections.
His every moment was occupied in learning the rough apprenticeship of a sailor's life. All his energies were spent in bearing up under the heavy burden of labor allotted to him. Being totally unaccustomed to manual work, he found it difficult to keep pace with the other sailors, and for the first week or two he was often near fainting at his post, from sheer fatigue; but indomitable energy kept him up.
This was his salvation. Physical suffering calmed and deadened his mental agony. The few hours relaxation granted him were spent in heavy sleep; the instant his weary body touched his bunk, his eyes closed, and no moment did he have to mourn over the past.
At rare intervals, when the weather was calm, and he was relieved from his constant occupation of trimming the sails, he would anxiously question the future, and wonder what he should do when this irksome voyage was ended.
He had sworn that he would return before the end of three years, rich enough to satisfy the exactions of Mme. de la Verberie. How should he be able to keep this boastful promise? Stern reality had convinced him that his projects could never be realized, except by hard work and long waiting. What he hoped to accomplish in three years was likely to require a lifetime.
Judging from the conversation of his companions, he was not now on the road to fortune.
The Tom Jones set sail for Valparaiso, but certainly went in a roundabout way to reach her destination.
The real fact was, that Captain Warth proposed visiting the Gulf of Guinea.
A friend of his, the "Black Prince," he said, with a loud laugh, was waiting for him at Badagri, to exchange a cargo of "ebony" for some pipes of rum, and a hundred flint-lock muskets which were on board the Tom Jones.
Gaston soon saw that he was serving his apprenticeship on a slaver, one of the many ships sent yearly by the free and philanthropic Americans, who made immense fortunes by carrying on the slave-trade.
Although this discovery filled Gaston with indignation and shame, he was prudent enough to conceal his impressions.
His remonstrances, no matter how eloquent, would have made no change in the opinions of Captain Warth regarding a traffic which brought him in more than a hundred per cent, in spite of the French and English cruisers, the damages, sometimes entire loss of cargoes, and many other risks.
The crew admired Gaston when they learned that he had cut two men into mince-meat when they were insolent to him; this was the account of Gaston's affair, as reported to the captain by old Menoul.
Gaston wisely determined to keep on friendly terms with the villains, as long as he was in their power. To express disapproval of their conduct would have incurred the enmity of the whole crew, without bettering his own situation.
He therefore kept quiet, but swore mentally that he would desert on the first opportunity.
This opportunity, like everything impatiently longed for, came not.
By the end of three months, Gaston had become so useful and popular that Captain Warth found him indispensable.
Seeing him so intelligent and agreeable, he liked to have him at his own table, and would spend hours at cards with him or consulting about his business matters. The mate of the ship dying, Gaston was chosen to replace him. In this capacity he made two successful voyages to Guinea, bringing back a thousand blacks, whom he superintended during a trip of fifteen hundred leagues, and finally landed them on the coast of Brazil.
When Gaston had been with Captain Warth about three years, the Tom Jones stopped at Rio Janeiro for a month, to lay in supplies. He now decided to leave the ship, although he had become somewhat attached to the friendly captain, who was after all a worthy man, and never would have engaged in the diabolical traffic of human beings, but for his little angel daughter's sake. He said that his child was so good and beautiful, that she deserved a large fortune. Each time that he sold a black, he would quiet any faint qualms of conscience by saying, "It is for little Mary's good."
Gaston possessed twelve thousand francs, as his share of the profits, when he landed at Brazil.
As a proof that the slave-trade was repugnant to his nature, he left the slaver the moment he possessed a little capital with which to enter some honest business.
But he was no longer the high-minded, pure-hearted Gaston, who had so devotedly loved and perilled his life for the little fairy of La Verberie.
It is useless to deny that evil examples are pernicious to morals. The most upright characters are unconsciously influenced by bad surroundings. As the exposure to rain, sun, and sea-air first darkened and then hardened his skin, so did wicked associates first shock and then destroy the refinement and purity of Gaston's mind. His heart had become as hard and coarse as his sailor hands. He still remembered Valentine, and sighed for her presence; but she was no longer the sole object of affection, the one woman in the world to him. Contact with sin had lowered his standard of women.
The three years, after which he had pledged himself to return, had passed; perhaps Valentine was expecting him. Before deciding on any definite project, he wrote to an intimate friend at Beaucaire to learn what had happened during his long absence. He expressed great anxiety about his family and neighbors.
He also wrote to his father, asking why he had never answered the many letters which he had sent to him by returning sailors, who would have safely forwarded the replies.
At the end of a year, he received an answer from his friend.
The letter almost drove him mad.
It told him that his father was dead; that his brother had left France, Valentine was lately married, and that he, Gaston, had been sentenced to ten years' imprisonment for murder.
Henceforth he was alone in the world; with no country, no family, no home, and disgraced by a public sentence.
Valentine was married, and he had no object in life! He would hereafter have faith in no one, since she, Valentine, had cast him off, forgotten him. What could he expect of others, when she had broken her troth, had lacked the courage to keep her promise and wait for him?--she, whom he had so trusted.
In his despair, he almost regretted the Tom Jones. Yes, he sighed for the wicked slaver crew, his life of excitement and peril. The dangers and triumphs of those bold pirates whose only care was to heap up money would have been preferable to his present wretchedness.
But Gaston was not a man to be long cast down.
"Money is the cause of it all!" he said with rage. "If the lack of money can bring such misery, its possession must bestow intense happiness. Henceforth I will devote all my energies to getting money."
He set to work with a greedy activity, which increased each day. He tried all the many speculations open to adventurers. Alternately he traded in furs, worked in a mine, and cultivated lands.
Five times he went to bed rich, and waked up ruined; five times, with the patience of the castor, whose hut is swept away by each returning tide, he recommenced the foundation of his fortune.
Finally, after long weary years of toil and struggle, he was worth a million in gold, besides immense tracts of land.
He had often said that he would never leave Brazil, that he wanted to end his days in Rio. He had forgotten that love for his native land never dies in the heart of a Frenchman. Now that he was rich, he wished to die in France.
He made inquiries, and found that the law of limitations would permit him to return without being disturbed by the authorities. He left his property in charge of an agent, and embarked for France, taking a large portion of his fortune with him.
Twenty-three years and four months had elapsed since he fled from home.
On a bright, crisp day in January, 1866, he once again stepped on French soil. With a sad heart, he stood upon the quays at Bordeaux, and compared the past with the present.
He had departed a young man, ambitious, hopeful, and beloved; he returned gray-haired, disappointed, trusting no one.
Gold could not supply the place of affection. He had said that riches would bring happiness: his wealth was immense, and he was miserable.
His health, too, began to suffer from this sudden change of climate. Rheumatism confined him to his bed for several months. As soon as he could sit up, the physicians sent him to the warm baths, where he recovered his health, but not his spirits. He felt his lonely condition more terribly in his own country than when in a foreign land.
He determined to divert his mind by engaging in some occupation which would keep him too busy to think of himself and his disappointment. Charmed with the beauty of the Pyrenees, and the lovely valley of Aspe, he resolved to take up his abode there.
An iron-mill was for sale near Oloron, on the borders of the Gara; he bought it with the intention of utilizing the immense quantity of wood, which, for want of means of transportation, was being wasted in the mountains.
He was soon settled comfortably in his new home, and enjoying a busy, active life.
One evening, as he was ruminating over the past, his servant brought him a card, and said the gentleman was waiting to see him.
He read the name on the card: Louis de Clameran.
Many years had passed since Gaston had experienced such violent agitation. His blood rushed to his face, and he trembled like a leaf.
The old home affections which he thought dead now sprung up anew in his heart. A thousand confused memories rushed through his mind. Like one in a dream, he tottered toward the door, gasping, in a smothered, broken voice:
"My brother! oh, my brother!"
Hurriedly passing by the frightened servant, he ran downstairs. In the passage stood a man: it was Louis de Clameran.
Gaston threw his arms around his neck and held him in a close embrace for some minutes, and then drew him into the room.
Seated close beside him, with his two hands tightly clasped in those of Louis, Gaston gazed at his brother as a fond mother would gaze at her son just returned from the battlefield.
There was scarcely any danger and excitement which the mate of the redoubtable Captain Warth had not experienced; nothing had ever before caused him to lose his calm presence of mind, to force him to betray that he had a heart. The sight of this long unseen brother seemed to have changed his nature; he was like a woman, weeping and laughing at once.
"And is this really Louis?" he cried. "My dear brother! Why, I should have recognized you among a thousand; the expression of your face is just the same; your smile takes me back twenty-three years."
Louis did indeed smile, just as he smiled on that fatal night when his horse stumbled, and prevented Gaston's escape.
He smiled now as if he was perfectly happy at meeting his brother.
And he was much more at ease than he had been a few moments before. He had exerted all the courage he possessed to venture upon this meeting. Nothing but pressing necessity would have induced him to face this brother, who seemed to have risen from the dead to reproach him for his crimes.
His teeth chattered and he trembled in every limb when he rang Gaston's bell, and handed the servant his card, saying:
"Take this to your master."
The few moments before Gaston's appearance seemed to be centuries. He said to himself:
"Perhaps it is not he; if it is he, does he know? Does he suspect anything? How will he receive me?"
He was so anxious, that when he saw Gaston running downstairs, he felt like fleeing from the house without speaking to him.
Not knowing the nature of Gaston's feelings, whether he was hastening toward him in anger or brotherly love, he stood perfectly motionless. But one glance at his brother's face convinced him that he was the same affectionate, credulous, trusting Gaston of old; and, now that he was certain that his brother harbored no suspicions, he smilingly received the demonstrations lavished upon him.
"After all," continued Gaston, "I am not alone in the world; I shall have someone to love, someone to care for me."
Then, as if suddenly struck by a thought, he said:
"Are you married, Louis?"
"No."
"That is a pity, a great pity. It would so add to my happiness to see you the husband of a good, affectionate woman, the father of bright, lovely children! It would be a comfort to have a happy family about me. I should look upon them all as my own. To live alone, without a loving wife to share one's joys and sorrows, is not living at all: it is a sort of living death. There is no joy equal to having the affection of a true woman whose happiness is in your keeping. Oh the sadness of having only one's self to care for! But what am I saying? Louis, forgive me. I have you now, and ought not that to be enough? I have a brother, a kind friend who will be interested in me, and afford me company, instead of the weariness of solitude."
"Yes, Gaston, yes: I am your best friend."
"Of course you are. Being my brother, you are naturally my true friend. You are not married, you say. Then we will have to do the best we can, and keep house for ourselves. We will live together like two old bachelors, as we are, and be as happy as kings; we will lead a gay life, and enjoy everything that can be enjoyed. I feel twenty years younger already. The sight of your face renews my youth, and I feel as active and strong as I did the night I swam across the swollen Rhone. And that was long, long ago. The struggles, privations, and anxieties endured since, have been enough to age any man. I feel old, older than my years."
"What an idea!" interrupted Louis: "why, you look younger than I do."
"You are jesting."
"I swear I think you look the younger."
"Would you have recognized me?"
"Instantly. You are very little changed."
And Louis was right. He himself had an old, worn-out, used-up appearance; while Gaston, in spite of his gray hair and weather-beaten face, was a robust man, in the full maturity of his prime.
It was a relief to turn from Louis's restless eyes and crafty smile to Gaston's frank, honest face.
"But," said Gaston, "how did you know that I was living? What kind chance guided you to my house?"
Louis was prepared for this question. During his eighteen hours' ride by the railway, he had arranged all his answers, and had his story ready.
"We must thank Providence for this happy meeting," he replied. "Three days ago, a friend of mine returned from the baths, and mentioned that he had heard that a Marquis of Clameran was near there, in the Pyrenees. You can imagine my surprise. I instantly supposed that some impostor had assumed our name. I took the next train, and finally found my way here."
"Then you did not expect to see me?"
"My dear brother, how could I hope for that? I thought that you were drowned twentythree years ago."
"Drowned! Mlle. de la Verberie certainly told you of my escape? She promised that she would go herself, the next day, and tell my father of my safety."
Louis assumed a distressed look, as if he hesitated to tell a sad truth, and said, in a regretful tone:
"Alas! she never told us."
Gaston's eyes flashed with indignation. He thought that perhaps Valentine had been glad to get rid of him.
"She did not tell you?" he exclaimed. "Did she have the cruelty to let you mourn my death? to let my old father die of a broken heart? Ah, she must have been very fearful of what the world says. She sacrificed me, then, for the sake of her reputation."
"But why did you not write to us?" asked Louis.
"I did write as soon as I had an opportunity; and Lafourcade wrote back, saying that my father was dead, and that you had left the country."
"I left Clameran because I believed you to be dead."
After a long silence, Gaston arose, and walked up and down the room as if to shake off a feeling of sadness; then he said, cheerfully:
"Well, it is of no use to mourn over the past. All the memories in the world, good or bad, are not worth one slender hope for the future; and thank God, we have a bright future before us. Let us bury the past, and enjoy life together."
Louis was silent. His footing was not sure enough to risk any questions.
"But here I have been talking incessantly for an hour," said Gaston, "and I dare say that you have not dined."
"No, I have not, I confess." "Why did you not say so before? I forgot that I had not dined myself. I will not let you starve, the first day of your arrival. I will make amends by giving you some splendid old Cape wine."
He pulled the bell, and ordered the servant to hasten dinner, adding that it must be an excellent one; and within an hour the two brothers were seated at a sumptuous repast.
Gaston kept up an uninterrupted stream of questions. He wished to know all that had happened during his absence.
"What about Clameran?" he abruptly asked.
Louis hesitated a moment. Should he tell the truth, or not?
"I have sold Clameran," he finally said.
"The chateau too?"
"Yes."
"You acted as you thought best," said Gaston sadly; "but it seems to me that, if I had been in your place, I should have kept the old homestead. Our ancestors lived there for many generations, and our father lies buried there."
Then seeing Louis appear sad and distressed, he quickly added:
"However, it is just as well; it is in the heart that memory dwells, and not in a pile of old stones. I myself had not the courage to return to Provence. I could not trust myself to go to Clameran, where I would have to look into the park of La Verberie. Alas, the only happy moments of my life were spent there!"
Louis's countenance immediately cleared. The certainty that Gaston had not been to Provence relieved his mind of an immense weight.
The next day Louis telegraphed to Raoul:
"Wisdom and prudence. Follow my directions. All goes well. Be sanguine."
All was going well; and yet Louis, in spite of his skilfully applied questions, had obtained none of the information which he had come to obtain.
Gaston was communicative on every subject except the one in which Louis was interested. Was this silence premeditated, or simply unconscious? Louis, like all villains, was ever ready to attribute to others the bad motives by which he himself would be influenced.
Anything was better than this uncertainty; he determined to ask his brother plainly what his intentions were in regard to money matters.
He thought the dinner-table a favorable opportunity, and began by saying:
"Do you know, my dear Gaston, that thus far we have discussed every topic except the most important one?"
"Why do you look so solemn, Louis? What is the grave subject of which you speak?"
"Our father's estate. Supposing you to be dead, I inherited, and have disposed of it."
"Is that what you call a serious matter?" said Gaston with an amused smile.
"It certainly is very serious to me; as you have a right to half of the estate, I must account to you for it. You have--"
"I have," interrupted Gaston, "a right to ask you never to allude to the subject again. It is yours by limitation."
"I cannot accept it upon those terms."
"But you must. My father only wished to have one of us inherit his property; we will be carrying out his wishes by not dividing it."
Seeing that Louis's face still remained clouded, he went on:
"Ah, I see what annoys you, my dear Louis; you are rich, and think that I am poor, and too proud to accept anything from you. Is it not so?"
Louis started at this question. How could he reply so as not to commit himself?
"I am not rich," he finally said.
"I am delighted to hear it," cried Gaston. "I wish you were as poor as Job, so that I might share what I have with you."
Dinner over, Gaston rose and said:
"Come, I want to visit with you, my--that is, our property. You must see everything about the place."
Louis uneasily followed his brother. It seemed to him that Gaston obstinately shunned anything like an explanation.
Could all this brotherly confidence be assumed to blind him as to his real plans? Why did Gaston inquire into his brother's past and future, without revealing his own? Louis's suspicions were aroused, and he regretted his over-hasty seeking of Gaston.
But his calm, smiling face betrayed none of the anxious thoughts which filled his mind. He was called upon to praise everything. First he was taken over the house and servants' quarters, then to the stable, kennels, and the vast, beautifully laid-out garden. Across a pretty meadow was the iron-foundery in full operation. Gaston, with all the enthusiasm of a new proprietor, explained everything, down to the smallest file and hammer.
He detailed all his projects; how he intended substituting wood for coal, and how, besides having plenty to work the forge, he could make immense profits by felling the forest trees, which had hitherto been considered impracticable. He would cut a hundred cords of wood that year.
Louis approved of everything; but only answered in monosyllables, "Ah, indeed! excellent idea; quite a success."
His mind was tortured by a new pain; he was paying no attention to Gaston's remarks, but enviously comparing all this wealth and prosperity with his own poverty.
He found Gaston rich, respected, and happy, enjoying the price of his own labor and industry; whilst he-- Never had he so cruelly felt the misery of his own condition; and he had brought it on himself, which only made it more aggravating.
After a lapse of twenty-three years, all the envy and hate he had felt toward Gaston, when they were boys together, revived.
"What do you think of my purchase?" asked Gaston, when the inspection was over.
"I think you possess, my dear brother, a most splendid piece of property, and on the loveliest spot in the world. It is enough to excite the envy of any poor Parisian."
"Do you really think so?"
"Certainly."
"Then, my dear Louis," said Gaston joyfully, "this property is yours, as well as mine. You like this lovely Bearn more than the dusty streets of Paris? I am very glad that you prefer the comforts of living on your own estate, to the glitter and show of a city life. Everything you can possibly want is here, at your command. And, to employ our time, there is the foundery. Does my plan suit you?"
Louis was silent. A year ago this proposal would have been eagerly welcomed. How gladly he would have seized this offer of a comfortable, luxurious home, after having been buffeted about the world so long! How delightful it would have been to turn over a new leaf, and become an honest man!
But he saw with disappointment and rage that he would now be compelled to decline it.
He was no longer free. He could not leave Paris.
He had become entangled in one of those hazardous plots which are fatal if neglected, and whose failure generally leads the projector to the galleys.
Alone, he could easily remain where he was: but he was trammelled with an accomplice.
"You do not answer me," said Gaston with surprise; "are there any obstacles to my plans?"
"None."
"What is the matter, then?"
"The matter is, my dear brother, that the salary of an office which I hold in Paris is all that I have to support me."
"Is that your only objection? Yet you just now wanted to pay me back half of the family inheritance! Louis, that is unkind; you are not acting as a brother should."
Louis hung his head. Gaston was unconsciously telling the truth.
"I should be a burden to you, Gaston."
"A burden! Why, Louis, you must be mad! Did I not tell you I am very rich? Do you suppose that you have seen all I possess? This house and the iron-works do not constitute a fourth of my fortune. Do you think that I would have risked my twenty years' savings in an experiment of this sort? The forge may be a failure; and then what would become of me, if I had nothing else?
"I have invested money which yields me an income of eighty thousand francs. Besides, my grants in Brazil have been sold, and my agent has already deposited four hundred thousand francs to my credit as part payment."
Louis trembled with pleasure. He was, at last, to know the extent of the danger hanging over him. Gaston had finally broached the subject which had caused him so much anxiety, and he determined that it should now be explained before their conversation ended.
"Who is your agent?" he asked with assumed indifference.
"My old partner at Rio. He deposited the money at my Paris banker's."
"Is this banker a friend of yours?"
"No; I never heard of him until my banker at Pau recommended him to me as an honest, reliable man; he is immensely wealthy, and stands at the head of the financiers in Paris. His name is Fauvel, and he lives on the Rue de Provence."
Although prepared for hearing almost anything, and determined to betray no agitation, Louis turned deadly pale.
"Do you know this banker?" asked Gaston. "Only by reputation."
"Then we can make his acquaintance together; for I intend accompanying you to Paris, when you return there to settle up your affairs before establishing yourself here to superintend the forge."
At this unexpected announcement of a step which would prove his utter ruin, Louis was stupefied. In answer to his brother's questioning look, he gasped out.
"You are going to Paris?"
"Certainly I am. Why should I not go?"
"There is no reason why."
"I hate Paris, although I have never been there. But I am called there by interest, by sacred duties," he hesitatingly said. "The truth is, I understand that Mlle. de la Verberie lives in Paris, and I wish to see her."
"Ah!"
Gaston was silent and thoughtful for some moments, and then said, nervously:
"I will tell you, Louis, why I wish to see her. I left our family jewels in her charge, and I wish to recover them."
"Do you intend, after a lapse of twenty-three years, to claim these jewels?"
"Yes--or rather no. I only make the jewels an excuse for seeing her. I must see her because--because--she is the only woman I ever really loved!"
"But how will you find her?"
"Oh! that is easy enough. Anyone can tell me the name of her husband, and then I will go to see her. Perhaps the shortest way to find out, would be to write to Beaucaire. I will do so to-morrow."
Louis made no reply.