Baron Trigaults Vengeance | Page 3

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Baron Trigault's Vengeance by Emile Gaboriau

A Sequel to "The Count's Millions" Translated from the French

I
Vengeance! that is the first, the only thought, when a man finds himself
victimized, when his honor and fortune, his present and future, are
wrecked by a vile conspiracy! The torment he endures under such
circumstances can only be alleviated by the prospect of inflicting them
a hundredfold upon his persecutors. And nothing seems impossible at
the first moment, when hatred surges in the brain, and the foam of
anger rises to the lips; no obstacle seems insurmountable, or, rather,
none are perceived. But later, when the faculties have regained their
equilibrium, one can measure the distance which separates the dream
from reality, the project from execution. And on setting to work, how
many discouragements arise! The fever of revolt passes by, and the
victim wavers. He still breathes bitter vengeance, but he does not act.
He despairs, and asks himself what would be the good of it? And in this
way the success of villainy is once more assured.
Similar despondency attacked Pascal Ferailleur when he awoke for the
first time in the abode where he had hidden himself under the name of
Maumejan. A frightful slander had crushed him to the earth--he could
kill his slanderer, but afterward--? How was he to reach and stifle the
slander itself? As well try to hold a handful of water; as well try to stay
with extended arms the progress of the poisonous breeze which wafts
an epidemic on its wings. So the hope that had momentarily lightened
his heart faded away again. Since he had received that fatal letter from

Madame Leon the evening before, he believed that Marguerite was lost
to him forever, and in this case, it was useless to struggle against fate.
What would be the use of victory even if he conquered? Marguerite lost
to him--what did the rest matter? Ah! if he had been alone in the world.
But he had his mother to think of;--he belonged to this brave-hearted
woman, who had saved him from suicide already. "I will not yield, then;
I will struggle on for her sake," he muttered, like a man who foresees
the futility of his efforts.
He rose, and had nearly finished dressing, when he heard a rap at his
chamber door. "It is I, my son," said Madame Ferailleur outside.
Pascal hastened to admit her. "I have come for you because the woman
you spoke about last evening is already here, and before employing her,
I want your advice."
"Then the woman doesn't please you, mother?"
"I want you to see her."
On entering the little parlor with his mother, Pascal found himself in
the presence of a portly, pale-faced woman, with thin lips and restless
eyes, who bowed obsequiously. It was indeed Madame Vantrasson, the
landlady of the model lodging-house, who was seeking employment for
the three or four hours which were at her disposal in the morning, she
said. It certainly was not for pleasure that she had decided to go out to
service again; her dignity suffered terribly by this fall--but then the
stomach has to be cared for. Tenants were not numerous at the model
lodging- house, in spite of its seductive title; and those who slept there
occasionally, almost invariably succeeded in stealing something. Nor
did the grocery store pay; the few half-pence which were left there
occasionally in exchange for a glass of liquor were pocketed by
Vantrasson, who spent them at some neighboring establishment; for it
is a well-known fact that the wine a man drinks in his own shop is
always bitter in flavor. So, having no credit at the butcher's or the
baker's, Madame Vantrasson was sometimes reduced to living for days
together upon the contents of the shop--mouldy figs or dry
raisins--which she washed down with torrents of ratafia, her only
consolation here below.
But this was not a satisfying diet, as she was forced to confess; so she
decided to find some work, that would furnish her with food and a little
money, which she vowed