Baron Trigaults Vengeance | Page 6

him a proof of his confidence. He
remembered that this strange man had said: "If you ever need a helping
hand, come to me." And at the recollection he made up his mind. "I am

going to Baron Trigault's," he remarked to his mother; "if my
presentiments don't deceive me, he will be of service to us."
In less than half an hour he was on his way. He had dressed himself in
the oldest clothes he possessed; and this, with the change he had made
by cutting off his hair and beard, had so altered his appearance that it
was necessary to look at him several times, and most attentively, to
recognize him. The visiting cards which he carried in his pocket bore
the inscription: "P. Maumejan, Business Agent, Route de la Revolte."
His knowledge of Parisian life had induced him to choose the same
profession as M. Fortunat followed--a profession which opens almost
every door. "I will enter the nearest cafe and ask for a directory," he
said to himself. "I shall certainly find Baron Trigault's address in it."
The baron lived in the Rue de la Ville-l'Eveque. His mansion was one
of the largest and most magnificent in the opulent district of the
Madeleine, and its aspect was perfectly in keeping with its owner's
character as an expert financier, and a shrewd manufacturer, the
possessor of valuable mines. The marvellous luxury so surprised Pascal,
that he asked himself how the owner of this princely abode could find
any pleasure at the gaming table of the Hotel d'Argeles. Five or six
footmen were lounging about the courtyard when he entered it. He
walked straight up to one of them, and with his hat in his hand, asked:
"Baron Trigault, if you please?"
If he had asked for the Grand Turk the valet would not have looked at
him with greater astonishment. His surprise, indeed, seemed so
profound that Pascal feared he had made some mistake and added:
"Doesn't he live here?"
The servant laughed heartily. "This is certainly his house," he replied,
"and strange to say, by some fortunate chance, he's here."
"I wish to speak with him on business."
The servant called one of his colleagues. "Eh! Florestan--is the baron
receiving?"
"The baroness hasn't forbidden it."
This seemed to satisfy the footman; for, turning to Pascal he said: "In
that case, you can follow me."

II.
The sumptuous interior of the Trigault mansion was on a par with its

external magnificence. Even the entrance bespoke the lavish millionaire,
eager to conquer difficulties, jealous of achieving the impossible, and
never haggling when his fancies were concerned. The spacious hall,
paved with costly mosaics, had been transformed into a conservatory
full of flowers, which were renewed every morning. Rare plants
climbed the walls up gilded trellis work, or hung from the ceiling in
vases of rare old china, while from among the depths of verdure peered
forth exquisite statues, the work of sculptors of renown. On a rustic
bench sat a couple of tall footmen, as bright in their gorgeous liveries
as gold coins fresh from the mint; still, despite their splendor, they were
stretching and yawning to such a degree, that it seemed as if they would
ultimately dislocate their jaws and arms.
"Tell me," inquired the servant who was escorting Pascal, "can any one
speak to the baron?"
"Why?"
"This gentleman has something to say to him."
The two valets eyed the unknown visitor, plainly considering him to be
one of those persons who have no existence for the menials of
fashionable establishments, and finally burst into a hearty laugh. "Upon
my word!" exclaimed the eldest, "he's just in time. Announce him, and
madame will be greatly obliged to you. She and monsieur have been
quarrelling for a good half-hour. And, heavenly powers, isn't he
tantalizing!"
The most intense curiosity gleamed in the eyes of Pascal's conductor,
and with an airy of secrecy, he asked: "What is the cause of the rumpus?
That Fernand, no doubt--or some one else?"
"No; this morning it's about M. Van Klopen."
"Madame's dressmaker?"
"The same. Monsieur and madame were breakfasting together--a most
unusual thing--when M. Van Klopen made his appearance. I thought to
myself, when I admitted him: 'Look out for storms!' I scented one in the
air, and in fact the dressmaker hadn't been in the room five minutes
before we heard the baron's voice rising higher and higher. I said to
myself: 'Whew! the mantua-maker is presenting his bill!' Madame cried
and went on like mad; but, pshaw! when the master really begins,
there's no one like him. There isn't a cab- driver in Paris who's his equal
for swearing."

"And M. Van Klopen?"
"Oh, he's used to such scenes! When gentlemen abuse him he does the
same as dogs do