The Red Lottery Ticket

Madame Verdon added some remarks as to George's father, his own position and prospects, and finally exclaimed: "I feel sure that you will make my daughter happy, and as it does not seem necessary to consult her – "

"Not at all necessary, mamma. I am already engaged," exclaimed Gabrielle, gaily.

"Then," resumed Madame Verdon, "I give my consent. And now, my dear son-in-law, you can confer with my notary whenever you please. He will explain my daughter's financial situation to you, and you can explain yours to him. Gabrielle's fortune is entirely at her own disposal. She has her share of her father's property, and I shall also give her a dowry of two hundred thousand francs. Your father will certainly do something on his side, so you will be able to begin housekeeping with at least thirty thousand francs a year."

"You are too generous," murmured George. "I wish mademoiselle were poor. In that case, she could not doubt my disinterestedness."

"Do you think that I doubt it now?" asked Gabrielle, quickly.

"I am sure that I don't," chimed in Madame Verdon, "and as you love each other, that is enough. Everything else is of little moment, I have always been of that opinion, and when I was young nothing could have induced me to marry for money, nor could anything induce me to do such a thing even now." George pricked up his ears. He realised that the lady's confession would not be much longer deferred. "The moment has come," she continued, "to inform you of a project, which my daughter has, perhaps, mentioned to you. I am about to marry again, and I am sure you will approve of my resolve, when you become better acquainted with my intended husband, whom I introduced to you yesterday at the Palais de l'Industrie. Monsieur Jacques Rochas is several years older than myself, but I should not care to marry a young man. He is a widower, but he has no children, and he is wealthy. His disposition and character suit me. I am perfectly well aware that this is no reason why they should please every one, and I shall not insist upon my daughter and my son-in-law living with us. My plans for the future are made. Jacques and I intend to travel a good deal, and when we settle down, we shall purchase a château not far from Paris, where we can entertain our friends. You will always be very welcome there, you and Gabrielle, but as neither of you has much liking for a country life, you had better install yourselves comfortably inside Paris. Remember that I shall never cease to take an interest in my dear Gabrielle's welfare and in yours. I even hope to contribute to your happiness. I was anxious to tell you all this, for I did not wish you to engage yourself to my daughter without a full knowledge of all the circumstances. If this explicit statement of my intentions does not displease you, it will only remain for us to fix the wedding-day."

"The earlier the date, the better pleased I shall be," said George, with an ardent glance at Mademoiselle Verdon.

"Well, I can not speak for Gabrielle, who maintains a determined silence, but I should like to leave France for Switzerland – Monsieur Rochas's birthplace – about the middle of May."

"A fortnight would be ample time to accomplish all the formalities."

"Let us say a fortnight, then. I will leave it to you young people to fix the precise day; still I shall forthwith announce this great event to Monsieur Rochas, who will feel very glad I'm sure; and that young rogue, Albert, will condescend, I hope, to lead his sister to the altar."

"Are you not afraid that your son may be displeased at not being consulted?" inquired George.

"My son has no voice in the matter."

"And he loves me too well not to rejoice at my happiness," added Gabrielle, quickly. "He will be our best friend."

"Well, if he goes on as he has begun, you are not likely to see much of him," said Madame Verdon, gaily. "But how about your friend, Monsieur de Puymirol? I hope he will act as your best man, or at least as one of your witnesses on your marriage-day. He is a very handsome young fellow, and as you two are inseparable, I hear, I hope you will soon introduce him to us."

"Certainly," murmured George. "I haven't seen him to-day, but I shall meet him this evening, no doubt, and – "

"Oh, I can very readily understand why you did not bring him with you, this morning," interrupted Madame Verdon. "On such an occasion the most intimate friends are in the way. But, speaking of intimate friends, I must tell you that there is a person whom you will see a great deal of when Gabrielle becomes your wife, for he cannot bear her out of his sight. That is our worthy friend, Roch Plancoët."

George gave the ladies a questioning look as if asking what was the nature of the bond that united this stranger to Mademoiselle Verdon. "Roch was my father's foster-brother," said Gabrielle, prompted, probably, by a desire to reassure her lover. "They were brought up together, and after my father's death, he could not make up his mind to abandon my brother and myself, for he had been deeply attached to us from our infancy. When we came to Paris, he came here as well. He is a most devoted friend, but he is painfully shy. You have never yet seen him, and never will see him, in my mother's drawing-room, but not a day passes without his coming to the house to spend an hour or two with me, and he would go through fire and water to spare me pain. He is old enough to be my father, and he loves me as if I were really his daughter."

"Yes, you are a great favourite with him," said Madame Verdon, "but every one is not fortunate enough to be in his good graces. He is very fond of your brother, too, but he is not at all partial to me, and I am quite sure that he does not like Monsieur Rochas. By the way, Gabrielle, I am surprised that we have seen nothing of him since yesterday morning – "

"So I have found you at last," at this moment cried a clear, ringing voice that made all three of the party glance up hastily. "I have been looking for you fully three quarters of an hour. I met Roch at your door, and he told me you must be here."

"Albert!" exclaimed the young girl, springing up and flinging her arms about the neck of her brother, who embraced her heartily in return. "We have been so uneasy about you!" she cried. "Where have you been, you bad fellow?"

"Oh, I had to dine with some comrades, of course. It would not be worth while winning a prize, if one didn't celebrate one's good fortune by a dinner afterwards."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Madame Verdon. "Confess that you have been dancing attendance upon the damsel who threw you some violets."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean, mamma," replied the young lieutenant, frowning.

"Oh, well, we will say no more about it," rejoined Madame Verdon. "You are no longer a schoolboy, and I have no right to keep you tied to my apron strings, but if I were your colonel, I should put you under arrest. But I have two pieces of news for you. First, however, allow me to introduce Monsieur George Caumont, who will soon be your brother-in-law. We were just deciding upon the wedding-day."

Albert instantly became serious, but a questioning glance which he gave Gabrielle elicited from her a happy smile. "Do you remember what I wrote to you last winter?" she asked. "It is true I did not mention any names, but – "

"I should think I did remember!" exclaimed the young officer, "and I was going to inquire about the happy man this very day. As it is this gentleman, I must ask him to shake hands with me. I trust we shall be good friends."

"I sincerely hope so," replied George, cordially shaking the lieutenant's proffered hand.

"You don't belong to the army?" resumed Albert.

"No, indeed," exclaimed Madame Verdon. "Monsieur Caumont is just completing his law studies. His father is a landed proprietor in Normandy."

"Well, Monsieur Caumont pleases Gabrielle, and that is enough for me, mamma. If he didn't, I would not take him for a brother-in-law."

"My preference has always been for marriages of inclination," replied Madame Verdon; "love matches, if you like – and you will need no better proof of that than my announcement of my own approaching marriage with Monsieur Jacques Rochas." Albert turned pale, but did not say a word. It was evident that he was making a violent effort to control himself. "Monsieur Rochas was your guardian," continued Madame Verdon, drily, "and for ten years he has been almost one of the family. Our marriage is a settled thing, and nothing that you can say, will make any difference. However, Gabrielle's wedding is the first thing to be considered. I expect it will take place in about a fortnight's time."

"And yours, mother?" asked Albert.

"Mine will come off next month, in Switzerland, probably. On my return to France, I shall live in the country, and very quietly."

"That will be best," remarked Albert, gravely.

George began to look very uncomfortable, and Gabrielle had tears in her eyes. "I am sorry to leave you, my dear Monsieur Caumont," now said the mother, "but it is growing chilly, and my daughter and I must return home. Remember, however, that from this time forth our home is yours. I leave you with my son, whom you ought to convert to a sensible way of thinking."

Madame Verdon rose up as she spoke, and Gabrielle followed her, but not until she had given her brother and her lover a meaning glance. The two young fellows, on being left alone, strolled towards a café at Albert's suggestion, and while quaffing a glass of beer, they began to chat like two old friends. Albert, who showed himself remarkably communicative, related his adventures with Mademoiselle Blanche Pornic, beginning with the horse-show and winding up with the announcement that he had dined with her on the previous evening at the Lion d'Or.

"At the Lion d'Or! that's singular," muttered George, thinking of the lunch ordered by Dargental, and at which Blanche had figured so prominently.

"Why is it singular? It seems to be a very popular restaurant. We had scarcely sat down when in came a gentleman whom Blanche knew, and whose name she told me – a Monsieur de Puymirol."

"Puymirol! are you sure that you are not mistaken in the name?" cried George. This was the first news that he had received of his friend for twenty-four hours, and it seemed strange that tidings should reach him in such a roundabout way.

"Perfectly sure, for Blanche told me an interesting story in connection with this gentleman. He was the intimate friend, it seems, of a Monsieur Dargental who was murdered a fortnight or so ago."

"Did she tell you that?"

"Yes, and a deal more. She pretends to think that the gentleman in question was murdered by one of his old flames – a Countess de Lescombat, whom she seems to hate. I even suspect that they must once have been rivals. But is this story really true? I never saw anything about it in the newspapers."

"There is this much truth in it: Dargental was killed by a pistol shot, but no one knows who fired it."

"I certainly hope it wasn't Blanche. That would rather dampen my ardour. Would you believe it, my dear fellow, she wanted me to pay a visit to this countess and threaten her, but of course, I refused."

"Threaten her with what?"

"I didn't very clearly understand. It was something about some letters that Blanche had written, and which had fallen into the hands of the countess. Blanche wants to regain possession of them, and she seemed to think that I could assist her in obtaining them. However, I told her very plainly that the mission did not suit me, and then she insisted no further. On the contrary, we parted the best friends in the world."

"Well, believe me, I don't speak lightly; but I advise you to have nothing more to do with Blanche Pornic. She is a very attractive woman, but there are plenty of others equally charming; besides, there are circumstances that render any intimacy with her undesirable, and even dangerous just now. Dargental's tragical death has created a good deal of talk, and the authorities have begun an investigation. I know that Blanche has been questioned already, and maybe she may still be implicated in the affair."

"Hum! that would be serious; but excuse me, I see over there a worthy man whom I wish to introduce to you – Roch Plancoët, my poor father's foster brother."

"Madame Verdon just spoke of him to me."

"Then you already know that he is the best friend we have in the world. He has been devoted to my sister and myself from our earliest infancy. He might have made a fortune in the business – he was in a fair way of doing so – but he has come to live in Paris on an income of six thousand francs a year, because he couldn't exist without seeing Gabrielle. We will have a chat with him if you don't mind. Here, Plancoët!" The promenader looked up, recognised Albert, and hastened towards him. "How are you, old fellow?" asked the young lieutenant, slapping him familiarly on the shoulder. "You must take a glass of beer with us. Sit down. Do you see this gentleman? Well, he is Gabrielle's intended husband."

M. Plancoët did not seem to be very much surprised by this abrupt announcement, but he looked searchingly at George, who returned the scrutiny with interest. This faithful friend of the Verdon family seemed to be about fifty years of age, and he was still strong and hearty. His strong features bespoke unusual energy, and strength of mind. His eyes were keen and intelligent, and his smile had much of the patient sweetness of a man accustomed to sacrifice himself for others. In short, his appearance was decidedly prepossessing, and George instantly conceived a strong liking to him. "I trust, sir," he said, almost affectionately, "that Mademoiselle Verdon's marriage will not part you from her. You will always be most welcome at my wife's house."

"I thank you for this assurance," replied M. Plancoët, quietly but earnestly, "though I must admit that I was not unprepared for it. Gabrielle has so often spoken of you, and always in such high terms, that I relied as implicitly upon your hospitality as you can rely upon my devotion."

"Monsieur Caumont doesn't doubt that, my dear Roch," interposed Albert. "I have told him all about you. But I have another piece of news for you – one that is much less agreeable in its nature."

"Your mother's intended marriage," said Plancoët, sadly. "That isn't necessary, my boy. She announced it to me this morning. But what about yourself, what have you been doing since I saw you last? – more than six months ago – for our meeting at the door of your mother's house does not count, as you merely said two or three words to me, and then rushed off like a madman."

"Tell you what I have been doing? Being bored to death – that is about all. If you think military life very enjoyable, you are greatly mistaken."

"You doubtless found it very dull while in garrison; but you seem to have been making up for it since your arrival in Paris. Your sister vainly expected you all the morning, and she is very cross with you in consequence."

"We are reconciled. Besides, although I dined at the Lion d'Or yesterday, I shall dine at home this evening."

"At the Lion d'Or!" repeated M. Plancoët, in astonishment. "You dined at the Lion d'Or yesterday?"

"Yes, old fellow. What is there so very astonishing about that? It's a good restaurant. My intended brother-in-law often patronizes it, I'm sure, though he probably goes alone, whereas I was in company with a very pretty woman."

"I don't patronize it often," answered George. "In fact, I have not been there since the day I lunched with my friend Puymirol."

"The gentleman whom Blanche pointed out to me yesterday!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "But she was at that lunch as well. She told me so."

"Yes, there were four of us. She was the only lady."

"And it was the very day of Monsieur Dargental's death. Blanche could talk of nothing else. You may have heard of that gentleman's murder, Plancoët?"

"No – that is to say, yes. It seems to me I did see something about it in the papers," stammered M. Plancoët, with the air of a man suddenly awakening from a dream. "Were you acquainted with him?"

"Not at all, but George, here, knew him well." The friend of the family now looked searchingly at George. "What the deuce is the matter with you to-day?" continued Albert. "You seem to be amazed at everything. Is there anything so very extraordinary in the fact that Caumont should have known that gentleman? His friend Puymirol was also acquainted with him, and so was the lady who dined with me yesterday."

"Speaking of my friend Puymirol," said George, turning to the lieutenant. "I am very uneasy about him, for he didn't return home last night. We live in the same house, you know, No. 14, Rue de Medicis?"

"Oh, he will turn up safely, no doubt. It isn't so strange for a young bachelor to stop out all night in Paris," added Albert, laughing. "By the way, you must bring him to see my mother. She will find a wife for him. But I forgot. She won't have time, as she intends to leave Paris immediately after your wedding."

"Puymirol will be my best man, probably."

"And Plancoët will certainly be one of my sister's witnesses, so that these gentlemen will have an opportunity of making each other's acquaintance. But the prospect does not seem to please you, Roch. You look dreadfully gloomy. Have you anything against the gentleman?"

"I!" exclaimed Plancoët. "Why! this is the first time I ever heard of him."

"Then why do you look so sulky? Ever since you have heard that he is likely to figure at the ceremony, your face has worn the same expression as it assumes when you see Rochas."

"You must be dreaming, my boy. The truth is, your proposal did not strike me very favourably, as I am much too old to serve as Gabrielle's witness. One of your comrades would be much more suitable. The old bring misfortune with them."

"Nonsense! On the contrary, you are a fetish. We have always prospered since we knew you."

"That isn't the opinion of every one," remarked M. Plancoët, pointedly.

George realised that Madame Verdon was the exception referred to, and he thought it time to conclude the interview. He had seen enough of M. Plancoët, and it seemed to him that the worthy man stared at him in a rather objectionable manner; besides, he was anxious to find out if Puymirol had returned home. "Excuse me for leaving you now," he said, pleasantly. "But I shall feel very uncomfortable until I see my friend again, and as I hate suspense, I am going to put an end to it by interviewing my doorkeeper."

"Of course," said Albert, "I also must go home if I want to avoid a scene. My mother is just in the humour to scold me, and Gabrielle may side with her, for she must be impatiently waiting to know what I think of you. She will probably subject me to a close examination; still you need have no fears as regards my replies."

"But where are you going, Roch? Will you accompany me home?"

"It's impossible. I have some business to attend to – "

"As usual. The deuce take me, if I can imagine how you occupy your time. But it is no affair of mine. Good-bye, my dear brother-in-law, I hope to see you again soon."

The two young men exchanged a cordial pressure of the hand, while M. Plancoët contented himself with bowing to Gabrielle's future husband. The salute was very pleasant and deferential, but George somehow fancied that M. Plancoët seemed inclined to hold himself a little aloof, and that there was a slight cloud between them.

They separated, and George then hastened to the Rue de Medicis, where he learnt with no little consternation, that Puymirol had given no sign of life. Some serious accident must certainly have happened to him. In fact, it was a much more terrible matter than George supposed.

V

After his midnight mishap, Puymirol, still suffering from his fall, slowly and gloomily retraced his steps. What should he do with himself? He was in no humour to go to bed, and the thought occurred to him that he might perhaps still retrieve his losses at the gaming-table. The doors of his own club were closed against him until his outstanding debt was paid, but he knew other places easy of access, for in Paris there are plenty of private gambling-dens to which a man can gain admission by feeing the doorkeeper, as Puymirol was well aware. Thus in his great need, the idea of again trying his luck occurred to him, and he did not lose a moment in carrying it into execution. But, alas, the thirty louis which still remained to him were speedily lost in an establishment of the Chaussée d'Antin; and Puymirol, disheartened and exhausted, left the card-room, and passing into an adjoining apartment flung himself upon a sofa. He felt that irresistible longing to sleep which so often follows upon great crises. His eyes closed in spite of all his efforts to keep them open, and in a few moments he fell into a profound slumber which no one at first disturbed, for at the gaming-table players don't trouble themselves about the wounded. He was still sleeping heavily when he was roughly shaken by a footman; and when he opened his eyes in bewilderment he found that it was broad daylight. "What time is it?" he inquired, with a yawn.

"Past eight o'clock," replied the footman sullenly. "All the other gentlemen left a long while ago; and I must set the room in order. This isn't a lodging house."

Puymirol felt strongly inclined to kick the fellow who had so rudely recalled him to the realities of life, but he restrained his wrath, and rose up without a word. He found his hat and overcoat in the cloak-room, and forthwith left the establishment, having decided to return home at once so as to see George and procure the letters, for his late reverses had discouraged him so much that he was now inclined to accept Madame de Lescombat's offer. He accordingly walked towards the boulevard. Paris was already astir; the passers-by jostled him on the side walk, and vehicles went rapidly to and fro. As he was hastening past a doorway he narrowly escaped stumbling over a boy who was lying there, more than half asleep. At this, he paused, with a muttered oath, and heard the urchin mumble a few words which he did not at first understand. Our friend was not in the best of humours by any means, and he felt highly incensed with the little fellow, whom he suspected of lying in wait to trip up unwary passers-by. "What did you say, you young rascal?" he cried savagely.

"Buy the official list," sleepily responded the lad, rubbing his eyes.

Seizing the little fellow by his coat collar, Puymirol set him on his feet in the twinkling of an eye. "Do you know," said he, "you very nearly broke my neck, and I have a great mind to call a policeman to take you to the station-house? What do you mean by going to sleep on the pavement?"

"It is not my fault, sir," sobbed the boy. "I dared not go home because I hadn't sold all the lists. Mother would have been sure to beat me. So I ran about the streets all the evening until I couldn't stand it any longer, and then I sat down here to rest, and fell asleep. Don't have me arrested, please don't. I am going to set to work again now, and perhaps I shall manage to sell what I've got left."

Puymirol was really kind-hearted, and the sight of the lad's distress so touched him, that he put his hand in his pocket. He found himself richer than he had supposed, for his pocket happened to contain a quantity of small silver, which had escaped the croupier's rake. "What have you got there?" he asked.

"Why, sir, I'm selling lists of the winning numbers of the Lottery of the Decorative Art Society. They cost only two sous apiece; buy one, sir."

"Well, here are five francs, my lad. You don't look to me as if you had much dinner yesterday. Go and get something to eat, and then go home to bed. You can take the money you have left to your mother, and she won't beat you."

The boy took the money, trying to falter out his thanks; and as Puymirol hastened on, he ran after him, and forced one of the lists of winning numbers into his hand, saying: "Please take it. It may bring you good luck, sir."

In Puymirol's present desperate plight the remark sounded very much like a sarcasm. Still he took the list, and as he went on his way he glanced at it mechanically, and beheld in large figures the number of the ticket which had won the grand prize of one hundred thousand francs.

"Number 115,815!" he murmured. "That is to say, there is now somewhere in Paris, or in the provinces, a fortunate mortal who paid a franc for a scrap of paper which he can now exchange for one hundred thousand francs in bank notes. And this lucky fellow is perhaps a millionaire who has more money than he knows what to do with already, whereas if I had one hundred thousand francs I should consider myself independent for life." So reflecting, Puymirol crumpled the list in his hand, and was about to throw it away, when a new idea flashed through his brain. "Why, I still have those tickets I found in the pocket-book. While I was chasing that rascal last night, I placed them in my waistcoat pocket. What if I should find one of the winning numbers among them? Let me see."