Books: Madame Midas

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'I haven't seen you for ages,' said Kitty, putting her arm in his as
they sat down. 'I just came up here for a week, and did not think
I'd see you.'

'The meeting was quite accidental, I know,' replied Gaston, leaning
back lazily; 'but none the less pleasant on that account.'

'Oh, no,' said Kitty, gravely shaking her head; 'unexpected meetings
are always pleasanter than those arranged, for there's never any
disappointment about them.'

'Oh, that's your experience, is it?' answered her lover, with an
amused smile, pulling out his cigarette case. 'Well, suppose you
reward me for my accidental presence here, and light a cigarette for
me.'

Kitty was of course delighted, and took the case while M. Vandeloup
leaned back in the seat, his hands behind his head, and stared
reflectively at the leaden-coloured sky. Kitty took out a cigarette
from the case, placed it between her pretty lips, and having
obtained a match from one of her lover's pockets, proceeded to light
it, which was not done without a great deal of choking and pretty
confusion. At length she managed it, and bending over Gaston, placed
it in his mouth, and gave him a kiss at the same time.

'If pa knew I did this, he'd expire with horror,' she said, sagely
nodding her head.

'Wouldn't be much loss if he did,' replied Vandeloup, lazily,
glancing at her pretty face from under his eyelashes; 'your father
has a great many faults, dear.'

'Oh, "The Elect" think him perfect,' said Kitty, wisely.

'From their point of view, perhaps he is,' returned Gaston, with a
faint sneer; 'but he's not a man given to exuberant mirth.'

'Well, he is rather dismal,' assented Kitty, doubtfully.

'Wouldn't you like to leave him and lead a jollier life?' asked
Vandeloup, artfully, 'in Melbourne, for instance.'

Kitty looked at him half afraid.

'I--I don't know,' she faltered, looking down.

'But I do, Bebe,' whispered Gaston, putting his arm round her waist;
'you would like to come with me.'

'Why? Are you going?' cried Kitty, in dismay.

Vandeloup nodded.

'I think I spoke about this before,' he said, idly brushing some
cigarette ash off his waistcoat.

'Yes,' returned Kitty, 'but I thought you did not mean it.'

'I never say anything I do not mean,' answered Vandeloup, with the
ready lie on his lips in a moment; 'and I have got letters from
France with money, so I am going to leave the Pactolus.'

'And me?' said Kitty, tearfully.

'That depends upon yourself, Bebe,' he said rapidly, pressing her
burning cheek against his own; 'your father would never consent to
my marriage, and I can't take you away from Ballarat without
suspicions, so--'

'Yes?' said Kitty, eagerly, looking at him.

'You must run away,' he whispered, with a caressing smile.

'Alone?'

'For a time, yes,' he answered, throwing away his cigarette;
'listen--next week you must meet me here, and I will give you money
to keep you in Melbourne for some time; then you must leave Ballarat
at once and wait for me at the Buttercup Hotel in Gertrude Street,
Carlton; you understand?'

'Yes,' faltered Kitty, nervously; 'I--I understand.'

'And you will come?' he asked anxiously, looking keenly at her, and
pressing the little hand he held in his own. Just as she was going
to answer, as if warning her of the fatal step she was about to
take, a low roll of thunder broke on their ears, and Kitty shrank
back appalled from her lover's embrace.

'No! no! no!' she almost shrieked, hysterically, trying to tear
herself away from his arms, 'I cannot; God is speaking.'

'Bah!' sneered Vandeloup, with an evil look on his handsome face,
'he speaks too indistinctly for us to guess what he means; what are
you afraid of? I will join you in Melbourne in two or three weeks,
and then we will be married.'

'But my father,' she whispered, clasping her hot hands convulsively.

'Well, what of him?' asked Vandeloup, coolly; 'he is so wrapped up
in his religion that he will not miss you; he will never find out
where you are in Melbourne, and by the time he does you will be my
wife. Come,' he said, ardently, whispering the temptation in her
ear, as if he was afraid of being heard, 'you must consent; say yes,
Bebe; say yes.'

She felt his hot breath on her cheek, and felt rather than saw the
scintillations of his wonderful eyes, which sent a thrill through
her; so, utterly exhausted and worn out by the overpowering nervous
force possessed by this man, she surrendered.

'Yes,' she whispered, clinging to him with dry lips and a beating
heart; 'I will come!' Then her overstrained nature gave way, and
with a burst of tears she threw herself on his breast.

Gaston let her sob quietly for some time, satisfied with having
gained his end, and knowing that she would soon recover. At last
Kitty grew calmer, and drying her eyes, she rose to her feet wan and
haggard, as if she was worn out for the want of sleep, and not by
any manner of means looking like a girl who was in love. This
appearance was caused by the revolt of her religious training
against doing what she knew was wrong. In her breast a natural
instinct had been fighting against an artificial one; and as Nature
is always stronger than precept, Nature had conquered.

'My dear Bebe,' said Vandeloup, rising also, and kissing her white
cheek, 'you must go home now, and get a little sleep; it will do you
good.'

'But you?' asked Kitty, in a low voice, as they walked slowly along.

'Oh, I,' said M. Vandeloup, airily; 'I am going to the Wattle Tree
Hotel to see my friend Pierre off to Melbourne.'

Then he exerted himself to amuse Kitty as they walked down to town,
and succeeded so well that by the time they reached Lydiard Street,
where Kitty left him to go up to Black Hill, she was laughing as
merrily as possible. They parted at the railway crossing, and Kitty
went gaily up the white dusty road, while M. Vandeloup strolled
leisurely along the street on his way to the Wattle Tree Hotel.

When he arrived he found that Pierre's box had come, and was placed
outside his door, as no one had been brave enough to venture inside,
although Miss Twexby assured them he was unarmed--showing the knife
as a proof.

Gaston, however, dragged the box into the room, and having made
Pierre dress himself in his new clothes, he packed all the rest in a
box, corded it, and put a ticket on it with his name and
destination, then gave the dumb man the balance of his wages. It was
now about six o'clock, so Vandeloup went down to dinner; then
putting Pierre and his box into the cab, stepped in himself and
drove off.

The promise of rain in the afternoon was now fulfilled, and it was
pouring in torrents. The gutters were rivers, and every now and then
through the driving rain came the bluish dart of a lightning flash.

'Bah!' said Vandeloup, with a shiver, as they got out on the station
platform, 'what a devil of a night.'

He made the cab wait for him, and, having got Pierre's ticket, put
him in a second-class carriage and saw that his box was safely
placed in the luggage-van. The station was crowded with people going
and others coming to say goodbye; the rain was beating on the high-
arched tin roof, and the engine at the end of the long train was
fretting and fuming like a living thing impatient to be gone.

'You are now on your own responsibility, my friend,' said Vandeloup
to Pierre, as he stood at the window of the carriage; 'for we must
part, though long together have we been. Perhaps I will see you in
Melbourne; if I do you will find I have not forgotten the past,'
and, with a significant look at the dumb man, Vandeloup lounged
slowly away.

The whistle blew shrilly, the last goodbyes were spoken, the guard
shouted 'All aboard for Melbourne,' and shut all the doors, then,
with another shriek and puff of white steam, the train, like a long,
lithe serpent, glided into the rain and darkness with its human
freight.

'At last I have rid myself of this dead weight,' said Vandeloup, as
he drove along the wet streets to Craig's Hotel, where he intended
to stay for the night, 'and can now shape my own fortune. Pierre is
gone, Bebe will follow, and now I must look after myself.'

CHAPTER XVIII

M. VANDELOUP IS UNJUSTLY SUSPECTED

'It never rains but it pours' is an excellent proverb, and a very
true one, for it is remarkable how events of a similar nature follow
closely on one another's heels when the first that happened has set
the ball a-rolling. Madame Midas believed to a certain extent in
this, and she half expected that when Pierre went he would be
followed by M. Vandeloup, but she certainly did not think that the
disappearance of her husband would be followed by that of Kitty
Marchurst. Yet such was the case, for Mr Marchurst, not seeing Kitty
at family prayers, had sent in the servant to seek for her, and the
scared domestic had returned with a startled face and a letter for
her master. Marchurst read the tear-blotted little note, in which
Kitty said she was going down to Melbourne to appear on the stage.
Crushing it up in his hand, he went on with family prayers in his
usual manner, and after dismissing his servants for the night, he
went up to his daughter's room, and found that she had left nearly
everything behind, only taking a few needful things with her. Seeing
her portrait on the wall he took it down and placed it in his
pocket. Then, searching through her room, he found some ribbons and
lace, a yellow-backed novel, which he handled with the utmost
loathing, and a pair of gloves. Regarding these things as the
instruments of Satan, by which his daughter had been led to
destruction, he carried them downstairs to his dismal study and
piled them in the empty fireplace. Placing his daughter's portrait
on top he put a light to the little pile of frivolities, and saw
them slowly burn away. The novel curled and cracked in the scorching
flame, but the filmy lace vanished like cobwebs, and the gloves
crackled and shrank into mere wisps of black leather. And over all,
through the flames, her face, bright and charming, looked out with
laughing lips and merry eyes--so like her mother's, and yet so
unlike in its piquant grace--until that too fell into the hollow
heart of the flames, and burned slowly away into a small pile of
white ashes.

Marchurst, leaving the dead ashes cold and grey in the dark
fireplace, went to his writing table, and falling on his knees he
passed the rest of the night in prayer.

Meanwhile, the man who was the primary cause of all this trouble was
working in the office of the Pactolus claim with a light heart and
cool head. Gaston had really managed to get Kitty away in a very
clever manner, inasmuch as he never appeared publicly to be
concerned in it, but directed the whole business secretly. He had
given Kitty sufficient money to keep her for some months in
Melbourne, as he was in doubt when he could leave the Pactolus
without being suspected of being concerned in her disappearance. He
also told her what day to leave, and all that day stayed at the mine
working at his accounts, and afterwards spent the evening very
pleasantly with Madame Midas. Next day McIntosh went into Ballarat
on business, and on returning from the city, where he had heard all
about it--rumour, of course, magnifying the whole affair greatly--he
saw Vandeloup come out of the office, and drew up in the trap beside
the young man.

'Aha, Monsieur,' said Vandeloup, gaily, rolling a cigarette in his
slender fingers, and shooting a keen glance at Archie; 'you have had
a pleasant day.'

'Maybe yes, maybe no,' returned McIntosh, cautiously, fumbling in
the bag; 'there's naething muckle in the toun, but--deil tack the
bag,' he continued, tetchily shaking it. 'I've gotten a letter or so
fra' France.'

'For me?' cried Vandeloup, eagerly, holding out his hands.

'An' for who else would it be?' grumbled Archie, giving the letter
to him--a thin, foreign looking envelope with the Parisian post mark
on it; 'did ye think it was for that black-avised freend o' yours?'

'Hardly!' returned Vandeloup, glancing at the letter with
satisfaction, and putting it in his pocket. 'Pierre couldn't write
himself, and I doubt very much if he had any friends who could--not
that I knew his friends,' he said, hastily catching sight of
McIntosh's severe face bent inquiringly on him, 'but like always
draws to like.'

Archie's only answer to this was a grunt.

'Are ye no gangin' tae read yon?' he asked sourly.

'Not at present,' replied Vandeloup, blowing a thin wreath of blue
smoke, 'by-and-bye will do. Scandal and oysters should both be fresh
to be enjoyable, but letters--ah, bah,' with a shrug, 'they can
wait. Come, tell me the news; anything going on?'

'Weel,' said McIntosh, with great gusto, deliberately flicking a fly
off the horse's back with a whip, 'she's ta'en the bit intil her
mouth and gane wrang, as I said she would.'

'To what special "she" are you alluding to?' asked Vandeloup, lazily
smoothing his moustache; 'so many of them go wrong, you see, one
likes to be particular. The lady's name is--?'

'Katherine Marchurst, no less,' burst forth Archie, in triumph;
'she's rin awa' to be a play-actor.'

'What? that child?' said Vandeloup, with an admirable expression of
surprise; 'nonsense! It cannot be true.'

'D'ye think I would tell a lee?' said Archie, wrathfully, glowering
down on the tall figure pacing leisurely along. 'God forbid that my
lips should fa' tae sic iniquity. It's true, I tell ye; the lass has
rin awa' an' left her faither--a godly mon, tho' I'm no of his way
of thinkin--to curse the day he had sic a bairn born until him. Ah,
'tis sorrow and dule she hath brought tae his roof tree, an' sorrow
and dule wull be her portion at the hands o' strangers,' and with
this scriptural ending Mr McIntosh sharply whipped up Rory, and went
on towards the stable, leaving Vandeloup standing in the road.

'I don't think he suspects, at all events,' thought that young man,
complacently. 'As to Madame Midas--pouf! I can settle her suspicions
easily; a little virtuous indignation is most effective as a blind;'
and M. Vandeloup, with a gay laugh, strolled on towards the house in
the gathering twilight.

Suddenly he recollected the letter, which had escaped his thoughts,
in his desire to see how McIntosh would take the disappearance of
Kitty, so as there was still light to see, he leaned up against a
fence, and, having lighted another cigarette, read it through
carefully. It appeared to afford him considerable satisfaction, and
he smiled as he put it in his pocket again.

'It seems pretty well forgotten, this trouble about Adele,' he said,
musingly, as he resumed his saunter; 'I might be able to go back
again in a few years, if not to Paris at least to Europe--one can be
very happy in Monaco or Vienna, and run no risk of being found out;
and, after all,' he muttered, thoughtfully, fingering his moustache,
'why not to Paris? The Republic has lasted too long already. Sooner
or later there will be a change of Government, and then I can go
back a free man, with a fortune of Australian gold. Emperor, King,
or President, it's all the same to me, as long as I am left alone.'

He walked on slowly, thinking deeply all the time, and when he
arrived at the door of Mrs Villiers' house, this clever young man,
with his accustomed promptitude and decision, had settled what he
was going to do.

'Up to a certain point, of course,' he said aloud, following his
thoughts, 'after that, chance must decide.'

Madame Midas was very much grieved at the news of Kitty's Escapade,
particularly as she could not see what motive she had for running
away, and, moreover, trembled to think of the temptations the
innocent girl would be exposed to in the metropolis. After tea, when
Archie had gone outside to smoke his pipe, and Selina was busy in
the kitchen washing the dishes, she spoke to Vandeloup on the
subject. The young Frenchman was seated at the piano in the
darkness, striking a few random chords, while Madame was by the fire
in the arm-chair. It was quite dark, with only the rosy glow of the
fire shining through the room. Mrs Villiers felt uneasy; was it
likely that Vandeloup could have any connection with Kitty's
disappearance? Impossible! he had given her his word of honour, and
yet--it was very strange. Mrs Villiers was not, by any means, a
timid woman, so she determined to ask Gaston right out, and get a
decided answer from him, so as to set her mind at rest.

'M. Vandeloup,' she said, in her clear voice, 'will you kindly come
here a moment?

'Certainly, Madame,' said Gaston, rising with alacrity from the
piano, and coming to the fireside; 'is there anything I can do?'

'You have heard of Miss Marchurst's disappearance?' she asked,
looking up at him.

Vandeloup leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece, and looked down into
the fire, so that the full blaze of it could strike his face. He
knew Madame Midas prided herself on being a reader of character, and
knowing he could command his features admirably, he thought it would
be politic to let her see his face, and satisfy herself as to his
innocence.

'Yes, Madame,' he answered, in his calm, even tones, looking down
inquiringly at the statuesque face of the woman addressing him;
'Monsieur,' nodding towards the door, 'told me, but I did not think
it true.'

'I'm afraid it is,' sighed Madame, shaking her head. 'She is going
on the stage, and her father will never forgive her.'

'Surely, Madame--' began Vandeloup, eagerly.

'No,' she replied, decisively, 'he is not a hard man, but his way of
looking at things through his peculiar religious ideas has warped
his judgment--he will make no attempt to save her, and God knows
what she will come to.'

'There are good women on the stage,' said Vandeloup, at a loss for a
reply.

'Certainly,' returned Madame, calmly, 'there are black and white
sheep in every flock, but Kitty is so young and inexperienced, that
she may become the prey of the first handsome scoundrel she meets.'

Madame had intuitively guessed the whole situation, and Vandeloup
could not help admiring her cleverness. Still his face remained the
same, and his voice was as steady as ever as he answered--

'It is much to be regretted; but still we must hope for the best.'

Was he guilty? Madame could not make up her mind, so determined to
speak boldly.

'Do you remember that day I introduced her to you?'

Vandeloup bowed.

'And you gave me your word of honour you would not try to turn her
head,' pursued Madame, looking at him; 'have you kept your word?'

'Madame,' said Vandeloup, gravely, 'I give you my word of honour
that I have always treated Mlle Kitty as a child and your friend. I
did not know that she had gone until I was told, and whatever
happens to her, I can safely say that it was not Gaston Vandeloup's
fault.'

An admirable actor this man, not a feature of his face moved, not a
single deviation from the calmness of his speech--not a quickening
of the pulse, nor the rush of betraying blood to his fair face--no!
Madame withdrew her eyes quite satisfied, M. Vandeloup was the soul
of honour and was innocent of Kitty's disgrace.

'Thank God!' she said, reverently, as she looked away, for she would
have been bitterly disappointed to have found her kindness to this
man repaid by base treachery towards her friend; 'I cannot tell you
how relieved I feel.'

M. Vandeloup withdrew his face into the darkness, and smiled in a
devilish manner to himself. How these women believed--was there any
lie too big for the sex to swallow? Evidently not--at least, so he
thought. But now that Kitty was disposed of, he had to attend to his
own private affairs, and put his hand in his pocket for the letter.

'I wanted to speak to you on business, Madame,' he said, taking out
the letter; 'the long-expected has come at last.'

'You have heard from Paris?' asked Madame, in an eager voice.

'I have,' answered the Frenchman, calmly; 'I have now the letter in
my hand, and as soon as Mlle Selina brings in the lights I will show
it to you.'

At this moment, as if in answer to his request, Selina appeared with
the lamp, which she had lighted in the kitchen and now brought in to
place on the table. When she did so, and had retired again,
Vandeloup placed his letter in Madame's hand, and asked her to read
it.

'Oh, no, Monsieur,' said Mrs Villiers, offering it back, 'I do not
wish to read your private correspondence.'

Vandeloup had calculated on this, for, as a matter of fact, there
was a good deal of private matter in the letter, particularly
referring to his trip to New Caledonia, which he would not have
allowed her to see. But he knew it would inspire her with confidence
in him if he placed it wholly in her hands, and resolved to boldly
venture to do so. The result was as he guessed; so, with a smile, he
took it back again.

'There is nothing private in it, Madame,' he said, opening the
letter; 'I wanted you to see that I had not misrepresented myself--
it is from my family lawyer, and he has sent me out a remittance of
money, also some letters of introduction to my consul in Melbourne
and others; in fact,' said M. Vandeloup, with a charming smile,
putting the letter in his pocket, 'it places me in my rightful
position, and I shall assume it as soon as I have your permission.'

'But why my permission ?' asked Madame, with a faint smile, already
regretting bitterly that she was going to lose her pleasant
companion.

'Madame,' said Vandeloup, impressively, bending forward, 'in the
words of the Bible--when I was hungry you gave me food; when I was
naked you gave me raiment. You took me on, Madame, an unknown waif,
without money, friends, or a character; you believed in me when no
one else did; you have been my guardian angel: and do you think that
I can forget your goodness to me for the last six months? No!
Madame,' rising, 'I have a heart, and while I live that heart will
ever remember you with gratitude and love;' and bending forward he
took her hand and kissed it gallantly.

'You think too much of what I have done,' said Madame, who was,
nevertheless, pleased at this display of emotion, albeit, according
to her English ideas, it seemed to savour too much of the
footlights. 'I only did to you what I would do to all men. I am
glad, in this instance, to find my confidence has not been
misplaced; when do you think of leaving us?'

'In about two or three weeks,' answered Vandeloup, carelessly, 'but
not till you find another clerk; besides, Madame, do not think you
have lost sight of me for ever; I will go down to Melbourne, settle
all my affairs, and come up and see you again.'

'So you say,' replied Mrs Villiers, sceptically smiling.

'Well,' replied M. Vandeloup, with a shrug, 'we will see--at all
events, gratitude is such a rare virtue that there is decided
novelty in possessing it.'

'M. Vandeloup,' said Madame, suddenly, after they had been chatting
for a few moments, 'one thing you must do for me in Melbourne.'

'I will do anything you wish,' said Vandeloup, gravely.

'Then,' said Madame, earnestly, rising and looking him in the face,
'you must find Kitty, and send her back to me.'

'Madame,' said Vandeloup, solemnly, 'it will be the purpose of my
life to restore her to your arms.'

CHAPTER XIX

THE DEVIL'S LEAD

There was great dismay at the Pactolus Mine when it became known
that Vandeloup was going to leave. During his short stay he had made
himself extremely popular with the men, as he always had a bright
smile and a kind word for everyone, so they all felt like losing a
personal friend. The only two who were unfeigningly glad at
Vandeloup's departure were Selina and McIntosh, for these two
faithful hearts had seen with dismay the influence the Frenchman was
gradually gaining over Madame Midas. As long as Villiers lived they
felt safe, but now that he had so mysteriously disappeared, and was
to all appearances dead, they dreaded lest their mistress, in a
moment of infatuation, should marry her clerk. They need not,
however, have been afraid, for much as Mrs Villiers liked the young
Frenchman, such an idea had never entered her head, and she was far
too clever a woman ever to tempt matrimony a second time, seeing how
dearly it had cost her.

Madame Midas had made great efforts to find Kitty, but without
success; and, in spite of all inquiries and advertisements in the
papers, nothing could be discovered regarding the missing girl.

At last the time drew near for Vandeloup's departure, when all the
sensation of Kitty's escapade and Villiers' disappearance was
swallowed up in a new event, which filled Ballarat with wonder. It
began in a whisper, and grew into such a roar of astonishment that
not only Ballarat, but all Victoria, knew that the far-famed Devil's
Lead had been discovered in the Pactolus claim. Yes, after years of
weary waiting, after money had been swallowed up in apparently
useless work, after sceptics had sneered and friends laughed, Madame
Midas obtained her reward. The Devil's Lead was discovered, and she
was now a millionaire.

For some time past McIntosh had not been satisfied with the
character of the ground in which he had been working, so abandoning
the shaft he was then in, he had opened up another gallery to the
west, at right angles from the place where the famous nugget had
been found. The wash was poor at first, but McIntosh persevered,
having an instinct that he was on the right track. A few weeks' work
proved that he was right, for the wash soon became richer; and as
they went farther on towards the west, following the gutter, there
was no doubt that the long-lost Devil's Lead had been struck. The
regular return had formerly been five ounces to the machine, but now
the washing up invariably gave twenty ounces, and small nuggets of
water-worn gold were continually found in the three machines. The
main drive following the lead still continued dipping westward, and
McIntosh now commenced blocking and putting in side galleries,
expecting when this was done he would thoroughly prove the Devil's
Lead, for he was quite satisfied he was on it. Even now the yield
was three hundred and sixty ounces a week, and after deducting
working expenses, this gave Madame Midas a weekly income of one
thousand one hundred pounds, so she now began to see what a wealthy
woman she was likely to be. Everyone unfeigningly rejoiced at her
good fortune, and said that she deserved it. Many thought that now
she was so rich Villiers would come back again, but he did not put
in an appearance, and it was generally concluded he had left the
colony.

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