"Call it a rehearsal if you like. All that the good woman told you,"continued Tantaine, "you must look upon as true; nay, it is true, and when you believe this thoroughly, you are quite prepared for the fray, but until then you must remain quiescent. Remember this, you cannot impress others unless you firmly believe yourself. The greatest impostors of all ages have ever been their own dupes."At the word impostor, Paul seemed about to speak, but a wave of Tantaine's hand silenced him.
"You must cast aside your old skin, and enter that of another. Paul Violaine, the natural son of a woman who kept a small drapery shop at Poitiers, Paul Violaine, the youthful lover of Rose, no longer exists.
He died of cold and hunger in a garret in the Hotel de Perou, as M. de Loupins will testify when necessary."The tone in which Tantaine spoke showed his intense earnestness, and with emphatic gestures he drove each successive idea into Paul's brain.
"You will rid yourself of your former recollections as you do of an old coat, which you throw aside, and forget the very existence of. And not only that, but you must lose your memory, and that so entirely, that if any one in the street calls out Violaine, you will never even dream of turning round."Paul's brain seemed to tremble beneath the crime that his companion was teaching him.
"Who am I then?" asked he.
A sardonic smile crossed Tantaine's face.
"You are just what the portress told you, Paul, and nothing more. Your first recollections are of a Foundling Hospital, and you never knew your parents. You have lived here fifteen months, and before that you resided in the Rue Jacob. The portress knows no more; but if you will come with me to the Rue Jacob, the people there can tell you more about your life when you were a lodger in the house. Perhaps, if you are careful, we may take you back to your more childish days, and even find you a father.""But," said Paul, "I might be questioned regarding my past life: what then? M. Rigal or Mademoiselle Flavia might interrogate me at any moment?""I see; but do not disquiet yourself. You will be furnished with all necessary papers, so that you can account for all your life during the twenty-five years you spent in this world.""Then I presume that the person into whose shoes I have crept was a composer and a musician like myself?"Again Tantaine's patience gave way, and it was with an oath that he exclaimed,--"Are you acting the part of a fool, or are you one in reality? No one has ever been here except you. Did you not hear what the old woman said? She told you that you are a musician, a self-made one, and while waiting until your talents are appreciated, you give lessons in music.""And to whom do I /give/ them?"
Tantaine took three visiting cards from a china ornament on the mantelshelf.
"Here are three pupils of yours," said he, "who can pay you one hundred francs per month for two lessons a week, and two of them will assure you that you have taught them for some time. The third, Madame Grandorge, a widow, will vow that she owes all her success, which is very great, to your lessons. You will go and give these pupils their lessons at the hours noted on their cards, and you will be received as if you had often been to the house before; and remember to be perfectly at your ease.""I will do my best to follow your instructions.""One last piece of information. In addition to your lessons, you are in the habit of copying for certain wealthy amateurs the fragments of old and almost obsolete operas, and on the piano lies the work that you are engaged on for the Marquis de Croisenois, a charming composition by Valserra. You see," continued Tantaine, taking Paul by the arm, and showing him round the room, "that nothing has been forgotten, and that you have lived here for years past. You have always been a steady young man, and have saved up a little money. In this drawer you will find eight certificates of scrip from the Bank of France."Paul would have put many more questions, but the visitor was already on the threshold, and only paused to add these words,--"I will call here to-morrow with Dr. Hortebise." Then, with a strange smile playing on his lips, he added, as Mascarin had before, "You will be a duke yet."The old portress was waiting for Tantaine, and as soon as she saw him coming down the stairs immersed in deep thought, out she ran toward him with as much alacrity as her corpulency would admit.
"Did I do it all right?" asked she.
"Hush!" answered he, pushing her quickly into her lodge, the door of which stood open. "Hush! are you mad or drunk, to talk like this, when you do not know who is listening?""I hope you were pleased with my success," continued the woman, aghast at his sudden anger.
"You did well--very well; you piled up the evidence perfectly. I shall have an excellent report to make of you to M. Mascarin.""I am so glad; and now my husband and I are quite safe?"The old man shook his head with an air of doubt.
"Well, I can hardly say that yet; the master's arm is long and strong;but you have numerous enemies. All the servants in the house hate you, and would be glad to see you come to grief.""Is that really so, sir? How can that be, for both I and my husband have been very kind to all of them?""Yes, perhaps you have been lately, but how about the times before?
You and your husband both acted very foolishly. Article 386 cannot be got now, and two women can swear that they saw you and your husband, with a bunch of keys in your hand, on the second floor."The fat woman's face turned a sickly yellow, she clasped her hands, and whined in tones of piteous entreaty,--"Don't speak so loud, sir, I beg of you."
