‘Thank you, Monsieur,’ said Madame Midas, giving him her hand; ‘you have rendered me a great service, and one I will not forget.’
He bent down and kissed her hand, which action was seen by Mr Villiers as he crawled out of the ditch. When Madame Midas was gone and Vandeloup could see her walking homeward, he turned to look for Mr Villiers, and found him seated on the edge of the ditch, all covered with mud and streaming with water—presenting a most pitiable appearance. He regarded M. Vandeloup in a most malignant manner, which, however, had no effect on that young gentleman, who produced a cigarette, and having lighted it proceeded to talk.
‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you one,’ said Gaston, affably, ‘but I hardly think you would enjoy it in your present damp condition. If I might be permitted to suggest anything,’ with a polite smile, ‘a bath and a change of clothes would be most suitable to you, and you will find both at Ballarat. I also think,’ said Vandeloup, with an air of one who thinks deeply, ‘that if you hurry you will catch the next train, which will save you a rather long walk.’
Mr Villiers glared at his tormentor in speechless anger, and tried to look dignified, but, covered as he was with mud, his effort was not successful.
‘Do you know who I am?’ he said at length, in a blustering manner.
‘Under some circumstances,’ said M. Vandeloup, in a smooth voice, ‘I should have taken you for a mud bank, but as you both speak and smile I presume you are a man of the lowest type; as you English yourselves say—a blackguard.’
‘I’ll smash you!’ growled Villiers, stepping forward.
‘I wouldn’t try if I were you,’ retorted Vandeloup, with a disparaging glance. ‘I am young and strong, almost a total abstainer; you, on the contrary, are old and flabby, with the shaking nerves of an incurable drunkard. No, it would be hardly fair for me to touch you.’
‘You dare not lay a finger on me,’ said Villiers, defiantly.
‘Quite right,’ replied Vandeloup, lighting another cigarette, ‘you’re rather too dirty for close companionship. I really think you’d better go; Monsieur Sleeves no doubt expects you.’
‘And this is the man that I obtained work for,’ said Mr Villiers, addressing the air.
‘It’s a very ungrateful world,’ said Vandeloup, calmly, with a shrug of his shoulders; ‘I never expect anything from it; I’m sorry if you do, for you are sure to be disappointed.’
Villiers, finding he could make nothing out of the imperturbable coolness of the young Frenchman, turned to go, but as he went, said spitefully—
‘You can tell my wife I’ll pay her for this.’
‘Accounts are paid on Saturdays,’ called out M. Vandeloup, gaily; ‘if you call I will give you a receipt of the same kind as you had to-day.’
Villiers made no response, as he was already out of hearing, and went on his way to the station with mud on his clothes and rage in his heart.
Vandeloup looked after him for a few minutes with a queer smile on his lips, then turned on his heel and walked home, humming a song.
Chapter VIII.
Madame Midas Strikes ‘Ile’
Aesop knew human nature very well when he wrote his fable of the old man and his ass, who tried to please everybody and ended up by pleasing nobody. Bearing this in mind, Madame Midas determined to please herself, and take no one’s advice but her own with regard to Vandeloup. She knew if she dismissed him from the mine it would give colour to her husband’s vile insinuations, so she thought the wisest plan would be to take no notice of her meeting with him, and let things remain as they were. It turned out to be the best thing she could have done, for though Villiers went about Ballarat accusing her of being the young Frenchman’s mistress, everyone was too well aware of existing circumstances to believe what he said. They knew that he had squandered his wife’s fortune, and that she had left him in disgust at his profligacy, so they declined to believe his accusations against a woman who had proved herself true steel in withstanding bad fortune. So Mr Villiers’ endeavours to ruin his wife only recoiled on his own head, for the Ballarat folk argued, and rightly, that whatever she did it was not his place to cast the first stone at her, seeing that the unsatisfactory position she was now in was mainly his own work. Villiers, therefore, gained nothing by his attempt to blacken his wife’s character except the contempt of everyone, and even the few friends he had gained turned their backs on him until no one would associate with him but Slivers, who did so in order to gain his own ends. The company had quarrelled over the unsuccessful result of Villiers’ visit to the Pactolus, and Slivers, as senior partner, assisted by Billy, called Villiers all the names he could lay his tongue to, which abuse Villiers accepted in silence, not even having the spirit to resent it. But though he was outwardly sulky and quiet, yet within he cherished a deep hatred against his wife for the contempt with which he was treated, and inwardly vowed to pay her out on the first feasible opportunity.
It was now nearly six months since Vandeloup had become clerk at the Pactolus, and he was getting tired of it, only watching his opportunity to make a little money and go to Melbourne, where he had not much doubt as to his success. With a certain sum of money to work on, M. Vandeloup thought that with his talents and experience of human nature he would soon be able to make a fortune, particularly as he was quite unfettered by any scruples, and as long as he made money he did not care how he gained it. With such an adaptable nature he could hardly help doing well, but in order to give him the start he required a little capital, so stayed on at the Pactolus and saved every penny he earned in the hope of soon accumulating enough to leave. Another thing that kept him there was his love for Kitty—not a very pure or elevating love certainly, still it was love for all that, and Vandeloup could not tear himself away from the place where she resided.
He had called on Kitty’s father, the Rev. Mark Marchurst, who lived at the top of Black Hill, near Ballarat, and did not like him. Mr Marchurst, a grave, quiet man, who was the pastor of a particular sect, calling themselves very modestly ‘The Elect’, was hardly the kind of individual to attract a brilliant young fellow like Vandeloup, and the wonder was that he ever had such a charming daughter.
Kitty had fallen deeply in love with Vandeloup, so as he told her he loved her in return, she thought that some day they would get married. But nothing was farther from M. Vandeloup’s thoughts than marriage, even with Kitty, for he knew how foolish it would be for him to marry before making a position.
‘I don’t want a wife to drag me back,’ he said to himself one day when Kitty had hinted at matrimony; ‘when I am wealthy it will be time enough to think of marriage, but it will be long before I am rich, and can I wait for Bebe all that time? Alas! I do not think so.’
The fact was, the young man was very liberal in his ideas, and infinitely preferred a mistress to a wife. He had not any evil designs towards Kitty, but her bright manner and charming face pleased him, and he simply enjoyed the hours as they passed. She idolised him, and Gaston, who was accustomed to be petted and caressed by women, accepted all her affection as his due. Curiously enough, Madame Midas, lynx-eyed as she was, never suspected the true state of affairs. Vandeloup had told Kitty that no one was to know of their love for one another, and though Kitty was dying to tell Madame about it, yet she kept silent at his request, and acted so indifferently towards him when under Mrs Villiers’ eye, that any doubts that lady had about the fascinations of her clerk soon vanished.
As to M. Vandeloup, the situation was an old one for him accustomed as he had been to carry on with guilty wives under the very noses of unsuspecting husbands, and on this occasion he acted admirably. He was very friendly with Kitty in public—evidently looking upon her as a mere child, although he made no difference in his manner. And this innocent