But gradually it had enlarged the circle of its operations, altered its by-laws, changed its board of directors; and at the end the original subscribers would have been not a little embarrassed to tell what was the nature of its business, and from what sources it drew its profits.
All they knew was, that it always paid respectable dividends; that their manager, M. de Thaller, was personally very rich; and that they were willing to trust him to steer clear of the code.
There were some, of course, who did not view things in quite so favorable a light; who suggested that the dividends were suspiciously large; that M. de Thaller spent too much money on his house, his wife, his daughter, and his mistress.
One thing is certain, that the shares of the Mutual Credit Society were much above par, and were quoted at 580 francs on that Saturday, when, after the closing of the bourse, the rumor had spread that the cashier. Vincent Favoral, had run off with twelve millions.
"What a haul!" thought, not without a feeling of envy, more than one broker, who, for merely one-twelfth of that amount would have gayly crossed the frontier. It was almost an event in Paris.
Although such adventures are frequent enough, and not taken much notice of, in the present instance, the magnitude of the amount more than made up for the vulgarity of the act.
Favoral was generally pronounced a very smart man; and some persons declared, that to take twelve millions could hardly be called stealing.
The first question asked was, "Is Thaller in the operation? Was he in collusion with his cashier?"
"That's the whole question."
"If he was, then the Mutual Credit is better off than ever: otherwise, it is gone under."
"Thaller is pretty smart."
"That Favoral was perhaps more so still."
This uncertainty kept up the price for about half an hour. But soon the most disastrous news began to spread, brought, no one knew whence or by whom; and there was an irresistible panic.
From 425, at which price it had maintained itself for a time, the Mutual Credit fell suddenly to 300, then 200, and finally to 150 francs.
Some friends of M. de Thaller, M. Costeclar, for instance, had endeavored to keep up the market; but they had soon recognized the futility of their efforts, and then they had bravely commenced doing like the rest.
The next day was Sunday. From the early morning, it was reported, with the most circumstantial details, that the Baron de Thaller had been arrested.
But in the evening this had been contradicted by people who had gone to the races, and who had met there Mme. de Thaller and her daughter, more brilliant than ever, very lively, and very talkative.
To the persons who went to speak to them, "My husband was unable to come," said the baroness. "He is busy with two of his clerks, looking over that poor Favoral's accounts.
It seems that they are in the most inconceivable confusion. Who would ever have thought such a thing of a man who lived on bread and nuts? But he operated at the bourse; and he had organized, under a false name, a sort of bank, in which he has very foolishly sunk large sums of money.
And with a smile, as if all danger had been luckily averted, "Fortunately," she added, "the damage is not as great as has been reported, and this time, again, we shall get off with a good fright."
But the speeches of the baroness were hardly sufficient to quiet the anxiety of the people who felt in their coat-pockets the worthless certificates of Mutual Credit stock.
And the next day, Monday, as early as eight o'clock, they began to arrive in crowds to demand of M. de Thaller some sort of an explanation.
They were there, at least a hundred, huddled together in the vestibule, on the stairs, and on the first landing, a prey to the most painful emotion and the most violent excitement; for they had been refused admittance.
To all those who insisted upon going in, a tall servant in livery, standing before the door, replied invariably, "The office is not open, M. de Thaller has not yet come."
Whereupon they uttered such terrible threats and such loud imprecations, that the frightened concierge had run, and hid himself at the very bottom of his lodge.
No one can imagine to what epileptic contortions the loss of money can drive an assemblage of men, who has not seen a meeting of shareholders on the morrow of a great disaster, with their clinched fists, their convulsed faces, their glaring eyes, and foaming lips.
They felt indignant at what had once been their delight. They laid the blame of their ruin upon the splendor of the house, the sumptuousness of the stairs, the candelabras of the vestibule, the carpets, the chairs every thing.
" And it is our money too," they cried, "that has paid for all that!"
Standing upon a bench, a little short man was exciting transports of indignation by describing the magnificence of the Baron de Thaller's residence, where he had once had some dealings.
He had counted five carriages in the carriage-house, fifteen horses in the stables, and Heaven knows how many servants.
