"Is that you, Miss Dimpleton?" exclaimed Anastasia.
"Providence has sent you. Help me! save the life of Alfred!"
"What do you say?"
"That poor old darling has fainted! Have pity upon us! run and fetch two sous worth of absinthe—very strong; that is the remedy when he is indisposed in the pylorus. Be kind; do not refuse me, and I can return to Alfred. I am quite confused!"
Miss Dimpleton left Rudolph's arm, and ran off to the dram-shop.
"But what has happened, Mrs. Pipelet?" asked Rudolph, following the portress, who returned to the lodge.
"How should I know, my worthy sir? I left home to go to the mayor's, the church, and the cook-shop, to prevent Alfred from tiring himself. I returned; what did I see? the dear old man with his legs and arms all in the air! Look, M. Rudolph!" said Anastasia, opening the door of the room, "is not that a sight to break one's heart?"
Lamentable spectacle! With his enormous hat still on his head, even further on than usual, for the questionable castor, pushed down, no doubt, by violence, if we may judge by a transverse gap, covered Pipelet's eyes, who was on his back on the floor, at the foot of his bed.
The fainting was over, and Alfred was beginning to make some slight movements with his hands, as though he wished to repulse some one or some thing; and then he tried to remove his troublesome visor.
"He kicks! that is a good sign; he recovers!" cried the portress—and stooping down, she bawled in his ears: "What is the matter with my Alfred? It is his 'Stasie who is here. How are you now? They are coming to bring you some absinthe; that will put you to rights." Then, assuming a caressing tone of voice, she added: "Have they abused you, killed you, my dear old darling—eh?"
Alfred sighed deeply, and with a groan uttered a fatal word: "Cabrion!" His trembling hands seemed as though desirous of repulsing a frightful vision.
"Cabrion! that devil of a painter again!" exclaimed Mrs. Pipelet. "Alfred all night dreamed so much about him, that he kicked me dreadfully. That monster is his nightmare! Not only has he poisoned his days, but his nights also; he persecutes him even in his sleep— yes, sir, as though Alfred was a malefactor, and this Cabrion, whom may the devil confound! is his remorseless enemy."
Rudolph smiled, as he foresaw some new trick on the part of Miss
Dimpleton's former neighbor.
"Alfred, answer me; do not remain dumb—you alarm me," said Mrs. Pipelet; "let us get you up. Why will you think on that beggarly fellow? You know that, when you think of him, it has the same effect on you as when you eat cabbage—it fills up your gizzard, and stifles you!"
"Cabrion!" repeated Pipelet, lifting with difficulty his hat from his eyes, which he rolled about with a frightened air.
Miss Dimpleton entered, carrying a small bottle of absinthe.
"Thank you, mademoiselle; you are very kind," said the old woman. Then she added: "Here, darling, pop it down; it will bring you to yourself."
And Anastasia, presenting the vial quickly to Pipelet's lips, insisted on his swallowing the contents. Alfred in vain struggled courageously: his wife, profiting by the weakness of her victim, held his head with a firm grasp in one hand, and with the other introduced the neck of the vial between his teeth, and forced him to drink the absinthe; after which she cried triumphantly: "Well done! you are again on your pins, my cherished one!"
Alfred, having wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, opened his eyes, stood up, and asked in a trembling voice: "Have you seen him?"
"Who?"
"Is he gone?"
"Alfred, whom do you mean?"
"Cabrion!"
"Has he dared—" cried the portress.
Pipelet, as dumb as the statue of the Commander in Don
Giovanni, bowed his head twice in the affirmative.
"M. Cabrion, has he been here?" asked Miss Dimpleton, restraining with difficulty an inclination to laugh.
"That monster! has he been let loose upon Alfred?" cried Mrs. Pipelet. "Oh, if I had been here with my broom, he should have eaten it up, to the very handle! But speak, Alfred; relate to us this horrible affair."
Pipelet made a sign with his hand that he was about to speak, and they listened to the man of the immense hat in religious silence. Pie expressed himself in these terms, with a voice deeply agitated: "My wife had just left me to complete the orders given by you, sir (bowing to Rudolph), to call at the mayor's and the cook-shop."
"The dear old man had the nightmare all night, and I wished him to rest," said Anastasia.
"This nightmare was sent me as a warning from above," said the porter, solemnly. "I had dreamed of Cabrion—I was to suffer by Cabrion. Here was I sitting quietly before the table, thinking of an alteration that I wished to make in this boot confided to me, when I heard a noise, a rustling at the window of my lodge—was it a presentiment—a warning from above? My heart beat; I raised my head, and through the window I saw—saw—"
"Cabrion!" cried Anastasia, clasping her hands.
"Cabrion!" replied Pipelet, in a hollow tone. "His hideous face was there, close to the window, looking at me with his cat's eyes—what do I say? tiger's eyes! just as in my dream. I tried to speak, but my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth: I would have risen—I was glued to my seat; the boot fell from my hands, and, as in every critical and important event of my life, I remained completely motionless. Then the key turned in the lock; the door opened, and Cabrion entered!"
"He entered? what effrontery!" said Mrs. Pipelet, as much astonished as her husband at such audacity.
"Cabrion advanced slowly, his looks fixed on me, as a serpent glares on the bird, like a phantom—on, on, chilling, lowering!"
"I'm goose-flesh all over!" groaned Anastasia.
"He came quite close to me; I could no longer endure his revolting aspect; it was too much, I could hold out no longer. I shut my eyes, and I then felt that he dared to put his hands on my hat, took it slowly off my head, and left it naked! I was seized with giddiness—my breathing was suspended—a ringing came in my ears—I was more than ever glued to my seat—I shut my eyes more firmly. Then Cabrion stooped, took my bald head between his hands, cold as death, and upon my forehead, bathed in sweat, imprinted a lascivious kiss!"
Anastasia lifted her arms toward heaven.
"My most inveterate enemy kissed my forehead! A monstrosity so unparalleled overcame and paralyzed me. Cabrion profited by my stupor to replace my hat on my head: then, with a blow on the crown, bonneted me as you saw. The last outrage quite overpowered me—the measure was full; everything about me turned round, and I fainted at the moment when I saw him, from under the rim of my hat, leave the room as quietly and slowly as he had entered."
Then, as though this recital had exhausted his strength, Pipelet fell back on his chair, raising his hands to heaven in the attitude of mute imprecation. Miss Dimpleton left the room suddenly; her desire to laugh almost stifled her, and she could no longer restrain herself. Rudolph himself had with difficulty preserved his gravity.
Suddenly a confused murmur, such as announces the assembling of a multitude, was heard in the street; a tumult arose at the end of the passage, and then musket-butts sounded on the door-step.
"Good heaven, M. Rudolph!" cried Miss Dimpleton, running back, pale and trembling; "here are a commissary of police and the guard!"
"Divine justice watches over me!" said Pipelet, in a burst of religious gratitude; "they come to arrest Cabrion! Unhappily, it is too late!"
A commissary of police, known by a scarf worn under his black coat, entered the lodge. His countenance was grave, dignified, and severe.
"M. le Commissaire, you are too late; the malefactor has fled!" said Pipelet, sadly; "but I can give you his description. Villainous smile, impudent manners—"
"Of whom do you speak?" asked the officer.
"Of Cabrion, M. le Commissaire, and if you make all haste, there may be yet time to get hold of him," answered Pipelet.
"I do not know who this Cabrion is," said the officer, impatiently.
"Does Jerome Morel, working lapidary, live in this house?"
"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Pipelet, standing at the salute.
"Conduct me to his apartment."'
"Morel, the lapidary!" resumed the portress, quite surprised; "he is as gentle as a lamb, and incapable of—"
"Does Jerome Morel live here or not?"
"He does live here, sir, with his family, in the attic."
"Show me, then, to this garret."
Then, addressing a man who accompanied him, the magistrate said: "Let the two municipal guards wait below, and not leave the alley. Send Justin for a coach." The man left to execute these orders.
"Now," said the magistrate, addressing Pipelet, "conduct me to Morel."
"If it be all the same to you, sir, I will go instead of Alfred, who is indisposed from the persecution of Cabrion; who, just as cabbage does, troubles his gizzard."
"You, or your husband, it matters little which—go on." Preceded by Mrs. Pipelet, he began to ascend the stairs; but he soon stopped, perceiving that he was followed by Rudolph and Miss Dimpleton.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" demanded he.
"They are the two fourth-floors," said Mrs. Pipelet.
"Pardon me, sir, I did not know that you belonged to the house," said he, to Rudolph; who, auguring well from the politeness of the magistrate, said, "You will find a family in great distress, sir. I do not know what new misfortune menaces the unhappy artisan, but he has been cruelly tried last night; one of his children, worn out by illness, is dead beneath his eyes—dead from cold and misery."
"Is it possible?"
"It is the truth," said Mrs. Pipelet. "If it had not been for the gentleman who now speaks to you, and who is a king of lodgers, for he has saved, by his goodness, poor Morel from prison, the whole family of the lapidary must have died from hunger."
The commissary looked at Rudolph with as much interest as surprise.
"Nothing is more simple, sir," said the latter. "A person who is very charitable, knowing that Morel, to whose worth I pledge my honor, was in a position as deplorable as it was unmerited, instructed me to pay a bill of exchange, for which the bailiffs were about to drag to prison this poor man, the sole support of a large family."
Struck in his turn by the noble appearance of Rudolph, and the dignity of his manner, the magistrate replied, "I do not doubt the probity of Morel; I only regret being compelled to fulfill a painful duty before you, sir, who have shown so lively an interest in this family."
"What can you mean, sir?"
"After the services you have rendered the Morels, and from your language, I know that you are a worthy man. Having, besides, no reason to conceal the object of the mandate I am about to execute, I will acknowledge that I am about to arrest Louise Morel, the lapidary's daughter."
The rouleau of gold that she had offered to the bailiffs came to the mind of Rudolph.
"Of what is she accused?"
"She is accused of infanticide."
"She, she! Oh, her poor father!"
"From what you have told me, sir, I conceive that, under the circumstances in which the artisan is placed, this new blow will be terrible for him. Unfortunately I must obey my orders."
"But it is only a simple accusation!" cried Rudolph. "The proofs are wanting, without doubt?"
"I cannot explain myself further on this subject. The authorities have been informed of this crime, or rather, the presumption, by the declarations of a man in every way respectable—the master of Louise Morel."
"Jacques Ferrand, the notary," said Rudolph indignantly.
"Yes, sir. But why this vivacity?"
"M. Jacques Ferrand, the notary, is a scoundrel, sir!"
"I see with pain that you do not know of whom you speak. M. Jacques Ferrand is the most honorable man in the world; of most exemplary piety, and known probity."
"I repeat to you, sir, that the notary is a scoundrel. He wished to imprison Morel, because his daughter repulsed his infamous propositions. If Louise is only accused on the testimony of such a man—acknowledge, sir, that it merits but little belief."
"It does not belong to me, sir, and it does not become me, to discuss the value of the testimony of M. Ferrand," said the officer coldly. "Justice has taken cognizance of the affair; the tribunals will decide. As to me, I have orders to arrest Louise Morel, and I shall do it."
"You are right, sir. I regret that a movement of indignation, perhaps legitimate, has made me forget that this is neither the time nor place for such a discussion. One word alone: the body of the child he has lost is in the garret. I have offered my room to this family, to spare them the sad sight of the corpse; hence it is, probably, in my chamber you will find the artisan and his daughter. I conjure you, sir, in the name of humanity, do not arrest Louise suddenly in the midst of these misfortunes. Morel has gone through so many shocks this night, that his reason will give way: his wife is also dangerously sick—such a blow will kill her. If you will permit me, I'll ask you a favor. This is what I propose. The young girl who follows us with the door-keeper occupies a room adjoining mine; I do not doubt but that she will place it at your disposal. You can at first send for Louise; then, if it must be, for Morel, that his daughter may bid him farewell. You will at least spare a poor, sick, and infirm mother a heart-rending scene.
"If this can be arranged so, sir, willingly."
The conversation had taken place in an undertone, while Rigolette and
Mrs. Pipelet held themselves discreetly at some distance off.
Rudolph descended, and said to the former: "My poor neighbor, I must ask another favor; you must let me have your room at my disposal for an hour."
"As long as you please, M. Rudolph. You have my key. But, what is the matter?"
"I will tell you directly. This is not all: you must be kind enough to return to the Temple to tell them to delay sending home our purchases for an hour." "Willingly, M. Rudolph; but is there a new misfortune happened to the Morels?"
"Alas! yes; you will know it only too soon."
"Come, neighbor, I fly to the Temple. I, thanks to you, thought them out of trouble," said the grisette, descending rapidly the stairs.
Rudolph wished to spare Rigolette the sad spectacle of the arrest of Louise. "Officer," said Mrs. Pipelet, "since my prince of lodgers accompanies you, I can go and find Alfred. He alarms me: he has hardly recovered from his attack of—Cabrion."
"Go—go!" said the magistrate; who remained alone with Rudolph. Both arrived on the landing place of the fourth, opposite the door of the room where the artisan and his family were temporarily placed.
Suddenly this door was opened. Louise, pale and weeping, came out quickly. "Adieu, adieu! father," cried she; "I will return—I must go now."
"Louise, my child, listen to me, then," answered Morel, following his daughter, and trying to detain her.
At the sight of Rudolph and the magistrate they remained immovable.
"Ah, sir! you, our savior," said the artisan, recognizing Rudolph; "aid me to prevent Louise from going. I do not know what is the matter with her, she makes me afraid; she wishes to go away. Is it not so, sir, that she must not return any more to her master? Did you not say, 'Louise shall quit you no more—this shall be your recompense'? Oh! at this delightful promise, I avow it, for a moment I have forgotten the death of my poor little Adele; but to be separated from you, Louise, never, never!"
Rudolph felt himself overcome; be had not strength to utter a word.
The officer said severely to Louise, "Are you Louise Morel?"
"Yes, sir!" answered the young girl, amazed. Rudolph had opened the chamber of Rigolette.
"You are Jerome Morel, her father?" added the magistrate addressing the artisan.
"Yes, sir! but—"
"Enter there with your daughter." And the magistrate pointed to the chamber of Rigolette, where Rudolph already was. Reassured by his presence, the artisan and Louise, astonished and troubled, obeyed; the officer shut the door, and said to Morel, with emotion, "I know your honesty and misfortunes; it is, then, with regret I inform you that, in the name of the law, I come to arrest your daughter."
"All is discovered—I am lost!" cried Louise, throwing herself in the arms of her father.
"What do you say? what do you say?" said Morel, stupefied. "Are you mad? why lost? arrest you! why arrest you? who will arrest you?"
"I—in the name of the law!" and the officer showed his scarf.
"Oh, unfortunate! unfortunate that I am!" cried Louise, falling on her knees.
"How, in the name of the law?" said the artisan, whose mind began to wander; "why arrest my daughter in the name of the law? I answer for Louise, I—she is my daughter, my worthy daughter—is it not true, Louise? How arrest you, when our guardian angel restores you to us, to console us for the death of my little Adele? Come now! it cannot be! And besides, sir, speaking with respect, only criminals are arrested, do you understand—and Louise, my daughter, is not a criminal. Very sure, do you see, my child, this gentleman is mistaken. My name is Morel; there are more Morels than me. You are Louise—but there are more of the same name. That's it, you see, sir; there is a mistake!"
"Unfortunately, there is no mistake! Louise Morel, say farewell to your father."
"You carry away my daughter, will you?" cried the workman, furious from grief, and advancing toward the magistrate with a threatening air.
Rudolph seized him by the arm, and said, "Calm yourself, and hope; your daughter shall be returned to you—her innocence shall be proved; she is doubtless not culpable."
"Of what? she can be culpable of nothing. I would place my hand in the fire that"—then recollecting the gold that Louise had brought to pay the note, Morel cried, "But that money, that money, Louise?" and he cast on his daughter a terrible look.
Louise understood it. "I steal!" cried she, and the cheeks colored with generous indignation. Her tone of voice, her gesture, satisfied her father.
"I knew it!" he cried. "Do you see, sir—she denies it—and never in her life has she lied, I swear to you. Ask every one who knows her, and they will say the same. She lie? she is too proud for that. Besides, the bill was paid by our benefactor. She don't want gold; she was going to return it to the person who lent it, wasn't you, Louise?"
"Your daughter is not accused of theft," said the magistrate.
"But of what is she accused, then? I, her father, swear that, whatever she is accused of, she is innocent; and all my life I have never lied."
"What good will it do to know what she is accused of?" said Rudolph to him; "her innocence shall be proven—the person who interests herself so much in you will protect your daughter. Come, come. This time, again, Providence will not fail you. Embrace your daughter—you will soon see her again."
"M. le Commissaire," cried Morel, without listening to Rudolph, "a daughter is not taken away from a father without at least telling him of what she is accused! I wish to know all! Louise, will you speak?"
"Your daughter is accused—of infanticide," said the magistrate.
"I—I—do not comprehend—I—you—"
"Your daughter is accused of having killed her child," said the officer, much overcome at this scene.
"But it is not yet proved that she has committed this crime."
"Oh, no, it is not so, sir, it is not so," cried Louise, with force, and raising herself up: "I swear to you it was dead. It breathed no more; it was frozen; I lost all consciousness; that is my crime. But kill my child, oh, never!"
"Your child, wretch!" cried Morel, raising his hands to Louise, as if he wished to annihilate her with this gesture and terrible imprecation.
"Pardon, father, pardon!" cried she.
After a moment of frightful silence, Morel went on with a calmness still more frightful.
"Sir, take away this creature; she is not my child."
He wished to go out; Louise threw herself at his knees, which she embraced with both arms, and, with face upward, frantic and supplicating, she cried, "Father, listen to me, only listen to me."
"Officer, take her away, I abandon her to you," said the artisan, making every effort to disengage himself from the embraces of Louise.
"Listen to her," said Rudolph, stopping him; "do not be now without pity."
"She, she!" repeated Morel, burying his face in his hands, "she dishonored! oh! infamous, infamous!"
"Is she dishonored to save you?" whispered Rudolph.
These words made a startling impression on Morel; he looked at his weeping child, still kneeling at his feet, then, interrogating her with a look impossible to describe, he cried in a hollow voice, his teeth grinding with rage, "The notary!"
An answer came to the lips of Louise. She was about to speak, but, on reflection, she stopped, bent her head, and remained silent.
"But no—he wished to imprison me this morning," continued Morel; "it is not he? oh, so much the better! so much the better. She has no excuse for her fault; I can curse her without remorse."
"No, no! do not curse me, my father; to you I will tell all; to you alone; and you will see—you will see if I do not deserve your pardon."
"Listen to her for the sake of pity," said Rudolph.
"What can she tell me? her infamy? it will soon be public; I will wait."
"Sir!" cried Louise to the magistrate, "in mercy let me say a few words to my father before leaving him, perhaps forever. And before you also, our savior, I will speak, but only before you and my father."
"I consent," said the magistrate.
"Will you, then, be insensible? will you refuse this last consolation to your child?" asked Rudolph. "If you think you owe me some return for the favors I have directed toward you, grant the prayer of your daughter."
After a moment of mournful silence, Morel answered, "Let us go."
"But where shall we go?" asked Rudolph; "your family is in the next room."
"Where shall we go?" cried the artisan, with bitter irony, "where shall we go? up there—up there, in the garret, alongside of the body of my child. The place is well chosen for this confession—is it not? Come—we will see if Louise will dare to lie in the sight of her sister. Come!" Morel went out precipitately, with a wild stare, without looking at Louise."
"Sir," whispered the officer to Rudolph, "do not prolong this interview. You said truly, his reason will not sustain it; just now his look was that of a madman."
"Alas! sir, I fear, like you, a terrible and new misfortune: I will shorten as much as possible the touching adieus." And Rudolph rejoined the artisan and his daughter.
CHAPTER II.
CONFESSION.
Dark and gloomy spectacle.
In the garret reposed, on the couch of the idiot, the corpse of the little child. An old piece of sheet covered it. Rudolph standing with his back to the wall, was painfully affected. Morel, seated on his work-bench, his head down, hands hanging; his looks, fixed, wild, were constantly bent on the bed where reposed the remains of the little Adele.
At this sight, the anger, the indignation of the artisan became weaker, and changed into a sadness of inexpressible bitterness; his energy abandoned him—he sunk under this new blow. Louise, of a mortal paleness, felt her strength fail her. The revelation that she was about to make frightened her. Yet she took tremblingly the hand of her father—that poor, thin hand, deformed by excess of labor.
He did not withdraw it. Then his daughter, bursting into tears, covered it with kisses, and soon felt it press lightly against her lips.
The anger of Morel had ceased; his tears, for a long time retained, flowed at last. "My father, if you knew—if you knew how much I am to be pitied."
"Oh! stop; you see, this will be the grief of all my life, Louise—of all my life," answered the artisan, weeping. "You in prison—in the dock—you, so proud-when you had the right to be so. No," continued he, in a new access of desperate grief, "no, I should prefer to seeing you under the winding-sheet, alongside your poor little sister."
"And I, also, wish it were so," answered Louise.
"Hush, unfortunate child, you give me pain. I was wrong to say that; I went too far. Come, speak, but tell the truth. However frightful it may be, tell me all. If I hear it from you, it will appear less cruel to me. Speak; alas! our moments are counted; you are waited for. Oh! the sad, sad parting."
"My father, I will tell you all," said Louise, resolutely; "but promise me, and you, our benefactor, promise also, not to repeat this to any one. If he knew that I had spoken, do you see—oh! you would be lost—lost like me; for you do not know the power and ferocity of this man."
"Of what man?"
"My master."
"The notary?"
"Yes," said Louise, in a low tone, and looking around her, as if she were afraid of being overheard.
"Compose yourself," answered Rudolph. "This man is cruel and powerful, but no matter; we will face him. Besides, if I reveal what you are about to tell us, it will be only in your interest or in that of your father."
"And, Louise, if I speak, it will be to try to save you. But what has this wicked man done?"
"This is not all," said Louise, after a moment's reflection; "this sad tale concerns some one who has rendered me a great service—who has been for my father and family full of kindness—this person was employed at M. Ferrand's when I went; I have sworn not to mention the name."
"If you mean Francois Germain, be easy; his secret will be kept by your father and myself," said Rudolph.
Louise looked at Rudolph with surprise.
"You know him?" said she.
"The good and excellent young man who lived here for three months, and was employed at the notary's when you went there?" said Morel. "The first time you saw him here you appeared not to know him."
"That was agreed upon between us. He had grave reasons to conceal that he worked for M. Ferrand. It was I who told him of the chamber on the fourth story, knowing he would be a good neighbor for you."
"But," said Rudolph, "who placed your daughter with the notary?"
"When my wife was taken sick, I had said to Madame Burette, the pawnbroker, who lives in this house, that Louise wished to go to service to aid us. Madame Burette knew the housekeeper of the notary; she gave me a letter to her, in which she strongly recommended Louise. Cursed—cursed be that letter; it has caused all our misfortunes. So, sir, this is the way my daughter went there."
"Although I am informed of some of the facts which have caused the hatred of M. Ferrand toward your father," said Rudolph to Louise, "I beg you will relate to me in a few words what passed between you and the notary since you entered his service. This may serve to defend you."
"During the first months of my stay at M. Ferrand's I had no reason to complain of him. I had much work to do; the housekeeper was often very rough toward me; the house was gloomy; but I endured all with patience; servitude is servitude, otherwise I should have had other disagreements. M. Ferrand had a stern look. He went to mass; he often received priests. I did not mistrust him. At first he hardly looked at me. He spoke very cross to me; above all, in the presence of strangers.
"Except the porter who lodged on the street, in the building where the office is, I was the only domestic with Mrs. Seraphin, the housekeeper. The building we occupied was an old isolated ruin, between the court and garden. My chamber was quite up to the top. Very often I was afraid to remain alone all the evening, either in the kitchen, which was underground, or in my chamber. In the night, I sometimes thought I heard extraordinary noises in the room under mine, which no one occupied, and where M. Germain alone often came to work during the day. Two of the windows of this story were walled up, and one of the doors, very thick, was strengthened with bars of iron. The housekeeper told me afterward that M. Ferrand kept his strong box there.
"One night I had sat up very late to finish some mending, which was very urgent; I was about to go to bed, when I heard some one walking very softly in the corridor at the end of which was my chamber: they stopped at my door; at first I thought it was the housekeeper, but as she did not come in, it made me afraid; I dared not stir; I listened, no one stirred; I was, however, sure there was some one behind the door; I asked twice who was there—no one answered. More and more alarmed, I pushed my chest of drawers against the door, which had neither lock nor bolt. I still listened—nothing stirred; at the end of half-an-hour, which appeared very long, I threw myself on my bed; the night passed tranquilly. The next morning I asked the housekeeper for permission to put a bolt on my door, as there was no lock, relating to her my fears of the last night; she answered that I had dreamed, that I must speak to M. Ferrand about it; at my demand he shrugged his shoulders, and told me I was a fool. I did not dare to say anything more.
"Some time after this happened the affair of the diamond. My father, almost desperate, knew not what to do. I related his trouble to Mrs. Seraphin; she answered, 'M. Ferrand is so charitable that perhaps he will do something for your father.' The same evening I waited on table; M. Ferrand said to me, bluntly, 'Your father has need of thirteen hundred francs; go this night and tell him to come to my office to-morrow; he shall have the money. He is an honest man, and deserves that one should interest himself for him.' At this act of kindness I burst into tears; I did not know how to thank my master. He said to me, in his ordinary rough manner, 'It is well, it is well; what I have done is very simple." In the evening I came to tell the good news to my father, and the next day——"
"I had the money, against a bill at three months' date, accepted in blank by me," said Morel. "I did like Louise; I wept with gratitude: I called him my benefactor. Oh! he must needs have been wicked indeed to destroy the gratitude and veneration I vowed to him."
"This precaution to make you sign a bill in blank, at such a date that you could not pay it, did not awaken your suspicions?" asked Rudolph.
[Illustration: THE ARRIVAL OF THE SOLDIERS]
"No, sir, I thought that the notary only took it for security; besides, he told me I need not think of paying it under two years; every three months it should be renewed for the sake of being regular; yet, at the end of the first term, it was presented, and not being paid, he obtained a judgment against me under another name; but he told me not to be troubled, that it was an error of his clerk."
"He wished thus to have you in his power," said Rudolph.
"Alas! yes, sir; for it was from the date of his judgment he began to—but continue, Louise, continue: I do not know where I am. My head turns. I shall become mad; it is too much—too much!"
Rudolph soothed him, and Louise continued: "I redoubled my zeal to show my gratitude. The housekeeper then held me in great aversion; she often placed me in the wrong by not repeating the orders that M. Ferrand gave her for me; I suffered from this, and would have preferred another place, but the obligation of my father to my master prevented my leaving. It was now three months since he had lent the money; he continued to scold me before Mrs. Seraphin, yet he looked at me sometimes behind her back in such a manner as to embarrass me, and he smiled in seeing me blush."
"You comprehend, sir, he was then about to obtain a judgment against me."
"One day," continued Louise, "the housekeeper went out after dinner, as was her custom; the clerks had left the office; they lodged elsewhere. M. Ferrand sent the porter on an errand; I remained in the house alone with my master; I was working in the ante-chamber; he rang for me. I entered his room; he was standing before the fireplace; I drew near; he turned quickly, and took me by the arm. I was alarmed. I ran into the ante-chamber, and shut the door, holding it with all my strength; the key was on his side."
"You understand, sir. You hear," said Morel to Rudolph, "the conduct of this worthy benefactor."
"At the end of a few moments the door yielded to his efforts," continued Louise. "I blew out the light—he called me. I made no answer. He then said, in a voice trembling with rage, 'If you resist, I will send your father to prison for the money he owes and cannot pay.' I begged him to have pity on me; promised to do everything I could to serve him, and show my gratitude, but I declared nothing could induce me to degrade myself."
"Yes; this is the language of Louise," said Morel, "of my Louise, when she had the right to be proud. But now? Continue—continue."
* * * * * * *
"The next morning after this scene, in spite of the threats of my master, I came here and told my father all. He wished to make me leave the house at once—but there was the prison. The little that I earned was indispensable to the family, since the illness of my mother; and the bad character which M. Ferrand threatened to give me would prevent my seeking or obtaining another place for a long time, perhaps."
"Yes," said Morel, with great bitterness, "we had the cowardice, the selfishness, to let our child return there. Oh! poverty, poverty! how many crimes it causes to be committed!"
"Alas! father! did you not try all means to obtain the money? That being impossible, we had to submit."
"Go on, go on, continue. Your parents have been your executioners; we are guiltier than you are," said the artisan, concealing his face in his hands.
"When I saw my master again," said Louise, "he acted toward me as usual, cross and harshly; he said not a word of the past; the housekeeper continued to torment me; she hardly gave me enough to eat, locked up the bread; sometimes, out of wickedness, she would defile the remains of the dinner before my eyes, for she always ate with Ferrand. At night I hardly slept. I feared at each moment to see the notary enter my room! He had taken away the drawers with which I had barricaded my door; there only remained a chair, a little table, and my trunk; I always retired to bed dressed. For some time he left me tranquil; he did not even look at me. I began to be at ease, thinking that he thought no more of me. One Sunday he allowed me to go out; I came to announce this good news to my parents. We were all very happy! It is up to this moment you have known all. What remains to tell," and the voice of Louise trembled, "is frightful! I have always concealed it from you."
"Oh, I was very sure of it—very sure that you concealed a secret from me," cried Morel, with a kind of wandering, and a singular volubility of expression which astonished Rudolph. "Your pallor and expression should have enlightened me. A hundred times I have spoken to your mother; but she always repelled me. Look at us well! look at us! To escape a prison, we leave our daughter at this monster's. And where does our child go to? To the dock! Because one is poor—yes—but the others—the others." Then, stopping as if to collect his thoughts, Morel struck himself on the forehead, and cried, "Stop, I do not know what I say. My head pains dreadfully. It seems to me I am drunk." And he concealed his face in his hands.
Rudolph, not wishing to let Louise see how much he was alarmed at the incoherent language of her father, said, gravely, "You are not just, Morel; it was not for herself alone, but for her mother, for her children, for yourself, that your poor wife feared the consequences of Louise leaving the notary. Accuse no one. Let all the maledictions, all your hatred, fall on one man—this monster of hypocrisy, who placed a girl between dishonor and ruin; the death, perhaps, of her father and his family; on this master, who abused in an infamous manner his power as a master. But, patience; I have told you Providence often reserves for great crimes a surprising and frightful vengeance."
The words of Rudolph were stamped with such force and conviction, in speaking of this providential vengeance, that Louise looked at him with surprise, almost with fear.
"Continue, my child," said he: "conceal nothing; this is more important than you think."
"I began, then, to feel some security," said Louise, "when one night Ferrand and his housekeeper both went out, each their own way. They did not dine at home; I remained alone. As usual, they left me some bread and water, and wine. My work finished, I dined; and then, fearing to remain alone in the apartments, I went up to my own room, after having lighted M. Ferrand's lamp. When he went out at night no one waited for him. I began to sew, and, what was very unusual, by degrees, sleep overpowered me. Oh, father," cried Louise, "you will not believe me—you will accuse me of falsehood; and yet, on the corpse of my little sister, I swear I tell you the truth."
"Explain yourself," said Rudolph.
"Alas! sir, for seven months I sought in vain to explain to myself this frightful night. I have almost lost my reason in trying to explore this mystery."
"Oh!" cried the artisan, "what is she going to say?"
"Contrary to my custom, I fell asleep on my chair," continued Louise. "That is the last thing I recollect. Before—before—oh, father, pardon! I swear to you I am not culpable."
"I believe you, I believe you; but speak!"
"I do not know how long I slept; when I awoke I was still in my chamber, but—"
* * * * * * *
"Oh! the wretch, the wretch," cried Rudolph. "Do you know, Morel, what he gave her to drink?" The artisan looked at Rudolph, but made no reply. "The housekeeper, his accomplice, had put in the drink of Louise a soporific—opium, without doubt; the strength, the senses of your child have been paralyzed for some hours; when she awoke from this lethargic sleep, the crime was committed."
"Ah! now," cried Louise, "my misfortune is explained; you see, father,
I am less guilty than I appear. Father, father! answer me!"
The look of the artisan was of a frightful vagueness.
Such horrible perversity could not be understood by so honest and simple-hearted a man. He could hardly comprehend the dreadful revelation. And, besides, it must be said, that for some moments his reason had deserted him; at each moment his ideas became more obscure; then he fell into that vacuity of thought which is to the mind what night is to the sight: formidable symptoms of mental alienation. Yet Morel answered, in a quick, dull, and a mournful tone, "Oh! yes, it is very wicked, very wicked, wicked."
And he fell back into his apathy. Rudolph looked at him with anxiety: he thought that the intensity of indignation began to be exhausted with him; the same as after violent griefs tears are often wanting. Wishing to terminate as soon as possible this sad conversation, Rudolph said to Louise:
"Courage, my child; finish unveiling this tissue of horrors."
"Alas! sir, what you have heard is nothing as yet."
* * * * * * *
"Ah! all precautions were taken to conceal his enormity!" said
Rudolph.
"Yes, sir, and I was ruined. To all that he said to me I could find no answer. Ignorant what drink I had taken, I could not explain my long sleep. Appearances were against me. If I complained, every one would condemn me; it must be so, for to me all was an impenetrable mystery."
CHAPTER III
THE CRIME
Rudolph remained confounded at the detestable villainy of Ferrand. "Then," said he to Louise, "you did not dare to complain to your father of the odious conduct of the notary?"
"No, sir; I feared he would have thought me the accomplice instead of the victim; and besides, I feared that, in his anger, my father would forget that his liberty, the existence of his family, depended entirely upon my master."
"And was his conduct less brutal toward you afterward?"
"No, sir. To drive away suspicion, when by chance he had the Cure of Bonne Nouvelle and his vicar to dinner, my master addressed me before them with severe reproaches; he prayed the Cure to admonish me; he said that sooner or later I should be lost; that my manners were too free with his clerks; that I was idle; that he kept me out of charity for my father, an honest man with a family, whom he had served. All this was false. I never saw the clerks; they were in a separate building from us."
"And when you found yourself alone with M. Ferrand, how did he explain his conduct toward you before the Cure?
"He assured me that he joked. But the Cure took these accusations for serious; he told me severely that one must be doubly vicious to act thus in a holy house, where I had religious examples continually under my eyes. To that I did not know what to answer; I held down my head, blushing. My silence, my confusion, turned still more against me; my life was such a burden that several times I was on the point of destroying myself; but I thought of my father, my mother, my brothers and sisters, whom I helped to support. I resigned myself; in the midst of my degradation I found a consolation—at least my father was saved from prison. A new misfortune overwhelmed me—I was enceinte; I saw myself altogether lost. I do not know why, I had a presentiment that M. Ferrand, in learning an event which should have rendered him less cruel toward me, would increase his bad treatment; I was, however, far from supposing what would happen."
Morel recovered from his momentary aberration, looked around him with astonishment, passed his hand over his face, collected his thoughts, and said to his daughter, "It seems to me I have forgotten myself for a moment—fatigue—sorrow. What did you say?"
"When M. Ferrand was informed of my situation—"
The artisan made a movement of despair. Rudolph calmed him with a look.
"Go on; I will listen to the end," said Morel. "Go on, go on."
Louise resumed:—"I asked M. Ferrand by what means I could conceal my shame. Interrupting me with indignation, and a feigned surprise, he pretended not to understand me; he asked me if I were mad; frightened, I cried, 'But, my God, what do you wish to become of me now? If you have no pity on me, have at least some pity on your child!' 'What a horror!' cried he, raising his hands toward heaven. 'How, wretch! You have the audacity to accuse me of being corrupt enough to descend to a girl of your class! you have effrontery enough to accuse me!—I, who have a hundred times repeated before the most respectable witnesses that you would be ruined, vile wanton. Leave my house this moment—I thrust you from my door.'"
Rudolph and Morel remained horror-struck; such atrocity overpowered them.
"Oh! I confess," said Rudolph, "this passes all conception."
Morel said nothing; his eyes became enlarged in a fearful manner: a convulsive spasm contracted his features; he descended from the bench where he was seated, opened quickly a drawer, and took out a strong, very sharp, file, with a wooden handle, and rushed toward the door.
Rudolph, divining his thoughts, seized him by the arm and stopped him.
"Morel, where are you going? You will ruin yourself, unfortunate man."
"Take care!" cried the artisan, furiously struggling; "I shall commit two crimes instead of one!" and the madman threatened Rudolph.
"Father, it is our savior!" cried Louise.
"He is mocking us! bah, bah! he wishes to save the notary!" answered Morel, completely wild, and contending with Rudolph. At the end of a second, he succeeded in disarming him, opened the door, and threw the instrument on the staircase.
Louise ran to the artisan, held him in her arms, and said, "Father, he is our benefactor; you have raised your hand on him; come to yourself."
These words recalled Morel to himself; he covered his face with his hands, and, without saying a word, he fell at Rudolph's feet.
"Rise, unfortunate father!" said Rudolph kindly. "Patience, patience; I understand your fury, I partake of your hatred; but, in the name even of your vengeance, do not compromise it."
"Good heavens!" cried the artisan, raising himself up. "What can justice—law—do in such a case? Poor as we are, when we go and accuse the powerful, rich, and respected man, they will laugh in our face— ah, ah, ah!" and he laughed convulsively. "And they will be right. Where are our proofs—yes, our proofs? They will not believe us. Therefore, I tell you," cried he, in another storm of madness, "I tell you I have no confidence but in the impartiality of the knife!"
"Silence, Morel; grief makes you wander," said Rudolph suddenly. "Let your daughter speak; moments are precious—the magistrate waits; I must know all—I tell you, all. Continue, my child."
"It is useless, sir," said Louise, "to speak to you of my tears, my prayers. I was disregarded. This took place at ten o'clock in the morning, in the cabinet of M. Ferrand. The priest was to breakfast with him that morning; he entered at the moment my master was loading me with reproaches and outrages. He appeared much vexed at the sight of the priest."
"And what did he say then?"
"He soon made up his mind what course to pursue; he cried, pointing to me, 'Well, reverend sir, I said truly that this creature would be ruined. She is lost—lost forever; she has just acknowledged to me her fault and her shame, begging me to save her. And to think that I, through pity, have received such a wretch into my house.' 'How,' said the priest to me, with indignation, 'in spite of the salutary counsels which your master has given you so often before me, you have thus degraded yourself? Oh, this is unpardonable. My friend, after the kindness you have shown her and her family, pity would be a weakness. Be inexorable,' said the priest, a dupe, like everybody else, of the hypocrisy of M. Ferrand."
"And you did not at once unmask the scoundrel?" said Rudolph.
"I was terrified, my head turned; I dared not, I could not pronounce a word, yet I wished to speak, to defend myself. 'But, sir'—I cried. 'Not a word more, unworthy creature!' said M. Ferrand, interrupting me. 'You have heard the worthy priest: pity would be weakness. In an hour, you leave my house!' Then, without giving me time to answer, he led the priest into another room.
"After the departure of M. Ferrand," continued Louise, "I was for a moment, as it were, delirious. I saw myself driven from his house, not able to get another place, on account of my situation and the bad character my master would give me. I did not doubt but that in his anger he would imprison my father; I did not know what would become of me. I went for refuge and to weep, to my chamber. At the end of two hours M. Ferrand appeared. 'Is your trunk ready?' said he. 'Have mercy!' I cried, falling at his feet 'Do not send me away in the state in which I am; what will become of me? I can find no other place.' 'So much the better; God will thus punish your conduct and your lies.' 'You dare to say that I lie!' cried I indignantly; 'you dare to say you are not the cause of my ruin?' 'Leave my house at once, you infamous creature, since you persist in your calumnies!' cried he, in a terrible voice. 'And to punish you, to-morrow I will imprison your father.' 'Well—no, no!' said I, aghast; 'I will accuse you no longer, sir—I promise it; but do not drive me away—have pity on my father; the little that I earn here supports my family. Keep me here—I will say nothing—I will conceal everything as long as I can, and then—you can send me away.'
"After renewed supplications, M. Ferrand consented to my prayers: I regarded it as a great favor, so frightful was my condition. Yet, for the five months which followed this cruel scene, I was very unhappy, very cruelly treated. Sometimes only M. Germain, whom I saw but seldom, interrogated me with kindness on the subject of my sorrows; but shame forbade my confession."
"Is it not about this time that he came to live here?"
"Yes, sir. He wished for a room near the Temple or the Arsenal; there was one to be let here, it suited him."
"And you never thought of confiding your sorrows to M. Germain?" asked
Rudolph.
"No, sir; he was also a dupe of M. Ferrand's; he said he was hard and exacting, but he thought him the most honest man in the world. I passed these five months in tears, in continual agony. With care, I had concealed my situation from all eyes, but I could hope to do so no longer. The future was for me most dreadful; M. Ferrand had declared he would not keep me any longer with him. I was thus about to be deprived of the small resource that aided our family to live. Cursed, driven away by my father—for, after the falsehoods that I had told him to dissipate his suspicions, he would not believe me to be the victim of M. Ferrand—what was to become of me? where was I to fly? where to find a refuge? I had then a very wicked idea. I confess this, sir, because I wish to conceal nothing, even that which may cast suspicion on me, and also to show you to what an extremity I was reduced by the cruelty of M. Ferrand. If I had yielded to a fatal thought, would he not have been an accomplice of my crime?"
After a moment's silence, Louise resumed, with an effort, and in a trembling voice, "I had heard from the portress that a quack lived in the house—and—" She could not finish.
Rudolph remembered that at his first call on Mrs. Pipelet he had received from the postman, in her absence, a letter written on coarse paper, in a disguised hand, and on which he had remarked the traces of tears. "And you did write him, unhappy child, three days since? On this letter you have wept; your writing was disguised."
Louise looked at Rudolph with affright. "How do you know, sir?"
"Calm yourself. I was alone in the lodge of Mrs. Pipelet when this letter was handed in, and it was my chance to receive it."
"Yes, sir; in this letter, without signature, I wrote to M. Bradamanti, that, not daring to come to him, I begged he would meet me that evening near the Château dead. I was half crazy. I wished to ask his fearful advice. I left my master's house to meet him; but my reason returned. I regained the house; I did not see him. Thus the scene took place, from the consequences of which I am now suffering— M. Ferrand believing me gone out for two hours, while after a very short time I returned."
"In pacing before the little door of the garden, to my great astonishment I saw it open. I entered that way, and I carried the key to the cabinet of M. Ferrand, where it was ordinarily kept. This was, next to his bed-chamber, the most retired place in the house: it was there he gave his secret audiences. You will see, sir, why I give you these details. Knowing all the ways of the house very well, after having crossed the dining-room, which was lighted, I entered into the saloon in the dark, then to the cabinet, as I said before. The door of his chamber opened at the moment I placed the key on the table. Hardly had my master perceived me by the light which was burning in his chamber, than he closed the door quickly on a person whom I could not see. Then he threw himself on me, seized me by the throat as if he wished to strangle me, and said to me in a low tone, at once furious and alarmed, 'You were spying; you listened at the door; what did you hear? Answer, answer! or I'll strangle you.' But changing his mind, without giving me time to say a word, he pushed me backward into the dining-room. The office was open; he threw me into it brutally, and locked the door."
"And you heard nothing of his conversation?"
"Nothing, sir: if I had known he had anybody in the room, I should have taken care not to have entered the cabinet; he forbade even Mrs. Seraphin to do so."
"And when you came out of the office, what did he say to you?"
"It was the housekeeper who came to conduct me, and I did not see him again that night. The alarm I had experienced had made me very ill. The next morning, as I came downstairs, I met M. Ferrand. I shuddered in thinking of his threats of the evening previous; what was my surprise when he said to me, almost calmly, 'You know I forbid any one to come into my cabinet when I have some one in my chamber; but for the short time that you have to remain here, it is useless to scold any more,' and he passed into his office. This moderation surprised me, after the violence of the previous evening. I went on with my usual duties; I went to put in order his sleeping apartment. In arranging some clothes in a dark closet near the alcove, I was suddenly taken very ill; I felt that I was about to faint. In falling, I grasped at a cloak which was hanging against the wall. I dragged it along with me; it covered me completely as I lay upon the floor. When I came to myself, the glass door of this closet was shut. I heard the voice of M. Ferrand. He spoke very loud. Recollecting the scene of the previous evening, I thought myself killed if I stirred. I supposed that, concealed under the mantle which had fallen on me, my master, in shutting the door, had not perceived me. If he discovered me, how could I make him believe that my presence was accidental? I held my breath, and, in spite of myself, I heard the end of this conversation, which doubtless had been commenced for some time."
"Who was the person who was talking with him?" asked Rudolph.
"I am ignorant, sir; I did not know the voice."
"And what did they say?"
"The conversation had lasted for some time, doubtless, for this is all I heard. 'Nothing can be plainer,' said this unknown voice. 'A queer fish, called Bras-Rouge (Red-Arm), a determined smuggler, has brought me, for the affair I have just spoken about, in connection with a family of fresh-water pirates, who are established at the point of a little island near Aspires. They are the greatest bandits in the land; the father and grandfather have both been guillotined, two of the sons are to the galleys for life; but the mother, three sons, and two daughters are left, all as great villains one as the other. It is said that at night, to rob on both sides of the Seine, they come down in their boats sometimes as far as Barky. They are folks who will kill the first comer for a crown; but we have no need of them; it suffices if they will give hospitality to your country lady. The Martial (the name of my pirates) will pass in her eyes for an honest family of fishermen. I will go on your account, and make two or three visits to your young lady; I will order her certain potions, and at the end of eight days she will make acquaintance with Aspires Cemetery. In the villages, a death passes like a letter through the post-office, while at Paris they scrutinize too closely. But when will you send your country girl to the island, so that I can advise the Martial what part they have to play?' 'She will arrive to-morrow, and the day after she will be there,' answered Ferrand; 'and I will inform her that the Doctor Vincent will take care of her on my account.' 'Agreed for the name of Vincent,' said the voice; 'I like that as well as any other.'"
"What is this new mystery of crime and infamy?" said Rudolph, more and more surprised.
"New? no, sir; you will see that it has reference to a crime that you do know," answered Louise; and she continued, "I heard the movement of chairs; the conversation was at an end. 'I do not ask you to be secret,' said M. Ferrand; 'you hold me as I hold you.' 'That proves that we can serve, but never injure one another,' answered the voice; 'see my zeal. I received your letter last night at ten o'clock; this morning I am here. Farewell, accomplice; do not forget the Island of Asnieres, the fisher Martial, and Dr. Vincent. Thanks to these three magical words, your country girl has only eight days left.' 'Stop,' said M. Ferrand, 'while I go and unbolt the door of my cabinet, and see if there is any one in the ante-chamber, that you may go out by the garden, as you came in.' M. Ferrand went out a moment, and then returned, and finally I heard him go off with the unknown person. You may imagine my alarm, sir, during this conversation, and my horror at knowing such a secret. Two hours after this conversation, Mrs. Seraphin came to seek me in my chamber, where I had gone more trembling and sick than I had yet been. 'M. Ferrand wants you,' said she; 'you have more good luck than you deserve; come, descend. You are very pale; what you are going to learn will give you more color.'
"I followed Mrs. Seraphin; M. Ferrand was in his cabinet. At seeing him, I shuddered in spite of myself; yet he had a less wicked look than usual; he looked at me fixedly for a long time, as if he wished to read my thoughts. I cast down my eyes. 'You appear very ill,' said he. 'Yes, sir,' I answered, astonished that he did not address me familiarly as usual. 'It is very plain,' added he, 'it is in consequence of your situation; but notwithstanding your lies, your bad conduct, and your indiscretion of yesterday,' added he, in a softened tone, 'I have pity on you. Although I have treated you as you deserved before the cure of the parish, such an affair as this will be a scandal to my house; and, moreover, your family will be in despair. I consent, under these circumstances to come to your assistance.' 'Ah, sir,' I cried, 'these words of kindness on your part make me forget all.' 'Forget what?' asked he sharply. 'Nothing, nothing; pardon me, sir,' answered I, fearing to irritate him, and believing in his professions of pity. 'Listen to me,' said he; 'you will go to see your father to-day; you will announce to him that I am going to send you for two or three months in the country to take charge of a house I have just bought; during your absence I will send him your wages. To-morrow you will leave Paris; I will give you a letter of recommendation for Mrs. Martial, the mother of a family of honest fishermen who live near Asnieres. You will require to say you came from the country, nothing more. Later you will know the object of this letter, all for your interest. Mrs. Martial will treat you as her child; a physician, a friend of mine, Dr. Vincent, will take you under his charge. You see how good I am for you!'"
"What a horrible plot!" cried Rudolph. "Now I comprehend all. Believing that the evening previous you had become possessed of a secret of great importance to him, he wished to get rid of you. He had probably some interest in deceiving his accomplice, in representing you as a girl from the country. What must have been your affright at this proposition!"
"It was a great blow. I was completely bewildered; I knew not what to answer; I looked at M. Ferrand with affright; my mind wandered. I was about, perhaps, to risk my life in telling him that I had overheard his projects in the morning, when, happily, I recollected the new dangers to which this would expose me. 'You do not comprehend me, then?' asked he, with impatience. 'Yes, sir, but,' said I, trembling, 'I prefer not to go to the country.' 'Why not? You will be perfectly well taken care of where I shall send you. 'No, no, I will not go; I prefer to remain in Paris, near my family; I had rather confess all, die with shame, if it is necessary.' 'You refuse me!' said M. Ferrand, restraining his anger, and looking at me with attention. 'Why have you changed your mind so quickly? Just now you accepted.' I saw that if he suspected me I was lost; I answered that I did not think that he meant me to leave Paris and my family. 'But you will dishonor your family, wretch,' cried he; and not being able any longer to contain himself, he seized me by the arm, and pushed me so violently that I fell. 'I give you until after to-morrow,' cried he; 'to-morrow you shall leave this to go to the Martials, or to tell your father I have sent you away, and that he goes the same day to prison.' I remained alone, stretched on the earth; I had not the strength to get up. Mrs. Seraphin came, and with her assistance I regained my chamber. I threw myself on my bed; I remained there until night."
* * * * * * *
"Amid the horrors of this frightful, solitary night, I had a moment of bitter joy: it was when I pressed my child in my arms." And the voice of Louise was suffocated with her tears.
Morel had listened to the story of his daughter with an apathy and indifference which alarmed Rudolph. Yet, seeing her in tears, he looked fixedly at her and said: "She weeps—she weeps; why, then, does she weep? Oh, yes; I know, I know—the notary. Continue, my poor Louise; you are my child. I love you still—just now I did not know you; my tears obscured my sight. Oh, my head—my head—it gives me great pain."
"You see I am not culpable; is it not so, father?"
"Yes, yes."
"It is a great sorrow—but I feared the notary so much!"
"The notary? Oh! I believe you—he is so bad—so wicked!"
"You pardon me now?"
"Yes."
"Truly?"
"Yes, truly. Oh, I love you still—go—although—I cannot—say—do you see—because—oh! my head! my bead!"
Louise looked at Rudolph with alarm.
"He suffers; let him compose himself. Continue."
"I pressed my child to my heart. I was astonished not to hear it breathe, but I said to myself, the respiration of so young a child can hardly be heard; and yet it seemed to me that it was very cold. I had no light. I waited until dawn, trying to warm it as well as I could, At daylight I found it was stiff—icy. I placed my hand on its heart; it did not beat—it was dead."
And Louise burst into bitter sobs.
"Oh! at this moment," continued she, "thoughts passed impossible to describe, I remember it confusedly as a dream; it was at once despair, terror, anger, and, above all, I was seized with another alarm; I no longer dreaded that Ferrand would strangle me, but I feared that if my child was found dead at my side I should be accused of having killed it. Then I had but one thought, that of concealing it from all eyes; in that way my dishonor would not be known; I would no longer have to dread the anger of my father; I should escape the vengeance of Ferrand; then I could leave his house, procure another place, and continue to earn something toward the support of my family. Alas! sir, such are the reasons which induced me to acknowledge nothing, to conceal the body of my child from all eyes. It was wrong, certainly; but the position I was in, overwhelmed on all sides, crushed by long sufferings, almost delirious, I did not reflect to what I exposed myself if I was discovered."
"What tortures! what tortures!" said Rudolph, overcome.
"Daylight increased," continued Louise, "in a short time every one would be awake in the house. I hesitated no longer. I wrapped up my child as well as I could; I descended very softly; I went to the end of the garden to make a hole in the ground to bury it, but it had frozen all night—the earth was too hard. Then I hid the body at the bottom of a kind of cellar where no one entered in winter. I covered it with an empty flower-box, and I returned to my room without seeing any one. Of all I tell you, sir, I have but a confused idea. Feeble as I was, I can as yet hardly comprehend how I had the nerve to do all this. At nine o'clock, Mrs. Seraphin came to know why I was not yet up. I said that I was so ill, that I begged her to let me remain in bed all day; the next day I would quit the house, since M. Ferrand sent me away. At the end of one hour he came himself. 'You are worse; this is the consequence of your self-will,' said he. 'If you had profited by my offers, to-day you would have been established with kind people, who would have taken every care of you; however, I will not be so inhuman as to let you suffer; to-night Dr. Vincent will come to see you.' At this threat I shuddered with fear. I answered that I was wrong the night before to refuse his offers; that I accepted them; but that, as yet being too ill to leave, I would go the next day but one to the Martials; and that it was useless to send for Dr. Vincent. I only wished to gain time; I was decided to leave the house, and to go to my father. I hoped in this manner he would be ignorant of all. But, deceived by my promise, M. Ferrand was almost affectionate toward me, and recommended me, for the first time in his life, to the care of Mrs. Seraphin.
"I passed the day in mental agony, trembling at each moment that chance would cause a discovery of the body of my child. I only desired one thing—that the cold might cease, so that I might be able to dig a grave. It snowed—that gave me hopes. I remained all day in bed. The night being come, I waited until every one was asleep. I had strength to get up to go to the wood pile to look for a hatchet to cut some wood to make a hole in the frozen ground. After infinite trouble I at last succeeded; then I took the body, I wept over it again, and I buried it as I could in the little flower-box. I did not know the prayer for the dead; I said a pater and an ave, praying God to receive it. I thought my courage would have failed me when I covered it with the earth. A mother interring her child! At length I succeeded. Oh! what it cost me! I placed the snow over the grave, so that nothing should be seen. The moon gave me light. When all was finished, I could not make up my mind to come away. Poor little thing! in the frozen ground—under the snow. Although it was dead, it seemed to me that it must feel the cold. At length I returned to my chamber. I went to my bed with a violent fever. In the morning M. Ferrand sent to know how I was. I answered that I felt rather better, and that I should certainly be ready to leave for the country the next day. I remained all this day still in bed, in order to gain strength. In the evening I arose. I went to the kitchen to warm myself. I remained late, all alone. I went to the garden to say a last prayer. At the moment I ascended toward my chamber, I met M. Germain on the landing-place of the cabinet, where he sometimes worked; he was very pale. He said to me, quickly, placing a rouleau in my hand, 'Your father will be arrested early to-morrow morning; here is the money; as soon as it is day run to his house. It is only to-day I have found out Ferrand; he is a bad man; I will unmask him. Do not, above all, say that you have this money from me.' And M. Germain, not giving me time to thank him, descended the stairs quickly."