"Alas, madame, in my great alarm, I did not reflect that my oath would prevent me from assuring them of my safety. Now that makes me wretched! But I think (and hope you think so, too) that, without breaking my word, I may beg of you to write to Madame Georges at the farm of Bouqueval, and assure her that she need have no fears for me, without informing her where I am; for I have promised to be silent."
"My child, these precautions will be useless if, at my recommendation, you are pardoned. To-morrow you will return to the farm without having betrayed your oath by that; and you may consult your friends hereafter to know how far you are bound by a promise which was extorted from you by a threat."
"You believe then, madame, that, thanks to your kindness, I may hope to leave here very soon?"
"You deserve my interest so much that I am sure I shall succeed, and I have no doubt but that the day after to-morrow you may rely on going in person to your benefactors."
"So soon! Madame, how have I deserved so much goodness on your part? How can I ever repay your kindness?"
"By continuing to behave as you have done. I only regret that I cannot do anything towards your future existence; that is a pleasure which your friends have reserved for themselves."
At this moment Madame Armand entered abruptly, and with a troubled air.
"Madame la Marquise," she said, addressing Clémence with hesitation, "I am deeply pained with a message I have to convey to you."
"What do you mean, madame?"
"The Duke de Lucenay is below, just come from your house, madame."
"La, how you frighten me! What's the matter?"
"I do not know, madame; but M. de Lucenay has, he told me, some very distressing information to communicate to you. He learnt from the duchess, his lady, that you were here, and has come in great haste."
"Distressing information!" said Madame d'Harville to herself; then she suddenly shrieked out, in agonised accents, "My daughter, my daughter, my daughter, perhaps! Oh, speak, madame!"
"I do not know, your ladyship."
"Oh, for mercy's sake—for mercy's sake, take me to M. de Lucenay!" cried Madame d'Harville, rushing out with a bewildered air, followed by Madame Armand.
"Poor mother! She fears for her child!" said La Goualeuse, following Clémence with her eyes. "Oh, no, it is impossible! At the very moment when she was so benevolent and kind to me such a blow could not strike her! No, no; once again I say it is impossible!"
We shall now conduct the reader to the house in the Rue du Temple, about three o'clock on the day in which M. d'Harville terminated his existence. At the time mentioned, the conscientious and indefatigable M. Pipelet sat alone in his lodge, occupied in repairing the boot which had, more than once, fallen from his hand during Cabrion's last attack; the physiognomy of the delicate-minded porter was dejected, and exhibited a more than usually melancholy air.
All at once a loud and shrill voice was heard calling from the upper part of the house, exclaiming, in tones which reëchoed down the staircase:
"M. Pipelet! M. Pipelet! Make haste! Come up as fast as you can! Madame Pipelet is taken very ill!"
"God bless me!" cried Alfred, rising from his stool. "Anastasie ill!" But, quickly resuming his seat, he said to himself, "What a simpleton I must be to believe such a thing! My wife has been gone out more than an hour! Ah, but may she not have returned without my observing it? Certainly, such a mode of proceeding would be somewhat irregular, but I am not the less bound to admit that it is possible."
"M. Pipelet!" called out the up-stairs voice again. "Pray come as quickly as you can; I am holding your wife in my arms!"
"Holloa!" said Pipelet, springing up abruptly. "Somebody got my wife in his arms!"
"I really cannot manage to unlace Madame Pipelet's stays by myself!" screamed out the voice, in tones louder than before.
These words perfectly electrified Alfred, and the blush of offended modesty empurpled his melancholy features.
"Sir-r-r!" cried he in a stentorian voice, as he rushed frantically from his lodge. "Sir-r-r! I adjure you, in the name of Honour, to leave my wife and her stays alone! I come! I come!"
And so saying, Alfred dashed into the dark labyrinth called a staircase, forgetting, in his excitement, to close the door of the lodge after him.
Scarcely had he quitted it than an individual entered quickly, snatched from the table the cobbler's hammer, sprung on the bed, and, by means of four small tacks, previously inserted into each corner of a thick cardboard he carried with him, nailed the cardboard to the back of the dark recess in which stood Pipelet's bed; then disappeared as quickly as he had come. So expeditiously was the operation performed, that the porter, having almost immediately recollected his omission respecting the closing the lodge door, hastily descended, and both shut and locked it; then putting the key in his pocket, returned with all speed to succour his wife above-stairs, without the slightest suspicion crossing his mind that any foot had trod there since his own. Having taken this precautionary measure, Alfred again darted off to the assistance of Anastasie, exclaiming, with all the power of his lungs:
"Sir-r-r! I come! Behold me! I place my wife beneath the safeguard of your delicacy!"
But a fresh surprise awaited the worthy porter, and had well-nigh caused him to fall from the height he had ascended to the sill of his own lodge,—the voice of her he expected to find fainting in the arms of some unknown individual was now heard, not from the upper part of the house, but at the entrance! In well-known accents, but sharper and shriller than usual, he heard Anastasie exclaim:
"Why, Alfred! What do you mean by leaving the lodge? Where have you got to, you old gossip?"
At this appeal, M. Pipelet managed to descend as far as the first landing, where he remained petrified with astonishment, gazing downwards with fixed stare, open mouth, and one foot drawn up in the most ludicrous manner.
"Alfred, I say!" screamed Madame Pipelet, a second time, in a voice loud enough to awake the dead.
"Anastasie down there? Then it is impossible she can be ill up-stairs," said Pipelet, mentally, faithful to his system of close and logical argumentation. "Whose, then, was the manly voice that spoke of her illness, and of his undoing her stays? An impostor, doubtless, to whom my distraction and alarm have been a matter of amusement; but what motive could he have had in thus working upon my susceptible feelings? Something very extraordinary is going on here. However, as soon as I have been to answer my wife's inquiry, I will return to clear up this mystery, and to discover the person whose voice summoned me in such haste."
In considerable agitation did M. Pipelet descend, and find himself in his wife's presence.
"It is you, then, this time?" inquired he.
"Of course it is me; who did you expect it was?"
"'Tis you, indeed! My senses do not deceive me!"
"Alfred, what is the matter with you? Why do you stand there, staring and opening your mouth, as if you meant to swallow me?"
"Because your presence reveals to me that strange things are passing here, so strange that—"
"Oh, stuff and nonsense! Give me the key of the lodge! What made you leave it when I was out? I have just come from the office where the diligence starts from for Normandy. I went there in a coach to take M. Bradamanti's trunk, as he did not wish that little rascal, Tortillard, to know anything about it, since, it seems, he had rather no one should be acquainted with the fact of his leaving Paris this evening; and, as for his mistrusting the boy, why, I don't wonder at it."
Saying these words, Madame Pipelet took the key from her husband's hand, opened the lodge, and entered it before her partner; but scarcely were they both safe within its dark recesses, than an individual, lightly descending the staircase, passed swiftly and unobserved before the lodge. This personage was Cabrion, who, having managed to steal up-stairs, had so powerfully worked upon the porter's tender susceptibilities. M. Pipelet threw himself into his chair, saying to his wife, in a voice of deep emotion:
"Anastasie; I do not feel myself comfortable to-day; strange and mysterious things are going on in this house."
"What! Are you going to break out again? What an old fool you are! Why, strange things happen in every house. What has come over you? Come, let's look at you! Well, I declare, you are all of a sweat, just as if you had been dragged out of the water! What have you been doing since I left you? Overexerting yourself, I am sure, and I forbid you ever doing so. La! Look how the great drops pour from him, poor old chick!"
"And well they may!" exclaimed M. Pipelet, passing his hand over his face, bathed in its own dew; "well may I sweat,—ay, even blood and water,—for there are facts connected with this house past belief or comprehension. First, you summon me up-stairs, and, at the same moment, I find you waiting below! Oh, it is too, too much for my poor brain!"
"Deuce take me, if I can comprehend one word of all you are saying! Lord, help us! It is to be hoped your poor old brain is not cracked. I tell you what, if you go on so, I shall just set you down for cracked; and all through that scamp of a Cabrion,—the devil take him! Ever since that last trick he played the other day, I declare you have not been yourself, so flustered and bewildered! Do you mean to live in fear and dread of that abominable painter all your days?"
But scarcely had Anastasie uttered these words than a fearful thing occurred. Alfred continued sitting, with his face turned towards the bed, while the lodge was dimly illumined by the faint glimmer of a winter's afternoon and a lamp that stood burning on the table, near Alfred's work. By these doubtful lights, M. Pipelet, just as his wife pronounced the name of Cabrion, imagined he saw, in the shadow of the recess, the half stolid, half chuckling features of his enemy. Alas! Too truly, there he was. His steeple-crowned hat, his flowing locks, thin countenance, sardonic smile, pointed beard, and look of fiendish malice, all were there, past all mistake. For a moment, M. Pipelet believed himself under the influence of a dream, and passed his hand across his eyes, in hopes that the illusion might disperse; but no; there was nothing illusive in what his eyes glared so fearfully upon,—nothing could be more real or positive. Yet, horror of horrors! This object seemed merely to possess a head, which, without allowing any part of the body to appear, grinned a satanic smile from the dark draperies of the recess in which stood the bed. At this horrific vision M. Pipelet fell back, without uttering a word. With uplifted arm he pointed towards the source of his terrors, but with so strong a manifestation of intense alarm that Madame Pipelet, spite of her usual courage and self-possession, could not help feeling a dread of—she knew not what. She staggered back a few steps, then, seizing Alfred by the hand, exclaimed:
"Cabrion!"
"I know it!" groaned forth M. Pipelet, in a deep, hollow voice, shutting his eyes to exclude the frightful spectre.
Nothing could have borne more flattering tribute to the talent which had so admirably delineated the features of Cabrion than the overwhelming terror his pasteboard likeness occasioned to the worthy couple in the lodge; but the first surprise of Anastasie over, she, bold as a lioness, rushed to the bed, sprang upon it, and, though not without some trepidation, tore the painting from the wall, against which it had been nailed; then, crowning her valiant deed by her accustomed favourite expression, the amazon triumphantly exclaimed:
"Get along with you!"
Alfred, on the contrary, remained with closed eyes and extended hands, fixed and motionless, according to his wont during the most critical passages of his life; the continued oscillation of his bell-crowned hat alone revealing, from time to time, the violence of his internal emotions.
"Open your eyes, my old duck!" cried Madame Pipelet, triumphantly. "It is nothing to be afraid of, only a picture, a portrait of that scoundrel Cabrion. Look here, lovey,—look at 'Stasie stamping on it!" continued the indignant wife, throwing the painting on the ground, and jumping upon it with all her force; then added, "Ah, I wish I had the villain here, to serve the same! I'll warrant I'd mark him for life!" Then, picking up the portrait, she said, "Well, I've served you out, anyhow! Just look, old dear, if I haven't!"
But poor Alfred, with a disconsolate shake of the head, made signs that he had rather not, and further intimating, by expressive gestures, his earnest desire that his wife would remove the detested likeness of his bitter foe far from his view.
"Well," cried the porteress, examining the portrait by the aid of the lamp, "was there ever such imperance? Why, Alfred, the vile feller has presumed to write in red letters at the bottom of the picture, 'To my dear friend Pipelet; presented by his friend for life, Cabrion!'"
"For life!" groaned Pipelet; then, heaving a deep sigh, he added, "Yes, 'tis my life he aims at; and he will finish by taking it. I shall exist, from this day forward, in a state of continual alarm, believing that the fiend who torments me is ever near,—hid, perhaps, in the floor, the wall, the ceiling, and thence watches me throughout the day; or even at night, when sleeping in the chaste arms of my wife, his eye is still on me. And who can tell but he is at this very instant behind me, gazing with that well-known sardonic grin; or crouched down in some corner of the room, like a deadly reptile! Say, you monster, are you there? Are you there, I demand?" cried M. Pipelet, accompanying this furious adjuration by a sort of circular motion of the head, as though wishing to interrogate every nook and corner of the lodge.
"Yes, dear friend, here I am!" answered the well-known voice of Cabrion, in blandly affectionate tones.
By a simple trick in ventriloquism, these words were made to appear as though issuing from the recess in which stood the bed; but the malicious joker was in reality close to the door of the lodge, enjoying every particular look and word that passed within. However, after uttering the last few words, he prudently disappeared with all haste, though not (as will be seen) without leaving his victim a fresh subject for rage, astonishment, and meditation.
Madame Pipelet, still skeptical and courageous, carefully examined under the bed, as well as in every corner of the lodge, but, discovering no trace of the enemy, actually went out into the alley to prosecute her researches; while M. Pipelet, completely crushed by this last blow, fell back into his chair in a state of boundless despair.
"Never mind, Alfred!" said Anastasie, who always exhibited great determination upon all critical occasions. "Bless you! The villain had managed to hide himself somewhere near the door, and, while we were looking in one direction, he managed to slip out in another. But just wait a bit: I shall catch him one of these days, and then see if I don't make him taste my broomstick! Let him take care, that's all!"
The door opened as she concluded this animating address, and Madame Séraphin, the housekeeper of the notary, Jacques Ferrand, entered the lodge.
"Good day, Madame Séraphin," said Madame Pipelet, who, in her extreme anxiety to conceal her domestic troubles from a stranger, assumed all at once a most gracious and winning manner; "what can I have the pleasure of doing for you?"
"Why, first of all, tell me what is the meaning of your new sign?"
"Our new sign?"
"Yes; the small printed board."
"Printed board!"
"To be sure; that black board with red letters, hung over the door leading from the alley up to your lodge."
"What, out in the street?"
"In the street, I tell you, precisely over your door."
"I wish I may die if I understand a single word of what you are talking about! Do you, old dear?"
Alfred spoke not.
"Certainly," continued Madame Séraphin, "since it relates to M. Pipelet, he can best explain to me what this board means."
Alfred uttered a sort of heavy, inarticulate groan, while his bell-crowned hat recommenced its convulsive agitations. This pantomimic action was meant to express that Alfred was in no condition to explain anything to anybody, having his mind already sufficiently burdened with an infinity of problematical questions he sought in vain to solve.
"Don't take any notice of poor dear Alfred, Madame Séraphin; he has got the cramp in his stomach, and that makes him so very—But what is this board of which you were speaking? Very likely it has just been put up by the man who keeps the wine-shop at the corner."
"I tell you again it is no such thing. It is a small painted board, hung up over your door,—I mean the door leading from the alley to the street."
"Ah, you are laughing at us!"
"Indeed I am not. I saw it just now, as I came in; on it is written, in large letters, 'Pipelet and Cabrion, dealers in Friendship and similar Articles. Inquire of the Porter.'"
"Gracious goodness! Do you hear that, Alfred? Do you hear what is written up over our door?"
Alfred gazed at Madame Séraphin with a bewildered look, but he neither understood nor sought to understand her meaning.
"Do you mean to say," continued Madame Pipelet, confounded by this fresh audacity, "that you positively saw a little board out in the street with all that about Alfred and Cabrion, and dealing in friendship?"
"I tell you I have just seen it, and read with my own eyes what I described to you. 'Well,' said I to myself, 'this is droll enough! M. Pipelet is a shoemaker by trade, but here he writes up publicly that he is a dealer in friendship along with a M. Cabrion! What can all this mean? There is something meant more than meets the eye!' Still, as the board further directed all persons desirous of knowing more to apply to the porter, 'Oh,' thinks I, 'Madame Pipelet can explain all this to me!' But, look, look!" cried Madame Séraphin, suddenly breaking off in her remarks. "Your husband is taken ill! Mind what you are about, or he will fall backwards!"
Madame Pipelet flew to her afflicted partner, and was just in time to receive him, half fainting, in her arms. The last blow had been too overwhelming,—the man in the bell-crowned hat had but just strength left to murmur forth, "The scoundrel has, then, publicly placarded me!"
"I told you, Madame Séraphin, that poor Alfred was suffering dreadful with the cramp in his stomach, besides being worried to death by a crack-brained vagabond, who is at him night and day: he'll be the death of my poor old duck at last. Never mind, darling, I've got a nice little drop of aniseed to give you; so drink it, and see if you can't shake your old feathers and be yourself again!"
Thanks to the timely application of Madame Pipelet's infallible remedy, Alfred gradually recovered his senses; but, alas, scarcely was he restored to full consciousness ere he was subjected to another and equally cruel trial of his feelings!
An individual of middle age, respectably dressed, and possessing a countenance so simple, or rather so silly, as to render it impossible to suspect him of any malice prepense or intended irony, opened the upper and glazed part of the lodge door, saying, with the most genuine air of mystification:
"I have just read on a small board placed over the door, at the entrance to the alley, the following words: 'Pipelet and Cabrion, dealers in Friendship and similar Articles. Inquire of the Porter.' Will you oblige me by explaining the meaning of those words, if you are, as I presume you to be, the porter in question?"
"The meaning!" exclaimed M. Pipelet, in a voice of thunder, and giving vent at length to his so long restrained indignation; "the meaning is simply, sir-r-r, that M. Cabrion is an infamous scoundrel,—an impostor!"
The simple-looking interrogator drew back, in dread of the consequences that might follow this sudden and furious burst of wrath, while, wrought up to a state of fury, Alfred leaned over the half door of the lodge, his glaring eyeballs and clenched hands indicating the intensity of his feelings; while the figures of Madame Séraphin and Anastasie were dimly revealed amid the murky shades of the small room.
"Let me tell you, sir-r-r!" cried M. Pipelet, addressing the placid-looking man at the door, "that I have no dealings with that beggar Cabrion, and certainly none in the way of friendship!"
"No, that I'm sure you have not!" screamed out Madame Pipelet, in confirmation of her husband's words; adding, as she displayed her forbidding countenance over her husband's shoulder, "and I wonder very much where that old dunderhead has come from to ask such a stupid question?"
"I beg your pardon, madame," said the guileless-looking individual thus addressed, again withdrawing another step to escape the concentrated anger of the enraged pair; "placards are made to be read,—you put out a board, which I read,—now allow me to say that I am not to blame for perusing what you set up purposely to attract attention, but that you are decidedly wrong to insult me so grossly when I civilly come to you, as your own board desires, for information."
"Oh, you old fool! Get along with you!" exclaimed Anastasie, with a most hideous distortion of visage.
"You are a rude, unmannerly woman!"
"Alfred, deary, just fetch me your boot-jack: I'll give that old chatterer such a mark that his own mother shall not know her darling again!"
"Really, madame, I can't say I understand receiving such rough treatment when I come, by your own directions, to make inquiries respecting what you or your husband have publicly notified in the streets."
"But, sir-r-r—!" cried the unhappy porter.
"Sir!" interrupted the hitherto placid inquirer, now worked up into extreme rage, "Sir! You may carry your friendship with your M. Cabrion as far as you please, but, give me leave to tell you, you have no business to parade yourself or your friendships in the face of everybody in the streets. And I think it right, sir, to let you know a bit of my mind; which is, that you are a boasting braggart, and that I shall go at once and lay a formal complaint against you at the police office." Saying which, the individual departed in an apparently towering passion.
"Anastasie," moaned out poor Pipelet, in a dolorous voice, "I shall never survive all this! I feel but too surely that I am struck with death,—I have not a hope of escape! You hear my name is publicly exposed in the open streets, in company with that scoundrel's! He has dared to placard the hideous tale of my having entered into a treaty of friendship with him! And the innocent, unsuspecting public will read the hateful statement—remember it—repeat it—spread the detestable report! Oh, monstrous, enormous, devilish invention! None but a fiend could have had such a thought. But there must be an end to this. The measure is full,—ay, to overflowing; and things have come to such a pass that either this accursed painter or myself must perish in the deadly struggle!" And, wrought up to such a state of vigorous resolution as to completely conquer his usual apathy, M. Pipelet seized the portrait of Cabrion and rushed towards the door.
"Where are you going, Alfred?" screamed the wife.
"To the commissary of police, and, at the same time, to tear down that vile board! Then, bearing the board in one hand and the portrait in the other, I will cry aloud to the commissary, 'Defend, avenge an injured man! Deliver me from Cabrion!'"
"So do, old darling! There, hold up your head and pluck up courage! And I tell you what, if the board is too high for you to reach, ask the man at the wine-shop to lend you his small ladder. That blackguard of a Cabrion! I only wish I had him in my power, I'd fry him for half an hour in my largest stew-pan! Why, scores of people have been publicly executed who did not deserve death a quarter as much as he does! The villain! I should like to see him just ready to have the guillotine dropped upon his head. Wouldn't I give him my blessing in a friendly way? A rascal!"
Alfred, amid all his woes, yet displayed a rare magnanimity, contrasting strongly with the vindictive spirit of his partner.
"No, no," said he; "spite of the wrongs he has done me, I would not, even if his life were in my power, 'demand his head!'"
"But I would! I would! I would!" vociferated the ferocious Anastasie. "If he had fifty heads, I would demand every one of them! I would not leave him one! But go along; make haste, Alfred, and set the commissary of police to work upon him."
"No," cried Alfred, "I desire not his blood; but I have a right to demand the perpetual imprisonment of this malicious being. My repose requires it,—my health peremptorily calls for it. The laws of my country must either grant me this reparation for all I have suffered, or I quit France. Yes, beautiful and beloved France! I turn my back on you for ever! And that is all an ungrateful nation would gain by neglecting to heal the wounds of my tortured mind;" and, bending beneath the weight of his grief, Alfred majestically quitted the lodge, like one of the ancient victims of all-conquering Fatality.
Before we introduce the reader to the conversation between Madame Séraphin and Madame Pipelet, we must premise that Anastasie, without entertaining the very slightest suspicion of the virtue and piety of the notary, felt the greatest indignation at the severity manifested by him in the case both of Louise Morel and M. Germain; and, as a natural consequence, the angry porteress included Madame Séraphin in the same censure; but still, like a skilful politician, Madame Pipelet, for reasons we shall hereafter explain, concealed her dislike to the femme-de-charge under the appearance of the greatest cordiality. After having explicitly declared her extreme disapprobation of the conduct pursued by Cabrion, Madame Séraphin went on to say:
"By the way, what has become of M. Bradamanti Polidori? I wrote to him yesterday evening, but got no reply; this morning I came to see him, but he was not to be found. I trust I shall be more fortunate this time."
Madame Pipelet affected the most lively regret.
"Really," cried she, "you are doomed to be unlucky!"
"How so?"
"M. Bradamanti has not yet returned."
"Upon my word, this is enough to tire a saint!"
"So it is, I declare, Madame Séraphin. I'm sure I'm as sorry about it as if it was my own self."
"I had so much to say to him."
"It is all for the world as though you were bewitched!"
"Why, yes, it is so much the more vexatious, because I have to find all manner of excuses to run down here; for, if once M. Ferrand were to find out that I came to consult a quack doctor, he who is so devout, so scrupulous in all things, we should have a fearful scene!"
"La! He is just like Alfred, who is so silly that really he is afraid of everything and everybody!"
"And you do not know, I suppose, when M. Bradamanti will return home?"
"No, not precisely; but I know very well that he expects some one about six or seven o'clock this evening, for he told me to request the person to call again, should he not be at home at the time mentioned. So, if you will call again in the evening, you will be sure to see him."
But, as Anastasie said these words, she mentally added, "I would not have you too sure of that; in an hour's time he will be on his road to Normandy!"
"Very well, then," said Madame Séraphin, with an air of considerable chagrin. Then, pausing a brief space, she added, "I had also something to say to you, my dear Madame Pipelet. You know, I suppose, what happened to that girl, Louise Morel, whom everybody thought so good and virtuous—"
"Oh, pray don't mention her!" replied Madame Pipelet, rolling her eyes with affected horror. "It makes one's hair stand on end."
"I merely alluded to her by way of saying that we are now quite without a servant, and that, if you should chance to hear of a well-disposed, honest, and industrious young person, I should take it as a favour if you would send her to us. Upon my word, girls of good character are so difficult to be met with that one had need search in twenty places at once to find one."
"Depend upon it, Madame Séraphin, that, should I hear of anybody likely to suit you, I will let you know; but, in my opinion, good situations are more rare even than good servants." Then, again relapsing into a fit of abstraction, Anastasie added, though mentally, "A likely story that I should send any young girl to be starved to death in your dungeon of a house; your master is too stingy and hard-hearted! The idea of throwing that poor Louise and M. Germain both in prison!"
"I need not tell you," continued Madame Séraphin, "what a still, quiet house ours is; any young person must be improved by living in a family where there is continually something to be learned; and that Louise must have been naturally a depraved creature, to turn out badly spite of the good and religious advice bestowed on her by M. Ferrand."
"No doubt; but depend upon it that, directly I hear of a young person likely to suit you, I will be sure to let you know."
"There is just one thing more I should like to mention," resumed Madame Séraphin, "and that is, that M. Ferrand would greatly prefer taking a person who had no relatives or friends, because then, you understand, having no motive for wishing to go out, she would be less exposed to danger, neither would her mind be so likely to be upset; so that, if you should happen to meet with an orphan, I think M. Ferrand would prefer taking her, in the first place, because it would be doing a good action; and, secondly, as, having neither friends nor followers, she could not have any excuse for wishing to go out. I assure you that wretched girl, Louise, gave M. Ferrand a severe lesson, I can tell you, Madame Pipelet, and one that will make him very careful what sort of a servant he engages. Only imagine such a scandalous affair occurring in a house like ours! Dreadful! Well, then, I will call again this evening to see M. Bradamanti, and, at the same time, I can have a little conversation with Mother Burette."
"Then I will say adieu, Madame Séraphin, till this evening, when you will be quite sure of finding M. Bradamanti."
Madame Séraphin returned the salutation, and quitted the lodge.
"What a deuce of a worry she is in about Bradamanti!" said Madame Pipelet, when her visitor had disappeared. "I wonder what she wants with him? And then, too, M. Bradamanti is just as anxious to avoid seeing her before he starts for Normandy. I was dreadfully afraid she meant to stick here till he did return home, and that would have been the more awkward, as M. Bradamanti expects the same lady who came last night; I could not manage to have a squint at her then, but I am determined to-night to stare her regularly out of countenance, like I did the lady who came on the sly to visit my five-farthing commandant. Ah, the screw! the nipcheese! He has never ventured to show his face here since. However, by way of teaching him better, I shall make good use of his wood; yes, yes, my fine gentleman, it shall keep the lodge warm, as well as air your shut-up apartments. A disappointed puppy! Ha, ha, ha! Go, and be hanged with your paltry twelve francs a month! Better learn to pay people honest wages, than go flaunting about in a bright green dressing-gown, like a great lanky grasshopper! But who the plague can this lady of M. Bradamanti's be, I wonder? Is she respectable, or t'other? I should like to know, for I am as curious as a magpie; but that is not my fault; I am as God made me, so I can't help it. I know one's disposition is born with us, and so the blame does not lie at my door. Stop a bit; I've just thought of a capital plan to find out who this lady really is; and, what's more, I'll engage it turns out successful. Who is that I see coming? Ah, my king of lodgers! Your servant, M. Rodolph!" cried Madame Pipelet, saluting him, after the military fashion, by placing the back of her left hand to her wig.
It was, in truth, Rodolph, who, as yet ignorant of the death of M. d'Harville, approached gaily, saying:
"Good day to you, Madame Pipelet! Can you tell me if Mlle. Rigolette is at home? I have something to say to her, if she is."
"At home, poor girl! Why, when is she ever out? When does she lose an hour, or idle instead of working?"
"And how gets on Morel's unfortunate wife? Does she appear more reconciled to her misfortunes?"
"Yes, M. Rodolph, I am glad to say she does; and how can she be otherwise, when, thanks to you, or the generous friend whose agent you are, she is supplied with every comfort, both for herself and her children, who are as happy as fishes in the sea? Why, they want for nothing; they have good air, good food, good fires, and good beds, with a nurse to take care of them, besides Mlle. Rigolette, who, although working like a little busy bee, and without seeming to take part in their proceedings, never loses sight of them, bless you! And they have had a black doctor to see them, who says he comes from you. 'Well,' says I, when I looked at him, 'you are a funny one for a doctor, you are! I suppose, Mr. Nigger, you are physician to a company of charcoalmen, because there is no fear of your blacking your hands when you feel their pulse?' But la, M. Rodolph, I'm only joking! For what difference does colour make? Leastways your blacky seems to be a first-rate clever man, spite of his dingy face, for the first thing he did was to order a composing draught for Morel's wife, which did her a world of good!"
"Poor thing! I doubt not she is still very miserable?"
"Why, yes, M. Rodolph, naturally enough she is, for she has plenty of grief before her: her husband in a madhouse, and her daughter in prison! Ah, that poor Louise! That is the sorest of her heartaches; such a blow as that to an honest family, such as theirs has always been, is not to be got over so easily. And that Madame Séraphin, housekeeper to the notary, who has caused all this misery, has just been here, saying all manner of cruel things about the poor girl. If I had not had my own game to play, she should not have told the tale quite her own way; but I've got a pill for her to swallow by and by, so I'll let her off easy. Why, only conceive her assurance in coming to ask me if I could not recommend her some young person to supply the place of Louise in the establishment of that old brute of a notary. What a blessed pair the master and his housekeeper are! Just fancy their preferring an orphan, if they can obtain one, to be their servant! Don't you see through that, M. Rodolph? They pretend that their reason for wishing for an orphan is, because, having neither parents nor friends, she would never wish to go out, and would be more free from interruption; but that is not it, that is all a fudge; the truth is, they think that, if they could get a poor, friendless girl into their clutches, having nobody to see her righted, they could cheat her out of her wages as much as they liked. Now is not that true, M. Rodolph?"
"No doubt," replied the person addressed, with the air of one who is thinking deeply on a subject.
The information thus afforded him as to Madame Séraphin seeking an orphan girl, to replace Louise as servant in the family of M. Ferrand, appeared to present the almost certain means of accomplishing the just punishment of the notary; and, while Madame Pipelet was yet speaking, he was arranging every point of the part he had mentally destined for Cecily, whom he purposed making the principal instrument in effecting the retributive justice he meant to inflict on the vile persecutor of Louise Morel.
"Oh, I was quite sure you would be of my opinion," continued Madame Pipelet, "and that you would agree with me in thinking that their only reason for desiring to engage an orphan girl is, that they may do her out of her wages; and, I can tell you, I would sooner drop down dead than send any poor, friendless creature to such a house! Certainly, I don't happen to know of any one, but, if I knew of fifty, they should not enter into such a wretched house, if I could hinder them. Don't you think I'm right, M. Rodolph?"
"Madame Pipelet, will you do me a great favour?"
"Do you a favour, M. Rodolph? Lord love your heart and soul! Just say what there is I can do for you, and then see whether I will or no. Come, what is it? Shall I jump into the fire? or curl my best wig with boiling oil? or is there anybody I can worry, bite, pinch, or scold for you? Only say the word. I am wholly at your service, heart and body, your most humble slave; always stipulating that in my service there shall be no offence to Alfred's prior claims on me."
"Oh, my dear Madame Pipelet, make yourself perfectly easy! I want you to manage a little affair for me, which is this: I have got to place out a young orphan girl, who is utterly a stranger to Paris; and I wish very much, with your assistance, to obtain for her the situation vacant in M. Ferrand's establishment."
"You don't mean it? La, I never can think you are in earnest! What! Send a poor, friendless girl to live with such a miserly wretch as that hard-hearted old notary? No, no, M. Rodolph, that was not what you wanted me to do, I'm sure!"
"But, indeed, it is; why, a place is a place, and, if the young person I mentioned to you should not like it, she is not obliged to stay there; and then, don't you see, she would at once be able to maintain herself, while I should have no further uneasiness about her?"
"Oh, as far as that goes, M. Rodolph, it is your affair, not mine; and, whatever happens, remember I warned you. If, after all you have heard, you still think the place would suit your young friend, why, of course, you can please yourself; and, then, to be sure, as far as regards the notary, there are always two sides to every picture, a for and against to every tale; he is hard-hearted as a flint-stone, obstinate as a jackass, bigoted as a Jesuit, that's true enough; but then he is of the most scrupulous punctuality in all his affairs; he gives very low wages, but, then, he pays on the nail; the living is very bad at his house, still it is the same one day as another. In a word, though it is a house where a servant must work like a horse, yet, at the same time, it is one of those dull, quiet, stupid places, where there is certainly nothing to tempt a girl to get into mischief. Certainly, Louise managed to go wrong, but that was all a chance."
"Madame Pipelet, I am going to confide a great secret to your honour."
"Well, then, upon the word and honour of Anastasie Pipelet, whose maiden name was Gulimard, as true as there is a God and heaven, and that Alfred always wears green coats, I will be silent as a stockfish!"
"You must not breathe a word to M. Pipelet."
"That I won't, I swear by the head of that dear old duck himself, if it relates to a proper and correct affair."
"Surely, Madame Pipelet, you have too good an opinion of me to suppose, for a minute, that I would insult your chaste ears with anything that was not?"
"Well, then, go it! Let's know all about it, and, I promise you, Alfred shall never be the wiser, be it what it may. Bless you! he is as easy to cheat as a child of six years old."
"I rely implicitly on you; therefore listen to my words."
"I will, my king of lodgers; and remember that we are now sworn friends for life or for death. So go on with your story."
"The young person I spoke to you about has, unfortunately, committed one serious fault."
"I was sure of it! Why, Lord bless you, if I had not married Alfred when I was fifteen years of age, I dare say I should have committed, fifties and hundreds of faults! I? There, just as you see. I was like a barrel of gunpowder at the very sight or mention of a smart young fellow. Luckily for me, Pipelet extinguished the warmth of my nature in the coolness of his own virtue; if he had not, I can't say what might have happened, for I did dearly love the gay deceivers! I merely mention this to say that, if the young person has only done wrong once, then there are great hopes of her."
"I trust, indeed, she will atone for her past misconduct. She was living in service, in Germany, with a relation of mine, and the partner of her crime was the son of this relative. Do you understand?"
"Do I? Don't I? Go along with you! I understand as well as though I had committed the fault myself."
"The angry mistress, upon discovering her servant's guilt, drove her from her house; but the young man was weak enough to quit his paternal roof, and to bring the unfortunate girl to Paris."
"Well, la, M. Rodolph! What else could you expect? Why, young people will be young people. I'm sure I—"
"After this act of folly came stern reflection, rendered still more severe by the fact of the slender stock of money he possessed being exhausted. In this dilemma, my young relation applied to me; and I consented to furnish him with the means of returning home, on condition of his leaving behind him the companion of his flight, whom I undertook to place out in some respectable capacity."
"Well, I declare, I could not have done more for a son, if it had pleased Heaven—and Pipelet—that I should have had one!"
"I am delighted that you approve of my conduct; still, as the young girl is a stranger, and has no one to give her a recommendation, I fear it will be rather difficult to get her placed. Now, if you would tell Madame Séraphin that a relation of yours, living in Germany, has sent her to you, with a very excellent character, the notary would, possibly, take her into his service; and I should be doubly delighted. Cecily (for that is her name), having only once gone astray, would, doubtless, soon regain the right path in a house as severe and saintly as that of the notary's; and it is for that reason I am desirous of seeing the poor girl enter into the service of M. Ferrand; and, of course, if introduced by so respectable a person as yourself, Madame Pipelet, there would be no fear of her obtaining the place."
"Oh, M. Rodolph!"
"Yes, indeed, my good madame, I am sure that one word from so justly esteemed an individual as you—"
"Oh, my king of lodgers!"
"I repeat that, if you would patronise the young girl so far as to introduce her to Madame Séraphin, I have no fears but that she would be accepted; whereas, you know, if I were to accompany her to the notary's house—"
"I see what you mean; to be sure, it would look just as queer as if I were to introduce a young man. Well, I will do what you wish; it will be serving old Séraphin out as she deserves. I can tell you I have had a crow to pluck with her a long time, and this seems a famous way of serving her out; besides, it's a good lark, any way. So look upon the thing as done, M. Rodolph. I'll cram the old woman well. I will tell her that a relation of my own, long established in Germany, has just died, as well as her husband, leaving a daughter wholly dependent on me."
"Capital! Well, then, without saying anything more to Madame Séraphin, you shall take Cecily to M. Ferrand. All you will have to say is, that, not having seen or heard anything of your relation during the last twenty years, you consider it best to let her speak for herself."
"Ah, but then, if the girl only jabbers German?"
"I assure you she speaks French perfectly well. I will give her proper instructions, therefore you need do nothing more than strongly recommend her to Madame Séraphin,—or, stay, upon second thoughts, perhaps you had better not say any more than you have done on the subject, for fear she should suspect you want to force the girl upon her. You know that, frequently, the very asking a thing produces a refusal."
"I should think I did, too! Why, that was the way I got rid of all the flattering lovers that came about me. If they had never asked me a favour, I don't know what I might have done."
"It is always the case; therefore say nothing more to Madame Séraphin than just this, that Cecily is an orphan, and a stranger here, very young and very pretty, that she will be a heavy burden to you, and that you are not particularly fond of her, in consequence of having long since quarrelled with her mother, and, consequently, not retaining a very great affection for the charge bequeathed to your care."
"What a deep one you are! But never mind, there's a pair of us! I say, M. Rodolph, is it not odd you and I should understand each other so well? Ah, we two should have suited one another to a hair! Gracious, M. Rodolph, when I think what might have happened, if we had chanced to have met when I was such a tender-hearted, susceptible young creature, and so fond of handsome young men,—don't you fancy we should have seemed like made for one another,—eh, M. Rodolph?"
"Hush! Suppose M. Pipelet—"
"I forgot him, poor old duck! His brain is half turned since this last abominable prank of Cabrion's; but I'll tell you about that another time. As for your young relation, make yourself quite easy; I will undertake to play my part so well that old Séraphin shall come to me, and beg to have her as a servant."
"And if you succeed, Madame Pipelet, I have one hundred francs quite at your service. I am not rich, but—"
"Are you making fun of me, M. Rodolph, or do you imagine I am doing what I do for the sake of gain? I declare to God it's out of nothing but pure friendship! One hundred francs! That's handsome, however!"
"Why, I consider it but an act of justice, as well as gratitude, to offer you a sum which, if left several months on my hands, the girl must soon have cost me."
"Ah, well, then, since I can serve you by accepting your hundred francs, of course I have no further objection, M. Rodolph; but we drew a famous prize in the lottery when you came into the house, and I don't care who hears me say it, for I'd as lief cry it on the housetops. You are the very prince and king of good lodgers! Halloa, there is a hackney-coach! No doubt, the lady M. Bradamanti expects; I could not manage to see her well when she came yesterday, but I'll have a precious good stare at her this time; added to which, I've got a capital plan for finding out her name. Come, you shall see me go to work; it will be a famous lark for us!"
"No, I thank you, Madame Pipelet; I have not the slightest curiosity respecting either the name or features of this lady," returned Rodolph, withdrawing to the very end of the lodge.
"Where do you wish to go, madame?" cried Anastasie, rushing towards the female, who was entering.
"I am going to M. Bradamanti's," returned the person addressed, visibly annoyed at having her progress thus arrested.
"He is not at home."
"You are mistaken."
"Oh, no, I am not!" said the porteress, skilfully contriving so to place herself as to command a perfect view of the stranger's features. "M. Bradamanti has gone out, positively, absolutely gone out; that is to say, he is not at home, except to one lady."
"'Tis I, he expects me; and pray, my good woman, allow me to pass; you are really troublesome!"
"Your name, madame, if you please? I shall soon see if it is the name of the person M. Bradamanti desired me to admit. Should yours not be the right name, you don't go up-stairs, unless you first trample on my body!"
"Is it possible he could be so imprudent as to tell you my name?" cried the female, with as much surprise as uneasiness.
"Certainly he did, madame, or how should I know it?"
"How very thoughtless!" murmured the stranger. Then, after a momentary hesitation, she said, impatiently, in a low voice, and as if fearful of being overheard, "My name is D'Orbigny."
Rodolph started at the word, as it reached his ear, for it was the name of Madame d'Harville's mother-in-law. Advancing, therefore, from the dark corner in which he stood, he managed, by the light of the lamp, to obtain a clear view of the stranger, in whose features he easily traced the portrait so skilfully drawn by Clémence of the author of all her sufferings.
"Madame d'Orbigny!" repeated Madame Pipelet, in a loud tone. "Ah, then you may go up-stairs; that is the name M. Bradamanti gave me."
Madame d'Harville's mother-in-law waited for no second bidding, but rapidly passed by the lodge.
"Well done us!" shouted the porteress, with a triumphant air; "I have caught my fish, done the great lady! Now, then, I know her name,—she is Madame d'Orbigny. That wasn't a bad scheme of mine, was it, M. Rodolph? But what the plague is the matter with you? How sad and thoughtful you have grown all of a minute!"
"This lady has been to see M. Bradamanti before, has she not?"
"Yes, she was here yesterday evening; and, directly she was gone, M. Bradamanti went out, most probably, to take his place in the diligence for to-day, because, when he came back, he asked me to take his trunk to the coach office, as he could not trust that little rascal, Tortillard."
"And do you know where M. Bradamanti is going?"
"To Normandy, by way of Alençon."
Rodolph called to his remembrance that Aubiers, the seat of M. d'Orbigny, was situated in Normandy. There was no longer a doubt that the charlatan was proceeding to the paternal home of Clémence, and, as a matter of course, to aid and assist in some scheme of wickedness.
"The departure of M. Bradamanti will put old Séraphin out preciously!" resumed Madame Pipelet. "I can't make out what she wants with him; but she seems as much bent upon seeing him as he is on avoiding her; for he charged me particularly not to tell her that he leaves Paris to-night at six o'clock. So, when she calls again, she will find nobody at home; that will give me an opportunity of talking to her about your young person. Let's see, what is her name? Cissy—"
"Cecily!"
"Ah, I see! Just clap two more letters to the word I said,—that'll do. I must tie a knot in the corner of my handkerchief, that I may be able to recollect this bother of a name. Ciss—Cissy—Cecily—I've got it!"
"Well, now, I think it is time for me to visit Mlle. Rigolette," said Rodolph to Madame Pipelet, as he quitted the lodge.
"And when you come down-stairs, M. Rodolph, I hope you will just speak a word or two to my dear old darling of a husband. He has had a deal of trouble lately, and I know it will be a great relief to him to tell you all about it. That beast of a Cabrion has been at his old tricks again!"
"Be assured, Madame Pipelet, I shall always be ready to sympathise with your worthy husband in all his troubles."
And with these words Rodolph, strangely preoccupied with the recent visit of Madame d'Orbigny to Polidori, slowly pursued his way to the apartment of Mlle. Rigolette.
END OF VOLUME III.