{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3340/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3340","id":"gutenberg_3340","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3340","summary":null,"tags":["Category: French Literature","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","France -- History -- Louis Philippe, 1830-1848 -- Fiction","Historical fiction","Inheritance and succession -- Fiction","Jesuits -- Fiction","Wandering Jew -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by David Widger and Pat Castevens\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WANDERING JEW\n\nBy Eugene Sue\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II.\n\nINTERVAL.--THE WANDERING JEW'S SENTENCE.\n\nXVII.     The Ajoupa\nXVIII.    The Tattooing\nXIX.      The Smuggler\nXX.       M. Joshua Van Dael\nXXI.      The Ruins of Tchandi\nXXII.     The Ambuscade\nXXIII.    M. Rodin\nXXIV.     The Tempest\nXXV.      The Shipwreck\nXXVI.     The Departure for Paris\nXXVII.    Dagobert's Wife\nXXVIII.   The Sister of the Bacchanal Queen\nXXIX.     Agricola Baudoin\nXXX.      The Return\nXXXI.     Agricola and Mother Bunch\nXXXII.    The Awakening\nXXXIII.   The Pavilion\nXXXIV.    Adrienne at her Toilet\nXXXV.     The Interview\n\n\n\n\nINTERVAL.\n\nTHE WANDERING JEW'S SENTENCE.\n\nThe site is wild and rugged. It is a lofty eminence covered with huge\nboulders of sandstone, between which rise birch trees and oaks, their\nfoliage already yellowed by autumn. These tall trees stand out from the\nbackground of red light, which the sun has left in the west, resembling\nthe reflection of a great fire.\n\nFrom this eminence the eye looks down into a deep valley, shady, fertile,\nand half-veiled in light vapor by the evening mist. The rich meadows, the\ntufts of bushy trees the fields from which the ripe corn has been\ngathered in, all blend together in one dark, uniform tint, which\ncontrasts with the limpid azure of the heavens. Steeples of gray stone or\nslate lift their pointed spires, at intervals, from the midst of this\nvalley; for many villages are spread about it, bordering a high-road\nwhich leads from the north to the west.\n\nIt is the hour of repose--the hour when, for the most part, every cottage\nwindow brightens to the joyous crackling of the rustic hearth, and shines\nafar through shade and foliage, whilst clouds of smoke issue from the\nchimneys, and curl up slowly towards the sky. But now, strange to say,\nevery hearth in the country seems cold and deserted. Stranger and more\nfatal still, every steeple rings out a funeral knell. Whatever there is\nof activity, movement, or life, appears concentrated in that lugubrious\nand far-sounding vibration.\n\nLights begin to show themselves in the dark villages, but they rise not\nfrom the cheerful and pleasant rustic hearth. They are as red as the\nfires of the herdsmen, seen at night through the midst of the fog. And\nthen these lights do not remain motionless. They creep slowly towards the\nchurchyard of every village. Louder sounds the death-knell, the air\ntrembles beneath the strokes of so many bells, and, at rare intervals,\nthe funeral chant rises faintly to the summit of the hill.\n\nWhy so many interments? What valley of desolation is this, where the\npeaceful songs which follow the hard labors of the day are replaced by\nthe death dirge? where the repose of evening is exchanged for the repose\nof eternity? What is this valley of the shadow, where every village\nmourns for its many dead, and buries them at the same hour of the same\nnight?\n\nAlas! the deaths are so sudden and numerous and frightful that there is\nhardly time to bury the dead. During day the survivors are chained to the\nearth by hard but necessary toil; and only in the evening, when they\nreturn from the fields, are they able, though sinking with fatigue, to\ndig those other furrows, in which their brethren are to lie heaped like\ngrains of corn.\n\nAnd this valley is not the only one that has seen the desolation. During\na series of fatal years, many villages, many towns, many cities, many\ngreat countries, have seen, like this valley, their hearths deserted and\ncold--have seen, like this valley, mourning take the place of joy, and\nthe death-knell substituted for the noise of festival--have wept in the\nsame day for their many dead, and buried them at night by the lurid glare\nof torches.\n\nFor, during those fatal years, an awful wayfarer had slowly journeyed\nover the earth, from one pole to the other--from the depths of India and\nAsia to the ice of Siberia--from the ice of Siberia to the borders of the\nseas of France.\n\nThis traveller, mysterious as death, slow as eternity, implacable as\nfate, terrible as the hand of heaven, was the CHOLERA!\n\nThe tolling of bells and the funeral chants still rose from the depths of\nthe valley to the summit of the hill, like the complaining of a mighty\nvoice; the glare of the funeral torches was still seen afar through the\nmist of evening; it was the hour of twilight--that strange hour, which\ngives to the most solid forms a vague, indefinite fantastic\nappearance--when the sound of firm and regular footsteps was heard on the\nstony soil of the rising ground, and, between the black trunks of the\ntrees, a man passed slowly onward.\n\nHis figure was tall, his head was bowed upon his breast; his countenance\nwas noble, gentle, and sad; his eyebrows, uniting in the midst, extended\nfrom one temple to the other, like a fatal mark on his forehead.\n\nThis man did not seem to hear the distant tolling of so many funeral\nbells--and yet, a few days before, repose and happiness, health and joy,\nhad reigned in those villages through which he had slowly passed, and\nwhich he now left behind him, mourning and desolate. But the traveller\ncontinued on his way, absorbed in his own reflections.\n\n\"The 13th of February approaches,\" thought he; \"the day approaches, in\nwhich the descendants of my beloved sister, the last scions of our race,\nshould meet in Paris. Alas! it is now a hundred and fifty years since,\nfor the third time, persecution scattered this family over all the\nearth--this family, that I have watched over with tenderness for eighteen\ncenturies, through all its migrations and exiles, its changes of\nreligion, fortune, and name!\n\n\"Oh! for this family, descended from the sister of the poor shoemaker,[2]\nwhat grandeur and what abasement, what obscurity and what splendor, what\nmisery and what glory! By how many crimes has it been sullied, by how\nmany virtues honored! The history of this single family is the history of\nthe human race!\n\n\"Passing, in the course of so many generations, through the veins of the\npoor and the rich, of the sovereign and the bandit, of the wise man and\nthe fool, of the coward and the brave, of the saint and the atheist, the\nblood of my sister has transmitted itself to this hour.\n\n\"What scions of this family are now remaining? Seven only.\n\n\"Two orphans, the daughters of proscribed parents--a dethroned prince--a\npoor missionary priest--a man of the middle class--a young girl of a\ngreat name and large fortune--a mechanic.\n\n\"Together, they comprise in themselves the virtues, the courage, the\ndegradation, the splendor, the miseries of our species!\n\n\"Siberia--India--America--France--behold the divers places where fate has\nthrown them!\n\n\"My instinct teaches me when one of them is in peril. Then, from the\nNorth to the South, from the East to the West, I go to seek them.\nYesterday amid the polar frosts--to-day in the temperate zone--to-morrow\nbeneath the fires of the tropics--but often, alas! at the moment when my\npresence might save them, the invisible hand impels me, the whirlwind\ncarries me away, and the voice speaks in my ear: 'GO ON! GO ON!'\n\n\"Oh, that I might only finish my task!--'GO ON!'--A single hour--only a\nsingle hour of repose!--'GO ON!'--Alas! I leave those I love on the brink\nof the abyss!--'GO ON! GO ON!'\n\n\"Such is my punishment. If it is great, my crime was greater still! An\nartisan, devoted to privations and misery, my misfortunes had made me\ncruel.\n\n\"Oh, cursed, cursed be the day, when, as I bent over my work, sullen with\nhate and despair, because, in spite of my incessant labor, I and mine\nwanted for everything, the Saviour passed before my door.\n\n\"Reviled, insulted, covered with blows, hardly able to sustain the weight\nof his heavy cross, He asked me to let Him rest a moment on my stone\nbench. The sweat poured from His forehead, His feet were bleeding, He was\nwell-nigh sinking with fatigue, and He said to me, in a mild, heart\npiercing voice: 'I suffer!' 'And I too suffer,' I replied, as with harsh\nanger I pushed Him from the place; 'I suffer, and no one comes to help\nme! I find no pity, and will give none. Go on! go on!' Then, with a deep\nsigh of pain, He answered, and spake this sentence: 'Verily, thou shalt\ngo on till the day of thy redemption, for so wills the Father which art\nin heaven!'\n\n\"And so my punishment began. Too late I opened these eyes to the light,\ntoo late I learned repentance and charity, too late I understood those\ndivine words of Him I had outraged, words which should be the law of the\nwhole human race. 'LOVE YE ONE ANOTHER.'\n\n\"In vain through successive ages, gathering strength and eloquence from\nthose celestial words, have I labored to earn my pardon, by filling with\ncommiseration and love hearts that were overflowing with envy and\nbitterness, by inspiring many a soul with a sacred horror of oppression\nand injustice. For me the day of mercy has not yet dawned!\n\n\"And even as the first man, by his fall, devoted his posterity to\nmisfortune, it would seem as if I, the workman, had consigned the whole\nrace of artisans to endless sorrows, and as if they were expiating my\ncrime: for they alone, during these eighteen centuries, have not yet been\ndelivered.\n\n\"For eighteen centuries, the powerful and the happy of this world have\nsaid to the toiling people what I said to the imploring and suffering\nSaviour: 'Go on! go on!' And the people, sinking with fatigue, bearing\ntheir heavy cross, have answered in the bitterness of their grief: 'Oh,\nfor pity's sake! a few moments of repose; we are worn out with toil.'--Go\non!'--'And if we perish in our pain, what will become of our little\nchildren and our aged mothers?'--'Go on! go on!' And, for eighteen\ncenturies, they and I have continued to struggle forward and to suffer,\nand no charitable voice has yet pronounced the word 'Enough!'\n\n\"Alas! such is my punishment. It is immense, it is two-fold. I suffer in\nthe name of humanity, when I see these wretched multitudes consigned\nwithout respite to profitless and oppressive toil. I suffer in the name\nof my family, when, poor and wandering, I am unable to bring aid to the\ndescendants of my dear sister. But, when the sorrow is above my strength,\nwhen I foresee some danger from which I cannot preserve my own, then my\nthoughts, travelling over the world, go in search of that woman like me\naccursed, that daughter of a queen, who, like me, the son of a laborer,\nwanders, and will wander on, till the day of her redemption.[3]\n\n\"Once in a century, as two planets draw nigh to each other in their\nrevolutions, I am permitted to meet this woman during the dread week of\nthe Passion. And after this interview, filled with terrible remembrances\nand boundless griefs, wandering stars of eternity, we pursue our infinite\ncourse.\n\n\"And this woman, the only one upon earth who, like me, sees the end of\nevery century, and exclaims: 'What another?' this woman responds to my\nthought, from the furthest extremity of the world. She, who alone shares\nmy terrible destiny, has chosen to share also the only interest that has\nconsoled me for so many ages. Those descendants of my dear sister, she\ntoo loves, she too protects them. For them she journeys likewise from\nEast to West and from North to South.\n\n\"But alas! the invisible hand impels her, the whirlwind carries her away,\nand the voice speaks in her ear: 'Go on!'--'Oh that I might finish my\nsentence!' repeats she also,--'Go on!'--'A single hour--only a single hour\nof repose!'--Go on!'--'I leave those I love on the brink of the\nabyss.'--'Go on! Go on!--'\"\n\nWhilst this man thus went over the hill absorbed in his thoughts, the\nlight evening breeze increased almost to a gale, a vivid flash streamed\nacross the sky, and long, deep whistlings announced the coming of a\ntempest.\n\nOn a sudden this doomed man, who could no longer weep or smile, started\nwith a shudder. No physical pain could reach him, and yet he pressed his\nhand hastily to his heart, as though he had experienced a cruel pang.\n\"Oh!\" cried he; \"I feel it. This hour, many of those whom I love--the\ndescendants of my dear sister--suffer, and are in great peril. Some in\nthe centre of India--some in America--some here in Germany. The struggle\nrecommences, the detestable passions are again awake. Oh, thou that\nhearest me--thou, like myself wandering and accursed--Herodias! help me\nto protect them! May my invocation reach thee, in those American\nsolitudes where thou now lingerest--and may we arrive in time!\"\n\nThereon an extraordinary event happened. Night was come. The man made a\nmovement; precipitately, to retrace his steps--but an invisible force\nprevented him, and carried him forward in the opposite direction.\n\nAt this moment, the storm burst forth in its murky majesty. One of those\nwhirlwinds, which tear up trees by the roots and shake the foundations of\nthe rocks, rushed over the hill rapid and loud as thunder.\n\nIn the midst of the roaring of the hurricane, by the glare of the fiery\nflashes, the man with the black mark on his brow was seen descending the\nhill, stalking with huge strides among the rocks, and between trees bent\nbeneath the efforts of the storm.\n\nThe tread of this man was no longer slow, firm, and steady--but painfully\nirregular, like that of one impelled by an irresistible power, or carried\nalong by the whirl of a frightful wind. In vain he extended his\nsupplicating hands to heaven. Soon he disappeared in the shades of night,\nand amid the roar of the tempest.\n\n[2] It is known that, according to the legend, the Wandering Jew was a\nshoemaker at Jerusalem. The Saviour, carrying his cross, passed before\nthe house of the artisan, and asked him to be allowed to rest an instant\non the stone bench at his door. \"Go on! go on!\" said the Jew harshly,\npushing him away. \"Thou shalt go on till the end of time,\" answered the\nSaviour, in a stern though sorrowful tone. For further details, see the\neloquent and learned notice by Charles Magnin, appended to the\nmagnificent poem \"Ahasuerus,\" by Ed. Quinet.--E. S.\n\n[3] According to a legend very little known, for we are indebted to the\nkindness of M. Maury, the learned sub-librarian of the Institute,\nHerodias was condemned to wander till the day of judgement, for having\nasked for the death of John the Baptist--E. S.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE AJOUPA.\n\nWhile Rodin despatched his cosmopolite correspondence, from his retreat\nin the Rue du Milieu des Ursins, in Paris--while the daughters of General\nSimon, after quitting as fugitives the White Falcon, were detained\nprisoners at Leipsic along with Dagobert--other scenes, deeply\ninteresting to these different personages, were passing, almost as it\nwere at the same moment, at the other extremity of the world, in the\nfurthermost parts of Asia--that is to say, in the island of Java, not far\nfrom the city of Batavia, the residence of M. Joshua Van Dael, one of the\ncorrespondents of Rodin.\n\nJava! magnificent and fatal country, where the most admirable flowers\nconceal hideous reptiles, where the brightest fruits contain subtle\npoisons, where grow splendid trees, whose very shadow is death--where the\ngigantic vampire bat sucks the blood of its victims whilst it prolongs\ntheir sleep, by surrounding them with a fresh and balmy air, no fan\nmoving so rapidly as the great perfumed wings of this monster!\n\nThe month of October, 1831, draws near its close. It is noon--an hour\nwell nigh mortal to him who encounters the fiery heat of the sun, which\nspreads a sheet of dazzling light over the deep blue enamel of the sky.\n\nAn ajoupa, or hut, made of cane mats, suspended from long bamboos, which\nare driven far into the ground, rises in the midst of the bluish shadows\ncast by a tuft of trees, whose glittering verdure resembles green\nporcelain. These quaintly formed trees, rounded into arches, pointing\nlike spires, overspreading like parasols, are so thick in foliage, so\nentangled one with the other, that their dome is impenetrable to the\nrain.\n\nThe soil, ever marshy, notwithstanding the insupportable heat, disappears\nbeneath an inextricable mass of creepers, ferns, and tufted reeds, of a\nfreshness and vigor of vegetation almost incredible, reaching nearly to\nthe top of the ajoupa, which lies hid like a nest among the grass.\n\nNothing can be more suffocating than the atmosphere, heavily laden with\nmoist exhalations like the steam of hot water, and impregnated with the\nstrongest and sharpest scents; for the cinnamon-tree, ginger-plant,\nstephanotis and Cape jasmine, mixed with these trees and creepers, spread\naround in puffs their penetrating odors. A roof, formed of large Indian\nfig-leaves, covers the cabin; at one end is a square opening, which\nserves for a window, shut in with a fine lattice-work of vegetable\nfibres, so as to prevent the reptiles and venomous insects from creeping\ninto the ajoupa. The huge trunk of a dead tree, still standing, but much\nbent, and with its summit reaching to the roof of the ajoupa, rises from\nthe midst of the brushwood. From every crevice in its black, rugged,\nmossy bark, springs a strange, almost fantastic flower; the wing of a\nbutterfly is not of a finer tissue, of a more brilliant purple, of a more\nglossy black: those unknown birds we see in our dreams, have no more\ngrotesque forms than these specimens of the orchis--winged flowers, that\nseem always ready to fly from their frail and leafless stalks. The long,\nflexible stems of the cactus, which might be taken for reptiles, encircle\nalso this trunk, and clothe it with their bunches of silvery white,\nshaded inside with bright orange. These flowers emit a strong scent of\nvanilla.\n\nA serpent, of a brick-red, about the thickness of a large quill, and five\nor six inches long, half protrudes its flat head from one of those\nenormous, perfumed calyces, in which it lies closely curled up.\n\nWithin the ajoupa, a young man is extended on a mat in a profound sleep.\nHis complexion of a clear golden yellow, gives him the appearance of a\nstatue of pale bronze, on which a ray of sun is playing. His attitude is\nsimple and graceful; his right arm sustains his head, a little raised and\nturned on one side; his ample robe of white muslin, with hanging sleeves,\nleaves uncovered his chest and arms worthy of the Antoinous. Marble is\nnot more firm, more polished than his skin, the golden hue of which\ncontracts strongly with the whiteness of his garments. Upon his broad\nmanly chest a deep scar is visible--the mark of the musket-ball he\nreceived in defending the life of General Simon, the father of Rose and\nBlanche.\n\nSuspended from his neck, he wears a medal similar to that in the\npossession of the two sisters. This Indian is Djalma.\n\nHis features are at once very noble and very beautiful. His hair of a\nblue black, parted upon his forehead, falls waving, but not curled over\nhis shoulders; whilst his eyebrows, boldly and yet delicately defined,\nare of as deep a jet as the long eyelashes, that cast their shadow upon\nhis beardless cheek. His bright, red lips are slightly apart, and he\nbreathes uneasily; his sleep is heavy and troubled, for the heat becomes\nevery moment more and more suffocating.\n\nWithout, the silence is profound. Not a breath of air is stirring. Yet\nnow the tall ferns, which cover the soil, begin to move almost\nimperceptibly, as though their stems were shaken by the slow progress of\nsome crawling body. From time to time, this trifling oscillation suddenly\nceases, and all is again motionless. But, after several of these\nalternations of rustling and deep silence, a human head appears in the\nmidst of the jungle, a little distance from the trunk of the dead tree.\n\nThe man to whom it belonged was possessed of a grim countenance, with a\ncomplexion the color of greenish bronze, long black hair bound about his\ntemples, eyes brilliant with savage fire, and an expression remarkable\nfor its intelligence and ferocity. Holding his breath, he remained quite\nstill for a moment; then, advancing upon his hands and knees, pushing\naside the leaves so gently, that not the slightest noise could be heard,\nhe arrived cautiously and slowly at the trunk of the dead tree, the\nsummit of which nearly touched the roof of the ajoupa.\n\nThis man, of Malay origin, belonging to the sect of the Lughardars\n(Stranglers), after having again listened, rose almost entirely from\namongst the brushwood. With the exception of white cotton drawers,\nfastened around his middle by a parti-colored sash, he was completely\nnaked. His bronze, supple, and nervous limbs were overlaid with a thick\ncoat of oil. Stretching himself along the huge trunk on the side furthest\nfrom the cabin, and thus sheltered by the whole breadth of the tree with\nits surrounding creepers, he began to climb silently, with as much\npatience as caution. In the undulations of his form, in the flexibility\nof his movements, in the restrained vigor, which fully put forth would\nhave been alarming, there was some resemblance to the stealthy and\ntreacherous advance of the tiger upon its prey.\n\nHaving reached, completely unperceived, the inclined portion of the tree,\nwhich almost touched the roof of the cabin, he was only separated from\nthe window by a distance of about a foot. Cautiously advancing his head,\nhe looked down into the interior, to see how he might best find an\nentrance.\n\nAt sight of Djalma in his deep sleep, the Thug's bright eyes glittered\nwith increased brilliancy; a nervous contraction, or rather a mute,\nferocious laugh, curling the corners of his mouth, drew them up towards\nthe cheekbones, and exposed rows of teeth, filed sharp like the points of\na saw, and dyed of a shining black.\n\nDjalma was lying in such a manner and so near the door of the ajoupa,\nwhich opened inwards, that, were it moved in the least, he must be\ninstantly awakened. The Strangler, with his body still sheltered by the\ntree, wishing to examine more attentively the interior of the cabin,\nleaned very forward, and in order to maintain his balance, lightly rested\nhis hand on the ledge of the opening that served for a window. This\nmovement shook the large cactus-flowers, within which the little serpent\nlay curled, and, darting forth it twisted itself rapidly round the wrist\nof the Strangler. Whether from pain or surprise, the man uttered a low\ncry; and as he drew back swiftly, still holding by the trunk of the tree,\nhe perceived that Djalma had moved.\n\nThe young Indian, though retaining his supine posture, had half opened\nhis eyes, and turned his head towards the window, whilst his breast\nheaved with a deep-drawn sigh, for, beneath that thick dome of moist\nverdure, the concentrated heat was intolerable.\n\nHardly had he moved, when, from behind the tree, was heard the shrill,\nbrief, sonorous note, which the bird of paradise titters when it takes\nits flight--a cry which resembles that of the pheasant. This note was\nsoon repeated, but more faintly, as though the brilliant bird were\nalready at a distance. Djalma, thinking he had discovered the cause of\nthe noise which had aroused him for an instant, stretched out the arm\nupon which his head had rested, and went to sleep again, with scarcely\nany change of position.\n\nFor some minutes, the most profound silence once more reigned in this\nsolitude, and everything remained motionless.\n\nThe Strangler, by his skillful imitation of the bird, had repaired the\nimprudence of that exclamation of surprise and pain, which the reptile\nbite had forced from him. When he thought all was safe, he again advanced\nhis head, and saw the young Indian once more plunged in sleep. Then he\ndescended the tree with the same precautions, though his left hand was\nsomewhat swollen from the sting of the serpent, and disappeared in the\njungle.\n\nAt that instant a song of monotonous and melancholy cadence was heard in\nthe distance. The Strangler raised himself, and listened attentively, and\nhis face took an expression of surprise and deadly anger. The song came\nnearer and nearer to the cabin, and, in a few seconds, an Indian, passing\nthrough an open space in the jungle, approached the spot where the Thug\nlay concealed.\n\nThe latter unwound from his waist a long thin cord, to one of the ends of\nwhich was attached a leaden ball, of the form and size of an egg; having\nfastened the other end of this cord to his right wrist, the Strangler\nagain listened, and then disappeared, crawling through the tall grass in\nthe direction of the Indian, who still advanced slowly, without\ninterrupting his soft and plaintive song.\n\nHe was a young fellow scarcely twenty, with a bronzed complexion, the\nslave of Djalma, his vest of blue cotton was confined at the waist by a\nparti-colored sash; he wore a red turban, and silver rings in his ears\nand about his wrists. He was bringing a message to his master, who,\nduring the great heat of the day was reposing in the ajoupa, which stood\nat some distance from the house he inhabited.\n\nArriving at a place where two paths separated, the slave, without\nhesitation took that which led to the cabin, from which he was now scarce\nforty paces distant.\n\nOne of those enormous Java butterflies, whose wings extend six or eight\ninches in length, and offer to the eye two streaks of gold on a ground of\nultramarine, fluttering from leaf to leaf, alighted on a bush of Cape\njasmine, within the reach of the young Indian. The slave stopped in his\nsong, stood still, advanced first a foot, then a hand, and seized the\nbutterfly.\n\nSuddenly he sees a dark figure rise before him; he hears a whizzing noise\nlike that of a sling; he feels a cord, thrown with as much rapidity as\nforce, encircle his neck with a triple band; and, almost in the same\ninstant, the leaden ball strikes violently against the back of his head.\n\nThis attack was so abrupt and unforseen, that Djalma's servant could not\neven utter a single cry, a single groan. He tottered--the Strangler gave\na vigorous pull at the cord--the bronzed countenance of the slave became\npurple, and he fell upon his knees, convulsively moving his arms. Then\nthe Strangler threw him quite down, and pulled the cord so violently,\nthat the blood spurted from the skin. The victim struggled for a\nmoment--and all was over.\n\nDuring his short but intense agony, the murderer, kneeling before his\nvictim, and watching with ardent eye his least convulsions, seemed\nplunged into an ecstasy of ferocious joy. His nostrils dilated, the veins\nof his neck and temples were swollen, and the same savage laugh, which\nhad curled his lips at the aspect of the sleeping Djalma, again displayed\nhis pointed black teeth, which a nervous trembling of the jaws made to\nchatter. But soon he crossed his arms upon his heaving breast, bowed his\nforehead, and murmured some mysterious words, which sounded like an\ninvocation or a prayer. Immediately after, he returned to the\ncontemplation of the dead body. The hyena and the tiger-cat, who, before\ndevouring, crouch beside the prey that they have surprised or hunted\ndown, have not a wilder or more sanguinary look than this man.\n\nBut, remembering that his task was not yet accomplished tearing himself\nunwillingly from the hideous spectacle, he unbound the cord from the neck\nof his victim, fastened it round his own body, dragged the corpse out of\nthe path, and, without attempting to rob it of its silver rings,\nconcealed it in a thick part of the jungle.\n\nThen the Strangler again began to creep on his knees and belly, till he\narrived at the cabin of Djalma--that cabin constructed of mats suspended\nfrom bamboos. After listening attentively, he drew from his girdle a\nknife, the sharp-pointed blade of which was wrapped in a fig-leaf, and\nmade in the matting an incision of three feet in length. This was done\nwith such quickness, and with so fine a blade, that the light touch of\nthe diamond cutting glass would have made more noise. Seeing, by means of\nthis opening, which was to serve him for a passage, that Djalma was still\nfast asleep, the Thug, with incredible temerity, glided into the cabin.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nTHE TATTOOING\n\nThe heavens, which had been till now of transparent blue, became\ngradually of a greenish tint, and the sun was veiled in red, lurid vapor.\nThis strange light gave to every object a weird appearance, of which one\nmight form an idea, by looking at a landscape through a piece of copper\ncolored glass. In those climates, this phenomenon, when united with an\nincrease of burning heat, always announces the approach of a storm.\n\nFrom time to time there was a passing odor of sulphur; then the leaves,\nslightly shaken by electric currents, would tremble upon their stalks;\ntill again all would return to the former motionless silence. The weight\nof the burning atmosphere, saturated with sharp perfumes, became almost\nintolerable. Large drops of sweat stood in pearls on the forehead of\nDjalma, still plunged in enervating sleep--for it no longer resembled\nrest, but a painful stupor.\n\nThe Strangler glided like a reptile along the sides of the ajoupa, and,\ncrawling on his belly, arrived at the sleeping-mat of Djalma, beside\nwhich he squatted himself, so as to occupy as little space as possible.\nThen began a fearful scene, by reason of the mystery and silence which\nsurrounded it.\n\nDjalma's life was at the mercy of the Strangler. The latter, resting upon\nhis hands and knees, with his neck stretched forward, his eye fixed and\ndilated, continued motionless as a wild beast about to spring. Only a\nslight nervous trembling of the jaws agitated that mask of bronze.\n\nBut soon his hideous features revealed a violent struggle that was\npassing within him--a struggle between the thirst, the craving for the\nenjoyment of murder, which the recent assassination of the slave had made\nstill more active, and the orders he had received not to attempt the life\nof Djalma, though the design, which brought him to the ajoupa, might\nperhaps be as fatal to the young Indian as death itself. Twice did the\nStrangler, with look of flame, resting only on his left hand, seize with\nhis right the rope's end; and twice his hand fell--the instinct of murder\nyielding to a powerful will, of which the Malay acknowledged the\nirresistible empire.\n\nIn him, the homicidal craving must have amounted to madness, for, in\nthese hesitations, he lost much precious time: at any moment, Djalma,\nwhose vigor, skill, and courage were known and feared, might awake from\nhis sleep, and, though unarmed, he would prove a terrible adversary. At\nlength the Thug made up his mind; with a suppressed sigh of regret, he\nset about accomplishing his task.\n\nThis task would have appeared impossible to any one else. The reader may\njudge.\n\nDjalma, with his face turned towards the left, leaned his head upon his\ncurved arm. It was first necessary, without waking him, to oblige him to\nturn his face towards the right (that is, towards the door), so that, in\ncase of his being half-roused, his first glance might not fall upon the\nStrangler. The latter, to accomplish his projects, would have to remain\nmany minutes in the cabin.\n\nThe heavens became darker; the heat arrived at its last degree of\nintensity; everything combined to increase the torpor of the sleeper, and\nso favor the Strangler's designs. Kneeling down close to Djalma, he\nbegan, with the tips of his supple, well-oiled fingers, to stroke the\nbrow, temples, and eyelids of the young Indian, but with such extreme\nlightness, that the contact of the two skins was hardly sensible. When\nthis kind of magnetic incantation had lasted for some seconds, the sweat,\nwhich bathed the forehead of Djalma, became more abundant: he heaved a\nsmothered sigh, and the muscles of his face gave several twitches, for\nthe strokings, although too light to rouse him, yet caused in him a\nfeeling of indefinable uneasiness.\n\nWatching him with his restless and burning eye, the Strangler continued\nhis maneuvers with so much patience, that Djalma, still sleeping, but no\nlonger able to bear this vague, annoying sensation, raised his right hand\nmechanically to his face, as if he would have brushed away an importunate\ninsect. But he had not strength to do it; almost immediately after, his\nhand, inert and heavy, fell back upon his chest. The Strangler saw, by\nthis symptom, that he was attaining his object, and continued to stroke,\nwith the same address, the eyelids, brow, and temples.\n\nWhereupon Djalma, more and more oppressed by heavy sleep, and having\nneither strength nor will to raise his hand to his face, mechanically\nturned round his head, which fell languidly upon his right shoulder,\nseeking by this change of attitude, to escape from the disagreeable\nsensation which pursued him. The first point gained, the Strangler could\nact more freely.\n\nTo render as profound as possible the sleep he had half interrupted, he\nnow strove to imitate the vampire, and, feigning the action of a fan, he\nrapidly moved his extended hands about the burning face of the young\nIndian. Alive to a feeling of such sudden and delicious coolness, in the\nheight of suffocating heat, the countenance of Djalma brightened, his\nbosom heaved, his half-opened lips drank in the grateful air, and he fell\ninto a sleep only the more invincible, because it had been at first\ndisturbed, and was now yielded to under the influence of a pleasing\nsensation.\n\nA sudden flash of lightning illumined the shady dome that sheltered the\najoupa: fearing that the first clap of thunder might rouse the young\nIndian, the Strangler hastened to complete his Task. Djalma lay on his\nback, with his head resting on his right shoulder, and his left arm\nextended; the Thug, crouching at his left side, ceased by degrees the\nprocess of fanning; then, with incredible dexterity, he succeeded in\nrolling up, above the elbow, the long wide sleeve of white muslin that\ncovered the left arm of the sleeper.\n\nHe next drew from the pocket of his drawers a copper box, from which he\ntook a very fine, sharp-pointed needle, and a piece of a black-looking\nroot. He pricked this root several times with the needle, and on each\noccasion there issued from it a white, glutinous liquid.\n\nWhen the Strangler thought the needle sufficiently impregnated with this\njuice, he bent down, and began to blow gently over the inner surface of\nDjalma's arm, so as to cause a fresh sensation of coolness; then, with\nthe point of his needle, he traced almost imperceptibly on the skin of\nthe sleeping youth some mysterious and symbolical signs. All this was\nperformed so cleverly and the point of the needle was so fine and keen,\nthat Djalma did not feel the action of the acid upon the skin.\n\nThe signs, which the Strangler had traced, soon appeared on the surface,\nat first in characters of a pale rose-color, as fine as a hair; but such\nwas the slowly corrosive power of the juice, that, as it worked and\nspread beneath the skin, they would become in a few hours of a violet\nred, and as apparent as they were now almost invisible.\n\nThe Strangler, having so perfectly succeeded in his project, threw a last\nlook of ferocious longing on the slumbering Indian, and creeping away\nfrom the mat, regained the opening by which he had entered the cabin;\nnext, closely uniting the edges of the incision, so as to obviate all\nsuspicion, he disappeared just as the thunder began to rumble hoarsely in\nthe distance.[4]\n\n[4] We read in the letters of the late Victor Jacquemont upon India, with\nregard to the incredible dexterity of these men: \"They crawl on the\nground, ditches, in the furrows of fields, imitate a hundred different\nvoices, and dissipate the effect of any accidental noise by raising the\nyelp of the jackal or note of some bird--then are silent, and another\nimitates the call of the same animal in the distance. They can molest a\nsleeper by all sorts of noises and slight touches, and make his body and\nlimbs take any position which suits their purpose.\" Count Edward de\nWarren, in his excellent work on English India, which we shall have again\noccasion to quote, expresses himself in the same manner as to the\ninconceivable address of the Indians: \"They have the art,\" says he, \"to\nrob you, without interrupting your sleep, of the very sheet in which you\nare enveloped. This is not 'a traveller's tale.' but a fact. The\nmovements of the bheel are those of the serpent. If you sleep in your\ntent, with a servant lying across each entrance, the bheel will come and\ncrouch on the outside, in some shady corner, where he can hear the\nbreathing of those within. As soon as the European sleeps, he feels sure\nof success, for the Asiatic will not long resist the attraction of\nrepose. At the proper moment, he makes a vertical incision in the cloth\nof the tent, on the spot where he happens to be, and just large enough to\nadmit him. He glides through like a phantom, without making the least\ngrain of sand creak beneath his tread. He is perfectly naked, and all his\nbody is rubbed over with oil; a two-edged knife is suspended from his\nneck. He will squat down close to your couch, and, with incredible\ncoolness and dexterity, will gather up the sheet in very little folds, so\nas to occupy the least surface possible; then, passing to the other side,\nhe will lightly tickle the sleeper, whom he seems to magnetize, till the\nlatter shrinks back involuntarily, and ends by turning round, and leaving\nthe sheet folded behind him. Should he awake, and strive to seize the\nrobber, he catches at a slippery form, which slides through his hands\nlike an eel; should he even succeed in seizing him, it would be\nfatal--the dagger strikes him to the heart, he falls bathed in his blood,\nand the assassin disappears.\"--E. S.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTHE SMUGGLER\n\nThe tempest of the morning has long been over. The sun is verging towards\nthe horizon. Some hours have elapsed, since the Strangler introduced\nhimself into Djalma's cabin, and tattooed him with a mysterious sign\nduring his sleep.\n\nA horseman advances rapidly down a long avenue of spreading trees.\nSheltered by the thick and verdant arch, a thousand birds salute the\nsplendid evening with songs and circlings; red and green parrots climb,\nby help of their hooked beaks, to the top of pink-blossomed acacias;\nlarge Morea birds of the finest and richest blue, whose throats and long\ntails change in the light to a golden brown, are chasing the prince\noriels, clothed in their glossy feathers of black and orange; Kolo doves,\nof a changeable violet hue, are gently cooing by the side of the birds of\nparadise, in whose brilliant plumage are mingled the prismatic colors of\nthe emerald and ruby, the topaz and sapphire.\n\nThis avenue, a little raised, commanded a view of a small pond, which\nreflected at intervals the green shade of tamarind trees. In the calm,\nlimpid waters, many fish were visible, some with silver scales and purple\nfins, others gleaming with azure and vermilion; so still were they that\nthey looked as if set in a mass of bluish crystal, and, as they dwelt\nmotionless near the surface of the pool, on which played a dazzling ray\nof the sun, they revelled in the enjoyment of the light and heat. A\nthousand insects--living gems, with wings of flame--glided, fluttered and\nbuzzed over the transparent wave, in which, at an extraordinary depth,\nwere mirrored the variegated tints of the aquatic plants on the bank.\n\nIt is impossible to give an adequate idea of the exuberant nature of this\nscene, luxuriant in the sunlight, colors, and perfumes, which served, so\nto speak, as a frame to the young and brilliant rider, who was advancing\nalong the avenue. It was Djalma. He had not yet perceived the indelible\nmarks, which the Strangler had traced upon his left arm.\n\nHis Japanese mare, of slender make, full of fire and vigor, is black as\nnight. A narrow red cloth serves instead of saddle. To moderate the\nimpetuous bounds of the animal, Djalma uses a small steel bit, with\nheadstall and reins of twisted scarlet silk, fine as a thread.\n\nNot one of those admirable riders, sculptured so masterly on the frieze\nof the Parthenon, sits his horse more gracefully and proudly than this\nyoung Indian, whose fine face, illumined by the setting sun, is radiant\nwith serene happiness; his eyes sparkle with joy, and his dilated\nnostrils and unclosed lips inhale with delight the balmy breeze, that\nbrings to him the perfume of flowers and the scent of fresh leaves, for\nthe trees are still moist from the abundant rain that fell after the\nstorm.\n\nA red cap, similar to that worn by the Greeks, surmounting the black\nlocks of Djalma, sets off to advantage the golden tint of his complexion;\nhis throat is bare; he is clad in his robe of white muslin with large\nsleeves, confined at the waist by a scarlet sash; very full drawers, in\nwhite cotton stuff, leave half uncovered his tawny and polished legs;\ntheir classic curve stands out from the dark sides of the horse, which he\npresses tightly between his muscular calves. He has no stirrups; his\nfoot, small and narrow, is shod with a sandal of morocco leather.\n\nThe rush of his thoughts, by turns impetuous and restrained, was\nexpressed in some degree by the pace he imparted to his horse--now bold\nand precipitate, like the flight of unbridled imagination--now calm and\nmeasured, like the reflection which succeeds an idle dream. But, in all\nthis fantastic course, his least movements were distinguished by a proud,\nindependent and somewhat savage grace.\n\nDispossessed of his paternal territory by the English, and at first\ndetained by them as a state-prisoner after the death of his father--who\n(as M. Joshua Van Dael had written to M. Rodin) had fallen sword in\nhand--Djalma had at length been restored to liberty. Abandoning the\ncontinent of India, and still accompanied by General Simon, who had\nlingered hard by the prison of his old friend's son, the young Indian\ncame next to Batavia, the birthplace of his mother, to collect the modest\ninheritance of his maternal ancestors. And amongst this property, so long\ndespised or forgotten by his father, he found some important papers, and\na medal exactly similar to that worn by Rose and Blanche.\n\nGeneral Simon was not more surprised than pleased at this discovery,\nwhich not only established a tie of kindred between his wife and Djalma's\nmother, but which also seemed to promise great advantages for the future.\nLeaving Djalma at Batavia, to terminate some business there, he had gone\nto the neighboring island of Sumatra, in the hope of finding a vessel\nthat would make the passage to Europe directly and rapidly; for it was\nnow necessary that, cost what it might, the young Indian also should be\nat Paris on the 13th February, 1832. Should General Simon find a vessel\nready to sail for Europe, he was to return immediately, to fetch Djalma;\nand the latter, expecting him daily, was now going to the pier of\nBatavia, hoping to see the father of Rose and Blanche arrive by the mail\nboat from Sumatra.\n\nA few words are here necessary on the early life of the son of Kadja\nsing.\n\nHaving lost his mother very young, and brought up with rude simplicity,\nhe had accompanied his father, whilst yet a child, to the great tiger\nhunts, as dangerous as battles; and, in the first dawn of youth, he had\nfollowed him to the stern bloody war, which he waged in defence of his\ncountry. Thus living, from the time of his mother's death, in the midst\nof forests and mountains and continual combats, his vigorous and\ningenuous nature had preserved itself pure, and he well merited the name\nof \"The Generous\" bestowed on him. Born a prince, he was--which by no\nmeans follows--a prince indeed. During the period of his captivity, the\nsilent dignity of his bearing had overawed his jailers. Never a reproach,\nnever a complaint--a proud and melancholy calm was all that he opposed to\na treatment as unjust as it was barbarous, until he was restored to\nfreedom.\n\nHaving thus been always accustomed to a patriarchal life, or to a war of\nmountaineers, which he had only quitted to pass a few months in prison,\nDjalma knew nothing, so to speak, of civilized society. Without its\nexactly amounting to a defect, he certainly carried his good qualities to\ntheir extreme limits. Obstinately faithful to his pledged word, devoted\nto the death, confiding to blindness, good almost to a complete\nforgetfulness of himself, he was inflexible towards ingratitude,\nfalsehood, or perfidy. He would have felt no compunction to sacrifice a\ntraitor, because, could he himself have committed a treason, he would\nhave thought it only just to expiate it with his life.\n\nHe was, in a word, the man of natural feelings, absolute and entire. Such\na man, brought into contact with the temperaments, calculations,\nfalsehoods, deceptions, tricks, restrictions, and hollowness of a refined\nsociety, such as Paris, for example, would, without doubt, form a very\ncurious subject for speculation. We raise this hypothesis, because, since\nhis journey to France had been determined on, Djalma had one fixed,\nardent desire--to be in Paris.\n\nIn Paris--that enchanted city--of which, even in Asia, the land of\nenchantment, so many marvelous tales were told.\n\nWhat chiefly inflamed the fresh, vivid imagination of the young Indian,\nwas the thought of French women--those attractive Parisian beauties,\nmiracles of elegance and grace, who eclipsed, he was informed, even the\nmagnificence of the capitals of the civilized world. And at this very\nmoment, in the brightness of that warm and splendid evening, surrounded\nby the intoxication of flowers and perfumes, which accelerated the pulses\nof his young fiery heart, Djalma was dreaming of those exquisite\ncreatures, whom his fancy loved to clothe in the most ideal garbs.\n\nIt seemed to him as if, at the end of the avenue, in the midst of that\nsheet of golden light, which the trees encompassed with their full, green\narch, he could see pass and repass, white and sylph-like, a host of\nadorable and voluptuous phantoms, that threw him kisses from the tips of\ntheir rosy fingers. Unable to restrain his burning emotions, carried away\nby a strange enthusiasm, Djalma uttered exclamations of joy, deep, manly,\nand sonorous, and made his vigorous courser bound under him in the\nexcitement of a mad delight. Just then a sunbeam, piercing the dark vault\nof the avenue, shone full upon him.\n\nFor several minutes, a man had been advancing rapidly along a path,\nwhich, at its termination, intersected the avenue diagonally. He stopped\na moment in the shade, looking at Djalma with astonishment. It was indeed\na charming sight, to behold, in the midst of a blaze of dazzling lustre,\nthis youth, so handsome, joyous, and ardent, clad in his white and\nflowing vestments, gayly and lightly seated on his proud black mare, who\ncovered her red bridle with her foam, and whose long tail and thick mane\nfloated on the evening breeze.\n\nBut, with that reaction which takes place in all human desires, Djalma\nsoon felt stealing over him a sentiment of soft, undefinable melancholy.\nHe raised his hand to his eyes, now dimmed with moisture, and allowed the\nreins to fall on the mane of his docile steed, which, instantly stopping,\nstretched out its long neck, and turned its head in the direction of the\npersonage, whom it could see approaching through the coppice.\n\nThis man, Mahal the Smuggler, was dressed nearly like European sailors.\nHe wore jacket and trousers of white duck, a broad red sash, and a very\nlow-crowned straw hat. His face was brown, with strongly-marked features,\nand, though forty years of age, he was quite beardless.\n\nIn another moment, Mahal was close to the young Indian. \"You are Prince\nDjalma?\" said he, in not very good French, raising his hand respectfully\nto his hat.\n\n\"What would you?\" said the Indian.\n\n\"You are the son of Kadja-sing?\"\n\n\"Once again, what would you?\"\n\n\"The friend of General Simon?\"\n\n\"General Simon?\" cried Djalma.\n\n\"You are going to meet him, as you have gone every evening, since you\nexpect his return from Sumatra?\"\n\n\"Yes, but how do you know all this?\" said the Indian looking at the\nSmuggler with as much surprise as curiosity.\n\n\"Is he not to land at Batavia, to-day or to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Are you sent by him?\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Mahal, with a distrustful air. \"But are you really the\nson of Kadja-sing?\"\n\n\"Yes, I tell you--but where have you seen General Simon?\"\n\n\"If you are the son of Kadja-sing,\" resumed Mahal, continuing to regard\nDjalma with a suspicious eye, \"what is your surname?\"\n\n\"My sire was called the 'Father of the Generous,'\" answered the young\nIndian, as a shade of sorrow passed over his fine countenance.\n\nThese words appeared in part to convince Mahal of the identity of Djalma;\nbut, wishing doubtless to be still more certain, he resumed: \"You must\nhave received, two days ago, a letter from General Simon, written from\nSumatra?\"\n\n\"Yes; but why so many questions?\"\n\n\"To assure myself that you are really the son of Kadja-sing, and to\nexecute the orders I have received.\"\n\n\"From whom?\"\n\n\"From General Simon.\"\n\n\"But where is he?\"\n\n\"When I have proof that you are Prince Djalma, I will tell you. I was\ninformed that you would be mounted on a black mare, with a red bridle.\nBut--\"\n\n\"By the soul of my mother! speak what you have to say!\"\n\n\"I will tell you all--if you can tell me what was the printed paper,\ncontained in the last letter that General Simon wrote you from Sumatra.\"\n\n\"It was a cutting from a French newspaper.\"\n\n\"Did it announce good or bad news for the general?\"\n\n\"Good news--for it related that, during his absence, they had\nacknowledged the last rank and title bestowed on him by the Emperor, as\nthey had done for others of his brothers in arms, exiled like him.\"\n\n\"You are indeed Prince Djalma,\" said the Smuggler, after a moment's\nreflection. \"I may speak. General Simon landed last night in Java, but on\na desert part of the coast.\"\n\n\"On a desert part?\"\n\n\"Because he has to hide himself.\"\n\n\"Hide himself!\" exclaimed Djalma, in amazement; \"why?\"\n\n\"That I don't know.\"\n\n\"But where is he?\" asked Djalma, growing pale with alarm.\n\n\"He is three leagues hence--near the sea-shore--in the ruins of Tchandi.\"\n\n\"Obliged to hide himself!\" repeated Djalma, and his countenance expressed\nincreasing surprise and anxiety.\n\n\"Without being certain, I think it is because of a duel he fought in\nSumatra,\" said the Smuggler, mysteriously.\n\n\"A duel--with whom?\"\n\n\"I don't know--I am not at all certain on the subject. But do you know\nthe ruins of Tchandi?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"The general expects you there; that is what he ordered me to tell you.\"\n\n\"So you came with him from Sumatra?\"\n\n\"I was pilot of the little smuggling coaster, that landed him in the\nnight on a lonely beach. He knew that you went every day to the mole, to\nwait for him; I was almost sure that I should meet you. He gave me\ndetails about the letter you received from him as a proof that he had\nsent me. If he could have found the means of writing, he would have\nwritten.\"\n\n\"But he did not tell you why he was obliged to hide himself?\"\n\n\"He told me nothing. Certain words made me suspect what I told you--a\nduel.\"\n\nKnowing the mettle of General Simon, Djalma thought the suspicions of the\nSmuggler not unfounded. After a moment's silence he said to him: \"Can you\nundertake to lead home my horse? My dwelling is without the town--there,\nin the midst of those trees--by the side of the new mosque. In ascending\nthe mountain of Tchandi, my horse would be in my way; I shall go much\nfaster on foot.\"\n\n\"I know where you live; General Simon told me. I should have gone there\nif I had not met you. Give me your horse.\"\n\nDjalma sprang lightly to the ground, threw the bridle to Mahal, unrolled\none end of his sash, took out a silk purse, and gave it to the Smuggler,\nsaying: \"You have been faithful and obedient. Here!--it is a trifle--but\nI have no more.\"\n\n\"Kadja-sing was rightly called the 'Father of the Generous,'\" said the\nSmuggler, bowing with respect and gratitude. He took the road to Batavia,\nleading Djalma's horse. The young Indian, on the contrary, plunged into\nthe coppice, and, walking with great strides, he directed his course\ntowards the mountain, on which were the ruins of Tchandi, where he could\nnot arrive before night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nM. JOSHUA VAN DAEL.\n\nM. Joshua Van Dael a Dutch merchant, and correspondent of M. Rodin, was\nborn at Batavia, the capital of the island of Java; his parents had sent\nhim to be educated at Pondicherry, in a celebrated religious house, long\nestablished in that place, and belonging to the \"Society of Jesus.\" It\nwas there that he was initiated into the order as \"professor of the three\nvows,\" or lay member, commonly called \"temporal coadjutor.\"\n\nJoshua was a man of probity that passed for stainless; of strict accuracy\nin business, cold, careful, reserved, and remarkably skillful and\nsagacious; his financial operations were almost always successful, for a\nprotecting power gave him ever in time, knowledge of events which might\nadvantageously influence his commercial transactions. The religious house\nof Pondicherry was interested in his affairs, having charged him with the\nexportation and exchange of the produce of its large possessions in this\ncolony.\n\nSpeaking little, hearing much, never disputing, polite in the\nextreme--giving seldom, but with choice and purpose--Joshua, without\ninspiring sympathy, commanded generally that cold respect, which is\nalways paid to the rigid moralist; for instead of yielding to the\ninfluence of lax and dissolute colonial manners, he appeared to live with\ngreat regularity, and his exterior had something of austerity about it,\nwhich tended to overawe.\n\nThe following scene took place at Batavia, while Djalma was on his way to\nthe ruins of Tchandi in the hope of meeting General Simon.\n\nM. Joshua had just retired into his cabinet, in which were many shelves\nfilled with paper boxes, and huge ledgers and cash boxes lying open upon\ndesks. The only window of this apartment, which was on the ground floor,\nlooked out upon a narrow empty court, and was protected externally by\nstrong iron bars; instead of glass, it was fitted with a Venetian blind,\nbecause of the extreme heat of the climate.\n\nM. Joshua, having placed upon his desk a taper in a glass globe, looked\nat the clock. \"Half-past nine,\" said he. \"Mahal ought soon to be here.\"\n\nSaying this, he went out, passing through an antechamber, opened a second\nthick door, studded with nail-heads, in the Dutch fashion, cautiously\nentered the court (so as not to be heard by the people in the house), and\ndrew back the secret bolt of a gate six feet high, formidably garnished\nwith iron spikes. Leaving this gate unfastened, he regained his cabinet,\nafter he had successively and carefully closed the two other doors behind\nhim.\n\nM. Joshua next seated himself at his desk, and took from a drawer a long\nletter, or rather statement, commenced some time before, and continued\nday by day. It is superfluous to observe, that the letter already\nmentioned, as addressed to M. Rodin, was anterior to the liberation of\nDjalma and his arrival at Batavia.\n\nThe present statement was also addressed to M. Rodin, and Van Dael thus\nwent on with it:\n\n\"Fearing the return of General Simon, of which I had been informed by\nintercepting his letters--I have already told you, that I had succeeded\nin being employed by him as his agent here; having then read his letters,\nand sent them on as if untouched to Djalma, I felt myself obliged, from\nthe pressure of the circumstances, to have recourse to extreme\nmeasures--taking care always to preserve appearances, and rendering at\nthe same time a signal service to humanity, which last reason chiefly\ndecided me.\n\n\"A new danger imperiously commanded these measures. The steamship\n'Ruyter' came in yesterday, and sails tomorrow in the course of the day.\nShe is to make the voyage to Europe via the Arabian Gulf; her passengers\nwill disembark at Suez, cross the Isthmus, and go on board another vessel\nat Alexandria, which will bring them to France. This voyage, as rapid as\nit is direct, will not take more than seven or eight weeks. We are now at\nthe end of October; Prince Djalma might then be in France by the\ncommencement of the month of January; and according to your instructions,\nof which I know not the motive, but which I execute with zeal and\nsubmission, his departure must be prevented at all hazards, because, you\ntell me, some of the gravest interests of the Society would be\ncompromised, by the arrival of this young Indian in Paris before the 13th\nof February. Now, if I succeed, as I hope, in making him miss this\nopportunity of the 'Ruyter' it will be materially impossible for him to\narrive in France before the month of April; for the 'Ruyter' is the only\nvessel which makes the direct passage, the others taking at least four or\nfive months to reach Europe.\n\n\"Before telling you the means which I have thought right to employ, to\ndetain Prince Djalma--of the success of which means I am yet\nuncertain--it is well that you should be acquainted with the following\nfacts.\n\n\"They have just discovered, in British India, a community whose members\ncall themselves 'Brothers of the Good Work,' or 'Phansegars,' which\nsignifies simply 'Thugs' or 'Stranglers;' these murderers do not shed\nblood, but strangle their victims, less for the purpose of robbing them,\nthan in obedience to a homicidal vocation, and to the laws of an infernal\ndivinity named by them 'Bowanee.'\n\n\"I cannot better give you an idea of this horrible sect, than by\ntranscribing here some lines from the introduction of a report by Colonel\nSleeman, who has hunted out this dark association with indefatigable\nzeal. The report in question was published about two months ago. Here is\nthe extract; it is the colonel who speaks:\n\n\"'From 1822 to 1824, when I was charged with the magistracy and civil\nadministration of the district of Nersingpore, not a murder, not the\nleast robbery was committed by an ordinary criminal, without my being\nimmediately informed of it; but if any one had come and told me at this\nperiod, that a band of hereditary assassins by profession lived in the\nvillage of Kundelie, within about four hundred yards of my court of\njustice--that the beautiful groves of the village of Mundesoor, within a\nday's march of my residence, formed one of the most frightful marts of\nassassination in all India--that numerous bands of 'Brothers of the Good\nWork,' coming from Hindostan and the Deccan, met annually beneath these\nshades, as at a solemn festival, to exercise their dreadful vocation upon\nall the roads which cross each other in this locality--I should have\ntaken such a person for a madman, or one who had been imposed upon by\nidle tales. And yet nothing could be truer; hundreds of travellers had\nbeen buried every year in the groves of Mundesoor; a whole tribe of\nassassins lived close to my door, at the very time I was supreme\nmagistrate of the province, and extended their devastations to the cities\nof Poonah and Hyderabad. I shall never forget, when, to convince me of\nthe fact, one of the chiefs of the Stranglers, who had turned informer\nagainst them, caused thirteen bodies to be dug up from the ground beneath\nmy tent, and offered to produce any number from the soil in the immediate\nvicinity.'[5]\n\n\"These few words of Colonel Sleeman will give some idea of this dread\nsociety, which has its laws, duties, customs, opposed to all other laws,\nhuman and divine. Devoted to each other, even to heroism, blindly\nobedient to their chiefs, who profess themselves the immediate\nrepresentatives of their dark divinity, regarding as enemies all who do\nnot belong to them, gaining recruits everywhere by a frightful system of\nproselytising--these apostles of a religion of murder go preaching their\nabominable doctrines in the shade, and spreading their immense net over\nthe whole of India.\n\n\"Three of their principal chiefs, and one of their adepts, flying from\nthe determined pursuit of the English governor-general, having succeeded\nin making their escape, had arrived at the Straits of Malacca, at no\ngreat distance from our island; a smuggler, who is also something of a\npirate, attached to their association, and by name Mahal, took them on\nboard his coasting vessel, and brought them hither, where they think\nthemselves for some time in safety--as, following the advice of the\nsmuggler, they lie concealed in a thick forest, in which are many ruined\ntemples and numerous subterranean retreats.\n\n\"Amongst these chiefs, all three remarkably intelligent, there is one in\nparticular, named Faringhea, whose extraordinary energy and eminent\nqualities make him every way redoubtable. He is of the mixed race, half\nwhite and Hindoo, has long inhabited towns in which are European\nfactories and speaks English and French very well. The other two chiefs\nare a Negro and a Hindoo; the adept is a Malay.\n\n\"The smuggler, Mahal, considering that he could obtain a large reward by\ngiving up these three chiefs and their adept, came to me, knowing, as all\nthe world knows, my intimate relations with a person who has great\ninfluence with our governor. Two days ago, he offered me, on certain\nconditions, to deliver up the Negro, the half-caste, the Hindoo, and the\nMalay. These conditions are--a considerable sum of money, and a free\npassage on board a vessel sailing for Europe or America, in order to\nescape the implacable vengeance of the Thugs.\n\n\"I joyfully seized the occasion to hand over three such murderers to\nhuman justice, and I promised Mahal to arrange matters for him with the\ngovernor, but also on certain conditions, innocent in themselves, and\nwhich concerned Djalma. Should my project succeed, I will explain myself\nmore at length; I shall soon know the result, for I expect Mahal every\nminute.\n\n\"But before I close these despatches, which are to go tomorrow by the\n'Ruyter'--in which vessel I have also engaged a passage for Mahal the\nSmuggler, in the event of the success of my plans--I must include in\nparentheses a subject of some importance.\n\n\"In my last letter, in which I announced to you the death of Djalma's\nfather, and his own imprisonment by the English, I asked for some\ninformation as to the solvency of Baron Tripeaud, banker and manufacturer\nat Paris, who has also an agency at Calcutta. This information will now\nbe useless, if what I have just learned should, unfortunately, turn out\nto be correct, and it will be for you to act according to circumstances.\n\n\"This house at Calcutta owes considerable sums both to me and our\ncolleague at Pondicherry, and it is said that M. Tripeaud has involved\nhimself to a dangerous extent in attempting to ruin, by opposition, a\nvery flourishing establishment, founded some time ago by M. Francois\nHardy, an eminent manufacturer. I am assured that M. Tripeaud has already\nsunk and lost a large capital in this enterprise: he has no doubt done a\ngreat deal of harm to M. Francois Hardy; but he has also, they say,\nseriously compromised his own fortune--and, were he to fail, the effects\nof his disaster would be very fatal to us, seeing that he owes a large\nsum of money to me and to us.\n\n\"In this state of things it would be very desirable if, by the employment\nof the powerful means of every kind at our disposal, we could completely\ndiscredit and break down the house of M. Francois Hardy, already shaken\nby M. Tripeaud's violent opposition. In that case, the latter would soon\nregain all he has lost; the ruin of his rival would insure his\nprosperity, and our demands would be securely covered.\n\n\"Doubtless, it is painful, it is sad, to be obliged to have recourse to\nthese extreme measures, only to get back our own; but, in these days, are\nwe not surely justified in sometimes using the arms that are incessantly\nturned against us? If we are reduced to such steps by the injustice and\nwickedness of men, we may console ourselves with the reflection that we\nonly seek to preserve our worldly possessions, in order to devote them to\nthe greater glory of God; whilst, in the hands of our enemies, those very\ngoods are the dangerous instruments of perdition and scandal.\n\n\"After all it is merely a humble proposition that I submit to you. Were\nit in my power to take an active part in the matter, I should do nothing\nof myself. My will is not my own. It belongs, with all I possess, to\nthose whom I have sworn absolute obedience.\"\n\nHere a slight noise interrupted M. Joshua, and drew his attention from\nhis work. He rose abruptly, and went straight to the window. Three gentle\ntaps were given on the outside of one of the slats of the blind.\n\n\"Is it you, Mahal?\" asked M. Joshua, in a low voice.\n\n\"It is I,\" was answered from without, also in a low tone.\n\n\"And the Malay?\"\n\n\"He has succeeded.\"\n\n\"Really!\" cried M. Joshua, with an expression of great satisfaction; \"are\nyou sure of it?\"\n\n\"Quite sure: there is no devil more clever and intrepid.\"\n\n\"And Djalma?\"\n\n\"The parts of the letter, which I quoted, convinced him that I came from\nGeneral Simon, and that he would find him at the ruins of Tchandi.\"\n\n\"Therefore, at this moment--\"\n\n\"Djalma goes to the ruins, where he will encounter the black, the half\nblood, and the Indian. It is there they have appointed to meet the Malay,\nwho tattooed the prince during his sleep.\"\n\n\"Have you been to examine the subterraneous passage?\"\n\n\"I went there yesterday. One of the stones of the pedestal of the statue\nturns upon itself; the stairs are large; it will do.\"\n\n\"And the three chiefs have no suspicion?\"\n\n\"None--I saw them in the morning--and this evening the Malay came to tell\nme all, before he went to join them at the ruins of Tchandi--for he had\nremained hidden amongst the bushes, not daring to go there in the\ndaytime.\"\n\n\"Mahal--if you have told the truth, and if all succeed--your pardon and\nample reward are assured to you. Your berth has been taken on board the\n'Ruyter;' you will sail to-morrow; you will thus be safe from the malice\nof the Stranglers, who would follow you hither to revenge the death of\ntheir chiefs, Providence having chosen you to deliver those three great\ncriminals to justice. Heaven will bless you!--Go and wait for me at the\ndoor of the governor's house; I will introduce you. The matter is so\nimportant that I do not hesitate to disturb him thus late in the night.\nGo quickly!--I will follow on my side.\"\n\nThe steps of Mahal were distinctly audible, as he withdrew precipitately,\nand then silence reigned once more in the house. Joshua returned to his\ndesk, and hastily added these words to the despatch, which he had before\ncommenced:\n\n\"Whatever may now happen, it will be impossible for Djalma to leave\nBatavia at present. You may rest quite satisfied; he will not be at Paris\nby the 13th of next February. As I foresaw, I shall have to be up all\nnight.--I am just going to the governor's. To-morrow I will add a few\nlines to this long statement, which the steamship 'Ruyter' will convey to\nEurope.\"\n\nHaving locked up his papers, Joshua rang the bell loudly, and, to the\ngreat astonishment of his servants, not accustomed to see him leave home\nin the middle of the night, went in all haste to the residence of the\ngovernor of the island.\n\nWe now conduct the reader to the ruins of Tchandi.\n\n[5] This report is extracted from Count Edward de Warren's excellent work,\n\"British India in 1831.\"--E. S.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nTHE RUINS OF TCHANDI.\n\nTo the storm in the middle of the day, the approach of which so well\nserved the Strangler's designs upon Djalma, has succeeded a calm and\nserene night. The disk of the moon rises slowly behind a mass of lofty\nruins, situated on a hill, in the midst of a thick wood, about three\nleagues from Batavia.\n\nLong ranges of stone, high walls of brick, fretted away by time,\nporticoes covered with parasitical vegetation, stand out boldly from the\nsheet of silver light which blends the horizon with the limpid blue of\nthe heavens. Some rays of the moon, gliding through the opening on one of\nthese porticoes, fall upon two colossal statues at the foot of an immense\nstaircase, the loose stones of which are almost entirely concealed by\ngrass, moss, and brambles.\n\nThe fragments of one of these statues, broken in the middle, lie strewed\nupon the ground; the other, which remains whole and standing, is\nfrightful to behold. It represents a man of gigantic proportions, with a\nhead three feet high; the expression of the countenance is ferocious,\neyes of brilliant slaty black are set beneath gray brows, the large, deep\nmouth gapes immoderately, and reptiles have made their nest between the\nlips of stone; by the light of the moon, a hideous swarm is there dimly\nvisible. A broad girdle, adorned with symbolic ornaments, encircles the\nbody of this statue, and fastens a long sword to its right side. The\ngiant has four extended arms, and, in his great hands, he bears an\nelephant's head, a twisted serpent, a human skull, and a bird resembling\na heron. The moon, shedding her light on the profile of this statue,\nserves to augment the weirdness of its aspect.\n\nHere and there, enclosed in the half-crumbling walls of brick, are\nfragments of stone bas-reliefs, very boldly cut; one of those in the best\npreservation represents a man with the head of an elephant, and the wings\nof a bat, devouring a child. Nothing can be more gloomy than these ruins,\nburied among thick trees of a dark green, covered with frightful emblems,\nand seen by the moonlight, in the midst of the deep silence of night.\n\nAgainst one of the walls of this ancient temple, dedicated to some\nmysterious and bloody Javanese divinity, leans a kind of hut, rudely\nconstructed of fragments of brick and stone; the door, made of woven\nrushes, is open, and a red light streams from it, which throws its rays\non the tall grass that covers the ground. Three men are assembled in this\nhovel, around a clay-lamp, with a wick of cocoanut fibre steeped in\npalm-oil.\n\nThe first of these three, about forty years of age, is poorly clad in the\nEuropean fashion; his pale, almost white, complexion, announces that he\nbelongs to the mixed race, being offspring of a white father and Indian\nmother.\n\nThe second is a robust African negro, with thick lips, vigorous\nshoulders, and lank legs; his woolly hair is beginning to turn gray; he\nis covered with rags, and stands close beside the Indian. The third\npersonage is asleep, and stretched on a mat in the corner of the hovel.\n\nThese three men are the three Thuggee chiefs, who, obliged to fly from\nthe continent of India, have taken refuge in Java, under the guidance of\nMahal the Smuggler.\n\n\"The Malay does not return,\" said the half-blood, named Faringhea, the\nmost redoubtable chief of this homicidal sect: \"in executing our orders,\nhe has perhaps been killed by Djalma.\"\n\n\"The storm of this morning brought every reptile out of the earth,\" said\nthe negro; \"the Malay must have been bitten, and his body ere now a nest\nof serpents.\"\n\n\"To serve the good work,\" proceeded Faringhea, with a gloomy air, \"one\nmust know how to brave death.\"\n\n\"And to inflict it,\" added the negro.\n\nA stifled cry, followed by some inarticulate words, here drew the\nattention of these two men, who hastily turned their heads in the\ndirection of the sleeper. This latter was thirty years old at most. His\nbeardless face, of a bright copper color, his robe of coarse stuff, his\nturban striped brown and yellow, showed that he belonged to the pure\nHindoo race. His sleep appeared agitated by some painful vision; an\nabundant sweat streamed over his countenance, contracted by terror; he\nspoke in his dream, but his words were brief and broken, and accompanied\nwith convulsive starts.\n\n\"Again that dream!\" said Faringhea to the negro. \"Always the remembrance\nof that man.\"\n\n\"What man?\"\n\n\"Do you not remember, how, five years ago, that savage, Colonel Kennedy,\nbutcher of the Indians, came to the banks of the Ganges, to hunt the\ntiger, with twenty horses, four elephants, and fifty servants?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said the negro; \"and we three, hunters of men, made a better\nday's sport than he did. Kennedy, his horses, his elephants, and his\nnumerous servants did not get their tiger--but we got ours,\" he added,\nwith grim irony. \"Yes; Kennedy, that tiger with a human face, fell into\nour ambush, and the brothers of the good work offered up their fine prey\nto our goddess Bowanee.\"\n\n\"If you remember, it was just at the moment when we gave the last tug to\nthe cord round Kennedy's neck, that we perceived on a sudden a traveller\nclose at hand. He had seen us, and it was necessary to make away with\nhim. Now, since that time,\" added Faringhea, \"the remembrance of the\nmurder of that man pursues our brother in his dreams,\" and he pointed to\nthe sleeping Indian.\n\n\"And even when he is awake,\" said the negro, looking at Faringhea with a\nsignificant air.\n\n\"Listen!\" said the other, again pointing to the Indian, who, in the\nagitation of his dream, recommenced talking in abrupt sentences; \"listen!\nhe is repeating the answers of the traveller, when we told him he must\ndie, or serve with us on Thuggee. His mind is still impressed--deeply\nimpressed--with those words.\"\n\nAnd, in fact, the Indian repeated aloud in his sleep, a sort of\nmysterious dialogue, of which he himself supplied both questions and\nanswers.\n\n\"'Traveller,' said he, in a voice broken by sudden pauses, 'why that\nblack mark on your forehead, stretching from one temple to the other? It\nis a mark of doom and your look is sad as death. Have you been a victim?\nCome with us; Kallee will avenge you. You have suffered?'--'Yes, I have\ngreatly suffered.'--'For a long time?'--'Yes, for a very long\ntime.'--'You suffer even now?'--'Yes, even now.'--What do you reserve for\nthose who injure you?'--'My pity.'--'Will you not render blow for\nblow?'--'I will return love for hate.'--'Who are you, then, that render\ngood for evil?'--'I am one who loves, and suffers, and forgives.'\"\n\n\"Brother, do you hear?\" said the negro to Faringhea; \"he has not\nforgotten the words of the traveller before his death.\"\n\n\"The vision follows him. Listen! he will speak again. How pale he is!\"\nStill under the influence of his dream, the Indian continued:\n\n\"'Traveller, we are three; we are brave; we have your life in our\nhands--you have seen us sacrifice to the good work. Be one of us, or\ndie--die--die! Oh, that look! Not thus--do not look at me thus!'\" As he\nuttered these last words, the Indian made a sudden movement, as if to\nkeep off some approaching object, and awoke with a start. Then, passing\nhis hand over his moist forehead, he looked round him with a bewildered\neye.\n\n\"What! again this dream, brother?\" said Faringhea. \"For a bold hunter of\nmen, you have a weak head. Luckily, you have a strong heart and arm.\"\n\nThe other remained a moment silent, his face buried in his hands; then he\nreplied: \"It is long since I last dreamed of that traveller.\"\n\n\"Is he not dead?\" said Faringhea, shrugging his shoulders. \"Did you not\nyourself throw the cord around his neck?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the Indian shuddering.\n\n\"Did we not dig his grave by the side of Colonel Kennedy's? Did we not\nbury him with the English butcher, under the sand and the rushes?\" said\nthe negro.\n\n\"Yes, we dug his grave,\" said the Indian, trembling; \"and yet, only a\nyear ago, I was seated one evening at the gate of Bombay, waiting for one\nof our brothers--the sun was setting behind the pagoda, to the right of\nthe little hill--the scene is all before me now--I was seated under a\nfigtree--when I heard a slow, firm, even step, and, as I turned round my\nhead--I saw him--coming out of the town.\"\n\n\"A vision,\" said the negro; \"always the same vision!\"\n\n\"A vision,\" added Faringhea, \"or a vague resemblance.\"\n\n\"I knew him by the black mark on his forehead; it was none but he. I\nremained motionless with fear, gazing at him with eyes aghast. He\nstopped, bending upon me his calm, sad look. In spite of myself, I could\nnot help exclaiming: 'It is he!'--'Yes,' he replied, in his gentle voice,\n'it is I. Since all whom thou killest must needs live again,' and he\npointed to heaven as he spoke, 'why shouldst thou kill?--Hear me! I have\njust come from Java; I am going to the other end of the world, to a\ncountry of never-melting snow; but, here or there, on plains of fire or\nplains of ice, I shall still be the same. Even so is it with the souls of\nthose who fall beneath thy kalleepra; in this world or up above, in this\ngarb or in another, the soul must still be a soul; thou canst not smite\nit. Why then kill?'--and shaking his head sorrowfully, he went on his\nway, walking slowly, with downcast eyes; he ascended the hill of the\npagoda; I watched him as he went, without being able to move: at the\nmoment the sun set, he was standing on the summit of the hill, his tall\nfigure thrown out against the sky--and so he disappeared. Oh! it was he!\"\nadded the Indian with a shudder, after a long pause: \"it was none but\nhe.\"\n\nIn this story the Indian had never varied, though he had often\nentertained his companions with the same mysterious adventure. This\npersistency on his part had the effect of shaking their incredulity, or\nat least of inducing them to seek some natural cause for this apparently\nsuperhuman event.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Faringhea, after a moment's reflection, \"the knot round\nthe traveller's neck got jammed, and some breath was left him, the air\nmay have penetrated the rushes with which we covered his grave, and so\nlife have returned to him.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said the Indian, shaking his head, \"this man is not of our\nrace.\"\n\n\"Explain.\"\n\n\"Now I know it!\"\n\n\"What do you know?\"\n\n\"Listen!\" said the Indian, in a solemn voice; \"the number of victims that\nthe children of Bowanee have sacrificed since the commencement of ages,\nis nothing compared to the immense heap of dead and dying, whom this\nterrible traveller leaves behind him in his murderous march.\"\n\n\"He?\" cried the negro and Faringhea.\n\n\"Yes, he!\" repeated the Hindoo, with a convinced accent, that made its\nimpression upon his companions. \"Hear me and tremble!--When I met this\ntraveller at the gates of Bombay, he came from Java, and was going\ntowards the north, he said. The very next day, the town was a prey to the\ncholera, and we learned sometime after, that this plague had first broken\nout here, in Java.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said the negro.\n\n\"Hear me still further!\" resumed the other. \"'I am going towards the\nnorth, to a country of eternal snow,' said the traveller to me. The\ncholera also went towards the north, passing through Muscat--Ispahan\n--Tauris--Tiflis--till it overwhelmed Siberia.\"\n\n\"True,\" said Faringhea, becoming thoughtful:\n\n\"And the cholera,\" resumed the Indian, \"only travelled its five or six\nleagues a day--a man's tramp--never appeared in two places at once--but\nswept on slowly, steadily,--even as a man proceeds.\"\n\nAt the mention of this strange coincidence, the Hindoo's companions\nlooked at each other in amazement. After a silence of some minutes, the\nawe-struck negro said to the last speaker: \"So you think that this man--\"\n\n\"I think that this man, whom we killed, restored to life by some infernal\ndivinity, has been commissioned to bear this terrible scourge over the\nearth, and to scatter round his steps that death, from which he is\nhimself secure. Remember!\" added the Indian, with gloomy enthusiasm,\n\"this awful wayfarer passed through Java--the cholera wasted Java. He\npassed through Bombay--the cholera wasted Bombay. He went towards the\nnorth--the cholera wasted the north.\"\n\nSo saying, the Indian fell into a profound reverie. The negro and\nFaringhea were seized with gloomy astonishment.\n\nThe Indian spoke the truth as to the mysterious march (still unexplained)\nof that fearful malady, which has never been known to travel more than\nfive or six leagues a day, or to appear simultaneously in two spots.\nNothing can be more curious, than to trace out, on the maps prepared at\nthe period in question, the slow, progressive course of this travelling\npestilence, which offers to the astonished eye all the capricious\nincidents of a tourist's journey. Passing this way rather than\nthat--selecting provinces in a country--towns in a province--one quarter\nin a town--one street in a quarter--one house in a street--having its\nplace of residence and repose, and then continuing its slow, mysterious,\nfear inspiring march.\n\nThe words of the Hindoo, by drawing attention to these dreadful\neccentricities, made a strong impression upon the minds of the negro and\nFaringhea--wild natures, brought by horrible doctrines to the monomania\nof murder.\n\nYes--for this also is an established fact--there have been in India\nmembers of an abominable community, who killed without motive, without\npassion--killed for the sake of killing--for the pleasure of murder--to\nsubstitute death for life--to make of a living man a corpse, as they have\nthemselves declared in one of their examinations.\n\nThe mind loses itself in the attempt to penetrate the causes of these\nmonstrous phenomena. By what incredible series of events, have men been\ninduced to devote themselves to this priesthood of destruction? Without\ndoubt, such a religion could only flourish in countries given up, like\nIndia, to the most atrocious slavery, and to the most merciless iniquity\nof man to man.\n\nSuch a creed!--is it not the hate of exasperated humanity, wound up to\nits highest pitch by oppression?--May not this homicidal sect, whose\norigin is lost in the night of ages, have been perpetuated in these\nregions, as the only possible protest of slavery against despotism? May\nnot an inscrutable wisdom have here made Phansegars, even as are made\ntigers and serpents?\n\nWhat is most remarkable in this awful sect, is the mysterious bond,\nwhich, uniting its members amongst themselves, separates them from all\nother men. They have laws and customs of their own, they support and help\neach other, but for them there is neither country nor family; they owe no\nallegiance save to a dark, invisible power, whose decrees they obey with\nblind submission, and in whose name they spread themselves abroad, to\nmake corpses, according to their own savage expression.[6]\n\nFor some moments the three Stranglers had maintained a profound silence.\n\nOutside the hut, the moon continued to throw great masses of white\nradiance, and tall bluish shadows, over the imposing fabric of the ruins;\nthe stars sparkled in the heavens; from time to time, a faint breeze\nrustled through the thick and varnished leaves of the bananas and the\npalms.\n\nThe pedestal of the gigantic statue, which, still entire, stood on the\nleft side of the portico, rested upon large flagstones, half hidden with\nbrambles. Suddenly, one of these stones appeared to fall in; and from the\naperture, which thus formed itself without noise, a man, dressed in\nuniform, half protruded his body, looked carefully around him, and\nlistened.\n\nSeeing the rays of the lamp, which lighted the interior of the hovel,\ntremble upon the tall grass, he turned round to make a signal, and soon,\naccompanied by two other soldiers, he ascended, with the greatest silence\nand precaution, the last steps of the subterranean staircase, and went\ngliding amongst the ruins. For a few moments, their moving shadows were\nthrown upon the moonlit ground; then they disappeared behind some\nfragments of broken wall.\n\nAt the instant when the large stone resumed its place and level, the\nheads of many other soldiers might have been seen lying close in the\nexcavation. The half-caste, the Indian, and the negro, still seated\nthoughtfully in the hut, did not perceive what was passing.\n\n[6] The following are some passages from the Count de Warren's very\ncurious book, \"British India in 1831:\" \"Besides the robbers, who kill for\nthe sake of the booty they hope to find upon travellers, there is a class\nof assassins, forming an organized society, with chiefs of their own, a\nslang-language, a science, a free-masonry, and even a religion, which has\nits fanaticism and its devotion, its agents, emissaries, allies, its\nmilitant forces, and its passive adherents, who contribute their money to\nthe good work. This is the community of the Thugs or Phansegars\n(deceivers or stranglers, from thugna, to deceive, and phansna, to\nstrangle), a religious and economical society, which speculates with the\nhuman race by exterminating men; its origin is lost in the night of ages.\n\n\"Until 1810 their existence was unknown, not only to the European\nconquerors, but even to the native governments. Between the years 1816\nand 1830, several of their bands were taken in the act, and punished: but\nuntil this last epoch, all the revelations made on the subject by\nofficers of great experience, had appeared too monstrous to obtain the\nattention or belief of the public; they had been rejected and despised as\nthe dreams of a heated imagination. And yet for many years, at the very\nleast for half a century, this social wound had been frightfully on the\nincrease, devouring the population from the Himalayas to Cape Comorin and\nfrom Cutch to Assam.\n\n\"It was in the year 1830 that the revelations of a celebrated chief,\nwhose life was spared on condition of his denouncing his accomplices,\nlaid bare the whole system. The basis of the Thuggee Society is a\nreligious belief--the worship of Bowanee, a gloomy divinity, who is only\npleased with carnage, and detests above all things the human race. Her\nmost agreeable sacrifices are human victims, and the more of these her\ndisciple may have offered up in this world the more he will be\nrecompensed in the next by all the delights of soul and sense, by women\nalways beautiful, and joys eternally renewed. If the assassin meets the\nscaffold in his career, he dies with the enthusiasm of a martyr, because\nhe expects his reward. To obey his divine mistress, he murders, without\nanger and without remorse, the old man, woman and child; whilst, to his\nfellow-religionists, he may be charitable, humane, generous, devoted, and\nmay share all in common with them, because, like himself, they are the\nministers and adopted children of Bowanee. The destruction of his\nfellow-creatures, not belonging to his community--the diminution of the\nhuman race--that is the primary object of his pursuit; it is not as a\nmeans of gain, for though plunder may be a frequent, and doubtless an\nagreeable accessory, it is only secondary in his estimation. Destruction\nis his end, his celestial mission, his calling; it is also a delicious\npassion, the most captivating of all sports--this hunting of men!--'You\nfind great pleasure,' said one of those that were condemned, 'in tracking\nthe wild beast to his den, in attacking the boar, the tiger, because\nthere is danger to brave, energy and courage to display. Think how this\nattraction must be redoubled, when the contest is with man, when it is\nman that is to be destroyed. Instead of the single faculty of courage,\nall must be called into action--courage, cunning, foresight, eloquence,\nintrigue. What springs to put in motion! what plans to develop! To sport\nwith all the passions, to touch the chords of love and friendship, and so\ndraw the prey into one's net--that is a glorious chase--it is a delight,\na rapture, I tell you!'\n\n\"Whoever was in India in the years 1831 and 1832, must remember the\nstupor and affright, which the discovery of this vast infernal machine\nspread through all classes of society. A great number of magistrates and\nadministrators of provinces refused to believe in it, and could not be\nbrought to comprehend that such a system had so long preyed on the body\npolitic, under their eyes as it were, silently, and without betraying\nitself.\"--See \"British India in 183,\" by Count Edward de Warren, 2 vols.\nin 8vo. Paris, 1844.--E. S.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nTHE AMBUSCADE\n\nThe half-blood Faringhea, wishing doubtless to escape from the dark\nthoughts which the words of the Indian on the mysterious course of the\nCholera had raised within him, abruptly changed the subject of\nconversation. His eye shone with lurid fire, and his countenance took an\nexpression of savage enthusiasm, as he cried: \"Bowanee will always watch\nover us, intrepid hunters of men! Courage, brothers, courage! The world\nis large; our prey is everywhere. The English may force us to quit India,\nthree chiefs of the good work--but what matter? We leave there our\nbrethren, secret, numerous, and terrible, as black scorpions, whose\npresence is only known by their mortal sting. Exiles will widen our\ndomains. Brother, you shall have America!\" said he to the Hindoo, with an\ninspired air. \"Brother, you shall have Africa!\" said he to the negro.\n\"Brothers, I will take Europe! Wherever men are to be found, there must\nbe oppressors and victims--wherever there are victims, there must be\nhearts swollen with hate--it is for us to inflame that hate with all the\nardor of vengeance! It is for us, servants of Bowanee, to draw towards\nus, by seducing wiles, all whose zeal, courage, and audacity may be\nuseful to the cause. Let us rival each other in devotion and sacrifices;\nlet us lend each other strength, help, support! That all who are not with\nus may be our prey, let us stand alone in the midst of all, against all,\nand in spite of all. For us, there must be neither country nor family.\nOur family is composed of our brethren; our country is the world.\"\n\nThis kind of savage eloquence made a deep impression on the negro and the\nIndian, over whom Faringhea generally exercised considerable influence,\nhis intellectual powers being very superior to theirs, though they were\nthemselves two of the most eminent chiefs of this bloody association.\n\"Yes, you are right, brother!\" cried the Indian, sharing the enthusiasm\nof Faringhea; \"the world is ours. Even here, in Java, let us leave some\ntrace of our passage. Before we depart, let us establish the good work in\nthis island; it will increase quickly, for here also is great misery, and\nthe Dutch are rapacious as the English. Brother, I have seen in the\nmarshy rice-fields of this island, always fatal to those who cultivate\nthem, men whom absolute want forced to the deadly task--they were livid\nas corpses--some of them worn out with sickness, fatigue, and hunger,\nfell--never to rise again. Brothers, the good work will prosper in this\ncountry!\"\n\n\"The other evening,\" said the half-caste, \"I was on the banks of the\nlake, behind a rock; a young woman came there--a few rags hardly covered\nher lean and sun-scorched body--in her arms she held a little child,\nwhich she pressed weeping to her milkless breast. She kissed it three\ntimes, and said to it: 'You, at least, shall not be so unhappy as your\nfather'--and she threw it into the lake. It uttered one wail, and\ndisappeared. On this cry, the alligators, hidden amongst the reeds,\nleaped joyfully into the water. There are mothers here who kill their\nchildren out of pity.--Brothers, the good work will prosper in this\ncountry!\"\n\n\"This morning,\" said the negro, \"whilst they tore the flesh of one of his\nblack slaves with whips, a withered old merchant of Batavia left his\ncountry-house to come to the town. Lolling in his palanquin, he received,\nwith languid indolence, the sad caresses of two of those girls, whom he\nhad bought, to people his harem, from parents too poor to give them food.\nThe palanquin, which held this little old man, and the girls, was carried\nby twelve young and robust men. There are here, you see, mothers who in\ntheir misery sell their own daughters--slaves that are scourged--men that\ncarry other men, like beasts of burden.--Brothers, the good work will\nprosper in this country!\"\n\n\"Yes, in this country--and in every land of oppression, distress,\ncorruption, and slavery.\"\n\n\"Could we but induce Djalma to join us, as Mahal the Smuggler advised,\"\nsaid the Indian, \"our voyage to Java would doubly profit us; for we\nshould then number among our band this brave and enterprising youth, who\nhas so many motives to hate mankind.\"\n\n\"He will soon be here; let us envenom his resentments.\"\n\n\"Remind him of his father's death!\"\n\n\"Of the massacre of his people!\"\n\n\"His own captivity!\"\n\n\"Only let hatred inflame his heart, and he will be ours.\"\n\nThe negro, who had remained for some time lost in thought, said suddenly:\n\"Brothers, suppose Mahal the Smuggler were to betray us?\"\n\n\"He\" cried the Hindoo, almost with indignation; \"he gave us an asylum on\nboard his bark; he secured our flight from the Continent; he is again to\ntake us with him to Bombay, where we shall find vessels for America,\nEurope, Africa.\"\n\n\"What interest would Mahal have to betray us?\" said Faringhea. \"Nothing\ncould save him from the vengeance of the sons of Bowanee, and that he\nknows.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the black, \"he promised to get Djalma to come hither this\nevening, and, once amongst us, he must needs be our own.\"\n\n\"Was it not the Smuggler who told us to order the Malay to enter the\najoupa of Djalma, to surprise him during his sleep, and, instead of\nkilling him as he might have done, to trace the name of Bowanee upon his\narm? Djalma will thus learn to judge of the resolution, the cunning and\nobedience of our brethren, and he will understand what he has to hope or\nfear from such men. Be it through admiration or through terror, he must\nbecome one of us.\"\n\n\"But if he refuses to join us, notwithstanding the reasons he has to hate\nmankind?\"\n\n\"Then--Bowanee will decide his fate,\" said Faringhea, with a gloomy look;\n\"I have my plan.\"\n\n\"But will the Malay succeed in surprising Djalma during his sleep?\" said\nthe negro.\n\n\"There is none nobler, more agile, more dexterous, than the Malay,\" said\nFaringhea. \"He once had the daring to surprise in her den a black\npanther, as she suckled her cub. He killed the dam, and took away the\nyoung one, which he afterwards sold to some European ship's captain.\"\n\n\"The Malay has succeeded!\" exclaimed the Indian, listening to a singular\nkind of hoot, which sounded through the profound silence of the night and\nof the woods.\n\n\"Yes, it is the scream of the vulture seizing its prey,\" said the negro,\nlistening in his turn; \"it is also the signal of our brethren, after they\nhave seized their prey.\"\n\nIn a few minutes, the Malay appeared at the door of the hut. He had wound\naround him a broad length of cotton, adorned with bright colored stripes.\n\n\"Well,\" said the negro, anxiously; \"have you succeeded?\"\n\n\"Djalma must bear all his life the mark of the good work,\" said the\nMalay, proudly. \"To reach him, I was forced to offer up to Bowanee a man\nwho crossed my path--I have left his body under the brambles, near the\najoupa. But Djalma is marked with the sign. Mahal the Smuggler was the\nfirst to know it.\"\n\n\"And Djalma did not awake?\" said the Indian, confounded by the Malay's\nadroitness.\n\n\"Had he awoke,\" replied the other, calmly, \"I should have been a dead\nman--as I was charged to spare his life.\"\n\n\"Because his life may be more useful to us than his death,\" said the\nhalf-caste. Then, addressing the Malay, he added: \"Brother, in risking\nlife for the good work, you have done to-day what we did yesterday, what\nwe may do again to-morrow. This time, you obey; another you will\ncommand.\"\n\n\"We all belong to Bowanee,\" answered the Malay. \"What is there yet to\ndo?--I am ready.\" Whilst he thus spoke, his face was turned towards the\ndoor of the hut; on a sudden, he said in a low voice: \"Here is Djalma. He\napproaches the cabin. Mahal has not deceived us.\"\n\n\"He must not see me yet,\" said Faringhea, retiring to an obscure corner\nof the cabin, and hiding himself under a mat; \"try to persuade him. If he\nresists--I have my project.\"\n\nHardly had Faringhea disappeared, saying these words, when Djalma arrived\nat the door of the hovel. At sight of those three personages with their\nforbidding aspect, Djalma started in surprise. But ignorant that these\nmen belonged to the Phansegars, and knowing that, in a country where\nthere are no inns, travellers often pass the night under a tent, or\nbeneath the shelter of some ruins, he continued to advance towards them.\nAfter the first moment, he perceived by the complexion and the dress of\none of these men, that he was an Indian, and he accosted him in the\nHindoo language: \"I thought to have found here a European--a Frenchman--\"\n\n\"The Frenchman is not yet come,\" replied the Indian; \"but he will not be\nlong.\"\n\nGuessing by Djalma's question the means which Mahal had employed to draw\nhim into the snare, the Indian hoped to gain time by prolonging his\nerror.\n\n\"You knew this Frenchman?\" asked Djalma of the Phansegar.\n\n\"He appointed us to meet here, as he did you,\" answered the Indian.\n\n\"For what?\" inquired Djalma, more and more astonished.\n\n\"You will know when he arrives.\"\n\n\"General Simon told you to be at this place?\"\n\n\"Yes, General Simon,\" replied the Indian.\n\nThere was a moment's pause, during which Djalma sought in vain to explain\nto himself this mysterious adventure. \"And who are you?\" asked he, with a\nlook of suspicion; for the gloomy silence of the Phansegar's two\ncompanions, who stared fixedly at each other, began to give him some\nuneasiness.\n\n\"We are yours, if you will be ours,\" answered the Indian.\n\n\"I have no need of you--nor you of me.\"\n\n\"Who knows?\"\n\n\"I know it.\"\n\n\"You are deceived. The English killed your father, a king; made you a\ncaptive; proscribed you, you have lost all your possessions.\"\n\nAt this cruel reminder, the countenance of Djalma darkened. He started,\nand a bitter smile curled his lip. The Phansegar continued:\n\n\"Your father was just and brave--beloved by his subjects--they called him\n'Father of the Generous,' and he was well named. Will you leave his death\nunavenged? Will the hate, which gnaws at your heart, be without fruit?\"\n\n\"My father died with arms in his hand. I revenged his death on the\nEnglish whom I killed in war. He, who has since been a father to me, and\nwho fought also in the same cause, told me, that it would now be madness\nto attempt to recover my territory from the English. When they gave me my\nliberty, I swore never again to set foot in India--and I keep the oaths I\nmake.\"\n\n\"Those who despoiled you, who took you captive, who killed your\nfather--were men. Are there not other men, on whom you can avenge\nyourself! Let your hate fall upon them!\"\n\n\"You, who speak thus of men, are not a man!\"\n\n\"I, and those who resemble me, are more than men. We are, to the rest of\nthe human race, what the bold hunter is to the wild beasts, which they\nrun down in the forest. Will you be, like us, more than a man? Will you\nglut surely, largely, safely--the hate which devours your heart, for all\nthe evil done you?\"\n\n\"Your words become more and more obscure: I have no hatred in my heart,\"\nsaid Djalma. \"When an enemy is worthy of me, I fight with him; when he is\nunworthy, I despise him. So that I have no hate--either for brave men or\ncowards.\"\n\n\"Treachery!\" cried the negro on a sudden, pointing with rapid gesture to\nthe door, for Djalma and the Indian had now withdrawn a little from it,\nand were standing in one corner of the hovel.\n\nAt the shout of the negro, Faringhea, who had not been perceived by\nDjalma, threw off abruptly the mat which covered him, drew his crease,\nstarted up like a tiger, and with one bound was out of the cabin. Then,\nseeing a body of soldiers advancing cautiously in a circle, he dealt one\nof them a mortal stroke, threw down two others, and disappeared in the\nmidst of the ruins. All this passed so instantaneously, that, when Djalma\nturned round, to ascertain the cause of the negro's cry of alarm,\nFaringhea had already disappeared.\n\nThe muskets of several soldiers, crowding to the door, were immediately\npointed at Djalma and the three Stranglers, whilst others went in pursuit\nof Faringhea. The negro, the Malay, and the Indian, seeing the\nimpossibility of resistance, exchanged a few rapid words, and offered\ntheir hands to the cords, with which some of the soldiers had provided\nthemselves.\n\nThe Dutch captain, who commanded the squad, entered the cabin at this\nmoment. \"And this other one?\" said he, pointing out Djalma to the\nsoldiers, who were occupied in binding the three Phansegars.\n\n\"Each in his turn, captain!\" said an old sergeant. \"We come to him next.\"\n\nDjalma had remained petrified with surprise, not understanding what was\npassing round him; but, when he saw the sergeant and two soldiers\napproach with ropes to bind him, he repulsed them with violent\nindignation, and rushed towards the door where stood the officer. The\nsoldiers, who had supposed that Djalma would submit to his fate with the\nsame impassibility as his companions, were astounded by this resistance,\nand recoiled some paces, being struck in spite of themselves, with the\nnoble and dignified air of the son of Kadja-sing.\n\n\"Why would you bind me like these men?\" cried Djalma, addressing himself\nin Hindostanee to the officer, who understood that language from his long\nservice in the Dutch colonies.\n\n\"Why would we bind you, wretch?--because you form part of this band of\nassassins. What?\" added the officer in Dutch, speaking to the soldiers,\n\"are you afraid of him?--Tie the cord tight about his wrists; there will\nsoon be another about his neck.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken,\" said Djalma, with a dignity and calmness which\nastonished the officer; \"I have hardly been in this place a quarter of an\nhour--I do not know these men. I came here to meet a Frenchman.\"\n\n\"Not a Phansegar like them?--Who will believe the falsehood?\"\n\n\"Them!\" cried Djalma, with so natural a movement and expression of\nhorror, that with a sign the officer stopped the soldiers, who were again\nadvancing to bind the son of Kadja-sing; \"these men form part of that\nhorrible band of murderers! and you accuse me of being their\naccomplice!--Oh, in this case, sir! I am perfectly at ease,\" said the\nyoung man, with a smile of disdain.\n\n\"It will not be sufficient to say that you are tranquil,\" replied the\nofficer; \"thanks to their confessions, we now know by what mysterious\nsigns to recognize the Thugs.\"\n\n\"I repeat, sir, that I hold these murderers in the greatest horror, and\nthat I came here--\"\n\nThe negro, interrupting Djalma, said to the officer with a ferocious joy:\n\"You have hit it; the sons of the good work do know each other by marks\ntattooed on their skin. For us, the hour has come--we give our necks to\nthe cord. Often enough have we twined it round the necks of those who\nserved not with us the good work. Now, look at our arms, and look at the\narms of this youth!\"\n\nThe officer, misinterpreting the words of the negro, said to Djalma: \"It\nis quite clear, that if, as this negro tells us, you do not bear on your\narm the mysterious symbol--(we are going to assure ourselves of the\nfact), and if you can explain your presence here in a satisfactory\nmanner, you may be at liberty within two hours.\"\n\n\"You do not understand me,\" said the negro to the officer; \"Prince Djalma\nis one of us, for he bears on his left arm the name of Bowanee.\"\n\n\"Yes! he is like us, a son of Kale!\" added the Malay.\n\n\"He is like us, a Phansegar,\" said the Indian.\n\nThe three men, irritated at the horror which Djalma had manifested on\nlearning that they were Phansegars, took a savage pride in making it\nbelieved that the son of Kadja-sing belonged to their frightful\nassociation.\n\n\"What have you to answer?\" said the officer to Djalma. The latter again\ngave a look of disdainful pity, raised with his right hand his long, wide\nleft sleeve, and displayed his naked arm.\n\n\"What audacity!\" cried the officer, for on the inner part of the fore\narm, a little below the bend, the name of the Bowanee, in bright red\nHindoo characters, was distinctly visible. The officer ran to the Malay,\nand uncovered his arm; he saw the same word, the same signs. Not yet\nsatisfied, he assured himself that the negro and the Indian were likewise\nso marked.\n\n\"Wretch!\" cried he, turning furiously towards Djalma; \"you inspire even\nmore horror than your accomplices. Bind him like a cowardly assassin,\"\nadded he to the soldiers; \"like a cowardly assassin, who lies upon the\nbrink of the grave, for his execution will not be long delayed.\"\n\nStruck with stupor, Djalma, who for some moments had kept his eye riveted\non the fatal mark, was unable to pronounce a word, or make the least\nmovement: his powers of thought seemed to fail him, in presence of this\nincomprehensible fact.\n\n\"Would you dare deny this sign?\" said the officer to him, with\nindignation.\n\n\"I cannot deny what I see--what is,\" said Djalma, quite overcome.\n\n\"It is lucky that you confess at last,\" replied the officer. \"Soldiers,\nkeep watch over him and his accomplices--you answer for them.\"\n\nAlmost believing himself the sport of some wild dream. Djalma offered no\nresistance, but allowed himself to be bound and removed with mechanical\npassiveness. The officer, with part of his soldiers, hoped still to\ndiscover Faringhea amongst the ruins; but his search was vain, and, after\nspending an hour in fruitless endeavors, he set out for Batavia, where\nthe escort of the prisoners had arrived before him.\n\nSome hours after these events, M. Joshua van Dael thus finished his long\ndespatch, addressed to M. Rodin, of Paris:\n\n\"Circumstances were such, that I could not act otherwise; and, taking all\ninto consideration, it is a very small evil for a great good. Three\nmurderers are delivered over to justice, and the temporary arrest of\nDjalma will only serve to make his innocence shine forth with redoubled\nluster.\n\n\"Already this morning I went to the governor, to protest in favor of our\nyoung prince. 'As it was through me,' I said, 'that those three great\ncriminals fell into the hands of the authorities, let them at least show\nme some gratitude, by doing everything to render clear as day the\ninnocence of Prince Djalma, so interesting by reason of his misfortunes\nand noble qualities. Most certainly,' I added, 'when I came yesterday to\ninform the governor, that the Phansegars would be found assembled in the\nruins of Tchandi, I was far from anticipating that any one would confound\nwith those wretches the adopted son of General Simon, an excellent man,\nwith whom I have had for some time the most honorable relations. We must,\nthen, at any cost, discover the inconceivable mystery that has placed\nDjalma in this dangerous position;' and, I continued, 'so convinced am I\nof his innocence, that, for his own sake, I would not ask for any favor\non his behalf. He will have sufficient courage and dignity to wait\npatiently in prison for the day of justice.' In all this, you see, I\nspoke nothing but the truth, and had not to reproach myself with the\nleast deception, for nobody in the world is more convinced than I am of\nDjalma's innocence.\n\n\"The governor answered me as I expected, that morally he felt as certain\nas I did of the innocence of the young prince, and would treat him with\nall possible consideration; but that it was necessary for justice to have\nits course, because it would be the only way of demonstrating the\nfalsehood of the accusation, and discovering by what unaccountable\nfatality that mysterious sign was tattooed upon Djalma's arm.\n\n\"Mahal the Smuggler, who alone could enlighten justice on this subject,\nwill in another hour have quitted Batavia, to go on board the 'Ruyter,'\nwhich will take him to Egypt; for he has a note from me to the captain,\nto certify that he is the person for whom I engaged and paid the passage.\nAt the same time, he will be the bearer of this long despatch, for the\n'Ruyter' is to sail in an hour, and the last letter-bag for Europe was\nmade up yesterday evening. But I wished to see the governor this morning,\nbefore closing the present.\n\n\"Thus, then, is Prince Djalma enforced detained for a month, and, this\nopportunity of the 'Ruyter' once lost, it is materially impossible that\nthe young Indian can be in France by the 13th of next February. You see,\ntherefore, that, even as you ordered, so have I acted according to the\nmeans at my disposal--considering only the end which justifies them--for\nyou tell me a great interest of the society is concerned.\n\n\"In your hands, I have been what we all ought to be in the hands of our\nsuperiors--a mere instrument: since, for the greater glory of God, we\nbecome corpses with regard to the will.[7] Men may deny our unity and\npower, and the times appear opposed to us; but circumstances only change;\nwe are ever the same.\n\n\"Obedience and courage, secrecy and patience, craft and audacity, union\nand devotion--these become us, who have the world for our country, our\nbrethren for family, Rome for our Queen!\n\n                       \"J. V.\"\n\nAbout ten o'clock in the morning, Mahal the Smuggler set out with this\ndespatch (sealed) in his possession, to board the \"Ruyter.\" An hour\nlater, the dead body of this same Mahal, strangled by Thuggee, lay\nconcealed beneath some reeds on the edge of a desert strand, whither he\nhad gone to take boat to join the vessel.\n\nWhen at a subsequent period, after the departure of the steamship, they\nfound the corpse of the smuggler, M. Joshua sought in vain for the\nvoluminous packet, which he had entrusted to his care. Neither was there\nany trace of the note which Mahal was to have delivered to the captain of\nthe \"Ruyter,\" in order to be received as passenger.\n\nFinally, the searches and bushwhacking ordered throughout the country for\nthe purpose of discovering Faringhea, were of no avail. The dangerous\nchief of the Stranglers was never seen again in Java.\n\n[7] It is known that the doctrine of passive and absolute obedience, the\nmain-spring of the Society of Jesus, is summed up in those terrible words\nof the dying Loyola: \"Every member of the Order shall be, in the hands of\nhis superiors, even as a corpse (Perinde ac Cadaver).\"--E. S.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nM. RODIN.\n\nThree months have elapsed since Djalma was thrown into Batavia Prison\naccused of belonging to the murderous gang of Megpunnas. The following\nscene takes place in France, at the commencement of the month of\nFebruary, 1832, in Cardoville Manor House, an old feudal habitation\nstanding upon the tall cliffs of Picardy, not far from Saint Valery, a\ndangerous coast on which almost every year many ships are totally\nwrecked, being driven on shore by the northwesters, which render the\nnavigation of the Channel so perilous.\n\nFrom the interior of the Castle is heard the howling of a violent\ntempest, which has arisen during the night; a frequent formidable noise,\nlike the discharge of artillery, thunders in the distance, and is\nrepeated by the echoes of the shore; it is the sea breaking with fury\nagainst the high rocks which are overlooked by the ancient Manor House.\n\nIt is about seven o'clock in the morning. Daylight is not yet visible\nthrough the windows of a large room situated on the ground-floor. In this\napartment, in which a lamp is burning, a woman of about sixty years of\nage, with a simple and honest countenance, dressed as a rich farmer's\nwife of Picardy, is already occupied with her needle-work,\nnotwithstanding the early hour. Close by, the husband of this woman,\nabout the same age as herself, is seated at a large table, sorting and\nputting up in bags divers samples of wheat and oats. The face of this\nwhite-haired man is intelligent and open, announcing good sense and\nhonesty, enlivened by a touch of rustic humor; he wears a shooting-jacket\nof green cloth, and long gaiters of tan-colored leather, which half\nconceal his black velveteen breeches.\n\nThe terrible storm which rages without renders still more agreeable the\npicture of this peaceful interior. A rousing fire burns in a broad\nchimney-place faced with white marble, and throws its joyous light on the\ncarefully polished floor; nothing can be more cheerful than the old\nfashioned chintz hangings and curtains with red Chinese figures upon a\nwhite ground, and the panels over the door painted with pastoral scenes\nin the style of Watteau. A clock of Sevres china, and rosewood furniture\ninlaid with green--quaint and portly furniture, twisted into all sorts of\ngrotesque shapes--complete the decorations of this apartment.\n\nOut-doors, the gale continued to howl furiously, and sometimes a gust of\nwind would rush down the chimney, or shake the fastenings of the windows.\nThe man who was occupied in sorting the samples of grain was M. Dupont,\nbailiff of Cardoville manor.\n\n\"Holy Virgin!\" said his wife; \"what dreadful weather, my dear! This M.\nRodin, who is to come here this morning, as the Princess de Saint\nDizier's steward announced to us, picked out a very bad day for it.\"\n\n\"Why, in truth, I have rarely heard such a hurricane. If M. Rodin has\nnever seen the sea in its fury, he may feast his eyes to-day with the\nsight.\"\n\n\"What can it be that brings this M. Rodin, my dear?\"\n\n\"Faith! I know nothing about it. The steward tells me in his letter to\nshow M. Rodin the greatest attention, and to obey him as if he were my\nmaster. It will be for him to explain himself, and for me to execute his\norders, since he comes on the part of the princess.\"\n\n\"By rights he should come from Mademoiselle Adrienne, as the land belongs\nto her since the death of the duke her father.\"\n\n\"Yes; but the princess being aunt to the young lady, her steward manages\nMademoiselle Adrienne's affairs--so whether one or the other, it amounts\nto the same thing.\"\n\n\"May be M. Rodin means to buy the estate. Though, to be sure, that stout\nlady who came from Paris last week on purpose to see the chateau appeared\nto have a great wish for it.\"\n\nAt these words the bailiff began to laugh with a sly look.\n\n\"What is there to laugh at, Dupont?\" asked his wife, a very good\ncreature, but not famous for intelligence or penetration.\n\n\"I laugh,\" answered Dupont, \"to think of the face and figure of that\nenormous woman: with such a look, who the devil would call themselves\nMadame de la Sainte-Colombe--Mrs. Holy Dove? A pretty saint, and a pretty\ndove, truly! She is round as a hogshead, with the voice of a town-crier;\nhas gray moustachios like an old grenadier, and without her knowing it, I\nheard her say to her servant: 'Stir your stumps, my hearty!'--and yet she\ncalls herself Sainte-Colombe!\"\n\n\"How hard on her you are, Dupont; a body don't choose one's name. And, if\nshe has a beard, it is not the lady's fault.\"\n\n\"No--but it is her fault to call herself Sainte-Colombe. Do you imagine\nit her true name? Ah, my poor Catherine, you are yet very green in some\nthings.\"\n\n\"While you, my poor Dupont, are well read in slander! This lady seems\nvery respectable. The first thing she asked for on arriving was the\nchapel of the Castle, of which she had heard speak. She even said that\nshe would make some embellishments in it; and, when I told her we had no\nchurch in this little place, she appeared quite vexed not to have a\ncurate in the village.\"\n\n\"Oh, to be sure! that's the first thought of your upstarts--to play the\ngreat lady of the parish, like your titled people.\"\n\n\"Madame de la Sainte-Colombe need not play the great lady, because she is\none.\"\n\n\"She! a great lady? Oh, lor'!\"\n\n\"Yes--only see how she was dressed, in scarlet gown, and violet gloves\nlike a bishop's; and, when she took off her bonnet, she had a diamond\nband round her head-dress of false, light hair, and diamond ear-drops as\nlarge as my thumb, and diamond rings on every finger! None of your\ntuppenny beauties would wear so many diamonds in the middle of the day.\"\n\n\"You are a pretty judge!\"\n\n\"That is not all.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to say there's more?\"\n\n\"She talked of nothing but dukes, and marquises, and counts, and very\nrich gentlemen, who visit at her house, and are her most intimate\nfriends; and then, when she saw the summer house in the park, half-burnt\nby the Prussians, which our late master never rebuilt, she asked, 'What\nare those ruins there?' and I answered: 'Madame, it was in the time of\nthe Allies that the pavilion was burnt.'--'Oh, my clear,' cried she; 'our\nallies, good, dear allies! they and the Restoration began my fortune!' So\nyou see, Dupont, I said to myself directly: 'She was no doubt one of the\nnoble women who fled abroad--'\"\n\n\"Madame de la Sainte-Colombe!\" cried the bailiff, laughing heartily. \"Oh,\nmy poor, poor wife!\"\n\n\"Oh, it is all very well; but because you have been three years at Paris,\ndon't think yourself a conjurer!\"\n\n\"Catherine, let's drop it: you will make me say some folly, and there are\ncertain things which dear, good creatures like you need never know.\"\n\n\"I cannot tell what you are driving at, only try to be less\nslanderous--for, after all, should Madame de la Sainte-Colombe buy the\nestate, will you be sorry to remain as her bailiff, eh?\"\n\n\"Not I--for we are getting old, my good Catherine; we have lived here\ntwenty years, and we have been too honest to provide for our old days by\npilfering--and truly, at our age, it would be hard to seek another place,\nwhich perhaps we should not find. What I regret is, that Mademoiselle\nAdrienne should not keep the land; it seems that she wished to sell it,\nagainst the will of the princess.\"\n\n\"Good gracious, Dupont! is it not very extraordinary that Mademoiselle\nAdrienne should have the disposal of her large fortune so early in life?\"\n\n\"Faith! simple enough. Our young lady, having no father or mother, is\nmistress of her property, besides having a famous little will of her own.\nDost remember, ten years ago, when the count brought her down here one\nsummer?--what an imp of mischief! and then what eyes! eh?--how they\nsparkled, even then!\"\n\n\"It is true that Mademoiselle Adrienne had in her look--an expression--a\nvery uncommon expression for her age.\"\n\n\"If she has kept what her witching, luring face promised, she must be\nvery pretty by this time, notwithstanding the peculiar color of her\nhair--for, between ourselves, if she had been a tradesman's daughter,\ninstead of a young lady of high birth, they would have called it red.\"\n\n\"There again! more slander.\"\n\n\"What! against Mademoiselle Adrienne? Heaven forbid--I always thought\nthat she would be as good as pretty, and it is not speaking ill of her to\nsay she has red hair. On the contrary, it always appears to me so fine,\nso bright, so sunny, and to suit so well her snowy complexion and black\neyes, that in truth I would not have had it other than it was; and I am\nsure, that now this very color of her hair, which would be a blemish in\nany one else, must only add to the charm of Mademoiselle Adrienne's face.\nShe must have such a sweet vixen look!\"\n\n\"Oh! to be candid, she really was a vixen--always running about the park,\naggravating her governess, climbing the trees--in fact, playing all\nmanner of naughty tricks.\"\n\n\"I grant you, Mademoiselle Adrienne was a chip of the old block; but then\nwhat wit, what engaging ways, and above all, what a good heart!\"\n\n\"Yes--that she certainly had. Once I remember she gave her shawl and her\nnew merino frock to a poor little beggar girl, and came back to the house\nin her petticoat, and bare arms.\"\n\n\"Oh, an excellent heart--but headstrong--terribly headstrong!\"\n\n\"Yes--that she was; and 'tis likely to finish badly, for it seems that\nshe does things at Paris--oh! such things--\"\n\n\"What things?\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear; I can hardly venture--\"\n\n\"Fell, but what are they?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said the worthy dame, with a sort of embarrassment and confusion,\nwhich showed how much she was shocked by such enormities, \"they say, that\nMademoiselle Adrienne never sets foot in a church, but lives in a kind of\nheathen temple in her aunt's garden, where she has masked women to dress\nher up like a goddess, and scratches them very often, because she gets\ntipsy--without mentioning, that every night she plays on a hunting horn\nof massive gold--all which causes the utmost grief and despair to her\npoor aunt the princess.\"\n\nHere the bailiff burst into a fit of laughter, which interrupted his\nwife.\n\n\"Now tell me,\" said he, when this first access of hilarity was over,\n\"where did you get these fine stories about Mademoiselle Adrienne?\"\n\n\"From Rene's wife, who went to Paris to look for a child to nurse; she\ncalled at Saint-Dizier House, to see Madame Grivois, her godmother.--Now\nMadame Grivois is first bedchamber woman to the princess--and she it was\nwho told her all this--and surely she ought to know, being in the house.\"\n\n\"Yes, a fine piece of goods that Grivois! once she was a regular bad 'un,\nbut now she professes to be as over-nice as her mistress; like master\nlike man, they say. The princess herself, who is now so stiff and\nstarched, knew how to carry on a lively game in her time. Fifteen years\nago, she was no such prude: do you remember that handsome colonel of\nhussars, who was in garrison at Abbeville? an exiled noble who had served\nin Russia, whom the Bourbons gave a regiment on the Restoration?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--I remember him; but you are really too backbiting.\"\n\n\"Not a bit--I only speak the truth. The colonel spent his whole time\nhere, and every one said he was very warm with this same princess, who is\nnow such a saint. Oh! those were the jolly times. Every evening, some new\nentertainment at the chateau. What a fellow that colonel was, to set\nthings going; how well he could act a play!--I remember--\"\n\nThe bailiff was unable to proceed. A stout maid-servant, wearing the\ncostume and cap of Picardy, entered in haste, and thus addressed her\nmistress: \"Madame, there is a person here that wants to speak to master;\nhe has come in the postmaster's calash from Saint-Valery, and he says\nthat he is M. Rodin.\"\n\n\"M. Rodin?\" said the bailiff rising. \"Show him in directly!\"\n\nA moment after, M. Rodin made his appearance. According to his custom, he\nwas dressed even more than plainly. With an air of great humility, he\nsaluted the bailiff and his wife, and at a sign from her husband, the\nlatter withdrew. The cadaverous countenance of M. Rodin, his almost\ninvisible lips, his little reptile eyes, half concealed by their flabby\nlids, and the sordid style of his dress, rendered his general aspect far\nfrom prepossessing; yet this man knew how, when it was necessary, to\naffect, with diabolical art, so much sincerity and good-nature--his words\nwere so affectionate and subtly penetrating--that the disagreeable\nfeeling of repugnance, which the first sight of him generally inspired,\nwore off little by little, and he almost always finished by involving his\ndupe or victim in the tortuous windings of an eloquence as pliant as it\nwas honeyed and perfidious; for ugliness and evil have their fascination,\nas well as what is good and fair.\n\nThe honest bailiff looked at this man with surprise, when he thought of\nthe pressing recommendation of the steward of the Princess de Saint\nDizier; he had expected to see quite another sort of personage, and,\nhardly able to dissemble his astonishment, he said to him: \"Is it to M.\nRodin that I have the honor to speak?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; and here is another letter from the steward of the Princess de\nSaint-Dizier.\"\n\n\"Pray, sir, draw near the fire, whilst I just see what is in this letter.\nThe weather is so bad,\" continued the bailiff, obligingly, \"may I not\noffer you some refreshment?\"\n\n\"A thousand thanks, my dear sir; I am off again in an hour.\"\n\nWhilst M. Dupont read, M. Rodin threw inquisitive glances round the\nchamber; like a man of skill and experience, he had frequently drawn just\nand useful inductions from those little appearances, which, revealing a\ntaste or habit, give at the same time some notion of a character; on this\noccasion, however, his curiosity was at fault.\n\n\"Very good, sir,\" said the bailiff, when he had finished reading; \"the\nsteward renews his recommendation, and tells me to attend implicitly to\nyour commands.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, they will amount to very little, and I shall not trouble you\nlong.\"\n\n\"It will be no trouble, but an honor.\"\n\n\"Nay, I know how much your time must be occupied, for, as soon as one\nenters this chateau, one is struck with the good order and perfect\nkeeping of everything in it--which proves, my dear sir, what excellent\ncare you take of it.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir, you flatter me.\"\n\n\"Flatter you?--a poor old man like myself has something else to think of.\nBut to come to business: there is a room here which is called the Green\nChamber?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; the room which the late Count-Duke de Cardoville used for a\nstudy.\"\n\n\"You will have the goodness to take me there.\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, it is not in my power to do so. After the death of the\nCount-Duke, and when the seals were removed, a number of papers were shut\nup in a cabinet in that room, and the lawyers took the keys with them to\nParis.\"\n\n\"Here are those keys,\" said M. Rodin, showing to the bailiff a large and\na small key tied together.\n\n\"Oh, sir! that is different. You come to look for papers?\"\n\n\"Yes--for certain papers--and also far a small mahogany casket, with\nsilver clasps--do you happen to know it?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; I have often seen it on the count's writing-table. It must be\nin the large, lacquered cabinet, of which you have the key.\"\n\n\"You will conduct me to this chamber, as authorized by the Princess de\nSaint-Dizier?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; the princess continues in good health?\"\n\n\"Perfectly so. She lives altogether above worldly things.\"\n\n\"And Mademoiselle Adrienne?\"\n\n\"Alas, my dear sir!\" said M. Rodin, with a sigh of deep contrition and\ngrief.\n\n\"Good heaven, sir! has any calamity happened to Mademoiselle Adrienne?\"\n\n\"In what sense do you mean it?\"\n\n\"Is she ill?\"\n\n\"No, no--she is, unfortunately, as well as she is beautiful.\"\n\n\"Unfortunately!\" cried the bailiff, in surprise.\n\n\"Alas, yes! for when beauty, youth, and health are joined to an evil\nspirit of revolt and perversity--to a character which certainly has not\nits equal upon earth--it would be far better to be deprived of those\ndangerous advantages, which only become so many causes of perdition. But\nI conjure you, my dear sir, let us talk of something else: this subject\nis too painful,\" said M. Rodin, with a voice of deep emotion, lifting the\ntip of his little finger to the corner of his right eye, as if to stop a\nrising tear.\n\nThe bailiff did not see the tear, but he saw the gesture, and he was\nstruck with the change in M. Rodin's voice. He answered him, therefore,\nwith much sympathy: \"Pardon my indiscretion, sir; I really did not\nknow--\"\n\n\"It is I who should ask pardon for this involuntary display of\nfeeling--tears are so rare with old men--but if you had seen, as I have,\nthe despair of that excellent princess, whose only fault has been too\nmuch kindness, too much weakness, with regard to her niece--by which she\nhas encouraged her--but, once more, let us talk of something else, my\ndear sir!\"\n\nAfter a moment's pause, during which M. Rodin seemed to recover from his\nemotion, he said to Dupont: \"One part of my mission, my dear sir--that\nwhich relates to the Green Chamber--I have now told you; but there is yet\nanother. Before coming to it, however, I must remind you of a\ncircumstance you have perhaps forgotten--namely, that some fifteen or\nsixteen years ago, the Marquis d'Aigrigny, then colonel of the hussars in\ngarrison at Abbeville, spent some time in this house.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir! what a dashing officer was there! It was only just now, that I\nwas talking about him to my wife. He was the life of the house!--how well\nhe could perform plays--particularly the character of a scapegrace. In\nthe Two Edmonds, for instance, he would make you die with laughing, in\nthat part of a drunken soldier--and then, with what a charming voice he\nsang Joconde, sir--better than they could sing it at Paris!\"\n\nRodin, having listened complacently to the bailiff, said to him: \"You\ndoubtless know that, after a fierce duel he had with a furious\nBonapartist, one General Simon, the Marquis d'Aigrigny (whose private\nsecretary I have now the honor to be) left the world for the church.\"\n\n\"No, sir! is it possible? That fine officer!\"\n\n\"That fine officer--brave, noble, rich, esteemed, and\nflattered--abandoned all those advantages for the sorry black gown; and,\nnotwithstanding his name, position, high connections, his reputation as a\ngreat preacher, he is still what he was fourteen years ago--a plain\nabbe--whilst so many, who have neither his merit nor his virtues, are\narchbishops and cardinals.\"\n\nM. Rodin expressed himself with so much goodness, with such an air of\nconviction, and the facts he cited appeared to be so incontestable, that\nM. Dupont could not help exclaiming: \"Well, sir, that is splendid\nconduct!\"\n\n\"Splendid? Oh, no!\" said M. Rodin, with an inimitable expression of\nsimplicity; \"it is quite a matter of course when one has a heart like M.\nd'Aigrigny's. But amongst all his good qualities, he has particularly\nthat of never forgetting worthy people--people of integrity, honor,\nconscience--and therefore, my dear M. Dupont, he has not forgotten you.\"\n\n\"What, the most noble marquis deigns to remember--\"\n\n\"Three days ago, I received a letter from him, in which he mentions your\nname.\"\n\n\"Is he then at Paris?\"\n\n\"He will be there soon, if not there now. He went to Italy about three\nmonths ago, and, during his absence, he received a very sad piece of\nnews--the death of his mother, who was passing the autumn on one of the\nestates of the Princess de Saint-Dizier.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed! I was not aware of it.\"\n\n\"Yes, it was a cruel grief to him; but we must all resign ourselves to\nthe will of Providence!\"\n\n\"And with regard to what subject did the marquis do me the honor to\nmention my name?\"\n\n\"I am going to tell you. First of all, you must know that this house is\nsold. The bill of sale was signed the day before my departure from\nParis.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir! that renews all my uneasiness.\"\n\n\"Pray, why?\"\n\n\"I am afraid that the new proprietors may not choose to keep me as their\nbailiff.\"\n\n\"Now see what a lucky chance! It is just on that subject that I am going\nto speak to you.\"\n\n\"Is it possible?\"\n\n\"Certainly. Knowing the interest which the marquis feels for you, I am\nparticularly desirous that you should keep this place, and I will do all\nin my power to serve you, if--\"\n\n\"Ah, sir!\" cried Dupont, interrupting Rodin; \"what gratitude do I not owe\nyou! It is Heaven that sends you to me!'\n\n\"Now, my dear sir, you flatter me in your turn; but I ought to tell you,\nthat I'm obliged to annex a small condition to my support.\"\n\n\"Oh, by all means! Only name it, sir--name it!\"\n\n\"The person who is about to inhabit this mansion, is an old lady in every\nway worthy of veneration; Madame de la Sainte-Colombe is the name of this\nrespectable--\"\n\n\"What, sir?\" said the bailiff, interrupting Rodin; \"Madame de la Sainte\nColombe the lady who has bought us out?\"\n\n\"Do you know her?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, she came last week to see the estate. My wife persists that\nshe is a great lady; but--between ourselves--judging by certain words\nthat I heard her speak--\"\n\n\"You are full of penetration, my dear M. Dupont. Madame de la Sainte\nColombe is far from being a great lady. I believe she was neither more\nnor less than a milliner, under one of the wooden porticoes of the Palais\nRoyal. You see, that I deal openly with you.\"\n\n\"And she boasted of all the noblemen, French and foreign, who used to\nvisit her!\"\n\n\"No doubt, they came to buy bonnets for their wives! However, the fact\nis, that, having gained a large fortune and, after being in youth and\nmiddle age--indifferent--alas! more than indifferent to the salvation of\nher soul--Madame de la Sainte-Colombe is now in a likely way to\nexperience grace--which renders her, as I told you, worthy of veneration,\nbecause nothing is so respectable as a sincere repentance--always\nproviding it to be lasting. Now to make the good work sure and effectual,\nwe shall need your assistance, my dear M. Dupont.\"\n\n\"Mine, sir! what can I do in it?\"\n\n\"A great deal; and I will explain to you how. There is no church in this\nvillage, which stands at an equal distance from either of two parishes.\nMadame de la Sainte-Colombe, wishing to make choice of one of the two\nclergymen, will naturally apply to you and Madame Dupont, who have long\nlived in these parts, for information respecting them.\"\n\n\"Oh! in that case the choice will soon be made. The incumbent of\nDanicourt is one of the best of men.\"\n\n\"Now that is precisely what you must not say to Madame de la Sainte\nColombe.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"You must, on the contrary, much praise, without ceasing, the curate of\nRoiville, the other parish, so as to decide this good lady to trust\nherself to his care.\"\n\n\"And why, sir, to him rather than to the other?\"\n\n\"Why?--because, if you and Madame Dupont succeed in persuading Madame de\nla Sainte-Colombe to make the choice I wish, you will be certain to keep\nyour place as bailiff. I give you my word of it, and what I promise I\nperform.\"\n\n\"I do not doubt, sir, that you have this power,\" said Dupont, convinced\nby Rodin's manner, and the authority of his words; \"but I should like to\nknow--\"\n\n\"One word more,\" said Rodin, interrupting him; \"I will deal openly with\nyou, and tell you why I insist on the preference which I beg you to\nsupport. I should be grieved if you saw in all this the shadow of an\nintrigue. It is only for the purpose of doing a good action. The curate\nof Roiville, for whom I ask your influence, is a man for whom M.\nd'Aigrigny feels a deep interest. Though very poor, he has to support an\naged mother. Now, if he had the spiritual care of Madame de la Sainte\nColombe, he would do more good than any one else, because he is full of\nzeal and patience; and then it is clear he would reap some little\nadvantages, by which his old mother might profit--there you see is the\nsecret of this mighty scheme. When I knew that this lady was disposed to\nbuy an estate in the neighborhood of our friend's parish, I wrote about\nit to the marquis; and he, remembering you, desired me to ask you to\nrender him this small service, which, as you see, will not remain without\na recompense. For I tell you once more, and I will prove it, that I have\nthe power to keep you in your place as bailiff.\"\n\n\"Well, sir,\" replied Dupont, after a moment's reflection, \"you are so\nfrank and obliging, that I will imitate your sincerity. In the same\ndegree that the curate of Danicourt is respected and loved in this\ncountry, the curate of Roiville, whom you wish me to prefer to him, is\ndreaded for his intolerance--and, moreover--\"\n\n\"Well, and what more?\"\n\n\"Why, then, they say--\"\n\n\"Come, what do they say?\"\n\n\"They say--he is a Jesuit.\"\n\nUpon these words, M. Rodin burst into so hearty a laugh that the bailiff\nwas quite struck dumb with amazement--for the countenance of M. Rodin\ntook a singular expression when he laughed. \"A Jesuit!\" he repeated, with\nredoubled hilarity; \"a Jesuit!--Now really, my dear M. Dupont, for a man\nof sense, experience, and intelligence, how can you believe such idle\nstories?--A Jesuit--are there such people as Jesuits?--in our time, above\nall, can you believe such romance of the Jacobins, hobgoblins of the old\nfreedom lovers?--Come, come; I wager, you have read about them in the\nConstitutionnel!\"\n\n\"And yet, sir, they say--\"\n\n\"Good heavens! what will they not say?--But wise men, prudent men like\nyou, do not meddle with what is said--they manage their own little\nmatters, without doing injury to any one, and they never sacrifice, for\nthe sake of nonsense, a good place, which secures them a comfortable\nprovision for the rest of their days. I tell you frankly, however much I\nmay regret it, that should you not succeed in getting the preference for\nmy man, you will not remain bailiff here.\n\n\"But, sir,\" said poor Dupont, \"it will not be my fault, if this lady,\nhearing a great deal in praise of the other curate, should prefer him to\nyour friend.\"\n\n\"Ah! but if, on the other hand, persons who have long lived in the\nneighborhood--persons worthy of confidence, whom she will see every\nday--tell Madame de la Sainte-Colombe a great deal of good of my friend,\nand a great deal of harm of the other curate, she will prefer the former,\nand you will continue bailiff.\"\n\n\"But, sir--that would be calumny!\" cried Dupont.\n\n\"Pshaw, my dear M. Dupont!\" said Rodin, with an air of sorrowful and\naffectionate reproach, \"how can you think me capable of giving you evil\ncounsel?--I was only making a supposition. You wish to remain bailiff on\nthis estate. I offer you the certainty of doing so--it is for you to\nconsider and decide.\"\n\n\"But, sir--\"\n\n\"One word more--or rather one more condition--as important as the other.\nUnfortunately, we have seen clergymen take advantage of the age and\nweakness of their penitents, unfairly to benefit either themselves or\nothers: I believe our protege incapable of any such baseness--but, in\norder to discharge my responsibility--and yours also, as you will have\ncontributed to his appointment--I must request that you will write to me\ntwice a week, giving the most exact detail of all that you have remarked\nin the character, habits, connections, pursuits, of Madame de la Sainte\nColombe--for the influence of a confessor, you see, reveals itself in the\nwhole conduct of life, and I should wish to be fully edified by the\nproceedings of my friend, without his being aware of it--or, if anything\nblameable were to strike you, I should be immediately informed of it by\nthis weekly correspondence.\"\n\n\"But, sir--that would be to act as a spy?\" exclaimed the unfortunate\nbailiff.\n\n\"Now, my dear M. Dupont! how can you thus brand the sweetest, most\nwholesome of human desires--mutual confidence?--I ask of you nothing\nelse--I ask of you to write to me confidentially the details of all that\ngoes on here. On these two conditions, inseparable one from the other,\nyou remain bailiff; otherwise, I shall be forced, with grief and regret,\nto recommend some one else to Madame de la Sainte-Colombe.\"\n\n\"I beg you, sir,\" said Dupont, with emotion, \"Be generous without any\nconditions!--I and my wife have only this place to give us bread, and we\nare too old to find another. Do not expose our probity of forty years'\nstanding to be tempted by the fear of want, which is so bad a\ncounsellor!\"\n\n\"My dear M. Dupont, you are really a great child: you must reflect upon\nthis, and give me your answer in the course of a week.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir! I implore you--\" The conversation was here interrupted by a\nloud report, which was almost instantaneously repeated by the echoes of\nthe cliffs. \"What is that?\" said M. Rodin. Hardly had he spoken, when the\nsame noise was again heard more distinctly than before.\n\n\"It is the sound of cannon,\" cried Dupont, rising; \"no doubt a ship in\ndistress, or signaling for a pilot.\"\n\n\"My dear,\" said the bailiffs wife, entering abruptly, \"from the terrace,\nwe can see a steamer and a large ship nearly dismasted--they are drifting\nright upon the shore--the ship is firing minute gulls--it will be lost.\"\n\n\"Oh, it is terrible!\" cried the bailiff, taking his hat and preparing to\ngo out, \"to look on at a shipwreck, and be able to do nothing!\"\n\n\"Can no help be given to these vessels?\" asked M. Rodin.\n\n\"If they are driven upon the reefs, no human power can save them; since\nthe last equinox two ships have been lost on this coast.\"\n\n\"Lost with all on board?--Oh, very frightful,\" said M. Rodin.\n\n\"In such a storm, there is but little chance for the crew; no matter,\"\nsaid the bailiff, addressing his wife, \"I will run down to the rocks with\nthe people of the farm, and try to save some of them, poor\ncreatures!--Light large fires in several rooms--get ready linen, clothes,\ncordials--I scarcely dare hope to save any, but we must do our best. Will\nyou come with me, M. Rodin?\"\n\n\"I should think it a duty, if I could be at all useful, but I am too old\nand feeble to be of any service,\" said M. Rodin, who was by no means\nanxious to encounter the storm. \"Your good lady will be kind enough to\nshow me the Green Chamber, and when I have found the articles I require,\nI will set out immediately for Paris, for I am in great haste.\"\n\n\"Very well, sir. Catherine will show you. Ring the big bell,\" said the\nbailiff to his servant; \"let all the people of the farm meet me at the\nfoot of the cliff, with ropes and levers.\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear,\" replied Catherine; \"but do not expose yourself.\"\n\n\"Kiss me--it will bring me luck,\" said the bailiff; and he started at a\nfull run, crying: \"Quick! quick; by this time not a plank may remain of\nthe vessels.\"\n\n\"My dear madam,\" said Rodin, always impassible, \"will you be obliging\nenough to show me the Green Chamber?\"\n\n\"Please to follow me, sir,\" answered Catherine, drying her tears--for she\ntrembled on account of her husband, whose courage she well knew.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nTHE TEMPEST\n\nThe sea is raging. Mountainous waves of dark green, marbled with white\nfoam, stand out, in high, deep undulations, from the broad streak of red\nlight, which extends along the horizon. Above are piled heavy masses of\nblack and sulphurous vapor, whilst a few lighter clouds of a reddish\ngray, driven by the violence of the wind, rush across the murky sky.\n\nThe pale winter sun, before he quite disappears in the great clouds,\nbehind which he is slowly mounting, casts here and there some oblique\nrays upon the troubled sea, and gilds the transparent crest of some of\nthe tallest waves. A band of snow-white foam boils and rages as far as\nthe eye can reach, along the line of the reefs that bristle on this\ndangerous coast.\n\nHalf-way up a rugged promontory, which juts pretty far into the sea,\nrises Cardoville Castle; a ray of the sun glitters upon its windows; its\nbrick walls and pointed roofs of slate are visible in the midst of this\nsky loaded with vapors.\n\nA large, disabled ship, with mere shreds of sail still fluttering from\nthe stumps of broken masts, drives dead upon the coast. Now she rolls her\nmonstrous hull upon the waves--now plunges into their trough. A flash is\nseen, followed by a dull sound, scarcely perceptible in the midst of the\nroar of the tempest. That gun is the last signal of distress from this\nlost vessel, which is fast forging on the breakers.\n\nAt the same moment, a steamer, with its long plume of black smoke, is\nworking her way from east to west, making every effort to keep at a\ndistance from the shore, leaving the breakers on her left. The dismasted\nship, drifting towards the rocks, at the mercy of the wind and tide, must\nsome time pass right ahead of the steamer.\n\nSuddenly, the rush of a heavy sea laid the steamer upon her side; the\nenormous wave broke furiously on her deck; in a second the chimney was\ncarried away, the paddle box stove in, one of the wheels rendered\nuseless. A second white-cap, following the first, again struck the vessel\namidships, and so increased the damage that, no longer answering to the\nhelm, she also drifted towards the shore, in the same direction as the\nship. But the latter, though further from the breakers, presented a\ngreater surface to the wind and sea, and so gained upon the steamer in\nswiftness that a collision between the two vessels became imminent--a new\nclanger added to all the horrors of the now certain wreck.\n\nThe ship was an English vessel, the \"Black Eagle,\" homeward bound from\nAlexandria, with passengers, who arriving from India and Java, via the\nRed Sea, had disembarked at the Isthmus of Suez, from on board the\nsteamship \"Ruyter.\" The \"Black Eagle,\" quitting the Straits of Gibraltar,\nhad gone to touch at the Azores. She headed thence for Portsmouth, when\nshe was overtaken in the Channel by the northwester. The steamer was the\n\"William Tell,\" coming from Germany, by way of the Elbe, and bound, in\nthe last place, for Hamburg to Havre.\n\nThese two vessels, the sport of enormous rollers, driven along by tide\nand tempest, were now rushing upon the breakers with frightful speed. The\ndeck of each offered a terrible spectacle; the loss of crew and\npassengers appeared almost certain, for before them a tremendous sea\nbroke on jagged rocks, at the foot of a perpendicular cliff.\n\nThe captain of the \"Black Eagle,\" standing on the poop, holding by the\nremnant of a spar, issued his last orders in this fearful extremity with\ncourageous coolness. The smaller boats had been carried away by the\nwaves; it was in vain to think of launching the long-boat; the only\nchance of escape in case the ship should not be immediately dashed to\npieces on touching the rocks, was to establish a communication with the\nland by means of a life-line--almost the last resort for passing between\nthe shore and a stranded vessel.\n\nThe deck was covered with passengers, whose cries and terror augmented\nthe general confusion. Some, struck with a kind of stupor, and clinging\nconvulsively to the shrouds, awaited their doom in a state of stupid\ninsensibility. Others wrung their hands in despair, or rolled upon the\ndeck uttering horrible imprecations. Here, women knelt down to pray;\nthere, others hid their faces in their hands, that they might not see the\nawful approach of death. A young mother, pale as a specter, holding her\nchild clasped tightly to her bosom, went supplicating from sailor to\nsailor, and offering a purse full of gold and jewels to any one that\nwould take charge of her son.\n\nThese cries, and tears, and terror contrasted with the stern and silent\nresignation of the sailors. Knowing the imminence of the inevitable\ndanger, some of them stripped themselves of part of their clothes,\nwaiting for the moment to make a last effort, to dispute their lives with\nthe fury of the waves; others renouncing all hope, prepared to meet death\nwith stoical indifference.\n\nHere and there, touching or awful episodes rose in relief, if one may so\nexpress it, from this dark and gloomy background of despair.\n\nA young man of about eighteen or twenty, with shiny black hair, copper\ncolored complexion, and perfectly regular and handsome features,\ncontemplated this scene of dismay and horror with that sad calmness\npeculiar to those who have often braved great perils; wrapped in a cloak,\nhe leaned his back against the bulwarks, with his feet resting against\none of the bulkheads. Suddenly, the unhappy mother, who, with her child\nin her arms, and gold in her hand, had in vain addressed herself to\nseveral of the mariners, to beg them to save her boy, perceiving the\nyoung man with the copper-colored complexion, threw herself on her knees\nbefore him, and lifted her child towards him with a burst of\ninexpressible agony. The young man took it, mournfully shook his head,\nand pointed to the furious waves--but, with a meaning gesture, he\nappeared to promise that he would at least try to save it. Then the young\nmother, in a mad transport of hope, seized the hand of the youth, and\nbathed it with her tears.\n\nFurther on, another passenger of the \"Black Eagle,\" seemed animated by\nsentiments of the most active pity. One would hardly have given him\nfive-and-twenty years of age. His long, fair locks fell in curls on\neither side of his angelic countenance. He wore a black cassock and white\nneck-band. Applying himself to comfort the most desponding, he went from\none to the other, and spoke to them pious words of hope and resignation;\nto hear him console some, and encourage others, in language full of\nunction, tenderness, and ineffable charity, one would have supposed him\nunaware or indifferent to the perils that he shared.\n\nOn his fine, mild features, was impressed a calm and sacred intrepidity,\na religious abstraction from every terrestrial thought; from time to\ntime, he raised to heaven his large blue eyes, beaming with gratitude,\nlove, and serenity, as if to thank God for having called him to one of\nthose formidable trials in which the man of humanity and courage may\ndevote himself for his brethren, and, if not able to rescue them at all,\nat least die with them, pointing to the sky. One might almost have taken\nhim for an angel, sent down to render less cruel the strokes of\ninexorable fate.\n\nStrange contrast! not far from this young man's angelic beauty, there was\nanother being, who resembled an evil spirit!\n\nBoldly mounted on what was left of the bowsprit, to which he held on by\nmeans of some remaining cordage, this man looked down upon the terrible\nscene that was passing on the deck. A grim, wild joy lighted up his\ncountenance of a dead yellow, that tint peculiar to those who spring from\nthe union of the white race with the East. He wore only a shirt and linen\ndrawers; from his neck was suspended, by a cord, a cylindrical tin box,\nsimilar to that in which soldiers carry their leave of absence.\n\nThe more the danger augmented, the nearer the ship came to the breakers,\nor to a collision with the steamer, which she was now rapidly\napproaching--a terrible collision, which would probably cause the two\nvessels to founder before even they touched the rocks--the more did the\ninfernal joy of this passenger reveal itself in frightful transports. He\nseemed to long, with ferocious impatience, for the moment when the work\nof destruction should be accomplished. To see him thus feasting with\navidity on all the agony, the terror, and the despair of those around\nhim, one might have taken him for the apostle of one of those sanguinary\ndeities, who, in barbarous countries, preside over murder and carnage.\n\nBy this time the \"Black Eagle,\" driven by the wind and waves, came so\nnear the \"William Tell\" that the passengers on the deck of the nearly\ndismantled steamer were visible from the first-named vessel.\n\nThese passengers were no longer numerous. The heavy sea, which stove in\nthe paddle-box and broke one of the paddles, had also carried away nearly\nthe whole of the bulwarks on that side; the waves, entering every instant\nby this large opening, swept the decks with irresistible violence, and\nevery time bore away with them some fresh victims.\n\nAmongst the passengers, who seemed only to have escaped this danger to be\nhurled against the rocks, or crushed in the encounter of the two vessels,\none group was especially worthy of the most tender and painful interest.\nTaking refuge abaft, a tall old man, with bald forehead and gray\nmoustache, had lashed himself to a stanchion, by winding a piece of rope\nround his body, whilst he clasped in his arms, and held fast to his\nbreast, two girls of fifteen or sixteen, half enveloped in a pelisse of\nreindeer-skin. A large, fallow, Siberian dog, dripping with water, and\nbarking furiously at the waves, stood close to their feet.\n\nThese girls, clasped in the arms of the old man, also pressed close to\neach other; but, far from being lost in terror, they raised their eyes to\nheaven, full of confidence and ingenuous hope, as though they expected to\nbe saved by the intervention of some supernatural power.\n\nA frightful shriek of horror and despair, raised by the passengers of\nboth vessels, was heard suddenly above the roar of the tempest. At the\nmoment when, plunging deeply between two waves, the broadside of the\nsteamer was turned towards the bows of the ship, the latter, lifted to a\nprodigious height on a mountain of water, remained, as it were, suspended\nover the \"William Tell,\" during the second which preceded the shock of\nthe two vessels.\n\nThere are sights of so sublime a horror, that it is impossible to\ndescribe them. Yet, in the midst of these catastrophes, swift as thought,\none catches sometimes a momentary glimpse of a picture, rapid and\nfleeting, as if illumined by a flash of lightning.\n\nThus, when the \"Black Eagle,\" poised aloft by the flood, was about to\ncrash down upon the \"William Tell,\" the young man with the angelic\ncountenance and fair, waving locks bent over the prow of the ship, ready\nto cast himself into the sea to save some victim. Suddenly, he perceived\non board the steamer, on which he looked down from the summit of the\nimmense wave, the two girls extending their arms towards him in\nsupplication. They appeared to recognize him, and gazed on him with a\nsort of ecstacy and religious homage!\n\nFor a second, in spite of the horrors of the tempest, in spite of the\napproaching shipwreck, the looks of those three beings met. The features\nof the young man were expressive of sudden and profound pity; for the\nmaidens with their hands clasped in prayer, seemed to invoke him as their\nexpected Saviour. The old man, struck down by the fall of a plank, lay\nhelpless on the deck. Soon all disappeared together.\n\nA fearful mass of water dashed the \"Black Eagle\" down upon the \"William\nTell,\" in the midst of a cloud of boiling foam. To the dreadful crash of\nthe two great bodies of wood and iron, which splintering against one\nanother, instantly foundered, one loud cry was added--a cry of agony and\ndeath--the cry of a hundred human creatures swallowed up at once by the\nwaves!\n\nAnd then--nothing more was visible!\n\nA few moments after, the fragments of the two vessels appeared in the\ntrough of the sea, and on the caps of the waves--with here and there the\ncontracted arms, the livid and despairing faces of some unhappy wretches,\nstriving to make their way to the reefs along the shore, at the risk of\nbeing crushed to death by the shock of the furious breakers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nTHE SHIPWRECK.\n\nWhile the bailiff was gone to the sea-shore, to render help to those of\nthe passengers who might escape from the inevitable shipwreck, M. Rodin,\nconducted by Catherine to the Green Chamber, had there found the articles\nthat he was to take with him to Paris.\n\nAfter passing two hours in this apartment, very indifferent to the fate\nof the shipwrecked persons, which alone absorbed the attention of the\ninhabitants of the Castle, Rodin returned to the chamber commonly\noccupied by the bailiff, a room which opened upon a long gallery. When he\nentered it he found nobody there. Under his arm he held a casket, with\nsilver fastenings, almost black from age, whilst one end of a large red\nmorocco portfolio projected from the breast-pocket of his half buttoned\ngreat coat.\n\nHad the cold and livid countenance of the Abbe d'Aigrigny's secretary\nbeen able to express joy otherwise than by a sarcastic smile, his\nfeatures would have been radiant with delight; for, just then, he was\nunder the influence of the most agreeable thoughts. Having placed the\ncasket upon a table, it was with marked satisfaction that he thus\ncommuned with himself:\n\n\"All goes well. It was prudent to keep these papers here till this\nmoment, for one must always be on guard against the diabolical spirit of\nthat Adrienne de Cardoville, who appears to guess instinctively what it\nis impossible she should know. Fortunately, the time approaches when we\nshall have no more need to fear her. Her fate will be a cruel one; it\nmust be so. Those proud, independent characters are at all times our\nnatural enemies--they are so by their very essence--how much more when\nthey show themselves peculiarly hurtful and dangerous! As for La Sainte\nColombe, the bailiff is sure to act for us; between what the fool calls\nhis conscience, and the dread of being at his age deprived of a\nlivelihood, he will not hesitate. I wish to have him because he will\nserve us better than a stranger; his having been here twenty years will\nprevent all suspicion on the part of that dull and narrow-minded woman.\nOnce in the hands of our man at Roiville, I will answer for the result.\nThe course of all such gross and stupid women is traced beforehand: in\ntheir youth, they serve the devil; in riper years, they make others serve\nhim; in their old age, they are horribly afraid of him; and this fear\nmust continue till she has left us the Chateau de Cardoville, which, from\nits isolated position, will make us an excellent college. All then goes\nwell. As for the affair of the medals, the 13th of February approaches,\nwithout news from Joshua--evidently, Prince Djalma is still kept prisoner\nby the English in the heart of India, or I must have received letters\nfrom Batavia. The daughters of General Simon will be detained at Leipsic\nfor at least a month longer. All our foreign relations are in the best\ncondition. As for our internal affairs--\"\n\n Here M. Rodin was interrupted in the current of his reflections by the\nentrance of Madame Dupont, who was zealously engaged in preparations to\ngive assistance in case of need.\n\n\"Now,\" said she to the servant, \"light a fire in the next room; put this\nwarm wine there; your master may be in every minute.\"\n\n\"Well, my dear madam,\" said Rodin to her, \"do they hope to save any of\nthese poor creatures?\"\n\n\"Alas! I do not know, sir. My husband has been gone nearly two hours. I\nam terribly uneasy on his account. He is so courageous, so imprudent, if\nonce he thinks he can be of any service.\"\n\n\"Courageous even to imprudence,\" said Rodin to himself, impatiently; \"I\ndo not like that.\"\n\n\"Well,\" resumed Catherine, \"I have here at hand my hot linen, my\ncordials--heaven grant it may all be of use!\"\n\n\"We may at least hope so, my dear madam. I very much regretted that my\nage and weakness did not permit me to assist your excellent husband. I\nalso regret not being able to wait for the issue of his exertions, and to\nwish him joy if successful--for I am unfortunately compelled to depart,\nmy moments are precious. I shall be much obliged if you will have the\ncarriage got ready.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir; I will see about it directly.\"\n\n\"One word, my dear, good Madame Dupont. You are a woman of sense, and\nexcellent judgment. Now I have put your husband in the way to keep, if he\nwill, his situation as bailiff of the estate--\"\n\n\"Is it possible? What gratitude do we not owe you! Without this place\nwhat would become of us at our time of life?\"\n\n\"I have only saddled my promise with two conditions--mere trifles--he\nwill explain all that to you.\"\n\n\"Ah, sir! we shall regard you as our deliverer.\"\n\n\"You are too good. Only, on two little conditions--\"\n\n\"If there were a hundred, sir we should gladly accept them. Think what we\nshould be without this place--penniless--absolutely penniless!\"\n\n\"I reckon upon you then; for the interest of your husband, you will try\nto persuade him.\"\n\n\"Missus! I say, missus! here's master come back,\" cried a servant,\nrushing into the chamber.\n\n\"Has he many with him?\"\n\n\"No, missus; he is alone.\"\n\n\"Alone! alone?\"\n\n\"Quite alone, missus.\"\n\nA few moments after, M. Dupont entered the room; his clothes were\nstreaming with water; to keep his hat on in the midst of the storm, he\nhad tied it down to his head by means of his cravat, which was knotted\nunder his chin; his gaiters were covered with chalky stains.\n\n\"There I have thee, my dear love!\" cried his wife, tenderly embracing\nhim. \"I have been so uneasy!\"\n\n\"Up to the present moment--THREE SAVED.\"\n\n\"God be praised, my dear M. Dupont!\" said Rodin; \"at least your efforts\nwill not have been all in vain.\"\n\n\"Three, only three?\" said Catherine. \"Gracious heaven!\"\n\n\"I only speak of those I saw myself, near the little creek of Goelands.\nLet us hope there may be more saved on other parts of the coast.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed; happily, the shore is not equally steep in all parts.\"\n\n\"And where are these interesting sufferers, my dear sir?\" asked Rodin,\nwho could not avoid remaining a few instants longer.\n\n\"They are mounting the cliffs, supported by our people. As they cannot\nwalk very fast, I ran on before to console my wife, and to take the\nnecessary measures for their reception. First of all, my dear, you must\nget ready some women's clothes.\"\n\n\"There is then a woman amongst the persons saved?\"\n\n\"There are two girls--fifteen or sixteen years of age at the most--mere\nchildren--and so pretty!\"\n\n\"Poor little things!\" said Rodin, with an affectation of interest.\n\n\"The person to whom they owe their lives is with them. He is a real\nhero!\"\n\n\"A hero?\"\n\n\"Yes; only fancy--\"\n\n\"You can tell me all this by and by. Just slip on this dry warm\ndressing-gown, and take some of this hot wine. You are wet through.\"\n\n\"I'll not refuse, for I am almost frozen to death. I was telling you that\nthe person who saved these young girls was a hero; and certainly his\ncourage was beyond anything one could have imagined. When I left here\nwith the men of the farm, we descended the little winding path, and\narrived at the foot of the cliff--near the little creek of Goelands,\nfortunately somewhat sheltered from the waves by five or six enormous\nmasses of rock stretching out into the sea. Well, what should we find\nthere? Why, the two young girls I spoke of, in a swoon, with their feet\nstill in the water, and their bodies resting against a rock, as though\nthey had been placed there by some one, after being withdrawn from the\nsea.\"\n\n\"Dear children! it is quite touching!\" said M. Rodin, raising, as usual,\nthe tip of his little finger to the corner of his right eye, as though to\ndry a tear, which was very seldom visible.\n\n\"What struck me was their great resemblance to each other,\" resumed the\nbailiff; \"only one in the habit of seeing them could tell the\ndifference.\"\n\n\"Twin--sisters, no doubt,\" said Madame Dupont.\n\n\"One of the poor things,\" continued the bailiff, \"held between her\nclasped hands a little bronze medal, which was suspended from her neck by\na chain of the same material.\"\n\nRodin generally maintained a very stooping posture; but at these last\nwords of the bailiff, he drew himself up suddenly, whilst a faint color\nspread itself over his livid cheeks. In any other person, these symptoms\nwould have appeared of little consequence; but in Rodin, accustomed for\nlong years to control and dissimulate his emotions, they announced no\nordinary excitement. Approaching the bailiff, he said to him in a\nslightly agitated voice, but still with an air of indifference: \"It was\ndoubtless a pious relic. Did you see what was inscribed on this medal?\"\n\n\"No, sir; I did not think of it.\"\n\n\"And the two young girls were like one another--very much like, you say?\"\n\n\"So like, that one would hardly know which was which. Probably they are\norphans, for they are dressed in mourning.\"\n\n\"Oh! dressed in mourning?\" said M. Rodin, with another start.\n\n\"Alas! orphans so young!\" said Madame Dupont, wiping her eyes.\n\n\"As they had fainted away, we carried them further on to a place where\nthe sand was quite dry. While we were busy about this, we saw the head of\na man appear from behind one of the rocks, which he was trying to climb,\nclinging to it by one hand; we ran to him, and luckily in the nick of\ntime, for he was clean worn out, and fell exhausted into the arms of our\nmen. It was of him I spoke when I talked of a hero; for, not content with\nhaving saved the two young girls by his admirable courage, he had\nattempted to rescue a third person, and had actually gone back amongst\nthe rocks and breakers--but his strength failed him, and, without the aid\nof our men, he would certainly have been washed away from the ridge to\nwhich he clung.\"\n\n\"He must indeed be a fine fellow!\" said Catherine.\n\nRodin, with his head bowed upon his breast, seemed quite indifferent to\nthis conversation. The dismay and stupor, in which he had been plunged,\nonly increased upon reflection. The two girls, who had just been saved,\nwere fifteen years of age; were dressed in mourning; were so like, that\none might be taken for the other; one of them wore round her neck a chain\nwith a bronze medal; he could scarcely doubt that they were the daughters\nof General Simon. But how could those sisters be amongst the number of\nshipwrecked passengers? How could they have escaped from the prison at\nLeipsic? How did it happen, that he had not been informed of it? Could\nthey have fled, or had they been set at liberty? How was it possible that\nhe should not be apprise of such an event? But these secondary thoughts,\nwhich offered themselves in crowds to the mind of M. Rodin, were\nswallowed up in the one fact: \"the daughters of General Simon are\nhere!\"--His plan, so laboriously laid, was thus entirely destroyed.\n\n\"When I speak of the deliverer of these young girls,\" resumed the\nbailiff, addressing his wife, and without remarking M. Rodin's absence of\nmind, \"you are expecting no doubt to see a Hercules?--well, he is\naltogether the reverse. He is almost a boy in look, with fair, sweet\nface, and light, curling locks. I left him a cloak to cover him, for he\nhad nothing on but his shirt, black knee-breeches, and a pair of black\nworsted stockings--which struck me as singular.\"\n\n\"Why, it was certainly not a sailor's dress.\"\n\n\"Besides, though the ship was English, I believe my hero is a Frenchman,\nfor he speaks our language as well as we do. What brought the tears to my\neyes, was to see the young girls, when they came to themselves. As soon\nas they saw him, they threw themselves at his feet, and seemed to look up\nto him and thank him, as one would pray. Then they cast their eyes around\nthem, as if in search of some other person, and, having exchanged a few\nwords, they fell sobbing into each other's arms.\"\n\n\"What a dreadful thing it is! How many poor creatures must have\nperished!\"\n\n\"When we quitted the rocks, the sea had already cast ashore seven dead\nbodies, besides fragments of the wrecks, and packages. I spoke to some of\nthe coast-guard, and they will remain all day on the look-out; and if, as\nI hope, any more should escape with life, they are to be brought here.\nBut surely that is the sound of voices!--yes, it is our shipwrecked\nguests!\"\n\nThe bailiff and his wife ran to the door of the room--that door, which\nopened on the long gallery--whilst Rodin, biting convulsively his flat\nnails, awaited with angry impatience the arrival of the strangers. A\ntouching picture soon presented itself to his view.\n\nFrom the end of the dark some gallery, only lighted on one side by\nseveral windows, three persons, conducted by a peasant, advanced slowly.\nThis group consisted of the two maidens, and the intrepid young man to\nwhom they owed their lives. Rose and Blanche were on either side of their\ndeliverer, who, walking with great difficulty, supported himself lightly\non their arms.\n\nThough he was full twenty-five years of age, the juvenile countenance of\nthis man made him appear younger. His long, fair hair, parted on the\nforehead, streamed wet and smooth over the collar of a large brown cloak,\nwith which he had been covered. It would be difficult to describe the\nadorable expression of goodness in his pale, mild face, as pure as the\nmost ideal creations of Raphael's pencil--for that divine artist alone\ncould have caught the melancholy grace of those exquisite features, the\nserenity of that celestial look, from eyes limpid and blue as those of an\narchangel, or of a martyr ascended to the skies.\n\nYes, of a martyr! for a blood-red halo already encircled that beauteous\nhead. Piteous sight to see! just above his light eyebrows, and rendered\nstill more visible by the effect of the cold, a narrow cicatrix, from a\nwound inflicted many months before, appeared to encompass his fair\nforehead with a purple band; and (still more sad!) his hands had been\ncruelly pierced by a crucifixion--his feet had suffered the same\ninjury--and, if he now walked with so much difficulty, it was that his\nwounds had reopened, as he struggled over the sharp rocks.\n\nThis young man was Gabriel, the priest attached to the foreign mission,\nthe adopted son of Dagobert's wife. He was a priest and martyr--for, in\nour days, there are still martyrs, as in the time when the Caesars flung\nthe early Christians to the lions and tigers of the circus.\n\nYes, in our days, the children of the people--for it is almost always\namongst them that heroic and disinterested devotion may still be\nfound--the children of the people, led by an honorable conviction,\nbecause it is courageous and sincere, go to all parts of the world, to\ntry and propagate their faith, and brave both torture and death with the\nmost unpretending valor.\n\nHow many of them, victims of some barbarous tribe, have perished, obscure\nand unknown, in the midst of the solitudes of the two worlds!--And for\nthese humble soldiers of the cross, who have nothing but their faith and\ntheir intrepidity, there is never reserved on their return (and they\nseldom do return) the rich and sumptuous dignities of the church. Never\ndoes the purple or the mitre conceal their scarred brows and mutilated\nlimbs; like the great majority of other soldiers, they die forgotten.[8]\n\nIn their ingenuous gratitude, the daughters of General Simon, as soon as\nthey recovered their senses after the shipwreck, and felt themselves able\nto ascend the cliffs, would not leave to any other person the care of\nsustaining the faltering steps of him who had rescued them from certain\ndeath.\n\nThe black garments of Rose and Blanche streamed with water; their faces\nwere deadly pale, and expressive of deep grief; the marks of recent tears\nwere on their cheeks, and, with sad, downcast eyes, they trembled both\nfrom agitation and cold, as the agonizing thought recurred to them, that\nthey should never again see Dagobert, their friend and guide; for it was\nto him that Gabriel had stretched forth a helping hand, to assist him to\nclimb the rocks. Unfortunately the strength of both had failed, and the\nsoldier had been carried away by a retreating wave.\n\nThe sight of Gabriel was a fresh surprise for Rodin, who had retired on\none side, in order to observe all; but this surprise was of so pleasant a\nnature, and he felt so much joy in beholding the missionary safe after\nsuch imminent peril, that the painful impression, caused by the view of\nGeneral Simon's daughters, was a little softened. It must not be\nforgotten, that the presence of Gabriel in Paris, on the 13th of\nFebruary, was essential to the success of Rodin's projects.\n\nThe bailiff and his wife, who were greatly moved at sight of the orphans,\napproached them with eagerness. Just then a farm-boy entered the room,\ncrying: \"Sir! sir! good news--two more saved from the wreck!\"\n\n\"Blessing and praise to God for it!\" said the missionary.\n\n\"Where are they?\" asked the bailiff, hastening towards the door.\n\n\"There is one who can walk, and is following behind me with Justin; the\nother was wounded against the rocks, and they are carrying him on a\nlitter made of branches.\"\n\n\"I will run and have him placed in the room below,\" said the bailiff, as\nhe went out. \"Catherine, you can look to the young ladies.\"\n\n\"And the shipwrecked man who can walk--where is he?\" asked the bailiff's\nwife.\n\n\"Here he is,\" said the peasant, pointing to some one who came rapidly\nalong the gallery; \"when he heard that the two young ladies were safe in\nthe chateau--though he is old, and wounded in the head, he took such\ngreat strides, that it was all I could do to get here before him.\"\n\nHardly had the peasant pronounced these words, when Rose and Blanche,\nspringing up by a common impulse, flew to the door. They arrived there at\nthe same moment as Dagobert.\n\nThe soldier, unable to utter a syllable, fell on his knees at the\nthreshold, and extended his arms to the daughters of General Simon; while\nSpoil-sport, running to them licked their hands.\n\nBut the emotion was too much for Dagobert; and, when he had clasped the\norphans in his arms, his head fell backward, and he would have sunk down\naltogether, but for the care of the peasants. In spite of the\nobservations of the bailiff's wife, on their state of weakness and\nagitation, the two young girls insisted on accompanying Dagobert, who was\ncarried fainting into an adjoining apartment.\n\nAt sight of the soldier, Rodin's face was again violently contracted, for\nhe had till then believed that the guide of General Simon's daughters was\ndead. The missionary, worn out with fatigue, was leaning upon a chair,\nand had not yet perceived Rodin.\n\nA new personage, a man with a dead yellow complexion, now entered the\nroom, accompanied by another peasant, who pointed out Gabriel to him.\nThis man, who had just borrowed a smock-frock and a pair of trousers,\napproached the missionary, and said to him in French but with a foreign\naccent: \"Prince Djalma has just been brought in here. His first word was\nto ask for you.\"\n\n\"What does that man say?\" cried Rodin, in a voice of thunder; for, at the\nname of Djalma, he had sprung with one bound to Gabriel's side.\n\n\"M. Rodin!\" exclaimed the missionary, falling back in surprise.\n\n\"M. Rodin,\" cried the other shipwrecked person; and from that moment, he\nkept his eye fixed on the correspondent of M. Van Dael.\n\n\"You here, sir?\" said Gabriel, approaching Rodin with an air of\ndeference, not unmixed with fear.\n\n\"What did that man say to you?\" repeated Rodin, in an excited tone. \"Did\nhe not utter the name of Prince Djalma?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; Prince Djalma was one of the passengers on board the English\nship, which came from Alexandria, and in which we have just been wrecked.\nThis vessel touched at the Azores, where I then was; the ship that\nbrought me from Charlestown having been obliged to put in there, and\nbeing likely to remain for some time, on account of serious damage, I\nembarked on board the 'Black Eagle,' where I met Prince Djalma. We were\nbound to Portsmouth, and from thence my intention was to proceed to\nFrance.\"\n\nRodin did not care to interrupt Gabriel. This new shock had completely\nparalyzed his thoughts. At length, like a man who catches at a last hope,\nwhich he knows beforehand to be vain, he said to Gabriel: \"Can you tell\nme who this Prince Djalma is?\"\n\n\"A young man as good as brave--the son of an East Indian king,\ndispossessed of his territory by the English.\"\n\nThen, turning towards the other shipwrecked man, the missionary said to\nhim with anxious interest: \"How is the Prince? are his wounds dangerous?\"\n\n\"They are serious contusions, but they will not be mortal,\" answered the\nother.\n\n\"Heaven be praised!\" said the missionary, addressing Rodin; \"here, you\nsee, is another saved.\"\n\n\"So much the better,\" observed Rodin, in a quick, imperious tone.\n\n\"I will go see him,\" said Gabriel, submissively. \"You have no orders to\ngive me?\"\n\n\"Will you be able to leave this place in two or three hours,\nnotwithstanding your fatigue?\"\n\n\"If it be necessary--yes.\"\n\n\"It is necessary. You will go with me.\"\n\nGabriel only bowed in reply, and Rodin sank confounded into a chair,\nwhile the missionary went out with the peasant. The man with the sallow\ncomplexion still lingered in a corner of the room, unperceived by Rodin.\n\nThis man was Faringhea, the half-caste, one of the three chiefs of the\nStranglers. Having escaped the pursuit of the soldiers in the ruins of\nTchandi, he had killed Mahal the Smuggler, and robbed him of the\ndespatches written by M. Joshua Van Dael to Rodin, as also of the letter\nby which the smuggler was to have been received as passenger on board the\n\"Ruyter.\" When Faringhea left the hut in the ruins of Tchandi, he had not\nbeen seen by Djalma; and the latter, when he met him on shipboard, after\nhis escape (which we shall explain by and by), not knowing that he\nbelonged to the sect of Phansegars, treated him during the voyage as a\nfellow-countryman.\n\nRodin, with his eye fixed and haggard, his countenance of a livid hue,\nbiting his nails to the quick in silent rage, did not perceive the half\ncaste, who quietly approached him and laying his hand familiarly on his\nshoulder, said to him: \"Your name is Rodin?\"\n\n\"What now?\" asked the other, starting, and raising his head abruptly.\n\n\"Your name is Rodin?\" repeated Faringhea.\n\n\"Yes. What do you want?\"\n\n\"You live in the Rue du Milieu-des-Ursins, Paris?\"\n\n\"Yes. But, once more, what do you want?\"\n\n\"Nothing now, brother: hereafter, much!\"\n\nAnd Faringhea, retiring, with slow steps, left Rodin alarmed at what had\npassed; for this man, who scarcely trembled at anything, had quailed\nbefore the dark look and grim visage of the Strangler.\n\n[8] We always remember with emotion the end of a letter written, two or\nthree years ago, by one of these young and valiant missionaries, the son\nof poor parents in Beauce. He was writing to his mother from the heart of\nJapan, and thus concluded his letter: \"Adieu, my dear mother! they say\nthere is much danger where I am now sent to. Pray for me, and tell all\nour good neighbors that I think of them very often.\" These few words,\naddressed from the centre of Asia to poor peasants in a hamlet of France,\nare only the more touching from their very simplicity--E. S.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nTHE DEPARTURE FOR PARIS.\n\nThe most profound silence reigns throughout Cardoville House. The tempest\nhas lulled by degrees, and nothing is heard from afar but the hoarse\nmurmur of the waves, as they wash heavily the shore.\n\nDagobert and the orphans have been lodged in warm and comfortable\napartments on the first-floor of the chateau. Djalma, too severely hurt\nto be carried upstairs, has remained in a room below. At the moment of\nthe shipwreck, a weeping mother had placed her child in his arms. He had\nfailed in the attempt to snatch this unfortunate infant from certain\ndeath, but his generous devotion had hampered his movements, and when\nthrown upon the rocks, he was almost dashed to pieces. Faringhea, who has\nbeen able to convince him of his affection, remains to watch over him.\n\nGabriel, after administering consolation to Djalma, has rescinded to the\nchamber allotted to him; faithful to the promise he made to Rodin, to be\nready to set out in two hours, he has not gone to bed; but, having dried\nhis clothes, he has fallen asleep in a large, high-backed arm-chair,\nplaced in front of a bright coal-fire. His apartment is situated near\nthose occupied by Dagobert and the two sisters.\n\nSpoil-sport, probably quite at his ease in so respectable a dwelling, has\nquitted the door of Rose and Blanche's chamber, to lie down and warm\nhimself at the hearth, by the side of which the missionary is sleeping.\nThere, with his nose resting on his outstretched paws, he enjoys a\nfeeling of perfect comfort and repose, after so many perils by land and\nsea. We will not venture to affirm, that he thinks habitually of poor old\nJovial; unless we recognize as a token of remembrance on his part, his\nirresistible propensity to bite all the white horses he has met with,\never since the death of his venerable companion, though before, he was\nthe most inoffensive of dogs with regard to horses of every color.\n\nPresently one of the doors of the chamber opened, and the two sisters\nentered timidly. Awake for some minutes, they had risen and dressed\nthemselves, feeling still some uneasiness with respect to Dagobert;\nthough the bailiff's wife, after showing them to their room, had returned\nagain to tell them that the village doctor found nothing serious in the\nhurt of the old soldier, still they hoped to meet some one belonging to\nthe chateau, of whom they could make further inquiries about him.\n\nThe high back of the old-fashioned arm-chair, in which Gabriel was\nsleeping, completely screened him from view; but the orphans, seeing\ntheir canine friend lying quietly at his feet, thought it was Dagobert\nreposing there, and hastened towards him on tip-toe. To their great\nastonishment, they saw Gabriel fast asleep, and stood still in confusion,\nnot daring to advance or recede, for fear of waking him.\n\nThe long, light hair of the missionary was no longer wet, and now curled\nnaturally round his neck and shoulders; the paleness of his complexion\nwas the more striking, from the contrast afforded by the deep purple of\nthe damask covering of the arm-chair. His beautiful countenance expressed\na profound melancholy, either caused by the influence of some painful\ndream, or else that he was in the habit of keeping down, when awake, some\nsad regrets, which revealed themselves without his knowledge when he was\nsleeping. Notwithstanding this appearance of bitter grief, his features\npreserved their character of angelic sweetness, and seemed endowed with\nan inexpressible charm, for nothing is more touching than suffering\ngoodness. The two young girls cast down their eyes, blushed\nsimultaneously, and exchanged anxious glances, as if to point out to each\nother the slumbering missionary.\n\n\"He sleeps, sister,\" said Rose in a low voice.\n\n\"So much the better,\" replied Blanche, also in a whisper, making a sign\nof caution; \"we shall now be able to observe him well.\"\n\n\"Yes, for we durst not do so, in coming from the sea hither.\"\n\n\"Look! what a sweet countenance!\"\n\n\"He is just the same as we saw him in our dreams.\"\n\n\"When he promised he would protect us.\"\n\n\"And he has not failed us.\"\n\n\"But here, at least, he is visible.\"\n\n\"Not as it was in the prison at Leipsic, during that dark night.\"\n\n\"And so--he has again rescued us.\"\n\n\"Without him, we should have perished this morning.\"\n\n\"And yet, sister, it seems to me, that in our dreams his countenance\nshone with light.\"\n\n\"Yes, you know it dazzled us to look at him.\"\n\n\"And then he had not so sad a mien.\"\n\n\"That was because he came then from heaven; now he is upon earth.\"\n\n\"But, sister, had he then that bright red scar round his forehead?\"\n\n\"Oh, no! we should have certainly perceived it.\"\n\n\"And these other marks on his hands?\"\n\n\"If he has been wounded, how can he be an archangel?\"\n\n\"Why not, sister? If he received those wounds in preventing evil, or in\nhelping the unfortunate, who, like us, were about to perish?\"\n\n\"You are right. If he did not run any danger for those he protects, it\nwould be less noble.\"\n\n\"What a pity that he does not open his eye!\"\n\n\"Their expression is so good, so tender!\"\n\n\"Why did he not speak of our mother, by the way?\"\n\n\"We were not alone with him; he did not like to do so.\"\n\n\"But now we are alone.\"\n\n\"If we were to pray to him to speak to us?\"\n\nThe orphans looked doubtingly at each other, with charming simplicity; a\nbright glow suffused their cheeks, and their young bosoms heaved gently\nbeneath their black dresses.\n\n\"You are right. Let us kneel down to him.\"\n\n\"Oh, sister! our hearts beat so!\" said Blanche, believing rightly, that\nRose felt exactly as she did. \"And yet it seems to do us good. It is as\nif some happiness were going to befall us.\"\n\nThe sisters, having approached the arm-chair on tip-toe, knelt down with\nclasped hands, one to the right the other to the left of the young\npriest. It was a charming picture. Turning their lovely faces towards\nhim, they said in a low whisper, with a soft, sweet voice, well suited to\ntheir youthful appearance: \"Gabriel! speak to us of our mother!\"\n\nOn this appeal, the missionary gave a slight start, half-opened his eyes,\nand, still in a state of semi-consciousness, between sleep and waking,\nbeheld those two beauteous faces turned towards him, and heard two gentle\nvoices repeat his name.\n\n\"Who calls me?\" said he, rousing himself, and raising his head.\n\n\"It is Blanche and Rose.\"\n\nIt was now Gabriel's turn to blush, for he recognized the young girls he\nhad saved. \"Rise, my sisters!\" said he to them; \"you should kneel only\nunto God.\"\n\nThe orphans obeyed, and were soon beside him, holding each other by the\nhand. \"You know my name, it seems,\" said the missionary with a smile.\n\n\"Oh, we have not forgotten it!\"\n\n\"Who told it you?\"\n\n\"Yourself.\"\n\"I?\"\n\n\"Yes--when you came from our mother.\"\n\n\"I, my sisters?\" said the missionary, unable to comprehend the words of\nthe orphans. \"You are mistaken. I saw you to-day for the first time.\"\n\n\"But in our dreams?\"\n\n\"Yes--do you not remember?--in our dreams.\"\n\n\"In Germany--three months ago, for the first time. Look at us well.\"\n\nGabriel could not help smiling at the simplicity of Rose and Blanche, who\nexpected him to remember a dream of theirs; growing more and more\nperplexed, he repeated: \"In your dreams?\"\n\n\"Certainly; when you gave us such good advice.\"\n\n\"And when we were so sorrowful in prison, your words, which we\nremembered, consoled us, and gave us courage.\"\n\n\"Was it not you, who delivered us from the prison at Leipsic, in that\ndark night, when we were not able to see you?\"\n\n\"I!\"\n\n\"What other but you would thus have come to our help, and to that of our\nold friend?\"\n\n\"We told him, that you would love him, because he loved us, although he\nwould not believe in angels.\"\n\n\"And this morning, during the tempest, we had hardly any fear.\"\n\n\"Because we expected you.\"\n\n\"This morning--yes, my sisters--it pleased heaven to send me to your\nassistance. I was coming from America, but I have never been in Leipsic.\nI could not, therefore, have let you out of prison. Tell me, my sisters,\"\nadded he, with a benevolent smile, \"for whom do you take me?\"\n\n\"For a good angel whom we have seen already in dreams, sent by our mother\nfrom heaven to protect us.\"\n\n\"My dear sisters, I am only a poor priest. It is by mere chance, no\ndoubt, that I bear some resemblance to the angel you have seen in your\ndreams, and whom you could not see in any other manner--for angels are\nnot visible to mortal eye.\n\n\"Angels are not visible?\" said the orphans, looking sorrowfully at each\nother.\n\n\"No matter, my dear sisters,\" said Gabriel, taking them affectionately by\nthe hand; \"dreams, like everything else, come from above. Since the\nremembrance of your mother was mixed up with this dream, it is twice\nblessed.\"\n\nAt this moment a door opened, and Dagobert made his appearance. Up to\nthis time, the orphans, in their innocent ambition to be protected by an\narchangel, had quite forgotten the circumstance that Dagobert's wife had\nadopted a forsaken child, who was called Gabriel, and who was now a\npriest and missionary.\n\nThe soldier, though obstinate in maintaining that his hurt was only a\nblank wound (to use a term of General Simon's), had allowed it to be\ncarefully dressed by the surgeon of the village, and now wore a black\nbandage, which concealed one half of his forehead, and added to the\nnatural grimness of his features. On entering the room, he was not a\nlittle surprised to see a stranger holding the hands of Rose and Blanche\nfamiliarly in his own. This surprise was natural, for Dagobert did not\nknow that the missionary had saved the lives of the orphans, and had\nattempted to save his also.\n\nIn the midst of the storm, tossed about by the waves, and vainly striving\nto cling to the rocks, the soldier had only seen Gabriel very\nimperfectly, at the moment when, having snatched the sisters from certain\ndeath, the young priest had fruitlessly endeavored to come to his aid.\nAnd when, after the shipwreck, Dagobert had found the orphans in safety\nbeneath the roof of the Manor House, he fell, as we have already stated,\ninto a swoon, caused by fatigue, emotion, and the effects of his\nwound--so that he had again no opportunity of observing the features of\nthe missionary.\n\nThe veteran began to frown from beneath his black bandage and thick, gray\nbrows, at beholding a stranger so familiar with Rose and Blanche; but the\nsisters ran to throw themselves into his arms, and to cover him with\nfilial caresses. His anger was soon dissipated by these marks of\naffection, though he continued, from time to time, to cast a suspicious\nglance at the missionary, who had risen from his seat, but whose\ncountenance he could not well distinguish.\n\n\"How is your wound?\" asked Rose, anxiously. \"They told us it was not\ndangerous.\"\n\n\"Does it still pain?\" added Blanche.\n\n\"No, children; the surgeon of the village would bandage me up in this\nmanner. If my head was carbonadoes with sabre cuts, I could not have more\nwrappings. They will take me for an old milksop; it is only a blank\nwound, and I have a good mind to--\" And therewith the soldier raised one\nof his hands to the bandage.\n\n\"Will you leave that alone?\" cried Rose catching his arm. \"How can you be\nso unreasonable--at your age?\"\n\n\"Well, well! don't scold! I will do what you wish, and keep it on.\" Then,\ndrawing the sisters to one end of the room, he said to them in a low\nvoice, whilst he looked at the young priest from the corner of his eye:\n\"Who is that gentleman who was holding your hands when I came in? He has\nvery much the look of a curate. You see, my children, you must be on your\nguard; because--\"\n\n\"He?\" cried both sisters at once, turning towards Gabriel. \"Without him,\nwe should not now be here to kiss you.\"\n\n\"What's that?\" cried the soldier, suddenly drawing up his tall figure,\nand gazing full at the missionary.\n\n\"It is our guardian angel,\" resumed Blanche.\n\n\"Without him,\" said Rose, \"we must have perished this morning in the\nshipwreck.\"\n\n\"Ah! it is he, who--\" Dagobert could say no more. With swelling heart,\nand tears in his eyes, he ran to the missionary, offered him both his\nhands, and exclaimed in a tone of gratitude impossible to describe: \"Sir,\nI owe you the lives of these two children. I feel what a debt that\nservice lays upon me. I will not say more--because it includes\neverything!\"\n\nThen, as if struck with a sudden recollection, he cried: \"Stop! when I\nwas trying to cling to a rock, so as not to be carried away by the waves,\nwas it not you that held out your hand to me? Yes--that light hair--that\nyouthful countenance--yes--it was certainly you--now I am sure of it!\"\n\n\"Unhappily, sir, my strength failed me, and I had the anguish to see you\nfall back into the sea.\"\n\n\"I can say nothing more in the way of thanks than what I have already\nsaid,\" answered Dagobert, with touching simplicity: \"in preserving these\nchildren you have done more for me than if you had saved my own life. But\nwhat heart and courage!\" added the soldier, with admiration; \"and so\nyoung, with such a girlish look!\"\n\n\"And so,\" cried Blanche, joyfully, \"our Gabriel came to your aid also?\"\n\n\"Gabriel!\" said Dagobert interrupting Blanche, and addressing himself to\nthe priest. \"Is your name Gabriel?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Gabriel!\" repeated the soldier, more and more surprised. \"And a priest!\"\nadded he.\n\n\"A priest of the foreign missions.\"\n\n\"Who--who brought you up?\" asked the soldier, with increasing\nastonishment.\n\n\"An excellent and generous woman, whom I revere as the best of mothers:\nfor she had pity on me, a deserted infant, and treated me ever as her\nson.\"\n\n\"Frances Baudoin--was it not?\" said the soldier, with deep emotion.\n\n\"It was, sir,\" answered Gabriel, astonished in his turn. \"But how do you\nknow this?\"\n\n\"The wife of a soldier, eh?\" continued Dagobert.\n\n\"Yes, of a brave soldier--who, from the most admirable devotion, is even\nnow passing his life in exile--far from his wife--far from his son, my\ndear brother--for I am proud to call him by that name--\"\n\n\"My Agricola!--my wife!--when did you leave them?\"\n\n\"What! is it possible! You the father of Agricola?--Oh! I knew not, until\nnow,\" cried Gabriel, clasping his hands together, \"I knew not all the\ngratitude that I owed to heaven!\"\n\n\"And my wife! my child!\" resumed Dagobert, in a trembling voice; \"how are\nthey? have you news of them?\"\n\n\"The accounts I received, three months ago, were excellent.\"\n\n\"No; it is too much,\" cried Dagobert; \"it is too much!\" The veteran was\nunable to proceed; his feelings stifled his words, and fell back\nexhausted in a chair.\n\nAnd now Rose and Blanche recalled to mind that portion of their father's\nletter which related to the child named Gabriel, whom the wife of\nDagobert had adopted; then they also yielded to transports of innocent\njoy.\n\n\"Our Gabriel is the same as yours--what happiness!\" cried Rose.\n\n\"Yes, my children! he belongs to you as well as to me. We have all our\npart in him.\" Then, addressing Gabriel, the soldier added with\naffectionate warmth: \"Your hand, my brave boy! give me your hand!\"\n\n\"Oh, sir! you are too good to me.\"\n\n\"Yes--that's it--thank me!--after all thou has done for us!\"\n\n\"Does my adopted mother know of your return?\" asked Gabriel, anxious to\nescape from the praises of the soldier.\n\n\"I wrote to her five months since, but said that I should come alone;\nthere was a reason for it, which I will explain by and by. Does she still\nlive in the Rue Brise-Miche? It was there Agricola was born.\"\n\n\"She still lives there.\"\n\n\"In that case, she must have received my letter. I wished to write to her\nfrom the prison at Leipsic, but it was impossible.\"\n\n\"From prison! Have you just come out of prison?\"\n\n\"Yes; I come straight from Germany, by the Elbe and Hamburg, and I should\nbe still at Leipsic, but for an event which the Devil must have had a\nhand in--a good sort of devil, though.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? Pray explain to me.\"\n\n\"That would be difficult, for I cannot explain it to myself. These little\nladies,\" he added, pointing with a smile to Rose and Blanche, \"pretended\nto know more about it than I did, and were continually repeating: 'It was\nthe angel that came to our assistance, Dagobert--the good angel we told\nthee of--though you said you would rather have Spoil sport to defend\nus--'\"\n\n\"Gabriel, I am waiting for you,\" said a stern voice, which made the\nmissionary start. They all turned round instantly, whilst the dog uttered\na deep growl.\n\nIt was Rodin. He stood in the doorway leading to the corridor. His\nfeatures were calm and impassive, but he darted a rapid, piercing glance\nat the soldier and sisters.\n\n\"Who is that man?\" said Dagobert, very little prepossessed in favor of\nRodin, whose countenance he found singularly repulsive. \"What the\nmischief does he want?\"\n\n\"I must go with him,\" answered Gabriel, in a tone of sorrowful\nconstraint. Then, turning to Rodin, he added: \"A thousand pardons! I\nshall be ready in a moment.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Dagobert, stupefied with amazement, \"going the very instant\nwe have just met? No, by my faith! you shall not go. I have too much to\ntell you, and to ask in return. We will make the journey together. It\nwill be a real treat for me.\"\n\n\"It is impossible. He is my superior, and I must obey him.\"\n\n\"Your superior?--why, he's in citizen's dress.\"\n\n\"He is not obliged to wear the ecclesiastical garb.\"\n\n\"Rubbish! since he is not in uniform, and there is no provost-marshal in\nyour troop, send him to the--\"\n\n\"Believe me, I would not hesitate a minute, if it were possible to\nremain.\"\n\n\"I was right in disliking the phi of that man,\" muttered Dagobert between\nhis teeth. Then he added, with an air of impatience and vexation: \"Shall\nI tell him that he will much oblige us by marching off by himself?\"\n\n\"I beg you not to do so,\" said Gabriel; \"it would be useless; I know my\nduty, and have no will but my superior's. As soon as you arrive in Paris,\nI will come and see you, as also my adopted mother, and my dear brother,\nAgricola.\"\n\n\"Well--if it must be. I have been a soldier, and know what subordination\nis,\" said Dagobert, much annoyed. \"One must put a good face on bad\nfortune. So, the day after to-morrow, in the Rue Brise-Miche, my boy; for\nthey tell me I can be in Paris by to-morrow evening, and we set out\nalmost immediately. But I say--there seems to be a strict discipline with\nyou fellows!\"\n\n\"Yes, it is strict and severe,\" answered Gabriel, with a shudder, and a\nstifled sigh.\n\n\"Come, shake hands--and let's say farewell for the present. After all,\ntwenty-four hours will soon pass away.\"\n\n\"Adieu! adieu!\" replied the missionary, much moved, whilst he returned\nthe friendly pressure of the veteran's hand.\n\n\"Adieu, Gabriel!\" added the orphans, sighing also, and with tears in\ntheir eyes.\n\n\"Adieu, my sisters!\" said Gabriel--and he left the room with Rodin, who\nhad not lost a word or an incident of this scene.\n\nTwo hours after, Dagobert and the orphans had quitted the Castle for\nParis, not knowing that Djalma was left at Cardoville, being still too\nmuch injured to proceed on his journey. The half-caste, Faringhea,\nremained with the young prince, not wishing, he said, to desert a fellow\ncountryman.\n\nWe now conduct the reader to the Rue Brise-Miche, the residence of\nDagobert's wife.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nDAGOBERT'S WIFE.\n\nThe following scenes occur in Paris, on the morrow of the day when the\nshipwrecked travellers were received in Cardoville House.\n\nNothing can be more gloomy than the aspect of the Rue Brise-Miche, one\nend of which leads into the Rue Saint-Merry, and the other into the\nlittle square of the Cloister, near the church. At this end, the street,\nor rather alley--for it is not more than eight feet wide--is shut in\nbetween immense black, muddy dilapidated walls, the excessive height of\nwhich excludes both air and light; hardly, during the longest days of the\nyear, is the sun able to throw into it a few straggling beams; whilst,\nduring the cold damps of winter, a chilling fog, which seems to penetrate\neverything, hangs constantly above the miry pavement of this species of\noblong well.\n\nIt was about eight o'clock in the evening; by the faint, reddish light of\nthe street lamp, hardly visible through the haze, two men, stopping at\nthe angle of one of those enormous walls, exchanged a few words together.\n\n\"So,\" said one, \"you understand all about it. You are to watch in the\nstreet, till you see them enter No. 5.\"\n\n\"All right!\" answered the other.\n\n\"And when you see 'em enter so as to make quite sure of the game, go up\nto Frances Baudoin's room--\"\n\n\"Under the cloak of asking where the little humpbacked workwoman\nlives--the sister of that gay girl, the Queen of the Bacchanals.\"\n\n\"Yes--and you must try and find out her address also--from her humpbacked\nsister, if possible--for it is very important. Women of her feather\nchange their nests like birds, and we have lost track of her.\"\n\n\"Make yourself easy; I will do my best with Hump, to learn where her\nsister hangs out.\"\n\n\"And, to give you steam, I'll wait for you at the tavern opposite the\nCloister, and we'll have a go of hot wine on your return.\"\n\n\"I'll not refuse, for the night is deucedly cold.\"\n\n\"Don't mention it! This morning the water friz on my sprinkling-brush,\nand I turned as stiff as a mummy in my chair at the church-door. Ah, my\nboy! a distributor of holy water is not always upon roses!\"\n\n\"Luckily, you have the pickings--\"\n\n\"Well, well--good luck to you! Don't forget the Fiver, the little passage\nnext to the dyer's shop.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--all right!\" and the two men separated.\n\nOne proceeded to the Cloister Square; the other towards the further end\nof the street, where it led into the Rue Saint-Merry. This latter soon\nfound the number of the house he sought--a tall, narrow building, having,\nlike all the other houses in the street, a poor and wretched appearance.\nWhen he saw he was right, the man commenced walking backwards and\nforwards in front of the door of No. 5.\n\nIf the exterior of these buildings was uninviting, the gloom and squalor\nof the interior cannot be described. The house No. 5 was, in a special\ndegree, dirty and dilapidated. The water, which oozed from the wall,\ntrickled down the dark and filthy staircase. On the second floor, a wisp\nof straw had been laid on the narrow landing-place, for wiping the feet\non; but this straw, being now quite rotten, only served to augment the\nsickening odor, which arose from want of air, from damp, and from the\nputrid exhalations of the drains. The few openings, cut at rare intervals\nin the walls of the staircase, could hardly admit more than some faint\nrays of glimmering light.\n\nIn this quarter, one of the most populous in Paris, such houses as these,\npoor, cheerless, and unhealthy, are generally inhabited by the working\nclasses. The house in question was of the number. A dyer occupied the\nground floor; the deleterious vapors arising from his vats added to the\nstench of the whole building. On the upper stories, several artisans\nlodged with their families, or carried on their different trades. Up four\nflights of stairs was the lodging of Frances Baudoin, wife of Dagobert.\nIt consisted of one room, with a closet adjoining, and was now lighted by\na single candle. Agricola occupied a garret in the roof.\n\nOld grayish paper, broken here and there by the cracks covered the crazy\nwall, against which rested the bed; scanty curtains, running upon an iron\nrod, concealed the windows; the brick floor, not polished, but often\nwashed, had preserved its natural color. At one end of this room was a\nround iron stove, with a large pot for culinary purposes. On the wooden\ntable, painted yellow, marbled with brown, stood a miniature house made\nof iron--a masterpiece of patience and skill, the work of Agricola\nBaudoin, Dagobert's son.\n\nA plaster crucifix hung up against the wall, surrounded by several\nbranches of consecrated box-tree, and various images of saints, very\ncoarsely colored, bore witness to the habits of the soldier's wife.\nBetween the windows stood one of those old walnut-wood presses, curiously\nfashioned, and almost black with time; an old arm-chair, covered with\ngreen cotton velvet (Agricola's first present to his mother), a few rush\nbottomed chairs, and a worktable on which lay several bags of coarse,\nbrown cloth, completed the furniture of this room, badly secured by a\nworm-eaten door. The adjoining closet contained a few kitchen and\nhousehold utensils.\n\nMean and poor as this interior may perhaps appear, it would not seem so\nto the greater number of artisans; for the bed was supplied with two\nmattresses, clean sheets, and a warm counterpane; the old-fashioned press\ncontained linen; and, moreover, Dagobert's wife occupied all to herself a\nroom as large as those in which numerous families, belonging to honest\nand laborious workmen, often live and sleep huddled together--only too\nhappy if the boys and girls can have separate beds, or if the sheets and\nblankets are not pledged at the pawnbroker's.\n\nFrances Baudoin, seated beside the small stove, which, in the cold and\ndamp weather, yielded but little warmth, was busied in preparing her son\nAgricola's evening meal.\n\nDagobert's wife was about fifty years of age; she wore a close jacket of\nblue cotton, with white flowers on it, and a stuff petticoat; a white\nhandkerchief was tied round her head, and fastened under the chin. Her\ncountenance was pale and meagre, the features regular, and expressive of\nresignation and great kindness. It would have been difficult to find a\nbetter, a more courageous mother. With no resource but her labor, she had\nsucceeded, by unwearied energy, in bringing up not only her own son\nAgricola, but also Gabriel, the poor deserted child, of whom, with\nadmirable devotion, she had ventured to take charge.\n\nIn her youth, she had, as it were, anticipated the strength of later\nlife, by twelve years of incessant toil, rendered lucrative by the most\nviolent exertions, and accompanied by such privations as made it almost\nsuicidal. Then (for it was a time of splendid wages, compared to the\npresent), by sleepless nights and constant labor, she contrived to earn\nabout two shillings (fifty sous) a day, and with this she managed to\neducate her son and her adopted child.\n\nAt the end of these twelve years, her health was ruined, and her strength\nnearly exhausted; but, at all events, her boys had wanted for nothing,\nand had received such an education as children of the people can obtain.\nAbout this time, M. Francois Hardy took Agricola as an apprentice, and\nGabriel prepared to enter the priest's seminary, under the active\npatronage of M. Rodin, whose communications with the confessor of Frances\nBaudoin had become very frequent about the year 1820.\n\nThis woman (whose piety had always been excessive) was one of those\nsimple natures, endowed with extreme goodness, whose self-denial\napproaches to heroism, and who devote themselves in obscurity to a life\nof martyrdom--pure and heavenly minds, in whom the instincts of the heart\nsupply the place of the intellect!\n\nThe only defect, or rather the necessary consequence of this extreme\nsimplicity of character, was the invincible determination she displayed\nin yielding to the commands of her confessor, to whose influence she had\nnow for many years been accustomed to submit. She regarded this influence\nas most venerable and sacred; no mortal power, no human consideration,\ncould have prevented her from obeying it. Did any dispute arise on the\nsubject, nothing could move her on this point; she opposed to every\nargument a resistance entirely free from passion--mild as her\ndisposition, calm as her conscience--but, like the latter, not to be\nshaken. In a word, Frances Baudoin was one of those pure, but\nuninstructed and credulous beings, who may sometimes, in skillful and\ndangerous hands, become, without knowing it, the instruments of much\nevil.\n\nFor some time past, the bad state of her health, and particularly the\nincreasing weakness of her sight, had condemned her to a forced repose;\nunable to work more than two or three hours a day, she consumed the rest\nof her time at church.\n\nFrances rose from her seat, pushed the coarse bags at which she had been\nworking to the further end of the table, and proceeded to lay the cloth\nfor her son's supper, with maternal care and solicitude. She took from\nthe press a small leathern bag, containing an old silver cup, very much\nbattered, and a fork and spoon, so worn and thin, that the latter cut\nlike a knife. These, her only plate (the wedding present of Dagobert) she\nrubbed and polished as well as she was able, and laid by the side of her\nson's plate. They were the most precious of her possessions, not so much\nfor what little intrinsic value might attach to them, as for the\nassociations they recalled; and she had often shed bitter tears, when,\nunder the pressure of illness or want of employment, she had been\ncompelled to carry these sacred treasures to the pawnbroker's.\n\nFrances next took, from the lower shelf of the press, a bottle of water,\nand one of wine about three-quarters full, which she also placed near her\nson's plate; she then returned to the stove, to watch the cooking of the\nsupper.\n\nThough Agricola was not much later than usual, the countenance of his\nmother expressed both uneasiness and grief; one might have seen, by the\nredness of her eyes, that she had been weeping a good deal. After long\nand painful uncertainty, the poor woman had just arrived at the\nconviction that her eyesight, which had been growing weaker and weaker,\nwould soon be so much impaired as to prevent her working even the two or\nthree hours a day which had lately been the extent of her labors.\n\nOriginally an excellent hand at her needle, she had been obliged, as her\neyesight gradually failed her, to abandon the finer for the coarser sorts\nof work, and her earnings had necessarily diminished in proportion; she\nhad at length been reduced to the necessity of making those coarse bags\nfor the army, which took about four yards of sewing, and were paid at the\nrate of two sous each, she having to find her own thread. This work,\nbeing very hard, she could at most complete three such bags in a day, and\nher gains thus amounted to threepence (six sous)!\n\nIt makes one shudder to think of the great number of unhappy females,\nwhose strength has been so much exhausted by privations, old age, or\nsickness, that all the labor of which they are capable, hardly suffices\nto bring them in daily this miserable pittance. Thus do their gains\ndiminish in exact proportion to the increasing wants which age and\ninfirmity must occasion.\n\nHappily, Frances had an efficient support in her son. A first-rate\nworkman, profiting by the just scale of wages adopted by M. Hardy, his\nlabor brought him from four to five shillings a day--more than double\nwhat was gained by the workmen of many other establishments. Admitting\ntherefore that his mother were to gain nothing, he could easily maintain\nboth her and himself.\n\nBut the poor woman, so wonderfully economical that she denied herself\neven some of the necessaries of life, had of late become ruinously\nliberal on the score of the sacristy, since she had adopted the habit of\nvisiting daily the parish church. Scarcely a day passed but she had\nmasses sung, or tapers burnt, either for Dagobert, from whom she had been\nso long separated, or for the salvation of her son Agricola, whom she\nconsidered on the high-road to perdition. Agricola had so excellent a\nheart, so loved and revered his mother, and considered her actions in\nthis respect inspired by so touching a sentiment, that he never\ncomplained when he saw a great part of his week's wages (which he paid\nregularly over to his mother every Saturday) disappear in pious forms.\n\nYet now and then he ventured to remark to Frances, with as much respect\nas tenderness, that it pained him to see her enduring privations\ninjurious at her age, because she preferred incurring these devotional\nexpenses. But what answer could he make to this excellent mother, when\nshe replied with tears: \"My child, 'tis for the salvation of your father\nand yours too.\"\n\nTo dispute the efficacy of masses, would have been venturing on a\nsubject which Agricola, through respect for his mother's religious faith,\nnever discussed. He contented himself, therefore, with seeing her\ndispense with comforts she might have enjoyed.\n\nA discreet tap was heard at the door. \"Come in,\" said Frances. The person\ncame in.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nTHE SISTER OF THE BACCHANAL QUEEN.\n\nThe person who now entered was a girl of about eighteen, short, and very\nmuch deformed. Though not exactly a hunchback, her spine was curved; her\nbreast was sunken, and her head deeply set in the shoulders. Her face was\nregular, but long, thin, very pale, and pitted with the small pox; yet it\nexpressed great sweetness and melancholy. Her blue eyes beamed with\nkindness and intelligence. By a strange freak of nature, the handsomest\nwoman would have been proud of the magnificent hair twisted in a coarse\nnet at the back of her head. She held an old basket in her hand. Though\nmiserably clad, the care and neatness of her dress revealed a powerful\nstruggle with her poverty. Notwithstanding the cold, she wore a scanty\nfrock made of print of an indefinable color, spotted with white; but it\nhad been so often washed, that its primitive design and color had long\nsince disappeared. In her resigned, yet suffering face, might be read a\nlong familiarity with every form of suffering, every description of\ntaunting. From her birth, ridicule had ever pursued her. We have said\nthat she was very deformed, and she was vulgarly called \"Mother Bunch.\"\nIndeed it was so usual to give her this grotesque name, which every\nmoment reminded her of her infirmity, that Frances and Agricola, though\nthey felt as much compassion as other people showed contempt for her,\nnever called her, however, by any other name.\n\nMother Bunch, as we shall therefore call her in future, was born in the\nhouse in which Dagobert's wife had resided for more than twenty years;\nand she had, as it were, been brought up with Agricola and Gabriel.\n\nThere are wretches fatally doomed to misery. Mother Bunch had a very\npretty sister, on whom Perrine Soliveau, their common mother, the widow\nof a ruined tradesman, had concentrated all her affection, while she\ntreated her deformed child with contempt and unkindness. The latter would\noften come, weeping, to Frances, on this account, who tried to console\nher, and in the long evenings amused her by teaching her to read and sew.\nAccustomed to pity her by their mother's example, instead of imitating\nother children, who always taunted and sometimes even beat her, Agricola\nand Gabriel liked her, and used to protect and defend her.\n\nShe was about fifteen, and her sister Cephyse was about seventeen, when\ntheir mother died, leaving them both in utter poverty. Cephyse was\nintelligent, active, clever, but different to her sister; she had the\nlively, alert, hoydenish character which requires air, exercise and\npleasures--a good girl enough, but foolishly spoiled by her mother.\nCephyse, listening at first to Frances's good advice, resigned herself to\nher lot; and, having learnt to sew, worked like her sister, for about a\nyear. But, unable to endure any longer the bitter privations her\ninsignificant earnings, notwithstanding her incessant toil, exposed her\nto--privations which often bordered on starvation--Cephyse, young,\npretty, of warm temperament, and surrounded by brilliant offers and\nseductions--brilliant, indeed, for her, since they offered food to\nsatisfy her hunger, shelter from the cold, and decent raiment, without\nbeing obliged to work fifteen hours a day in an obscure and unwholesome\nhovel--Cephyse listened to the vows of a young lawyer's clerk, who\nforsook her soon after. She formed a connection with another clerk, whom\nshe (instructed by the examples set her), forsook in turn for a bagman,\nwhom she afterwards cast off for other favorites. In a word, what with\nchanging and being forsaken, Cephyse, in the course of one or two years,\nwas the idol of a set of grisettes, students and clerks; and acquired\nsuch a reputation at the balls on the Hampstead Heaths of Paris, by her\ndecision of character, original turn of mind, and unwearied ardor in all\nkinds of pleasures, and especially her wild, noisy gayety, that she was\ntermed the Bacchanal Queen, and proved herself in every way worthy of\nthis bewildering royalty.\n\nFrom that time poor Mother Bunch only heard of her sister at rare\nintervals. She still mourned for her, and continued to toil hard to gain\nher three-and-six a week. The unfortunate girl, having been taught sewing\nby Frances, made coarse shirts for the common people and the army. For\nthese she received half-a-crown a dozen. They had to be hemmed, stitched,\nprovided with collars and wristbands, buttons, and button holes; and at\nthe most, when at work twelve and fifteen hours a day, she rarely\nsucceeded in turning out more than fourteen or sixteen shirts a week--an\nexcessive amount of toil that brought her in about three shillings and\nfourpence a week. And the case of this poor girl was neither accidental\nnor uncommon. And this, because the remuneration given for women's work\nis an example of revolting injustice and savage barbarism. They are paid\nnot half as much as men who are employed at the needle: such as tailors,\nand makers of gloves, or waistcoats, etc.--no doubt because women can\nwork as well as men--because they are more weak and delicate--and because\ntheir need may be twofold as great when they become mothers.\n\nWell, Mother Bunch fagged on, with three-and-four a week. That is to say,\ntoiling hard for twelve or fifteen hours every day; she succeeded in\nkeeping herself alive, in spite of exposure to hunger, cold, and\npoverty--so numerous were her privations. Privations? No! The word\nprivation expresses but weakly that constant and terrible want of all\nthat is necessary to preserve the existence God gives; namely, wholesome\nair and shelter, sufficient and nourishing food and warm clothing.\nMortification would be a better word to describe that total want of all\nthat is essentially vital, which a justly organized state of society\nought--yes--ought necessarily to bestow on every active, honest workman\nand workwoman, since civilization has dispossessed them of all\nterritorial right, and left them no other patrimony than their hands.\n\nThe savage does not enjoy the advantage of civilization; but he has, at\nleast, the beasts of the field, the fowls of the air, the fish of the\nsea, and the fruits of the earth, to feed him, and his native woods for\nshelter and for fuel. The civilized man, disinherited of these gifts,\nconsidering the rights of property as sacred, may, in return for his hard\ndaily labor, which enriches his country, demand wages that will enable\nhim to live in the enjoyment of health: nothing more, and nothing less.\nFor is it living, to drag along on the extreme edge which separates life\nfrom the grave, and even there continually struggle against cold, hunger,\nand disease? And to show how far the mortification which society imposes\nthus inexorably on its millions of honest, industrious laborers (by its\ncareless disregard of all the questions which concern the just\nremuneration of labor), may extend, we will describe how this poor girl\ncontrived to live on three shillings and sixpence a week.\n\nSociety, perhaps, may then feel its obligation to so many unfortunate\nwretches for supporting, with resignation, the horrible existence which\nleaves them just sufficient life to feel the worst pangs of humanity.\nYes: to live at such a price is virtue! Yes, society thus organized,\nwhether it tolerates or imposes so much misery, loses all right to blame\nthe poor wretches who sell themselves not through debauchery, but because\nthey are cold and famishing. This poor girl spent her wages as follows:\n\n    Six pounds of bread, second quality . . . . . . . .0 8 1/2\n    Four pails of water . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .0 2\n    Lard or dripping (butter being out of the question)0 5\n    Coarse salt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .0 0 3/4\n    A bushel of charcoal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .0 4\n    A quart of dried vegetables . . . . . . . . . . . .0 3\n    Three quarts of potatoes. . . . . . . . . . . . . .0 2\n    Dips. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .0 3 1/4\n    Thread and needles. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .0 2 1/2\n                                                      ______\n                                                       2 7\n\nTo save charcoal, Mother Bunch prepared soup only two or three times a\nweek at most, on a stove that stood on the landing of the fourth story.\nOn other days she ate it cold. There remained nine or ten pence a week\nfor clothes and lodging. By rare good fortune, her situation was in one\nrespect an exception to the lot of many others. Agricola, that he might\nnot wound her delicacy, had come to a secret arrangement with the\nhousekeeper, and hired a garret for her, just large enough to hold a\nsmall bed, a chair, and a table; for which the sempstress had to pay five\nshillings a year. But Agricola, in fulfilment of his agreement with the\nporter, paid the balance, to make up the actual rent of the garret, which\nwas twelve and sixpence. The poor girl had thus about eighteenpence a\nmonth left for her other expenses. But many workwomen, whose position is\nless fortunate than hers, since they have neither home nor family, buy a\npiece of bread and some other food to keep them through the day; and at\nnight patronize the \"twopenny rope,\" one with another, in a wretched room\ncontaining five or six beds, some of which are always engaged by men, as\nmale lodgers are by far the most abundant. Yes; and in spite of the\ndisgust that a poor and virtuous girl must feel at this arrangement, she\nmust submit to it; for a lodging-house keeper cannot have separate rooms\nfor females. To furnish a room, however meanly, the poor workwoman must\npossess three or four shillings in ready money. But how save this sum,\nout of weekly earnings of a couple of florins, which are scarcely\nsufficient to keep her from starving, and are still less sufficient to\nclothe her? No! no! The poor wretch must resign herself to this repugnant\ncohabitation; and so, gradually, the instinct of modesty becomes\nweakened; the natural sentiment of chastity, that saved her from the \"gay\nlife,\" becomes extinct; vice appears to be the only means of improving\nher intolerable condition; she yields; and the first \"man made of money,\"\nwho can afford a governess for his children, cries out against the\ndepravity of the lower orders! And yet, painful as the condition of the\nworking woman is, it is relatively fortunate. Should work fail her for\none day, two days, what then? Should sickness come--sickness almost\nalways occasioned by unwholesome food, want of fresh air, necessary\nattention, and good rest; sickness, often so enervating as to render work\nimpossible; though not so dangerous as to procure the sufferer a bed in\nan hospital--what becomes of the hapless wretches then? The mind\nhesitates, and shrinks from dwelling on such gloomy pictures.\n\nThis inadequacy of wages, one terrible source only of so many evils, and\noften of so many vices, is general, especially among women; and, again\nthis is not private wretchedness, but the wretchedness which afflicts\nwhole classes, the type of which we endeavor to develop in Mother Bunch.\nIt exhibits the moral and physical condition of thousands of human\ncreatures in Paris, obliged to subsist on a scanty four shillings a week.\nThis poor workwoman, then, notwithstanding the advantages she unknowingly\nenjoyed through Agricola's generosity, lived very miserably; and her\nhealth, already shattered, was now wholly undermined by these constant\nhardships. Yet, with extreme delicacy, though ignorant of the little\nsacrifice already made for her by Agricola, Mother Bunch pretended she\nearned more than she really did, in order to avoid offers of service\nwhich it would have pained her to accept, because she knew the limited\nmeans of Frances and her son, and because it would have wounded her\nnatural delicacy, rendered still more sensitive by so many sorrows and\nhumiliations.\n\nBut, singular as it may appear, this deformed body contained a loving and\ngenerous soul--a mind cultivated even to poetry; and let us add, that\nthis was owing to the example of Agricola Baudoin, with whom she had been\nbrought up, and who had naturally the gift. This poor girl was the first\nconfidant to whom our young mechanic imparted his literary essays; and\nwhen he told her of the charm and extreme relief he found in poetic\nreverie, after a day of hard toil, the workwoman, gifted with strong\nnatural intelligence, felt, in her turn, how great a resource this would\nbe to her in her lonely and despised condition.\n\nOne day, to Agricola's great surprise, who had just read some verses to\nher, the sewing-girl, with smiles and blushes, timidly communicated to\nhim also a poetic composition. Her verses wanted rhythm and harmony,\nperhaps; but they were simple and affecting, as a non-envenomed complaint\nentrusted to a friendly hearer. From that day Agricola and she held\nfrequent consultations; they gave each other mutual encouragement: but\nwith this exception, no one else knew anything of the girl's poetical\nessays, whose mild timidity made her often pass for a person of weak\nintellect. This soul must have been great and beautiful, for in all her\nunlettered strains there was not a word of murmuring respecting her hard\nlot: her note was sad, but gentle--desponding, but resigned; it was\nespecially the language of deep tenderness--of mournful sympathy--of\nangelic charity for all poor creatures consigned, like her, to bear the\ndouble burden of poverty and deformity. Yet she often expressed a sincere\nfree-spoken admiration of beauty, free from all envy or bitterness; she\nadmired beauty as she admired the sun. But, alas! many were the verses of\nhers that Agricola had never seen, and which he was never to see.\n\nThe young mechanic, though not strictly handsome, had an open masculine\nface; was as courageous as kind; possessed a noble, glowing, generous\nheart, a superior mind, and a frank, pleasing gayety of spirits. The\nyoung girl, brought up with him, loved him as an unfortunate creature can\nlove, who, dreading cruel ridicule, is obliged to hide her affection in\nthe depths of her heart, and adopt reserve and deep dissimulation. She\ndid not seek to combat her love; to what purpose should she do so? No one\nwould ever know it. Her well known sisterly affection for Agricola\nexplained the interest she took in all that concerned him; so that no one\nwas surprised at the extreme grief of the young workwoman, when, in 1830,\nAgricola, after fighting intrepidly for the people's flag, was brought\nbleeding home to his mother. Dagobert's son, deceived, like others, on\nthis point, had never suspected, and was destined never to suspect, this\nlove for him.\n\nSuch was the poorly-clad girl who entered the room in which Frances was\npreparing her son's supper.\n\n\"Is it you, my poor love,\" said she; \"I have not seen you since morning:\nhave you been ill? Come and kiss me.\"\n\nThe young girl kissed Agricola's mother, and replied: \"I was very busy\nabout some work, mother; I did not wish to lose a moment; I have only\njust finished it. I am going down to fetch some charcoal--do you want\nanything while I'm out?\"\n\n\"No, no, my child, thank you. But I am very uneasy. It is half-past\neight, and Agricola is not come home.\" Then she added, after a sigh: \"He\nkills himself with work for me. Ah, I am very unhappy, my girl; my sight\nis quite going. In a quarter of an hour after I begin working, I cannot\nsee at all--not even to sew sacks. The idea of being a burden to my son\ndrives me distracted.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't, ma'am, if Agricola heard you say that--\"\n\n\"I know the poor boy thinks of nothing but me, and that augments my\nvexation. Only I think that rather than leave me, he gives up the\nadvantages that his fellow-workmen enjoy at Hardy's, his good and worthy\nmaster--instead of living in this dull garret, where it is scarcely light\nat noon, he would enjoy, like the other workmen, at very little expense,\na good light room, warm in winter, airy in summer, with a view of the\ngarden. And he is so fond of trees! not to mention that this place is so\nfar from his work, that it is quite a toil to him to get to it.\"\n\n\"Oh, when he embraces you he forgets his fatigue, Mrs. Baudoin,\" said\nMother Bunch; \"besides, he knows how you cling to the house in which he\nwas born. M. Hardy offered to settle you at Plessy with Agricola, in the\nbuilding put up for the workmen.\"\n\n\"Yes, my child; but then I must give up church. I can't do that.\"\n\n\"But--be easy, I hear him,\" said the hunchback, blushing.\n\nA sonorous, joyous voice was heard singing on the stairs.\n\n\"At least, I'll not let him see that I have been crying,\" said the good\nmother, drying her tears. \"This is the only moment of rest and ease from\ntoil he has--I must not make it sad to him.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nAGRICOLA BAUDOIN.\n\nOur blacksmith poet, a tall young man, about four-and-twenty years of\nage, was alert and robust, with ruddy complexion, dark hair and eyes, and\naquiline nose, and an open, expressive countenance. His resemblance to\nDagobert was rendered more striking by the thick brown moustache which he\nwore according to the fashion; and a sharp-pointed imperial covered his\nchin. His cheeks, however, were shaven, Olive color velveteen trousers, a\nblue blouse, bronzed by the forge smoke, a black cravat, tied carelessly\nround his muscular neck, a cloth cap with a narrow vizor, composed his\ndress. The only thing which contrasted singularly with his working\nhabiliments was a handsome purple flower, with silvery pistils, which he\nheld in his hand.\n\n\"Good-evening, mother,\" said he, as he came to kiss Frances immediately.\n\nThen, with a friendly nod, he added, \"Good-evening, Mother Bunch.\"\n\n\"You are very late, my child,\" said Frances, approaching the little stove\non which her son's simple meal was simmering; \"I was getting very\nanxious.\"\n\n\"Anxious about me, or about my supper, dear mother?\" said Agricola,\ngayly. \"The deuce! you won't excuse me for keeping the nice little supper\nwaiting that you get ready for me, for fear it should be spoilt, eh?\"\n\nSo saying, the blacksmith tried to kiss his mother again.\n\n\"Have done, you naughty boy; you'll make me upset the pan.\"\n\n\"That would be a pity, mother; for it smells delightfully. Let's see what\nit is.\"\n\n\"Wait half a moment.\"\n\n\"I'll swear, now, you have some of the fried potatoes and bacon I'm so\nfond of.\"\n\n\"Being Saturday, of course!\" said Frances, in a tone of mild reproach.\n\n\"True,\" rejoined Agricola, exchanging a smile of innocent cunning with\nMother Bunch; \"but, talking of Saturday, mother, here are my wages.\"\n\n\"Thank ye, child; put the money in the cupboard.\"\n\n\"Yes, mother!\"\n\n\"Oh, dear!\" cried the young sempstress, just as Agricola was about to put\naway the money, \"what a handsome flower you have in your hand, Agricola.\nI never saw a finer. In winter, too! Do look at it, Mrs. Baudoin.\"\n\n\"See there, mother,\" said Agricola, taking the flower to her; \"look at\nit, admire it, and especially smell it. You can't have a sweeter perfume;\na blending of vanilla and orange blossom.\"\n\n\"Indeed, it does smell nice, child. Goodness! how handsome!\" said\nFrances, admiringly; \"where did you find it?\"\n\n\"Find it, my good mother!\" repeated Agricola, smilingly: \"do you think\nfolks pick up such things between the Barriere du Maine and the Rue\nBrise-Miche?\"\n\n\"How did you get it then?\" inquired the sewing girl, sharing in Frances's\ncuriosity.\n\n\"Oh! you would like to know? Well, I'll satisfy you, and explain why I\ncame home so late; for something else detained me. It has been an evening\nof adventures, I promise you. I was hurrying home, when I heard a low,\ngentle barking at the corner of the Rue de Babylone; it was just about\ndusk, and I could see a very pretty little dog, scarce bigger than my\nfist, black and tan, with long, silky hair, and ears that covered its\npaws.\"\n\n\"Lost, poor thing, I warrant,\" said Frances.\n\n\"You've hit it. I took up the poor thing, and it began to lick my hands.\nRound its neck was a red satin ribbon, tied in a large bow; but as that\ndid not bear the master's name, I looked beneath it, and saw a small\ncollar, made of a gold plate and small gold chains. So I took a Lucifer\nmatch from my 'bacco-box, and striking a light, I read, 'FRISKY belongs\nto Hon. Miss Adrienne de Cardoville, No. 7, Rue de Babylone.'\"\n\n\"Why, you were just in the street,\" said Mother Bunch.\n\n\"Just so. Taking the little animal under my arm, I looked about me till I\ncame to a long garden wall, which seemed to have no end, and found a\nsmall door of a summer-house, belonging no doubt to the large mansion at\nthe other end of the park; for this garden looked just like a park. So,\nlooking up I saw 'No. 7,' newly painted over a little door with a grated\nslide. I rang; and in a few minutes, spent, no doubt, in observing me\nthrough the bars (for I am sure I saw a pair of eyes peeping through),\nthe gate opened. And now, you'll not believe a word I have to say.\"\n\n\"Why not, my child?\"\n\n\"Because it seems like a fairy tale.\"\n\n\"A fairy tale?\" said Mother Bunch, as if she was really her namesake of\nelfish history.\n\n\"For, all the world it does. I am quite astounded, even now, at my\nadventure; it is like the remembrance of a dream.\"\n\n\"Well, let us have it,\" said the worthy mother, so deeply interested that\nshe did not perceive her son's supper was beginning to burn.\n\n\"First,\" said the blacksmith, smiling at the curiosity he had excited, \"a\nyoung lady opened the door to me, but so lovely, so beautifully and\ngracefully dressed, that you would have taken her for a beautiful\nportrait of past times. Before I could say a word, she exclaimed, 'Ah!\ndear me, sir, you have brought back Frisky; how happy Miss Adrienne will\nbe! Come, pray come in instantly; she would so regret not having an\nopportunity to thank you in person!' And without giving me time to reply,\nshe beckoned me to follow her. Oh, dear mother, it is quite out of my\npower to tell you, the magnificence I saw, as I passed through a small\nsaloon, partially lighted, and full of perfume! It would be impossible.\nThe young woman walked too quickly. A door opened,--Oh, such a sight! I\nwas so dazzled I can remember nothing but a great glare of gold and\nlight, crystal and flowers; and, amidst all this brilliancy, a young lady\nof extreme beauty--ideal beauty; but she had red hair, or rather hair\nshining like gold! Oh! it was charming to look at! I never saw such hair\nbefore. She had black eyes, ruddy lips, and her skin seemed white as\nsnow. This is all I can recollect: for, as I said before, I was so\ndazzled, I seemed to be looking through a veil. 'Madame,' said the young\nwoman, whom I never should have taken for a lady's-maid, she was dressed\nso elegantly, 'here is Frisky. This gentleman found him, and brought him\nback.' 'Oh, sir,' said the young lady with the golden hair, in a sweet\nsilvery voice, 'what thanks I owe you! I am foolishly attached to\nFrisky.' Then, no doubt, concluding from my dress that she ought to thank\nme in some other way than by words, she took up a silk purse, and said to\nme, though I must confess with some hesitation--'No doubt, sir, it gave\nyou some trouble to bring my pet back. You have, perhaps, lost some\nvaluable time--allow me--' She held forth her purse.\"\n\n\"Oh, Agricola,\" said Mother Bunch, sadly; \"how people may be deceived!\"\n\n\"Hear the end, and you will perhaps forgive the young lady. Seeing by my\nlooks that the offer of the purse hurt me, she took a magnificent\nporcelain vase that contained this flower, and, addressing me in a tone\nfull of grace and kindness, that left me room to guess that she was vexed\nat having wounded me, she said--'At least, sir, you will accept this\nflower.'\"\n\n\"You are right, Agricola,\" said the girl, smiling sadly; \"an involuntary\nerror could not be repaired in a nicer way.\n\n\"Worthy young lady,\" said Frances, wiping her eyes; \"how well she\nunderstood my Agricola!\"\n\n\"Did she not, mother? But just as I was taking the flower, without daring\nto raise my eyes (for, notwithstanding the young lady's kind manner,\nthere was something very imposing about her) another handsome girl, tall\nand dark, and dressed to the top of fashion, came in and said to the\nred-haired young lady, 'He is here, Madame.' She immediately rose and\nsaid to me, 'A thousand pardons, sir. I shall never forget that I am\nindebted to you for a moment of much pleasure. Pray remember, on all\noccasions, my address and name--Adrienne de Cardoville.' Thereupon she\ndisappeared. I could not find a word to say in reply. The same young\nwoman showed me to the door, and curtseyed to me very politely. And there\nI stood in the Rue de Babylone, as dazzled and astonished as if I had\ncome out of an enchanted palace.\"\n\n\"Indeed, my child, it is like a fairy tale. Is it not, my poor girl?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" said Mother Bunch, in an absent manner that Agricola did\nnot observe.\n\n\"What affected me most,\" rejoined Agricola, \"was, that the young lady, on\nseeing her little dog, did not forget me for it, as many would have done\nin her place, and took no notice of it before me. That shows delicacy and\nfeeling, does it not? Indeed, I believe this young lady to be so kind and\ngenerous, that I should not hesitate to have recourse to her in any\nimportant case.\"\n\n\"Yes, you are right,\" replied the sempstress, more and more absent.\n\nThe poor girl suffered extremely. She felt no jealousy, no hatred,\ntowards this young stranger, who, from her beauty, wealth, and delicacy,\nseemed to belong to a sphere too splendid and elevated to be even within\nthe reach of a work, girl's vision; but, making an involuntary comparison\nof this fortunate condition with her own, the poor thing had never felt\nmore cruelly her deformity and poverty. Yet such were the humility and\ngentle resignation of this noble creature, that the only thing which made\nher feel ill-disposed towards Adrienne de Cardoville was the offer of the\npurse to Agricola; but then the charming way in which the young lady had\natoned for her error, affected the sempstress deeply. Yet her heart was\nready to break. She could not restrain her tears as she contemplated the\nmagnificent flower--so rich in color and perfume, which, given by a\ncharming hand, was doubtless very precious to Agricola.\n\n\"Now, mother,\" resumed the young man smilingly, and unaware of the\npainful emotion of the other bystander, \"you have had the cream of my\nadventures first. I have told you one of the causes of my delay; and now\nfor the other. Just now, as I was coming in, I met the dyer at the foot\nof the stairs, his arms a beautiful pea-green. Stopping me he said, with\nan air full of importance, that he thought he had seen a chap sneaking\nabout the house like a spy, 'Well, what is that to you, Daddy Loriot?'\nsaid I: 'are you afraid he will nose out the way to make the beautiful\ngreen, with which you are dyed up to the very elbows?'\"\n\n\"But who could that man be, Agricola?\" said Frances.\n\n\"On my word, mother, I don't know and scarcely care; I tried to persuade\nDaddy Loriot, who chatters like a magpie, to return to his cellar, since\nit could signify as little to him as to me, whether a spy watched him or\nnot.\" So saying, Agricola went and placed the little leathern sack,\ncontaining his wages, on a shelf, in the cupboard.\n\nAs Frances put down the saucepan on the end of the table, Mother Bunch,\nrecovering from her reverie, filled a basin with water, and, taking it to\nthe blacksmith, said to him in a gentle tone-\"Agricola--for your hands.\"\n\n\"Thank you, little sister. How kind you are!\" Then with a most unaffected\ngesture and tone, he added, \"There is my fine flower for your trouble.\"\n\n\"Do you give it me?\" cried the sempstress, with emotion, while a vivid\nblush colored her pale and interesting face. \"Do you give me this\nhandsome flower, which a lovely rich young lady so kindly and graciously\ngave you?\" And the poor thing repeated, with growing astonishment, \"Do\nyou give it to me?\"\n\n\"What the deuce should I do with it? Wear it on my heart, have it set as\na pin?\" said Agricola, smiling. \"It is true I was very much impressed by\nthe charming way in which the young lady thanked me. I am delighted to\nthink I found her little dog, and very happy to be able to give you this\nflower, since it pleases you. You see the day has been a happy one.\"\n\nWhile Mother Bunch, trembling with pleasure, emotion, and surprise, took\nthe flower, the young blacksmith washed his hands, so black with smoke\nand steel filings that the water became dark in an instant. Agricola,\npointing out this change to the sempstress, said to her in a whisper,\nlaughing,-\"Here's cheap ink for us paper-stainers! I finished some verses\nyesterday, which I am rather satisfied with. I will read them to you.\"\n\nWith this, Agricola wiped his hands naturally on the front of his blouse,\nwhile Mother Bunch replaced the basin on the chest of drawers, and laid\nthe flower against the side of it.\n\n\"Can't you ask for a towel,\" said Frances, shrugging her shoulders,\n\"instead of wiping your hands on your blouse?\"\n\n\"After being scorched all day long at the forge, it will be all the\nbetter for a little cooling to-night, won't it? Am I disobedient, mother?\nScold me, then, if you dare! Come, let us see you.\"\n\nFrances made no reply; but, placing her hands on either side of her son's\nhead, so beautiful in its candor, resolution and intelligence, she\nsurveyed him for a moment with maternal pride, and kissed him repeatedly\non the forehead.\n\n\"Come,\" said she, \"sit down: you stand all day at your forge, and it is\nlate.\"\n\n\"So,--your arm-chair again!\" said Agricola.--\"Our usual quarrel every\nevening--take it away, I shall be quite as much at ease on another.\"\n\n\"No, no! You ought at least to rest after your hard toil.\"\n\n\"What tyranny!\" said Agricola gayly, sitting down. \"Well, I preach like a\ngood apostle; but I am quite at ease in your arm-chair, after all. Since\nI sat down on the throne in the Tuileries, I have never had a better\nseat.\"\n\nFrances Baudoin, standing on one side of the table, cut a slice of bread\nfor her son, while Mother Bunch, on the other, filled his silver mug.\nThere was something affecting in the attentive eagerness of the two\nexcellent creatures, for him whom they loved so tenderly.\n\n\"Won't you sup with me?\" said Agricola to the girl.\n\n\"Thank you, Agricola,\" replied the sempstress, looking down, \"I have only\njust dined.\"\n\n\"Oh, I only ask you for form's sake--you have your whims--we can never\nprevail on you to eat with us--just like mother; she prefers dining all\nalone; and in that way she deprives herself without my knowing it.\"\n\n\"Goodness, child! It is better for my health to dine early. Well, do you\nfind it nice?\"\n\n\"Nice!--call it excellent! Stockfish and parsnips. Oh, I am very fond of\nstockfish; I should have been born a Newfoundland fisherman.\"\n\nThis worthy lad, on the contrary, was but poorly refreshed, after a hard\nday's toil, with this paltry stew,--a little burnt as it had been, too,\nduring his story; but he knew he pleased his mother by observing the fast\nwithout complaining. He affected to enjoy his meal; and the good woman\naccordingly observed with satisfaction:\n\n\"Oh, I see you like it, my dear boy; Friday and Saturday next we'll have\nsome more.\"\n\n\"Thank you, mother,--only not two days together. One gets tired of\nluxuries, you know! And now, let us talk of what we shall do\nto-morrow--Sunday. We must be very merry, for the last few days you seem\nvery sad, dear mother, and I can't make it out--I fancy you are not\nsatisfied with me.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear child!--you--the pattern of--\"\n\n\"Well, well! Prove to me that you are happy, then, by taking a little\namusement. Perhaps you will do us the honor of accompanying us, as you\ndid last time,\" added Agricola, bowing to Mother Bunch.\n\nThe latter blushed and looked down; her face assumed an expression of\nbitter grief, and she made no reply.\n\n\"I have the prayers to attend all day, you know, my dear child,\" said\nFrances to her son.\n\n\"Well, in the evening, then? I don't propose the theatre; but they say\nthere is a conjurer to be seen whose tricks are very amusing.\n\n\"I am obliged to you, my son; but that is a kind of theatre.\"\n\n\"Dear mother, this is unreasonable!\"\n\n\"My dear child, do I ever hinder others from doing what they like?\"\n\n\"True, dear mother; forgive me. Well, then, if it should be fine, we will\nsimply take a walk with Mother Bunch on the Boulevards. It is nearly\nthree months since she went out with us; and she never goes out without\nus.\"\n\n\"No, no; go alone, my child. Enjoy your Sunday, 'tis little enough.\"\n\n\"You know very well, Agricola,\" said the sempstress, blushing up to the\neyes, \"that I ought not to go out with you and your mother again.\"\n\n\"Why not, madame? May I ask, without impropriety, the cause of this\nrefusal?\" said Agricola gayly.\n\nThe poor girl smiled sadly, and replied, \"Because I will not expose you\nto a quarrel on my account, Agricola.\"\n\n\"Forgive me,\" said Agricola, in a tone of sincere grief, and he struck\nhis forehead vexedly.\n\nTo this Mother Bunch alluded sometimes, but very rarely, for she observed\npunctilious discretion. The girl had gone out with Agricola and his\nmother. Such occasions were, indeed, holidays for her. Many days and\nnights had she toiled hard to procure a decent bonnet and shawl, that she\nmight not do discredit to her friends. The five or six days of holidays,\nthus spent arm in arm with him whom she adored in secret, formed the sum\nof her happy days.\n\nTaking their last walk, a coarse, vulgar man elbowed her so rudely that\nthe poor girl could not refrain from a cry of terror, and the man\nretorted it by saying,-\"What are you rolling your hump in my way for,\nstoopid?\"\n\nAgricola, like his father, had the patience which force and courage give\nto the truly brave; but he was extremely quick when it became necessary\nto avenge an insult. Irritated at the vulgarity of this man, Agricola\nleft his mother's arm to inflict on the brute, who was of his own age,\nsize, and force, two vigorous blows, such as the powerful arm and huge\nfist of a blacksmith never before inflicted on human face. The villain\nattempted to return it, and Agricola repeated the correction, to the\namusement of the crowd, and the fellow slunk away amidst a deluge of\nhisses. This adventure made Mother Bunch say she would not go out with\nAgricola again, in order to save him any occasion of quarrel. We may\nconceive the blacksmith's regret at having thus unwittingly revived the\nmemory of this circumstance,--more painful, alas! for Mother Bunch than\nAgricola could imagine, for she loved him passionately, and her infirmity\nhad been the cause of that quarrel. Notwithstanding his strength and\nresolution, Agricola was childishly sensitive; and, thinking how painful\nthat thought must be to the poor girl, a large tear filled his eyes, and,\nholding out his hands, he said, in a brotherly tone, \"Forgive my\nheedlessness! Come, kiss me.\" And he gave her thin, pale cheeks two\nhearty kisses.\n\nThe poor girl's lips turned pale at this cordial caress; and her heart\nbeat so violently that she was obliged to lean against the corner of the\ntable.\n\n\"Come, you forgive me, do you not?\" said Agricola.\n\n\"Yes! yes!\" she said, trying to subdue her emotion; \"but the recollection\nof that quarrel pains me--I was so alarmed on your account; if the crowd\nhad sided with that man!\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said Frances, coming to the sewing-girl's relief, without knowing\nit, \"I was never so afraid in all my life!\"\n\n\"Oh, mother,\" rejoined Agricola, trying to change a conversation which\nhad now become disagreeable for the sempstress, \"for the wife of a horse\ngrenadier of the Imperial Guard, you have not much courage. Oh, my brave\nfather; I can't believe he is really coming! The very thought turns me\ntopsy-turvy!\"\n\n\"Heaven grant he may come,\" said Frances, with a sigh.\n\n\"God grant it, mother. He will grant it, I should think. Lord knows, you\nhave had masses enough said for his return.\"\n\n\"Agricola, my child,\" said Frances, interrupting her son, and shaking her\nhead sadly, \"do not speak in that way. Besides, you are talking of your\nfather.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm in for it this evening. 'Tis your turn now; positively, I am\ngrowing stupid, or going crazy. Forgive me, mother! forgive! That's the\nonly word I can get out to-night. You know that, when I do let out on\ncertain subjects, it is because I can't help it; for I know well the pain\nit gives you.\"\n\n\"You do not offend me, my poor, dear, misguided boy.\"\n\n\"It comes to the same thing; and there is nothing so bad as to offend\none's mother; and, with respect to what I said about father's return, I\ndo not see that we have any cause to doubt it.\"\n\n\"But we have not heard from him for four months.\"\n\n\"You know, mother, in his letter--that is, in the letter which he\ndictated (for you remember that, with the candor of an old soldier, he\ntold us that, if he could read tolerably well, he could not write); well,\nin that letter he said we were not to be anxious about him; that he\nexpected to be in Paris about the end of January, and would send us word,\nthree or four days before, by what road he expected to arrive, that I\nmight go and meet him.\"\n\n\"True, my child; and February is come, and no news yet.\"\n\n\"The greater reason why we should wait patiently. But I'll tell you more:\nI should not be surprised if our good Gabriel were to come back about the\nsame time. His last letter from America makes me hope so. What pleasure,\nmother, should all the family be together!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, my child! It would be a happy day for me.\"\n\n\"And that day will soon come, trust me.\"\n\n\"Do you remember your father, Agricola?\" inquired Mother Bunch.\n\n\"To tell the truth, I remember most his great grenadier's shako and\nmoustache, which used to frighten me so, that nothing but the red ribbon\nof his cross of honor, on the white facings of his uniform, and the\nshining handle of his sabre, could pacify me; could it, mother? But what\nis the matter? You are weeping!\"\n\n\"Alas! poor Baudoin! What he must suffer at being separated from us at\nhis age--sixty and past! Alas! my child, my heart breaks, when I think\nthat he comes home only to change one kind of poverty for another.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Alas! I earn nothing now.\"\n\n\"Why, what's become of me? Isn't there a room here for you and for him;\nand a table for you too? Only, my good mother, since we are talking of\ndomestic affairs,\" added the blacksmith, imparting increased tenderness\nto his tone, that he might not shock his mother, \"when he and Gabriel\ncome home, you won't want to have any more masses said, and tapers burned\nfor them, will you? Well, that saving will enable father to have tobacco\nto smoke, and his bottle of wine every day. Then, on Sundays, we will\ntake a nice dinner at the eating-house.\"\n\nA knocking at the door disturbed Agricola.\n\n\"Come in,\" said he. Instead of doing so, some one half-opened the door,\nand, thrusting in an arm of a pea-green color, made signs to the\nblacksmith.\n\n\"'Tis old Loriot, the pattern of dyers,\" said Agricola; \"come in, Daddy,\nno ceremony.\"\n\n\"Impossible, my lad; I am dripping with dye from head to foot; I should\ncover missus's floor with green.\"\n\n\"So much the better. It will remind me of the fields I like so much.\"\n\n\"Without joking, Agricola, I must speak to you immediately.\"\n\n\"About the spy, eh? Oh, be easy; what's he to us?\"\n\n\"No; I think he's gone; at any rate, the fog is so thick I can't see him.\nBut that's not it--come, come quickly! It is very important,\" said the\ndyer, with a mysterious look; \"and only concerns you.\"\n\n\"Me, only?\" said Agricola, with surprise. \"What can it be.\n\n\"Go and see, my child,\" said Frances.\n\n\"Yes, mother; but the deuce take me if I can make it out.\"\n\nAnd the blacksmith left the room, leaving his mother with Mother Bunch.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nTHE RETURN.\n\nIn five minutes Agricola returned; his face was pale and agitated--his\neyes glistened with tears, and his hands trembled; but his countenance\nexpressed extraordinary happiness and emotion. He stood at the door for a\nmoment, as if too much affected to accost his mother.\n\nFrances's sight was so bad that she did not immediately perceive the\nchange her son's countenance had undergone.\n\n\"Well, my child--what is it?\" she inquired.\n\nBefore the blacksmith could reply, Mother Bunch, who had more\ndiscernment, exclaimed: \"Goodness, Agricola--how pale you are! Whatever\nis the matter?\"\n\n\"Mother,\" said the artisan, hastening to Frances, without replying to the\nsempstress,--\"mother, expect news that will astonish you; but promise me\nyou will be calm.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? How you tremble! Look at me! Mother Bunch was\nright--you are quite pale.\"\n\n\"My kind mother!\" and Agricola, kneeling before Frances, took both her\nhands in his--\"you must--you do not know,--but--\"\n\nThe blacksmith could not go on. Tears of joy interrupted his speech.\n\n\"You weep, my dear child! Your tears alarm me. 'What is the matter?--you\nterrify me!\"\n\n\"Oh, no, I would not terrify you; on the contrary,\" said Agricola, drying\nhis eyes--\"you will be so happy. But, again, you must try and command\nyour feelings, for too much joy is as hurtful as too much grief.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Did I not say true, when I said he would come?\"\n\n\"Father!\" cried Frances. She rose from her seat; but her surprise and\nemotion were so great that she put one hand to her heart to still its\nbeating, and then she felt her strength fail. Her son sustained her, and\nassisted her to sit down.\n\nMother Bunch, till now, had stood discreetly apart, witnessing from a\ndistance the scene which completely engrossed Agricola and his mother.\nBut she now drew near timidly, thinking she might be useful; for Frances\nchanged color more and more.\n\n\"Come, courage, mother,\" said the blacksmith; \"now the shock is over, you\nhave only to enjoy the pleasure of seeing my father.\"\n\n\"My poor man! after eighteen years' absence. Oh, I cannot believe it,\"\nsaid Frances, bursting into tears. \"Is it true? Is it, indeed, true?\"\n\n\"So true, that if you will promise me to keep as calm as you can, I will\ntell you when you may see him.\"\n\n\"Soon--may I not?\"\n\n\"Yes; soon.\"\n\n\"But when will he arrive?\"\n\n\"He may arrive any minute--to-morrow--perhaps to-day.\"\n\n\"To-day!\"\n\n\"Yes, mother! Well, I must tell you all--he has arrived.\"\n\n\"He--he is--\" Frances could not articulate the word.\n\n\"He was downstairs just now. Before coming up, he sent the dyer to\napprise me that I might prepare you; for my brave father feared the\nsurprise might hurt you.\"\n\n\"Oh, heaven!\"\n\n\"And now,\" cried the blacksmith, in an accent of indescribable joy--\"he\nis there, waiting! Oh, mother! for the last ten minutes I have scarcely\nbeen able to contain myself--my heart is bursting with joy.\" And running\nto the door, he threw it open.\n\nDagobert, holding Rose and Blanche by the hand, stood on the threshold.\nInstead of rushing to her husband's arms, Frances fell on her knees in\nprayer. She thanked heaven with profound gratitude for hearing her\nprayers, and thus accepting her offerings. During a second, the actors of\nthis scene stood silent and motionless. Agricola, by a sentiment of\nrespect and delicacy, which struggled violently with his affection, did\nnot dare to fall on his father's neck. He waited with constrained\nimpatience till his mother had finished her prayer.\n\nThe soldier experienced the same feeling as the blacksmith; they\nunderstood each other. The first glance exchanged by father and son\nexpressed their affection--their veneration for that excellent woman, who\nin the fulness of her religious fervor, forgot, perhaps, too much the\ncreature for the Creator.\n\nRose and Blanche, confused and affected, looked with interest on the\nkneeling woman; while Mother Bunch, shedding in silence tears of joy at\nthe thought of Agricola's happiness, withdrew into the most obscure\ncorner of the room, feeling that she was a stranger, and necessarily out\nof place in that family meeting. Frances rose, and took a step towards\nher husband, who received her in his arms. There was a moment of solemn\nsilence. Dagobert and Frances said not a word. Nothing could be heard but\na few sighs, mingled with sighs of joy. And, when the aged couple looked\nup, their expression was calm, radiant, serene; for the full and complete\nenjoyment of simple and pure sentiments never leaves behind a feverish\nand violent agitation.\n\n\"My children,\" said the soldier, in tones of emotion, presenting the\norphans to Frances, who, after her first agitation, had surveyed them\nwith astonishment, \"this is my good and worthy wife; she will be to the\ndaughters of General Simon what I have been to them.\"\n\n\"Then, madame, you will treat us as your children,\" said Rose,\napproaching Frances with her sister.\n\n\"The daughters of General Simon!\" cried Dagobert's wife, more and more\nastonished.\n\n\"Yes, my dear Frances; I have brought them from afar not without some\ndifficulty; but I will tell you that by and by.\"\n\n\"Poor little things! One would take them for two angels, exactly alike!\"\nsaid Frances, contemplating the orphans with as much interest as\nadmiration.\n\n\"Now--for us,\" cried Dagobert, turning to his son.\n\n\"At last,\" rejoined the latter.\n\nWe must renounce all attempts to describe the wild joy of Dagobert and\nhis son, and the crushing grip of their hands, which Dagobert interrupted\nonly to look in Agricola's face; while he rested his hands on the young\nblacksmith's broad shoulders that he might see to more advantage his\nfrank masculine countenance, and robust frame. Then he shook his hand\nagain, exclaiming, \"He's a fine fellow--well built--what a good-hearted\nlook he has!\"\n\nFrom a corner of the room Mother Bunch enjoyed Agricola's happiness; but\nshe feared that her presence, till then unheeded, would be an intrusion.\nShe wished to withdraw unnoticed, but could not do so. Dagobert and his\nson were between her and the door; and she stood unable to take her eyes\nfrom the charming faces of Rose and Blanche. She had never seen anything\nso winsome; and the extraordinary resemblance of the sisters increased\nher surprise. Then, their humble mourning revealing that they were poor,\nMother Bunch involuntarily felt more sympathy towards them.\n\n\"Dear children! They are cold; their little hands are frozen, and,\nunfortunately, the fire is out,\" said Frances, She tried to warm the\norphans' hands in hers, while Dagobert and his son gave themselves up to\nthe feelings of affection, so long restrained.\n\nAs soon as Frances said that the fire was out, Mother Bunch hastened to\nmake herself useful, as an excuse for her presence; and, going to the\ncupboard, where the charcoal and wood were kept, she took some small\npieces, and, kneeling before the stove, succeeded, by the aid of a few\nembers that remained, in relighting the fire, which soon began to draw\nand blaze. Filling a coffee-pot with water, she placed it on the stove,\npresuming that the orphans required some warm drink. The sempstress did\nall this with so much dexterity and so little noise--she was naturally so\nforgotten amidst the emotions of the scene--that Frances, entirely\noccupied with Rose and Blanche, only perceived the fire when she felt its\nwarmth diffusing round, and heard the boiling water singing in the\ncoffee-pot. This phenomenon--fire rekindling of itself--did not astonish\nDagobert's wife then, so wholly was she taken up in devising how she\ncould lodge the maidens; for Dagobert as we have seen, had not given her\nnotice of their arrival.\n\nSuddenly a loud bark was heard three or four times at the door.\n\n\"Hallo! there's Spoil-sport,\" said Dagobert, letting in his dog; \"he\nwants to come in to brush acquaintance with the family too.\"\n\nThe dog came in with a bound, and in a second was quite at home. After\nhaving rubbed Dagobert's hand with his muzzle, he went in turns to greet\nRose and Blanche, and also Frances and Agricola; but seeing that they\ntook but little notice of him, he perceived Mother Bunch, who stood\napart, in an obscure corner of the room, and carrying out the popular\nsaying, \"the friends of our friends are our friends,\" he went and licked\nthe hands of the young workwoman, who was just then forgotten by all. By\na singular impulse, this action affected the girl to tears; she patted\nher long, thin, white hand several times on the head of the intelligent\ndog. Then, finding that she could be no longer useful (for she had done\nall the little services she deemed in her power), she took the handsome\nflower Agricola had given her, opened the door gently, and went away so\ndiscreetly that no one noticed her departure. After this exchange of\nmutual affection, Dagobert, his wife, and son, began to think of the\nrealities of life.\n\n\"Poor Frances,\" said the soldier, glancing at Rose and Blanche, \"you did\nnot expect such a pretty surprise!\"\n\n\"I am only sorry, my friend,\" replied Frances, \"that the daughters of\nGeneral Simon will not have a better lodging than this poor room; for\nwith Agricola's garret--\"\n\n\"It composes our mansion,\" interrupted Dagobert; \"there are handsomer, it\nmust be confessed. But be at ease; these young ladies are drilled into\nnot being hard to suit on that score. To-morrow, I and my boy will go arm\nand arm, and I'll answer for it he won't walk the more upright and\nstraight of the two, and find out General Simon's father, at M. Hardy's\nfactory, to talk about business.\"\n\n\"To-morrow,\" said Agricola to Dagobert, \"you will not find at the factory\neither M. Hardy or Marshall Simon's father.\"\n\n\"What is that you say, my lad?\" cried Dagobert, hastily, \"the Marshal!\"\n\n\"To be sure; since 1830, General Simon's friends have secured him the\ntitle and rank which the emperor gave him at the battle of Ligny.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" cried Dagobert, with emotion, \"but that ought not to surprise\nme; for, after all, it is just; and when the emperor said a thing, the\nleast they can do is to let it abide. But it goes all the same to my\nheart; it makes me jump again.\"\n\nAddressing the sisters, he said: \"Do you hear that, my children? You\narrive in Paris the daughters of a Duke and Marshal of France. One would\nhardly think it, indeed, to see you in this room, my poor little\nduchesses! But patience; all will go well. Ah, father Simon must have\nbeen very glad to hear that his son was restored to his rank! eh, my\nlad?\"\n\n\"He told us he would renounce all kinds of ranks and titles to see his\nson again; for it was during the general's absence that his friends\nobtained this act of justice. But they expect Marshal Simon every moment,\nfor the last letter from India announced his departure.\"\n\nAt these words Rose and Blanche looked at each other; and their eyes\nfilled with tears.\n\n\"Heaven be praised! These children rely on his return; but why shall we\nnot find M. Hardy and father Simon at the factory to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Ten days ago, they went to examine and study an English mill established\nin the south; but we expect them back every day.\"\n\n\"The deuce! that's vexing; I relied on seeing the general's father, to\ntalk over some important matters with him. At any rate, they know where\nto write to him. So to-morrow you will let him know, my lad, that his\ngranddaughters are arrived. In the mean time, children,\" added the\nsoldier, to Rose and Blanche, \"my good wife will give you her bed and you\nmust put up with the chances of war. Poor things! they will not be worse\noff here than they were on the journey.\"\n\n\"You know we shall always be well off with you and madame,\" said Rose.\n\n\"Besides, we only think of the pleasure of being at length in Paris,\nsince here we are to find our father,\" added Blanche.\n\n\"That hope gives you patience, I know,\" said Dagobert, \"but no matter!\nAfter all you have heard about it, you ought to be finely surprised, my\nchildren. As yet, you have not found it the golden city of your dreams,\nby any means. But, patience, patience; you'll find Paris not so bad as it\nlooks.\"\n\n\"Besides,\" said Agricola, \"I am sure the arrival of Marshal Simon in\nParis will change it for you into a golden city.\"\n\n\"You are right, Agricola,\" said Rose, with a smile, \"you have, indeed,\nguessed us.\"\n\n\"What! do you know my name?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Agricola, we often talked about you with Dagobert; and\nlatterly, too, with Gabriel,\" added Blanche.\n\n\"Gabriel!\" cried Agricola and his mother, at the same time.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Dagobert, making a sign of intelligence to the orphans,\n\"we have lots to tell you for a fortnight to come; and among other\nthings, how we chanced to meet with Gabriel. All I can now say is that,\nin his way, he is quite as good as my boy (I shall never be tired of\nsaying 'my boy'); and they ought to love each other like brothers. Oh, my\nbrave, brave wife!\" said Dagobert, with emotion, \"you did a good thing,\npoor as you were, taking the unfortunate child--and bringing him up with\nyour own.\"\n\n\"Don't talk so much about it, my dear; it was such a simple thing.\"\n\n\"You are right; but I'll make you amends for it by and by. 'Tis down to\nyour account; in the mean time, you will be sure to see him to-morrow\nmorning.\"\n\n\"My dear brother arrived too!\" cried the blacksmith; \"who'll say, after\nthis, that there are not days set apart for happiness? How came you to\nmeet him, father?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you all, by and by, about when and how we met Gabriel; for if\nyou expect to sleep, you are mistaken. You'll give me half your room, and\na fine chat we'll have. Spoil-sport will stay outside of this door; he is\naccustomed to sleep at the children's door.\"\n\n\"Dear me, love, I think of nothing. But, at such a moment, if you and the\nyoung ladies wish to sup, Agricola will fetch something from the\ncook-shop.\"\n\n\"What do you say, children?\"\n\n\"No, thank you, Dagobert, we are not hungry; we are too happy.\"\n\n\"You will take a little wine and water, sweetened, nice and hot, to warm\nyou a little, my dear young ladies,\" said Frances; \"unfortunately, I have\nnothing else to offer you.\"\n\n\"You are right, Frances; the dear children are tired, and want to go to\nbed; while they do so, I'll go to my boy's room, and, before Rose and\nBlanche are awake, I will come down and converse with you, just to give\nAgricola a respite.\"\n\nA knock was now heard at the door.\n\n\"It is good Mother Bunch come to see if we want her,\" said Agricola.\n\n\"But I think she was here when my husband came in,\" added Frances.\n\n\"Right, mother; and the good girl left lest she should be an intruder:\nshe is so thoughtful. But no--no--it is not she who knocks so loud.\"\n\n\"Go and see who it is, then, Agricola.\"\n\nBefore the blacksmith could reach the door, a man decently dressed, with\na respectable air, entered the room, and glanced rapidly round, looking\nfor a moment at Rose and Blanche.\n\n\"Allow me to observe, sir,\" said Agricola, \"that after knocking, you\nmight have waited till the door was opened, before you entered. Pray,\nwhat is your business?\"\n\n\"Pray excuse me, sir,\" said the man, very politely, and speaking slowly,\nperhaps to prolong his stay in the room: \"I beg a thousand pardons--I\nregret my intrusion--I am ashamed--\"\n\n\"Well, you ought to be, sir,\" said Agricola, with impatience, \"what do\nyou want?\"\n\n\"Pray, sir, does not Miss Soliveau, a deformed needlewoman, live here?\"\n\n\"No, sir; upstairs,\" said Agricola.\n\n\"Really, sir,\" cried the polite man, with low bows, \"I am quite abroad at\nmy blunder: I thought this was the room of that young person. I brought\nher proposals for work from a very respectable party.\"\n\n\"It is very late, sir,\" said Agricola, with surprise. \"But that young\nperson is as one of our family. Call to-morrow; you cannot see her to\nnight; she is gone to bed.\"\n\n\"Then, sir, I again beg you to excuse--\"\n\n\"Enough, sir,\" said Agricola, taking a step towards the door.\n\n\"I hope, madame and the young ladies, as well as this gent, will be\nassured that--\"\n\n\"If you go on much longer making excuses, sir, you will have to excuse\nthe length of your excuses; and it is time this came to an end!\"\n\nRose and Blanche smiled at these words of Agricola; while Dagobert rubbed\nhis moustache with pride.\n\n\"What wit the boy has!\" said he aside to his wife. \"But that does not\nastonish you--you are used to it.\"\n\nDuring this speech, the ceremonious person withdrew, having again\ndirected a long inquiring glance to the sisters, and to Agricola and\nDagobert.\n\nIn a few minutes after, Frances having spread a mattress on the ground\nfor herself, and put the whitest sheets on her bed for the orphans,\nassisted them to undress with maternal solicitude, Dagobert and Agricola\nhaving previously withdrawn to their garret. Just as the blacksmith, who\npreceded his father with a light, passed before the door of Mother\nBunch's room, the latter, half concealed in the shade, said to him\nrapidly, in a low tone:\n\n\"Agricola, great danger threatens you: I must speak to you.\"\n\nThese words were uttered in so hasty and low a voice that Dagobert did\nnot hear them; but as Agricola stopped suddenly, with a start, the old\nsoldier said to him,\n\n\"Well, boy, what is it?\"\n\n\"Nothing, father,\" said the blacksmith, turning round; \"I feared I did\nnot light you well.\"\n\n\"Oh, stand at ease about that; I have the legs and eyes of fifteen to\nnight;\" and the soldier, not noticing his son's surprise, went into the\nlittle room where they were both to pass the night.\n\nOn leaving the house, after his inquiries about Mother Bunch, the over\npolite Paul Pry slunk along to the end of Brise-Miche Street. He advanced\ntowards a hackney-coach drawn up on the Cloitre Saint-Merry Square.\n\nIn this carriage lounged Rodin, wrapped in a cloak.\n\n\"Well?\" said he, in an inquiring tone.\n\n\"The two girls and the man with gray moustache went directly to Frances\nBaudoin's; by listening at the door, I learnt that the sisters will sleep\nwith her, in that room, to-night; the old man with gray moustache will\nshare the young blacksmith's room.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Rodin.\n\n\"I did not dare insist on seeing the deformed workwoman this evening on\nthe subject of the Bacchanal Queen; I intend returning to-morrow, to\nlearn the effect of the letter she must have received this evening by the\npost about the young blacksmith.\"\n\n\"Do not fail! And now you will call, for me, on Frances Baudoin's\nconfessor, late as it is; you will tell him that I am waiting for him at\nRue du Milieu des Ursins--he must not lose a moment. Do you come with\nhim. Should I not be returned, he will wait for me. You will tell him it\nis on a matter of great moment.\"\n\n\"All shall be faithfully executed,\" said the ceremonious man, cringing to\nRodin, as the coach drove quickly away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nAGRICOLA AND MOTHER BUNCH.\n\nWithin one hour after the different scenes which have just been described\nthe most profound silence reigned in the soldier's humble dwelling. A\nflickering light, which played through two panes of glass in a door,\nbetrayed that Mother Bunch had not yet gone to sleep; for her gloomy\nrecess, without air or light, was impenetrable to the rays of day, except\nby this door, opening upon a narrow and obscure passage, connected with\nthe roof. A sorry bed, a table, an old portmanteau, and a chair, so\nnearly filled this chilling abode, that two persons could not possibly be\nseated within it, unless one of them sat upon the side of the bed.\n\nThe magnificent and precious flower that Agricola had given to the girl\nwas carefully stood up in a vessel of water, placed upon the table on a\nlinen cloth, diffusing its sweet odor around, and expanding its purple\ncalix in the very closet, whose plastered walls, gray and damp, were\nfeebly lighted by the rays of an attenuated candle. The sempstress, who\nhad taken off no part of her dress, was seated upon her bed--her looks\nwere downcast, and her eyes full of tears. She supported herself with one\nhand resting on the bolster; and, inclining towards the door, listened\nwith painful eagerness, every instant hoping to hear the footsteps of\nAgricola. The heart of the young sempstress beat violently; her face,\nusually very pale, was now partially flushed--so exciting was the emotion\nby which she was agitated. Sometimes she cast her eyes with terror upon a\nletter which she held in her hand, a letter that had been delivered by\npost in the course of the evening, and which had been placed by the\nhousekeeper (the dyer) upon the table, while she was rendering some\ntrivial domestic services during the recognitions of Dagobert and his\nfamily.\n\nAfter some seconds, Mother Bunch heard a door, very near her own, softly\nopened.\n\n\"There he is at last!\" she exclaimed, and Agricola immediately entered.\n\n\"I waited till my father went to sleep,\" said the blacksmith, in a low\nvoice, his physiognomy evincing much more curiosity than uneasiness. \"But\nwhat is the matter, my good sister? How your countenance is changed! You\nweep! What has happened? About what danger would you speak to me?\"\n\n\"Hush! Read this!\" said she, her voice trembling with emotion, while she\nhastily presented to him the open letter. Agricola held it towards the\nlight, and read what follows:\n\n\"A person who has reasons for concealing himself, but who knows the\nsisterly interest you take in the welfare of Agricola Baudoin, warns you.\nThat young and worthy workman will probably be arrested in the course of\nto-morrow.\"\n\n\"I!\" exclaimed Agricola, looking at Mother Bunch with an air of stupefied\namazement. \"What is the meaning of all this?\"\n\n\"Read on!\" quickly replied the sempstress, clasping her hands.\n\nAgricola resumed reading, scarcely believing the evidence of his\neyes:-\"The song, entitled 'Working-men Freed,' has been declared\nlibellous. Numerous copies of it have been found among the papers of a\nsecret society, the leaders of which are about to be incarcerated, as\nbeing concerned in the Rue des Prouvaires conspiracy.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said the girl, melting into tears, \"now I see it all. The man who\nwas lurking about below, this evening, who was observed by the dyer, was,\ndoubtless, a spy, lying in wait for you coming home.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" exclaimed Agricola. \"This accusation is quite ridiculous! Do\nnot torment yourself. I never trouble myself with politics. My verses\nbreathe nothing but philanthropy. Am I to blame, if they have been found\namong the papers of a secret society?\" Agricola disdainfully threw the\nletter upon the table.\n\n\"Read! pray read!\" said the other; \"read on.\"\n\n\"If you wish it,\" said Agricola, \"I will; no time is lost.\"\n\nHe resumed the reading of the letter:\n\n\"A warrant is about to be issued against Agricola Baudoin. There is mo\ndoubt of his innocence being sooner or later made clear; but it will be\nwell if he screen himself for a time as much as possible from pursuit, in\norder that he may escape a confinement of two or three months previous to\ntrial--an imprisonment which would be a terrible blow for his mother,\nwhose sole support he is.\n\n\"A SINCERE FRIEND, who is compelled to remain unknown.\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence, the blacksmith raised his head; his countenance\nresumed its serenity; and laughing, he said: \"Reassure yourself, good\nMother Bunch, these jokers have made a mistake by trying their games on\nme. It is plainly an attempt at making an April-fool of me before the\ntime.\"\n\n\"Agricola, for the love of heaven!\" said the girl, in a supplicating\ntone; \"treat not the warning thus lightly. Believe in my forebodings, and\nlisten to my advice.\"\n\n\"I tell you again, my good girl,\" replied Agricola, \"that it is two\nmonths since my song was published. It is not in any way political;\nindeed, if it were, they would not have waited till now before coming\ndown on me.\"\n\n\"But,\" said the other, \"you forget that new events have arisen. It is\nscarcely two days since the conspiracy was discovered, in this very\nneighborhood, in the Rue des Prouvaires. And,\" continued she, \"if the\nverses, though perhaps hitherto unnoticed, have now been found in the\npossession of the persons apprehended for this conspiracy, nothing more\nis necessary to compromise you in the plot.\"\n\n\"Compromise me!\" said Agricola; \"my verses! in which I only praise the\nlove of labor and of goodness! To arrest me for that! If so, justice\nwould be but a blind noodle. That she might grope her way, it would be\nnecessary to furnish her with a dog and a pilgrim's staff to guide her\nsteps.\"\n\n\"Agricola,\" resumed Mother Bunch; overwhelmed with anxiety and terror on\nhearing the blacksmith jest at such a moment, \"I conjure you to listen to\nme! No doubt you uphold in the verses the sacred love of labor; but you\ndo also grievously deplore and deprecate the unjust lot of the poor\nlaborers, devoted as they are, without hope, to all the miseries of life;\nyou recommend, indeed, only fraternity among men; but your good and noble\nheart vents its indignation, at the same time, against the selfish and\nthe wicked. In fine, you fervently hasten on, with the ardor of your\nwishes, the emancipation of all the artisans who, less fortunate than\nyou, have not generous M. Hardy for employer. Say, Agricola, in these\ntimes of trouble, is there anything more necessary to compromise you than\nthat numerous copies of your song have been found in possession of the\npersons who have been apprehended?\"\n\nAgricola was moved by these affectionate and judicious expressions of an\nexcellent creature, who reasoned from her heart; and he began to view\nwith more seriousness the advice which she had given him.\n\nPerceiving that she had shaken him, the sewing-girl went on to say: \"And\nthen, bear your fellow-workman, Remi, in recollection.\"\n\n\"Remi!\" said Agricola, anxiously.\n\n\"Yes,\" resumed the sempstress; \"a letter of his, a letter in itself quite\ninsignificant, was found in the house of a person arrested last year for\nconspiracy; and Remi, in consequence, remained a month in prison.\"\n\n\"That is true, but the injustice of his implication was easily shown, and\nhe was set at liberty.\"\n\n\"Yes, Agricola: but not till he had lain a month in prison; and that has\nfurnished the motive of the person who advised you to conceal yourself! A\nmonth in prison! Good heavens! Agricola, think of that! and your mother.\"\n\nThese words made a powerful impression upon Agricola. He took up the\nletter and again read it attentively.\n\n\"And the man who has been lurking all this evening about the house?\"\nproceeded she. \"I constantly recall that circumstance, which cannot be\nnaturally accounted for. Alas! what a blow it would be for your father,\nand poor mother, who is incapable of earning anything. Are you not now\ntheir only resource? Oh! consider, then, what would become of them\nwithout you--without your labor!\"\n\n\"It would indeed be terrible,\" said Agricola, impatiently casting the\nletter upon the table. \"What you have said concerning Remi is too true.\nHe was as innocent as I am: yet an error of justice, an involuntary error\nthough it be, is not the less cruel. But they don't commit a man without\nhearing him.\"\n\n\"But they arrest him first, and hear him afterwards,\" said Mother Bunch,\nbitterly; \"and then, after a month or two, they restore him his liberty.\nAnd if he have a wife and children, whose only means of living is his\ndaily labor, what becomes of them while their only supporter is in\nprison? They suffer hunger, they endure cold, and they weep!\"\n\nAt these simple and pathetic words, Agricola trembled.\n\n\"A month without work,\" he said, with a sad and thoughtful air. \"And my\nmother, and father, and the two young ladies who make part of our family\nuntil the arrival in Paris of their father, Marshal Simon. Oh! you are\nright. That thought, in spite of myself, affrights me!\"\n\n\"Agricola!\" exclaimed the girl impetuously; \"suppose you apply to M.\nHardy; he is so good, and his character is so much esteemed and honored,\nthat, if he offered bail for you, perhaps they would give up their\npersecution?\"\n\n\"Unfortunately,\" replied Agricola, \"M. Hardy is absent; he is on a\njourney with Marshal Simon.\"\n\nAfter a silence of some time, Agricola, striving to surmount his fear,\nadded: \"But no! I cannot give credence to this letter. After all, I had\nrather await what may come. I'll at least have the chance of proving my\ninnocence on my first examination: for indeed, my good sister, whether it\nbe that I am in prison or that I fly to conceal myself, my working for my\nfamily will be equally prevented.\"\n\n\"Alas! that is true,\" said the poor girl; \"what is to be done! Oh, what\nis to be done?\"\n\n\"My brave father,\" said Agricola to himself, \"if this misfortune happen\nto-morrow, what an awakening it will be for him, who came here to sleep\nso joyously!\" The blacksmith buried his face in his hands.\n\nUnhappily Mother Bunch's fears were too well-founded, for it will be\nrecollected that at that epoch of the year 1832, before and after the Rue\ndes Prouvaires conspiracy, a very great number of arrests had been made\namong the working classes, in consequence of a violent reaction against\ndemocratical ideas.\n\nSuddenly, the girl broke the silence which had been maintained for some\nseconds. A blush colored her features, which bore the impressions of an\nindefinable expression of constraint, grief, and hope.\n\n\"Agricola, you are saved!\"\n\n\"What say you?\" he asked.\n\n\"The young lady, so beautiful, so good, who gave you this flower\" (she\nshowed it to the blacksmith) \"who has known how to make reparation with\nso much delicacy for having made a painful offer, cannot but have a\ngenerous heart. You must apply to her--\"\n\nWith these words which seemed to be wrung from her by a violent effort\nover herself, great tears rolled down her cheeks. For the first time in\nher life she experienced a feeling of grievous jealousy. Another woman\nwas so happy as to have the power of coming to the relief of him whom she\nidolized; while she herself, poor creature, was powerless and wretched.\n\n\"Do you think so?\" exclaimed Agricola surprised. \"But what could be done\nwith this young lady?\"\n\n\"Did she not say to you,\" answered Mother Bunch, \"'Remember my name; and\nin all circumstances address yourself to me?'\"\n\n\"She did indeed!\" replied Agricola.\n\n\"This young lady, in her exalted position, ought to have powerful\nconnections who will be able to protect and defend you. Go to her to\nmorrow morning; tell her frankly what has happened, and request her\nsupport.\"\n\n\"But tell me, my good sister, what it is you wish me to do?\"\n\n\"Listen. I remember that, in former times, my father told us that he had\nsaved one of his friends from being put in prison, by becoming surety for\nhim. It will be easy for you so to convince this young lady of your\ninnocence, that she will be induced to become surety; and after that, you\nwill have nothing more to fear.\"\n\n\"My poor child!\" said Agricola, \"to ask so great a service from a person\nto whom one is almost unknown is hard.\"\n\n\"Believe me, Agricola,\" said the other sadly, \"I would never counsel what\ncould possibly lower you in the eyes of any one, and above all--do you\nunderstand?--above all, in the eyes of this young lady. I do not propose\nthat you should ask money from her; but only that she should give surety\nfor you, in order that you may have the liberty of continuing at your\nemployment, so that the family may not be without resources. Believe me,\nAgricola, that such a request is in no respect inconsistent with what is\nnoble and becoming upon your part. The heart of the young lady is\ngenerous. She will comprehend your position. The required surety will be\nas nothing to her; while to you it will be everything, and will even be\nthe very life to those who depend upon you.\"\n\n\"You are right, my good sister,\" said Agricola, with sadness and\ndejection. \"It is perhaps worth while to risk taking this step. If the\nyoung lady consent to render me this service, and if giving surety will\nindeed preserve me from prison, I shall be prepared for every event. But\nno, no!\" added he, rising, \"I'd never dare to make the request to her!\nWhat right have I to do so? What is the insignificant service that I\nrendered her, when compared with that which I should solicit from her?\"\n\n\"Do you imagine then, Agricola, that a generous spirit measures the\nservices which ought to be rendered, by those previously received? Trust\nto me respecting a matter which is an affair of the heart. I am, it is\ntrue, but a lowly creature, and ought not to compare myself with any\nother person. I am nothing, and I can do nothing. Nevertheless, I am\nsure--yes, Agricola, I am sure--that this young lady, who is so very far\nabove me, will experience the same feelings that I do in this affair;\nyes, like me, she will at once comprehend that your position is a cruel\none; and she will do with joy, with happiness, with thankfulness, that\nwhich I would do, if, alas! I could do anything more than uselessly\nconsume myself with regrets.\"\n\nIn spite of herself, she pronounced the last words with an expression so\nheart-breaking--there was something so moving in the comparison which\nthis unfortunate creature, obscure and disdained, infirm and miserable,\nmade of herself with Adrienne de Cardoville, the very type of resplendent\nyouth, beauty, and opulence--that Agricola was moved even to tears; and,\nholding out one of his hands to the speaker, he said to her, tenderly,\n\"How very good you are; how full of nobleness, good feeling, and\ndelicacy!\"\n\n\"Unhappily,\" said the weeping girl, \"I can do nothing more than advise.\"\n\n\"And your counsels shall be followed out, my sister dear. They are those\nof a soul the most elevated I have ever known. Yes, you have won me over\ninto making this experiment, by persuading me that the heart of Miss de\nCardoville is perhaps equal in value to your own!\"\n\nAt this charming and sincere assimilation of herself to Miss Adrienne,\nthe sempstress forgot almost everything she had suffered, so exquisitely\nsweet and consoling were her emotions. If some poor creatures, fatally\ndevoted to sufferings, experience griefs of which the world knows naught,\nthey sometimes, too, are cheered by humble and timid joys, of which the\nworld is equally ignorant. The least word of true tenderness and\naffection, which elevates them in their own estimation, is ineffably\nblissful for these unfortunate beings, habitually consigned, not only to\nhardships and to disdain, but even to desolating doubts, and distrust of\nthemselves.\n\n\"Then it is agreed that you will go, to-morrow morning to this young\nlady's house?\" exclaimed Mother Bunch, trembling with a new-born hope.\n\"And,\" she quickly added, \"at break of day I'll go down to watch at the\nstreet-door, to see if there be anything suspicious, and to apprise you\nof what I perceive.\"\n\n\"Good, excellent girl!\" exclaimed Agricola, with increasing emotion.\n\n\"It will be necessary to endeavor to set off before the wakening of your\nfather,\" said the hunchback. \"The quarter in which the young lady dwells,\nis so deserted, that the mere going there will almost serve for your\npresent concealment.\"\n\n\"I think I hear the voice of my father,\" said Agricola suddenly.\n\nIn truth, the little apartment was so near Agricola's garret, that he and\nthe sempstress, listening, heard Dagobert say in the dark:\n\n\"Agricola, is it thus that you sleep, my boy? Why, my first sleep is\nover; and my tongue itches deucedly.\"\n\n\"Go quick, Agricola!\" said Mother Bunch; \"your absence would disquiet\nhim. On no account go out to-morrow morning, before I inform you whether\nor not I shall have seen anything suspicious.\"\n\n\"Why, Agricola, you are not here?\" resumed Dagobert, in a louder voice.\n\n\"Here I am, father,\" said the smith, while going out of the sempstress's\napartment, and entering the garret, to his father.\n\n\"I have been to fasten the shutter of a loft that the wind agitated, lest\nits noise should disturb you.\"\n\n\"Thanks, my boy; but it is not noise that wakes me,\" said Dagobert,\ngayly; \"it is an appetite, quite furious, for a chat with you. Oh, my\ndear boy, it is the hungering of a proud old man of a father, who has not\nseen his son for eighteen years.\"\n\n\"Shall I light a candle, father?\"\n\n\"No, no; that would be luxurious; let us chat in the dark. It will be a\nnew pleasure for me to see you to-morrow morning at daybreak. It will be\nlike seeing you for the first time twice.\" The door of Agricola's garret\nbeing now closed, Mother Bunch heard nothing more.\n\nThe poor girl, without undressing, threw herself upon the bed, and closed\nnot an eye during the night, painfully awaiting the appearance of day, in\norder that she might watch over the safety of Agricola. However, in spite\nof her vivid anxieties for the morrow, she sometimes allowed herself to\nsink into the reveries of a bitter melancholy. She compared the\nconversation she had just had in the silence of night, with the man whom\nshe secretly adored, with what that conversation might have been, had she\npossessed some share of charms and beauty--had she been loved as she\nloved, with a chaste and devoted flame! But soon sinking into belief that\nshe should never know the ravishing sweets of a mutual passion, she found\nconsolation in the hope of being useful to Agricola. At the dawn of day,\nshe rose softly, and descended the staircase with little noise, in order\nto see if anything menaced Agricola from without.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nTHE AWAKENING.\n\nThe weather, damp and foggy during a portion of the night, became clear\nand cold towards morning. Through the glazed skylight of Agricola's\ngarret, where he lay with his father, a corner of the blue sky could be\nseen.\n\nThe apartment of the young blacksmith had an aspect as poor as the\nsewing-girl's. For its sole ornament, over the deal table upon which\nAgricola wrote his poetical inspirations, there hung suspended from a\nnail in the wall a portrait of Beranger--that immortal poet whom the\npeople revere and cherish, because his rare and transcendent genius has\ndelighted to enlighten the people, and to sing their glories and their\nreverses.\n\nAlthough the day had only begun to dawn, Dagobert and Agricola had\nalready risen. The latter had sufficient self command to conceal his\ninquietude, for renewed reflection had again increased his fears.\n\nThe recent outbreak in the Rue des Prouvaires had caused a great number\nof precautionary arrests; and the discovery of numerous copies of\nAgricola's song, in the possession of one of the chiefs of the\ndisconcerted plot, was, in truth, calculated slightly to compromise the\nyoung blacksmith. His father, however, as we have already mentioned,\nsuspected not his secret anguish. Seated by the side of his son, upon the\nedge of their mean little bed, the old soldier, by break of day, had\ndressed and shaved with military care; he now held between his hands both\nthose of Agricola, his countenance radiant with joy, and unable to\ndiscontinue the contemplation of his boy.\n\n\"You will laugh at me, my dear boy,\" said Dagobert to his son; \"but I\nwished the night to the devil, in order that I might gaze upon you in\nfull day, as I now see you. But all in good time; I have lost nothing.\nHere is another silliness of mine; it delights me to see you wear\nmoustaches. What a splendid horse-grenadier you would have made! Tell me;\nhave you never had a wish to be a soldier?\"\n\n\"I thought of mother!\"\n\n\"That's right,\" said Dagobert: \"and besides, I believe, after all, look\nye, that the time of the sword has gone by. We old fellows are now good\nfor nothing, but to be put in a corner of the chimney. Like rusty old\ncarbines, we have had our day.\"\n\n\"Yes; your days of heroism and of glory,\" said Agricola with excitement;\nand then he added, with a voice profoundly softened and agitated, \"it is\nsomething good and cheering to be your son!\"\n\n\"As to the good, I know nothing of that,\" replied Dagobert; \"but as for\nthe cheering, it ought to be so; for I love you proudly. And I think this\nis but the beginning! What say you, Agricola? I am like the famished\nwretches who have been some days without food. It is but by little and\nlittle that they recover themselves, and can eat. Now, you may expect to\nbe tasted, my boy, morning and evening, and devoured during the day. No,\nI wish not to think that--not all the day--no, that thought dazzles and\nperplexes me; and I am no longer myself.\"\n\nThese words of Dagobert caused a painful feeling to Agricola. He believed\nthat they sprang from a presentiment of the separation with which he was\nmenaced.\n\n\"Well,\" continued Dagobert; \"you are quite happy; M. Hardy is always good\nto you.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" replied Agricola: \"there is none in the world better, or more\nequitable and generous! If you knew what wonders he has brought about in\nhis factory! Compared to all others, it is a paradise beside the stithies\nof Lucifer!\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said Dagobert.\n\n\"You shall see,\" resumed Agricola, \"what welfare, what joy, what\naffection, are displayed upon the countenances of all whom he employs;\nwho work with an ardent pleasure.\n\n\"This M. Hardy of yours must be an out-and-out magician,\" said Dagobert.\n\n\"He is, father, a very great magician. He has known how to render labor\npleasant and attractive. As for the pleasure, over and above good wages,\nhe accords to us a portion of his profits according to our deserts;\nwhence you may judge of the eagerness with which we go to work. And that\nis not all: he has caused large, handsome buildings to be erected, in\nwhich all his workpeople find, at less expense than elsewhere, cheerful\nand salubrious lodgings, in which they enjoy all the advantages of an\nassociation. But you shall see--I repeat--you shall see!\"\n\n\"They have good reason to say, that Paris is the region of wonders,\"\nobserved Dagobert.\n\n\"Well, behold me here again at last, never more to quit you, nor good\nmother!\"\n\n\"No, father, we will never separate again,\" said Agricola, stifling a\nsigh. \"My mother and I will both try to make you forget all that you have\nsuffered.\"\n\n\"Suffered!\" exclaimed Dagobert, \"who the deuce has suffered? Look me well\nin the face; and see if I have a look of suffering! Bombs and bayonets!\nSince I have put my foot here, I feel myself quite a young man again! You\nshall see me march soon: I bet that I tire you out! You must rig yourself\nup something extra! Lord, how they will stare at us! I wager that in\nbeholding your black moustache and my gray one, folks will say, behold\nfather and son! But let us settle what we are to do with the day. You\nwill write to the father of Marshal Simon, informing him the his\ngrand-daughters have arrived, and that it is necessary that he should\nhasten his return to Paris; for he has charged himself with matters which\nare of great importance for them. While you are writing, I will go down\nto say good-morning to my wife, and to the dear little ones. We will then\neat a morsel. Your mother will go to mass; for I perceive that she likes\nto be regular at that: the good soul! no great harm, if it amuse her! and\nduring her absence, we will make a raid together.\"\n\n\"Father,\" said Agricola, with embarrassment, \"this morning it is out of\nmy power to accompany you.\"\n\n\"How! out of your power?\" said Dagobert; \"recollect this is Monday!\"\n\n\"Yes, father,\" said Agricola, hesitatingly; \"but I have promised to\nattend all the morning in the workshop, to finish a job that is required\nin a hurry. If I fail to do so, I shall inflict some injury upon M.\nHardy. But I'll soon be at liberty.\"\n\n\"That alters the case,\" said Dagobert, with a sigh of regret. \"I thought\nto make my first parade through Paris with you this morning; but it must\nbe deferred in favor of your work. It is sacred: since it is that which\nsustains your mother. Nevertheless, it is vexatious, devilish vexatious.\nAnd yet no--I am unjust. See how quickly one gets habituated to and\nspoilt by happiness. I growl like a true grumbler, at a walk being put\noff for a few hours! I do this! I who, during eighteen years, have only\nhoped to see you once more, without daring to reckon very much upon it!\nOh! I am but a silly old fool! Vive l'amour et cogni--I mean--my\nAgricola!\" And, to console himself, the old soldier gayly slapped his\nson's shoulder.\n\nThis seemed another omen of evil to the blacksmith; for he dreaded one\nmoment to another lest the fears of Mother Bunch should be realized. \"Now\nthat I have recovered myself,\" said Dagobert, laughing, \"let us speak of\nbusiness. Know you where I find the addresses of all the notaries in\nParis?\"\n\n\"I don't know; but nothing is more easy than to discover it.\"\n\n\"My reason is,\" resumed Dagobert, \"that I sent from Russia by post, and\nby order of the mother of the two children that I have brought here, some\nimportant papers to a Parisian notary. As it was my duty to see this\nnotary immediately upon my arrival, I had written his name and his\naddress in a portfolio, of which however, I have been robbed during my\njourney; and as I have forgotten his devil of a name, it seems to me,\nthat if I should see it again in the list of notaries, I might recollect\nit.\"\n\nTwo knocks at the door of the garret made Agricola start. He\ninvoluntarily thought of a warrant for his apprehension.\n\nHis father, who, at the sound of the knocking turned round his head, had\nnot perceived his emotion, and said with a loud voice: \"Come in!\" The\ndoor opened. It was Gabriel. He wore a black cassock and a broad brimmed\nhat.\n\nTo recognize his brother by adoption, and to throw himself into his arms,\nwere two movements performed at once by Agricola--as quick as\nthought.--\"My brother!\" exclaimed Agricola.\n\n\"Agricola!\" cried Gabriel.\n\n\"Gabriel!\" responded the blacksmith.\n\n\"After so long an absence!\" said the one.\n\n\"To behold you again!\" rejoined the other.\n\nSuch were the words exchanged between the blacksmith and the missionary,\nwhile they were locked in a close embrace.\n\nDagobert, moved and charmed by these fraternal endearments, felt his eyes\nbecome moist. There was something truly touching in the affection of the\nyoung men--in their hearts so much alike, and yet of characters and\naspects so very different--for the manly countenance of Agricola\ncontrasted strongly with the delicacy and angelic physiognomy of Gabriel.\n\n\"I was forewarned by my father of your arrival,\" said the blacksmith at\nlength. \"I have been expecting to see you; and my happiness has been a\nhundred times the greater, because I have had all the pleasures of hoping\nfor it.\"\n\n\"And my good mother?\" asked Gabriel, in affectionately grasping the hands\nof Dagobert. \"I trust that you have found her in good health.\"\n\n\"Yes, my brave boy!\" replied Dagobert; \"and her health will have become a\nhundred times better, now that we are all together. Nothing is so\nhealthful as joy.\" Then addressing himself to Agricola, who, forgetting\nhis fear of being arrested, regarded the missionary with an expression of\nineffable affection, Dagobert added:\n\n\"Let it be remembered, that, with the soft cheek of a young girl, Gabriel\nhas the courage of a lion; I have already told with what intrepidity he\nsaved the lives of Marshal Simon's daughters, and tried to save mine\nalso.\"\n\n\"But, Gabriel! what has happened to your forehead?\" suddenly exclaimed\nAgricola, who for a few seconds had been attentively examining the\nmissionary.\n\nGabriel, having thrown aside his hat on entering, was now directly\nbeneath the skylight of the garret apartment, the bright light through\nwhich shone upon his sweet, pale countenance: and the round scar, which\nextended from one eyebrow to the other, was therefore distinctly visible.\n\nIn the midst of the powerful and diversified emotion, and of the exciting\nevents which so rapidly followed the shipwreck on the rocky coast near\nCardoville House, Dagobert, during the short interview he then had with\nGabriel, had not perceived the scar which seamed the forehead of the\nyoung missionary. Now, partaking, however, of the surprise of his son,\nDagobert said:\n\n\"Aye, indeed! how came this scar upon your brow?\"\n\n\"And on his hands, too; see, dear father!\" exclaimed the blacksmith, with\nrenewed surprise, while he seized one of the hands which the young priest\nheld out towards him in order to tranquillize his fears.\n\n\"Gabriel, my brave boy, explain this to us!\" added Dagobert; \"who has\nwounded you thus?\" and in his turn, taking the other hand of the\nmissionary, he examined the scar upon it with the eye of a judge of\nwounds, and then added, \"In Spain, one of my comrades was found and taken\ndown alive from a cross, erected at the junction of several roads, upon\nwhich the monks had crucified, and left him to die of hunger, thirst, and\nagony. Ever afterwards he bore scars upon his hands, exactly similar to\nthis upon your hand.\"\n\n\"My father is right!\" exclaimed Agricola. \"It is evident that your hands\nhave been pierced through! My poor brother!\" and Agricola became\ngrievously agitated.\n\n\"Do not think about it,\" said Gabriel, reddening with the embarrassment\nof modesty. \"Having gone as a missionary amongst the savages of the Rocky\nMountains, they crucified me, and they had begun to scalp me, when\nProvidence snatched me from their hands.\"\n\n\"Unfortunate youth,\" said Dagobert; \"without arms then? You had not a\nsufficient escort for your protection?\"\n\n\"It is not for such as me to carry arms.\" said Gabriel, sweetly smiling;\n\"and we are never accompanied by any escort.\"\n\n\"Well, but your companions, those who were along with you, how came it\nthat they did not defend you?\" impetuously asked Agricola.\n\n\"I was alone, my dear brother.\"\n\n\"Alone!\"\n\n\"Yes, alone; without even a guide.\"\n\n\"You alone! unarmed! in a barbarous country!\" exclaimed Dagobert,\nscarcely crediting a step so unmilitary, and almost distrusting his own\nsense of hearing.\n\n\"It was sublime!\" said the young blacksmith and poet.\n\n\"The Christian faith,\" said Gabriel, with mild simplicity, \"cannot be\nimplanted by force or violence. It is only by the power of persuasion\nthat the gospel can be spread amongst poor savages.\"\n\n\"But when persuasions fail!\" said Agricola.\n\n\"Why, then, dear brother, one has but to die for the belief that is in\nhim, pitying those who have rejected it, and who have refused the\nblessings it offers to mankind.\"\n\nThere was a period of profound silence after the reply of Gabriel, which\nwas uttered with simple and touching pathos.\n\nDagobert was in his own nature too courageous not to comprehend a heroism\nthus calm and resigned; and the old soldier, as well as his son, now\ncontemplated Gabriel with the most earnest feelings of mingled admiration\nand respect.\n\nGabriel, entirely free from the affection of false modesty, seemed quite\nunconscious of the emotions which he had excited in the breasts of his\ntwo friends; and he therefore said to Dagobert, \"What ails you?\"\n\n\"What ails me!\" exclaimed the brave old soldier, with great emotion:\n\"After having been for thirty years in the wars, I had imagined myself to\nbe about as courageous as any man. And now I find I have a master! And\nthat master is yourself!\"\n\n\"I!\" said Gabriel; \"what do you mean? What have I done?\"\n\n\"Thunder, don't you know that the brave wounds there\" (the veteran took\nwith transport both of Gabriel's hands), \"that these wounds are as\nglorious--are more glorious than our--than all ours, as warriors by\nprofession!\"\n\n\"Yes! yes, my father speaks truth!\" exclaimed Agricola; and he added,\nwith enthusiasm, \"Oh, for such priests! How I love them! How I venerate\nthem! How I am elevated by their charity, their courage, their\nresignation!\"\n\n\"I entreat you not to extol me thus,\" said Gabriel with embarrassment.\n\n\"Not extol you!\" replied Dagobert. \"Hanged if I shouldn't. When I have\ngone into the heat of action, did I rush into it alone? Was I not under\nthe eyes of my commanding officer? Were not my comrades there along with\nme? In default of true courage, had I not the instinct of self\npreservation to spur me on, without reckoning the excitement of the\nshouts and tumult of battle, the smell of the gunpowder, the flourishes\nof the trumpets, the thundering of the cannon, the ardor of my horse,\nwhich bounded beneath me as if the devil were at his tail? Need I state\nthat I also knew that the emperor was present, with his eye upon every\none--the emperor, who, in recompense for a hole being made in my tough\nhide, would give me a bit of lace or a ribbon, as plaster for the wound.\nThanks to all these causes, I passed for game. Fair enough! But are you\nnot a thousand times more game than I, my brave boy; going alone,\nunarmed, to confront enemies a hundred times more ferocious than those\nwhom we attacked--we, who fought in whole squadrons, supported by\nartillery, bomb-shells, and case-shot?\"\n\n\"Excellent father!\" cried Agricola, \"how noble of you to render to\nGabriel this justice!\"\n\n\"Oh, dear brother,\" said Gabriel, \"his kindness to me makes him magnify\nwhat was quite natural and simple!\"\n\n\"Natural!\" said the veteran soldier; \"yes, natural for gallants who have\nhearts of the true temper: but that temper is rare.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, very rare,\" said Agricola; \"for that kind of courage is the\nmost admirable of all. Most bravely did you seek almost certain death,\nalone, bearing the cross in hand as your only weapon, to preach charity\nand Christian brotherhood. They seized you, tortured you; and you await\ndeath and partly endure it, without complaint, without remonstrance,\nwithout hatred, without anger, without a wish for vengeance; forgiveness\nissuing from your mouth, and a smile of pity beaming upon your lips; and\nthis in the depths of forests, where no one could witness your\nmagnanimity,--none could behold you--and without other desire, after you\nwere rescued than modestly to conceal blessed wounds under your black\nrobe! My father is right, by Jove! can you still contend that you are not\nas brave as he?\"\n\n\"And besides, too,\" resumed Dagobert, \"the dear boy did all that for a\nthankless paymaster; for it is true, Agricola, that his wounds will never\nchange his humble black robe of a priest into the rich robe of a bishop!\"\n\n\"I am not so disinterested as I may seem to be,\" said Gabriel to\nDagobert, smiling meekly. \"If I am deemed worthy, a great recompense\nawaits me on high.\"\n\n\"As to all that, my boy,\" said Dagobert, \"I do not understand it; and I\nwill not argue about it. I maintain it, that my old cross of honor would\nbe at least as deservedly affixed to your cassock as upon my uniform.\"\n\n\"But these recompenses are never conferred upon humble priests like\nGabriel,\" said Agricola, \"and if you did know, dear father, how much\nvirtue and valor is among those whom the highest orders in the priesthood\ninsolently call the inferior clergy,--the unseen merit and the blind\ndevotedness to be found amongst worthy, but obscure, country curates, who\nare inhumanly treated and subjugated to a pitiless yoke by the lordly\nlawnsleeves! Like us, those poor priests are worthy laborers in their\nvocation; and for them, also, all generous hearts ought to demand\nenfranchisement! Sons of common people, like ourselves, and useful as we\nare, justice ought to be rendered both to them and to us. Do I say right,\nGabriel? You will not contradict it; for you have told me, that your\nambition would have been to obtain a small country curacy; because you\nunderstand the good that you could work within it.\"\n\n\"My desire is still the same,\" said Gabriel sadly: \"but unfortunately--\"\nand then, as if he wished to escape from a painful thought, and to change\nthe conversation, he, addressing himself to Dagobert, added: \"Believe me:\nbe more just than to undervalue your own courage by exalting mine. Your\ncourage must be very great--very great; for, after a battle, the\nspectacle of the carnage must be truly terrible to a generous and feeling\nheart. We, at least, though we may be killed, do not kill.\"\n\nAt these words of the missionary, the soldier drew himself up erect,\nlooked upon Gabriel with astonishment, and said, \"This is most\nsurprising!\"\n\n\"What is?\" inquired Agricola.\n\n\"What Gabriel has just told us,\" replied Dagobert, \"brings to my mind\nwhat I experienced in warfare on the battlefield in proportion as I\nadvanced in years. Listen, my children: more than once, on the night\nafter a general engagement, I have been mounted as a vidette,--alone,--by\nnight,--amid the moonlight, on the field of battle which remained in our\npossession, and upon which lay the bodies of seven or eight thousand of\nthe slain, amongst whom were mingled the slaughtered remains of some of\nmy old comrades: and then this sad scene, when the profound silence has\nrestored me to my senses from the thirst for bloodshed and the delirious\nwhirling of my sword (intoxicated like the rest), I have said to myself,\n'for what have these men been killed?--FOR WHAT--FOR WHAT?' But this\nfeeling, well understood as it was, hindered me not, on the following\nmorning, when the trumpets again sounded the charge, from rushing once\nmore to the slaughter. But the same thought always recurred when my arm\nbecame weary with carnage; and after wiping my sabre upon the mane of my\nhorse, I have said to myself, 'I have killed!--killed!!--killed!!! and,\nFOR WHAT!!!'\"\n\nThe missionary and the blacksmith exchanged looks on hearing the old\nsoldier give utterance to this singular retrospection of the past.\n\n\"Alas!\" said Gabriel to him, \"all generous hearts feel as you did during\nthe solemn moments, when the intoxication of glory has subsided, and man\nis left alone to the influence of the good instincts planted in his\nbosom.\"\n\n\"And that should prove, my brave boy,\" rejoined Dagobert, \"that you are\ngreatly better than I; for those noble instincts, as you call them, have\nnever abandoned you. * * * * But how the deuce did you escape from the\nclaws of the infuriated savages who had already crucified you?\"\n\nAt this question of Dagobert, Gabriel started and reddened so visibly,\nthat the soldier said to him: \"If you ought not or cannot answer my\nrequest, let us say no more about it.\"\n\n\"I have nothing to conceal, either from you or from my brother,\" replied\nthe missionary with altered voice. \"Only; it will be difficult for me to\nmake you comprehend what I cannot comprehend myself.\"\n\n\"How is that?\" asked Agricola with surprise.\n\n\"Surely,\" said Gabriel, reddening more deeply, \"I must have been deceived\nby a fallacy of my senses, during that abstracted moment in which I\nawaited death with resignation. My enfeebled mind, in spite of me, must\nhave been cheated by an illusion; or that, which to the present hour has\nremained inexplicable, would have been more slowly developed; and I\nshould have known with greater certainty that it was the strange woman--\"\n\nDagobert, while listening to the missionary, was perfectly amazed; for he\nalso had vainly tried to account for the unexpected succor which had\nfreed him and the two orphans from the prison at Leipsic.\n\n\"Of what woman do you speak?\" asked Agricola.\n\n\"Of her who saved me,\" was the reply.\n\n\"A woman saved you from the hands of the savages?\" said Dagobert.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Gabriel, though absorbed in his reflections, \"a woman,\nyoung and beautiful!\"\n\n\"And who was this woman?\" asked Agricola.\n\n\"I know not. When I asked her, she replied, 'I am the sister of the\ndistressed!'\"\n\n\"And whence came she? Whither went she?\" asked Dagobert, singularly\ninterested.\n\n\"'I go wheresoever there is suffering,' she replied,\" answered\nthe missionary; \"and she departed, going towards the north of\nAmerica--towards those desolate regions in which there is eternal snow,\nwhere the nights are without end.\"\n\n\"As in Siberia,\" said Dagobert, who had become very thoughtful.\n\n\"But,\" resumed Agricola, addressing himself to Gabriel, who seemed also\nto have become more and more absorbed, \"in what manner or by what means\ndid this woman come to your assistance?\"\n\nThe missionary was about to reply to the last question, when there was\nheard a gentle tap at the door of the garret apartment, which renewed the\nfears that Agricola had forgotten since the arrival of his adopted\nbrother. \"Agricola,\" said a sweet voice outside the door, \"I wish to\nspeak with you as soon as possible.\"\n\nThe blacksmith recognized Mother Bunch's voice, and opened the door. But\nthe young sempstress, instead of entering, drew back into the dark\npassage, and said, with a voice of anxiety: \"Agricola, it is an hour\nsince broad day, and you have not yet departed! How imprudent! I have\nbeen watching below, in the street, until now, and have seen nothing\nalarming; but they may come any instant to arrest you. Hasten, I conjure\nyou, your departure for the abode of Miss de Cardoville. Not a minute\nshould be lost.\"\n\n\"Had it not been for the arrival of Gabriel, I should have been gone. But\nI could not resist the happiness of remaining some little time with him.\"\n\n\"Gabriel here!\" said Mother Bunch, with sweet surprise; for, as has been\nstated, she had been brought up with him and Agricola.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Agricola, \"for half an hour he has been with my father\nand me.\"\n\n\"What happiness I shall have in seeing him again,\" said the sewing-girl.\n\"He doubtless came upstairs while I had gone for a brief space to your\nmother, to ask if I could be useful in any way on account of the young\nladies; but they have been so fatigued that they still sleep. Your mother\nhas requested me to give you this letter for your father. She has just\nreceived it.\"\n\n\"Thanks.\"\n\n\"Well,\" resumed Mother Bunch, \"now that you have seen Gabriel, do not\ndelay long. Think what a blow it would be for your father, if they came\nto arrest you in his very presence mon Dieu!\"\n\n\"You are right,\" said Agricola; \"it is indispensable that I should\ndepart--while near Gabriel in spite of my anxiety, my fears were\nforgotten.\"\n\n\"Go quickly, then; and if Miss de Cardoville should grant this favor,\nperhaps in a couple of hours you will return, quite at ease both as to\nyourself and us.\"\n\n\"True! a very few minutes more; and I'll come down.\"\n\n\"I return to watch at the door. If I perceive anything. I'll come up\nagain to apprise you. But pray, do not delay.\"\n\n\"Be easy, good sister.\" Mother Bunch hurriedly descended the staircase,\nto resume her watch at the street door, and Agricola re-entered his\ngarret. \"Dear father,\" he said to Dagobert, \"my mother has just received\nthis letter, and she requests you to read it.\"\n\n\"Very well; read it for me, my boy.\" And Agricola read as follows:\n\n\"MADAME.--I understand that your husband has been charged by General Simon\nwith an affair of very great importance. Will you, as soon as your\nhusband arrives in Paris, request him to come to my office at Chartres\nwithout a moment's delay. I am instructed to deliver to himself, and to\nno other person, some documents indispensable to the interests of General\nSimon.\n\n             \"DURAND, Notary at Chartres.\"\n\nDagobert looked at his son with astonishment, and said to him, \"Who can\nhave told this gentleman already of my arrival in Paris?\"\n\n\"Perhaps, father,\" said Agricola, \"this is the notary to whom you\ntransmitted some papers, and whose address you have lost.\"\n\n\"But his name was not Durand; and I distinctly recollect that his address\nwas Paris, not Chartres. And, besides,\" said the soldier, thoughtfully,\n\"if he has some important documents, why didn't he transmit them to me?\"\n\n\"It seems to me that you ought not to neglect going to him as soon as\npossible,\" said Agricola, secretly rejoiced that this circumstance would\nwithdraw his father for about two days, during which time his\n(Agricola's) fate would be decided in one way or other.\n\n\"Your counsel is good,\" replied his father.\n\n\"This thwarts your intentions in some degree?\" asked Gabriel.\n\n\"Rather, my lads; for I counted upon passing the day with you. However,\n'duty before everything.' Having come happily from Siberia to Paris, it\nis not for me to fear a journey from Paris to Chartres, when it is\nrequired on an affair of importance. In twice twenty-four hours I shall\nbe back again. But the deuce take me if I expected to leave Paris for\nChartres to-day. Luckily, I leave Rose and Blanche with my good wife; and\nGabriel, their angel, as they call him, will be here to keep them\ncompany.\"\n\n\"That is, unfortunately, impossible,\" said the missionary, sadly. \"This\nvisit on my arrival is also a farewell visit.\"\n\n\"A farewell visit! Now!\" exclaimed Dagobert and Agricola both at once.\n\n\"Alas, yes!\"\n\n\"You start already on another mission?\" said Dagobert; \"surely it is not\npossible?\"\n\n\"I must answer no question upon this subject,\" said Gabriel, suppressing\na sigh: \"but from now, for some time, I cannot, and ought not, come again\ninto this house.\"\n\n\"Why, my brave boy,\" resumed Dagobert with emotion, \"there is something\nin thy conduct that savors of constraint, of oppression. I know something\nof men. He you call superior, whom I saw for some moments after the\nshipwreck at Cardoville Castle, has a bad look; and I am sorry to see you\nenrolled under such a commander.\"\n\n\"At Cardoville Castle!\" exclaimed Agricola, struck with the identity of\nthe name with that of the young lady of the golden hair; \"was it in\nCardoville Castle that you were received after your shipwreck?\"\n\n\"Yes, my boy; why, does that astonish you?\" asked Dagobert.\n\n\"Nothing father; but were the owners of the castle there at the time?\"\n\n\"No; for the steward, when I applied to him for an opportunity to return\nthanks for the kind hospitality we had experienced, informed me that the\nperson to whom the house belonged was resident at Paris.\"\n\n\"What a singular coincidence,\" thought Agricola, \"if the young lady\nshould be the proprietor of the dwelling which bears her name!\"\n\nThis reflection having recalled to Agricola the promise which he had made\nto Mother Bunch, he said to Dagobert; \"Dear father, excuse me; but it is\nalready late, and I ought to be in the workshop by eight o'clock.\"\n\n\"That is too true, my boy. Let us go. This party is adjourned till my\nreturn from Chartres. Embrace me once more, and take care of yourself.\"\n\nSince Dagobert had spoken of constraint and oppression to Gabriel, the\nlatter had continued pensive. At the moment when Agricola approached him\nto shake hands, and to bid him adieu, the missionary said to him\nsolemnly, with a grave voice, and in a tone of decision that astonished\nboth the blacksmith and the soldier: \"My dear brother, one word more. I\nhave come here to say to you also that within a few days hence I shall\nhave need of you; and of you also, my father (permit me so to call you),\"\nadded Gabriel, with emotion, as he turned round to Dagobert.\n\n\"How! you speak thus to us!\" exclaimed Agricola; \"what is the matter?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Gabriel, \"I need the advice and assistance of two men of\nhonor--of two men of resolution;--and I can reckon upon you two--can I\nnot? At any hour, on whatever day it may be, upon a word from me, will\nyou come?\"\n\nDagobert and his son regarded each other in silence, astonished at the\naccents of the missionary. Agricola felt an oppression of the heart. If\nhe should be a prisoner when his brother should require his assistance,\nwhat could be done?\n\n\"At every hour, by night or by day, my brave boy, you may depend upon\nus,\" said Dagobert, as much surprised as interested--\"You have a father\nand a brother; make your own use of them.\"\n\n\"Thanks, thanks,\" said Gabriel, \"you set me quite at ease.\"\n\n\"I'll tell you what,\" resumed the soldier, \"were it not for your priest's\nrobe, I should believe, from the manner in which you have spoken to us,\nthat you are about to be engaged in a duel--in a mortal combat.\"\n\n\"In a duel?\" said Gabriel, starting. \"Yes; it may be a duel--uncommon and\nfearful--at which it is necessary to have two witnesses such as you--A\nFATHER and A BROTHER!\"\n\nSome instants afterwards, Agricola, whose anxiety was continually\nincreasing, set off in haste for the dwelling of Mademoiselle de\nCardoville, to which we now beg leave to take the reader.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\nTHE PAVILION.\n\nDizier House was one of the largest and handsomest in the Rue Babylone,\nin Paris. Nothing could be more severe, more imposing, or more depressing\nthan the aspect of this old mansion. Several immense windows, filled with\nsmall squares of glass, painted a grayish white, increased the sombre\neffect of the massive layers of huge stones, blackened by time, of which\nthe fabric was composed.\n\nThis dwelling bore a resemblance to all the others that had been erected\nin the same quarter towards the middle of the last century. It was\nsurmounted in front by a pediment; it had an elevated ground floor, which\nwas reached from the outside by a circular flight of broad stone steps.\nOne of the fronts looked on an immense court-yard, on each side of which\nan arcade led to the vast interior departments. The other front\noverlooked the garden, or rather park, of twelve or fifteen roods; and,\non this side, wings, approaching the principal part of the structure,\nformed a couple of lateral galleries. Like nearly all the other great\nhabitations of this quarter, there might be seen at the extremity of the\ngarden, what the owners and occupiers of each called the lesser mansion.\n\nThis extension was a Pompadour summer-house, built in the form of a\nrotunda, with the charming though incorrect taste of the era of its\nerection. It presented, in every part where it was possible for the\nstones to be cut, a profusion of endives, knots of ribbons, garlands of\nflowers, and chubby cupids. This pavilion, inhabited by Adrienne de\nCardoville was composed of a ground floor, which was reached by a\nperistyle of several steps. A small vestibule led to a circular hall,\nlighted from the roof. Four principal apartments met here; and ranges of\nsmaller rooms, concealed in the upper story, served for minor purposes.\n\nThese dependencies of great habitations are in our days disused, or\ntransformed into irregular conservatories; but by an uncommon exception,\nthe black exterior of the pavilion had been scraped and renewed, and the\nentire structure repaired. The white stones of which it was built\nglistened like Parian marble; and its renovated, coquettish aspect\ncontrasted singularly with the gloomy mansion seen at the other extremity\nof an extensive lawn, on which were planted here and there gigantic\nclumps of verdant trees.\n\nThe following scene occurred at this residence on the morning following\nthat of the arrival of Dagobert, with the daughters of Marshal Simon, in\nthe Rue Brise-Miche. The hour of eight had sounded from the steeple of a\nneighboring church; a brilliant winter sun arose to brighten a pure blue\nsky behind the tall leafless trees, which in summer formed a dome of\nverdure over the summer-house. The door in the vestibule opened, and the\nrays of the morning sun beamed upon a charming creature, or rather upon\ntwo charming creatures, for the second one, though filling a modest place\nin the scale of creation, was not less distinguished by beauty of its\nown, which was very striking. In plain terms two individuals, one of them\na young girl, and the other a tiny English dog, of great beauty, of that\nbreed of spaniels called King Charles's, made their appearance under the\nperistyle of the rotunda. The name of the young girl was Georgette; the\nbeautiful little spaniel's was Frisky. Georgette was in her eighteenth\nyear. Never had Florine or Manton, never had a lady's maid of Marivaux, a\nmore mischievous face, an eye more quick, a smile more roguish, teeth\nmore white, cheeks more roseate, figure more coquettish, feet smaller, or\nform smarter, attractive, and enticing. Though it was yet very early,\nGeorgette was carefully and tastefully dressed. A tiny Valenciennes cap,\nwith flaps and flap-band, of half peasant fashion, decked with\nrose-colored ribbons, and stuck a little backward upon bands of beautiful\nfair hair, surrounded her fresh and piquant face; a robe of gray\nlevantine, and a cambric neck-kerchief, fastened to her bosom by a large\ntuft of rose-colored ribbons, displayed her figure elegantly rounded; a\nhollands apron, white as snow, trimmed below by three large hems,\nsurmounted by a Vandyke-row, encircled her waist, which was as round and\nflexible as a reed; her short, plain sleeves, edged with bone lace,\nallowed her plump arms to be seen, which her long Swedish gloves,\nreaching to the elbow, defended from the rigor of the cold. When\nGeorgette raised the bottom of her dress, in order to descend more\nquickly the steps, she exhibited to Frisky's indifferent eyes a beautiful\nankle, and the beginning of the plump calf of a fine leg, encased in\nwhite silk, and a charming little foot, in a laced half-boot of Turkish\nsatin. When a blonde like Georgette sets herself to be ensnaring; when\nvivid glances sparkle from her eyes of bright yet tender blue; when a\njoyous excitement suffuses her transparent skin, she is more resistless\nfor the conquest of everything before her than a brunette.\n\nThis bewitching and nimble lady's-maid, who on the previous evening had\nintroduced Agricola to the pavilion, was first waiting woman to the\nHonorable Miss Adrienne de Cardoville, niece of the Princess Saint\nDizier.\n\nFrisky, so happily found and brought back by the blacksmith, uttered weak\nbut joyful barks, and bounded, ran, and frolicked upon the turf. She was\nnot much bigger than one's fist; her curled hair, of lustrous black,\nshone like ebony, under the broad, red satin ribbon which encircled her\nneck; her paws, fringed with long silken fur, were of a bright and fiery\ntan, as well as her muzzle, the nose of which was inconceivably pug; her\nlarge eyes were full of intelligence; and her curly ears so long that\nthey trailed upon the ground. Georgette seemed to be as brisk and\npetulant as Frisky, and shared her sportiveness,--now scampering after\nthe happy little spaniel, and now retreating, in order to be pursued upon\nthe greensward in her turn. All at once, at the sight of a second person,\nwho advanced with deliberate gravity, Georgette and Frisky were suddenly\nstopped in their diversion. The little King Charles, some steps in\nadvance of Georgette, faithful to her name, and bold as the devil, held\nherself firmly upon her nervous paws, and fiercely awaited the coming up\nof the enemy, displaying at the same time rows of little teeth, which,\nthough of ivory, were none the less pointed and sharp. The enemy\nconsisted of a woman of mature age, accompanied by a very fat dog, of the\ncolor of coffee and milk; his tail was twisted like a corkscrew; he was\npot-bellied; his skin was sleek; his neck was turned little to one side;\nhe walked with his legs inordinately spread out, and stepped with the air\nof a doctor. His black muzzle, quarrelsome and scowling showed two fangs\nsallying forth, and turning up from the left side of the mouth, and\naltogether he had an expression singularly forbidding and vindictive.\nThis disagreeable animal, a perfect type of what might be called a\n\"church-goer's pug,\" answered to the name of \"My Lord.\" His mistress, a\nwoman of about fifty years of age, corpulent and of middle size, was\ndressed in a costume as gloomy and severe as that of Georgette was gay\nand showy. It consisted of a brown robe, a black silk mantle, and a hat\nof the same dye. The features of this woman might have been agreeable in\nher youth; and her florid cheeks, her correct eyebrows, her black eyes,\nwhich were still very lively, scarcely accorded with the peevish and\naustere physiognomy which she tried to assume. This matron, of slow and\ndiscreet gait, was Madame Augustine Grivois, first woman to the Princess\nSaint-Dizier. Not only did the age, the face, and the dress of these two\nwomen present a striking contrast; but the contrast extended itself even\nto the animals which attended them. There were similar differences\nbetween Frisky and My Lord, as between Georgette and Mrs. Grivois. When\nthe latter perceived the little King Charles, she could not restrain a\nmovement of surprise and repugnance, which escaped not the notice of the\nyoung lady's maid. Frisky, who had not retreated one inch, since the\napparition of My Lord, regarded him valiantly, with a look of defiance,\nand even advanced towards him with an air so decidedly hostile, that the\ncur, though thrice as big as the little King Charles, uttered a howl of\ndistress and terror, and sought refuge behind Mrs. Grivois, who bitterly\nsaid to Georgette:\n\n\"It seems to me, miss, that you might dispense with exciting your dog\nthus, and setting him upon mine.\"\n\n\"It was doubtless for the purpose of protecting this respectable but ugly\nanimal from similar alarms, that you tried to make us lose Frisky\nyesterday, by driving her into the street through the little garden gate.\nBut fortunately an honest young man found Frisky in the Rue de Babylone,\nand brought her back to my mistress. However,\" continued Georgette, \"to\nwhat, madame, do I owe the pleasure of seeing you this morning?\"\n\n\"I am commanded by the Princess,\" replied Mrs. Grivois, unable to conceal\na smile of triumphant satisfaction, \"immediately to see Miss Adrienne. It\nregards a very important affair, which I am to communicate only to\nherself.\"\n\nAt these words Georgette became purple, and could not repress a slight\nstart of disquietude, which happily escaped Grivois, who was occupied\nwith watching over the safety of her pet, whom Frisky continued to snarl\nat with a very menacing aspect; and Georgette, having quickly overcome\nher temporary emotion, firmly answered: \"Miss Adrienne went to rest very\nlate last night. She has forbidden me to enter her apartment before mid\nday.\"\n\n\"That is very possible: but as the present business is to obey an order\nof the Princess her aunt, you will do well if you please, miss, to awaken\nyour mistress immediately.\"\n\n\"My mistress is subject to no one's orders in her own house; and I will\nnot disturb her till mid-day, in pursuance of her commands,\" replied\nGeorgette.\n\n\"Then I shall go myself,\" said Mrs. Grivois.\n\n\"Florine and Hebe will not admit you. Indeed, here is the key of the\nsaloon; and through the saloon only can the apartments of Miss Adrienne\nbe entered.\"\n\n\"How! do you dare refuse me permission to execute the orders of the\nPrincess?\"\n\n\"Yes; I dare to commit the great crime of being unwilling to awaken my\nmistress!\"\n\n\"Ah! such are the results of the blind affection of the Princess for her\nniece,\" said the matron, with affected grief: \"Miss Adrienne no longer\nrespects her aunt's orders; and she is surrounded by young hare-brained\npersons, who, from the first dawn of morning, dress themselves out as if\nfor ball-going.\"\n\n\"Oh, madame! how came you to revile dress, who were formerly the greatest\ncoquette and the most frisky and fluttering of all the Princess's women.\nAt least, that is what is still spoken of you in the hotel, as having\nbeen handed down from time out of mind, by generation to generation, even\nunto ours!\"\n\n\"How! from generation to generation! do you mean to insinuate that I am a\nhundred years old, Miss Impertinence?\"\n\n\"I speak of the generations of waiting-women; for, except you, it is the\nutmost if they remain two or three years in the Princess's house, who has\ntoo many tempers for the poor girls!\"\n\n\"I forbid you to speak thus of my mistress, whose name some people ought\nnot to pronounce but on their knees.\"\n\n\"However,\" said Georgette, \"if one wished to speak ill of--\"\n\n\"Do you dare!\"\n\n\"No longer ago than last night, at half past eleven o'clock--\"\n\n\"Last night?\"\n\n\"A four-wheeler,\" continued Georgette, \"stopped at a few paces from the\nhouse. A mysterious personage, wrapped up in a cloak, alighted from it,\nand directly tapped, not at the door, but on the glass of the porter's\nlodge window; and at one o'clock in the morning, the cab was still\nstationed in the street, waiting for the mysterious personage in the\ncloak, who, doubtless, during all that time, was, as you say, pronouncing\nthe name of her Highness the Princess on his knees.\"\n\nWhether Mrs. Grivois had not been instructed as to a visit made to the\nPrincess Saint-Dizier by Rodin (for he was the man in the cloak), in the\nmiddle of the night, after he had become certain of the arrival in Paris\nof General Simon's daughters; or whether Mrs. Grivois thought it\nnecessary to appear ignorant of the visit, she replied, shrugging her\nshoulders disdainfully: \"I know not what you, mean, madame. I have not\ncome here to listen to your impertinent stuff. Once again I ask you--will\nyou, or will you not, introduce me to the presence of Miss Adrienne?\"\n\n\"I repeat, madame, that my mistress sleeps, and that she has forbidden me\nto enter her bed-chamber before mid-day.\"\n\nThis conversation took place at some distance from the summer-house, at a\nspot from which the peristyle could be seen at the end of a grand avenue,\nterminating in trees arranged in form of a V. All at once Mrs. Grivois,\nextending her hand in that direction, exclaimed: \"Great heavens! is it\npossible? what have I seen?\"\n\n\"What have you seen?\" said Georgette, turning round.\n\n\"What have I seen?\" repeated Mrs. Grivois, with amazement.\n\n\"Yes: what was it?\"\n\n\"Miss Adrienne.\"\n\n\"Where?\" asked Georgette.\n\n\"I saw her run up the porch steps. I perfectly recognized her by her\ngait, by her hat, and by her mantle. To come home at eight o'clock in the\nmorning!\" cried Mrs. Grivois: \"it is perfectly incredible!\"\n\n\"See my lady? Why, you came to see her!\" and Georgette burst out into\nfits of laughter: and then said: \"Oh! I understand! you wish to out-do my\nstory of the four-wheeler last night! It is very neat of you!\"\n\n\"I repeat,\" said Mrs. Grivois, \"that I have this moment seen--\"\n\n\"Oh! adone, Mrs. Grivois: if you speak seriously, you are mad!\"\n\n\"I am mad, am I? because I have a pair of good eyes! The little gate that\nopen's on the street lets one into the quincunx near the pavilion. It is\nby that door, doubtless, that mademoiselle has re-entered. Oh, what\nshameful conduct! what will the Princess say to it! Ah! her presentiments\nhave not yet been mistaken. See to what her weak indulgence of her\nniece's caprices has led her! It is monstrous!--so monstrous, that,\nthough I have seen her with my own eyes, still I can scarcely believe\nit!\"\n\n\"Since you've gone so far, ma'am, I now insist upon conducting you into\nthe apartment of my lady, in order that you may convince yourself, by\nyour own senses, that your eyes have deceived you!\"\n\n\"Oh, you are very cunning, my dear, but not more cunning than I! You\npropose my going now! Yes, yes, I believe you: you are certain that by\nthis time I shall find her in her apartment!\"\n\n\"But, madame, I assure you--\"\n\n\"All that I can say to you is this: that neither you, nor Florine, nor\nHebe, shall remain here twenty-four hours. The Princess will put an end\nto this horrible scandal; for I shall immediately inform her of what has\npassed. To go out in the night! Re-enter at eight o'clock in the morning!\nWhy, I am all in a whirl! Certainly, if I had not seen it with my own\neyes, I could not have believed it! Still, it is only what was to be\nexpected. It will astonish nobody. Assuredly not! All those to whom I am\ngoing to relate it, will say, I am quite sure, that it is not at all\nastonishing! Oh! what a blow to our respectable Princess! What a blow for\nher!\"\n\nMrs. Grivois returned precipitately towards the mansion, followed by her\nfat pug, who appeared to be as embittered as herself.\n\nGeorgette, active and light, ran, on her part, towards the pavilion, in\norder to apprise Miss de Cardoville that Mrs. Grivois had seen her, or\nfancied she had seen her, furtively enter by the little garden gate.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\nADRIENNE AT HER TOILET.\n\nAbout an hour had elapsed since Mrs. Grivois had seen or pretended to\nhave seen Adrienne de Cardoville re-enter in the morning the extension of\nSaint-Dizier House.\n\nIt is for the purpose, not of excusing, but of rendering intelligible,\nthe following scenes, that it is deemed necessary to bring out into the\nlight some striking peculiarities in the truly original character of Miss\nde Cardoville.\n\nThis originality consisted in an excessive independence of mind, joined\nto a natural horror of whatsoever is repulsive or deformed, and to an\ninsatiable desire of being surrounded by everything attractive and\nbeautiful. The painter most delighted with coloring and beauty, the\nsculptor most charmed by proportions of form, feel not more than Adrienne\ndid the noble enthusiasm which the view of perfect beauty always excites\nin the chosen favorites of nature.\n\nAnd it was not only the pleasures of sight which this young lady loved to\ngratify: the harmonious modulations of song, the melody of instruments,\nthe cadences of poetry, afforded her infinite pleasures; while a harsh\nvoice or a discordant noise made her feel the same painful impression, or\none nearly as painful as that which she involuntarily experienced from\nthe sight of a hideous object. Passionately fond of flowers, too, and of\ntheir sweet scents, there are some perfumes which she enjoyed equally\nwith the delights of music or those of plastic beauty. It is necessary,\nalas, to acknowledge one enormity: Adrienne was dainty in her food! She\nvalued more than any one else the fresh pulp of handsome fruit, the\ndelicate savor of a golden pheasant, cooked to a turn, and the odorous\ncluster of a generous vine.\n\nBut Adrienne enjoyed all these pleasures with an exquisite reserve. She\nsought religiously to cultivate and refine the senses given her. She\nwould have deemed it black ingratitude to blunt those divine gifts by\nexcesses, or to debase them by unworthy selections of objects upon which\nto exercise them; a fault from which, indeed, she was preserved by the\nexcessive and imperious delicacy of her taste.\n\nThe BEAUTIFUL and the UGLY occupied for her the places which GOOD and\nEVIL holds for others.\n\nHer devotion to grace, elegance, and physical beauty, had led her also to\nthe adoration of moral beauty; for if the expression of a low and bad\npassion render uncomely the most beautiful countenances, those which are\nin themselves the most ugly are ennobled, on the contrary, by the\nexpression of good feelings and generous sentiments.\n\nIn a word, Adrienne was the most complete, the most ideal personification\nof SENSUALITY--not of vulgar, ignorant, non intelligent, mistaken\nsensuousness which is always deceit ful and corrupted by habit or by the\nnecessity for gross and ill-regulated enjoyments, but that exquisite\nsensuality which is to the senses what intelligence is to the soul.\n\nThe independence of this young lady's character was extreme. Certain\nhumiliating subjections imposed upon her success by its social position,\nabove all things were revolting to her, and she had the hardihood to\nresolve to withdraw herself from them. She was a woman, the most womanish\nthat it is possible to imagine--a woman in her timidity as well as in her\naudacity--a woman in her hatred of the brutal despotism of men, as well\nas in her intense disposition to self-devoting herself, madly even and\nblindly, to him who should merit such a devotion from her--a woman whose\npiquant wit was occasionally paradoxical--a superior woman, in brief, who\nentertained a well-grounded disdain and contempt for certain men either\nplaced very high or greatly adulated, whom she had from time to time met\nin the drawing-room of her aunt, the Princess Saint-Dizier, when she\nresided with her.\n\nThese indispensable explanations being given, we usher, the reader into\nthe presence of Adrienne de Cardoville, who had just come out of the\nbath.\n\nIt would require all the brilliant colorings of the Venetian school to\nrepresent that charming scene, which would rather seem to have occurred\nin the sixteenth century, in some palace of Florence or Bologna, than in\nParis, in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, in the month of February, 1832.\n\nAdrienne's dressing-room was a kind of miniature temple seemingly one\nerected and dedicated to the worship of beauty, in gratitude to the Maker\nwho has lavished so many charms upon woman, not to be neglected by her,\nor to cover and conceal them with ashes, or to destroy them by the\ncontact of her person with sordid and harsh haircloth; but in order that,\nwith fervent gratitude for the divine gifts wherewith she is endowed, she\nmay enhance her charms with all the illusions of grace and all the\nsplendors of apparel, so as to glorify the divine work of her own\nperfections in the eyes of all. Daylight was admitted into this\nsemicircular apartment, through one of those double windows, contrived\nfor the preservation of heat, so happily imported from Germany. The walls\nof the pavilion being constructed of stone of great thickness, the depth\nof the aperture for the windows was therefore very great. That of\nAdrienne's dressing-room was closed on the outside by a sash containing a\nsingle large pane of plate glass, and within, by another large plate of\nground glass. In the interval or space of about three feet left between\nthese two transparent enclosures, there was a case or box filled with\nfurze mould, whence sprung forth climbing plants, which, directed round\nthe ground glass, formed a rich garland of leaves and flowers. A garnet\ndamask tapestry, rich with harmoniously blended arabesques, in the purest\nstyle, covered the walls and a thick carpet of similar color was extended\nover the floor: and this sombre ground, presented by the floor and walls,\nmarvellously enhanced the effects of all the harmonious ornaments and\ndecorations of the chamber.\n\nUnder the window, opposite to the south, was placed Adrienne's dressing\ncase, a real masterpiece of the skill of the goldsmith. Upon a large\ntablet of lapis-lazuli, there were scattered boxes of jewels, their lids\nprecisely enamelled; several scent boxes of rock crystal, and other\nimplements and utensils of the toilet, some formed of shells, some of\nmother-of-pearl, and others of ivory, covered with ornaments of gold in\nextraordinary taste. Two large figures, modelled in silver with antique\npurity; supported an oval swing mirror, which had for its rim, in place\nof a frame curiously carved, a fresh garland of natural flowers, renewed\nevery day like a nosegay for a ball.\n\nTwo enormous Japanese vases, of purple and gold, three feet each in\ndiameter, were placed upon the carpet on each side of the toilet, and,\nfilled with camellias, ibiscures, and cape jasmine, in full flower formed\na sort of grove, diversified with the most brilliant colors. At the\nfarther end of the apartment, opposite the casement, was to be seen,\nsurrounded by another mass of flowers, a reduction in white marble of the\nenchanting group of Daphnis and Chloe, the more chaste ideal of graceful\nmodesty and youthful beauty.\n\nTwo golden lamps burned perfumes upon the same pedestal which supported\nthose two charming figures. A coffer of frosted silver, set off with\nsmall figures in jewelry and precious stones, and supported on four feet\nof gilt bronze, contained various necessaries for the toilette; two\nfrosted Psyches, decorated with diamond ear-rings; some excellent\ndrawings from Raphael and Titian, painted by Adrienne herself, consisting\nof portraits of both men and women of exquisite beauty; several consoles\nof oriental jasper, supporting ewers and basins of silver and of silver\ngilt, richly chased and filled with scented waters; a voluptuously rich\ndivan, some seats, and an illuminated gilt fable, completed the furniture\nof this chamber, the atmosphere of which was impregnated with the\nsweetest perfumes.\n\nAdrienne, whom her attendants had just helped from the bath, was seated\nbefore her toilette, her three women surrounding her. By a caprice, or\nrather by a necessary and logical impulse of her soul, filled as it was\nwith the love of beauty and of harmony in all things, Adrienne had wished\nthe young women who served her to be very pretty, and be dressed with\nattention and with a charming originality. We have already seen\nGeorgette, a piquante blonde, attired in her attractive costume of an\nintriguing lady's maid of Marivaux; and her two companions were quite\nequal to her both in gracefulness and gentility.\n\nOne of them, named Florine, a tall, delicately slender, and elegant girl,\nwith the air and form of Diana Huntress, was of a pale brown complexion.\nHer thick black hair was turned up behind, where it was fastened with a\nlong golden pin. Like the two other girls, her arms were uncovered to\nfacilitate the performance of her duties about and upon the person of her\ncharming mistress. She wore a dress of that gay green so familiar to the\nVenetian painters. Her petticoat was very ample. Her slender waist curved\nin from under the plaits of a tucker of white cambric, plaited in five\nminute folds, and fastened by five gold buttons. The third of Adrienne's\nwomen had a face so fresh and ingenuous, a waist so delicate, so\npleasing, and so finished, that her mistress had given her the name of\nHebe. Her dress of a delicate rose color, and Grecian cut, displayed her\ncharming neck, and her beautiful arms up to the very shoulders. The\nphysiognomy of these three young women was laughter loving and happy. On\ntheir features there was no expression of that bitter sullenness, willing\nand hated obedience, or offensive familiarity, or base and degraded\ndeference, which are the ordinary results of a state of servitude. In the\nzealous eagerness of the cares and attentions which they lavished upon\nAdrienne, there seemed to be at least as much of affection as of\ndeference and respect. They appeared to derive an ardent pleasure from\nthe services which they rendered to their lovely mistress. One would have\nthought that they attached to the dressing and embellishment of her\nperson all the merits and the enjoyment arising from the execution of a\nwork of art, in the accomplishing of which, fruitful of delights, they\nwere stimulated by the passions of love, of pride, and of joy.\n\nThe sun beamed brightly upon the toilet-case, placed in front of the\nwindow. Adrienne was seated on a chair, its back elevated a little more\nthan usual. She was enveloped in a long morning-gown of blue silk,\nembroidered with a leaf of the same color, which was fitted close to her\nwaist, as exquisitely slender and delicate as that of a child of twelve\nyears, by a girdle with floating tags. Her neck, delicately slender and\nflexible as a bird's, was uncovered, as were also her shoulders and arms,\nand all were of incomparable beauty. Despite the vulgarity of the\ncomparison, the purest ivory alone can give an idea of the dazzling\nwhiteness of her polished satin skin, of a texture so fresh and so firm,\nthat some drops of water, collected and still remaining about the roots\nof her hair from the bath, rolled in serpentine lines over her shoulders,\nlike pearls, or beads, of crystal, over white marble.\n\nAnd what gave enhanced lustre to this wondrous carnation, known but to\nauburn-headed beauties, was the deep purple of her, humid lips,--the\nroseate transparency of her small ears, of her dilated nostrils, and her\nnails, as bright and glossy, as if they had been varnished. In every\nspot, indeed, where her pure arterial blood, full of animation and heat,\ncould make its way to the skin and shine through the surface, it\nproclaimed her high health and the vivid life and joyous buoyancy of her\nglorious youth. Her eyes were very large, and of a velvet softness. Now\nthey glanced, sparkling and shining with comic humor or intelligence and\nwit; and now they widened and extended themselves, languishing and\nswimming between their double fringes of long crisp eyelashes, of as deep\na black as her finely-drawn and exquisitely arched eyebrows; for, by a\ndelightful freak of nature, she had black eyebrows and eyelashes to\ncontrast with the golden red of her hair. Her forehead, small like those\nof ancient Grecian statues, formed with the rest of her face a perfect\noval. Her nose, delicately curved, was slightly aquiline; the enamel of\nher teeth glistened when the light fell upon them; and her vermeil mouth\nvoluptuously sensual, seemed to call for sweet kisses, and the gay smiles\nand delectations of dainty and delicious pleasure. It is impossible to\nbehold or to conceive a carriage of the head freer, more noble, or more\nelegant than hers; thanks to the great distance which separated the neck\nand the ear from their attachment to her outspread and dimpled shoulders.\nWe have already said that Adrienne was red-haired; but it was the redness\nof many of the admirable portraits of women by Titian and Leonardo da\nVinci,--that is to say, molten gold presents not reflections more\ndelightfully agreeable or more glittering, than the naturally undulating\nmass of her very long hair, as soft and fine as silk, so long, that, when\nlet loose, it reached the floor; in it, she could wholly envelop herself,\nlike another Venus arising from the sea. At the present moment,\nAdrienne's tresses were ravishing to behold; Georgette, her arms bare,\nstood behind her mistress, and had carefully collected into one of her\nsmall white hands, those splendid threads whose naturally ardent\nbrightness was doubled in the sunshine. When the pretty lady's-maid\npulled a comb of ivory into the midst of the undulating and golden waves\nof that enormously magnificent skein of silk, one might have said that a\nthousand sparks of fire darted forth and coruscated away from it in all\ndirections. The sunshine, too, reflected not less golden and fiery rays\nfrom numerous clusters of spiral ringlets, which, divided upon Adrienne's\nforehead, fell over her cheeks, and in their elastic flexibility caressed\nthe risings of her snowy bosom, to whose charming undulations they\nadapted and applied themselves. Whilst Georgette, standing, combed the\nbeautiful locks of her mistress, Hebe, with one knee upon the floor, and\nhaving upon the other the sweet little foot of Miss Cardoville, busied\nherself in fitting it with a remarkably small shoe of black satin, and\ncrossed its slender ties over a silk stocking of a pale yet rosy flesh\ncolor, which imprisoned the smallest and finest ankle in the world.\nFlorine, a little farther back, presented to her mistress, in a jeweled\nbox, a perfumed paste, with which Adrienne slightly rubbed her dazzling\nhands and outspread fingers, which seemed tinted with carmine to their\nextremities. Let us not forget Frisky, who, couched in the lap of her\nmistress, opened her great eyes with all her might, and seemed to observe\nthe different operations of Adrienne's toilette with grave and reflective\nattention. A silver bell being sounded from without, Florine, at a sign\nfrom her mistress, went out and presently returned, bearing a letter upon\na small silver-gilt salve. Adrienne, while her women continued fitting on\nher shoes, dressing her hair, and arranging her in her habiliments, took\nthe letter, which was written by the steward of the estate of Cardoville,\nand read aloud as follows:\n\n\"HONORED MADAME,\n\n\"Knowing your goodness of heart and generosity, I venture to address you\nwith respectful confidence. During twenty years I served the late Count\nand Duke of Cardoville, your noble father, I believe I may truly say,\nwith probity and zeal. The castle is now sold; so that I and my wife, in\nour old age, behold ourselves about to be dismissed, and left destitute\nof all resources: which, alas! is very hard at our time of life.\"\n\n\"Poor creature!\" said Adrienne, interrupting herself in reading: \"my\nfather, certainly, always prided himself upon their devotion to him, and\ntheir probity.\" She continued:\n\n\"There does, indeed, remain to us a means of retaining our place here;\nbut it would constrain us to be guilty of baseness; and, be the\nconsequences to us what they may, neither I nor my wife wish to purchase\nour bread at such a price.\"\n\n\"Good, very good,\" said Adrienne, \"always the same--dignity even in\npoverty--it is the sweet perfume of a flower, not the less sweet because\nit has bloomed in a meadow.\"\n\n\"In order to explain to you, honored madame, the unworthy task exacted\nfrom us, it is necessary to inform you, in the first place, that M. Rodin\ncame here from Paris two days ago.\"\n\n\"Ah! M. Rodin!\" said Mademoiselle de Cardoville, interrupting herself\nanew; \"the secretary of Abbe d'Aigrigny! I am not at all surprised at him\nbeing engaged in a perfidious or black intrigue. But let us see.\"\n\n\"M. Rodin came from Paris to announce to us that the estate was sold, and\nthat he was sure of being able to obtain our continuance in our place, if\nwe would assist him in imposing a priest not of good character upon the\nnew proprietress as her future confessor; and if, the better to attain\nthis end, we would consent to calumniate another priest, a deserving and\nexcellent man, much loved and much respected in the country. Even that is\nnot all. I was required to write twice or thrice a week to M. Rodin, and\nto relate to him everything that should occur in the house. I ought to\nacknowledge, honored madame, that these infamous proposals were as much\nas possible disguised and dissimulated under sufficiently specious\npretexts; but, notwithstanding the aspect which with more or less skill\nit was attempted to give to the affair, it was precisely and\nsubstantially what I have now had the honor of stating to you.\"\n\n\"Corruption, calumny, and false and treacherous impeachment!\" said\nAdrienne, with disgust: \"I cannot think of such wretches without\ninvoluntarily feeling my mind shocked by dismal ideas of black, venomous,\nand vile reptiles, of aspects most hideous indeed. How much more do I\nlove to dwell upon the consoling thought of honest Dupont and his wife!\"\nAdrienne proceeded:\n\n\"Believe me, we hesitated not an instant. We quit Cardoville, which has\nbeen our home for the last twenty years;--but we shall quit it like\nhonest people, and with the consciousness of our integrity. And now,\nhonored madame, if, in the brilliant circle in which you move--you, who\nare so benevolent and amiable--could find a place for us by your\nrecommendation, then, with endless gratitude to you, we shall escape from\na position of most cruel embarrassment.\"\n\n\"Surely, surely,\" said Adrienne, \"they shall not in vain appeal to me. To\nwrest excellent persons from the grip of M. Rodin, is not only a duty but\na pleasure: for it is at once a righteous and a dangerous enterprise; and\ndearly do I love to brave powerful oppressors!\" Adrienne again went on\nreading:\n\n\"After having thus spoken to you of ourselves, honored madame, permit us\nto implore your protection for other unfortunates; for it would be wicked\nto think only of one's self. Three days ago, two shipwrecks took place\nupon our ironbound coast. A few passengers only were saved, and were\nconducted hither, where I and my wife gave them all necessary attentions.\nAll these passengers have departed for Paris, except one, who still\nremains, his wounds having hitherto prevented him from leaving the house,\nand, indeed, they will constrain him to remain for some days to come. He\nis a young East Indian prince, of about twenty years of age, and he\nappears to be as amiable and good as he is handsome, which is not a\nlittle to say, though he has a tawny skin, like the rest of his\ncountrymen, as I understand.\"\n\n\"An Indian prince! twenty years of age! young, amiable, and handsome!\"\nexclaimed Adrienne, gayly; \"this is quite delightful, and not at all of\nan ordinary or vulgar nature! Oh! this Indian prince has already awakened\nall my sympathies! But what can I do with this Adonis from the banks of\nthe Ganges, who has come to wreck himself upon the Picardy coast?\"\n\nAdrienne's three women looked at her with much astonishment, though they\nwere accustomed to the singular eccentricities of her character.\n\nGeorgette and Hebe even indulged in discreet and restrained smiles.\nFlorine, the tall and beautiful pale brown girl, also smiled like her\npretty companions; but it was after a short pause of seeming reflection,\nas if she had previously been entirely engrossed in listening to and\nrecollecting the minutest words of her mistress, who, though powerfully\ninterested by the situation of the \"Adonis from Ganges banks,\" as she had\ncalled him, continued to read Dupont's letter:\n\n\"One of the countrymen of the Indian prince, who has also remained to\nattend upon him, has given me to understand that the youthful prince has\nlost in the shipwreck all he possessed, and knows not how to get to\nParis, where his speedy presence is required by some affairs of the very\ngreatest importance. It is not from the prince himself that I have\nobtained this information: no; he appears to be too dignified and proud\nto proclaim of his fate: but his countryman, more communicative,\nconfidentially told me what I have stated, adding, that his young\ncompatriot has already been subjected to great calamities, and that his\nfather, who was the sovereign of an Indian kingdom, has been killed by\nthe English, who have also dispossessed his son of his crown.\"\n\n\"This is very singular,\" said Adrienne, thoughtfully. \"These\ncircumstances recall to my mind that my father often mentioned that one\nof our relations was espoused in India by a native monarch; and that\nGeneral Simon: (whom they have created a marshal) had entered into his\nservice.\" Then interrupting herself to indulge in a smile, she added,\n\"Gracious! this affair will be quite odd and fantastical! Such things\nhappen to nobody but me; and then people say that I am the uncommon\ncreature! But it seems to me that it is not I, but Providence, which, in\ntruth, sometimes shows itself very eccentric! But let us see if worthy\nDupont gives the name of this handsome prince?\"\n\n\"We trust, honored madame, that you will pardon our boldness: but we\nshould have thought ourselves very selfish, if, while stating to you our\nown griefs, we had not also informed you that there is with us a brave\nand estimable prince involved in so much distress. In fine, lady, trust\nto me; I am old; and I have had much experience of men; and it was only\nnecessary to see the nobleness of expression and the sweetness of\ncountenance of this young Indian, to enable me to judge that he is worthy\nof the interest which I have taken the liberty to request in his behalf.\nIt would be sufficient to transmit to him a small sum of money for the\npurchase of some European clothing; for he has lost all his Indian\nvestments in the shipwreck.\"\n\n\"Good heavens! European clothing!\" exclaimed Adrienne, gayly. \"Poor young\nprince! Heaven preserve him from that; and me also! Chance has sent\nhither from the heart of India, a mortal so far favored as never to have\nworn the abominable European costume--those hideous habits, and frightful\nhats, which render the men so ridiculous, so ugly, that in truth there is\nnot a single good quality to be discovered in them, nor one spark of what\ncan either captivate or attract! There comes to me at last a handsome\nyoung prince from the East, where the men are clothed in silk and\ncashmere. Most assuredly I'll not miss this rare and unique opportunity\nof exposing myself to a very serious and formidable temptation! No, no!\nnot a European dress for me, though poor Dupont requests it! But the\nname--the name of this dear prince! Once more, what a singular event is\nthis! If it should turn out to be that cousin from beyond the Ganges!\nDuring my childhood, I have heard so much in praise of his royal father!\nOh! I shall be quite ravished to give his son the kind reception which he\nmerits!\" And then she read on:\n\n\"If, besides this small sum, honored madame, you are so kind as to give\nhim, and also his companion, the means of reaching Paris, you will confer\na very great service upon this poor young prince, who is at present so\nunfortunate.\n\n\"To conclude, I know enough of your delicacy to be aware that it would\nperhaps be agreeable to you to afford this succor to the prince without\nbeing known as his benefactress; in which case, I beg that you will be\npleased to command me; and you may rely upon my discretion. If, on the\ncontrary, you wish to address it directly to himself, his name is, as it\nhas been written for me by his countrymen, Prince Djalma, son of Radja\nsing, King of Mundi.\"\n\n\"Djalma!\" said Adrienne, quickly, and appearing to call up her\nrecollections, \"Radja-sing! Yes--that is it! These are the very names\nthat my father so often repeated, while telling me that there was nothing\nmore chivalric or heroic in the world than the old king, our relation by\nmarriage; and the son has not derogated, it would seem, from that\ncharacter. Yes, Djalma, Radja-sing--once more, that is it--such names are\nnot so common,\" she added, smiling, \"that one should either forget or\nconfound them with others. This Djalma is my cousin! Brave and\ngood--young and charming! above all, he has never worn the horrid\nEuropean dress! And destitute of every resource! This is quite ravishing!\nIt is too much happiness at once! Quick, quick let us improvise a pretty\nfairy tale, of which the handsome and beloved prince shall be the hero!\nThe poor bird of the golden and azure plumage has wandered into our\ndismal climate; but he will find here, at least, something to remind him\nof his native region of sunshine and perfumes!\" Then, addressing one of\nher women, she said: \"Georgette, take paper and write, my child!\" The\nyoung girl went to the gilt, illuminated table, which contained materials\nfor writing; and, having seated herself, she said to her mistress: \"I\nawait orders.\"\n\nAdrienne de Cardoville, whose charming countenance was radiant with the\ngayety of happiness and joy, proceeded to dictate the following letter to\na meritorious old painter, who had long since taught her the arts of\ndrawing and designing; in which arts she excelled, as indeed she did in\nall others:\n\n\"MY DEAR TITIAN, MY GOOD VERONESE, MY WORTHY RAPHAEL.\n\n\"You can render me a very great service,--and you will do it, I am sure,\nwith that perfect and obliging complaisance by which you are ever\ndistinguished.\n\n\"It is to go immediately and apply yourself to the skillful hand who\ndesigned my last costumes of the fifteenth century. But the present\naffair is to procure modern East Indian dresses for a young man--yes,\nsir--for a young man,--and according to what I imagine of him, I fancy\nthat you can cause his measure to be taken from the Antinous, or rather,\nfrom the Indian Bacchus; yes--that will be more likely.\n\n\"It is necessary that these vestments be at once of perfect propriety and\ncorrectness, magnificently rich, and of the greatest elegance. You will\nchoose the most beautiful stuffs possible; and endeavor, above all\nthings, that they be, or resemble, tissues of Indian manufacture; and you\nwill add to them, for turbans and sashes, six splendid long cashmere\nshawls, two of them white, two red, and two orange; as nothing suits\nbrown complexions better than those colors.\n\n\"This done (and I allow you at the utmost only two or three days), you\nwill depart post in my carriage for Cardoville Manor House, which you\nknow so well. The steward, the excellent Dupont, one of your old friends,\nwill there introduce you to a young Indian Prince, named Djalma; and you\nwill tell that most potent grave, and reverend signior, of another\nquarter of the globe, that you have come on the part of an unknown\nfriend, who, taking upon himself the duty of a brother, sends him what is\nnecessary to preserve him from the odious fashions of Europe. You will\nadd, that his friend expects him with so much impatience that he conjures\nhim to come to Paris immediately. If he objects that he is suffering, you\nwill tell him that my carriage is an excellent bed-closet; and you will\ncause the bedding, etc., which it contains, to be fitted up, till he\nfinds it quite commodious. Remember to make very humble excuses for the\nunknown friend not sending to the prince either rich palanquins, or even,\nmodestly, a single elephant; for alas! palanquins are only to be seen at\nthe opera; and there are no elephants but those in the menagerie,--though\nthis must make us seem strangely barbarous in his eyes.\n\n\"As soon as you shall have decided on your departure, perform the journey\nas rapidly as possible, and bring here, into my house, in the Rue de\nBabylone (what predestination! that I should dwell in the street of\nBABYLON,--a name which must at least accord with the ear of an\nOriental),--you will bring hither, I say, this dear prince, who is so\nhappy as to have been born in a country of flowers, diamonds, and sun!\n\n\"Above all, you will have the kindness, my old and worthy friend, not to\nbe at all astonished at this new freak, and refrain from indulging in\nextravagant conjectures. Seriously, the choice which I have made of you\nin this affair,--of you, whom I esteem and most sincerely honor,--is\nbecause it is sufficient to say to you that, at the bottom of all this,\nthere is something more than a seeming act of folly.\"\n\nIn uttering these last words, the tone of Adrienne was as serious and\ndignified as it had been previously comic and jocose. But she quickly\nresumed, more gayly, dictating to Georgette.\n\n\"Adieu, my old friend. I am something like that commander of ancient\ndays, whose heroic nose and conquering chin you have so often made me\ndraw: I jest with the utmost freedom of spirit even in the moment of\nbattle: yes, for within an hour I shall give battle, a pitched battle--to\nmy dear pew-dwelling aunt. Fortunately, audacity and courage never failed\nme, and I burn with impatience for the engagement with my austere\nprincess.\n\n\"A kiss, and a thousand heartfelt recollections to your excellent wife.\nIf I speak of her here, who is so justly respected, you will please to\nunderstand, it is to make you quite at ease as to the consequences of\nthis running away with, for my sake, a charming young prince,--for it is\nproper to finish well where I should have begun, by avowing to you that\nhe is charming indeed!\n\n\"Once more, adieu!\"\n\nThen, addressing Georgette, said she, \"Have you done writing, chit?\"\n\n\"Yes, madame.\"\n\n\"Oh, add this postscript.\"\n\n\"P.S.--I send you draft on sight on my banker for all expenses. Spare\nnothing. You know I am quite a grand seigneur. I must use this masculine\nexpression, since your sex have exclusively appropriated to yourselves\n(tyrants as you are) a term, so significant as it is of noble\ngenerosity.\"\n\n\"Now, Georgette,\" said Adrienne; \"bring me an envelope, and the letter,\nthat I may sign it.\" Mademoiselle de Cardoville took the pen that\nGeorgette presented to her, signed the letter, and enclosed in it an\norder upon her banker, which was expressed thus:\n\n\"Please pay M. Norval, on demand without grace, the sum of money he may\nrequire for expenses incurred on my account.\n\n                  \"ADRIENNE DE CARDOVILLE.\"\n\nDuring all this scene, while Georgette wrote, Florine and Hebe had\ncontinued to busy themselves with the duties of their mistress's\ntoilette, who had put off her morning gown, and was now in full dress, in\norder to wait upon the princess, her aunt. From the sustained and\nimmovably fixed attention with which Florine had listened to Adrienne's\ndictating to Georgette her letter to M. Norval, it might easily have been\nseen that, as was her habit indeed, she endeavored to retain in her\nmemory even the slightest words of her mistress.\n\n\"Now, chit,\" said Adrienne to Hebe, \"send this letter immediately to M.\nNorval.\"\n\nThe same silver bell was again rung from without. Hebe moved towards the\ndoor of the dressing-room, to go and inquire what it was, and also to\nexecute the order of her mistress as to the letter. But Florine\nprecipitated herself, so to speak, before her, and so as to prevent her\nleaving the apartment; and said to Adrienne:\n\n\"Will it please my lady for me to send this letter? I have occasion to go\nto the mansion.\"\n\n\"Go, Florine, then,\" said Adrienne, \"seeing that you wish it. Georgette,\nseal the letter.\"\n\nAt the end of a second or two, during which Georgette had sealed the\nletter, Hebe returned.\n\n\"Madame,\" said she, re-entering, \"the working-man who brought back Frisky\nyesterday, entreats you to admit him for an instant. He is very pale, and\nhe appears quite sad.\"\n\n\"Would that he may already have need of me! I should be too happy!\" said\nAdrienne gayly. \"Show the excellent young man into the little saloon.\nAnd, Florine, despatch this letter immediately.\"\n\nFlorine went out. Miss de Cardoville, followed by Frisky, entered the\nlittle reception-room, where Agricola awaited her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV.\n\nTHE INTERVIEW.\n\nWhen Adrienne de Cardoville entered the saloon where Agricola expected\nher, she was dressed with extremely elegant simplicity. A robe of deep\nblue, perfectly fitted to her shape, embroidered in front with\ninterlacings of black silk, according to the then fashion, outlined her\nnymph-like figure, and her rounded bosom. A French cambric collar,\nfastened by a large Scotch pebble, set as a brooch, served her for a\nnecklace. Her magnificent golden hair formed a framework for her fair\ncountenance, with an incredible profusion of long and light spiral\ntresses, which reached nearly to her waist.\n\nAgricola, in order to save explanations with his father, and to make him\nbelieve that he had indeed gone to the workshop of M. Hardy, had been\nobliged to array himself in his working dress; he had put on a new blouse\nthough, and the collar of his shirt, of stout linen, very white, fell\nover upon a black cravat, negligently tied; his gray trousers allowed his\nwell polished boots to be seen; and he held between his muscular hands a\ncap of fine woolen cloth, quite new. To sum up, his blue blouse,\nembroidered with red, showing off the nervous chest of the young\nblacksmith, and indicating his robust shoulders, falling down in graceful\nfolds, put not the least constraint upon his free and easy gait, and\nbecame him much better than either frock-coat or dress-coat would have\ndone. While awaiting Miss de Cardoville, Agricola mechanically examined a\nmagnificent silver vase, admirably graven. A small tablet, of the same\nmetal, fitted into a cavity of its antique stand, bore the words--\"Chased\nby JEAN MARIE, working chaser, 1831.\"\n\nAdrienne had stepped so lightly upon the carpet of her saloon, only\nseparated from another apartment by the doors, that Agricola had not\nperceived the young lady's entrance. He started, and turned quickly\nround, upon hearing a silver and brilliant voice say to him-\"That is a\nbeautiful vase, is it not, sir?\"\n\n\"Very beautiful, madame,\" answered Agricola greatly embarrassed.\n\n\"You may see from it that I like what is equitable.\" added Miss de\nCardoville, pointing with her finger to the little silver tablet;--\"an\nartist puts his name upon his painting; an author publishes his on the\ntitle-page of his book; and I contend that an artisan ought also to have\nhis name connected with his workmanship.\"\n\n\"Oh, madame, so this name?\"\n\n\"Is that of the poor chaser who executed this masterpiece, at the order\nof a rich goldsmith. When the latter sold me the vase, he was amazed at\nmy eccentricity, he would have almost said at my injustice, when, after\nhaving made him tell me the name of the author of this production, I\nordered his name to be inscribed upon it, instead of that of the\ngoldsmith, which had already been affixed to the stand. In the absence of\nthe rich profits, let the artisan enjoy the fame of his skill. Is it not\njust, sir?\"\n\nIt would have been impossible for Adrienne to commence the conversation\nmore graciously: so that the blacksmith, already beginning to feel a\nlittle more at ease, answered:\n\n\"Being a mechanic myself, madame, I cannot but be doubly affected by such\na proof of your sense of equity and justice.\"\n\n\"Since you are a mechanic, sir,\" resumed Adrienne, \"I cannot but\nfelicitate myself on having so suitable a hearer. But please to be\nseated.\"\n\nWith a gesture full of affability, she pointed to an armchair of purple\nsilk embroidered with gold, sitting down herself upon a tete-a-tete of\nthe same materials.\n\nSeeing Agricola's hesitation, who again cast down his eyes with\nembarrassment, Adrienne, to encourage him, showed him Frisky, and said to\nhim gayly: \"This poor little animal, to which I am very much attached,\nwill always afford me a lively remembrance of your obliging complaisance,\nsir. And this visit seems to me to be of happy augury; I know not what\ngood presentiment whispers to me, that perhaps I shall have the pleasure\nof being useful to you in some affair.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said Agricola, resolutely, \"my name is Baudoin: a blacksmith in\nthe employment of M. Hardy, at Pressy, near the city. Yesterday you\noffered me your purse and I refused it: to-day, I have come to request of\nyou perhaps ten or twenty times the sum that you had generously proposed.\nI have said thus much all at once, madame, because it causes me the\ngreatest effort. The words blistered my lips, but now I shall be more at\nease.\"\n\n\"I appreciate the delicacy of your scruples, sir,\" said Adrienne; \"but if\nyou knew me, you would address me without fear. How much do you require?\"\n\n\"I do not know, madame,\" answered Agricola.\n\n\"I beg your pardon. You don't know what sum?\"\n\n\"No madame; and I come to you to request, not only the sum necessary to\nme, but also information as to what that sum is.\"\n\n\"Let us see, sir,\" said Adrienne, smiling, \"explain this to me. In spite\nof my good will, you feel that I cannot divine, all at once, what it is\nthat is required.\"\n\n\"Madame, in two words, I can state the truth. I have a food old mother,\nwho in her youth, broke her health by excessive labor, to enable her to\nbring me up; and not only me, but a poor abandoned child whom she had\npicked up. It is my turn now to maintain her; and that I have the\nhappiness of doing. But in order to do so, I have only my labor. If I am\ndragged from my employment, my mother will be without support.\"\n\n\"Your mother cannot want for anything now, sir, since I interest myself\nfor her.\"\n\n\"You will interest yourself for her, madame?\" said Agricola.\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied Adrienne.\n\n\"But you don't know her,\" exclaimed the blacksmith.\n\n\"Now I do; yes.\"\n\n\"Oh, madame!\" said Agricola, with emotion, after a moment's silence. \"I\nunderstand you. But indeed you have a noble heart. Mother Bunch was\nright.\"\n\n\"Mother Bunch?\" said Adrienne, looking at Agricola with a very surprised\nair; for what he said to her was an enigma.\n\nThe blacksmith, who blushed not for his friends, replied frankly.\n\n\"Madame, permit me to explain, to you. Mother Bunch is a poor and very\nindustrious young workwoman, with whom I have been brought up. She is\ndeformed, which is the reason why she is called Mother Bunch. But though,\non the one hand, she is sunk, as low as you are highly elevated on the\nother, yet as regards the heart--as to delicacy--oh, lady, I am certain\nthat your heart is of equal worth with hers! That was at once her own\nthought, after I had related to her in what manner, yesterday, you had\npresented me with that beautiful flower.\"\n\n\"I can assure you, sir,\" said Adrienne, sincerely touched, \"that this\ncomparison flatters and honors me more than anything else that you could\nsay to me,--a heart that remains good and delicate, in spite of cruel\nmisfortunes, is so rare a treasure; while it is very easy to be good,\nwhen we have youth and beauty, and to be delicate and generous, when we\nare rich. I accept, then, your comparison; but on condition that you will\nquickly put me in a situation to deserve it. Pray go on, therefore.\"\n\nIn spite of the gracious cordiality of Miss de Cardoville, there was\nalways observable in her so much of that natural dignity which arises\nfrom independence of character, so much elevation of soul and nobleness\nof sentiment that Agricola, forgetting the ideal physical beauty of his\nprotectress, rather experienced for her the emotions of an affectionate\nand kindly, though profound respect, which offered a singular and\nstriking contrast with the youth and gayety of the lovely being who\ninspired him with this sentiment.\n\n\"If my mother alone, madame, were exposed to the rigor which I dread. I\nshould not be so greatly disquieted with the fear of a compulsory\nsuspension of my employment. Among poor people, the poor help one\nanother; and my mother is worshipped by all the inmates of our house, our\nexcellent neighbors, who would willingly succor her. But, they themselves\nare far from being well off; and as they would incur privations by\nassisting her, their little benefit would still be more painful to my\nmother than the endurance even of misery by herself. And besides, it is\nnot only for my mother that my exertions are required, but for my father,\nwhom we have not seen for eighteen years, and who has just arrived from\nSiberia, where he remained during all that time, from zealous devotion to\nhis former general, now Marshal Simon.\"\n\n\"Marshal Simon!\" said Adrienne, quickly, with an expression of much\nsurprise.\n\n\"Do you know the marshal, madame?\"\n\n\"I do not personally know him, but he married a lady of our family.\"\n\n\"What joy!\" exclaimed the blacksmith, \"then the two young ladies, his\ndaughters, whom my father has brought from Russia, are your relations!\"\n\n\"Has Marshal Simon two daughters?\" asked Adrienne, more and more\nastonished and interested.\n\n\"Yes, madame, two little angels of fifteen or sixteen, and so pretty, so\nsweet; they are twins so very much alike, as to be mistaken for one\nanother. Their mother died in exile; and the little she possessed having\nbeen confiscated, they have come hither with my father, from the depths\nof Siberia, travelling very wretchedly; but he tried to make them forget\nso many privations by the fervency of his devotion and his tenderness. My\nexcellent father! you will not believe, madame, that, with the courage of\na lion, he has all the love and tenderness of a mother.\"\n\n\"And where are the dear children, sir?\" asked Adrienne.\n\n\"At our home, madame. It is that which renders my position so very hard;\nthat which has given me courage to come to you; it is not but that my\nlabor would be sufficient for our little household, even thus augmented;\nbut that I am about to be arrested.\"\n\n\"About to be arrested? For what?\"\n\n\"Pray, madame, have the goodness to read this letter, which has been sent\nby some one to Mother Bunch.\"\n\nAgricola gave to Miss de Cardoville the anonymous letter which had been\nreceived by the workwoman.\n\nAfter having read the letter, Adrienne said to the blacksmith, with\nsurprise, \"It appears, sir, you are a poet!\"\n\n\"I have neither the ambition nor the pretension to be one, madame. Only,\nwhen I return to my mother after a day's toil, and often, even while\nforging my iron, in order to divert and relax my attention, I amuse\nmyself with rhymes, sometimes composing an ode, sometimes a song.\"\n\n\"And your song of the Freed Workman, which is mentioned in this letter,\nis, therefore, very disaffected--very dangerous?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, madame; quite the contrary. For myself, I have the good fortune\nto be employed in the factory of M. Hardy, who renders the condition of\nhis workpeople as happy as that of their less fortunate comrades is the\nreverse; and I had limited myself to attempt, in favor of the great mass\nof the working classes, an equitable, sincere, warm, and earnest\nclaim--nothing more. But you are aware, perhaps, Madame, that in times of\nconspiracy, and commotion, people are often incriminated and imprisoned\non very slight grounds. Should such a misfortune befall me, what will\nbecome of my mother, my father, and the two orphans whom we are bound to\nregard as part of our family until the return of their father, Marshal\nSimon? It is on this account, madame, that, if I remain, I run the risk\nof being arrested. I have come to you to request you to provide surety\nfor me; so that I should not be compelled to exchange the workshop for\nthe prison, in which case I can answer for it that the fruits of my labor\nwill suffice for all.\"\n\n\"Thank the stars!\" said Adrienne, gayly, \"this affair will arrange itself\nquite easily. Henceforth, Mr. Poet, you shall draw your inspirations in\nthe midst of good fortune instead of adversity. Sad muse! But first of\nall, bonds shall be given for you.\"\n\n\"Oh, madame, you have saved us!\"\n\n\"To continue,\" said Adrienne, \"the physician of our family is intimately\nconnected with a very important minister (understand that, as you like,\"\nsaid she, smiling, \"you will not deceive yourself much). The doctor\nexercises very great influence over this great statesman; for he has\nalways had the happiness of recommending to him, on account of his\nhealth; the sweets and repose of private life, to the very eve of the day\non which his portfolio was taken from him. Keep yourself, then, perfectly\nat ease. If the surety be insufficient, we shall be able to devise some\nother means.\n\n\"Madame,\" said Agricola, with great emotion, \"I am indebted to you for\nthe repose, perhaps for the life of my mother. Believe that I shall ever\nbe grateful.\"\n\n\"That is all quite simple. Now for another thing. It is proper that those\nwho have too much should have the right of coming to the aid of those who\nhave too little. Marshal Simon's daughters are members of my family, and\nthey will reside here with me, which will be more suitable. You will\napprise your worthy mother of this; and in the evening, besides going to\nthank her for the hospitality which she has shown to my young relations,\nI shall fetch them home.\"\n\nAt this moment Georgette, throwing open the door which separated the room\nfrom an adjacent apartment, hurriedly entered, with an affrighted look,\nexclaiming:\n\n\"Oh, madame, something extraordinary is going on in the street.\"\n\n\"How so? Explain yourself,\" said Adrienne.\n\n\"I went to conduct my dressmaker to the little garden-gate,\" said\nGeorgette; \"where I saw some ill-looking men, attentively examining the\nwalls and windows of the little out-building belonging to the pavilion,\nas if they wished to spy out some one.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said Agricola, with chagrin, \"I have not been deceived. They\nare after me.\"\n\n\"What say you?\"\n\n\"I thought I was followed, from the moment when I left the Rue St. Merry:\nand now it is beyond doubt. They must have seen me enter your house; and\nare on the watch to arrest me. Well, now that your interest has been\nacquired for my mother,--now that I have no farther uneasiness for\nMarshal Simon's daughters,--rather than hazard your exposure to anything\nthe least unpleasant, I run to deliver myself up.\"\n\n\"Beware of that sir,\" said Adrienne, quickly. \"Liberty is too precious to\nbe voluntarily sacrificed. Besides, Georgette may have been mistaken. But\nin any case, I entreat you not to surrender yourself. Take my advice, and\nescape being arrested. That, I think, will greatly facilitate my\nmeasures; for I am of opinion that justice evinces a great desire to keep\npossession of those upon whom she has once pounced.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said Hebe, now also entering with a terrified look, \"a man\nknocked at the little door, and inquired if a young man in a blue blouse\nhas not entered here. He added, that the person whom he seeks is named\nAgricola Baudoin, and that he has something to tell him of great\nimportance.\"\n\n\"That's my name,\" said Agricola; \"but the important information is a\ntrick to draw me out.\"\n\n\"Evidently,\" said Adrienne; \"and therefore we must play off trick for\ntrick. What did you answer, child?\" added she, addressing herself to\nHebe.\n\n\"I answered, that I didn't know what he was talking about.\"\n\n\"Quite right,\" said Adrienne: \"and the man who put the question?\"\n\n\"He went away, madame.\"\n\n\"Without doubt to come back again, soon,\" said Agricola.\n\n\"That is very probable,\" said Adrienne, \"and therefore, sir, it is\nnecessary for you to remain here some hours with resignation. I am\nunfortunately obliged to go immediately to the Princess Saint-Dizier, my\naunt, for an important interview, which can no longer be delayed, and is\nrendered more pressing still by what you have told me concerning the\ndaughters of Marshal Simon. Remain here, then, sir; since if you go out,\nyou will certainly be arrested.\"\n\n\"Madame, pardon my refusal; but I must say once more that I ought not to\naccept this generous offer.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"They have tried to draw me out, in order to avoid penetrating with the\npower of the law into your dwelling but if I go not out, they will come\nin; and never will I expose you to anything so disagreeable. Now that I\nam no longer uneasy about my mother, what signifies prison?\"\n\n\"And the grief that your mother will feel, her uneasiness, and her\nfears,--nothing? Think of your father; and that poor work-woman who loves\nyou as a brother, and whom I value as a sister;--say, sir, do you forget\nthem also? Believe me, it is better to spare those torments to your\nfamily. Remain here; and before the evening I am certain, either by\ngiving surety, or some other means, of delivering you from these\nannoyances.\"\n\n\"But, madame, supposing that I do accept your generous offer, they will\ncome and find me here.\"\n\n\"Not at all. There is in this pavilion, which was formerly the abode of a\nnobleman's left-handed wife,--you see, sir,\" said Adrienne, smiling,\n\"that live in a very profane place--there is here a secret place of\nconcealment, so wonderfully well-contrived, that it can defy all\nsearches. Georgette will conduct you to it. You will be very well\naccommodated. You will even be able to write some verses for me, if the\nplace inspire you.\"\n\n\"Oh, madame! how great is your goodness! how have I merited it?\"\n\n\"Oh, sir, I will tell you. Admitting that your character and your\nposition do not entitle you to any interest;--admitting that I may not\nowe a sacred debt to your father for the touching regards and cares he\nhas bestowed upon the daughters of Marshal Simon, my relations--do you\nforget Frisky, sir?\" asked Adrienne, laughing,--\"Frisky, there, whom you\nhave restored to my fondles? Seriously, if I laugh,\" continued this\nsingular and extravagant creature, \"it is because I know that you are\nentirely out of danger, and that I feel an increase of happiness.\nTherefore, sir, write for me quickly your address, and your mother's, in\nthis pocket-book; follow Georgette; and spin me some pretty verses, if\nyou do not bore yourself too much in that prison to which you fly.\"\n\nWhile Georgette conducted the blacksmith to the hiding-place, Hebe\nbrought her mistress a small gray beaver hat with a gray feather; for\nAdrienne had to cross the park to reach the house occupied by the\nPrincess Saint-Dizier.\n\nA quarter of an hour after this scene, Florine entered mysteriously the\napartment of Mrs. Grivois, the first woman of the princess.\n\n\"Well?\" demanded Mrs. Grivois of the young woman.\n\n\"Here are the notes which I have taken this morning,\" said Florine,\nputting a paper into the duenna's hand. \"Happily, I have a good memory.\"\n\n\"At what time exactly did she return home this morning?\" asked the\nduenna, quickly.\n\n\"Who, madame?\"\n\n\"Miss Adrienne.\"\n\n\"She did not go out, madame. We put her in the bath at nine o'clock.\"\n\n\"But before nine o'clock she came home, after having passed the night out\nof her house. Eight o'clock was the time at which she returned, however.\"\n\nFlorine looked at Mrs. Grivois with profound astonishment, and said-\"I do\nnot understand you, madame.\"\n\n\"What's that? Madame did not come home this morning at eight o'clock?\nDare you lie?\"\n\n\"I was ill yesterday, and did not come down till nine this morning, in\norder to assist Georgette and Hebe help our young lady from the bath. I\nknow nothing of what passed previously, I swear to you, madame.\"\n\n\"That alters the case. You must ferret out what I allude to from your\ncompanions. They don't distrust you, and will tell you all.\"\n\n\"Yes, madame.\"\n\n\"What has your mistress done this morning since you saw her?\"\n\n\"Madame dictated a letter to Georgette for M. Norval, I requested\npermission to send it off, as a pretext for going out, and for writing\ndown all I recollected.\"\n\n\"Very well. And this letter?\"\n\n\"Jerome had to go out, and I gave it him to put in the post-office.\"\n\n\"Idiot!\" exclaimed Mrs. Grivois: \"couldn't you bring it to me?\"\n\n\"But, as madame dictated it aloud to Georgette, as is her custom, I knew\nthe contents of the letter; and I have written it in my notes.\"\n\n\"That's not the same thing. It is likely there was need to delay sending\noff this letter; the princess will be very much displeased.\"\n\n\"I thought I did right, madame.\"\n\n\"I know that it is not good will that fails you. For these six months I\nhave been satisfied with you. But this time you have committed a very\ngreat mistake.\"\n\n\"Be indulgent, madame! what I do is sufficiently painful!\" The girl\nstifled a sigh.\n\nMrs. Grivois looked fixedly at her, and said in a sardonic tone:\n\n\"Very well, my dear, do not continue it. If you have scruples, you are\nfree. Go your way.\"\n\n\"You well know that I am not free, madame,\" said Florine, reddening; and\nwith tears in her eyes she added: \"I am dependent upon M. Rodin, who\nplaced me here.\"\n\n\"Wherefore these regrets, then?\"\n\n\"In spite of one's self, one feels remorse. Madame is so good, and so\nconfiding.\"\n\n\"She is all perfection, certainly! But you are not here to sing her\npraises. What occurred afterwards?\"\n\n\"The working-man who yesterday found and brought back Frisky, came early\nthis morning and requested permission to speak with my young lady.\"\n\n\"And is this working-man still in her house?\"\n\n\"I don't know. He came in when I was going out with the letter.\"\n\n\"You must contrive to learn what it was this workingman came about.\"\n\n\"Yes, madame.\"\n\n\"Has your mistress seemed preoccupied, uneasy, or afraid of the interview\nwhich she is to have to-day with the princess? She conceals so little of\nwhat she thinks, that you ought to know.\"\n\n\"She has been as gay as usual. She has even jested about the interview!\"\n\n\"Oh! jested, has she?\" said the tire-woman, muttering between her teeth,\nwithout Florine being able to hear her: \"'They laugh most who laugh\nlast.' In spite of her audacious and diabolical character, she would\ntremble, and would pray for mercy, if she knew what awaits her this day.\"\nThen addressing Florine, she continued-\"Return, and keep yourself, I\nadvise you, from those fine scruples, which will be quite enough to do\nyou a bad turn. Do not forget!\"\n\n\"I cannot forget that I belong not to myself, madame.\"\n\n\"Anyway, let it be so. Farewell.\"\n\nFlorine quitted the mansion and crossed the park to regain the summer\nhouse, while Mrs Grivois went immediately to the Princess Saint-Dizier.","title":"The Wandering Jew \u2014 Volume 02","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":67061}